Oliver Aiku could almost call himself a sadistic man. He doesn’t know where it came from — from where, from what part of his body or mind for the sudden rush of adrenaline to course through his body whenever he sees a woman cry and scream at him — sobbing and frustrated at the way he cheats on them so easily without a second thought. It gives him a rush of satisfaction, and weirdly enough, he can’t bring himself to feel guilty about it.

And you just happen to be the next target. But you weren’t stupid — no. You knew about the defenders scandalous reputation. You knew what he had in store for you — and maybe he thought that you had fallen straight into his trap, but in truth — it was the other way around. He has fallen into your trap. That’s what makes you so enticing to him.

How you refuse to his advances. How you seem interested at first — fooling him, letting him get his hopes up maybe for the first few minutes of him flirting, but end up walking away seconds later. It was a never ending game of cat and mouse, and oh boy does he find it thrilling. You were different. He’s even certain that even if he would end up having you wrapped around his pretty fingers — you would have a leash and collar on him.

“at least let me walk ya home, sweets.” He walks alongside you — the nickname rolling oh so easily off of his tongue, hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants — his eyes drifting towards you, “you can’t keep ignorin’ me like this, y’know. breaks my poor, fragile heart,”

He reaches out a hand to place atop of your head — which you quickly and firmly swat away — and it does nothing but widen the already wide grin on his face, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You were a interesting one, for sure. And he loves it. He digs it. Digs the way that you don’t fall for his advances so easily like other people — how he can’t effortlessly have you fall for him makes him genuinely fall for you harder instead.

And he’s not leaving you alone till you fall for him.