JOJO Smut Collection

Seducing a Drug Lord with Fugo |Part 4|

The way to the safe house was much farther than you thought, your feet ripped to shreds by the time you got there. The white sun was rising in the pale horizon and the moon had retired. Thankfully, the blood trail was thinning now to only a few drops every block. There was no way Luca's men would be able to find you out here in the abandoned lot of seasonal vacation homes; there was no reason they'd even think of looking there. You hoped they were in too much of a panic with their boss dead and the villa burning down.

As always, the lock to enter the house was absurdly easy to pick. Muscle memory in your fingers had your hairpin opening the lock in a few jiggles.

Fugo was mumbling softly. He half walked, half stumbled inside the house then collapsed on the floor. You wanted to help him but you followed soon after. The adrenaline coursing through your body had completely depleted. You both lay there, exhausted, until the next day.

~

It was dark outside when you woke. You felt disoriented, confused. Where were you?

As you shifted on the couch (how had you gotten there?), you hissed in pain. The blanket was nowhere to be found, dropped somewhere in the street. You still wore Luca's shirt. It was encrusted into your back and once you moved, it ripped the flesh back open. You whined and lay there, still as death. Tears couldn't even come. The paralysis of pain had you in its clutches and you couldn't breathe. Oh god.

You glanced next to you and your stomach dropped. Fugo was gone.

"Fugo?" you called out in a ragged voice. He didn't respond. "FUGO!"

Steps came towards you from around the corner. Fugo rushed in, holding the poker in his hand. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

Fugo. Oh, Fugo.

His eyes were wild, but not empty like they were yesterday. He was wearing a pink fuzzy bathrobe and a matching pair of slippers. You nearly wept with relief.

"No, I'm not okay," you whimpered. "Well, it's not like anything's wrong, no one's here or anything. I just feel like I'm dying. I didn't know where you were. I thought they had taken you."

Fugo raised his eyebrows and set the poker aside.

"If they'd be taking anyone, it would be you. You killed Luca, after all. Although I'm technically an accomplice."

Fugo crouched down to your level. Ever so gently, he unbuttoned the shirt. You cried out, trying not to move to make it worse. Even breathing hurt, your ribs expanding and stretching the wound further.

You sobbed as Fugo prodded the skin around it, clinically assessing the damage. He clicked his tongue in concern. Not a good sign.

"Try not to move. I'll be right back," he told you, heading towards the linen closet. He came back with bandages and alcohol and you recoiled when he revealed a curved needle.

"I have to do this, Y/n," he said, rolling you onto your stomach. "I already stitched my head shut-" he gestured to the recently stitched head wound "-but you woke up before I could stich yours. It would have been easier when you were unconscious but it's too late now. Do you want me to knock you out? It's going to hurt."

A little competitiveness rose within you, as ridiculous as that sounded. No way were you going to sleep through it when Fugo stayed conscious. You weren't weak.

"Go ahead," you said, grabbing Luca's shirt. You gathered a bit of fabric in your mouth and bit hard.

~

About an hour later, you were stitched up. Fugo recommended you take a bath after to wipe the blood, dirt, sweat, and tears off your body.

"What, are you saying I stink?" you said testily. Fugo hadn't been very compassionate about the whole thing. He wasn't usually, but it was very at odds with how passionate he was the night before. It felt like ages ago...