#plug!au

YOU HAD BEEN AVOIDING HIS TEXTS for a week or so now. Actually, that was a lie. There was no “so”; you knew exactly how long you had been ignoring his texts. It had been a week and two days.

Waka

|  i hope u got home safe doll

|  gn

Delivered 1w ago 

Waka

|  hey u ok?

Delivered 1w ago 

Waka

|  call me when u get the chance

|  i wanna talk to u

Delivered 2h ago 

You stared blankly at the phone screen. 

Takeomi strolled into the room. Setting his phone on the dresser next to a glass of whiskey left unfinished from last night along with a pack of cigarettes, he shrugged his coat onto the floor. You watched his chest heave as he sighed with relief. He slicked his hands back over his hair, laying down a few strays.

“You okay?” You asked. Normally you wouldn’t – you didn’t want to be the one that anger was directed towards, and Takeomi was like a ticking timebomb – but today was one of his good days. “You seem tense.”

You felt your own shoulders tense as his weary eyes met yours, cold and unreadable. To your surprise however, he answered. 

“Shit day at work,” he sighed again. He approached the edge of the bed, and then took a seat. His hands began working at the first few buttons of his shirt. He glanced back at you. “You want to help me get my mind off of it?” he asked, clearly hinting at something more.

You didn’t want to. Not really. But, shit, the guilt from last week was eating you up inside. You figured it was the least you could do. 

You clicked your phone off, ignoring the way the screen lit up for a brief moment as you went to flip it over. With a slight tilt of your head, you offered, “Come over here then.”

Takeomi grinned.

You felt your whole body jolt upward as he pressed into you. The weight of a fully grown man against your chest – squishing your sore breasts into your ribs in a way that was nothing short of agonizing – wasn’t one of your favorite feelings, to say the least. No, you weren’t a fan of that.

Nor were you a fan of the harsh and brutal pace he had set. His hips slapped your ass with a bruising fervor. He had your arms pinned around the pillow. 

Sex with Takeomi wasn’t the same as it used to be. What used to be night after night of passion-filled movement, words of unadulterated praise soon became hard, bland sex, devoid of love or affection.

Takeomi’s hands gripped your hips with such force that you knew it would leave scars. He growled, “You like that, you whore?”

“Yeah,” You sighed. You didn’t, really, but you didn’t want him to know that. Instead, you kept your eyes trained on the ceiling. Anything to avoid eye contact. You feared the worst, although you weren’t sure what that entailed. Perhaps he could read your mind, peer into your soul from your eyes like tiny windows and see you in the backseat of a benz getting your guts rearranged by his least favorite cohort. 

As his thrusts became more erratic, more harsh, you knew he was close. You weren’t.

His hands found your chin, forming a light grasp on your neck and then bringing your attention to him. Your vision was blurred a little as you fought back memories. Memories of a certain blond tearing you up from the inside, memories of lilac eyes peering deep into yours, pulling at the string of your resolve as he took you further and further away from your morals. 

And when you glanced up, you swore you could see him for a moment. You swore that for a moment it was him hovering over you, sweat rolling down his tatted chest and arms while he drove into you. 

That it was his strong arms braced on either side of you. Perhaps he would reach over to hold your hand. 

“Such a good slut,” Your boyfriend purred – though it was sort of odd. It sounded like him, but when you glanced up at him once more you knew it wasn’t. His pretty face was dusted with a gentle, rosey hue – and, God, he smelled amazing. Wakasa licked his lips, glancing down at your exposed chest before staring at you with an almost feline hunger. He sighed, “You feel so good.”

You felt yourself begin to smile. It felt nice, actually. You fought the urge to say his name.

Quickly shaking your head, you tried to ground yourself. Focus, you said.

Takeomi groped your breast. “Shit, baby,” he groaned. “I’m gonna cum.”

You finally pulled together the strength to look at him. Throwing your arms around his neck, you braced yourself for impact.

Bzzzzzt- 

Takeomi looked towards the nightstand. His phone was buzzing. Though the screen was flipped over, the faint blueish light reflected off its surface. 

With an agitated sigh, he paused his movements, reaching over your naked body for the device. He lifted it up, checking the screen to see who had decided to call him at that particular moment in time.

Incoming Call: Wakasa Imaushi

You felt your heart sink.

Takeomi groaned, pulling out of you with enough sudden force to tear a gasp from your lungs. He sat up, raised the phone up to his ear, and then said – with all the kindness of a man who had just been interrupted mid-sex, “What do you want?”

You tried your best to hear his response, thought it sounded muffled. You could hardly hear him over the incessant beating of your nervous heart. 

With a slight raise of his brow, your boyfriend shifted away from you. “Yeah, why?”

He spared you a sideways glance. 

Shit, you thought. He knows. He knows. 

“Yeah, I’ll be right over, give me like…” Here he trailed off. You tried to ignore the way his eyes befell your bare body. “Ten minutes.”

He hung up, and then he sighed. There was a brief silence – during which Takeomi slipped out of bed. He began reassembling his outfit. “I gotta go, toots,” he said.

“What happened?” You asked, sitting up. You tried to seem like you were concerned about him. In reality, you just wanted to make sure Wakasa hadn’t told him about the… business meeting the two of you had had.

Takeomi slid his jacket on over his wrinkled shirt, and for the hundredth time, he told you, “Work shit.”

You pursed your lips. You hated it when he said that shit.

Before you could pry more details out of him, he was on his way out. The door shut behind him with a loud thump.

You sighed. For the hundredth time, it seemed, but there was nothing else you could do. The cold air on your bare skin was a harsh reminder of your stance in your boyfriend’s life. He didn’t even care enough to stay behind and cover you up.

So you pulled his sheets over your own cold body, nestling into the pillows and relishing in the silence that followed the departure of your boyfriend. Extending a hand out towards the nightstand, you felt around blindly for the pack of cigarettes he had left behind. You reached for the lighter you knew he always kept in his bedside drawer with the other.

You considered, although very briefly, the possibility of running after your boyfriend. There was a slim chance that Wakasa was telling him all about your endeavor with him, of course. You figured that at this point, there was nothing more you could do to change the situation, so why bother?

Flipping open the red pack, you produced a slim cancer stick, rolling onto your back and then holding it with your teeth. 

After the week you’d had, you could use a smoke.

The lighter clicked a few times before you were able to actually light up. The end of the cigarette sizzled as you pulled from it. The warmth blossomed across your cheeks and down your throat. You blew it out with a relieved sigh.

Before you could relish in the feeling for too long, you felt your phone going off beneath your head. You clamped your teeth down on the cig, digging around beneath the pillow until you produced the device. 

The brightness was turned all the way up. You winced slightly before your eyes actually adjusted to the screen.

Incoming Call: Waka

And there it was again – that shitty, sinking feeling in your gut. 

All of a sudden, you understood why your boyfriend had answered the phone so angrily. The appearance of his name on your screen had you shifting uncomfortably. 

Should I? 

No. Let’s not open that can of worms. 

But no one’s around… 

You glanced at the screen, biting your lower lip between your teeth. 

Fuck it. You picked up on the last ring.

“Hey,” you said. God fucking dammit, why did that sound so casual? 

You heard him rustling around on the other end of the call. 

“Hey.” 

You took another hit. Then you exhaled. “What just happened?”

He laughed. That devilish little laugh of his. “You’re inside, right?”  

“Inside where?” You asked. In retrospect, you should have known better.

“ Take’s place,” he deadpanned, like that much should have been obvious.

You let the silence build up before you answered. “I… Yeah, uh… yeah, I’m inside.”

“Come outside,” he said. “I’m waiting for you.” 

Then, rather stupidly, you felt yourself answer, “Okay.”

The silence was thick, palpable, and extremely uncomfortable. You sat in the passenger seat with your hands folded neatly in your lap. Right now, you were counting the stitches on some of the accents on the leather dashboard. You were at 23 so far, but realistically it could have been any number. You were just trying to keep your eyes down and away from the devil in the seat next to you.

You felt his gaze burning a hole into the back of your head before you heard him. 

“We gonna talk about why you’ve been ignoring my calls?” He asked earnestly, but the domineering undertone had you squeezing your thighs together. 

Stop that. 

The faint aroma of his cologne was dizzying, notes of amber, fruit, and spice whipped together in one delightful elixir that had your head spinning a mile a minute. He smelled of nicotine. The way you had been thinking about him, he could have been made of it.

“Sorry,” was all you could muster up. 

Wakasa stared out past the windshield, onto the street below, the same place he had picked you up the first time the two of you had hooked up. It looked different now in the middle of the day–

The first time?  

You scolded yourself for thinking that way. First? There wouldn’t be a second.

“You had me worried, you know,” He sighed. His voice sounded different today. Maybe it’s because this was the first time you’d been this close to him while sober. 

Close. You were suddenly hyper aware of that fact. The fact that his arm was braced on the same armrest that was pressing against yours. Face flushed, you averted your eyes.

A hand on your arm roused you from your reverie. Your eyes traced it back to Wakasa.

His eyes were soft and, under the afternoon lighting, seemed prettier than usual. Like windows peering into a field of lavender flowers. He’d opted to leave his hair in a ponytail today. The pretty locks hung over the back of his neck and cascaded down over the top of his broad shoulders. 

He looked…

No.

You found your way back to the image of his hand on your arm again. “Did you tell him?”

You saw him shift out of the corner of your eye. “No,” he said. 

You felt some of the weight be lifted from your shoulders. Not much, but some. 

More silence.

“Look…” you trailed off. Your mouth felt remarkably dry all of a sudden. “This can’t happen again, okay? I’m not a cheater.”

The man next to you huffed out a little humorless laugh. “Yeah?” He asked, though there wasn’t a drop of sympathy in his voice. “Takes two to tango, doll.”

“It was a mistake,” You snapped back, perhaps a little louder than you’d originally anticipated.

Wakasa poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “Okay,” he said. “Well… can’t just pretend it never happened.”

“We can, actually,” came your quick retort. “And, ideally, we will.”

He sighed. You watched his grip tighten on the steering wheel ever-so-slightly.

Keeping your gaze trained out the window, you spoke again. “I’m telling you we can’t see each other again. Okay?”

For a moment, Wakasa looked like he wanted to say something, like he wanted to make you stay. Worst of all, you kind of wanted him to.

No. 

Eventually, he answered. “You can pretend it never happened, but I’ll know,” he muttered. “You’ll know.”

“That’s for me to deal with,” You replied. There was another long, horribly awkward silence that spanned for a minute or two. You looked outside, at the evening sky, and then back at your lap. “Can you take me home now?”

He looked at you. With a quiet scoff, he said. “You sure, princess? Don’t have nothing else to say to me?”

You did.

You had so much to say to him. You wanted to reach out to him and tell him to leave you alone. You wanted him to beg you to stay. You wanted to part ways with him and never have to see his stupid, pretty face ever again.

You had all of these conflicting feelings all at once that had just been building up over the last week and a half, so many that your head felt full even thinking about them.

But then the reality of the situation hit you. Your feelings probably didn’t matter to him. You were a cheater, probably one of many easy hookups on his roster. This – all of this – was probably just him getting his sloppy seconds in.

You didn’t matter.

So, yes, you had a hundred thousand feelings you wanted to pour out to him in that moment, but none of them came out. 

It was just a hookup, you reminded yourself. Who gives a fuck? 

“No,” you affirmed. “I have nothing more to say to you.”

For a moment, it almost looked like he had an objection to make. He pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Alright,” he sighed, pressing the ignition button to start the car up again. “Then let’s get you home, doll.”

You didn’t want to go home. You wanted to stay right here with him and at least bask in the last few moments you had with him before your inevitable return to a dreary relationship with a dreary person. Call it stupidity, you didn’t care.

You felt different around him. Who knows? Maybe it was just an illusion.

But one more look back at your dealer – his shoulders tense, his eyes avoiding contact with yours as he shifted the car into drive – had you reconsidering. 

It couldn’t have been your imagination.

. . .

You hated formal outings. Your boyfriend being part of a criminal organization was something you tried hard not to think about when it wasn’t necessary. You hated how Takeomi brought you around like some sort of trophy wife to show you off to all of his friends. He would make you take off of work, and then he would make you put on your nicest dress and spend 3 hours on your makeup to look “presentable”. It was all so incredibly fake. It made you crazy.

Tonight was one of those nights. 

You twisted the golden bottom of your Revlon stick, pushing the tip of the lipstick up and revealing a deep, rich shade of red. Pressing the flat end of the tip to your bottom lip, you carefully lined your lips with the pretty hue. You pressed your lips together and spread it around. 

Praying the limousine didn’t hit a speed bump, you touched up the area just above your lips.

Another week had passed since your confrontation with Wakasa. Under any other circumstance, you would have been worried about bumping into him, But if there was one thing you knew about Wakasa, it was that he hated attending formal events. 

If Waka was in fact the notorious Wakasa of Takeomi’s drunken tales – the same Wakasa who you hadn’t met before in the entire six years you’d been with Takeomi for this reason – then hell itself would freeze over before he showed his face at a formal event.

Your boyfriend’s freshly shaven face revealed itself as you tilted the little compact mirror in your hand towards him. He looked as if he was about to say something, then he paused. He looked at your lips, and then up at your eyes. “Red?”

You nodded. After applying a second coat of the color and pressing your lips together once more, you asked, “You don’t like it?”

“No, I don’t,” he hummed. He looked handsome tonight, hair slicked back and a fresh-ironed dress left unbuttoned at the top. You didn’t bother voicing these thoughts, though, because you knew they wouldn’t be reciprocated. “Red is a whore’s color.”

Recapping the little tube of lipstick, you set it down on your dresser. If only he knew. 

You gazed into your reflection in the mirror in your palm. Sitting in front you was a girl you hardly recognized. Her face was done up like a porcelain doll. A long black dress cupped her breasts and her waist, cascading down over her daintily crossed legs. Her hair was done up, slick, not a stray hair in sight.

She looked perfect.

The mirror reflected the image of your boyfriend bracing a hand on your shoulder. He leaned down to press his nose against your ear and then, like a strong reminder of your place in his world, he whispered, “Don’t let me catch you so much as looking twice at another man while we’re there.”

You were Takeomi’s girl. That’s all you would ever be. 

“Okay,” You swallowed. Though his words were only cautionary, you understood the deeper implication.

The limousine rolled to a stop. 

“We’re here,” Takeomi said. He shifted towards the door of the limousine, popping it open and then offering his hand to you. “Be on your best behavior.”

Reminding yourself that you would be okay, you allowed him to help you out of the limousine. The skirt of your evening gown fell over your clean shaven legs, just in time to protect you against the gust of cold wind that blew past. 

Pulling a strand of hair away from your lips, you allowed Takeomi to hook his arm beneath yours. The two of you began crossing the street.

You knew what being on your best behavior entailed for Takeomi. It meant that you would be pretty, poised and quiet, not to speak unless spoken to. You would stay away from the men when he was not present and stick with the women. 

That was your place in this world.

Wakasa wouldn’t be there tonight. There wasn’t a lick of doubt in your mind. But still, a little part of you hoped he would show. That he would come and sweep you off your feet again and give you another whirlwind night to remember.

Your heart belonged to Takeomi. That’s how it had to be. Yet it seemed these days it wasn’t his name that was being sung deep within it. It wasn’t the image of his jet-black hair or his deep eyes that peered into yours in your dreams; it was someone else’s.

And silently you cursed yourself for letting yourself get so hung up over a man who you had only seen a handful of times, even if that man had shown you more passion in one night than Takeomi had in the last two years of your relationship with him.

Takeomi stopped in front of a security guard. The man looked him up and down before bowing slightly and stepping to the side.

Takeomi pulled the door open for you, letting you step around him to get in first. 

You silently nodded your thanks.

The building looked much bigger on the inside.

The clouded scent of perfume and liquor that hit your nose the moment you entered was damn near enough to knock you off of your feet. The door opened immediately to a large room – shrouded almost completely by darkness, save for the purple and pink neon lights which flickered and flashed to the beat of the music. The bass was loud enough to rattle your ribs. 

Directly in front of you on an open dancefloor was a sea of drunken, grinding bodies. Bars and tables framed the open floor. There was a stage on the furthest wall from the door, directly across from where you were standing, where half-naked women slithered around metal poles. There was a door hidden inconspicuously in the wall next to it. In all honesty, the only reason you had even been able to tell it was there in the first place was because you saw a few dancers passing through. 

You slid your fur coat off your shoulders, hanging it on the coat rack next to you. The dance orgy a few yards away from you may have generated enough heat to warm the entire room, but the gust of wind that blew in from behind against the bare skin revealed by your open-back dress sent shivers rising up and down your back anyway.

Takeomi slipped dutifully through the crowd, heading towards the nearest bar. You followed close behind. He stopped in front of a staircase off to the side of the place, someplace secluded and marked off with a sign that read “VIP ONLY”.

The two of you began your gradual ascent. You struggled to keep up with Takeomi, heels threatening to catch in the steps.

You followed Takeomi to a door. He brushed past it, letting it fall back against your shoulder. 

Asshole, you thought. It would have been nice if he could have pretended to care.

This room was different. There was a provocative song blaring from the speakers. The small stage you were on danced with colors from the lights below. Your heart began to race. You always got nervous in big social settings like this, even if you had done it too many times to count before.

You were anxious.

It was a stupid sentiment, but as the adrenaline began to wear off, you finally processed what was about to happen. The VIP lounge spanned lengthwise in either direction. There was a long velour couch in the middle of the room facing a stage, where a group of five or six men sat. They were being flocked by female waitresses, and the ones who weren’t serving them drinks were entertaining them in conversation.

Takeomi approached the men with his back turned to you, greeting them with a grand smile.

You eyed up the couch. Swallowing thickly, you reminded yourself of what had been eating you away this whole time. He’s not here. 

Breathing a sigh of relief, you followed after your boyfriend. You could do this. It was only for a few hours.

He’s not here you reminded yourself again as their faces came into sight.

But, still – almost as if you wanted to be wrong – your eyes scanned the men on the couch.

Thank god you did.

You glanced nervously between two more men, and landed on a familiar face you really were not expecting to see tonight.

His legs were spread open so casually, as if he had made himself quite comfortable on the couch. As if he knew you weren’t expecting to see him here. His sharp lilac eyes tailed your every move; intense, unwavering, aware. 

Feeling the rhythm of the music thrumming in your veins, rattling your heart against your ribcage – or perhaps it was the sight of him that did that to you – you licked your lips.

The first one to greet you was Sano Shinichiro. You knew him well. He was the leader of this successful group, the one with the little brother in a wheelchair. He stood up and offered his hand to you. “Nice to see you again. You look lovely.”

Feeling yourself soften a bit at the compliment, you let him kiss your hand. His lips pecked the spot just short of your wrists – a respectful distance. “Hi, Shin.”

“Waka, you’ve met my girl, right?” The sound of your boyfriend’s tensed voice brought you back to his side. He smiled at Wakasa, hell, he even sounded friendly. But his energy was everything but.

Blonde-purple hair tied into a bun this time – half up and half down – he was a sight to behold. He donned a form-fitting white dress shirt, though the first few buttons were undone. It seemed to be intentional. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing sleeves of those intricate tattoos of his that spanned the length of both of his arms. He had a black suit jacket draped over his shoulders, and the slacks he had on fit him in all of the right places, just tight enough to illuminate his thighs and waist but still managing to fit loose enough over his frame for it to look casual. It was an effort for you to tear your eyes away from his pants. 

Wakasa’s eyes glinted with something that made heat shoot down your core. He was looking at you as if you were the only one in the room, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t awaken something you had actively been trying to suppress for the last week. He looked so pretty today, though that seemed to be the case every time you saw him. Statuesque features were illuminated by the light above you, colors dancing across the man’s face. When his eyes settled on your made-up face, a devious smile graced his lips.

“We’ve met,” He had deadpanned, though his eyes were a dead giveaway. They seemed to drink you up with a hunger that bordered on animalistic. 

“Pleasure to meet you again,” You feigned a smile, offering him your hand. It was for the sake of public appearance, of course, but you couldn’t deny the way you trembled as you reached for him.

He followed your movements, staying perfectly still like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike its prey.

He was here. Against all odds, with all of your luck, he was here.

He leaned closer towards you, gently taking your hand into his warm grasp – sending sparks flying up and down your body as he did so. Bringing it up to his face, he pressed a gentle kiss just above your knuckles. Even after the warmth of his lips left your skin his touch lingered over your fingers. “The pleasure is mine.”

Gracefully plopping down onto one portion of the cushioned couch, Takeomi gestured for you to take a seat next to him. Keeping your head down, you followed.

Plug Nanami: Who refuses to let you short yourself, sliding a little extra into your bag with a soft, "Consider it a bonus for being such a loyal customer."

Plug Nanami: Who texts you after every transaction with, "Everything to your satisfaction?" like he’s taking customer service to a whole new level.

Plug Nanami: Who only ever stays for a quick chat, but the way he adjusts his glasses and lets his eyes linger on you a moment too long makes your heart race.

Plug Nanami: Who once showed up in the middle of a rainstorm, soaking wet but completely unbothered, handing over your pre-rolls with a deadpan, "You’re lucky I prioritize good clients."

Plug Nanami: Who has this effortless dominance about him, the kind that makes you want to do things just to see him smirk in approval.

Plug Nanami: Who caught you once in your oversized sweats and bonnet and still said, "You look good," like it was a fact, not a compliment.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t miss a beat when you flirt with him, offering a small chuckle before responding, "Careful now. I don’t mix business with pleasure… unless you’re willing to change my mind."

Plug Nanami: Who makes it very clear he’s not just your plug but also someone who notices everything, including when you’re stressed or looking run-down. "You need to take care of yourself," he says softly, slipping your favorite chocolate bar into your hand without a word.

Plug Nanami: Who’s always clean-cut, rocking a crisp white tee or a fitted hoodie, gold chain resting against his chest, looking more like a businessman than someone pushing product—but you know better.

Plug Nanami: Who runs his drops like clockwork, his Hellcat pulling up smooth and quiet. He leans out the window with a calm, "You good? Don’t keep me waiting too long."

Plug Nanami: Who surprises you with how he speaks—smooth, deliberate, but with just enough edge to make you sit up and pay attention. "You know I don’t do half measures, ma. You get the best from me, every time."

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t just drop off the bag—he stays a little longer, leaning against the doorframe with a calm confidence, arms crossed, giving you a look that says he knows exactly what’s on your mind.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t deal with nonsense, shutting down any funny business with a sharp, "Don’t play with my time." But with you? He’s always patient, his voice softening when he says, "Take your time. I’m in no rush."

Plug Nanami: Who tells you he doesn’t do freebies but somehow always slides you a little extra. "Just quality control," he smirks, though you know he’s lying.

Plug Nanami: Who keeps his stash on lock, never running out of the best strains, and every time you ask where he gets it, he just chuckles and says, "That’s my secret."

Plug Nanami: Who caught you once buying from someone else and didn’t say a word until his next drop-off. "Whatever they gave you? Trash. Stick with me, and I’ll make sure you’re never disappointed again."

Plug Nanami: Who shows up in his car, windows cracked, bass low, smelling like clean cologne and a faint hint of weed. He smirks when he catches you looking. "You like the vibe, huh? I can give you more than just this."

Plug Nanami: Who noticed you peeking at his tattoos one time and rolled up his sleeve just enough to show them off. "Curious, huh? Maybe one day I’ll let you trace them yourself."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you try to flirt too hard, chuckles low and deep, leaning closer to whisper, "You know you’re trouble, right? Keep talking like that, and I might start making house calls for more than just business."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you ask why he pushes product when he clearly doesn’t need to, just shrugs and says, "Sometimes the best things come from unexpected places," before giving you that look that leaves you questioning who’s really in control.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t react when you tease him about being too refined for this game. Instead, he steps closer, his voice dropping. "Don’t let my look fool you, baby. I know exactly what I’m doing—and I know you love it."

Plug Nanami: Who caught you at a party once, surrounded by people you didn’t know, looking out of place. He walked right up to you, slid his arm around your waist, and whispered, "You good? Or you need me to remind you where you belong?"

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t hesitate to pull you aside when someone else tries to step to you, his tone cool but firm. "She’s with me. Don’t make me repeat myself."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you’re standing at the door in nothing but booty shorts and a cropped hoodie, doesn’t even try to hide the way his eyes sweep over you, his voice steady but rough. "You knew I was coming, and this is how you answer the door? You trying to start something, Y/N?"

Plug Nanami: Who stays calm when you playfully call him "Mr. Businessman," but steps closer, his broad shoulders towering over you as he murmurs, "Keep testing me, and I’ll show you just how serious I can be."

Plug Nanami: Who has this habit of brushing his fingers against yours when handing over your bag, just to see you react. And when you hesitate, he smirks. "What? You shy now? You weren’t shy last week when you were talking crazy to me."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you ask for recommendations, takes his time explaining the strains, his voice low and intimate like he’s telling you secrets no one else gets to hear. "This one’s for relaxing. But this one? This will have you feeling nice and warm. Could even help you sleep... if you’re alone."

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t hide his jealousy when he spots you dancing with some random dude at the club again. He doesn’t make a scene—he doesn’t have to. One hard look from across the room, and he has you second-guessing every move.

Plug Nanami: Who waits for you by the bar, calm but commanding, sipping his drink like he owns the place. When you finally approach him, he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. "Was that supposed to make me jealous? 'Cause all it did was remind me who you’re really coming home to."

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t just say things to say them—when he tells you, "You’re mine," he says it with a quiet intensity that makes your heart race, his hand resting lightly on your waist like a promise.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t let you forget who’s in control. When you try to test him, he tilts his head, studying you with those sharp eyes before muttering, "Careful, Y/N. You don’t want to see what happens when I lose my patience."

Plug Nanami: Who, when he finally breaks that calm exterior, has you pinned against the couch, his hands firm on your thighs. His voice drops an octave as he says, "You think you can tease me and get away with it? Let me show you how wrong you are."

Plug Nanami: Who has you breathless by the time he’s done with you, his lips grazing your ear as he whispers, "Next time, don’t make me wait. You know I’m not good at sharing."

Plug Nanami: Who, even after all that, stays to clean up and roll another joint for you, his demeanor back to calm and collected as if nothing happened. He hands it to you with a small smirk. "Don’t say I never take care of you, ma."

Plug Nanami: Who always makes you feel special, even in the smallest ways—like when he leaves your place, pressing a kiss to your forehead before saying, "Stay out of trouble. I’ll be back when you need me."

Plug Nanami: Who, despite his smooth and professional vibe, lets his street-smart edge show when it matters. Like when he rolls up late at night after you text him about some dude getting too friendly at the bar. He leans against his car, arms crossed, his tone deadly calm. "You good? Or you need me to handle something?"

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t flinch when you ask why he’s so quiet during his drops. Instead, he gives you a slow, knowing smirk. "Why talk when I can let my actions speak for me? You like what I bring, don’t you?"

Plug Nanami: Who, after spotting you dancing with another guy at the club when your out with your friends one night, waits for you outside like he’s completely unbothered. But the second you walk up to him; his voice is sharp. "Next time you feel like playing games, make sure I’m the one who gets to win."

Plug Nanami: Who, when you tease him for his clean-cut image, throws it right back. "Don’t get it twisted, Y/N. Just because I dress like this doesn’t mean I can’t get dirty when I need to."

Plug Nanami: Who finally snaps one night after you keep pushing his buttons, pinning you against the wall, his lips grazing your ear as he growls, "You like testing me, huh? Let me show you why that’s a bad idea."

Plug Nanami: Who keeps his car spotless, but when you ride with him, lets you kick off your shoes and play your music, saying, "Don’t get used to this. You’re lucky I like you."

Plug Nanami: Who always gives you the best quality, but one night, he surprises you with a strain he says is "special order." When you ask why he’s letting you try it first, he shrugs casually. "Because I know you appreciate the finer things. Just like me."

Plug Nanami: Who never loses his cool but lets his territorial side show in subtle ways. Like the way he casually slips his arm around your waist when you’re out, his grip firm enough to make anyone watching back off.

Plug Nanami: Who doesn’t just drop off weed—he becomes the only person you trust with your stash because everything he does is handled with precision. "You’re too good for anything less than perfect, Y/N," he says, his eyes locking onto yours in a way that makes you forget to breathe.

Plug Nanami: Who stays just long enough to remind you why he’s different. He doesn’t just pass the bag; he holds your gaze and leans in close, his voice low and deliberate. "Anything else you need tonight? You know I got you."

Plug Nanami: Who, after you’ve pushed him to his limit, leaves you breathless and spent, only to calmly adjust his hoodie and smirk down at you. "See? Told you not to test me."

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who always knows what you need before you do, having your favorite strain ready and waiting, just because he’s been paying attention, making you wonder if he’s been thinking about you in between his hustles.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who leans in just a little too close when he hands you your package, his breath warm on your skin, and his eyes locking with yours for a second too long, sending a shiver down your spine.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who never forgets your personal stash of snacks, showing up with your favorite treats every time, as if he’s made it part of the deal to keep you satisfied on every level.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who shoots you a text at 2 a.m. with a simple, "Need anything?"—and you know it’s not just business, it’s his way of checking in on you, keeping you close without saying too much.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The one who always finds a way to get a little extra time with you, whether it’s offering to light the blunt himself or casually suggesting a "quick chat" before you leave, just to keep you in his orbit a little longer.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The kind of plug who never leaves anything to chance, always a step ahead, knowing exactly when you need him, what you need, and how to deliver it with that smooth, almost predatory precision.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who leans in just a bit too close, the scent of his cologne intoxicating, his gaze never leaving yours as he hands over the product with a smirk that says, "You know what this is."

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who doesn’t just offer you the best, he savors watching you take it in, eyes darkening as he watches you roll it, his voice low as he murmurs, "I picked this just for you. You’re gonna love it."

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The type to pull you aside for a private conversation, slipping his hand around your waist, keeping you close as he checks in on your dealings, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip like a silent promise—you’re his now.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who watches you with a glint in his eyes when you leave, not bothering to hide the possessive look in his gaze, as if daring anyone to make a move on you, knowing you won’t look anywhere else.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who insists on sparking the blunt with you, just to feel the heat of your fingers brush his, eyes narrowing as he watches you inhale, thinking to himself, "I’m the only one who can give you what you need."

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who texts you late at night with something simple, like, "You’re still good, right?"—but you can hear the unspoken weight in his words, as if he's just making sure no one else has access to you.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The kind of plug who doesn't just want your business; he wants your attention, your loyalty, your trust—and he won’t stop until he has you completely under his control, slowly, but steadily, getting deeper into your mind, your life, your thoughts.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who shows up unannounced, his presence in your space enough to make the air feel heavier, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that says he owns everything around you, and you can't help but feel the pull. He's not just your plug—he’s your tether.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who doesn’t just hand over the product, he delivers it to you, taking his time to make sure every exchange feels personal, as if each moment is an extension of his control over you, making sure you know that the power is always in his hands.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The one who makes it clear that his connections run deeper than you think, casually mentioning a name or two—people you don’t want to cross—and watching the way your eyes widen, enjoying the subtle intimidation that comes with being close to him.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who, after every drop, leans in with a soft chuckle, tracing the edge of your jaw with his fingers, a gentle yet possessive touch that says, "You think you can get this from anyone else?" He already knows the answer, and so do you.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who never lets you forget that he’s the one you turn to when you need more than just product—he’s the one who can take care of you, protect you, keep you safe from everything and everyone else who dares get too close.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The kind who calls you when he’s not expecting anything in return, just to check in on you, his voice a little deeper than usual, a warning hidden behind the sweetness. "You know I’ve got eyes everywhere, right?"

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who takes note of every little detail about you, from your favorite drink to how you react when someone gets too close—because he likes knowing what makes you tick, what makes you his, even when you think you’re hiding it.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The kind who, when you least expect it, shows up at your door unannounced, a knowing grin on his face as he says, "I just wanted to see you." And you know—he’s not just talking about the transaction. His gaze is too intense, his proximity too close. He wants you.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who, after a long night of business, grabs you by the wrist, pulling you toward him with a grip that’s a little too firm, a little too possessive, whispering against your ear, "You’re mine now, don’t forget that." The words hit you harder than the blunt ever could.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The one who knows you better than anyone else, picking up on your moods, your shifts in energy, and slipping into your life when you least expect it, his presence an inescapable force—because he knows he’s the only one who can keep you grounded, even if you’re not aware of it yet.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who, after every drop, stays just a little longer, making sure you don’t forget who made it happen. "I’ll be around," he says, voice low, eyes fixed on yours. "Don’t think you can walk away from me. Not that easily."

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The one who doesn’t just tease—he controls. When he lights the blunt, he holds it just out of your reach, watching the way your lips part, eyes hazy with anticipation. “You want it? Ask me nicely.” His voice drips with authority, daring you to resist.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who leans back with that smug, all-knowing smirk when you finally give in, inhaling deeply before leaning in to blow the smoke into your mouth, his eyes fixed on you as if claiming every part of you in that moment. “Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The type who knows exactly how to unravel you, his hands skimming your thighs as he sits next to you, close enough for your bodies to touch, his voice a low, commanding growl, “Tell me how much you need me, baby. Say it, and maybe I’ll give you more.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who takes pleasure in your every reaction, his lips barely grazing your ear as he murmurs, “I can feel how much you want me. Don’t hold back now. Show me who you really belong to.” His hand grips your chin, tilting your face up to meet his dark, hungry gaze.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who thrives on the control, his hand trailing down your back, his touch deliberate, calculated, as he whispers against your skin, “You think you can handle me? Prove it. I want to see you beg for what only I can give you.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The kind who pulls you onto his lap, his hands firmly gripping your hips, guiding you exactly where he wants you. His eyes burn with intensity as he smirks, “You’re not leaving until I’m done with you, baby. Let’s see how long you can keep up.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who doesn’t just own the moment—he dominates it. His lips find yours in a rough, possessive kiss, one hand tangled in your hair as he pulls you closer, claiming every inch of you. When he finally pulls back, his voice is a hoarse whisper: “You taste like mine.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who presses you against the wall, his body caging yours as his fingers trace the curve of your neck. His lips brush against your ear, his breath hot as he growls, “No one else gets this. No one else gets you. You’re mine—don’t ever forget that.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who leaves you breathless, your body trembling under his touch as he watches with that same smug, satisfied smirk. “I told you, didn’t I?” he murmurs, brushing his thumb across your lips. “You’ll always come back to me.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The one who lets you think you’re in control for a moment, only to pull you back under his spell with a single touch, a single command. His presence is overwhelming, intoxicating, and you find yourself craving more, even when you know it’s dangerous. He’s a risk you’re willing to take

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The air between you two is thick with unspoken tension, the kind that’s been building over every encounter, every lingering touch, every whispered promise. Tonight, it finally snaps.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who shows up late, unannounced, leaning against your doorframe with that dangerous smirk, eyes dark and full of intent. He steps inside without waiting for an invitation, his presence filling the room. “You’ve been thinking about me, haven’t you?” His voice is low, a little rough around the edges.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The type to corner you immediately, his body pressed against yours as his hand slides up your waist. He tilts your chin up with two fingers, his lips inches from yours, teasing as he murmurs, “Tell me you want this.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: When you finally give in, breathless and desperate, he claims your mouth with a bruising kiss, his hands gripping your body like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. His touch is firm, possessive, as if staking his claim. “I’ve been waiting for this, baby. Don’t hold back on me now.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who takes his time exploring every inch of you, his hands and lips trailing fire along your skin. He revels in your reactions—the gasps, the whimpers, the way your body arches into his touch, silently begging for more. His voice drops to a near growl: “You’re so fucking perfect.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who makes sure you know exactly who’s in control, his hands pinning your wrists above your head as he looms over you, his gaze heavy and predatory. “I want to hear you say my name,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: When you do, his expression shifts—satisfaction mixed with raw desire. “That’s my girl,” he mutters before diving back in, his lips and hands everywhere, overwhelming your senses.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The one who knows exactly how to draw every ounce of pleasure from you, his touch alternating between gentle and rough, keeping you on edge, making you crave more with every second. “You’re mine now,” he growls, his voice vibrating against your skin. “And I’m going to make sure you never forget it.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who doesn’t just focus on his own pleasure—he’s meticulous, watching every move, every reaction, making sure you’re completely unraveled beneath him. His voice is laced with arrogance and affection as he whispers, “I want to see you fall apart for me.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: When you finally do, trembling and breathless beneath him, he holds you close, his lips brushing against your temple as he murmurs, “That’s it, baby. You’re mine now. Always.” There’s no mistaking the finality in his tone—this is more than just a moment; it’s a declaration.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: After, as you lie tangled together, he lights a blunt, taking a deep drag before passing it to you. His arm drapes possessively over your waist, his voice still thick with satisfaction. “No one else gets this,” he mutters, his lips grazing your shoulder. “No one else gets you. Just me.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Dating him is like stepping into a whirlwind of luxury and danger. He’s not just your man; he’s your protector, provider, and biggest indulgence

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who insists on being part of the experience, pulling you close as you model outfits for him in private dressing rooms. His hands slide down your waist, his voice low and possessive. “This one’s nice, but I think it’d look better on the floor later.” His smirk sends shivers down your spine.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The kind of man who doesn’t just buy you things—he takes pride in seeing you shine. Every time you step out in something he bought, his eyes darken with pride and hunger. “Damn, baby. Everyone’s looking at you. Let them—they need to know you’re mine.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who makes sure you’re always riding in style, surprising you with keys to a luxury car one day, leaning against it with his signature smirk as he says, “You deserve to ride like a queen. Only the best for my girl.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who doesn’t stop at material things—he invests in your comfort and happiness. He books spontaneous getaways to five-star resorts, private villas, or even a weekend in the city, where he can spoil you in more ways than one. “We work hard, baby. Let’s play harder.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who loves seeing you pampered, scheduling spa days for you where he occasionally joins, but not before leaving you with a parting kiss and a promise: “I’ll be waiting when you’re done. Don’t take too long, though—I need you back in my arms.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who doesn’t let a day go by without reminding you who’s in control. He’s sweet, yes, but there’s always that edge, that dark possessiveness lurking beneath the surface. “You know you’re the only one for me,” he murmurs one night as he pulls you into his lap, his eyes locked onto yours. “But don’t forget—you belong to me too.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The man who’s fiercely protective, always ensuring you’re safe. If someone even thinks about crossing a line, he’s quick to remind them of his presence. “Mess with her, and you mess with me,” he says, his voice calm but laced with a deadly promise. No one dares to test him twice.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who keeps you grounded even as he elevates your life. Late at night, after the chaos of his world dies down, it’s just the two of you tangled in bed. His voice is softer then, his touch tender. “I got you, baby. Always. Don’t ever doubt that.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: And when he sees the contentment in your eyes, the way you’ve fully embraced this life with him, he can’t help but smirk. “Told you, didn’t I? No one can take care of you like I can. You’re mine, and I’ll make sure you never forget it.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who never bothers with cards. Instead, he hands you thick stacks of cash, bound with crisp rubber bands. He smirks as you take them, his voice low and smooth. “Make sure you stay looking good for me, ma. I want you shining every time I see you.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who insists on keeping you pampered, always booking your hair, nail, and lash appointments before you even realize you need them. “Your girl’s gotta stay top-tier,” he says, leaning back in his chair, watching you with hooded eyes as you thank him.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The type who pulls you close after you get dolled up, his hands grazing your waist as he murmurs, “You look unreal, baby. Every dude in this room’s jealous, but too bad—they’ll never have what’s mine.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who makes sure your wardrobe stays fresh. He casually drops off bags of designer clothes, lingerie, and heels. When you question him, he just shrugs, “I like spoiling you. Let me.” His tone makes it clear that this isn’t up for debate.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who keeps your vanity stocked with the best makeup, perfumes, and skincare, knowing that every detail counts. He leans over as you’re getting ready, kissing your shoulder and whispering, “You don’t need all this, but I love when you wear it for me.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who doesn’t let you carry a single worry. Need something paid? He’s already handled it. Want something new? It’s yours. “Money’s not an issue, baby. Just focus on looking good and staying happy for me.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who loves showing you off, taking you to exclusive parties where every eye is on you. He keeps his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd, his smirk never wavering. “Let them look. They’ll never touch.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who makes it his mission to keep you comfortable and secure. He slips extra cash into your bag whenever he leaves, kissing your forehead and saying, “Just in case you need anything while I’m out.” Even when you don’t need it, he ensures you never have to ask.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The kind of man who demands loyalty but gives it tenfold. His world may be dangerous, but he keeps you insulated from it. “You’re my priority,” he tells you late at night, his fingers brushing through your hair. “I’ll never let anything touch you.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who thrives on seeing you live your best life. He loves the confidence in your walk, the glow in your smile. Every compliment you get fuels his pride, but he always reminds you, “Don’t forget who keeps you shining like this.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: After every luxury and indulgence, it’s the quiet moments that hit hardest. Late-night conversations, his voice soft yet commanding. “I don’t do this for anyone else. You’re the only one who gets me like this.” His words are as intoxicating as his presence.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: And when he pulls you close, his arm draped over your waist, he smirks against your neck, whispering, “Told you, baby—you’ll never need anyone else. I’ve got you. Always.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who has an unshakable routine of waking you up with breakfast-in-bed money. You’re still groggy, but there’s a crisp stack of bills next to your morning coffee, his note scrawled lazily: “For whatever you feel like today. Just tell me when you’re ready to roll.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who keeps his crew in check the moment they get too familiar with you. A sharp look from him is all it takes to silence any jokes. “Y’all better watch your mouths. That’s my girl you’re talking about.” His voice is calm, but the threat is palpable.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: The man who surprises you with trips, but not the kind that come with a lot of prep. He’ll pull you aside mid-week, kissing your temple and saying, “Pack a bag. We’re leaving tonight.” The destination? Anywhere that gets you alone with him, away from prying eyes.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who takes control during high-stakes moments but softens when you need him most. After a tense deal, he’ll come home to you, his shoulders relaxing the second he sees your face. His voice drops as he pulls you in: “Rough night, baby. I just need you.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who slips a diamond bracelet around your wrist during a random night in. No occasion, no preamble. He watches your reaction carefully, his thumb brushing over the clasp. “You deserve to sparkle, ma. Just like this.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who remembers every little thing you mention. The random candle scent you loved? He has six waiting for you at home. That new spot you said you wanted to try? He’s already booked a private table. “You think I don’t listen?” he teases, but his actions prove otherwise.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who thrives on intimacy beyond the physical. He sits with you during quiet moments, rolling a blunt for you both. As the smoke curls around you, his voice is soft but serious: “Tell me what’s on your mind, baby. I want to know everything.”

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who sends you videos of him handling business, not to show off but to remind you of the weight he carries to keep your life easy. The camera pans to his smirk, his deep voice saying, “All this? It’s for you.” The intensity in his eyes makes your stomach flip.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who makes every moment feel like a power move. Whether it’s walking into a room with you on his arm or sliding behind you on a private jet, his presence is magnetic, commanding attention. “They know what’s up,” he murmurs in your ear, his hand resting possessively on your thigh.

𝙿𝚕𝚞𝚐 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚞 𝙶𝚎𝚝𝚘: Who can’t resist teasing you. Whether it’s playful taunts during an argument or subtle innuendos in public, he lives for your reactions. “Why you looking at me like that, ma? You know I got you wrapped around my finger.” His laugh is low, and his gaze burns with mischief.