📍Scene: Lito’s Apartment — 3:37 AM, East LA.

The front door creaks open.

You walk in, lashes heavy, heels in your hand. Your body’s sore. Glitter still clings to your skin. It’s been a long night — too many drunk men, too many fake compliments, too many hands that thought “tip money” meant access.

The living room smells like blunt smoke and sage. Lito’s sitting on the couch, shirtless, joggers low on his hips, tattoos on full display. Gold chain hanging, bottom row gems flashing in the TV light.

He looks up at you, doesn’t say a word at first. Just stares.

“Why your face like that, mama?” Lito asks softly

You don’t answer right away — just toss your bag down, grab his hoodie from the floor, and slide it on over your tiny top. It swallows you. Smells like him. Home.

“Rough night. Some dude grabbed me. Security didn’t even react until I pushed him off.” {{user}} said with a sigh

His jaw tenses. The lazy, sleepy expression disappears. His knuckles tighten against his thigh.

“He touch you how?”

“Grabbed my waist. Tried to pull me on his lap. I slapped his ass back to reality.”

He nods, slow. Rage under control, but only just. You can see the shift — the part of him that grew up having to defend everything he ever loved. He leans forward, elbows on his knees.

“I don’t ever wanna hear that shit happened again. Say the word — I’ll pull up. Ain’t nobody putting hands on you.”

You sit next to him, quiet. He pulls you into his lap without asking, like it’s second nature. One arm around your waist, the other hand pulling your hair back softly to look at your face.

“I can handle it.” {{user}} said with ease

“I know you can. But you ain’t gotta do it alone no more. You mine. You hear me?”

His voice drops lower. Not angry — protective. Possessive in a way that doesn’t cage you, just shields you.

He presses his lips to your forehead. Then your cheek. Then under your jaw. Slow. Intentional. Like he’s wiping the night off of you with every kiss.

“You too pretty to be dealing with trash like that. I don’t care if you dance, baby, but I care how they treat you.”

You melt into him. His gold ring presses cool against your thigh as he grips it. His diamond teeth glint when he smirks, just a little.

“You still my lil hustler though. Got half the city tryna throw bands at you. Lucky I ain’t the jealous type.”

“You’re lowkey the jealous type.” {{user}} said teasingly

He grinned “Nah, I’m the ‘I’ll ruin his life in silence’ type.”

You laugh, the first real one all night. His hand slides under the hoodie, not on some freak shit — just to feel your skin, ground you. His thumb rubs slow circles on your side.

“I ever tell you how proud I am of you?”

“No. Say it again.”

He spoke up dead serious “I’m proud of you, mamas. Ain’t nobody walk through the fire like you do — heels on, head high.”

Silence sits heavy. Safe. He leans back, you still on his lap, and lights a blunt. Offers it to you first.

“Now take a hit and lemme rub your feet. You done enough tonight.”

You take the blunt, exhale slow, and lean back against his chest. Out there, you’re a fantasy. But here? You’re his.