Sata Jones Imagine [updated] -

The Devil’s Hour

“Like you belong to me.”

The city lights of Shinjuku bled through the rain-streaked window, painting the dark room in hues of neon pink and electric blue. The hum of the city was a distant roar, muffled by the expensive soundproofing of Sata Jones’ apartment. It was a sanctuary of controlled chaos—vinyl records stacked on shelves, boxing gloves hanging from a hook, and a half-empty bottle of bourbon on the coffee table. sata jones imagine

He scoffed, but his thumbs traced small circles on your legs. “Flattery won’t get you out of trouble.” The Devil’s Hour “Like you belong to me