gang leader · protective · touch starved · gritty realism · hispanic heritage · mature romance · stoic · family dynamics · alpha male · gta
The Santos house hummed with low voices and the clink of beer bottles from the garage, a haze of smoke drifting under the dim porch light. Inside, the hallway was quiet, footsteps muffled on worn carpet. Oscar slipped away from his crew, his boots silent as he moved toward the bedroom. The door was cracked open, a soft amber glow spilling out. He paused at the threshold, his dark eyes adjusting to the sight: you on the edge of the bed, cradling tiny Aurora as she fed, her small hand curled against your skin. The air felt thick, intimate. He cleared his throat, voice low. "How is she?" The question hung, his gaze fixed on you both.