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pennyellee · 2 days ago

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐗 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 - 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐞

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings: minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, religious references, implied age gap, hoseok-sshi being tired of yoongi, coercion, psychological manipulation, death, implied murder, mentions of cancer, strong language, misogyny, emotional distress, emotional manipulation, verbal confrontation, verbal abuse, suicidal ideation, "falling" from a horse, (partially fictional) lobotomy description, traditions of the clan, pledge, intimate themes, physical violence implied, psychological conflict, oral sex, fingering, handjob, vulnerability (if i forgot smth, pls i'm so sorrryy)

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 18,8K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, forbidden medical procedures, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: WELL AT LAST INNIT? Y'all I swear I’m as impatient to put this out but also so nervous coz this one was a hard one ya know. I decided to split this into two parts, and perhaps if this would be only one part I would have to write “the end” which I’m still not contemptuous with soooo yeah. I can’t believe we are almost at the end of it all. I still haven't decided whether I will write two endings or not. The ending that I initially intended prolly won't be fancied and I definitely scrapped the open ending, but you will never know coz I won't tell ya more.

ANYWAY - for those who asked a lot about Y/N’s and Yoongi’s age gap, kudos for your patience. You can finally sleep in piece babies. Also, I have another fic that is setted in the world of CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [now i’ll know if you’re actually reading these notes hihi] of which preview will come soon after this chapter, again, very excited to push it out finally AND, yes to all of you if you’re still reading this note - CHAMPAGNE CONFETTI [what a promo] will come around as soon as I’m finished with UNI this year. If yall be good I can pull out a preview out of my sleeve for Christmas coz that shit - well damn, just damn.

Massive thank you goes to @chaoticpuff17 who managed to beta read it almost right after it was finished coz that shit is looooooooong this time. I LOVE YOU BECCA 🥹🫧🩵

Love you all, p.

m.list previous

seele (n.) the soul, inner essence, or spirit

Her mind was constantly occupied with thoughts she wished to speak loud, but couldn’t. She wanted to warn, to tell the young souls that their minds were poisoned. Y/N’s heart was heavy in her chest each time she lay in bed next to him, letting him pull her close and hold her for the entirety of the night. And far the biggest sacrifice and risk she had to make was giving him her body when he desired her. At least partially. He was pacing things slowly at first- step by step.

She never thought that in order to set herself free, she would have to give herself up first. However hard it was breaking her heart that she had to stoop so low in order to turn her life on a different path, had to be endured, sucked in.

She never understood what made her body so weak for him. Why did her mind scream for her to run even as her body yearned to be touched?

Yoongi’s hands moved over her body, igniting a fire that burned deep within her. She was supposed to feel like she was suffocating, drowning in the sea. But she could not let herself fail—not this time.

His fingers traced the curve of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. His touch was gentle yet still so possessive. Yoongi’s lips brushed against her earlobe, and his warm breath reached the softness of her skin.

He leaned in, his lips capturing hers once more, his tongue plunging deep into her mouth. Y/N moaned, her body arching against his as he pulled her closer, his hands moving to cup her breasts.

He squeezed them gently, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, sending sparks flying through her body. Y/N shuddered, her hips grinding against his, her arousal building with every passing moment. His hands moved to the button of her skirt.

He popped the button, his fingers slipping inside to caress her warm, wet flesh. Y/N gasped, her body shuddering under his touch. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb brushing over her clit.

Her hips bucked against his hand, her arousal building with every single moment. Yoongi’s fingers moved faster, his thumb circling her clit, his other fingers pumping in and out of her wet, pulsing core.

Y/N’s body shuddered, her orgasm building, her mind spinning with pleasure, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, sending her over the edge.

Y/N cried out, her body arching against Yoongi’s as she came, her orgasm washing over her in waves. Yoongi’s fingers never stopped, his thumb still circling her clit, prolonging her pleasure.

As she came down from her orgasm, Y/N felt Yoongi’s fingers slide out of her, his thumb pressing one last time against her clit before moving away. He pulled her closer, his lips capturing hers.

Yoongi’s kiss was deep and intense, his tongue dancing with hers as their naked bodies pressed against each other. She could feel his hardness against her thigh, his desire for her clear. But he knew that she was not ready.

“I need you.” His voice was husky with pleasure and selfishness. Yoongi pulled back slightly, his eyes burning with desire.

“You are so fucking beautiful—” His eyes never left hers when he lowered down to lay soft kisses on her lower abdomen.

“—And so fucking mine.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at Yoongi’s words. She could feel his warm breath against her skin as he continued to kiss her abdomen, his lips leaving a trail of heat and desire.

“Yoongi,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. Yoongi’s eyes locked onto her most intimate parts. He lowered his head, his tongue darting out to taste her. Y/N gasped at the sensation, her body arching against his as he explored her most sensitive areas. His tongue was warm and wet, his touch gentle, seductive. This only happened in one of her dreams and never did she imagine this would be once a reality.

As he continued to pleasure her, Y/N felt herself getting closer and closer to another orgasm. Her body trembled with pleasure, her breath catching in her throat as she reached the peak.

With a loud cry, Y/N came again, her body shaking against Yoongi’s as he continued to pleasure her. As she came down from her orgasm, Yoongi slowly stood up, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N’s hands slid up Yoongi’s chest, her fingers digging into his skin. He reached down and began to undo his pants, his erection springing free, swollen with need. She knew what he expected of her, hence it was easier to just accept it and be done with it.

“Can I? —” She asked, her voice trembling. She needs him to think she wants him just like he wants her. His eyes closed before he spoke with a husky voice.

“Please—” he choked out. He reached down and began to guide her hand onto his shaft, his fingers wrapping around hers to show her how to stroke him, feeling the heat and hardness of him. She could feel his pulse beating beneath her touch.

As she began to jerk him off, Y/N felt a some twisted sense of power and control. She could see the desire in Yoongi’s eyes and feel the need building within him. She increased her pace, her hand moving up and down his shaft in a rhythmic motion. Yoongi’s breath caught in his throat as Y/N continued to pleasure him. His eyes locked onto hers.

“Dove,” he groaned, his voice hoarse with desire. She could feel his body tensing, his need for release building. With a final stroke, Yoongi came, his orgasm washing over him hard, spurring the hot semen on her hand.

He did not last long, how could he when it was she pleasuring him?

The wedding of her sister was coming dangerously close, days went by rather quickly when there were no fights to fight or battles to win.

“Did you think of a gift for your husband, my dear?” An elderly female voice echoed on the terrace as she was sipping her tea. It was still not the warmest weather but the snow was by far almost gone and the sun was peeking through the white clouds. It was a perfect day to ride a horse.

“A gift?” Y/N squinted her eyebrows, not having a single clue as to what her mother was referring to.

“The day of his birth is arriving soon.” The younger female almost choked on her herbal tea, she still kept drinking as Yoongi might be taking the activities in their bedroom slow for now, she does not know when he will stop being patient. The herbs will kill any seeds that could be planted in her womb.

Y/N’s mind raced, her fingers tightening around the delicate porcelain cup. The bitter taste of the tea was a stark contrast to the sweetness she was expected to embody. The idea of giving a gift to the man who had taken everything from her felt like a cruel joke, a twisted irony that only deepened her resentment.

“A gift,” she repeated, the words almost foreign on her tongue. Her mother’s voice, though soft, held the weight of generations of expectations, yet Y/N could sense some undertone, a message to be conveyed. Expectations that Y/N had always felt burdened by, but now they were suffocating her, pressing down on her like a relentless tide.

“Yes, a gift,” her mother continued, oblivious to the storm brewing behind Y/N’s eyes. “Something meaningful. You must show him your gratitude, your… affection.” She hesitated on the last word, perhaps sensing the tension in her daughter but brushing it off as the nerves of a newlywed. After all, this was the life she had been groomed for—submission, obedience, and silent suffering disguised as devotion.

Until she got the taste of freedom.

Y/N nodded mechanically, her mind already drifting away from the conversation. Her mother’s voice became a distant murmur, drowned out by the rush of her thoughts. How could she possibly give him something meaningful when every part of her being still wanted to run away from him? When every night she spent in his arms felt like a betrayal of herself?

The sun’s warmth on her skin felt almost mocking, a false promise of comfort in a world that had turned cold and unyielding. The thought of his birthday, of celebrating the man who held her captive in a gilded cage, was almost too much to bear. She felt her resolve slipping, the carefully constructed facade of the dutiful wife threatening to crack.

But she couldn’t let it break, not yet. Not when she was so close to finding a way out. She had sacrificed too much, endured too much, to falter now.

“I’ll think of something, Ma” Y/N finally replied, her voice calm, betraying nothing of the turmoil within. Her mother smiled, satisfied, and turned to gaze out at the garden. Y/N understood her words clearly. She followed her gaze, but all she saw was the vast emptiness that mirrored her own heart.

Her eyes narrowed down to her younger sister, watching her mount a horse, Taehyung by her side just like he had been for the past months. Her father is not nor never will be happy with both hers and her sister’s elopements, not that it’s going to matter soon.

The sight stirred something bitter in Y/N, a pang of resentment mixed with a twisted sense of protectiveness. She spent days and nights wishing she could reverse Xiaoli’s fate.

“She has changed,” her mother spoke again. Y/N’s eyes closed whilst she breathed out a loud sigh.

“She has, indeed,” Y/N muttered back. If she can call prefrontal lobotomy ‘a change’, then yes, Xiaoli has changed very much so.

“Why can’t you be happy for her?” Her mother’s voice, gentle but insistent, grated against Y/N’s nerves like sandpaper.

“Are you happy for me, Ma?” Y/N countered quickly. The question hung in the air, heavy and charged, like the tense silence before a storm. Y/N’s mother hesitated, her composure faltering for a fraction of a second before she regained her poise. Her eyes flickered, a shadow of something unreadable passing through them, but it was gone before Y/N could grasp it.

“Your happiness,” her mother began, carefully choosing her words, “has always been… complicated.”

“Complicated,” Y/N echoed, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. It was a diplomatic way of saying that her happiness had never been a priority. In their world, happiness was a luxury, often sacrificed for the sake of duty, appearances, and survival.

“Do you think I do not know?” Y/N continued, her voice low, edged with the frustration she had suppressed for far too long. “Do you think I haven’t noticed how you and father always looked at me with a kind of pity? As if I’m some tragic figure in a story you would rather not tell?”

Her mother’s face remained impassive, but Y/N could see the tension in the way she held herself, the slight tremor in her hands as they rested in her lap. “I have always wanted the best for you,” her mother said, but the words felt rehearsed, as if she had said them a thousand times before and had long since stopped believing them.

“Then tell me, Ma,” Y/N pressed, leaning forward, her voice dropping to a whisper, “what is the best for me? Is it to be locked in a marriage where every night I lose a piece of myself? Or is it to watch as my sister being expe-” Y/N stopped herself from slipping such information out.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she realized how close she had come to revealing the unspeakable truth. She quickly clamped her mouth shut, biting back the words that had almost spilt out. Her mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, suspicion flickering in their depths, but Y/N forced herself to remain calm, to steady her racing heart.

Her mother’s gaze bored into her, searching for the secret Y/N had almost exposed, but Y/N refused to let it show. She couldn’t afford to slip, not now, not when everything was hanging by such a fragile thread. But her mother’s finger that softly tapped next to her ear told her that she knows more than she shows. They are listening. They always do.

The elder woman sighed just like her daughter a few moments ago. “You started to look happier these past weeks, I just thought that maybe, just maybe you’ve found your peace in your life.” The older woman continued the conversation like no other message was sent her way.

She couldn’t bring herself to meet her mother’s eyes, afraid of what she might see reflected there—pity, disappointment, or worse, a recognition of the truth Y/N was so desperately trying to hide.

Her mother reached out, placing a hand gently on Y/N’s arm. The touch was meant to be comforting, but it only served to remind Y/N of how disconnected she felt, and how far she had drifted from the person she used to be. “You deserve happiness, Y/N. Real happiness. And I want that for you, more than anything.”

Y/N felt a lump rise in her throat, choking back the bitter retort that threatened to spill out. Happiness was a luxury she couldn’t afford, not when every day was a battle to keep herself from falling apart, to protect the one person she had left in this world.

“I am trying, Ma,” she said instead, her voice barren, trying to find some semblance of peace, some way to reconcile the choices she had made. But that peace seemed as distant as the stars, something she could see but never touch.

Her mother gave her arm a gentle squeeze before letting go. “You have always been so strong, Y/N. I know life has not been easy for you, but you have survived so much. I just hope that one day, you will not have to pretend anymore.”

Y/N nodded, unable to trust herself to speak. Her mother’s words were well-intentioned, but they felt like salt in a wound that had never fully healed. She wanted to tell her mother the truth, to explain the depths of her despair, the weight of the secrets she carried, but she could not. The risk was too great, the consequences too dire.

So instead, she buried the truth deeper, locking it away in the darkest corner of her mind. She would have to continue pretending, for now, until she could find a way out—if there even was one.

“Nonetheless, do well to remember something for me—” her head turned to face her mother once more, awaiting what else she could possibly say to her.

“You are the queen here, child.”

Y/N did not understand her mother’s words at the time, but she recalled their reunion all those months ago, hearing her say those words again.

Be a queen.

“He is getting better—” his voice resonated near her. She did not turn to face him until the chair next to her made an uncomfortable noise. He was far too busy today, busier than usual. He greeted her mother with respect each time.

Her mother is not the enemy here, nor she ever was. Yet, she is being watched with such precise carefulness by all the Min worshipers, maids, soldiers - everyone. Wang Zemo was the unspoken enemy that her husband is secretly planning to eliminate.

They are not speaking about that sensitive subject, yet Y/N knows that it is going to happen no matter what she thinks about her father. Unless—

“How do you feel today?” he asked.

She finally turned to face him, her eyes searching for any sign of the concern she had grown used to. But today, something was different. There was an unfamiliar hardness in his gaze, a flicker of something she could not quite place.

“I am fine,” she replied, her voice steady despite the unease growing inside her. “Just a bit tired from last night’s work.”

“There is a jewellery showroom I would like to visit with you if you feel well enough—”

The jewellery store was a haven of elegance, with its sparkling displays and refined ambience. It was a place where time seemed to stand still, each piece of jewellery capturing a moment of beauty and grace. Today, however, an air of tension hung over the store, palpable even among the glistening gems and polished glass cases.

Y/N could sense all the stares angled at them, all the whispers were heard by her ears, yet Yoongi remained unbothered. She on the other hand felt uneasy by such attention. After all, it is not every day they welcome such a powerful man in their store. Such a dangerous man.

She sensed something was amiss, her own worries momentarily forgotten as she watched the store’s manager, conversing in hushed tones with an unknown man.

“Why are we here?” She asked him with a sudden turn he did not expect. His demeanour was unreadable, as always, but she hoped for some clarity in his response. Yoongi looked at her, his gaze steady and reassuring.

“Your Eomma said you would fancy a new set of pearls like hers.” He smiled softly, caressing her cheek with his right hand, Y/N sensing the balance of warmth of it and the coldness of his rings he had worn.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her scepticism evident. “But my birthday is not for another month. Why so soon?”

Yoongi chuckled, a sound that seemed to ease the tension in the room just a bit. “Consider it an early surprise. You can wear them at the wedding—”

“Your birthday is coming, we should talk about that instead—” she interrupted him, her tone still possessed a mix of frustration and confusion. Why would they talk about her birthday which is not for another month?

Yoongi’s smile faded slightly, and he glanced around the store, his eyes momentarily clouded with concern before he masked it again. “I just wanted to do something special for you, that is all. You have been doing so well, Dove.”

By doing well means, no tantrums, no screams, no broken vases thrown his way and they are living as a husband and wife, not just in the name. It was his way of acknowledging the fragile peace they had managed to maintain, the delicate balance that kept their world from shattering. He was selfish enough to consider himself making progress with her.

Y/N sighed, feeling the weight of his words. “What would you fancy for your birthday?” She asked carefully.

Yoongi paused, a hint of surprise flickering across his features. He chuckled a little before he leaned down to press his lips softly against hers for a moment, his hand slipping down to her belly.

“You know,” he began, choosing his words carefully, “I’ve been thinking… about something we already talked about—”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?” Her gaze slipped down to his large hand on her belly, awaiting the worst.

He took a breath, his gaze steady as he looked into her eyes, while his forehead rested on hers. “I know I said that it will not help anything, but I would love to have—”

“Not here—” she said way too quickly, her voice tinged with urgency. “Let us not talk about it here, okay?”

His expression shifted, understanding, but a bit sad as his first thoughts led him to rejection.

“I am sorry, this is not the right place, —” he replied, his voice lowering to a whisper as if he feared that even speaking about it might attract unwanted attention. “But I want you to know it is on my mind, Dove.”

Y/N felt a flutter in her chest, a conflict brewing within her. The idea of a child, of a future that seemed so distant.

“Can we talk at home?” She asked carefully. The tension in his shoulders eased, she wanted to talk about it, and his heart started to beam.

“Deal. Let us just find you those pearls for now, hm?” A little peck on his lips was enough confirmation that she was more than ready to pick up some jewellery and leave.

As they moved through the store, the vibrant displays of jewellery momentarily distracted them from the weight of their conversation. Y/N couldn’t shake the thought of Yoongi’s words, though. She knew she needed to play her role. However, she was not ready to make such a big sacrifice for the taste of freedom. She had a different scenario in her head.

“What do you think about these pearls?” She gestured towards a stunning strand that caught the light just right, reflecting an array of colours.

Yoongi’s gaze followed her gesture, and he leaned closer to examine the pearls. “They are beautiful. They remind me of you—classic and timeless beauty,” he said, his tone playful but sincere.

She laughed softly, the tension of their earlier conversation easing. “You just say that because I am wearing a white dress.”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “But I mean it.” He smiled at her, his eyes reflecting the love he felt for her with the hope that perhaps when they returned home, they could explore the depths of their future dreams together. Perhaps.

The private dining room was filled with the warm glow of candlelight, the scent of delicious food wafting through the air. The large table was set with an assortment of dishes, each more appetizing than the last.

Y/N glanced around, taking in the sight of the family gathered together, a rare moment these days when everyone is put to work. Each member of the family had a role to play, each one integral to the operation and survival of the Min clan.

She and Seokjin run around the hospital doing what they can to heal and help those in need. These past weeks were especially busy after several raids on the warehouses the Min clan owns.

Taehyung worked his magic, covering every single trace that would make the whole syndicate fall.

Jungkook, seated beside Jimin who has been running the hotel perfectly, took a deep breath. “The Min soldiers are ready. We have increased patrols around the warehouses and fortified our defences. I have got the best man on it, Yoongi-hyung. We will not let anything happen again like last time.”

“Yoongi nodded, his expression serious. “Good. We cannot afford any more breaches—”

Jungkook nodded firmly. “I will.”

Hoseok leaned back in his chair, his usually cheerful demeanour replaced with a hard edge. “I have been tracking down leads on who’s responsible for the raids. We have collected some old debts and sent a clear message.”

“It has been happening way too often lately,—” Namjoon cleared his throat, bringing the attention back to the whole table.

“It is the peak of the trade season, innit?” Yoongi mused out loud. Not bothered by that at the moment, he knows he can rely on his men. His wife sticking the food around with her chopsticks, pretending to eat from the barely filled marble dish bothered him more.

They have yet to return to their conversation but that is not what occupies her mind now. Yoongi yet again wondered whether her silence meant that she was considering what he said or being tortured by that thought.

“How are things over at the sanatorium?” The right-hand man raised the question when he cleared his throat, hoping to get the young Buin to talk about the sector that was entrusted to her. Under the watchful eye of Doctor Kim Seokjin.

Yoongi, seated at the head of the table, glanced at her with a small smile. Despite the tension of the past weeks, moments like this reminded him of why they fought so hard. He reached under the table, finding her hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. Then, with a gentle, almost tender gesture, he picked up a piece of grilled fish and placed it on her plate.

“We have zero deaths so far, thanks to—” Seokjin’s voice became a blur when she noticed his hand squeezing hers.

“Eat up, Dove—” Yoongi said softly, ignoring Seokjin’s report, his eyes filled with concern. Xiaoli looked around the table with wide eyes, still getting used to the boisterous dynamics of the group.

“Are you feeling fine, Unnie?” She pried, eating a piece of kimchi while doing so. “You have been working a lot lately.”

“Just peachy, pumpkin,” Y/N replied with a bright smile, trying to mask the fatigue she felt. She noticed the way Yoongi’s brow furrowed slightly at her response, a subtle reminder of their shared worries, but she chose to brush it off.

Hoseok, sitting across from her, leaned in with a teasing grin. “Peachy? You have been working more hours than Jin-hyung at the hospital, Buin—” he expressed his concern.

“And I love working—” Y/N began, her voice light, but she was quickly interrupted by Jin, who feigned horror.

“Yes, yes and yes, that does not change that you should take a little break.” Jin insisted, his tone dramatic as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms.

“Oh shut up, you do need me, Dr Kim.” Y/N shot back playfully, her smile growing wider as she tried to lighten the mood.

“Touché,” Jin replied, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “But that does not mean you should work yourself into the ground. You are not invincible, Buin.”

Jungkook leaned forward, a teasing glint in his eye. “Yeah, the last thing we need is for our favourite sister to pass out in the middle of surgery because she did not eat breakfast!” He noticed. Of course he did.

Y/N rolled her eyes at him playfully. “I can manage just fine. I am not collapsing anytime soon. I promise!”

“Not with that attitude,” Namjoon said, leaning back with an amused expression. “But let us not test the limits of your endurance, okay?”

“Eat up, Dove. No more arguments,” Yoongi said firmly, though his voice softened at the end.

Y/N looked at the fish, then back up at him. “I will, but you all need to stop treating me like I am fragile, at least I am not that fragile anymore—” her voice fell down at the end of the sentence.

Nobody forgot, even though it seemed like they did. The scar on her neck is yet to fade and smooth into her skin. Before she managed to slip to those thoughts, Jimin’s voice echoed through the room.

“How about a spa day, girls?” Y/N chuckled lightly, glancing around the table, endorsing that kind of domesticity. But when she looks at her sister and sees a woman she never was before, it makes her heart ache.

October through November 1938

Fresh off the boat from China, her wide-eyed innocence was observable by many others. The scent of hay mingled with the musky aroma of leather and sweat as she walked through the stables, admiring the majestic kladrubers behind the iron bars. Reaching through them, her hands deftly brushed against their sleek coats.

She came here to forget about all the screaming that was happening behind closed doors of the room that was “politely” offered to them. Her father wanted to come home, with her sister preferably, but the young Korean Kkangpae just had to be so madly in love with Y/N that he was not willing to let her just go. At least, that is what Xiaoli observed from behind the scenes.

The younger sister did not know how it came to this nor what was his business with her father, and she will most likely never know the whole truth nor she will remember. She was not like her sister Y/N. Xiaoli knew very well that she must marry a wealthy mafia lord, a strong ally to her father at best. Hence, she made her peace with it since the first time she bled and became a woman.

The time was ticking and knowing that Y/N got to get higher education shifted the focus on her instead. Xiaoli was moulded to be the perfect, obedient and dutiful wife Y/N would never become. Not because she was not capable but because her sister had different ambitions. Ambitions that Xiaoli believed would kill her and many others. And once, she understood them. That proved to be no longer the case.

Y/N wanted to be a doctor, she wanted to help people, heal people and Xiaoli understood that was the persona she grew in.

She admired her sister for her strength and resilience. It would not take the man her sister is engaged to a second more to charm Xiaoli - in the right circumstances. He was handsome, successful, and certainly very intelligent as he managed to put the whole Triad on their feet by swaying Y/N.

The scar made him even more intriguing in Xiaoli’s eyes. There was something about the respect that vibrated through the room once he stepped in. She was not allowed to attend the meeting or meet her sister that day, and per her mother’s words, ‘it would only hurt her seeing you’.

Well, it definitely hurt Xiaoli. They spent very little time together these past years and she missed her dearly. The happiness and pride she felt on the day Y/N finally graduated was short-lived; their aunt passed away and even she was not stupid enough to not realise what it meant.

Sitting at the breakfast table in their family mansion back in Hong Kong, a rageful scream reverberated through the walls. The news that Y/N took the chance and ran for the hills.

“She barely reaches your chin, how come you were not able to stop her!”

The echoes of the scream seemed to linger in the opulent dining room, bouncing off the intricate wooden panelling and crystal chandeliers.

Xiaoli’s mother stood at the head of the table, her face twisted with fury and disbelief. The usually composed matriarch of the family was unrecognizable, her controlled demeanour shattered by the news of Y/N’s escape.

Xiaoli’s father, Wang Zemo sat in his chair with a deep frown etched on his face, his hands clenched into fists. He was a man of few words, but his silence was more intimidating than any outburst. The tension in the room was suffocating, each family member drowning in their own thoughts and fears.

The Lieutenant stood at the door frame to the dining room they were gathered in. Trembling under Wang Zemo’s hard glance.

“We did not think she would go that far,” he muttered, his voice shaky, afraid to lose his head. What he meant is that they trusted her sister to not do anything like that.

Xiaoli’s heart ached back then. She knew Y/N had been unhappy with the arranged marriage, but she hadn’t realized the depths of her despair. She admired her sister’s courage to defy their parents and the entire Triad’s expectations, but she also feared for her safety. Running away from such powerful families was no small feat, and the repercussions could be deadly.

“Stupid girl—” Wang Zemo scoffed at his oldest child’s incompetence to meet the expectations.

“She jeopardized everything!” Wang Zemo repeated, his voice rising with each syllable. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the edge of the table, the wood creaking under the pressure.

Xiaoli’s mother placed a calming hand on Wang Zemo’s shoulder, though her expression was one of thinly veiled panic.

“We need to stay calm,” she urged, her voice steady but strained. “Anger will not bring her back.” Wang Zemo shook off her hand, standing up abruptly.

He turned to the Lieutenant, his eyes narrowing. “What have you done to find her?”

The Lieutenant stammered, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “We have mobilized all available men. We are taking every possible lead, and every contact she might have. But... but she has been very careful, sir. It is almost like she planned this way ahead..”

‘Of course she did,’ Xiaoli thought, feeling a mix of pride and sorrow for her sister. Y/N had always been meticulous and determined. She would not have run away on a whim; she would have made sure she had a solid plan.

“Not good enough,” Wang Zemo growled. “I want results. And I want them now—”

“Your fucking failure reflects on all of us!”

Xiaoli could feel the tears threatening to spill over, but she blinked them back, refusing to show any weakness. She had to be strong, for her sister and for herself.

Xiaoli’s mother flinched at the vulgarity, her mask of composure slipping for just a moment. The Lieutenant’s face turned a shade paler, and he nodded vigorously, desperate to appease his furious boss.

“Father,” Xiaoli spoke up, her voice surprisingly firm. “Maybe we should consider why Y/N ran away. Forcing her back might just not be the answer.”

Wang Zemo’s eyes snapped to her, his expression one of disbelief mixed with anger. “Are you questioning me, Xiaoli?”

“No, Father,” she said quickly but then gathered her courage. “I just think... there must be a better way. Y/N is smart. She would not do this without a good reason. Maybe we should try to understand her, rather than just bring her back by force.” She rephrased herself.

A heavy silence filled the room, everyone waiting for Lǎodà’s reaction. He stared at Xiaoli for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice surprisingly calm but dangerously low.

“You do not have the same sinful intentions as your sister, daughter, right?”

“Of course not.” She forced a smile.

The conversation ended before it managed to even start. Xiaoli’s voice was never heard once she spoke up, and the most devastating was that not even her older sister could advise their father or her mother. The only woman that the hot-headed Wang Zemo ever listened to was their dear auntie, but she is no longer here to prevent him from the madness he is planning to do.

There is no one to make Wang Zemo see reason anymore.

The warm sun filtered through the slats of the stable, casting playful shadows across the hay-strewn floor. There he stood, at the very edge, her heart racing as she took in the sight of him. His strong form bent over one of the kladrubers, grooming the horse with gentle precision. Xiaoli quietly watched him from a distance, adored in tailored high-waisted trousers, in a rich earth tone, paired with a fitted, button-down shirt. His choice of leather riding boots suggests functionality and style, perfect for a day at the stables.

Xiaoli’s heart raced as she observed Kim Taehyung’s deft movements. She admired not just his looks but the quiet confidence he exuded—a stark contrast to the chaos of her family. His demeanour and interaction with his brothers.

They have been talking.

Matter of fact, they have been talking daily. Sometimes from far away, it felt like they were talking more than casually. Xiaoli cherished the moments she spent with Taehyung, often finding solace in their conversations at the stables, sun room or dining hall.

They would talk about everything—his aspirations, her dreams, the horses they adored. He shared stories of his family’s dynamics, highlighting the playful banter with his brothers, while she opened up about the weight of her own familial expectations, carefully steering the discussions to remain light-hearted. But he noticed her dissatisfaction.

Taehyung looked up, a warm smile spreading across his face, instantly lighting up his sharp features when he saw her standing near him.

“Hey there, angel” he said, his tone inviting, “Want to help?”

Xiaoli nodded, her pulse quickening. As she moved beside him, the connection sparked an unexpected flutter in her chest. There was something about him that felt safe, a reprieve from her tumultuous life.

Their fingers brushed as they reached for the grooming brush at the same time, and Taehyung chuckled softly.

“I don’t bite–”

Xiaoli’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed lightly, feeling an ease she had not known in ages. The playful banter continued, their laughter echoing softly against the stable walls, and for a moment, the weight of her family’s expectations and her father’s wrath slipped away.

“Would you give me the honour to accompany you riding today, angel?” Xiaoli hesitated, glancing down at her hands.

“I wish I could, Taehyung-sshi, but I cannot today—” Taehyung’s smile faltered for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with understanding.

“What is the matter, dear?” Xiaoli bit her lip, avoiding his gaze.

“It is just... my father’s been on edge lately, and I don’t want to risk making things worse. Truth to be told, he is not very keen on spending my leisure time with you.”

Taehyung’s brow furrowed with concern, and he took a step closer, his voice softening.

“I do not fancy your father either, but he also does not fancy any of my clan.”

Xiaoli nodded, understanding the unspoken tension that simmered beneath their lighthearted exchanges. “I know, but that makes it all the more complicated.”

He leaned closer, lowering his voice as if sharing a secret. “You deserve to enjoy yourself, regardless of what he thinks. Life is too short for shadows.” He mused.

“I know—” she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Spend it with me.”

He said softly but rather abruptly, closing the distance between them. Her eyes searched for any signs of foul play but found none. Her breathing became shaky and her mind started to spin around all the scenarios that her father would be starring in as the villain. Xiaoli’s heart raced at his words, caught between desire and duty.

“What?—” She asked, shocked. Xiaoli took a deep breath, the weight of the moment heavy on her chest.

“Taehyung, I appreciate how you feel. I truly do. But I must be honest with you.” He tilted his head, a flicker of concern crossing his face.

“I think of you as a friend, someone…someone I can confide in, but…but nothing more,” she continued stammering, although her voice remained gentle. “With everything going on, I need to focus on my family and my responsibilities. I thought you understood that–”

Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, masking his disappointment and internal anger.

“Friends it is.” He said through gritted teeth. The moment hung in the air, tinged with unspoken emotions, yet Xiaoli felt a bittersweet relief wash over her. In a world where love could be both a luxury and a burden, she valued the connection they shared, however fleeting it was.

Unfortunately for her, Kim Taehyung’s intentions are rooted far too deep to be classified as friendship.

“Tomorrow, we shall go take this boy for a ride, what you say, angel?”

Taehyung’s voice dripped with a charm that both thrilled and unnerved her.

Xiaoli hesitated, a flicker of unease creeping into her heart. “I—”

“Come on, it shall be fun! Just you and me,” he urged, his eyes glinting with a mix of excitement and something deeper, something she couldn’t quite place.

She took a breath, sensing the weight of his expectations.

“Of course–”

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls, the quiet ticking of a clock echoing in the background. She had written to Y/N again. Despite everything, despite the unspoken rules the Korean Kkangpae established - as per Taehyung’s words.

She had a strong feeling that something was going to go down the hill, and she expressed this in her plea letters to her sister who is being held in a place called the Sanctuary. Nobody ever knew where this place was hidden. Hidden from all those who wished for the downfall of the Min empire the scarred leader was extending slowly.

The words flowed onto the page, frantic and desperate - whatever happens, I shall not be able to control it. I feel like the choices will be taken away from me, dear sister.

But as she folded the paper, her heart ached. She had no idea if she could send it. No idea if she would ever be able to.

A soft knock at the door startled her, and before she could even respond, Taehyung entered, his presence filling the room like a storm. His sharp gaze immediately fell on the letters.

“We have talked about this, Xiaoli, you know that that is forbidden,” he asked, his voice smooth, almost too calm. The Taehyung she was seeing now was different from the one she met when she first laid foot onto the Min grounds. He has changed, and it was her rejection that led him to show his true colours to her.

Xiaoli’s heart skipped a beat. “I just wish to tell her I miss her,” she whispered, almost pleading. His hands quickly unfolded the paper she had laid in front of her, reading the words. That is when Xiaoli knew she was destined to be doomed.

“She is my sister, Taehyung. I cannot just abandon her like this.”

“You can,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “And you will for now. She needs to adjust to her life as Buin of this clan.”

Xiaoli’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening at the mention of Buin, the title that now belonged to her sister, the role that would tether Y/N even deeper to the Kkangpae.

“I can see that you are continuing this insanity that your dear sister exhibits too. Disobedience must be running in your family, but we shall change that soon.”

Taehyung stepped closer, his presence engulfing her, the scent of his cologne overpowering the faint smell of the letter’s ink. His fingers brushed the paper on the desk, now crumpled and discarded, and Xiaoli’s breath hitched at the coldness in his touch.

“What are you talking about again Taehyung? I thought we were done speaking about this topic.” Taehyung’s gaze sharpened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer, the air thickening with the tension between them.

“I shall see you in the morning, and I hope that a good sleep will bring you to your senses.” He said, his voice lowering, a cold warning hanging in the silence. Xiaoli’s heart raced, a wave of frustration and helplessness flooding through her.

“I will not let you break me. No is a no—” she raised her voice when he was about to leave the room. She lifted her chin, refusing to back down.

“Nor will you break my sister, mark my words Kim Taehyung, and be sure to tell them to that leader of yours.”

For a moment, there was silence.

Taehyung’s lips curled into a cold smile.

“You love me, Xiaoli. You do—” his bold and explicit words sent a tidal wave through her body.

“The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can live without the weight of that foolishness.”

“Good morning, angel.”

Truth to be spoken, Xiaoli was afraid to not come and a part of her knew that he would have his way nonetheless. Today, she was determined to put an end to Kim Taehyung's attempts to groom her.

Before she could reply, Xiaoli felt his lips brushing against hers, soft yet demanding. The world around them faded, leaving only the warmth of their connection, the lingering tension of unspoken words. She found herself responding,telling herself, just this once, curiosity mingling with a twinge of fear. She did not understand what was happening. Did she not make her standing in their relationship clear last night? His vulgarity shocked her.

The air was crisp and cool in November, a hint of frost glimmering on the ground as Xiaoli and Taehyung stood close in the stable, the warmth of their earlier kiss lingering like a sweet echo. The horses shifted in their stalls, unaware of the tension that had just shifted between the two of them.

The next moment, she was observing his muscular hands saddling the horse for her, still not understanding what happened. Too shocked to speak, to even comment or reply good morning to him.

Taehyung’s posture was relaxed, but beneath the surface, an insidious obsession twisted within him. He guided his horse closer to hers, a gleam in his eye that hinted at the darkness lurking beneath his charming façade.

“Have you thought about my proposal, my beloved?” He asked, curious. His proposal was rather sudden and the change in him very obvious. He was not hiding his feelings for her anymore. At least that is how he perceived the situation.

“Taehyung,-” she called out softly, watching as he approached, his breath misting in the cold air. His usual confident stride seemed tempered by the season’s sombre beauty.

“I am not sure if I can fully embrace this. I told you so–” she admitted, her gaze unwavering. He lifted his eyesight to meet hers. Taehyung, mounted on his sleek black horse, maintained a close pace beside Xiaoli, who rode a chestnut mare. The crisp air was filled with the sounds of hoofbeats crunching through the snow.

“Do you feel that?” Taehyung asked, his breath visible in the frosty air. “It is as if the world is ours alone.”

Xiaoli glanced at him, warmth blooming in her chest. “Nature is certainly beautiful,” she replied, the thrill of the ride mixing with the tension that still lingered after their kiss.

“Just like you,” he said, the sincerity in his voice making her heart race. “I want to share moments like this with you forever.”

“Taehyung…” She whispered, her disapproval evident in her voice.

“Xiaoli, beloved—” he said, voice smooth yet edged with intensity, “imagine a life where you belong to me, where no one can take you away. You would never have to worry about your father or anyone else. Just us.” His smile was wide, but there was a predator’s hunger behind it.

“Did we not share good times together, angel?” She shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, feeling the weight of his gaze.

“Taehyung, this is not what I want. I already have obligations—”

He interrupted, his tone sharpening.

“I can become your obligation, would you not fancy that over marrying a stranger?” He stressed out.

“We have our lives, our families, and that kiss—”

“Was it not real, my dear?” he interrupted, a spark of frustration flashing in his eyes.

“Uncalled for!” She raised her voice.

“You cannot just kiss me, Taehyung, we talked about us being friends just yesterday, did we not?” she said, trying to find the right words. Taehyung’s expression softened, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging the weight of her words.

But as they rode deeper into the woods, Xiaoli could not shake the feeling that something had shifted—not just between her and Taehyung, but within herself. The kiss replayed in her mind, its intensity causing her to question her feelings.

The snowflakes swirled around them, creating an enchanting atmosphere that felt almost dreamlike. But beneath the surface, Xiaoli knew this was not going to end well for her.

“Is this yet another strategic move of your Kkangpae?” She blurted out. Taehyung’s expression darkened at her words, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something more intense.

“And if it is?” he cut in, anger and hurt lacing his tone. “I am offering you everything, and you are turning me down for what? Some semblance of duty?”

“The future I want does not include you!” she cried, her voice trembling. They cannot be friends, she has decided that it will be better to lose him than fall in line. The reality of their situation hung heavily between them, each word slicing deeper than the last.

“You do not have to part with your sister ever again!” Her mind stops for a fleeting moment, thinking about this for some peculiar proposal.

“You think this will make me fall in love with you, do you not?” she spat, the bitterness on her tongue sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room.

His lips curled into a cold, controlled smile, the kind of smile that made her skin crawl. “Love,” he murmured, getting closer until their faces were mere inches apart. “Love will come, in time. Whether you want it or not.”

Her body tensed, every fibre of her being fighting against the reality of it all. This is not love, she thought, her mind screaming with the agony of the truth.

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed, a mix of desperation and determination flaring within them. “You do not even know what you want yet, Xiaoli. You are running from a feeling that can change everything–”

“You make me feel alive,” he continued, searching her eyes for understanding.

“Taehyung, I cannot—” her tears spilt over, her voice losing its power.

“Just trust me,” he urged, his fingers brushing her arm. “Give in.”

“What are you—”

In a swift motion, he pushed his horse forward, pressing against her side. Xiaoli instinctively jerked her reins, trying to regain control. The sudden jolt sent her horse rearing back, and she lost her balance, falling hard to the ground. Pain exploded in her head as it connected with the earth, a sharp crack reverberating in the stillness around them.

Taehyung dismounted swiftly, panic lacing his features for a fleeting moment that luck was not on his side, that she fell harder than he wanted her to. But before you could blink it was all replaced by a chilling calmness.

“Everything shall be alright, my beloved. I shall make it all better,” he murmured, his voice soft yet chillingly possessive.

“I love you.”

The world spun into a blur of pain and darkness, Xiaoli’s last coherent thought was the cold touch of Taehyung’s hand, his voice a chilling promise in her ear.

When she woke, her head throbbed with a dull, persistent ache. Her surroundings were unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the snowy forest. The room was sterile, the air heavy with the scent of antiseptics. Her body felt restrained, bound to a cold, metal table. Panic surged through her veins as she struggled to move, but the restraints held firm.

Blinking slowly, she tried to make sense of her surroundings, the sterile white walls closing in on her. Kim Seokjin, one of the seven, stood at the foot of the bed, his face an unreadable mask. Dressed in a pristine white coat, he exuded an unsettling calmness. The tools of his trade lay meticulously arranged on a nearby table.

Xiaoli knew that he was the family’s doctor, but she did not understand what she was doing in his practice.

“Doctor Kim... what am I doing here?" Her voice was a fragile whisper when she addressed the older male, barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

He approached her slowly, his eyes cold and clinical. “There is no need to be afraid, dear. I will make it all better for you now.”

Strapped to the bed, Xiaoli’s attempts to move were futile. Panic surged through her veins as Seokjin prepared the instruments, his movements deliberate and precise. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the horror of her situation sinking in with every passing second.

“Is this what you did to your fiancée?!” Xiaoli remembers the talks of the young female kicking and screaming any moment she had the chance to, just to make it harder for Doctor Kim in public, making everybody know that she was here against her will.

Seokjin paused, a flicker of emotion crossing his otherwise stoic face. For a brief moment, his eyes softened, memories perhaps surfacing in his mind. But the moment was fleeting, replaced quickly by his professional detachment.

“Her thoughts were just as confused as yours,” he murmured, almost to himself. “But in the end, it was necessary. For her, and for us.”

The drastic change in her demeanour did not go unnoticed, yet everybody chose to ignore that, calling it her “enlightenment.”

Xiaoli’s heart raced faster, her breaths coming in quick, shallow gasps. “No, please. You do not have to do this. I can... I can leave. I shall not tell anyone that this ever happened.”

“You would leave your dear older sister here when we are offering you life within our ranks?”

His words struck a nerve, the mention of her sister pulling at Xiaoli’s deepest fears. “My sister…,” she stammered, her mind racing with conflicting emotions. She couldn’t abandon her, but she couldn’t accept this twisted fate either. Y/N would want her to fight this.

Seokjin’s eyes hardened, his patience thinning. “This is not a negotiation, Xiaoli. Your sister is safe, and she will remain so as long as you comply.”

In that unfortunate situation, Xiaoli did not know that there was no way that they would do something to Y/N, how could they? She ought to be the queen of them all. They cannot risk it going the wrong way.

A sob escaped her lips, the weight of her predicament crashing down on her. “Please, Doctor Kim. There must be another way.”

“You sound just like her. Your pleas are almost identical—” Seokjin’s expression softened, but only slightly.

“There is not. This is for your own good and for the good of the family. You will understand in time that Taehyung-sshi is the best thing that could ever come your way, child.”

Xiaoli’s tears flowed freely as Seokjin moved closer, the cold metal of his instruments glinting under the harsh lights. Her mind raced, searching for any possible escape, but the reality of her situation was inescapable.

“Please...,” she whispered one last time, her voice breaking.

Seokjin’s hand rested gently on her forehead, a mockery of comfort. “Hush now, Xiaoli. It will all be over soon.”

As the procedure began, Xiaoli’s cries echoed in the sterile room, a haunting symphony of despair. “Please...,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I cannot do this.”

Seokjin approached her with a syringe in hand, his expression one of detached professionalism. The needle glinted ominously in the harsh light, a harbinger of the nightmare to come. “This will help you relax,” he said, his tone clinical and devoid of empathy.

Xiaoli’s heart pounded in her chest as the needle pierced her skin, a sharp sting that quickly gave way to a spreading numbness. Her vision blurred at the edges, the room tilting and swaying as the sedative took hold. Despite the fog settling over her mind, the panic continued to surge through her veins.

As the sedative dulled her senses, Xiaoli’s thoughts became fragmented, and disjointed. Memories of her childhood with Y/N flashed before her eyes, moments of laughter and love now tainted by the fear of losing herself. She tried to cling to those memories, to hold on to the essence of who she was, but they slipped through her fingers like sand.

“Why are you even doing this?” she managed to murmur, her voice slurred by the sedative. “Please... I will do anything...”

“Because you were not ready to accept his love and the love of this clan, my dear,” Seokjin replied, his voice eerily calm. Xiaoli’s thoughts grew increasingly disjointed, a chaotic jumble of fear, pain, and fragmented memories.

Seokjin’s voice broke through the haze, a steady drone that contrasted sharply with the chaos in her mind. “You will be better soon. You will see things clearly and understand your place.”

“Pray for your sister to not need this.” Xiaoli’s mind shut down in a desperate bid for self-preservation. The last thing she saw was Taehyung’s face, his expression a mixture of triumph and possession before everything faded to black.

Her head was secured tightly after she lost consciousness, Seokjin carefully lifted her upper eyelid, exposing the soft tissue beneath. The point of entry is the thin, bony orbital roof, a structure that protects the eye within its socket. He is trying to do this without having to opt for the leucotome method.

Inserting the slender leucotome, just above the eyeball he severed the white matter fibres of her prefrontal cortex, methodically disconnecting the very essence of her thoughts and emotions, enough to just reorganize her persona into something she was not. Less capable of resistance, less capable to decide for herself.

“This better work, Seokjin, I cannot lose her.” His words cut through the air, a desperate plea as his gaze fixed on Xiaoli’s still form. She had to come back as the woman he wanted—obedient, loyal, bound to him in every way.

Nobody would ever notice. After all, Xiaoli was never opposed to being a wife of a high profile mafia member in comparison to her sister.

Her thoughts, her dreams, her fears—all of them slipping away, restructured, reshaped. The woman Taehyung had demanded would emerge from this, but at what cost?

Xiaoli would no longer fight him. She would no longer question him. In time, she would look to him, and him alone, for purpose.

Her body would heal; the bruising would fade, and the scar on her scalp would eventually blend, after all, everybody will think that it needed to be done after her unfortunate fall from the horse.

“If not, I will do it on the other side too, but that is risky” Seokjin murmured, but even he wasn’t sure if he believed it. Doing it with only one side was just as risky. The woman she had been might not return, but the woman Taehyung desired most certainly would.

“Why?” Taeyhung voiced.

“You do not want her to be a vegetable, do you?”

Xiaoli, the girl who would fight for her sister to be free of the notorious Korean Kkangpae Min, would cease to exist.

The rest would simply be a matter of time.

The next time she wished to write to her sister, innocently, Taehyung’s hand shot out, swiftly taking hold of the letters and ripping them from her grasp before she could finish her sentence. The paper fluttered to the floor, torn and lifeless.

“You cannot write to her, Xiaoli,” he said, each word deliberate. Xiaoli could not shake off the familiarity of this moment. As if she was reliving something from before.

“You belong here now, with me, love. You owe everything to this clan. To me.”

Her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes as she tried to hold onto the fragments of herself that still fought to resist. “Alright, I understand.”

“She is safe,” he said, his voice cold and final, “and if she is to remain so, she will need to embrace her new life, just as you will. You will have no more distractions, no more ties to the past. Your sister will adjust, just like you did.”

She was a shell that smiled when expected, nodded in approval when necessary, and followed Taehyung’s every command without question. She was no longer a woman who sought freedom for her sister, who fought against the weight of the world. No, she was now simply his—his to guide, to possess, to mould into the role that had been chosen for her.

The pain of her sister’s struggle was no longer her burden to bear, not when she had been given a new, more fitting role to play. She belonged here now, she understood that—at least, she told herself she did. The clan had welcomed her with open arms, and Taehyung’s presence was both commanding and comforting. He was the anchor to her existence now, and she had no choice but to submit, for it was the only life she had left.

The day of their wedding arrived, the final step in the transformation of Xiaoli into the woman she had been shaped to be. The air was thick with anticipation, the ornate halls of the family compound dressed in rich colours, the scent of incense mingling with the opulence of the setting. Guests, powerful men and women from every corner of the clan gathered in hushed reverence, all eyes on the bride as she stepped into the room.

The silk fabric, lustrous ivory, was adorned with intricate patterns that seemed to dance in the flickering light, each thread whispering secrets of elegance and heritage. Her attire was simple yet breathtaking—a testament to timeless beauty. Even though it tinged Y/N with sadness that her sister chose to wear a Korean wedding dress instead of showing off their culture. It seemed that they even took the country out of her too.

The ceremony was a blur, just like everything else. The vows, the prayers, the promises—they all felt distant, detached. There was no room for anything more. Not when her thoughts, her emotions, had been so carefully erased, so perfectly reshaped to fit this role. She loved him, because she was told to do so.

As they left the altar together, Taehyung’s hand around hers, there was a finality to the moment that left her breathless. The gold band on her finger, heavy with meaning, designed with filigree — an oval, dark red ruby sat at its centre, glowing with an almost ominous warmth.

She glanced upon her sister sitting next to her husband once the ceremony was almost at its end. Her hand was sliced with a knife, Y/N, now the Min Buin, watched in silence, her expression unreadable. Xiaoli saw only the coldness of a woman who had embraced her new role.

She recited her pledge of loyalty to them and Y/N could not help herself but sigh. She could not reverse Xiaoli’s fate. The girl she knew was long gone and the woman she became was not who Y/N knew. Although, that will not make her love her less.

Her gaze flickered to Xiaoli, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something—regret, perhaps, or guilt—but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

Xiaoli’s bloodied trembling hand remained pressed against Y/N’s belly, a symbol of sacrifice, for what was to come. Y/N looked at her for a long moment before her hands gripped Xiaoli’s to reassure her for the last time that she was here. Min Yoongi’s watchful eyes did not miss this slight change in both of them, but for now, he is determined to let it slip.

“Blessed be the fruit of your future legacy, Kkangpae Min.”

“Lǎodà Wang wishes to speak to you, Min Buin.” Y/N has set down the cup of her today’s dose of the herbal tea and breathed in, frustrated. She sat there for a moment longer, staring at the delicate ceramic cup.

“You can tell him what you usually do, Xiu — he can schedule an audience with me whilst my husband is present—” she began. Her voice was steady, but tinged with the faintest thread of frustration as she glanced at the delicate ceramic cup in front of her. The soft scent of the herbal tea filled the air, but it couldn’t soothe the growing unease tightening in her chest.

Xiu was her father’s maid since she was a child, hence she hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding. “Min Buin, this matter seems urgent. Lǎodà Wang insists on seeing you alone.”

“I have no interest in seeing him alone, Xiu—” She had kept her distance from him ever since her marriage to Yoongi.She did not protest when his command was to limit the interaction between the father and the sisters.

“I must insist, Min Buin.” Xiu repeated, her voice calm but firm. It was rare for Xiu to speak with such authority, but there was something in her demeanour that suggested the urgency of this matter was not to be ignored.

Y/N exhaled slowly, her thoughts spinning. “Alright, tell him to meet me in Kkangpae’s office. Off you go.”

Xiu bowed her head slightly, her expression unreadable, and then turned to leave the room without a word. Y/N watched her go, her mind whirling with unease. The mention of Lǎodà Wang was enough to unsettle her, but the insistence on meeting alone only deepened her suspicion. There was something off about this, something she couldn’t quite place.

Once Xiu disappeared from her sight, Y/N rose from her seat and walked toward the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds of the hotel.

Why now? Why is her father so desperate to speak with her alone?

Xiaoli and Taehyung have been wed and there is no tie to him now. As a matter of fact, he can set a sail back to China, anytime now. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Time was slipping away.

She moved to gather herself for the meeting with her father. The weight of everything she had set in motion was starting to press on her, but she couldn’t let it show—not yet. She needed her mind sharp and clear, and she had no time to waste. But Y/N could see the sharpness in her sister’s eyes as she hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“What is it, pumpkin?” Y/N’s voice was calm, but the undercurrent of frustration and unease was evident.

“Are you sure you are ready to do this now?”

Y/N finally turned to face her, her expression unreadable but her eyes sharp. She studied her sister for a moment, taking in the subtle shift in Xiaoli’s demeanour, the way her posture had become more rigid as if she too could feel the weight of the coming confrontation. Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Are you?” Xiaoli hesitated, but nodded, solemnly.

“I can come with you,” she suggested. Y/N’s gaze softened for just a moment.

“No,” Y/N said firmly, her voice steady. “This is not your burden, Xiaoli.”

Xiaoli nodded slowly, her lips pressing together in a tight line. “But it is, innit?” She stepped forward, her voice dropping to a murmur. “This is everyone’s fight. He has always been able to divide us,—”

The truth of it was there in her words, but she refused to acknowledge the vulnerability creeping up her spine. She could not afford to waver.

“Everything will be okay, pumpkin—” Y/N gave a final, lingering glance to her sister.

“—Ha-sun?” She called. The soft sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway before the door creaked open revealing the young maid.

“Min Buin?”

Y/N didn’t turn immediately, her eyes still fixed on the sprawling grounds below, though her thoughts were far from the peaceful view.

“Get me Jeon Jungkook, armed.” Ha-sun’s eyes widened slightly at the command, but she nodded quickly, understanding the gravity in Y/N’s tone.

“And call for Kkangpae Min, say he needs to return at once.”

Without a word, she turned and left the room, her footsteps retreating down the hall.

The situation when Xiaoli and Taehyung got engaged was already volatile, but this—this felt like something else entirely. The tension was palpable, thick with layers of unspoken threats and promises.

Y/N moved toward the door, ready to face her father, Xiaoli’s voice suddenly stopped her in her tracks.

“Wait,” Xiaoli called out, standing up from the chair where she had been sitting. Her expression was a mix of disbelief and amusement as she eyed her sister’s outfit.

Xiaoli walked up to her, raising an eyebrow. “Are you seriously wearing trousers?” she asked, her tone dripping with incredulity. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, her patience already stretched thin.

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

Xiaoli crossed her arms, her lips curving into a mischievous grin. “It is just… you are about to face the wrath of Lǎodà Wang, and you are wearing pants? Is it not a little… aggressive?”

Y/N sighed, rolling her eyes as she straightened her posture, her expression shifting to one of mock seriousness.

“I am about to go confront the man who ruined our lives for years, Xiaoli. Trust me, these pants are the least of his problems.”

“What does a father have to do to see his daughter here?!” Y/N’s jaw tightened.

“I assume you have a reason for requesting to be in my presence.”

The air was thick with tension, the scent of aged wood and leather mingling with the faint traces of Yoongi’s cologne lingering in the corners.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, the shelves packed with legal documents, expensive liquor bottles, and the occasional framed photograph of her and the Min clan family men. But tonight, it was the man in front of her that commanded all her attention.

Her father, Wang Zemo, stood at the far end of the room, facing the large mahogany desk where Yoongi usually worked. He was still as imposing as ever—his tall, broad frame overshadowing the delicate space, his dark eyes glinting with something she couldn’t quite read.

He turned to face her short form only for his eyes to narrow with disbelief.

“What is this?” His voice was sharp. Y/N met his gaze, standing her ground, confused at what exactly her father was referring to.

She stood in the doorway, an almost ethereal figure, wearing a beige, floral-print qipao with short sleeves and a high collar. The delicate embroidery on the fabric caught the light, its intricate petals whispering a grace that felt both foreign to her now but still strangely familiar. Her wide-leg, high-waisted brown trousers fell to her ankles, the fabric swaying as she shifted. Dark-coloured heels clicked lightly on the floor, sharp and deliberate. There was something about her—bold, beautiful, yet undeniably out of place.

“What do you mean?” She asked him, playing confused.

“Are you wearing goddamn trousers, Y/N?!” The air was thick with the weight of her father’s fury. Y/N felt the sting of his words, the disbelief in his eyes cutting deeper than she expected. Seems like Xiaoli was right after all, it did anger him.

“Yes, Father,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the sharpness in his tone. “I am wearing trousers.”

Y/N’s gaze flickered toward the desk, where Yoongi’s chair was empty, his absence adding to the heaviness in the air. She felt the weight of her father’s presence pressing on her, but she refused to let it show.

There was no longer any room for fear. She was no longer a child, nor his pawn.

“You are a woman, Y/N.” Y/N stood firm, her heart racing. Breathing this moment through, she was trying to calm herself. She cannot screw this up.

“Ah, yes, thank you for the reminder of my gender, Father. I almost forgot. Now, could you please enlighten me on the real reason you wanted to have this delightful conversation in the first place?”

The muscles in his jaw tightened as Y/N’s words cut through the air with a little bit of sarcasm. Her father didn’t immediately answer. The room seemed to grow smaller with each second.

“You have not once bothered to seek me out, child.” Wang Zemo finally said, his voice low and filled with a mixture of disappointment and anger.

“You have not exactly made yourself approachable,” Y/N retorted, her voice sharp when she touched her shorter perfectly styled dark hair.

Wang Zemo took a step forward, his expression darkening.

“Knowing your husband plans to eliminate my existence. You think I would be easily approachable?—”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face impassive. “I do not know what we are talking about.”

“Let me rephrase that, child,” he spat the words, “I have information that could dismantle the foolish scarred boy’s entire empire as I have no intention of going down without a fight.”

Her mind raced, trying to piece together the implications of his words. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I know that you have not fallen into the role of obedient little wife out of love for him, am I wrong?” he said, sloping down to sit on the lowered sofa. Y/N’s eyes followed his movement with disgust.

“Fix me a drink, child, would you, please.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, her fingers curling into fists at her sides but moved to the table where Yoongi stored his high-quality whiskey they started to produce just after they got married. “You haven’t answered my question, Father. Why are you telling me this?”

She did not want to get that close to her father, but there was something in his eyes that she could not decipher when she handed him the crystal glass.

“Your Aunt was not aware of Yoongi’s intentions to marry you.”

Wang Zemo expected her daughter to cry, scream and curse at the man he loathed so much. But none of that happened.

“He saw an opportunity to solidify his power and took it—” His eyes narrowed, studying her. He took a long sip of the whiskey, savouring the taste after receiving zero acknowledgement from his daughter before he spoke.

“You fucking knew!” He shouted, not spoke. His face contorted with rage and Y/N started to think if she ever saw her father calm. Y/N’s gaze remained steady, unflinching.

“I knew that, yes,” she replied calmly, not invested in the subject at all anymore.

Wang Zemo’s anger seemed to deflate slightly, replaced by a look of bewilderment. “And you still went through with it?”

“I never had a choice in this, did I?” Y/N’s expression softened, but only for a moment.

“You could have come home with me that day—” He shook his head, disbelief etched into his features.

“I wanted better for you,” he said quietly.

“And I wanted to be free,” she countered. “But we do not always get what we want.”

Y/N watched her father, seeing him not as the invincible patriarch she had once feared, but as a man weakened by time and circumstance.

“If that is all you wished to say to me,—” She dusted her trousers standing up, reading herself for the inevitable.

“I have orchestrated the raids on Yoongi’s warehouses. I have been systematically weakening his operations.”

He said, very calmly after he took a first sip of his drink.

“I did it for you.”

Rage and fear clashed within her, but she kept her voice steady. “What a lovely early birthday present,-” She mocked him.

“I did what was necessary,” he said, leaning back, the drink sloshing slightly in his hand. “For our family and for you, you are ready to finally leave, are you not?—”

She stared at him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow washing over her. “You think this is helping me? You think this chaos is what I need?”

A violent cough shook his frame, and he covered his mouth with a handkerchief. When he pulled it away, Y/N saw the dark stain of blood. The sight sent a chill down her spine, but she forced herself to remain composed. That is her que.

“You are ill,” she said, her voice softer but no less guarded. Wang Zemo looked at her, a strange mixture of defiance and vulnerability in his eyes.

“Colon cancer, they say.” Wang Zemo’s laugh was bitter. “That boy is never going to lead my men. Let me make that clear.”

Wang Zemo’s words hung in the air, his bitter laugh echoing in the room. Y/N’s heart pounded as she processed his statement. The implications were immense, the threat unmistakable.

“Father,” she began, her voice steady but edged with urgency.

“He has taken you from me,” Wang Zemo interrupted, his voice rising with a mix of anger and desperation. Y/N’s eyes widened hearing this nonsense.

“He has poisoned your mind, turned you against your own family.” His eyes flashed with anger, but his coughing fit cut him short. Blood speckled the handkerchief again, a stark reminder of his fragile state.

“I want you to end him, Y/N” Wang Zemo reached out, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength. She pulled her hand away, her heart heavy with conflicting emotions.

“No, Father. I will not be a part of your uncalled for vendetta.” The moment hung between them, filled with unspoken words and years of unresolved tension.

Y/N shook her head, her hands trembling slightly as she clenched them into fists. “You are blinded by your hatred. I have no clue why you were seeking this conversation to happen, but it is clear that you are not in the right state of mind, so let me remind you of what father you have been.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but another violent cough seized him. Y/N took a step back, her heart a tumult of emotions—pity, anger, sorrow.

“You were never there for me,” she continued, her voice steady but charged with years of suppressed pain. “All my life, you used me as a pawn in your endless power games. Do you think this is about loyalty? Family? No, Father, this is about control. You never saw me as your daughter, only as a tool.”

Her father’s gaze hardened, but he said nothing, his chest rising and falling with laboured breaths. Y/N took a deep breath, her resolve hardening.

“You have hired the best tutors in the world to teach me all the proper ploys of how to be a perfect wife, —” Y/N’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but her voice remained unwavering.

“You made sure I could speak five languages, play the piano, and host dinners that would impress dignitaries. But did you ever once ask me what I wanted? Did you ever care about my dreams, my desires?”

“No, it was Auntie who did. Letting her send me to study was the only good decision you have ever made in your life!” Wang Zemo’s breath grew shallower, his complexion paling. But Y/N pressed on, refusing to let him off the hook.

“You orchestrated my marriage to Yamamato as a business transaction and when it did not work out, you were forced to accept this union instead. But I am no fool, Father, you did not care about my happiness then, and you certainly do not care now!” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a fierce whisper.

“You have hit me numerous times when I was a child,—” Y/N continued, her voice trembling with the weight of her suppressed pain.

“You did not care if Ma would die in labour, all you cared about was an heir to your throne.”

Wang Zemo’s eyes flashed with a mixture of anger and desperation. “I did what I had to do for our family. For our legacy. For your strength!”

“Please, do not force yourself to believe such a fairytale. No father, you only care about your alliances and power. And now, you expect me to betray the man who has shown me more kindness than you ever did?”

“I will kill that kindness of yours. He will become a nobody to you. He is putting thoughts into your head!” he spat out.

Y/N’s heart ached as she looked at her father, a man who had caused her so much pain yet still sought to manipulate her until his last breath. She knew she had a choice to make.

“You did not even visit Auntie when she was dying. Who the fuck are you?” His mouth opened, but the words seemed to get stuck, tangled in the reality that was slipping away from him.

“You were never my father—” Y/N’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, the words more final than she had ever intended. They carried years of hurt, of unspoken resentment, and of a truth she had been too afraid to acknowledge until now.

“Then why are you still here talking to me?” he spat, his anger rising, even as his body weakened. “If you despise me so much, why haven’t you walked away?” Y/N’s gaze hardened. He couldn’t reach her anymore, not with threats, not with manipulation. She had outgrown him.

“Because I want to be the last thing you will ever see.”

Y/N’s voice was cold, each syllable a sharp strike that left no room for misinterpretation. Wang Zemo’s eyes widened, his lips parting in disbelief. The power in the room shifted as the finality of her declaration settled over them.

“What have you done?” his tone lowered now, as if the weight of the question had finally struck him.

“Nothing,—” Y/N’s lips curled into a cold smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Not yet, at least. But I am the niece of my aunt, am I not?” Wang Zemo’s eyes narrowed.

“No,” he rasped, his voice a warning. Scanning the crystal glass with his dark eyes, “You have done nothing with it. You are playing games.”

“Maybe, or maybe not.” Y/N’s smile deepened, though it was anything but warm. “But you… You have done more than enough to seal your own fate.”

Wang Zemo’s hand gripped the arm of the chair as if the world was slipping from his grasp. His eyes searched hers, looking for some sign of weakness, some flicker of the daughter he once knew. But there was nothing.

“You cannot do this to me, not you—” he rasped, his voice cracking with the desperation of a man who had finally realized the price of his ambition. “You are my blood… You owe me.”

“I do not, but I will help you understand, now—” Y/N’s voice was steady, her words slicing through the tension like a blade.

“You will regret this! I was your ticket out of here!” Y/N’s gaze remained unflinching, as cold as the steel in her voice. She stepped closer, her presence a stark contrast to his fragile state, standing tall and unshaken. The difference between them had never been clearer.

“I would not care what happens with you, but it seems my husband does care, as you ought to set an example for the other clans.”

“This is foul play!” The gun trembled in his grip as he pointed it toward her, the barrel glinting in the dim light. His fingers curled around the trigger, the same fingers that had once held her as a child, now threatening to take everything from her.

“I was your father," Wang Zemo rasped, his voice cracking,”I am your father!” Sweat slicked his forehead, "and you will learn that I can still control you."

Y/N sighed. Her chest rose and fell as if the weight of everything she had just unleashed was pressing down on her. She had always carried this burden, this gnawing needs to free herself from the ghosts of her past, or at least one of them.

“I will not go quietly,” he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. “If I must die, I will take you with me.”

“Right,—” she began.

“I will give you the courtesy and explain what will happen once you pull the trigger.”

Wang Zemo’s hand shook, the gun wavering slightly in his grasp, the tension in the air thick enough to choke. His eyes locked onto Y/N, desperate for any sign that she still cared, still feared him. But there was nothing—no hint of hesitation, no flicker of remorse. She stood there, unbroken, unwavering, her presence almost suffocating in its certainty.

“To begin, if you would have colon cancer, you would shit blood not cough it.” Wang Zemo’s face contorted with confusion. Her statement was so cold, so clinically delivered, that it sent a ripple of unease through his body.

“Now, if you decide to pull the trigger and God gives you the blessing of killing me—” Y/N continued, her tone now a chilling blend of indifference and precision “Yoongi will let you die the most painful and slow death he will think of.” Her gaze flicked downward to the gun in his hand, then back to his face.

“No, it will not be a quick, merciful death, Father. It will be something far worse—a lingering agony that mirrors the suffering you have caused so many others.”

She took another step closer, her voice lowering, a deadly quietness to it now.

“Now, the moment you fire the bullet, Jungkook will be here in seconds to save me, not you Father. Which brings us to — how do you feel?” Her voice lowered, venomous and precise “Is your heart slowing down already?”

His hand shook violently, the weapon trembling in his grasp, as he tried to process the suffocating inevitability of her presence. She took another deliberate step forward, and Zemo flinched, instinctively trying to recoil. But his body betrayed him, frozen by the terror of what her words meant.

“I am not afraid of you!” Y/N was not sure whether he was screaming at her or at death itself, but she answered for both of them.

“No, Father. You are not afraid of me. But you will be. You are drowning in your own failure, suffocated by your own decisions. And in those final moments, when your body betrays you and the darkness takes you, I want you to think of me. I want you to remember everything you have done to me, Xiaoli and Ma — every mistake, every cruelty. And remember that I am the last thing you will see.”

The words hit him with the force of a blow, and his chest tightened, each breath coming in shallow gasps. His vision blurred, his pulse racing as his mind struggled to catch up with the impossible reality Y/N was laying out before him.

A bead of sweat rolled down his temple, and his fingers trembled, the gun feeling heavier with each passing second. His heart hammered in his chest, a staccato rhythm that felt far too loud in the heavy silence. He could feel the walls closing in on him, suffocating him.

And then, a flicker of fear—a glimpse of his own mortality—crept into his mind, deeper than any threat he had ever made. His body was betraying him, and the weight of it crushed him.

“You will go down, no matter what choice you will make.” The gun still shook in his hand, but he felt a strange calm wash over him, a resignation that he had not expected.

His heart pounded in his chest, its rhythm erratic and violent, each beat a forceful thud that seemed to rattle his bones. A sharp pain shot through his left arm, searing like fire, and for a moment, he thought he might collapse. His head swam with dizziness, his surroundings distorting into a tunnel of panic and suffocating pressure.

His grip on the weapon tightened reflexively, but his fingers felt weak and unsteady, struggling to maintain their hold as the world spun around him. The pressure in his chest mounted, a crushing weight that made it harder to breathe, and harder to think. His pulse quickened, each beat faster than the last, pounding in his temples, in his throat, until it felt as though it might burst.

His vision flickered, darkening at the edges, and a cold sweat broke out across his brow, his skin clammy as if he were sinking into the very depths of despair. His mind, once sharp and calculating, was clouded by the chaos of his body betraying him.

“You think you are clever, but you are just a wife of your husband, a mere woman!” Those last few words felt all too familiar to Y/N, but this time, she did not falter.

“Women like you do not rise, they only serve men. You think you are the queen?! What is a queen without her king?!”

“You have never been worthy of my respect, Father,” she said softly, the venom still present but tempered with the quiet certainty of someone who had finally reclaimed their power.

“And you will not be in death either.”

His finger trembled on the trigger. The finality of it felt overwhelming, and suffocating, but there was no turning back. With a final breath, Wang Zemo attempted to pull the trigger. His hands were too weak to even handle the luger pistol as it went crashing to the ground with a loud thud, just like his crystal glass of whiskey, his body followed. The sound echoed through the room, alerting the young man standing right outside of the room.

The man who had once towered over her now crumpled at her feet, the gun useless at his side. She made no move to comfort, no gesture of sorrow or regret.

Instead, she slipped her hands into her pockets, her shoulders square, as she slowly crouched beside him. His breath still came in shallow gasps, each exhale a reminder that time, for him, was running out.

Her lips curled into a faint, cold smile.

“Nonetheless, I am Queen, and Queens do not bow, Father. They conquer.”

Y/N did not flinch. She did not need to. The man before her had already destroyed himself, in mind and in body, long before this moment had the chance to happen.

The door swung fully open, and there, framed in the doorway, stood the man she was supposed to call her endgame. Behind him, Jungkook’s sharp eyes flickered between Y/N and the wreckage of her father.

Yoongi’s gaze swept over Y/N, and then to her father. The faintest trace of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was gone in an instant, replaced with the steely composure he had mastered. His dark eyes narrowed, taking in the scene.

“Are you alright, Dove?”

A strange calm settled over Y/N whilst she was watching her father slowly die.

“I am good,” she replied, her voice steady and unyielding, “but he is not.”

Yoongi stepped closer, his eyes filled with a mix of concern but also admiration.

“Did you poison him?” Jungkook’s voice echoed behind them. Y/N turned her gaze to Jungkook, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“No,—” she said softly, “I just made him think I did.” Yoongi raised an eyebrow. When he got an urgent call to one of his warehouses where he was personally overseeing the shipment of Min whiskey with hidden snow in the bottles, he did not expect to come back to the hotel to this scenery. His mind raced through the events of this day and nowhere not even close to this, he thought that his wife would eliminate Wang Zemo on her own. That was not the plan.

Y/N knew that his father was sick for a while, but what she also knew was the hereditary condition of a weak heart that flows in their family. It was a silent killer, a ticking time bomb that Y/N had learnt to exploit.

First, she made him think that she had poisoned him, his panic was almost immediate. She exploited his fear and turned it into a panic attack which his heart condition could not handle for a long time. His belief that he was poisoned triggered a fatal heart attack she had anticipated - hoped for. She exploited his psychological vulnerabilities to bring about his end, ensuring that the autopsy would say died of natural causes.

Jungkook nodded slowly, his expression shifting from confusion to admiration.

“You used his own mind against him.” Yoongi stepped closer, his gaze locked on Y/N, a flicker of admiration in his eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of pride in her. She had done what was necessary, what was ruthless, but ultimately, she had done what needed to be done. For him. That is what he ultimately believed, she did it for him.

“He knew you were planning to kill him.” She wasn’t looking for approval or some sort of acknowledgement. She did it for herself. For Xiaoli. For her mother and little brother. The world will be at least a tiny peace better without her father.

“Well, it looks like I have missed the party,” She hadn’t heard him approach. Namjoon’s voice resonated the room, a faint, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes taking in the scene with a mixture of curiosity and something else—perhaps a flicker of reluctant approval.

Y/N didn’t smile back. She didn’t need to. She knew Namjoon well enough to understand that his words, however casual, were never without layers. He wasn’t just commenting on the spectacle of her father’s death; he was acknowledging something deeper. Something far more dangerous.

“Did you?” Y/N’s voice was cool, and smooth, as she turned her full attention to him, her eyes sharp with intent.

Namjoon chuckled softly, his gaze flickering from her to Yoongi, and then to Jungkook, who was still processing the events unfolding before him.

“I suppose I did,” Namjoon said, his tone tinged with dark humour, “this is far more elegant than what we would do,” his eyes flickered to Yoongi and she arched her brow. Y/N was not enlightened into Yoongi’s plan with her father but that did not matter to her - the outcome is the same. Today, she would sleep soundly. Because her most intrusive thoughts are becoming reality.

She knew Yoongi’s eyes were on her, studying her every movement, every nuance of her demeanour. He had expected her to break down—expected her to show some sign of regret, or at least the weight of the moment to sink in. But Y/N had made peace with this long ago.

“I did not expect you to be this calm,” Yoongi said, his voice low, almost cautious.

“I buried him a long time ago.” The words hung in the air, heavier than the silence that followed.

Jungkook, who had been silently absorbing the entire scene, finally broke his silence. His voice was quieter, less sure than usual.

“So, this... this was not part of any plan?” He looked to Yoongi for confirmation, still processing the revelation that Y/N had acted independently, that she had outmanoeuvred them all.

Yoongi met his gaze briefly, a subtle tension in his features, before turning his focus back to Y/N.

“No. It was not the plan.” He said it with finality, though his words seemed to hang in the air with an unspoken understanding. There was no anger in his voice—only a sort of resigned acceptance.

Namjoon, however, seemed to find something else amusing in the air. His lips curled into a smirk, his gaze flicking over Y/N as if seeing her for the first time. His eyes paused at the hem of her outfit, a flicker of curiosity crossing his face.

“Hold on a second,” he said, his tone laced with amusement, his eyebrow quivering upward. “Are you... wearing trousers?”

Y/N stared at him for a moment, and for a split second, it almost felt like she was in the middle of some twisted dark humour comedy.

“You must be fucking kidding me” she muttered.

“That was way better than what you planned, Yoongi-hyung,” Taehyung said, a hint of a smirk on his face. Yoongi’s eyes flickered with irritation at Taehyung’s comment, but he quickly masked it with a tight smile. Namjoon nodded in agreement.

“I knew she had it in her,” the right hand man said, almost to himself. Seokjin leaned back in his chair, his expression contemplative.

“Is she alright?” the doctor asked, concern evident in his voice.

“I checked on her earlier, she seems oddly calm—-” Jimin, still thinking about the moment he arrived at the scene, spoke up to answer the question.

“It is almost scary how composed she is.” Jungkook, who had been pacing, finally stopped and faced the group.

“If you would have been in the room when he attempted to drag her out of here by her hair, you would understand the hatred she felt towards that sick psychopath.”

The room fell silent as the gravity of Hoseok’s words sank in. Jungkook clenched his fists, his jaw tightening.

“We should have done something sooner,—” he muttered, guilt lacing his voice.

“Well she was just faster than us, and apparently, Xiaoli and her mother knew,” Yoongi added, his voice laced with a mixture of frustration and admiration.

Just how much these women hated that man?

“Did she tell you that?” Yoongi shook his head but recalled the lack of emotion her mother showed when they told her that her husband had passed away from a heart attack. Nor did Xiaoli shed a tear for her father, but in that case, it’s different.

Jungkook’s expression softened slightly, his concern for Y/N clear. “We need to make sure Y/N is okay. She has been through enough by now.”

Taehyung’s smirk returned, albeit more subdued. “That wife of yours is tougher than any of us gave her credit for though.”

“So what now?” Hoseok’s voice echoed in the room. His gaze swept across the group, seeking answers, or at least some clarity.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair, thinking of what his wife had just done for him and their family. This was huge in his head and he could not get it out of it.

“As I know her, she will ask for something in return, or use this in whatever negotiation.” Yoongi’s gaze darkened, his expression serious.

“She took control, and she knows that.” Hoseok frowned at Yoongi’s words, stepping closer to the table where the group had gathered. Yoongi met Hoseok’s gaze, his jaw tight.

“Do you still not trust her, Hyung?” The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

“Her behaviour has been odd lately, let us start with that—” the right-hand man spoke up, taking the crystal glass of whiskey into his hands. The silence stretched between them, and for a moment, it seemed like Yoongi might not respond.

He leaned forward slightly, his fingers tapping on the table, a rhythm that matched his thoughts.

“I trust her,” Yoongi said, his voice low but firm. “But all the previous experience makes me think that she sees this as her opportunity to do something bigger—” Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temple.

“She took down her own father, for God’s sake.” Hoseok raised his voice. “She is devoted to you.” Yoongi’s gaze hardened as he met Hoseok’s eyes.

“That I am starting to believe she finally is, sure,” Yoongi said slowly, each word measured. “But I get Namjoon’s suspicions of her, she did not attempt to run for quite some time, as if she is plotting something—”

“Maybe she is playing us all.” Taehyung, sensing the rising tension, leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing in curiosity.

“Playing us all?" Yoongi repeated his tone low, almost mocking. “You think Y/N is playing us?”

“She has been too calm about all this, Yoongi. Too composed for someone who just killed her father. You don’t just do that without having something bigger planned.”

Seokjin’s eyes flickered to observe Yoongi’s reaction to their brother’s words. “He is right, Yoongi. She has always been emotional, and driven by her heart. But this—" He shook his head. “It’s different.”

Jimin shifted in his seat, looking between the men, the concern in his eyes growing.

Hoseok stood straighter, his expression softening as he spoke with conviction. “She had a choice. She could have walked away or stayed neutral, but instead, she chose to act. And what she did, Yoongi, was not just for herself. It was for all of us. For you. Do not dare to doubt her loyalty, when she worked hard to finally be contemptuous here!”

Jungkook, his voice quieter than usual, spoke up listening to Hoseok’s words. “She did what she had to do. And whatever her reasons are, I trust her.” His gaze met Yoongi’s. “You should, too.”

Yoongi’s expression hardened, trying to keep his emotions in check. His mind raced, the weight of everything that had happened in the past hours pressing down on him.

Taehyung’s voice broke through the silence once again, more serious than usual.

“She has changed—” Yoongi exhaled sharply, his mind still reeling. “I just need to understand why. Why now? Why this?” His voice dropped to a near whisper, the vulnerability slipping through despite his best efforts to hide it. His heart... his heart wanted to believe in her, wanted to believe she was doing this out of devotion, not manipulation.

“Of course, she has changed!” Hoseok’s frustration was bubbling at this point. "You were nine when she was born," he continued the quiet force in his voice, not backing down.

“Nine years, Yoongi. You have had that much more time to figure things out. To live your life, to become who you are now. She did not have that—” Yoongi’s jaw clenched, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. The truth was there, raw and unfiltered, and it stung.

“She had three pathetic years to enjoy what life can be and then she went to be your wife.” He took a breath, trying to steady himself. Y/N had spent so much of her life suffocated by the things that had shaped her, by the violence and manipulation that had plagued her existence long before she ever crossed paths with him.

The silence that followed was thick, the air heavy with unspoken emotions.

His voice was quieter than it had been, softer, as he spoke the words he wasn’t sure he was ready to say. “I just… I need to—”

“Even if she is plotting some grand escape, we will stop her, Yoongi.” Yoongi’s head snapped up at the interruption, his eyes narrowing at Hoseok’s words. For a moment, Yoongi’s chest tightened, the idea of Y/N plotting against him threatening to undo everything he’d been trying to hold together.

He stepped forward, his hand resting gently on Yoongi’s shoulder, an attempt to ground him in the present. “You all are too busy doubting her, instead of trusting her.” Yoongi flinched slightly at the rawness in Hoseok’s tone. He had been too caught up in his own doubts to truly see the bigger picture.

“Maybe you are right,” Yoongi muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling back to the surface.

“She is not running, Yoongi. She is not playing you. What is happening now is what happens when you have been given enough time to think.” Hoseok’s gaze softened, his expression becoming more contemplative.

For the first time in a long time, Yoongi allowed himself to take a breath, to breathe out the doubt, and let himself hold onto the belief that maybe, just maybe she was done fighting him for good.

“I genuinely hope that you are right, Hoseok-sshi.”

Y/N gave it a few days after the funeral to ask Yoongi for a favour. That well he knew her, she had to give him that. Y/N stands by the door, her posture stiff, but her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She’s been holding this request for days if not since they were married.

“What is wrong, my love?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected him to address her so gently, not now, not after everything that had happened. But she couldn’t hold this in any longer. She had waited long enough.

Y/N swallowed hard, her throat dry. She had rehearsed these words in her head for days, but now that she was here, standing in front of him, they felt like a foreign language.

“I…” She started, her voice faltering, but she steadied herself. There was no urgency in his voice when he spoke next, but something in his gaze suggested he already knew this was coming.

“Go ahead, Dove,” he said, his voice calm, almost too calm.

“I need you to allow my mother… and Bo Cheng… to travel to Maryland,” she said quietly, her words falling heavy into the room. “To Diayu. They need to be there. To… to live a life I could not.”

Something in the stillness between them made her heart beat faster as if he was expecting her to ask of this. The silence stretched between them, heavy and thick, suffocating. Yoongi didn’t speak, his gaze fixed on her with a patience that felt like it was pushing her to continue, to reveal more than she wanted to. Her hands tightened at her sides, and she took a shaky breath.

“I do not think you need them to be here anymore—” Yoongi’s eyes flickered to her hands before returning to her face, his gaze still sharp, analyzing every movement, every word.

“Bo Cheng can grow up without knowing what was supposed to be his—” Y/N continued, her voice barely above a whisper.

Yoongi’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes darkened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. He leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his posture remaining calculated and composed.

“He is still too young to remember-”

“Are you not going to miss having your mother near, Dove?”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the question, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. For a moment, she stood frozen, her gaze flickering down to her clenched fists. She had expected him to ask something like this, but hearing the question out loud—direct and sharp—was a different kind of pressure.

She had never imagined a time when her mother and Bo Cheng wouldn’t be part of her life, but what Yoongi was proposing... it wasn’t about them. It was about her.

“They can come and visit at Christmas time or Chuseok, innit?”

“Christmas time or Chuseok?” he repeated, his voice laced with quiet amusement, though the sharpness in his gaze never faltered.

Y/N’s breath hitched, but she steadied herself. She had to hold on to this. If she let herself waver, even for a second, she feared the price would be too steep. The price he would demand would be too high.

“It is enough,” she said, her voice firm, though it trembled ever so slightly. “They can come and go. They can live their lives far away from here. But I need you to make sure they are safe.” Her eyes met his, unwavering for a brief moment, before she quickly looked away, her gaze dropping to the floor as if the weight of her own words had just begun to settle in her chest.

“You are trying to make sure I will not use them as a bargain against you, am I right?”

She had always known how far his control could reach, but hearing him speak it so plainly… made the reality of it hit harder. She swallowed, her throat dry, and for a moment, she said nothing. She couldn't give him the satisfaction of confirming his words outright, but the truth was already in the silence between them.

“Perhaps—” she murmured. Yoongi’s lips curled into a small, knowing smile.

“Perhaps?” His voice dropped, low and dangerously calm. “You still do not believe in my love for you, or do you, dove?”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She didn’t dare meet his gaze again, afraid of what she might see in those dark eyes of his.

“I trust you enough to keep them safe for me,” she said quietly, the words escaping her before she could stop them. It wasn’t a lie. She had to believe it because, without that belief, she would have nothing left.

Yoongi stepped forward, his presence overwhelming. The space between them seemed to shrink, his scent and warmth now consuming the room.

“But you still fear that I will take it all from you,” he murmured, his voice so soft it felt like a whisper meant only for her. “That I will use them to make you obey—”

His words hit too close to the truth. Too much of her had been shaped by the fear of losing control, of being at his mercy again.

“I—” she started, but her throat went dry, her voice unable to carry the weight of the admission. She wasn’t ready to say it. Not yet. Not like this.

“You are right to be afraid, Dove,” he said softly, his voice smooth and almost soothing, but there was a steel edge beneath it. “I could use them against you. I could take them away, pull the strings again, make you bend to my will.”

His thumb brushed across her skin, and Y/N felt herself fighting the urge to pull away. She couldn’t. Not now. She had made her request, and the words had already been set in motion.

“Here is the thing, Y/N,” Yoongi continued, his voice lowering to a dangerous murmur. “I needn’t to. I already got you, have I not?”

A long silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken understanding. He didn’t need to say it. She knew exactly what he was implying, what they both knew.

“Yoongi, I promise that this is the last thing I am asking you for—”

“Answer me, dove.” His voice was quiet, too quiet, but it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken questions.

“I just need this one thing,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Please.”

“Answer me first.” His gaze bore into her, unwavering, demanding. She knew what he wanted—he wanted her to admit her fear, her dependence on him.

“Yoongi, please,” she repeated, her voice trembling. Y/N closed the distance between them, her eyes locking onto his. She reached up, her hands trembling as she cupped his face. For a moment, they just stood there, the tension between them palpable.

“I will do anything—” she desperately whispered, but the words caught in her throat. He leaned in, his breath mingling with hers, and before she could lose her nerve, he pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss was soft at first, a gentle exploration, but it quickly deepened into something more intense. Their tongues collided, each seeking to claim the other’s. Their breathing grew ragged, their hearts pounding in unison. Yoongi’s hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer as if he could never get close enough. Y/N’s hands shook as she cradled Yoongi's face, her fingertips brushing against his skin.

When they finally pulled apart, Yoongi’s forehead rested against hers, his breath coming in soft, ragged puffs. His eyes searched hers, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face—desire, possession, a touch of vulnerability.

“We did not have a chance to return to what we talked about at the jewellers,-” he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

Y/N’s heart raced at his words, the mention of the conversation from before bringing everything back into focus. She had known this was coming, the weight of his demands still hanging in the air like an unspoken agreement between them.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, her hands still trembling against his chest as she steadied herself.

“You asked me what I want for my birthday,” he said slowly, his voice laced with a quiet edge. “But you did not hear me out when I said what I needed. What I want.”

Y/N’s pulse quickened, a knot forming in her stomach. She hadn’t been ready for this. Hadn’t thought he would be so direct, so blunt.

“I know what you want,” she said, her voice steady despite the nerves coiling inside her. “But it is not the same thing. I just... I need this one thing, Yoongi. This one thing, and then—”

“No.” His grip tightened around her, his fingers pressing into her skin. “You do not understand, Y/N. We are far beyond that now. You are not going to walk away this time.”

There it was. He wasn’t going to let her walk away from this. The strings were already attached, and now she was tangled in them. His lips brushed against her ear, and his voice was a dark promise as he continued.

“You said you would do anything. Anything, dove.” He paused, his lips trailing to her neck. “You want them safe and away? I will do so—.”

She closed her eyes, her breath catching in her throat. “What do you want from me, Yoongi?”

His response was soft, almost a whisper, but the weight of his words sent a shiver down her spine.

She always knew what he desired, although, for her sanity, she rather chose to not wander into those waters, not even think those thoughts. She was not ready to answer him. She was not ready to be confronted by him so bluntly. But there was something so mundane in Yoongi’s eyes when he said the word

“A child.” .

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ❝𝐰𝐞'𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧❞

©pennyellee. please do not repost

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

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charmedchapters · 1 day ago

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fantaseawriting · 3 days ago

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Christmas Lights, Christmas Night

Joel Miller x Reader

Soft!Dark Joel Miller for sure.

Summary: You were out on Patrol with Joel. Despite your many protests, and warnings that you should turn back to Jasper due to the storm, Joel ignored you. The storm came in fast, and you find yourself stuck in an old cabin with him, close to Jasper but not close enough. Your stubbornness and sass always wore down on Joel, but being trapped in a cabin with you, he finally snaps.

Written and inspired by the December Daze Challenge prompt “Extreme Weather leads to forced proximity’

Warnings/Triggers: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. Dub-con, non-consensual bondage, non-consensual spanking. Inappropriate use of Christmas lights.

"Come on, Joel, we need to turn around," you called out over the growing wind, your voice tight with urgency as the first flakes of snow began to swirl around you. Joel grunted in response, his eyes focused on the trail ahead, the grip on his rifle unyielding.

You huffed out a sigh, your breath misting in the frigid air. The storm was rolling in fast, and Jasper's warm embrace felt like a distant memory. "We're not gonna make it," you tried again, your words barely audible over the wind's crescendo.

Ignoring your protests, Joel pushed ahead, his stubbornness etched into every furrowed line of his weathered face. You knew better than to argue further. The man was as stubborn as a mule, and the more you protested, the more he'd dig in his heels. Instead, you followed closely, keeping your eyes peeled for any signs of shelter.

As the storm grew worse, the wind howled like a pack of rabid infected, the snow stinging your cheeks like a thousand tiny knives. The cold seeped through your clothes, turning your bones to ice. You were about to voice your complaints again when the silhouette of a cabin emerged through the blizzard. Joel's eyes lit up, and without a word, he trudged towards it, breaking trail through the thickening snow.

The cabin was small and weather-beaten, but it looked solid enough to withstand the storm. You both stumbled inside, slamming the door shut behind you to keep the biting cold at bay. Joel immediately began searching for anything that could help them survive the night, his movements quick and efficient. You stomped the snow from your boots and tried to shake the chill from your body. He got a fire going in the fireplace, adding some warmth to the cabin.

"Damn it, Joel," you grumbled, rubbing your hands together. "You should've listened to me."

He shot you a glare, his eyes like embers in the firelight. "Spare me the 'I told you so's. We're here, and we're gonna make the best of it."

Joel's gruffness was like a familiar blanket, one that you both loved and hated to be wrapped in. It was a constant dance of pushing and pulling, a silent battle of wills that had become almost comforting in the harsh world of the apocalypse. You rolled your eyes and approached the fireplace, feeling the warmth from the crackling fire spread through you. You hadn't realized how much the cold had seeped into your bones until you felt the heat again.

The cabin was sparse, but it had the essentials: a bed, a table with a few chairs, a couch and coffee table in front of the fireplace, and a couple of cabinets that held some canned food and a bottle of whiskey. The sight of the alcohol made your eyes light up. Maybe it could warm you from the inside out and ease the tension between you two.

"Looks like we're in luck," Joel murmured, eyeing the whiskey. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig before passing it to you. The liquid burned a fiery path down your throat, but it was a welcome sensation against the cold that had settled deep within you.

You took a seat at the table, watching as Joel rummaged through the cabinets. His movements were deliberate, a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside. You leaned back in your chair, letting out a sigh. "What's the plan, then?" you asked, your voice echoing in the quiet space.

"We wait it out," Joel replied, his tone gruff as ever. "The storm'll pass eventually. At least this cabin is close to Jasper, probably even has electricity, and the fireplace works. Could be worse."

You couldn't help the eye roll that followed. "Great. Just what I wanted. A cozy night in with Mr. Sunshine." You took another swig of the whiskey and felt the warmth spread through your chest.

Joel ignored your sarcasm, his eyes scanning the cabin for any additional supplies. "We need to conserve food and water," he said, his voice serious. "We don't know how long we'll be stuck here."

You nodded, taking another swig of the whiskey. "Fine by me," you murmured, watching the flames dance. You pace restlessly, drinking the alcohol as Joel checked the cabin, taking stock of supplies, making sure the windows and doors were secure. You were frustrated, you should not have been here. If he had just listened to you and turned around, you could both be warm and safe in your home in Jasper. The warmth of the fire and the alcohol began to loosen the tension in your muscles. "Supplies are all well and good, but what about the lights?" You gestured to the shattered bulb on the floor. The clouds of the storm already made the cabin dark, and the sun was setting, bringing even more darkness. The fire only lit the cabin so much.

Joel's eyes followed your gaze, then darted back to you. "We'll manage," he grunted, his focus returning to the cabin's supplies.

The storm raged on outside, the wind howling like a chorus of lost souls. The only sound in the cabin was the crackling fire and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards. You took another sip of whiskey, the warmth spreading through you, loosening your tongue.

"You know, you can be a real asshole sometimes," you said, your voice a mix of annoyance and affection. Joel didn't look up from his task, but you could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

"I've been told that," he replied dryly, his hands moving deftly as he checked the cabin's supplies.

You smirked, feeling the whiskey's warmth spreading to your cheeks. "Yeah, well, it's true. You're always so grumpy, and you ignore me when I'm obviously right."

Joel's head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours with a spark of irritation. "I don't ignore you, I just don't have time for your sass, especially when we're in a situation like this." He gestured to the raging storm outside.

You rolled your eyes, deciding to make the best of it. You began to search the cabin, moving to the bed and pulling out the dusty bin from underneath. It was filled with Christmas decorations, a stark reminder of happier times before the world had gone to hell. "Well, if it weren't for your stubbornness, we'd be back in Jasper, warm and dry."

Joel's sigh was like thunder in the quiet cabin. "You're like a broken record, you know that?" He didn't bother looking up from his task of reinforcing the cabin's windows with whatever he could find.

You pulled out a strand of Christmas lights, the plastic feeling surprisingly warm against your cold hands. "Maybe," you said, the whiskey making your words slur slightly, "but at least I'm not as boring as a brick wall."

Joel's eyes narrowed, the flames from the fire flickering in his irritated gaze. "You're pushing it."

You smirked, holding up the Christmas lights. "Kinda like you were pushing it to finish the patrol instead of returning to safety?" You watched the muscles in his jaw clench, his eyes darkening. You knew you were poking the bear, but the whiskey made you bold, and the thrill of his reaction was oddly enjoyable.

He stalked over to you, the floorboards groaning under his heavy boots. You held your ground, not quite sure if you were playing with fire or if it was just the warmth from the whiskey making you reckless. "Why don't you sit down and keep your mouth shut for a change?" he said, his voice a low growl.

You scoffed. "Make me."

The air in the cabin seemed to thicken as Joel's hand shot out, quicker than you anticipated. He snatched the whiskey bottle from your grasp, his grip firm and unyielding. You stared at him, your heart racing, not quite sure if you'd just crossed a line. But his expression was unreadable, his eyes still a stormy mix of frustration and something else you couldn't quite place.

Without a word, he set the bottle aside and reached for the Christmas lights, his movements deliberate and controlled. He began to untangle the knot, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the tension coiled in every muscle of his body, like a spring ready to snap. The air crackled with it, making your skin prickle with anticipation.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your voice a little too high.

Joel didn't answer, his eyes locked on you as he unfurled the Christmas lights. They glinted in the firelight, a strange, almost menacing sight. The tension in the cabin was as thick as the falling snow outside.

"Remove your clothes," he said, his voice low and firm. You blinked, the words taking a moment to register.

"What?" You sputtered, the heat from the whiskey warring with the cold fear creeping into your belly.

Joel's gaze was unyielding, his voice a low rumble. "You heard me. Your clothes are soaked, since you couldn’t be bothered to wear a proper coat for patrol. If we don't dry them, you'll freeze to death."

You took a tentative step towards the fire, the heat beckoning you. The storm outside raged on, the wind howling like a pack of infected closing in. Stripping in front of him made your heart pound, but the alternative was hypothermia. You peeled off your wet layers, your skin pebbling with goosebumps as the warmth of the fire kissed your bare flesh. The flames cast an eerie glow across Joel's face, highlighting the shadows of his stubble. He remained focused on the lights, his jaw set in determination.

The crackling fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. You felt a shiver run down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold. Joel's eyes remained on his task, yet you couldn't shake the feeling of his gaze on you, as if he could see every tremor of your naked body. The air grew thick with unspoken tension as you wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.

He looked up, his eyes lingering on your bare skin before snapping back to the Christmas lights. "Turn around," he ordered, his voice gruff and commanding. You hesitated for a moment before complying, the whiskey making your legs feel a bit wobblier than usual. He approached you, the lights clenched in his fist. "Arms out."

"What are you doing, Joel?" you protested, your voice laced with a mix of confusion and trepidation. But when you didn't move your arms, Joel took the initiative, his rough hands guiding them behind your back. The warmth from the fire was a stark contrast to his icy touch as he began to wrap the lights around your wrists.

The sudden realization of his intent made your heart hammer in your chest. "What the hell, Joel?!" You tried to pull away, but his grip was like a vise, unyielding and unforgiving. The lights dug into your skin, sending a sharp pain that pierced through the whiskey's warm embrace. You struggled, but his strength was overwhelming, and the cold steel of his determination was palpable.

"Hold still," he grunted, his voice low and tight. "This is for your own good."

You thrashed, trying to pull your arms free from his iron grip. The lights dug into your wrists, the plastic biting into your skin as he wrapped them around your arms. Your heart raced, the warmth from the whiskey now forgotten as cold panic set in. The blanket fell to the floor, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in front of the roaring fire.

"Joel, stop!" you yelled, your voice echoing off the cabin walls. But he was relentless, his eyes dark with a strange intensity as he worked to secure the lights around your neck. The plastic tightened, a choking pressure that sent a bolt of terror shooting through your veins.

You tried to twist away, but he was too strong. The lights bit into your skin as he wound them around your torso, his movements swift and deliberate. Above your breasts, the plastic was like a cold embrace, tightening as he pulled. You gasped, feeling the pressure increase as he wove the lights around you, creating a harsh contrast with the fire's warmth.

"Let me go, you sick fuck!" you spat, your voice trembling with a mix of fear and anger. But Joel was unmoved, his eyes focused solely on the task at hand. He wound the lights around your stomach, pulling them taut, the plastic digging into your skin. You could feel your breath growing shorter, the panic rising like bile in your throat.

Above the sound of the storm, you could hear the thundering of your heart, a frantic rhythm that seemed to match the pulse of the fire. Joel's movements were swift and precise, as if he'd done this a hundred times before. The lights bit into the soft flesh of your belly, the cold plastic a stark contrast to the warmth of your skin. You struggled, twisting and fighting against the makeshift bonds, but his grip was unrelenting.

"Damn it, Joel! What the fuck is wrong with you?" you shouted, your voice hoarse from the cold and the fear. Your breath came in ragged gasps as the lights tightened around your thighs, the plastic digging into your skin. Your legs felt like they were on fire, but the rest of you was so cold you could barely feel the pain. You tried to kick him, to get away, but he was too quick.

With a grunt, Joel secured your legs together, the lights wrapping around your ankles like a serpent, leaving you immobilized on the cabin floor. The warmth from the fire taunted you, just out of reach. You glared at him, your eyes filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. "Why are you doing this?" you demanded, your voice shaking.

"I told you to sit down and shut up," Joel said, his voice devoid of any warmth as he plugged the Christmas lights into an outlet on the wall. "You said 'make me'. So I am."

The sudden flicker of the lights made you blink, the colorful glow casting strange shadows across the cabin. Joel stepped back, his gaze traveling over you, assessing his handiwork. The lights wrapped around your body like a garish cocoon, the cold plastic biting into your skin with every breath you took. You squirmed in your bondage, the panic rising like a tide.

With a smirk that didn't quite reach his eyes, Joel grabbed the large velvet red bow from the box of decorations. "This'll keep that mouth of yours quiet," he murmured, his voice low and dark. You struggled against the bonds, the fear in your eyes unmistakable as he approached.

"Joel, please," you mumbled, the lights tight around your neck, biting your skin. But his expression was resolute as he leaned down, the bow's long tail trailing in the air like a crimson snake. He carefully wrapped the velvet around your head, the soft material caressing your cheeks before he pressed it between your teeth. You bit down on the fabric, the taste of dust and age filling your mouth.

With a firm, practiced motion, he tied the bow at the back of your head, the knot tightening until you couldn't protest anymore. Your eyes watered from the pressure, and you blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. The room grew quieter, the storm outside a muted roar as the only sound was the crackling of the fire and the occasional drip of melted snow from your wet clothes.

Joel settled onto the couch, his legs spread out in front of him as he took in the sight of you, bound and gagged with the Christmas lights. The flames cast a flickering, macabre light over the scene, painting him in shades of orange and red. He took a deep breath, his chest expanding beneath his flannel shirt, the fabric stretching taut against the muscles he'd honed from years of survival. His eyes roamed over your body, the lights highlighting your curves in a way that made your skin crawl.

"There," he murmured, his voice thick with something that could've been amusement or something darker, "quiet, still, and dressed up like a fucking present for me. Couldn't ask for a better Christmas gift." His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and a strange, unwanted thrill. Despite the situation, you couldn't help but notice the way his gaze lingered on your exposed flesh, the hunger in his eyes.

Joel took a large swig from the whiskey bottle, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He leaned back on the couch, his eyes never leaving you. The fire cast shadows across his face, making him look even more rugged and intimidating. "Maybe this is how I should keep you," he mused, his voice deep and gruff. "To stop that constant fucking chatter."

You glared at him, your eyes full of fire despite the fear. But your body was responding to his dominance in a way you couldn't control. The adrenaline coursed through your veins, making your heart race and your skin tingle. You tested the bonds, trying to ignore the way the lights dug into your skin, sending bolts of pain with every movement. But the pain only seemed to fuel the strange thrill growing within you.

Joel took another swig of whiskey, his eyes never leaving you. He sat and watched you for a long time, enjoying your little struggles and glares. You were acutely aware of the tightness in his jeans, which he palmed at shamelessly. He set the bottle down and stood up, his movements deliberate and predatory. You tugged at the lights again, the plastic cutting into your wrists, the cold biting into your bare skin. But the fight in you was fading, replaced by a weird anticipation. You watched as Joel approached, the fire's glow casting his shadow on the floor, stretching out like a demon's behind him.

When he was close enough, Joel reached out and caressed your cheek, his thumb brushing over the velvet bow. "You know, I don't think this is such a bad idea," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate through the cabin. "Keeping you tied up and quiet."

Your breath hitched, the fear in your chest morphing into something else entirely. You couldn't believe the way your body was responding to his touch, the way the cold plastic lights seemed to only heighten your sensitivity. Joel's calloused thumb traced the outline of your lower lip, his eyes dark with a hunger that made your stomach clench.

"You're so goddamn infuriating, but you know what?" His voice was a low, dangerous whisper. "I think I might enjoy having you all to myself like this."

With surprising gentleness, Joel lifted you off the floor, the lights cutting into your skin as he positioned you face down on the dusty coffee table. Your breasts cushioned the impact, the cool wood sending a shiver through you, but the lights around your torso and legs dug in unyieldingly. The way he looked at you was anything but gentle, his eyes a stormy sea of desire and frustration.

"Even so, I gotta teach that foul mouth of yours some manners," he murmured, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. His hand moved to your hip, tilting it slightly so that your bare ass was presented to him like a target. The muffle protest from the velvet bow in your mouth was lost in the roar of the storm outside.

Your eyes widened as you stared at him, the incredulity clear even with the bow obscuring your words. Being bound and gagged with Christmas lights in a freezing cabin wasn't lesson enough? Joel's smirk told you he wasn't finished. He stepped back, his hand lingering on your hip, the warmth of his touch leaving a brand against your cold skin.

He pulled the whiskey bottle to his lips again, the amber liquid glinting in the firelight. He took a deep drink, his eyes never leaving yours, and the heat in them was more intense than the flames licking the logs in the fireplace. He set the bottle down with a thud, the sound echoing in the tense silence.

You felt a strange thrill at the way he was looking at you, a mix of fear and excitement. The alcohol was playing tricks with your head, making the situation seem both terrifying and tantalizing. Joel stepped closer, his hand sliding down to caress your ass, the plastic lights digging into your skin with every movement.

"You've been asking for this, haven't you?" he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "All that sass and backtalk." His hand squeezed harder, the pain shooting through you, but it was laced with a strange thrill that made your core throb. You couldn't deny it; his dominance was intoxicating.

With a sudden smack, Joel's hand connected with your ass, the sound echoing through the cabin. The shock of it made you jolt, the Christmas lights biting deeper into your skin. A gasp muffled by the velvet bow escaped your lips. The sting grew, spreading like wildfire across your cheeks. It was a harsh contrast to the cold plastic that held you in place.

Joel's hand hovered over you, waiting for your response. You glared at him over your shoulder, the fury in your eyes unmistakable. But there was something else, a flicker of something you didn't dare admit. The whiskey had lowered your inhibitions, and the thrill of the situation was undeniable. You'd always had a rebellious streak, and Joel had just lit the fuse.

He raised his eyebrow, a silent challenge. You knew he wasn't going to stop until he'd made his point. And part of you—a part you didn't dare acknowledge—was eager to see how far he'd go. He brought his hand down again, the smack echoing through the cabin. The pain was sharp, but it sent a jolt of heat through your body, warming you from the inside out.

You struggled against the bonds, the lights cutting into your skin with every twitch. The pain was exquisite, a strange mix of agony and arousal. Joel's hand landed again, the sound of his palm against your flesh filling the room. You bit down harder on the bow, the fabric muffling the sounds of your protests.

"Keep it down," Joel warned, his voice a dark rumble. "Or I'll have to find something else to keep that mouth busy." The implication was clear, and a shiver ran down your spine. Despite the situation, you felt a thrill at the thought, the warmth from the fire and the whiskey mixing with the cold fear in your belly.

His hand fell again, the impact resonating through your body. You couldn't help the whimper that slipped past the bow, the sting of his hand on your skin igniting a fire within you.

The storm outside raged on, the wind howling a mournful tune that seemed to match the rhythm of Joel's smacks. He was relentless, each hit falling in a steady, punishing cadence that had you squirming against the unforgiving Christmas lights. They dug into your flesh with every movement, a bizarrely erotic counterpoint to the heat of his hand.

The pain grew, but so did your arousal. You felt the wetness between your legs, a betrayal that only served to enrage him further. The smacks grew harder, faster, as if he could beat the desire out of you. But it was futile; you were lost to the thrill of his dominance, the way he claimed your body as his own.

Joel's breath grew ragged, his eyes dark with lust as he stared down at your bound form. His hand stilled for a moment, and you felt the heat of his gaze on your skin. "You like this, don't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with need. The accusation in his tone made you want to scream in defiance, but the bow allowed only muffled sounds to escape.

Your body was a symphony of sensations—the cold bite of the lights, the burning ache in your ass, the warmth of your arousal pooling between your thighs. You tested the bonds again, a silent challenge to him. Joel's smirk grew wider, and he leaned down, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear. "You want more, don't you?" he whispered, his breath sending a shiver through your body.

Before you could respond—or even think of a snarky remark—his hand fell again, harder than before. The pain was a shock, a beautiful, terrible symphony that made your eyes water. But you didn't fight it. You leaned into the sensation, the warmth spreading through your body like wildfire. The whiskey had done its job, blurring the lines between fear and desire until all you felt was a white-hot need that demanded to be sated.

Suddenly, Joel stopped. He stepped back, his eyes raking over your bound form. He took a deep breath, as if gathering his strength, and then he moved again. The lights dug into your skin as he lifted you off the table, the plastic cold and unforgiving against your bare skin. He carried you over to the bed, the mattress groaning under your weight as he dropped you face down onto it. Your knees bent under you, raising your ass in the air, an unspoken invitation that made your stomach flutter.

With a low growl, Joel straddled you, his weight pressing you into the mattress. The lights around your neck tightened, and you felt a strange sense of security despite the fear. His hand trailed down your back, the touch sending sparks across your skin. "You're going to learn to behave," he murmured, his voice a mix of promise and threat.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back until you were looking up at him. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of true distress, but finding only a fiery challenge. His grip tightened, and you could feel his erection pressing against your thigh. The air in the cabin grew thick with tension, the fire casting flickering shadows across his face.

"You want this," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "You've been asking for it." His hand slid down to the small of your back, his thumb tracing the line of your spine until it rested on the top of your ass. He leaned in, his breath warm against your ear. "You're going to take it, whether you like it or not."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, and you bit down on the bow harder, trying to ignore the heat that was spreading through your body. Joel's hand moved to your hip, his thumb brushing against the slickness of your folds. The shock of his touch made you gasp, the sound muffled by the velvet in your mouth. You felt his erection pressing against your thigh, and the reality of the situation crashed down on you like a wave.

"You're wet," he murmured, his voice a mix of disbelief and triumph. "Fuck, you're so wet for me." His hand moved away, and you felt the bed shift as he stood up. Your eyes searched the room, desperate for anything to break the tension.

The sound of his belt buckle was like a gunshot in the quiet cabin. You tensed, your breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Joel stepped out of his pants, the sound of his zipper echoing through the room. He removed his pants and boots, and discarded his shirt. You could see the clothing fall to the floor, but he stayed just out of your line of sight, a tortuous action you were sure he did on purpose. You felt the warmth of his body as he leaned over you, his hand reaching down to touch you again, this time slipping between your thighs.

He groaned, his hand sliding over your wetness. "Looks like someone's enjoying this," he said, his voice thick with desire. His fingers circled your clit, the pressure building until you moaned into the bow. You tried to buck your hips, to escape his touch, but the lights held you firmly in place. The plastic was unforgiving, digging into your skin with every movement.

With a grunt, he positioned himself behind you, his erection nudging against your entrance. You tensed, the reality of what was happening crashing down on you like the storm outside. But the whiskey and the thrill of the situation had your body betraying you, eager for his touch. He didn't ask for permission, didn't bother with foreplay. He just pushed inside you, the coldness of the Christmas lights making the heat of his body all the more intense.

You moaned around the bow, the sound muffled and desperate. The stretch was almost painful, but the way your body responded to his was anything but. Joel's thrusts grew deeper, harder, the bed creaking with every movement. The plastic lights bit into your skin as he pulled you back onto him, the pain mixing with the pleasure until it was impossible to tell them apart.

He was relentless, his hips pumping into you without mercy. The whiskey had made you sloppy, your body pliant under his dominance. You felt the warmth building low in your belly, the sensation of his roughness and the cold plastic against your skin driving you closer to the edge. It was a heady mix of fear and desire that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

The bed protested under the force of his thrusts, the old springs squeaking a rhythm that matched the storm outside. Each push sent a jolt of pain through your bound wrists and neck, but it only served to heighten your arousal. You couldn't help but rock back into him, your body moving of its own accord. The velvet bow grew wet with your saliva, but it remained firmly in place, a constant reminder of your lack of control.

Joel's hand moved from your hip to your neck, his grip tightening around the lights that held you in place. The pressure increased, cutting off your air supply just enough to make you panic. But instead of fighting, your body responded with a rush of pleasure, your pussy clenching around his cock. He grunted, the sound vibrating against your back, his strokes becoming more erratic.

With a swift movement, he untied the velvet bow, tossing it aside. It landed on the floor with a soft thud, forgotten in the haze of desire that had taken over the room. Your mouth was finally free, and you gasped for air, the cold air filling your lungs like a balm. Joel leaned down, his hot breath fanning your ear. "If I had known it only took my cock to shut you up," he murmured, his voice a mix of amusement and satisfaction, "I would have fucked you long ago."

The words were a slap in the face. But your body didn't care about the words, didn't care about the fear that still lurked in the corner of your mind. All it cared about was the delicious friction of him inside you, the way he filled you so completely that you felt like you might shatter at any moment.

You moaned, the sound raw and needy, your voice echoing through the cabin. Joel's grip tightened around your neck, his other hand sliding down to your clit. His thumb circled the sensitive nub, the pressure building until you thought you might scream. "That's it," he whispered, his voice a harsh rasp. "Take it."

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train, the waves of pleasure crashing over you, stealing your breath. Joel's thrusts grew more frantic, his grip on your neck unrelenting. You felt his cock swell inside you, his release imminent. And then it washed over him, his body going rigid as he emptied himself into you. The sensation was so overwhelming, your mind didn’t even panic at the possible consequences of his actions.

For a moment, you were both still, the only sound the ragged breathing that filled the cabin. The storm outside had lost none of its fury, but inside, the only tempest was the one raging within you. Joel's grip loosened, and he pulled out, his cock slipping from your wetness with a sound that seemed obscene in the silence.

He stepped away from the bed, and you heard him rummaging through the cabin. You lay there, bound and trembling, unsure of what to do next. The pain in your wrists and neck had faded to a dull throb, overshadowed by the aftershocks of your orgasm. You didn't dare move, didn't dare speak. The air was thick with the scent of sex and the lingering whiskey.

When he returned, it was with a soft, warm cloth. He approached you with a surprising gentleness, the cloth in his hand. His eyes searched yours, looking for any sign of regret or fear. But all he found was a strange mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. He knelt beside the bed, the mattress groaning under his weight. With careful movements, he began to wipe the mess from between your legs, the cloth hot against your sensitive skin.

You couldn't help the shiver that ran through you as he worked, the sensation of his touch both soothing and arousing. Joel's expression was unreadable, his eyes on the task at hand. He didn't speak, didn't offer any apology or explanation for what had just happened. He simply took care of you, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Once he had finished, Joel stood up, his eyes lingering on your bound form. "Fuck," he murmured, almost to himself. "Wish I had a camera. You tied up in Christmas lights like this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." His words were soft, the awe in his voice making your heart race. It was a strange sentiment, considering the circumstances, but there was no denying the sincerity behind it.

With a sigh, Joel began the delicate process of untangling you from the lights. He was careful not to cause further pain, his movements methodical and precise as he worked. You winced with every inch of plastic that was removed, the cold air of the cabin hitting your skin like a slap. The marks from the lights stood out, red and angry against your pale flesh.

As he unraveled the lights, Joel's touch grew gentler, his thumbs brushing over the welts they had left behind. His eyes remained focused on the task, but his expression softened, the lines of his face smoothing out. The storm outside seemed to quiet as he worked, the only sounds the occasional pop of the fire and the rustle of plastic against fabric.

Finally, the last light was removed, and you could breathe a sigh of relief. Your skin was on fire, and your muscles protested as you moved, but the pain was nothing compared to the ache of need that still thrummed through your veins. Joel tossed the lights aside, his gaze lingering on you, almost as if he were seeing you for the first time.

"You okay?" he asked gruffly, his voice thick with something unreadable. You nodded, unsure of what to say. You weren't okay, but you weren't not okay either. The lines between fear and desire had blurred so completely that you weren't sure where one began and the other ended.

Joel pulled the blankets over you, tucking you in with a tenderness that was jarring after the harshness of what had just occurred. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting heavily on your thigh. His eyes searched your face, looking for any hint of what you were feeling. You met his gaze, the firelight playing across his features, highlighting the concern in his eyes.

"We need to get some sleep," he murmured. "The storm's not letting up." His voice was gruff, but the edge of dominance had faded, leaving only the weariness of a man who had just claimed what he wanted. You nodded, not trusting your voice to be steady. You were still trembling from the aftermath of your forced climax, your body humming with the remnants of pleasure and fear.

Joel stood, pulling the blankets tight around you. His eyes searched the room, lingering on the Christmas lights scattered across the floor. For a moment, you thought he might say something, might acknowledge the twisted game he had just played with your body. But he remained silent, his expression unreadable.

He moved to the fireplace, stoking the flames back to life with a few pieces of kindling. The fire crackled and spat, throwing shadows across the cabin. The warmth washed over you, soothing the last vestiges of cold from your skin. The whiskey had worn off, leaving a dull throb in your head, but the ache between your legs remained, a constant reminder of his dominance.

Joel grabbed a bottle of water from his bag, twisted the cap, and took a swig. He offered it to you, and you gratefully took a few sips, the cool liquid soothing your throat. You handed it back to him, your eyes never leaving his. The silence was deafening, the air thick with unspoken words and unanswered questions.

He sat on the couch, reclining back against the worn cushions. The flames from the fireplace danced in his eyes, casting a warm glow across his features. You remained on the bed, the blankets pulled tightly around you, trying to regain your composure. Despite the warmth, you couldn't shake the cold that had settled deep within your bones. You watched him for a moment, his chest rising and falling with each steady breath, his eyes on the flickering flames.

The silence grew heavier, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the howling wind outside. You couldn't help but feel a mix of anger, confusion, and a strange sense of vulnerability. The way he had taken you, claimed you, was not something you could easily dismiss. Yet, as the shock of the encounter began to wear off, the heat between your legs remained, a persistent throb that you couldn't ignore.

With a sigh, Joel stood and approached the bed. His eyes were softer now, the harshness of the situation seeming to have melted away with the breaking of the storm. He reached out, his hand brushing against the blanket that covered you. "You're shaking," he said, his voice gruff but tinged with concern. "You should come closer to the fire."

He didn't wait for your response, simply scooped you up and carried you over to the couch. You didn't resist, too overwhelmed by the events to argue. He placed you on the cushions, your body still trembling, and sat down beside you, pulling you into his side. The warmth from the fire and his body seeped into you, chasing away the last of the cold.

Joel's arm was a solid weight around your shoulders, his hand resting on your thigh. You felt his thumb move in small, comforting circles, the gesture at odds with the harshness of his earlier actions. His eyes never left the fire, as if he couldn't bear to look at you. The silence grew more uncomfortable with each passing moment, the tension in the room as thick as the snow outside the cabin walls.

He knew he had crossed a line. The way you trembled in his arms was a reminder that he had pushed you further than he ever had before. The question of whether it had been too far played on his mind, a persistent drumbeat that matched the rhythm of the storm outside. His own need for dominance had overruled his better judgment, leaving him unsure of what you were feeling.

Your body had responded to him, that much was clear. But Joel was aware that physical pleasure didn't always equate to mental or emotional consent. He had seen the fear in your eyes, the way you had struggled against the lights. Yet, he also knew that fear could be a powerful aphrodisiac, especially in the kind of world you had grown up in, a world where survival depended on the ability to find pleasure in the most unlikely of places.

He had always kept his darker urges in check around others. Tommy's disapproving glances and Tess's firm refusals had taught him to tuck that part of himself away. But with you, it was different. You didn't cower from his gruffness, you didn't shrink away from his intensity. Instead, you met it with a sass that only served to fuel his fire. It was that sass, that unrelenting spirit, that had brought this side of him to the surface. The storm had simply provided the perfect backdrop for it to unfold.

Joel had never admitted it, not even to himself, but the thought of your sweet, unblemished skin marked by his roughness had been a persistent fantasy. The way you had squirmed and struggled against the lights had brought it all to a boil. He had seen the fear in your eyes, but also something else. A spark of something primal that had called to his innermost desires. It was that spark that had driven him to claim you so fiercely, to push you to the brink of pleasure and pain.

Now, as he held you, feeling the tremors slowly ease from your body, he couldn't help but hope that you felt the same pull towards him that he did towards you. That the heat between your legs was not just a byproduct of his dominance, but a genuine longing that matched his own. He knew it was selfish, knew that he had taken something from you without asking. But in that moment, the storm had stripped away his inhibitions, leaving only the raw, animalistic need to possess you.

The fire crackled, the only sound in the cabin that wasn't the beating of your hearts. You leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder, your breathing shallow and uneven. The warmth of his body seeped into you, chasing away the last remnants of the cold. It was as if the storm had passed, leaving behind only the quiet aftermath of what had been a tumultuous event. You felt both used and cherished, a contradiction that had your mind spinning.

The pain from your spanked ass had transformed into a dull throb, a constant reminder of his dominance. Yet, there was something oddly comforting about it, like a bruise from a hard-fought battle, a testament to your survival. You had never experienced anything like this before, the way fear and pleasure had twisted together until you weren't sure where one ended and the other began. The plastic lights had left their marks, but it was the invisible ropes of his will that had truly bound you.

You felt a strange mix of emotions: anger at his audacity, confusion at your own body's betrayal, and a surprising warmth that grew as you lay there, nestled in his arms. Your heart raced with the memory of your fiery protests that had turned into needy moans. It was as if a part of you had been waiting for this, craving the submission to someone strong enough to handle your fiery spirit.

The fire crackled, and you stared into the flames, the warmth of the cabin a stark contrast to the freezing wilderness outside. You had always prided yourself on your independence, your ability to stand on your own two feet in a world that had crumbled around you. Yet here you were, bound and claimed by a man who had the power to bring you to your knees with just a look. It was a humiliating realization, and your cheeks burned with the knowledge of it.

Joel's hand on your chin was firm but gentle, forcing you to meet his gaze. You tried to pull away, but his grip was unyielding. "What's going through that head of yours?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through you. You felt a blush rise up your neck and flood your cheeks, a silent admission of your confusion.

"I'm not submissive," you whispered, your voice trembling. The words felt like a lie, a feeble attempt to reclaim the power he had so effortlessly taken from you. You had always been the one in charge, the one calling the shots, but in that cabin, under the watchful eye of the storm, it was as if you had been stripped bare, all your defenses rendered useless by his dominance. Since Joel Miller had entered your life you had felt that power slowly slip away.

Joel's eyes searched yours, a hint of surprise flickering in the depths of his gaze. "I know you're not," he murmured, his voice a gentle rumble against your ear. "But you liked it." There was no room for denial in his tone, only a statement of fact. He knew it, and deep down, you knew it too. The way your body had responded to his rough touch, the way you had moaned and writhed under his control, betrayed the truth of your words.

You tried to sit up, to put some space between you, but his grip on your chin tightened ever so slightly. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice still low but with a firmness that brooked no argument. You met his eyes, the green depths of them holding you in place as surely as the lights had bound your body. "You liked it," he repeated, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "Don't lie to me."

You swallowed hard, the words sticking in your throat. "I'll never let you treat me like that in front of others," you finally managed, your voice a mere whisper. "I won't be some quiet submissive house wife."

Joel's eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable. "I don't want a housewife," he said, his voice gruff. "And I sure as hell don't want a quiet one." His hand left your chin, instead sliding down to the small of your back, his thumb tracing small circles over your spine. "What I want," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, "is a partner who likes to be dominated when we are alone."

You stiffened at his words, trying to push away the thrill that shot through you. "I don't submit," you said, the defiance in your voice wavering. But even as the words left your mouth, you couldn't ignore the way your body responded to his touch, the way your pulse quickened and your stomach clenched with anticipation.

"Good," Joel murmured, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head, his thumb brushing against your neck. "Because submission does nothing for me. I don't want a doll that just lays there and takes it." His eyes bore into yours, a challenge in their depths that sent a shiver down your spine. "I love the fire, the fight, the feeling of you struggling under me." His voice grew gruffer, more intense with every word. "That's what I want. Run your mouth to me all day long," he continued, his thumb pressing a little harder, "just know that the more you push, the more you have to take when I get you alone."

The words hung in the air between you, a declaration of intent that had your heart racing. The idea of him seeking out your fight, craving the challenge of bringing you to heel, was both terrifying and exhilarating. You could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze as heavy as the arm that held you in place. "I don't want you to submit," he said, his voice low and rough with desire. "I want to fuck the fight out of you."

Well, fuck. You should be terrified. But the heat pooling between your legs, the way his words made you shiver, told a different story. You had never felt so alive, so... wanted. Joel was a force of nature, a man who had survived in a world that had chewed up and spit out the weak. The idea that you could be the one to challenge him, to make him burn with the same intensity, was intoxicating.

You stared at him, the firelight playing across his features, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the intensity in his eyes. The storm outside had settled into a gentle patter against the cabin walls, but the tempest inside of you raged on. Your heart thudded in your chest, a mix of anger and desire that left you feeling dizzy. You had been so sure of your place in the world, so certain of your own strength, and yet here you were, craving the very thing you had fought against.

Joel's words hung in the air like a challenge, a promise that sent a jolt of electricity through your body. You should be scared, you told yourself. You should be appalled by the thought of letting this man, this grumpy, overbearing, infuriating man, have that kind of power over you. But instead, all you felt was a strange thrill, a deep-seated need to push back against him, to test the limits of his control.

You looked at him, the firelight playing across his tan, weathered features. His eyes searched yours, as if looking for the answer to a question he hadn't yet asked. The storm outside had settled into a gentle patter, but the one inside of you had only just begun. You couldn't find the words to respond, so you simply nodded. It was a small gesture, almost imperceptible, but Joel's gaze didn't miss it.

His mouth crashed into yours, a kiss that was as rough and demanding as the storm had been. His hands framed your face, his thumbs pressing into your cheekbones as he tasted you, devoured you. It was a claiming, a branding, and you found yourself responding in kind. Your body melted into his, the anger and confusion giving way to a white-hot need that you hadn't even realized existed. That nod had been all the permission he needed, and now, he had you.

Joel's tongue traced the seam of your lips before he bit down gently, a silent demand for entry. You opened for him, the kiss growing more intense with each passing second. His beard was coarse against your skin, a reminder of his masculinity, of the power he held over you. His hands slid down to your waist, his grip tightening as he pulled you closer, your legs wrapping around his hips of their own accord.

With a grunt of effort, Joel shoved you back, your back hitting the couch cushions. He grabbed your hips, lifting your legs over his shoulders as he brought his mouth to your core. The suddenness of it took your breath away, your eyes going wide with surprise. "Joel," you gasped out, a weak protest that was more a moan than anything else.

"We have so much to talk about," you managed, though the words were barely coherent. But even as you spoke, your body was betraying you, arching into his touch, eager for the pleasure you knew he could give. The plushness of the couch cushioned your body, but the starkness of the cabin walls and the flickering firelight served as a stark reminder of the power dynamics at play.

"Do we?" Joel's question was a low rumble, his eyes dark with lust and something else, something that made your stomach clench. His beard was rough against your thighs, his breath hot against your center. "Or do we just need to make sure we understand each other?" He didn't wait for your response, instead dipping his head and pressing a kiss to the apex of your thighs, his teeth grazing the tender skin. You shivered, the anticipation building to an unbearable crescendo.

"What-what do we tell Ellie?" you panted out, trying to regain some semblance of control. The thought of the girl knowing what had transpired here was... mortifying. Joel's smirk was unmistakable, his eyes glinting with mischief as he looked up at you.

"Ellie has been asking me when I was gonna fuck you for months," he said casually, his mouth still dangerously close to your center. "Since almost the first week you joined us. Been yelling at her for using such language. She is gonna be fucking ecstatic."

The crude words had your cheeks burning, but the fact that Ellie had noticed, that she had talked to Joel about it, had a strange kind of thrill to it. It was like you were all connected in a way that went beyond the typical bonds of friendship or family. The thought of her knowing was embarrassing, but it also made you feel a part of something.

You swallowed hard, trying to form a coherent sentence. "What if she... what if she says something?" You couldn't imagine facing her, knowing she knew what had happened between you and Joel. But Joel just chuckled, his breath hot against your skin.

"Let her," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "Let them all know. You're mine now, and that's all that matters." He claimed you with those words, with the possessive glint in his eye that sent a thrill through your body. The thought of being his, belonging to this gruff, fierce man, was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. It was a declaration that went against everything you had ever known, everything you had ever been. “They’ll know your mine. But what we do in private, that will stay between us.”

He lowered his mouth to your pussy, his tongue tracing a wet line up your slit, making you gasp. The pleasure was intense, a stark contrast to the pain in your ass that still lingered. Joel's eyes remained locked on yours, watching your reactions, gauging your limits. You tried to push him away, but his grip on your hips was unyielding. The struggle only served to turn you on more, your body a traitor to your own thoughts.

"I want to see how many times I can make you come," he murmured, his breath hot against your clit. "I want to hear you scream my name until your throat is raw." His words sent a shiver down your spine, your body already responding to his demanding tone. You had never been with someone so intense, so focused on your pleasure. It was overwhelming, and yet you couldn't help but crave more.

His tongue slid inside you, curling and stroking, as his fingers found your clit. He worked you with a single-minded determination that had your back arching off the couch. Each touch, each stroke, brought you closer to the edge, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. Joel's eyes never left yours, the challenge in them growing with every passing second. It was as if he was daring you to break, to lose control completely.

You felt the first orgasm build, a tight coil of pleasure in your belly. You tried to fight it, to maintain some semblance of dignity, but Joel was relentless. His mouth and hands worked in tandem, driving you higher and higher until you couldn't hold back anymore. With a cry, you shattered, your body trembling as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over

you.

He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes never leaving yours. "One," he said with a smug satisfaction, his voice thick with lust. He didn't give you a moment to recover, instead sliding two thick fingers inside you, his thumb pressing down on your clit. You bucked your hips, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation, but Joel held you in place, his gaze never wavering.

"Two," he murmured, his voice a low growl as you felt the second orgasm build. It was as if he had flipped a switch in you, one that you didn't even know existed. Your body responded to his every touch, your muscles tightening around his fingers as he worked you mercilessly. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep your moans to a minimum, but it was no use. The pleasure was too intense, too consuming.

Joel's eyes bore into yours, his gaze almost predatory. He could see the effect he was having on you, and it only spurred him on. He added a third finger, stretching you wider, his thumb circling your clit with increasing speed. "Come for me," he ordered, his voice a gravelly rumble. You could feel your body starting to shake, the tension coiling tighter and tighter. "Come on, I know you can do it."

You whimpered, the pleasure and pain blending together in a heady mix that made your head spin. "Joel," you gasped out, your nails digging into the couch cushions. "Please, I can't-"

"Yes, you can," he said firmly, his eyes gleaming in the firelight. "You're so much stronger than you think. Just let go." And with that, he pushed you over the edge once more, your body convulsing around his hand as the second orgasm ripped through you. "Two," he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction.

He didn't stop there. Joel was a man on a mission, and his mission was to shatter every last one of your defenses. He slid his fingers out of you, replacing them with his mouth, his tongue flicking and teasing your sensitive bundle of nerves. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he feasted on you, his beard tickling your inner thighs.

You struggled in his hold, trying desperately to get free, to get away from the sensation of his mouth, but his grip was ironclad. Each time you tried to pull away, he only held you tighter, his teeth grazing your clit in a gentle bite that had you crying out. It was a dance of power and submission, one you had never experienced before.

As the third orgasm began to build, you realized that you had been fighting a losing battle from the start. Your body was his, and it responded to him in ways you had never felt before. You could feel his smile against your skin, feel his victory in the way his tongue lapped at you, eager to push you to the brink again.

"Three," Joel said smugly, pulling back to watch the aftershocks ripple through you. You lay there, panting and exposed, your body trembling. He leaned back on his haunches, his eyes traveling up the length of your body, lingering on the marks the Christmas lights had left on your skin. The sight of them sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, and you knew that you were lost to this man, to this moment.

Without warning, Joel stood, pulling you with him. You stumbled, your legs weak and unsteady. "Not done yet," he murmured, his voice a dark promise that sent a shiver down your spine. He led you to the bed, the mattress creaking under your combined weight as he pushed you down onto your stomach. Your cheek pressed into the cold fabric as he straddled your thighs, his weight pinning you in place.

"Gonna fuck you all night," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to echo through the cabin. "See how many orgasms I can draw from you before you pass out. And then," he leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, "how many more I can get from you after that." The anticipation was unbearable, your body already humming with the aftermath of the previous climaxes. You could feel his hardness pressing against you, a reminder of what was to come.

The fear was there, a cold knot in your stomach that made you want to scream and fight and run. But it was mixed with something else, something dark and thrilling. You had never felt so wanted, so desired. The idea that Joel, this powerful, intimidating man, was going to take you apart piece by piece, that he was going to leave you trembling and begging for more, was intoxicating. You had always prided yourself on your independence, your ability to take care of yourself in this harsh world. But now, faced with his dominance, you realized just how much you had been craving this all along.

The struggle was real, a visceral dance of fear and excitement that had your blood singing in your veins. The anticipation of what was to come was like a drug, making your skin prickle with goosebumps. Joel was going to claim you, over and over, until you couldn't think of anything but him, until his name was the only thing you could scream out into the cold, empty night. And the thought of it made you wet, made your body ache with need.

You knew then there was no coming back. No escaping Joel. No one else would ever be able to satisfy you the same way. His dominance had unlocked something within you, something primal and raw that craved his touch, his control. The way he looked at you, the way he talked to you, it was as if he saw right through your defenses, right to the core of who you were. And in that moment, as his weight pressed you into the bed, you realized that you didn't want to escape. You wanted to be his. To belong to him in a way that went beyond the confines of the cabin, beyond the bounds of what was considered proper or acceptable. And you relished the thought of it.

#dark romance #no minors #dub con #reader #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #fan fiction #dark!joel miller

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yanderejustforyou · 3 days ago

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Honey covered Kisses

Babygirl 2024 Harris Dickinson

Samuel x reader

The glass office tower stretched into the sky, its sleek, shimmering surfaces reflecting the early morning sun as it crested the horizon. The sun's rays caught the edges of the building, creating a dazzling spectacle that mirrored the energy and potential of a new day. Inside, you sat at your desk, the rhythmic, soft click of your keyboard echoed in the otherwise silent room, punctuating the stillness like a metronome counting down to something significant. Though the day had barely begun, the weight of your responsibilities already pressed down on you, heavy and unyielding. You were good at your job—no one could argue that—but working under Samuel always felt like walking a precarious tightrope between professionalism and something much more complicated and alluring.

As the CEO, Samuel was a man who commanded attention effortlessly. Tall and imposing, with sharp, defined features that seemed to be carved from stone, he possessed a quiet authority that resonated through every room he entered. His presence was magnetic; it drew you in and made it difficult to focus on anything else. You couldn’t deny that you felt a connection to him, one that had grown since you first started working in his office months ago. It wasn’t just admiration for his power and success—it was something deeper, an electric undercurrent that coursed through your interactions and left you breathless.

Your thoughts, however, were abruptly interrupted by the sound of the door opening with a soft click. You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. Samuel. Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted, a palpable tension thickening the air like a fog rolling in over the city.

“(Y/N),” his voice sliced through your reverie, smooth and deep, resonating with an authority that made your heart race. “We need to talk about the progress on the Johnson account. I’m not seeing the results I expect.” His words were straightforward, but the weight behind them suggested that your performance was under scrutiny.

You glanced up from your screen, locking eyes with him. His gaze was intense, a deep well of expectation and something more, perhaps a hint of challenge. His posture was impeccably composed, radiating confidence, yet there was something about the way he looked at you—something that made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch in your throat.

“I’ve been working on it, Samuel,” you replied, striving to keep your voice steady and professional, though you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, betraying your calm facade. “There are a few details we’re still ironing out.” You knew the stakes; the Johnson account was crucial, but the way he stood there, almost looming, made it hard to concentrate.

He stepped closer to your desk, the space between you shrinking with each calculated move. Your breath hitched as he approached, his presence simultaneously commanding and intoxicating. “I expect perfection,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper that sent shivers down your spine.

Before you could formulate a response, Samuel leaned in closer, his lips brushing lightly against your ear, igniting a fire that traveled through your body like a wave of heat. The sensation was electric, and you felt a shiver crawl down your spine, your heart racing faster than before. His breath was warm against your skin, and you found it hard to focus on anything but the intoxicating chemistry that buzzed between you.

“You know how much I appreciate your hard work, don’t you, (Y/N)?” he murmured, his lips so close that the words seemed to stir the very air around you. “I think you need a little motivation.” The insinuation hung in the air, thick with tension.

Your body went still as his lips grazed the side of your neck, just enough to send a wave of heat coursing through your veins. “A kiss for motivation,” he continued softly, the words dripping with seduction, almost daring you to respond. “A little encouragement, to push you to do your best.” The challenge was clear, and your heart raced at the thought.

You blinked, confusion and desire warring within you, yet you were undeniably drawn to him. Was he being serious? The tension crackled like static electricity between you, the air thick with unspoken implications, as if the kiss wasn’t merely a reward, but a gateway to something deeper—a catalyst for your ambition and drive.

“Samuel...” you started to protest, your voice faltering as he leaned even closer, his lips hovering just in front of yours. The world outside faded away, and for a moment, it felt as though everything had narrowed down to just the two of you, suspended in a moment that held infinite possibilities.

“I think you’ll perform better if you have a little incentive,” he said, his voice soft yet commanding, wrapping around you like a cocoon. “Kisses tend to work wonders.”

Before you could articulate any further thoughts, Samuel closed the distance, kissing you—gentle at first, just a brush of his lips against yours. The kiss was light, a fleeting touch, yet it sent a spark of electricity coursing through your body, igniting a fire of desire and urgency. You pulled back slightly, breathless, only to find his eyes still fixed on you, filled with an intense expectation that left you reeling.

“Now,” he said, a hint of satisfaction in his voice, “let’s see what you can do with a little encouragement.”

Your heart raced, a mixture of exhilaration and apprehension swirling within you. You knew Samuel was playing a game—an intricate dance of power and allure—but you weren’t entirely sure how to play along. Yet, a part of you was curious, eager to see just how far this tantalizing game would go.

Taking a deep breath, you returned to your work, but this time, the atmosphere in the office felt charged with possibility. You couldn’t shake the feeling that Samuel had somehow taken control of more than just the meeting; he had infiltrated your thoughts, your motivations. His kiss lingered in your mind, the warmth and promise of it driving you to give your all to the task at hand.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of productivity and focus. Every time you crossed paths with Samuel, his gaze held a knowing intensity that made your pulse race, and you found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything other than the lingering taste of his kiss and the way it had ignited something deep within you.

By the time the day drew to a close, you had not only finished the Johnson account but had surpassed even your own expectations. You had worked faster, harder, as though his kiss had unlocked a new drive inside you—a fervent desire to succeed, to push your limits, and to impress him.

As you gathered your things to leave, Samuel appeared at your desk again, this time with a slight smirk playing on his lips, the satisfaction evident in his expression.

“Good work today, (Y/N),” he said, his tone smooth, but there was an edge to it, a hint of something playful yet serious. “I think we can continue this... method of motivation tomorrow. Don’t you agree?”

You met his eyes, your heart pounding, but there was no denying it—you were already hooked.

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familiarscars · 2 days ago

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Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 01

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Grimshade Sanatorium, an isolated island of Blackridge in southern Canada.

It had been six long hours by plane from your city, three hours by boat, and now an hour and a half crammed into a private car with closed windows, traveling along a bumpy road that bordered a cliff as it climbed the hill. Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest at any moment, and your hands were sweating so much that they alternated between hot and cold.

You adjusted your glasses on the bridge of your nose after checking the map for the eighth time, dividing your attention between the aged paper in your fingers and the fog outside that made it impossible to figure out where you were. From what you could decipher, Grimshade Sanatorium was at the top of a hill, while the rest of the island was shrouded in dark, untamed vegetation. There was a single small town miles away from your lodging, and reaching it seemed daunting given the path ahead.

At that moment, you hoped you wouldn’t need anything from it anytime soon.

When you chose psychiatry as your specialization, you never imagined how difficult it would be to find a job in the field, especially as a newly graduated professional. It was tough for reputable clinics to give you a vote of confidence, given your youth and limited experience beyond mandatory internships and extracurricular activities in college.

Everything changed when a letter from Grimshade Sanatorium arrived—a glimmer of hope. You had applied to so many places you’d forgotten about that one. They sent a notice on vintage paper, resembling a direct invitation from Hogwarts, which you found amusing yet intriguing due to the details.

They were looking for a psychiatrist for the ward housing inmates awaiting their final sentences—many of them serving their time as residents. It wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned, especially after researching Grimshade and discovering it functioned like a maximum-security prison for the most dangerous, mentally unstable criminals.

“This is where the road ends for cars, I’m afraid. You’ll have to continue on foot,” the driver said over his shoulder, turning to look at you in the back seat.

Your slightly wide-eyed gaze shifted between the dark dirt road ahead and his drooping eyes beneath his cap. You didn’t want to let on that you felt a faint shiver running up your spine.

“I don’t know how to get there alone,” you said, trying to mask the panic in your voice. “Okay, I have a map, but what are the chances it won’t confuse me? Is there somewhere I can get Wi-Fi or better cell service to use GPS?”

Rebert—that’s how he introduced himself—merely furrowed his brows and shook his head briefly, as if the words that had left your lips were absurd.

“With all due respect, miss, but a cellphone on Blackridge Island is the most useless device you could own. There’s no signal tower; we barely manage to watch TV or get news from the outside world,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” you asked, frowning as you adjusted yourself in the seat. “How do people communicate here?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Probably through letters and carrier pigeons, like a century ago.

“I need to ask one more thing. If I need to go into town, how can I call a taxi or get transportation?”

“When you get to this very intersection, you’ll see cars like mine heading toward the town. Since you’re a Grimshade employee, you’ll have unrestricted access with your ID badge. Just pay attention to the schedules and days of the week; town visits are limited to avoid coinciding with the arrival of new inmates.”

“They seem very strict about security,” you said, flexing your lips in mild surprise.

“Given the abominable creatures they house there, perhaps their measures aren’t strict enough. Strict is how I chain my dog to a post to keep him from running away. Those killers shouldn’t even have the privilege of eating and sleeping in that place,” Rebert said with a tone of contempt that left you slightly uncomfortable.

You hated when people spoke about patients that way, no matter who they were. But your beliefs and values didn’t matter much now.

“Well...” You cleared your throat, grabbing your coat and bag from the seat beside you, slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks for the ride and the tips, Rebert.”

“Not at all, miss.”

You hauled your suitcase out of the trunk, grunting at its weight, and dragged it toward the narrower stone path. In the distance, you heard Rebert’s car pulling away, its tires crunching against the gravel. Ahead, you could make out the mansion after a steep climb, with old tree branches and dry leaves forming an archway over the path.

The journey was silent, with nothing but the sounds of nature—the raspy chirping of birds—accompanied by the soft rush of water from the cracked concrete fountain decorating the front of the sanatorium as you crossed its gates. You walked slowly around it, grimacing as you noted the general state of neglect on the facade.

The circular driveway around the fountain had cracked and darkened tiles, and the mansion’s paint was as old as the building itself, appearing white under layers of creeping vines and cracks that altered its color. You couldn’t help wrinkling your nose at the sight, the chirping of birds replaced by the distant clang of heavy metal and muffled screams as you approached.

“You must be the new doctor!” A cheerful male voice addressed you from behind, startling you as you turned fully. “I’m Travis Rune, head psychiatrist of the custody ward. I’ve been assigned to welcome you to Grimshade!”

For a moment, you considered refusing the hand he extended toward you. He could’ve arrived a little earlier and helped you carry your heavy suitcase up the hill. On the other hand, the blond man with perfectly aligned hair and broad shoulders seemed far too pleasant to snub.

“Thank you! Have you been here long, Dr. Rune?” you asked, prompting a smile as Travis gestured with his chin for you to follow him inside.

“Please, call me Travis. We’re colleagues now.” He smiled, looking at you over his square glasses, winking one strikingly blue eye.

“That’s precisely why I prefer to keep things formal,” you said without intending to sound rude, though the words slipped out as you continued assessing the mansion’s interior.

A grand staircase led to the second floor, where nurses bustled about, and various patients were being moved from one place to another—some restrained, others not. Passing by a woman banging her head against the staircase railing, Travis led you upstairs, signaling to another staff member to take care of your suitcase.

“We’ve divided Grimshade into wings and levels. You’ll identify them by the bracelets on each patient’s wrist,” he explained as you moved down the corridor, ignoring the shouting coming from one of the consulting rooms. “Level One: green bracelet. Elderly patients abandoned by their families in our asylum. Their needs are managed by the nursing staff, so you won’t have contact with them.”

You absorbed the information, looking from side to side, thinking that abandoning a family member in a place like this was the ultimate proof of someone’s character.

"Level two: yellow wristbands. Patients of random age groups with mild mental disorders also abandoned by their families, or severe cases requiring institutionalization. They are monitored by the mental health team and have a monthly consultation with me for medication adjustments."

"So, they pay to be here?" Perhaps it was a naïve question, but you needed to know.

"Their families pay an annual fee and cover the costs of keeping them here. Unless it's a custody patient, we don’t treat anyone for free, if that’s what you’re wondering."

If they had so many patients and all of them paid to be here, why keep the sanatorium in the state of an ancient asylum? You wondered as you walked past a leak dripping water from the ceiling onto your hair.

"Understood, Dr. Rune."

He seemed quite young.

Okay, he was definitely good-looking and had a pleasant way of speaking. The age gap between you and him couldn’t have been more than two years. He was definitely the kind of guy you might have had a crush on in university, without the slightest reciprocation given the countless other, more interesting options he probably had. Not that you were particularly extroverted or social, especially when it came to interacting with men.

Locking yourself up at home with your face buried in books might not have been the best idea after all.

"Last but not least, level three: red wristbands. Custody patients awaiting trial or serving sentences at the sanatorium. We use treatment to extract information that can assist authorities and contribute to investigations."

He pointed toward a consultation room where a man in a dress shirt was speaking to a girl with her head down.

"Because these are highly dangerous criminals who can’t coexist with other patients, we keep them in a separate wing, which we call the Hidden."

Dr. Rune turned the next corner, and you followed him. As you passed through the doors and descended the stairs leading to the outside, the cold hit your face, and it was impossible not to cross your arms, trying to pull your sleeves further down.

You thought the scenery couldn’t get any worse, but with each step, it became darker. As you passed through gates and two guards, it felt like stepping into a TV prison show, walking along a corridor of iron cells.

A strong stench burned your nostrils, and the screams of patients mixed with the sound of something hitting the iron were enough to make your ears ring.

"This place is the reason you’re here. Our last professional resigned, and we urgently needed to fill the position before the next evaluation cycle started," Travis shrugged as he walked.

Your confidence dropped by a few percentage points upon realizing that your hiring was out of sheer desperation. Fine, you’d deal with that later.

"They resigned?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, dodging a stream of urine aimed in your direction by a patient. "Not exactly motivating to hear that on the first day."

"It’s a tough ward; it’s not for everyone." He smiled, and you hesitated immediately. "Besides the patient files you’ll handle, you’ll need to prepare for a new detainee arriving soon."

"A new detainee?" For the first time, your question sounded genuinely intrigued.

"He’s being tried for a brutal murder. There’s little information about the case, like his motivation or even confirmation that he did it. He hasn’t spoken a word since it happened, and the judge concluded he’s not mentally sound." Travis rolled his eyes. "They dump any trash here, and it’s up to us to sort through it. Along the way, we see if we can help at all."

He was definitely fed up with this job.

"So, let me guess... you think I can make him talk?" you asked, playing with a hint of innocence as you watched Travis stop in the corridor.

"I don’t think someone as inexperienced as you can go that far, no offense." He spoke with a touch of sarcasm. "We just want you to follow protocol with him, and I’ll handle the rest."

Something prickled at the back of your neck at the way he dismissed your years of study as absolutely nothing just because your resume wasn’t as extensive as his. Your hands curled into fists, your fingers pressing into your palms, and you took a deep breath before responding.

"Of course, Dr. Rune."

The tour of the Hidden was over, and you were exhausted. Travis left you at the door of your small room with its jammed window and dusty ceiling fan. Before leaving, he emphasized the importance of being well-rested to receive the new patient the next day. After your shower, you wanted to call your mother and let her know you had arrived safely on the island after hours of travel, but without any signal, no matter where you moved in the room, this mission was impossible. Tossing the phone onto your pillow, you promised yourself you’d give her an update as soon as you had a break and could visit the town.

With a tired sigh, you sat at the desk next to the bed, drying your hair with a towel while flipping through patient files. You weren’t sleepy yet, and without the entertainment of the internet, all you could do was work.

Patient File 1: Ash A., 39 years old - Admission: June 2019 Preliminary Diagnosis: Severe psychopathy; dissociative disorder.

History: Ash was admitted after being declared legally insane during the trial for a series of brutal murders. He worked as a taxidermist, and his obsession with preserving "human perfection" led him to conduct grotesque experiments on his victims, all meticulously chosen. He claimed he was "saving" their souls by preserving them in an "immortal" form. During initial sessions, he displayed a complete lack of remorse and a disturbingly detailed recounting of his actions. Current State: Apathetic during interactions, except when discussing his “art.” Shows no signs of rehabilitation or acknowledgment of the atrocities committed.

You raised your eyebrows and jotted down notes in your notebook before moving to the next file.

Patient File 2: Mariene G., 27 years old - Admission: October 2021 Preliminary Diagnosis: Schizoaffective disorder with violent tendencies.

History: Mariene was found in a state of shock next to the body of her older brother, stabbed 23 times. Apparently, she believed he was a demonic entity trying to steal her soul. According to family testimony, Mariene began exhibiting paranoid behavior months earlier, hearing voices instructing her to protect herself "at all costs." In one interview, she stated she "had no choice" and that "his eyes burned like embers."

Current State: Alternates between periods of lucidity and paranoia. Aggressive during confrontations, requiring constant supervision.

“Mariene is a pretty name…” you murmured, assessing the photo of the woman with blonde eyebrows.

Patient File 3: Brady P., 52 years old - Admission Date: January 2020

Preliminary Diagnosis: Antisocial personality disorder; extreme persecution mania.

History: Brady was a former financial executive who believed he was being pursued by a "secret society" responsible for monitoring his every move and manipulating his life. This paranoia culminated in a public attack at a shopping mall, where Brady set fire to three stores and stabbed two security guards, claiming they were "infiltrators." He maintains that each act was a measure of self-preservation against an invisible enemy.

Current State: Rarely sleeps, claiming that "they will find him" if he closes his eyes. Displays consistent delusions despite intensive medication.

With the third file finished, you exhaled sharply, letting your lips vibrate, imagining what could have driven the previous psychiatrist to resign, leaving this position open for you.

Patient File 4: Noah S., 24 years old - Admission Date: February 2024

Preliminary Diagnosis: Psychogenic catatonia associated with borderline personality disorder and severe dissociative episodes.

History: Noah was found at dawn in a grove near the university campus, kneeling beneath a large tree. Above him hung the mutilated body of his ex-girlfriend, Rachel E., 23 years old, suspended by her ankles and bearing signs of extreme violence: deep cuts marked her skin, symbols carved into her torso, and her frozen expression suggested a slow and painful death.

Noah was covered in blood, both his own and Rachel’s. When approached by police, he remained motionless, staring blankly at her hanging body. Initial investigations revealed the two had been seen together the night before at a rival fraternity party where, according to witnesses, a heated argument occurred. The circumstances of the crime raised questions of premeditation and symbolic rituals, but Noah never provided an explanation. From the moment of his capture, Noah had not spoken a single word. Extensive psychiatric evaluations concluded that his muteness and apathy were not conscious choices but the result of a profound dissociative state combined with severe trauma. During the trial, his inert posture and lack of defense led to an insanity plea and his transfer to Grimshade Sanitarium.

Current State: Noah remains in complete silence, minimally interacting with his surroundings. Nurses’ reports mention he is often found staring into space for hours, particularly near windows or trees. His only movements thus far have been sudden bursts of rage when provoked.

Closing the file, the feeling lingered — a deep chill seemed to originate from the center of your chest, raising the hair on your arms. Noah’s face in the photograph seemed almost alive, his intense, furrowed gaze carrying something impossible to name. For a moment, you wondered what it would be like to stand face-to-face with someone harboring such silence and horror within.

But your curiosity wouldn’t have to last long — you would meet him tomorrow.

The day began with an unusual restlessness. The hot water from the shower didn’t dissipate the cold that seemed to settle in your nape, and Noah’s face from the photograph lingered like a shadow, even with your eyes closed. It was as though the intensity of his gaze was imprinted on your mind, and more than once, you caught yourself trying to divert your thoughts — unsuccessfully — while instinctively clutching your thighs.

The tattoos — intricate and dark — covering his neck and peeking from the collar of his shirt didn’t help, drawing attention to themselves. Something about that man disturbed you more than any other patient you had encountered, and the feeling only grew as you prepared, choosing an outfit that projected professionalism, though a hint of nervousness threatened to show.

Descending to reception, you found Dr. Rune waiting with a calm smile and a hot coffee. You thanked him, holding the cup with both hands, trying to savor the warmth as a fleeting comfort. Walking together toward the outside, he explained some logistical details, but his words soon faded as a growing noise filled the corridor.

Crossing the main entrance doors, you stopped abruptly, startled by the scene unfolding before you. Journalists crowded like a compact swarm, camera flashes firing in rapid succession, and visibly overwhelmed security guards struggling to contain the horde. It was a chaotic visual and auditory assault, intensifying with each passing second.

“I should’ve warned you,” Travis murmured beside you, noting your expression. “Not only is his case infamous, but Noah comes from a very influential family. The owners of Blackridge, basically. They have fortune, power... and apparently no hurry to help their precious son.”

“They’re not trying to prove his innocence?” you asked innocently.

“All signs point to them wanting to stay out of the case due to the exposure. We’re in the isolated area, but Blackridge’s noble district is so conservative it’s believed that land still exists in a time capsule that hasn’t evolved.”

“That sounds... complicated.”

“Just another piece of gossip about a random patient.”

The information landed heavily, given Travis’s mocking tone, and you tried to ignore him.

“They won’t back off anytime soon,” Rune commented, his eyes scanning the commotion with a weary expression. “Be prepared — this will complicate things inside as well. Friends of mine at the penitentiary said this guy has an ego to match.”

The chaos ahead seemed to swell with the arrival of the convoy. You barely had time to process everything — the blinding flashes, the cacophony of voices shouting questions — when the door of the central car opened. Two guards stepped out first, taking rigid positions, before pulling Noah out.

He emerged with a surprising posture. There was no resistance in his movements, but neither was there submission. With his chin raised, his face remained expressionless, his eyes fixed on an undefined point on the horizon, avoiding the cameras with a determination that seemed almost practiced. The tattoos, now more visible, climbed along the side of his neck and hinted beneath the collar of his gray shirt, creating an almost hypnotic contrast against his pale skin.

Noah seemed unperturbed, untouchable, as though the swarm of journalists and flashes were nothing more than a breeze around him. But then, something shifted. His firm steps faltered for an instant, almost imperceptibly, and he stopped abruptly.

That’s when you realized: he was looking directly at you.

The air around you seemed to freeze under the weight of his gaze, as overwhelming as in the photograph, but now there was something more — an intensity that seemed to pierce through you, as if examining something far beyond what others could see. His eyes were a blend of ice and fire, fixed on you with such deliberate focus that your stomach involuntarily tightened.

The moment lasted only seconds but felt like an eternity. One of the guards touched Noah’s shoulder impatiently, and he resumed walking as if nothing had happened. Yet, the impact of that brief exchange lingered.

“He usually doesn’t react to anything,” Travis remarked beside you, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “That was... strange.”

Strange.

The word felt insufficient to describe what you had just experienced. As Noah was led inside, you remained frozen, trying to understand why that fleeting instant made your skin tingle, as though something inevitable was about to happen.

You were in the asylum’s forest, each step swallowed by the oppressive silence, broken only by the crunch of dry leaves beneath your feet. The air was dense, almost suffocating, and you knew you weren’t alone. Something—or someone—was behind you.

Your breaths were shallow and quick, every fiber of your being urging you to run, yet your legs felt rooted to the ground. Then, you heard it.

A whisper, far too close, as though it came from inside your mind:

“Run.”

The word was a command, and you obeyed without hesitation. Your body lunged forward, crashing through trees and brush with an urgency that felt primal. But the ground seemed to fight against you, each step more laborious than the last. Heat built between your thighs—confusing, strange—mixing with the adrenaline surging down your spine.

When the sound of footsteps behind you intensified, the adrenaline peaked. You could no longer think, only run, but you knew it was futile. He was too close.

Suddenly, something yanked your hair with brutal force, jerking you backward. A scream tore from your lips as your back collided with the rough surface of a tree. The pain of bark scraping against your exposed skin was eclipsed by his presence—a towering, menacing shadow.

His face was obscured, hidden in darkness, but the patterns on his neck were unmistakable. You recognized the intricate lines of tattoos that had haunted your thoughts all day. The broad shoulders and the strength with which he gripped your jaw confirmed your deepest fear.

It was Noah.

He tilted his head, studying you with a terrifying calm. The sound of his breathing was heavy, almost animalistic. Before you could react, he pressed his body against yours, pinning you between the tree and his overwhelming presence.

The heat pulsing between your thighs became unbearable, tangled in terror and tension. You tried to speak, but the words lodged in your throat as he gripped your neck with a possessive firmness, his fingers digging into your skin.

And then, like a violent wave, you woke up.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, breaths coming in ragged gasps, and cold sweat drenched your skin. The darkness of your room was suffocating, though not as much as the weight of that dream. It wasn’t merely fear—it was something deeply visceral, almost tangible, making your skin crawl and your entire body rebel against what you had just experienced.

That man was going to drive you insane.

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devotedlypinkpeanut · 2 days ago

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The Good King — Teaser 2

SUMMARY : In this first life, you attract the attention of King Lee Heeseung, known throughout the kingdom as the good king. Seemingly tender, patient and fair, he is admired for his passion and determination to achieve his goals. But behind this mask hides a man obsessed with you, ready to do anything to have you. His obsession becomes a dangerous game where tricks and manipulations intertwine with a captivating sweetness, plunging you into a whirlwind of emotions. Whether it's seducing you or breaking down any barriers between you, Heeseung is determined to make you his, no matter the cost.

PAIRING : Lee Heeseung x fem!reader

GENRE : Dark romance, obsession, drama, slow burn, psychological tension, historical romance, reincarnation, fantasy, reverse harem.

Hey friends! Just a quick message to let you know that I'm going to take a little break to refocus and take care of myself. But don't worry, I'll leave you with the teaser for the second part of Heeseung to keep you waiting a little 😌 Thank you for your understanding and support, I'll be back soon with lots of energy! ❤️

Series Masterlist

“I love you.” Heeseung’s words escape his lips like a fragile breath, a shy confession, full of meaning and emotion. The sentence hangs in the air, suspended between the two of you, and yet, it resonates louder than any cry. It’s an intimate declaration, a naked truth, but spoken with such tenderness, almost as if he’s afraid that the sheer force of those words will break something precious between you. And yet, by saying them, he strengthens the invisible bond that is woven around your souls, a bond made of sweetness, complicity, and silent but palpable desire.

His eyes plunge into yours, and in their depth, you see an intensity that makes you shiver. Not fear, no… but a soft, burning emotion, a mixture of tenderness and restrained desire. His lips brush yours with infinite delicacy, as if each contact were a gift, a silent promise. He doesn't want to break anything, doesn't want to rush anything, but the warmth that emanates from him, from his breath, from his skin, is there, present, ready to overwhelm you. A soft, comforting warmth, like a light blanket that unfolds around you, slowly but surely wrapping you in a cocoon of tenderness.

Heeseung moves forward a little more, his lips sliding with an exquisite lightness, almost imperceptible, but you feel it. Each brush of his mouth against your skin causes a wave of shivers to emerge that slowly spreads, diffusing through every fiber of your being. When his lips brush your chin, you close your eyes for a moment, just to savor the softness of his skin against yours, the warmth of his mouth on your skin, like a warm breath on a summer evening. There is a slowness, a gentleness in his gestures that makes each movement more meaningful, each caress more intimate, more precious.

He descends slowly, his lips brushing the delicate line of your jaw, gently landing on your neck, just below your ear. The contact is so light, so delicate, that you feel like there is no longer a boundary between his lips and your skin, between him and you. His breathing becomes warmer, more present against your neck, and you shiver, not from the cold, but from this heat that infiltrates your skin, making you lose your train of thought. Each breath that escapes from Heeseung touches you, each shudder of his body against yours envelops you in infinite softness. It is as if the whole world has frozen around you, leaving only the echo of your breaths mingling in the air.

His kisses are so soft, so tender, that they seem to caress your soul as much as your skin. It's as if he wants to taste you, to discover you, each kiss becoming a delicate exploration, a slow rise of emotion. Heeseung lingers under your ear, pressing a kiss softly against your skin, then his lips move slowly to the hollow of your neck. An uncontrollable shiver runs through your skin. You close your eyes again, letting your senses get lost in the feeling of his mouth on your skin, his warmth, his breath.

Heeseung pauses for a moment, breathing slowly, as if savoring the taste of your skin, as if he wants to imprint each moment in his memory. Then, he goes down again, and his lips brush your collarbone, moving gently, slowly, each kiss heavy with meaning, loaded with intentions that he doesn't even need to formulate. His nose rests against your shoulder, and he murmurs something that you almost don't hear, an inaudible sound, a deep growl, like an instinctive expression of a desire that he doesn't want to force, but that he feels so intensely. His lips rest again, this time deeper, just at the base of your neck, and each kiss is a sweet delight, a feeling of warmth that invades your being.

It’s an infinite tenderness, a devouring slowness, but never brutal. Each kiss he places on you is like a silent word of love, a promise made without promise, a silent commitment that is said by his gestures, by the softness of his touches, by the way Heeseung surrounds you with his presence. You feel your body tense, each muscle tense under his touch. A strange mixture of feverishness and apprehension invades you, but you don’t want to escape, not now. It’s as if your heart, caught in this whirlwind of sensations, beats faster with each moment, each movement. Heeseung must hear it, you’re sure of it. Each beat of your heart seems to reverberate in the air around you, like a silent confession, a truth that he doesn’t need to hear to understand it.

Your fingers clench in the sheets, but they don't try to free you. They hold there, like an anchor, a proof of your presence in this suspended moment. You've never felt this before. It's as if your whole body has started to vibrate, to respond to every movement, to every caress, like an instrument that he's slowly taming, letting it play at its own pace, without haste, but with that intensity that makes the moment infinite.

“You are everything to me, Y/n… my queen.” Heeseung’s voice, hoarse, deep, but filled with infinite sweetness, rises barely higher than a breath. Each word, delicate as a caress, carries infinite tenderness, like a mantra that he whispers to you, that his heart whispers to you. It’s a promise, a declaration, but above all, it’s a silent call. His fingers slide over your waist, brushing your skin with infinite caution, as if he were afraid of breaking this fragile bond that unites you, as if he knew that he held you in his arms, but that he couldn’t yet possess you entirely.

You feel so vulnerable under his touch, but in a way that doesn't feel dangerous. It's a soft, enveloping vulnerability, a vulnerability you offer willingly, because you know he's protecting you, cherishing you, holding you in infinite tenderness. There's nothing sweeter than this moment. Nothing more real, either.

“Heeseung…” Your voice barely escapes, fragile, like a feather carried by the wind, ready to dissipate into the air. These words, barely whispered, are a silent declaration, almost a plea, but you still don’t know what you really expect from him, and even what you feel. It’s simply the softness of his presence, this invisible warmth that touches you deep down, that makes your heart beat a little faster. But he stops immediately. The world seems to hang around you, a bubble of intimacy blossoming, isolating you from the others. He doesn’t move anymore. His gaze falls on you with such intensity that it makes you lose your breath. His dark eyes, infinitely deep, seem to suck in everything around you, captivating every part of your being. The air becomes heavier, more palpable, saturated with this attention he gives you, this silent but so powerful bond.

Heeseung doesn't say anything right away. He watches you, as if he wants to decipher every micro-expression that crosses your face, every shiver that emanates from your voice. His gaze becomes soft, almost curious, as if, in this moment, all that matters in the universe is you. Your eyes close briefly under this weight, this soft and deep tenderness that invades you. He waits, without pressure, without haste, as if time could stretch to infinity. His pupils seek a silent permission, a sign, a gesture from you, as if he knows that this moment, fragile as glass, could break at any moment.

“We can’t…” you finally breathe, your voice barely louder than a whisper, each word trembling under the weight of your vulnerability. You try to stay calm, to contain the storm that’s growing inside you, but you feel your words getting lost under the softness of his gaze. It’s too intimate, too close. And your heart, your poor heart, feels like it wants to rush out of your chest. Yet, you force yourself to say these words, like a barrier that would protect you, but which seems to lock you in a little more. “We can’t…” you repeat, but even you don’t really know if you still believe it.

Heeseung doesn't even need to think. "Why not?" he finally whispers, and his words slide over your skin like a velvet veil. They are filled with an almost unreal tranquility, but also with a warmth, a burning desire that he barely hides. A discreet smile forms on his lips, a smile that is neither mocking nor forced, but sincere, almost vulnerable. He scrutinizes you with this intensity that he doesn't even try to hide, as if, in this suspended moment, he is trying to pierce all your contradictions, to understand what you feel. Heeseung is there, in front of you, an imposing presence but of an incredible gentleness.

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benguissues · 2 days ago

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#dad #daddy's good girl #spotify #love love love #romance #dark romance #lost in love #romantic #ethal cain #lostonyoubabe #daddy issues #daddy’s babygirl #sexy babygirl #photography

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uceyliyahh · 2 days ago

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PRETTY LITTLE FEARS

Summary: "Don't just sugar coat, or say it all if you want" After dealing with a harsh breakup with her ex-boyfriend during their trip together, Soraya decided to own her hair salon business with the help of her father of course until one night that all changed.

This fanfic is 18+! NO MINORS ALLOWED

word count: 5014

smut warning; it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I’m improving at the moment.

Jey Uso x Soraya

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

But I’ll be writing along the way since this story is in my drafts on Wattpad right now so yuh. 💁🏽‍♀️

TAGS ⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tag 🏷️@pinkwithhearts @420days @jstarr86 @empressdede @angiedawn02 @biancasreign

@bebesobrielo @skyesthebomb @aikosilo @papireigns-05 @punksyeet @paigereeder @magnificentbouquetmusic

@hunnidmilly @celesteheartsjey @charmed-dreamssss @fearlesschimera @partypoison00 @mselenalovebug @bloodlinesbabe93 @justazzi @luvrsluxe @4milly

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P.L.F. - 1

OMNISCIENT Soraya recently had a fiery confrontation with her boyfriend, Xavier, who is now her ex. The argument erupted over his questionable texting habits with other women. Despite his attempts to deny any wrongdoing and insist that his heart belonged solely to her, the tension between them was undeniable.

She was adamant that he had spoiled their trip and insisted on going home, but he dismissed her concerns, claiming she was overreacting and that they simply needed some time apart to calm down.

"C'mon Raya don't be like this," Xavier begged.

"Nigga you're literally speaking to other women that aren't me my reaction is perfectly normal," She said while folding her arms around her chest.

"You're just being dramatic right now, let's just cool off for a second,"

She was taken aback, unable to comprehend how he could dismiss her feelings so casually. Soraya let out a scoff, overwhelmed by disbelief at his nonchalant attitude toward the situation.

"I've had enough; I can't keep going through this with you. You always brush aside my feelings whenever you find yourself in a tough spot." With that, Soraya started to gather her belongings, while Xavier stood by, watching her in silence..

She frequently resorts to this behavior whenever they find themselves in a heated argument over his actions or her choices that he disapproves of.

She would usually return, and they would have passionate makeup sex, rekindling their connection. However, this time is different; she isn't coming back. She's mentally exhausted and drained from everything that's happened.

"Where are you going to go Raya?" He questioned her.

Soraya declared firmly, "This is no longer your business, Xavier. I'm finished with all of this, and I'm finished with you." With that, she swiftly collected her luggage, ensuring she had everything essential before stepping out the door.

Xavier seized her arm just as she was about to step outside, locking eyes with her in a menacing glare that felt like a stark warning.

"You know you'll be right back here,"

"Watch me not be there you'll be looking stupid," She said as she yanked her arm away from his grasps.

She picked up her phone to book an available flight and, to her delight, discovered that the next one wouldn't board until 11. With plenty of time to spare at just 9:30 AM, she decided to send a quick message to her best friend.

IMESSAGE 💬 Rara💗: Bestie Jadebae🌪️: What's up girl? I thought you and your man was enjoying yall trip together? Rara💗: we were until I found out that he was texting other women behind my back Jadebae🌪️: bitch what? Rara💗: yeah, and when I told him I found out about it we got into an heated argument over it so now I'm booking a flight to come back home Jadebae🌪️: omg girl I am so sorry that happened to you does your father know? Rara💗: no he doesn't know that I'm coming back home early today but I should be there around the evening time I need to be out Jadebae 🌪️: Ouuuu girl I know a club that we can go to tonight when you come back Rara💗: count me in because I'm tired of this I just wish I had a real man that could treat me right you know did I do something wrong? Jadebae 🌪️: Soraya no you didn't do nun wrong he just can't handle you that's all Rara💗: yeah you're right but I should be home soon see you then bestie Jadebae🌪️: kk bestie

Upon informing her best friend about receiving a text from Xavier, she couldn't help but let out a sigh as she read through the messages he was sending her.

Baby😩 sent three messages.

IMESSAGE 💬 Baby😩: you know you'll come back home soon Baby😩: who else is going to dick you down like I do huh? No nigga can't handle you Baby😩: see you when I get home little mama

Soraya rolled her eyes, fully aware that Xavier was overly convinced in his own delusions, believing she would return for a casual encounter after everything that had happened.

When she doesn't return at all, he'll soon understand how foolish he looks for treating her like a fool.

She also had clients who required her hair services, ensuring she would earn her fair share without needing his assistance at all.

* ˚ ✦ Soraya arrived home at last, steering her car into the driveway and shutting off the engine. With determination, she opened the trunk, retrieved her bags, and made her way to the front door.

As she approached her door, she retrieved the key from her keychain and unlocked it, stepping inside to be greeted by the delightful aroma of her home.

She felt a wave of relief wash over her as she stepped into her home, grateful to be free from his presence. She could no longer tolerate his behavior. Setting her luggage down beside the couch, she kicked off her shoes and neatly arranged them on the shoe rack nearby.

She reached out to her father to let him know she had arrived home safely, secretly wishing he wouldn't pry into the details of her trip with Xavier.

She headed upstairs to the bathroom for a refreshing shower, preparing herself for a fun night out with her friends.

She chose a stunning two-piece black ensemble that accentuated her figure beautifully, complemented by elegant jewelry.

Her phone was constantly buzzing with messages from Xavier, who was making violent threats against anyone who dared to come between them. It was clear that he felt he had lost control over her, yet he was still trying to intimidate her with his empty threats.

She decided to mute his messages, not wanting to expose herself to any more of his erratic thoughts, especially considering how his entire family seemed just as unhinged.

After taking her shower, Soraya came out the shower grabbing her phone checking the time she had a few minutes to get ready so that's what she did.

She carefully adjusted her hair and makeup, ensuring she looked her best for the evening. Now that she was officially single, she felt liberated to embrace her freedom and do whatever she desired.

As she snatched her keys and stepped out the door, Soraya slid into the car, immersing herself in the rhythm of the music. With K. Michelle's "Can't Raise A Man" playing, she belted out the lyrics with passion, completely lost in the moment.

At this moment, Soraya felt an intense loathing for Xavier, who had caused her so much distress.

As she arrived at her destination, she quickly texted Jade to let her know she had made it. Stepping out of the car, she was struck by how crowded it was that night. Entering the club, she was greeted by a lively scene filled with people enjoying drinks and dancing energetically on the floor.

She skillfully navigated through the bustling dance floor as she spotted Jade and her other best friend enthusiastically waving their hands to welcome her.

"Raya! Hey girl you made it!" Jade Exclaimed as she got up from her seat as she hugged her.

"Girl, you know I wasn't going to say no to do I am single now so I can do whatever I want," She said.

"Period as you should fuck that nigga," Soraya sat down with her girls and began taking shot a Hennessy along with a chaser.

She was eager to have a good time, but she knew she had to keep it in check because she would be driving home afterward, or at least that's what she believed.

Soraya had taken a few more drinks and was starting to feel the effects, but the urgent need to use the restroom was becoming impossible to ignore. She quickly informed Jade and her other best friend that she was making her way to the bathroom. As she navigated through the crowd, it seemed to part for her, allowing her to move with ease.

She was so lost in thought that she collided with someone, nearly losing her balance. Fortunately, they were quick to catch her. As she looked up, she found herself studying the intriguing features of the person who had saved her from a fall.

Her mind raced with the thought, 'he's incredibly attractive,' as they locked eyes, his gaze drifting from her lips back to her eyes, creating an undeniable connection between them.

"I am so sorry I didn't mean to bump into like this," Soraya apologized as the fine specimen smiled at her making her stand upright.

"It's all good little mama," She was taken by surprise when his gravelly, deep voice reached her ears, prompting a smile as she made her way to the restroom.

She felt the weight of everyone's gaze as she approached the restroom, realizing that the individual she had just collided with was accompanied by a group.

She resolved that she would refrain from having any more drinks, determined not to risk crashing her car. After returning from the restroom, Soraya couldn't shake the feeling of being watched; the same group of people continued to stare at her, sending a chill down her spine as she made her way back to her table.

She noticed that her closest friends were completely intoxicated, behaving wildly like untamed creatures.

"Sorayaaaaaaaaaa bitch we are drunk as fuck right now girl," Jade said in a drowsy tone.

She chuckled at them, "I can see that girl y'all two need to take a break child," Soraya said as she pulled out her phone and began scrolling through her social media.

She observed her closest friends hit the dance floor as "Attention" by 451 filled the air. Glancing at the clock, she realized that an early morning work shift awaited her. With a sigh, she picked up her purse and keys, preparing to leave the vibrant scene behind.

As she stepped out the door, she planned to tell her friends in the morning. While making her way to her car, she noticed someone parked right behind it.

As she was about to enter her car, an assailant swiftly covered her mouth with a cloth, leaving her to grapple with the overwhelming urge to resist the attack.

Her breath quickened with anxiety as she fought against her captor, but soon everything faded to darkness. They pulled the cloth from her mouth while lifting her into their vehicle.

Fading away into the horizon.

* ˚ ✦ SORAYA As I opened my eyes, a thick fog clouded my thoughts, making it difficult to grasp my surroundings. A wave of panic washed over me as I struggled to understand where I was. Glancing around the room, clarity began to emerge—I was in the bedroom.

As the lights faded to a soft glow, I slowly regained my senses and rose to my feet. I approached the door, desperate to escape, but found it firmly locked from the other side. I pounded on it with all my might, yet my efforts were in vain.

As I settled onto the bed, a wave of confusion washed over me. Suddenly, the realization struck me—I had been kidnapped. The identity of my captor was a mystery, but one thing was clear: I had to escape this place immediately.

I searched frantically for my purse, which contained my phone, but it was completely missing from view. This situation was driving me crazy as I felt my frustration escalating in this room.

I could hear the sound of the door unlocking, and I caught a glimpse of a shadowy footstep approaching. Doubt crept in, making me hesitate to open the door. However, I knew I had to escape this place, so I steeled my resolve and decided to take action.

Upon opening the door, I was greeted by a short figure who looked at me with a warm smile.

"Hello Ms Williams, Roman Reigns would like to see you," He said.

'Who was this Roman, and what could he possibly want from me?' Those thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to avoid any trouble. Reluctantly, I decided to comply and trailed behind him to Roman's office.

The air was thick with silence, a palpable tension hanging between us as I felt a wave of fear wash over me, uncertain of what lay ahead. My gaze wandered around the house, and I couldn't help but notice its grandeur. This mansion stood out, adorned with intricate decor and an abundance of furniture that spoke of a rich history.

Upon arriving at his office, the door swung open to reveal none other than the individual known as Roman Reigns, accompanied by the same man I had encountered at the club.

"Ms. Williams, please take a seat, dear," Roman urged, and I complied with his request.

I felt a deep sense of fear, completely bewildered by the situation I found myself in and uncertain about what was expected of me.

"You might be curious about my presence or my current location, but let me reassure you—you're completely safe, darling." His deep voice was so mesmerizing that it felt as if I were under a spell, completely entranced by his words.

"What is it that you seek from me? I-I can't even tell who you are," I replied, my voice trembling.

"You will hon, once you get to hear my reasoning why I have you captured,"

I rose to my feet, eager to escape, as I felt pressed for time and longed to be home. Yet, his voice sent a chill down my spine. "Sit the hell down!" The command was so forceful that I found myself sitting back down, locking eyes with him in a moment of tense silence.

"Listen, my dear, I've been observing you and your father for quite some time. I run a wrestling business, just like your father, if I'm not mistaken?" he remarked.

I nodded along, not wanting to provoke him further as he continued, "I'm eager to form a partnership with your father, but he dismissed me, calling me a 'tacky' imitation trying to siphon off his wealth. It's amusing, but that's beside the point; what truly matters is that I want to take ownership." His words left me confused; I didn't have a deep understanding of my father's business dealings, but I knew enough to sense the tension.

I crossed my arms and arched an eyebrow at him, asking, "How is this relevant to me?" I could hear him chuckling in response.

"My dear, this is where you play a crucial role. I would love for you to become a part of our venture." I felt a rush of surprise at his proposition; the world of gambling and drug dealing was never my scene, and it certainly wasn't something I wanted to be involved in.

I hesitated, looking Mr. Roman in the eye. "I'm not sure I can go through with that. My father always warned me to steer clear of situations like this, insisting that they can be perilous for someone like me."

"Is there any other option?"

He gave a slight nod and said, "You can remain here without causing any trouble. But make no mistake—if you attempt to flee, we will not think twice about ending your life right here. Do you understand?" Roman warned.

I nodded my head but I did have one more question though.

"Can I expect to retrieve my phone and laptop? What if my best friend is anxious about my situation and my—" Roman slid an envelope across the table to my companion, urging him to take a look inside.

As I opened it, my heart raced, and my eyes widened at the sight of pictures and messages exchanged between Xavier and numerous women. He had always assured me not to worry about them, making me doubt my own sanity. But now, it was clear—I wasn't losing my mind after all.

I tossed the envelope onto the table, my body shaking with disbelief. Make no mistake, my love for Xavier was genuine, but witnessing this—there was no way it could be real.

"T-this can't be real you had to photoshop this right?" I asked.

"Oh, sweetheart, this is the truth. Every time he toyed with your emotions and then offered you some dick, it only deepened your delusions," Roman remarked. I tried to rise in protest, but a wave of dizziness washed over me, forcing me to sink back into the chair.

At that moment, he snapped his fingers, and a short man named Paul approached him.

"Yes, my tribal chief,"

"Take her to her room she needs to rest and also bring her some fresh clothes for in the morning for her okay?" Paul nodded his head as he walked towards my way holding out his hand.

As I gazed up at him, my fingers lightly clasped around his hand, he guided me out of the office. Just before we stepped through the door, I caught Roman's voice behind us, saying, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Williams." As we exited, I couldn't help but scan the surroundings, searching for an exit strategy. The thought of danger loomed over me, but I knew I had to navigate this delicate situation carefully, playing along for now to ensure my safety.

Paul escorted me back to my room, gently opening the door for me. As I stepped inside, I heard the unmistakable sound of him locking it behind me. I collapsed onto the bed, wishing fervently that this was merely a dream and not my reality.

I shut my eyes and let myself gently slip into slumber.

* ˚ ✦ At nine in the morning, the sun streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow around the room. Cocooned in my blankets, I was momentarily puzzled about who had taken the time to care for me. As I blinked awake, I noticed neatly folded clothes on the dresser, a thoughtful gesture that added to my sense of wonder.

I thought it was Paul who had done it while I was still asleep, but I can't say for sure. As I sat up and stretched, my back arched slightly. I made my way to the dresser, picked up some clothes, and headed into the bathroom.

Upon entering the bathroom, I was struck by its stunning aesthetic. The ceiling-mounted shower head and the adjacent tub create a harmonious design, while the LED lights enhance the overall ambiance, showcasing the bathroom's beauty in the best possible way.

I removed my clothes and set them on the sink counter before stepping into the shower. As the warm water cascaded over me, a wave of relief washed over my body, prompting a deep sigh of satisfaction.

I reflected on Roman's conversation from yesterday regarding my potential involvement in the business, but I still felt uncertain. It appeared too risky, and I was unclear about what I would be stepping into.

I recognized the sound of my name being called, and it seemed to be Paul's voice. "Ms. Williams? Breakfast is ready, just wanted to give you a heads up," he announced before I heard the door click shut behind him.

I found myself unable to shake the thought of that striking individual I encountered, and seeing him here again raised questions. Was he somehow connected to Roman? He looked incredibly sharp in all black yesterday, yet I had to remain cautious, uncertain of their intentions.

Stepping out of the bathroom, I enveloped myself in a towel, securing it around my body and hair. As I settled onto the bed, I allowed my thoughts to wash over me, lost in a sea of contemplation while my skin dried.

'What am I going to do?'

'What am I going to tell my father who's probably worried about my safety,'

'I know Jade is probably worried sick right now,'

'How long was I going to be here,'

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, a knock on the door broke the silence. I called out for the person to enter, and when I looked up, I was surprised to see the same man from yesterday cautiously peering in.

"I was just checking to see if you were awake," he said as he entered, sending a wave of fear through me as I wondered what he had in store.

He spotted my trembling form and, with a chuckle, placed his hands on his hips. "Relax, little mama, I'm not here to hurt you," he said. That familiar voice echoed in my mind—the very same one I had heard at the club with Jade and Kelly. It was him.

"Y-you're the person I bumped into yesterday right?" I asked him as he sat down next to me.

"Yeah, you were really tipsy that night huh," I rolled my eyes at him he must think he got jokes right.

I removed the towel from my hair and kept drying it, as there was no blow dryer or any other option available in this room.

His gaze was unmistakably fixed on me, and the weight of it made me glance his way for just a moment. In that fleeting instant, I couldn't help but admire his striking features; he was undeniably stunning.

"Are you related to Roman or something?"

"Absolutely, that's my cousin who runs this wrestling business, and I'm his right-hand man, alongside my twin brother."

'Twin brother? I didn't see his twin brother when I was in Roman's office yesterday,'

"Right hand man? What you do?" I asked him standing up unwrapping the towel away from my body.

He started to say something, but his attention was quickly drawn to my curves, his gaze lingering on my body, particularly my backside. However, he managed to refocus and began to speak.

Jey shared, "I assist my cousin in running a gambling operation and dealing drugs to those who place bets on a specific wrestler. If they lose, we keep all the cash and drugs; if they win, we provide them with what we promised. It can get chaotic at times, but that's not the norm." I nodded in agreement as I finished putting on my last piece of clothing.

"Sounds similar to what my father does, but why did Roman want me involved in this?" He chuckled at me while he smiled.

"You asking a lot of questions princess," His words took me by surprise, and I found myself blushing as I turned my head at the affectionate nickname.

He became aware of it as he stood up, hearing his footsteps approaching. When his hand brushed against my waist, I was taken aback by the unexpected sensation.

I gazed intently into his warm, brown eyes, feeling as though he was peering into the depths of my innocent soul.

"What?—what'chu blushing for?"

"N-nothing you should leave before you get in trouble with Roman," I said as I managed to move away from him not wanting to get caught up.

"Mama he ain't going to do anything if he don't find out but I'll see you around," He said as he left the room causing me sigh feeling my heart beating like crazy.

'Why does he have this type of affection on me when we don't even know each other?'

Following breakfast, I took a leisurely stroll around the area, treating myself to a personal tour. With my stay here extending indefinitely, I explored various rooms and admired the beautiful gardens both indoors and outdoors.

I noticed something unusual while I was engaged in my task. Roman was on the phone, visibly upset, and I couldn't help but be intrigued. Curiosity got the better of me, and I leaned in closer, peering around the wall to catch snippets of his heated conversation.

"She will be staying here for a while,"

"Nothing will happen to her, do you know how long it would take for her father apply to my approval?"

"Well damn it get a move on! I want his business! That way we could thrive and have more power!"

While I was quietly listening in on his conversation, a sudden throat clearing from behind startled me, and I turned to see who it was.

"I take that you're very nosy as well? Budding into people's conversations?" Jonathan said.

"Jesus you fucking scared me—wait aren't you Jey's twin brother?" I asked as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, you must be Soraya? Or should I call you Ms Williams?" He said I rolled my eyes at him.

"Just call me Soraya I hate how formal yall are with me like I'm so old lady," I heard him chuckling at my joke as I walked past him going back inside the house.

He trailed behind me as if I were a stray puppy, asking, "Don't you all have responsibilities to attend to?" Jonathan simply shook his head while I carried on exploring the house.

"Nah but we do have a club to go to this evening, Roman got a meeting with some people," I shot him a 'oh' as I saw one of the rooms that had a lock on it. When I wanted to turned the knob Jon's hand stopped me as I looked at him.

"I wouldn't want to go in there Roman kept it private for his special sessions," He said as my face turned up in disgust.

I quickly stepped away from the door as soon as we heard someone shout Jonathan's name.

"Yo! Uce C'mon we gotta get going it's important ," Jey said as he look at me.

"A'ight I'll talk you later Soraya," As Jonathan walked away from me I could see Jey coming towards my way.

His towering presence loomed above me, making me feel diminutive in comparison. As our eyes locked, the atmosphere around us grew heavy with unspoken tension.

"You good? Act like you seen a ghost girl," He asked.

"I admit, I'm feeling a bit uneasy because you're so tall," I said, quickly looking away to avoid his gaze.

He took hold of my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze once more, his eyes scanning my face as if he were savoring every detail. "Soraya, is it? That's yo' name," he said, and I nodded, feeling his grip tighten around my waist.

"I never caught your name, you know," I said as he had a playful smile. "It's Joshua, but feel free to call me Josh—whatever suits you best ma." Honestly, these endearing nicknames he was throwing my way were going to drive me crazy.

"Josh! Stop flirting with Soraya and let's go before Roman get's pissed!" Jonathan shouted.

"I'll you later then gorgeous," after he jogged towards Jonathan leaving me dumbfounded.

After finishing my mini tour, I stepped into my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I took a seat on my bed, focusing on calming my breath.

The connection we shared in that instant left a profound impact on me, as if he had woven an invisible thread between us. As I lay on my pillow, I struggled to push aside the memory of our encounter, wishing to erase the feelings it stirred within me.

* ˚ ✦ As I regained consciousness, I realized it was still dark outside. Sitting up quickly, I felt a surge of anxiety, hoping I hadn't delayed our plans to hit the club. My eyes were drawn to the dresser, where a stunning dress and some elegant jewelry awaited.

I rushed to change into the dress, eager to avoid upsetting Roman. After all, I'm just a girl trying to keep the peace. Just then, I heard a knock on the door and saw Jey peek his head in from the hallway.

"I see you're awake mama did you sleep well?" Jey said sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"Y-yeah I did what time is it if I may ask," I said.

"It's almost time to head out we were hoping that you would be awake,"

I turned my back to him, nodding slightly as I attempted to fasten my necklace. The task proved more challenging than I anticipated, and Jey, noticing my struggle, approached me with purposeful footsteps.

He took the necklace and, as he did, his intoxicating scent enveloped me. It was thrilling yet perilous to be near him, as I struggled to keep my thoughts in check. With a gentle motion, he fastened the necklace around my neck, and I heard the satisfying click that sealed our connection.

I gazed into the mirror, and he mirrored my actions, captivated by my beauty. The way the dress hugged my curves was simply enchanting. I felt his hands glide down my hips, drawing me nearer, enveloped in his intoxicating scent.

"J-Josh..." I muttered while looking up at him.

His eyes met mine, a warm smile lighting up his face as he said, "What's Up, beautiful." I felt an irresistible urge to reach out, my fingers softly gliding over his cheek in a tender caress. In response, he took my hand, pressing a gentle kiss to my palm with his velvety lips.

I felt his pants tightening around him while he brushed up against me.

"W-we gotta get going Josh..."

"There's no need to hurry, darling; they can wait. Just allow me to feel you for a moment," he said. I wanted to object, but instead, I surrendered to his touch, hoping that no one would interrupt us.

He gazed at me with undeniable desire, his lips parting slightly as he tucked them in. His hands glided down my curves, gripping my hips firmly, which made me catch my breath in surprise.

We quickly separated, our attention drawn to Jonathan as he peeked his head through the door.

"Ion' know what yall got goin on in here but Roman said we gotta leave before we are late so hurry it up," He said as Jey rolled his eyes at him.

My cheeks burned with embarrassment over what had just transpired moments ago. Why did I react that way? Why didn't I just push him away when I had the opportunity?

What is going on with me?

Jey looked at my direction chuckling at my facial expression as he walked towards me, "we will be alone again mama and this time nobody will interfere a'ight? c'mon let's go before Roman start tripping." Jey said as I nodded my head.

'Jesus Take the Wheel'

Pretty Little Fears.

A/n: Helllooo I am back with a new story honestly I didn't really like marked so I decided to get into my dark romance bag it's my first time ever doing something like this so please bare with me aight? lol 😭 but I think I might like this story a lot probably will publish it on Tumblr.

But enough of me yapping, I think there is something going on between Soraya and Jey fr fr.

I hope yall enjoyed this chapter lmk in the comments below.

STAY UCEY.

#jey uso #black oc #black writers #black fanfic writer #jey x oc black #wwelove #jey uso fanfiction #black reader #jey uso smut #wwe fanfiction #dark romance #mafia #Youtube

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