#in real life the one thing I knew about him is that he allowed for the publication of the Bible in English the first time

[gay-dorito-dust]

Jason will forever be my comfort character, forever and always

Jason knew from an early age that love was conditional. This was especially more so if you lived in Gotham, and if that was the case then love was more or less something that’s purely transactional. The moment you lose the ability to give anything to someone else, you’re more then likely left to die in an alleyway or in a far away abandoned warehouse that was rigged to blow up.

Love was a weapon utilised in every possible way then what it was meant to be used for, and so Jason didn’t grow up with a very good experience with love or what others claimed as love.

Yet he read books where love was pure, love was powerful and empowering to the people who had the chance to experience it, love was scary and brutal as it was beautiful and something everyone desires to have in their life; whether or not it was real for everyone will chase after it blindly and carelessly as though their self worth was dependent on such an emotion.

He’s read books where love could break someone so badly that they can’t get up, where love can cause more cuts and wounds than knives and other weapons could ever inflict. He’s read books where love has left people wonder their self worth and if anyone else could love them as deeply and truly as the person who had just walked out of the door.

However Jason wondered that if people did love that deeply, wouldn’t you want to stay with that person even through the toughest times of their lives? Help them pull through instead of abandoning them when they were in the most need of their life? To Jason that didn’t sound like love at all as he couldn’t help but see himself in these characters that only saw the worst in themselves, truly believing that love wasn’t for them nor ever will in how their entire lives was the biggest example of such.

However all that changed with time the moment you entered his life and for good.

Jason was on the defensive as his eyes wouldn’t leave you as all you did was simple things for him unprovoked, unwarranted, as though you wanted to do these things for him. You would care for his books as though they were irreplaceable while rearranging them in alphabetical order, clean his weaponry and armour before he could early in the morning, and even would him breakfast in the morning when you noticed that he didn’t eat nearly as much as he should to properly function.

Jason didn’t know how to feel, nor how he could repay you back in response and even when he did, you would just brush him off and tell him that you could handle it, telling him that he shouldn’t worry about doing anything for you purely because you did things for him one day.

‘I just wanted to do these things for you.’ You tell him with a smile. ‘You’re a busy man and you don’t have nearly enough time to catch up to everything and I merely wanted to help clear your schedule somewhat while you’ve got your hand full.’ You add and Jason could only stare at you.

‘You wanted to?’ He said with a raised brow. ‘Sweetheart, there’s no such thing as people doing things for others out of the kindness of their heart, everyone wants something in the end as nobody is above their own desires.’ He then crossed his arms over his chest as a look of unconvincing overcame his face at your words.

You frown at this but didn’t hold such views against him, Gotham wasn’t a city where love was genuine and not corrupt nor unhealthy to some extent, if anything your heart ached for him as you could only imagine a young Jason having to learn this cruel lesson in the worst possible way; one that left a permeant scar upon his heart that would ache painfully as a reminder that in a city of Gotham love didn’t exist unless it was for transactional or conventional purposes for even more corrupt figureheads.

‘Love shouldn’t be used to hurt people, it should be used to help people and allow them to gain the strength to let others into their heart and trusting that person to not stab them in the back, love should be used between friends, family and lovers and no one else who could corrupt an innocent emotion such as love.’ You stepped closer to him as you watched his eyes and the flickering of emotions within them as his jaw clench and he would straighten his posture as though he was trying to scare you off with his height, it wasn’t working.

‘Love should help you realise that the love you’ve been receiving is not love at all, Jason you deserve love much like everyone else, for someone will look at you and see a beautiful man with scars that tell stories that they can only hope you’ll be ready to share with one day at your own comfortability.’ You finished as you rested your hand upon his bicep, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch, as your thumb caresses a faint scar of his. It wasn’t a touch tender as anything Jason had experienced before and it both frightened and intrigued him at how much he needed this.

Had he found the love that the books he’s read in the past promised? That child in him said yes with such an eagerness, but he was still uncertain but knew that he felt safer with you than he did anyone else, and that was certainly a start in his eyes.

[no-144444]

prison, not a promise- l.norris

summary: lando proposes and it doesn't go as planned...

pairing: lando norris x fem! reader

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He genuinely thought you would’ve been the woman he married. He believed that the moment he got down on one knee, you would’ve burst into tears in front of him and said yes. 

He’d never expected that. 

People (understandably) thought you were fucking crazy. Who would say no to Lando Norris? Who would give up the chance to be rich and famous forever, to have one of the most sought-after men on the planet forever? 

Well, those people didn’t know what it meant to be ‘loved’ by Lando Norris. They didn’t see the constant fights and beratings. They wouldn’t know about the fact that you hadn’t felt like yourself for an entire year. They didn’t know about the sleepless nights, sitting there and wondering, hoping that you were enough. They didn’t know that an engagement ring would've been a prison, not a promise. 

You both walked into his apartment, silent. You hadn’t said ‘no’, saying ‘yes’ while in public just to keep up appearances,  but Lando knew, the second you two got in the car, you weren't happy. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked, wrapping his arms around your waist. You allowed yourself to lean into him one last time, be his one last time. That was the Lando you fell for. The one that hugged and kissed you like no one else would ever matter to him, the one that looked at you like you held up the stars just for him. You never expected the honeymoon stage to last forever, but these fights weren’t normal. He ripped apart your character, your appearance, anything, just to make you feel as upset as him. You\’d been together for 4 years, and the problems started when he became Max’s rival.

“Lando, we’re not happy,” you started, feeling his hands drop from your waist. You turned around to face him. “At least, I’m not. I do everything you ask of me. I cook and clean, I dress up nice, I follow you around the fucking world and I gave up my dreams so that you could always have me at races. Now, all we do is fight. I’m fucking sick of it, alright? I’m tired of the fact that you either don’t love me anymore, or you don’t respect me, and I’d like to thank you for the 3 wonderful years we had before this year, and give you back your ring. You deserve someone less ambitious. You deserve someone paper-cut to be a WAG, Lando. I’m not that girl,” you sighed tearily. “When you find her, I suggest you tell her that you can be mean, you can be selfish, and you can be forgetful, but the trade for that is the sweetest man on the planet once the anger wears off. I’ve been around angry men my entire life, and I will not marry one. I’ll grab my things tomorrow. Goodbye Lando,” you brushed back at him, placing the golden engagement ring in his hand as you passed him by. 

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You left Monaco with all of your belongings, and went back home. You bought an apartment, and started your new job as a college professor. Before Lando you had been the best mathematician in the world. You had offers from every college from every college, but you chose the one closest to home. You didn’t think about Lando for months. You focused all of you attention on your students, all of your life was spent around numbers. You were finally happy. For the first time in a long time, you felt appreciated, you felt beautiful, and you felt happy. 

“Y/n,” the British accent you knew so well made you physically cringe. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“Is it a mathematical problem?” you asked, not turning around as you sorted through papers. 

“Not really?” he chuckled. “Please just look at me.”

You slowly turned around and looked at him. He looked like shit. 

“I won,” he smiled, but it wasn’t a real smile. “I’m the Champion of the World.”

You held out your hand to shake his. “Congratulations.”

He took it with a frown. “I’m quitting F1.”

You stopped in your tracks when you heard that. “Why?”

“I did something really fucking stupid two years ago, and i need to make it right,” he admitted. “Y/n, I’m sorry. There’s no one else for me. You’re it. You’re my person, you make me feel so alive, so happy, so free, and I couldn’t even imagine what life would be like without you. Then I lived it. And it sucked. I know I’m an asshole, and I know you’re probably much better off without me, but I’m begging you, just let me back in your life, please? I’m falling apart without you baby.”

You stared at him. “Lando, I’m not asking you to stop racing because of me-”

“I did,” he smiled. 

“I’m not taking you back,” you insisted. “You made me feel like a shell of my actual self for a year, and I held on because I knew you needed a punching bag so that you wouldn’t take it out on the people around you. I don’t miss you. I don’t love you. I don’t want to see you.”

His face fell and he was quiet for a moment. “So I’ve really fucked it up?”

“Yeah, now get the fuck out of my lab.”

୨ৎ⋅୨ৎ⋅ A few months went by and the 2026 season started, and Landow as still on the grid, shocker. You didn’t care, he was a fucking asshole who didn’t deserve your time or companionship. You hoped he would choke every race start (which he did), get outperformed by Oscar (which he did), and loose to the WDC to Oscar (which he did). Karma.

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navigation for my blog :)

mclaren masterlist

[visenyaism]

thomas cromwell has something to do with religion??????????????

he is as it turns out literally one of the more significant figures in the English reformation. in being like the #1 fixer guy facilitating the divorce between Katherine and Henry and getting Anne Boleyn to be the queen he was like. super involved extremely involved in the invention of the church of England and british protestantism. in the book at least he’s very much a protestant on the low like he’s smuggling in secret Lutheran texts for himself to read and is deeply skeptical of Catholic liturgical institutions like saints, indulgences, and purgatory. unfortunately he was so addicted to the hustle that he invented british protestantism as a side effect. 

[evocatiio]

if chibnall was the one writing this season you lot would be talking VERY differently

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warnings: clown fucking lol

The amusement park on the mountain had once been the most popular attraction in your town. Everyone visited for whatever special occasion they could, spending tons of money on merchandise and tickets.

What made it so appealing to the public? Everyone’s answer was always…

Silly the Clown!

He was taller than any person you’d ever meet, always nicely dressed and wearing close make up. When he walked through the park, everyone would stop what they were doing to line up and watch his act.

Not only was he hilarious, he was also quite handsome, according to the men and women that traveled to see him.

He was shrouded in mystery. No one ever saw him without his makeup on around town or even leave the park. People would wait in hiding, trying to catch a glimpse of Silly’s real appearance.

But one day, the amusement park shut down. Rumors spread quickly through the small town, some saying there were loans gone wrong or even murder.

No one really knew why their beloved amusement park was no more, and Silly was never seen again.

That was… until you showed up.

You had been a huge fan of the amusement park as a kid, but never got to attend until your 18th birthday. Now, all these years later, you were back on your 25th, planning to celebrate by doing some urban exploring and maybe take home a souvenir.

The park wasn’t as run down as you had first expected. Although none of the rides seemed to be in order, they looked to be maintained. None of the grass was overgrown, the walls were free of graffiti, and the ground was clean, no litter or dead leaves.

It was as if the park was simply closed for the day, not abandoned completely.

As you wandered the grounds, you kept turning to see if someone was behind you. You felt eyes on you the entire time, making you think perhaps there were cameras or security guards still on the premises to prevent vandalism and theft.

What you didn’t know was that you were being followed and carefully monitored. Every step you took was being tracked, every little thing you did was observed by the pair of eyes watching you,

Though… for a moment the observer’s gaze moved over your body, lingering on… certain parts. It had been so long since someone had come to visit, and even longer since it had even thought about its… urges.

And you were such a pretty thing.

It was getting dark, meaning you should get back to your car soon… but as the sun went down, you nearly fell over in fright when the amusement park sparked to life.

Lights lit up, rides began to move, and you could smell popcorn and hotdogs being cooked near the food stalls.

“I’ve gotta be hallucinating…”

“You’re not.”

You froze in your tracks, the hair on the back of your end standing up straight. That voice…

“S-Silly?”

He appeared in front of you, a red painted smile spreading across his face. “Silly the clown, that’s me! You’re back!”

It took you nearly an entire minute to process that the man in front of you was really Silly the clown, someone that hadn’t been seen in years!

“W… what do you mean?”

His fingertips traced down your side, stopping at your hip. “I know the face of everyone who’s entered this park. And now you’re back…”

His thumb rubbed against your hip, playing with the fabric of your bottoms. “Why don’t you enjoy the park for a bit? I turned everything on just for you…”

And you did, hesitantly going up to the first ride.

He watched you go, his pants tightening. God, how long had it been since he’d felt the warmth of a woman?

Silly was cursed. He couldn’t leave the park, his very soul was tied to it. It stayed the same as it did the day it was abandoned, and he waited for someone to come back.

Why had people stopped coming? Not even the newspaper was allowed to print what happened.

A kid went missing near the park, and Silly had seen what happened. Someone impersonated him, luring the child away. He couldn’t do a single thing, not able to break character and leave to save the child.

It made Silly depressed, and he stopped allowing people to visit. Silly and the park were one being, if he was depressed, it would deteriorate.

But when he saw your car pull up, the rusted gates and old buildings became brand new, almost as if the park was perking up to impress you.

After going on several rides without waiting in lines and feasting on corn dogs, funnel cake, and lemonade, you let out a happy sigh.

“Having fun?”

You jumped slightly, relaxing when Silly came into view.

“Yeah… it’s been a long time since I’ve been to an amusement park. It’s been nice.”

He watched you, his eyes focusing on your soft tummy and fat tits. Never before had he taken such interest in a female.

He didn’t know much about what he was or how he came into existence, much less the nature of his urges, but he did know that he had needs…

And you did too.

Silly was attractive in a strange way. It was hard to describe his features, but something about him made you… horny. Maybe it was how tall he was, maybe it was the way he talked…

Before you knew it, you were being led away by the hand. You didn’t complain or try to escape his grip, in fact you were both curious and aroused. Where was he leading you?

Was it bad that being all alone with that clown in an abandoned park, having no idea where he was taking you made you horny?

Silly was struggling to keep himself together.

You were pulled into a tent, something slippery and slimy slipping between your legs as you were bent over. All you had to hold on to was a tent pole as silly grabbed your fat hips.

“God…” he murmured, his tentacle like cock slithering past your panties and rubbing against your glistening clit. “Need this…”

Without much warning he pushed in, groaning at how tight you were. It felt so strange, feeling him wriggle and writhe inside of your cunt.

The second he felt you clench around him he groaned, his body leaning into yours as he nibbled at your ear.

“So wet… pretty little thing, don’t you wanna just stay here forever? I’ll let you have the best day forever if I get to fuck into this pussy at the end of every night…”

His clown makeup dripped onto your shoulder, making you look back. Your vision was already a bit blurry from the pleasured tears falling from your eyes, but you swore you saw a strange creature behind you…

He forced you to look away, cooing softly. “Shh, don’t look, princess… I don’t want my pretty little thing going insane.”

His cum spurted inside of you, and you felt uncomfortable stretch when his cock began to go crazy, wiggling and squirming as if trying to burrow inside of you as deep as it could.

A soft growl left his throat as he settled down from his high, his thumb rubbing circles on your hip.

“Good girl… let’s get you cleaned up, hmm?”

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[vivwritesfics]

Easy Is The Way

He made it very clear that you would entertain his company, but little else. He would no fall for you, but he would not be cruel to you. He would be kind to you, he would care for you, but he would not let himself fall for you

Lucius Verus x reader (general Acacius's daughter)

Chapter One

"What did he do to you?" Your father whispered once you had gotten home.

"Nothing," you said quickly, shaking your head. "Father, he was not cruel to me. He did not lay a hand on me. He allowed me to rest." Your arms were crossed over your stomach, holding your sides as you looked at the floor.

Your father wrapped his arms around you and kissed the top of your head. "I will put a stop to this," he whispered, a tear escaping his eye and rolling down his cheek. "Even if it ends me."

You swallowed, your mouth dry as you stepped back, as you walked away from him. The baths. You just wanted to wash. Wash away the Colosseum, wash away all of it.

Hanno. His home had been taken from him by your father. His life had been ruined by your father. His wife, murdered at your father's command. He had no reason to be kind to you, had every reason to wrap his hands around your neck and watch you die.

It was the revenge he so deserved. Take the life of Marcus Acacius' daughter, avenge his wife.

Something was going on with Lucilla.

As you bathed, you heard whispers. Things that the staff had overheard, that they were sharing amongst themselves. But they weren't sharing it with you. You tried to listen in as you soaked in the warm waters of the private baths in your home, but they were keenly aware of you.

The information was not for your ears, that was clear.

Your father was being secretive, quiet. Whatever was going on with Lucilla was shared between them, not for your ears. You gritted your teeth and tried to not let the frustration show on your face.

No matter what room you entered, it fell silent as soon you did. Even if you tried to creep, you were unable to keep yourself hidden. Your fathers trained ears were able to pick you up the moment your sandals hit the stone floor.

You couldn't hide that it frustrated you. Not knowing, being left in the dark.

The next day of the games. You didn't expect your gladiator to survive. But he wasn't your gladiator, was he? He was just a gladiator who happened to be kind to you.

Maybe the Emperors would make another example out of you. Maybe they would send you down to the Colosseum again if he won, send you to be his prize. You could spend time with him, get to know more about him and his home.

The colosseum was full of water. It looked beautiful, but you knew that it was deadly. Water full of sharks and, soon, the remains of gladiators.

Seated beside your father, you watched as the ships emerged. There was little you could hear over the cheer of the crowd, but Hanno's voice rang out. You couldn't make out what he was saying, but it was clear as day that he was leading his men.

Whilst everyone cheered, while the twin Emperors grinned down at the scene in front of them, the scene that had been carefully curated for their amusement and pleasure, you shut your eyes. The violence and blood and gore of men fighting men had already been too much for you.

This was another level of barbaric.

The same air of unease settled over Lucilla and your father. She held his hand, unable to breathe as the flaming arrows were shot towards the gladiators.

The sail was on fire as the two ships headed towards each other. Muttered prayers left your lips, not loud enough for anybody to hear over the noises of the crowd. This wasn't real to them. Some game to fill their afternoon.

The first gladiator fell into the water. You could only hope that the arrow piercing his armour got to him before the shark did. The beast grabbed him, tore him apart as the water around his body turned red.

Your heart beat erratically as you searched for Hanno. There he was, still commanding the gladiators. You released a breath, sitting back in your seat.

They used the ship like a battering ram, splintering the hull of the other one. Immediately, Hanno began running. He leapt onto the other ship, taking two men down with him.

Another man fell into the water. The sharp immediately grabbed him and dragged him to his death.

In a way you were grateful for the smoke that obscured your view. You couldn't see the danger, couldn't see the brutality happening before you.

You couldn't see if Hanno was stabbed. You couldn't see if he was tossed into the water and torn apart by the sharks. In a way it was a blessing.

But you didn't know what was happening. It had unease settling in your chest as you desperately tried to see what was going on. The glimpses, not long enough to see which gladiator was which, did nothing to settle you.

The ships moved closer, oars splintering against the Colosseum walls. They were in front of you now, close enough that you could hear every time their swords clashed, every grunt that left their lips. You couldn't look away.

Suddenly, you caught a glimpse of Hanno. He grabbed the crossbow and raised it as the other gladiators fought. For a moment, one moment where your anxiety had spiked so high, you thought he was pointing it at you. But his eyes were trained on you, he hadn't even looked your way.

Your father. He wanted to kill your father. If it wasn't for the gladiator that knocked into him, he would have. He loosed the arrow as the other gladiator touched him and the arrow embedded itself in Emperor Geta's seat.

You couldn't stop the way you gasped. For a brief second, while he picked himself up, he looked at you. Geta shouted. You didn't know what he shouted as you sat forward in your seat. Your father stood, pulling Lucilla up with him. It wasn't safe, that was clear.

Your father pulled you to your feet, but you shrugged off his grip, desperate to see more. Hanno would not hurt you, you knew that much.

Geta and Caracalla ran, their tails tucked between their legs. But your father was still, unable to look away from the gladiator that had threatened his life. Did he know that he was the real target? That the arrow was never meant for Emperor Geta?

"In the name of the Emperors!" The games master shouted, drawing out every word "The victor is Hanno!"

Macrinus stood, and you did the same. You raced out ahead of him, heading the way they took you the day before, when you being given as a prize, as a punishment.

They didn't stop you as you moved through the colosseum. Everybody beneath the colosseum cheered, beat their chests as Hanno as his army (because really, what else were they? They were willing to follow him to the ends of the earth) walked through.

You watched, hidden behind the men as they stopped. "Who did this?" Somebody shouted, but you couldn't see who. You didn't move around too much, desperate to keep yourself hidden until you could get to Hanno.

Nobody answered. The cheering stopped, all eyes on the gladiators that had just finished competing. The ones that had made it out of there alive, anyway.

"WHO DID THIS!"

"It was me!"

"I did it!"

"I did it!"

"I did it!"

There were shouts from every direction, making it impossible to pinpoint the true culprit. But you knew, you had seen it first had. It struct you then how close you were to losing your life at Hanno's hands.

"Geta will want retribution for all of you." He approached Hanno as each word left his lips, seemingly punctuated by his steps. "Did you learn to shoot the same place you learnt to recite poetry?"

"Be glad it wasn't me or that arrow would have found you." Hanno's deep voice echoed throughout the Colosseum. Low and deadly, reverberating through you. But the laughs of the gladiators drowned it out.

He turned away, moved through his fellow gladiators until his eyes landed on you. His eyebrows went up, but he said nothing as he grabbed you and tucked you into his side.

It wasn't a move of affection, a move to keep you safe from the other gladiators. "I was not aiming for you," he said quietly, the words meant only for you.

"I know," you replied as he sat down. "You were aiming for the general, weren't you?"

He nodded and your fingers worked to strip him of his armour. He sat still, staring up at you as you tugged the leather. His injuries weren't as bad as they were the game before. The wounds that Ravi had closed up previously had remained closed through the game.

"I don't blame you for wanting to kill the general," you whispered, rocking on your feet. You didn't realise that you were doing it until he grabbed the backs of your thighs to still you.

The both of you were still, unmoving as you stared at each other. Hanno blinked at you, searched your face. You didn't know what he was reading in your face.

You wanted to touch him, wanted to reach up and wipe the blood from his cheeks. You wanted to touch his shoulders, feel the muscles there. He could easily cage you in with nothing but his arms, and it would leave you feeling nothing but safe.

"You watch the games with him although you hate it," he said, eyes still searching your face. You didn't move didn't react. "You are there as punishment. Just as you are here as punishment."

You shook your head and let go of his armour, letting it drop to the floor. "Yesterday, the emperors sent me here to set an example for my father. To show him what they can do should he threaten to disobey. Today, I am here of my own volition."

You stepped back as Ravi approached, letting him check over your gladiator. But still, Hanno was looking at you. "Why?" He asked.

Swallowing, you looked at your sandals. Ravi glanced at you for a moment, only a moment, and turned his attention back to Hanno. Did he know who you were? He must have. You could only pray that he didn't reveal you.

"I had to know," you whispered, breath catching in your throat. "I had to make sure they hadn't killed you for what you have done."

It took you by surprise when Hanno laughed. He let his gaze drop to his lap as he continued to laugh. "I will not be slain by a Roman sword," he said and Ravi stepped away from him.

Standing once again, Hanno grabbed it. It wasn't harsh, pulling you close once again to lead you through the Colosseum. No other gladiator dared to look at you when Hanno, the champion, had a hold of you.

It was a night much like the first. This time, Hanno sat closer to you as you. Your words were hushed, whispered between the two of you. To anybody looking into his cell, it would have looked like a sweet moment, two lovers, sharing their affection between each other.

But it wasn't that. You spoke of Rome, of a dream that had died when Emperor Geta and Emperor Caracalla took power. The dream of Lucilla's father, of Lucilla. You didn't mention her name in front of Hanno, didn't mention the wife of the general.

Hanno echoed back your thoughts. He, a man from Numidia, had the same dream of Rome. A free Rome, a Rome for the people.

"You speak such fantasies," you whispered as you laid down on his bed, forced to lay against each other by the size of it. "You speak of it like you how great Rome can be."

He let his arms wrap around you, pull you close so that you weren't hanging from the edge of the bed. A more comfortable way to lay, that was how the both of you justified it to yourselves. He moved closer and you realised why when he started speaking. So quietly, you wouldn't have been able to hear it if his lips weren't pressed against your ear.

"I am from Numidia, yes, but I was not born there," he said to you, lips kissing your ear with every word.

Hanno gave you no more information. But you took in his words, a secret you would keep close to your chest. He brushed your hair back, laying your head down on his bicep. "Sleep now," he said to you, and you shut your eyes.

But you didn't sleep right away. "Hanno?" You whispered, shuffling closer to him. You opened your eyes as he grunted, meeting the one eye he had open to look at you. "What will you do once you are a free man?"

Hanno let his eye fall shut and furrowed his brow. "The Colosseum does not lead to freedom. I will die in there, killed by another man or worn down by exhaustion, struck down by an infected wound or a disease."

You felt yourself deflate, your hand on his bare chest. "I do not wish that for you." His lack of response, steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your fingertips left you to believe that he had fallen asleep.

***

You were not there, not in his house. Not in the palace, either. Wherever you were, your father just had to hope that you were safe.

General Acacius was doing this for his wife. He didn't want you mixed up in it. There was no telling what the Emperors would do to you if they found out what Acacius was doing.

He prayed to the Gods before he set off to the Colosseum, his most loyal men following him. Cloaked and under the cover of darkness, they rode to the Colosseum. Acacius was privy to the Emperor's plans for their praetorians, where they were stationed.

It should have been safe.

His men surrounded him as they marched into the Colosseum, holding their torches high. They walked through the stone corridor, heading towards the gladiators sleeping quarters. He didn't know that you were there, sleeping soundly against the gladiator that had tried to kill him.

Suddenly, his men dropped, arrows embedded into their necks. Their arrows hit their marks, leaving only the General Acacius standing.

No.

The Emperor's guards were not supposed to be here. This wasn't right. How could they have known about a plan hushed between husband and wife?

A guard used his sword to push the hot from Acacius's head, revealing his face. He kept a look of defiance on his face has he stared at the guard. But inside, he was screaming.

Somebody had betrayed them. Because of that, he was going to lose everything. His wife, his co-conspirator, would be punished in much the same way he would be. Death.

You were innocent in all of this. You didn't know what Lucilla and your father had been planning, yet the Emperor's would punish you. Punish you to hurt him one last time before he was put to death.

Your life at risk because of him. He would never forgive himself.

a/n: i'm hoping to do just one more part for this mini series, but I am loving it, i must admit - also, do i change my blog theme to lucius?

taglist:

@barcelonaloverf1life

@lefroggie

@tsunchani

@bxm-1012

@nicolebarnes

@whoopie6995

@shelbyteller

@saragrx

@ariesandwolves

@biapascal

@rrrrussosstuff

[certifiablyinsanez]

I really hope that now, the people who have been under-appreciating the class and racial dynamics of the show and Blitz and Stolas’ relationship can now realize that Blitz had every right to have doubts and worries over Stolas’ character when it came to their gap.

Do you know what this episode reminds me of? Authoritarian, dictatorial rule. People have opinions of public execution in the real world. It’s something that actually happens. Even for peoples and societies that don’t currently commit to public executions more than likely have a past history of doing so. And the realities of this very real thing were made clear in this episode. Because Blitz, and even all of IMP, was going to die. And in the real world, you probably don’t have a royal lover to save you at the last second. It is a real tool used by cruel masters to keep people in line, to invoke terror and submission. We all saw their faces.

A family of imps, children watching. The little girl closing her eyes sadly.

His best friend and loved ones watching him get his head lopped off.

Even his scorned ex who he viciously hurt is horrified by this.

Just because we knew Blitz was going to be saved, should in no way erase the seriousness of this event. This is something used to enforce submission, to instill fear. Satan mentions how he created imps to be obedient. This was meant to be a reminder to all the lowly people in hell that their place is in the dirt. Because Blitz is only moderately successful for his race. By the standards of higher classes he would still be seen as a low-rate wannabe business man running a seedy operation. His is not rich by any means. His business only produces enough to moderately support his family and his workers.

And he was about to be killed for it.

He was about to be executed because he was a little too uppity. Because he dared to be anything other than what was designated for his race. Let that sink in. Imagine if you were executed on international television just because you wanted a better career and life. This is the reality in Hell. And the unfairness of it all is so blatantly seen when Stolas is harshly punished but still allowed to live. Not only that, but it was put on public record that he’s silly to think he would be killed because “his life actually has worth”. That’s insane.

And I need everyone to apologize and write Viv and her team love letters because these dynamics EXIST IN REAL LIFE. They are real and have real consequences, and this is real for the POC that lives down the street from you. This is not something that happens in a backwards place 10,000 miles away. It’s in everyone’s backyard. This episode was beautifully written and I look forward to every new episode to come.

[monstersholygrail]

New City, New Life

5k celebration ‘Choose your own adventure’ story

Wolf Hybrid x fem!reader— free use city, olfactophilia, semi-public sex, oral (f!receiving), marking, biting, knotting

You stop the moving truck just outside of your brand new house. Ducking your head you check it out through the window and nod appreciatively. It looked a lot better than it did online! Though for the surprisingly low price you got for an entire house you wouldn’t have complained about whatever it looked like. But you scored great for not viewing the house in person before buying it and moving to a whole other city you had never heard of let alone been to.

Was that pretty stupid of you? Sure! But you can’t exactly regret it when this is the outcome. And besides, you needed a change of pace from the monotony of your old life. You needed a new adventure. An unknown city, your own house, and a change in work was just the start, you were positive.

When that mysterious headhunter came to you a few months ago with the opportunity of a lifetime, it couldn’t have come at a better time. It was like something in the universe knew you were having a rough time and needed to leave. So you took the risk and packed up your entire life. It all happened so fast you didn’t even get the chance to do any of your own research on the neighborhood, the city, or your new job. All you had to go on was the brochures the headhunter sent.

Again, was it stupid? Nah, you’re sure it’ll all work out for the best.

But as you flip the latch and push up the tailgate to reveal the moving truck full of boxes that you alone have to move, you start to second guess your statement. You really should’ve hired that Minotaur Moving Company the headhunter suggested. You can handle this. You can totally… totally… hand this.

“Hey, neighbor!” A voice calls, startling you out your daunting thoughts.

You lean to look over the side of the truck and are instantly blown away by the sight in front of you. A sexy ass Wolf Hybrid walks down the sidewalk toward you. His muscles bulging and straining against his tight button up shirt. His slacks not hiding anything he’s got going on downstairs. The smirk on his face is absolutely panty-dropping and you feel yourself go weak in the knees from it. More than ready to drop down and him do whatever he wants to you.

“Moving in?” He asks instead of immediately taking you right then and then. For a second you’re disappointed before you realize this is the real world and people don’t have sex with people they’ve just met… right?

“Yeah, yeah. Gotta bring in all these boxes, gonna take so long,” you say, your voice sounding breathier than you meant it to.

The Wolf Hybrid’s eyes flash but before you can read the expression it’s gone and that friendly neighbor persona is back on. He looks into the truck and scoffs as if it’s nothing.

“Let me help you with that then!”

Before you can pretend to resist, claiming he doesn’t need to help before he insists in a way that would have your panties gushing, he swings himself up into the truck. The words immediately die on your tongue as you see him pick up a heavy box like it’s nothing. Oh, well I guess your panties are getting soaked either way.

You swear that the Wolf Hybrid can tell you’re already turned on as he inhales deeply just as he passes you. But thankfully he doesn’t say a thing and heads up your porch, waiting with a wagging tail for you to open up your house to him. You exchange polite greetings as you walk inside with him and get started.

The two of your work together pretty well. Walking back and forth between the truck and the house. You can’t help but let your gaze linger on him and the way he moves. And every time you look at him you catch him looking back, his heated gaze raking over your form.

The tension grows thicker with each box you both carry. While the Wolf Hybrid forces you to stay away from the heavy boxes, only allowing you to lift the light ones. It only serves to increase the tension and turn you on even more. Still, you both manage to work up quiet the sweat by the time the moving truck is almost empty.

You sigh heavily as you push yourself back up into the truck. Heading all the way down to the front to look for another box to carry in. Just as you reach down to pick up a box of throw pillows, two clawed hands dig into your plush waist and a sharp gasp falls past your lips. You freeze in place, questioning why your pussy clenches down around nothing.

“Think I’m finally gonna fuck you now, sweetheart, ‘k?” The Wolf Hybrid growls, his chest molding to your back. His snout nuzzles into your throat and down into your shirt. He inhales deeply, a rumble moving through his chest as your musk washes over him. “You’re finally ripe ‘nough f’me.”

With a quick jerk of his hands, he’s shucking off your pants. You jump a second later as his snout presses deeply against your slit, rubbing his nose back and forth, smelling all of you. You moan softly, your mind fading away before you can question what the hell is happening. This is what you wanted this whole time after all. Can’t complain now. And you surely won’t as his long prickly tongue joins in, lapping up the mess your slick left on your pussy.

“So fucking drenched for me already. I think you’ll fit in around here just fine,” he rasps as he latches onto your clit and gives it a teasing suck that has sparks shooting through your core.

You go to finally ask what he’s been on about, and why the fact that you’re a soaked mess for him would mean you’d fit in, but in a flash he’s standing up and kicking your legs out to spread for him. His fat tip pushes against your entrance and your jaw drops, tongue lolling out at his sheer girth. His cock splitting you open in two as he pushes his big cock all the way inside your desperate pussy.

“N-nngh! Fuuuck. So fucking tight for me. Glad I got to you first. With a pussy this good you’re gonna be busy in a city like this,” the Wolf Hybrid growls out, his claws digging into your waist.

You can barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. But none of it matters anyway as he uses his grip and immediately starts spearing his shaft deep inside your sloppy cunt, over and over again. The only sound that registers now is your own moans as he fucks you brainless.

The truck shakes with the force of his thrusts and you hold onto the boxes in front of you for dear life as he takes you on a wild ride. His cock glides along your gummy walls, igniting your every nerve as he hits those spots inside you that have you seeing stars. Loud cries leave you but you can’t seem to give a fuck if anyone hears. They should hear how good you’re feeling right now.

“God, yes! Take it! Take my cock, darling. Gonna have to get used to this after all. And I’ll be more than happy to help you adjust.”

You cry out louder, your throat aching with the strength of the noises leaving you. You desperately try and rock back and meet his thrusts but the Wolf Hybrid snarls, his claws digging even deeper into your hips. He leans over you and his fangs are sinking into your flesh a moment later. Keeping you perfectly still for him as he slams his length into your depths, his tip kissing your womb with every thrust.

The onslaught of one sensation after the other has every single one of your atoms quivering with anticipation. Your toes curl as he reaches down, flicking your clit just right, and a second later you’re freezing up as your orgasm crashes through you.

Wolf Hybrid roars as your precious pussy clamps down on him. He continues to thrust into you, swinging his hips back and forcing his knot inside you with a slick pop. The sudden stretch prolongs your orgasm and makes you scream in delight. He cums not long after you, his knot expanding inside you as he pumps load after load of hot cum straight into your wrecked womb.

“If I hadn’t already said it, welcome to the neighborhood,” he says breathlessly in your ear.

After his knot had gone down, he slipped out of you and the two of you finished carrying the boxes in. Well, more like you laid on your couch while he carried the rest in because you couldn’t seem to walk for the life of you. He offered to stay, help you clean up and look after you till you could walk again, but you politely declined. You started your new job in the morning after all.

As you leave your house the next morning, body still a bit sore from the best fuck of your life, you realized you had a tiny issue. Your car was being driven down by a friend from your old city but it wasn’t here yet. You had to get to work somehow.

Looking off to the side you spot your neighbor in their driveway and your cheeks tinge pink. He was with a couple of his friends and it seemed like they were on their way somewhere. His friends appearing to be an Orc, a Naga, and another wolf. You could always ask them for a ride. Or maybe you shouldn’t bother your neighbor after what happened yesterday. You could always take the bus. Except… you have no idea where the station is. Well, you could always walk. Maybe stop for some coffee along the way.

[happy74827]

A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

[bigwishes]

Embarrassed?

Tom sat there staring down at his phone, typing like his life depended on it.

"if this is true I will literally trade anything to get bigger, you can make me a dumb jock, make my dick small, Ill even take being a walking joke, you can take anything you like so long as I can get huge!"

He had stumbled upon a site called "give'n'take" which was claiming that it would allow him to trade something he currently has for something he wanted. He had seen claims from guys claiming to of turned into their dream self over night by giving up something that they never really liked about themselves anyway.

But it was Hard for Tom to pick something he wanted to give up, he had almost won the genetic lottery in his eyes. A fat nine inches down stairs, 6.5ft tall, a good amount of body hair, not enough to be annoying but enough to drive guys wild. Everything had made him a walking stud that oozed confidence with every step. All but one thing that is. Tom had loved bodybuilding ever since he could remember, he loved the look of huge guys and he loved the idea of being one, but on his 23rd birthday he looked in the mirror and saw after years of work he looked nothing like a bodybuilder. sure he had some size but there was no real mass. He just looked like a guy who played sport on the weekend. He wanted to be so much bigger. He got hard imagining himself being the guy who had to turn sideways to get through a door or who rocked up to a house party in gym shorts and an XXL stringer tank top that clung to him like it was about to snap. Unfortunately his height was against him, his long muscle fibers took ages to develop and when they did it was so evenly spread out it didn't look like he had done anything at all.

He'd do anything to be bigger, he'd be happy with anything taken away so long as he was huge. So he left the choice up to the people behind the screen.

---

The next morning Tom woke up and instantly felt strange, he felt off balance some how like his body had gone up 30 pounds over night and when he got up and looked in the mirror he realised...it had.

"HOLY SHIT" Tom yelled out into his empty apartment.

His body had beefed up and become more defined without any more work. He couldn't worship himself for long though as he instantly began investigating to see what had been taken, but it didn't appear like anything was missing at all.

He was still packing, he hadn't shrunk in fact he might of even gained an inch or two and he didn't have any issues remembering anything from his engineering degree or any day to day stuff. The thought crossed his mind that maybe they had forgotten to take something, or maybe because he wanted to be big so badly they cut him a break.

Tom's worries melted away as he smiled and flexed his newly enhanced biceps.

"mmm, not as huge as I was hoping for but I'll keep working on it"

Tom picked up his gym bag and decided to head out to see what his new size could do, and to stick to the habit, he didn't want all this new size to make him forget to work out and end up losing it all in a few months.

Tom arrived at the gym and changed into his workout gear but he looked and felt different was he...bigger? nah, he thought to himself, its just him getting used to being this big although as he stared at his new size in his reflection a new thought entered his mind.

"Maybe this tank top is too tight...I probably shouldn't be such a show off and buy some looser clothes to cover up"

He shook his head and decided to think about it when he got home, right now he just wanted to see how strong he had gotten.

As Tom worked out something weird was happening, he knew how to exhaust his muscle, he new how to overload the weight and really make it feel like work but as he added weight with each set it felt just as easy as the last.

He'd occasionally see his reflection in the mirror wall and he looked like he was getting even bigger, and his tank top felt even tighter than before. Surely it was just the pump he thought to himself as he continued to lift and push his body.

He sat down at the cable row and put the pin almost at the bottom of all the plates, surely this would be a struggle for him. Tom leant back and pulled when suddenly.

Cutcshhhhhhh!

the sound of ripping fabric rung out in his ear as he felt the shoulder strap snap and felt the fabric split across his back.

"aw shit" Tom said as he stood up and took of his shirt.

Immediately he saw his reflection in the mirror, he looked huge. His muscles bulging he couldn't help but pull his gym shorts up and flex, this is what he wanted to be an absolute tank...

but, everyone probably thought he was a dickhead flexing outside of the changing room, he thought to himself. He started to wonder if he was that guy now, the guy who'd workout shirtless and annoy everyone in the gym.

He noticed a few dudes looking at him like they were waiting to get on the machine. His face turned a slight pink on his cheeks and he was flushed with embarrassment.

"oh s-sorry" Tom stuttered as he quickly tried to move out the way

Originally he thought he'd just move on to the next exercise but he realised he was shirtless and bolted for the changing room. Once inside he gazed at his reflection again.

"maybe...I shoulda asked to be just a little smaller, fuck now I gotta walk outta here shirtless"

Tom couldn't get a grip and didn't no what had come over him. He had never felt a shred of embarrassment in his life but now he was worried what people would think about him being shirtless in the gym.

The changing room was empty and Tom took the time for a few more poses before he was gonna make a run for the exit. He flexed his arms as hard as he could and felt the blood rushing into the muscle, but it was strange, the muscle wasn't just pumped up, it was like it was still pumping up. He tilted his head and watch in the mirror, slowly but surely his shoulders and arms were expanding, his chest was filling with mass and size. He saw his already huge legs slowly expanding out into colossal pillars as they stretched his shorts. He could hear the fabric starting to strain and quickly bend down to get his gym bag.

The moment he leant over he heard the changing room echo with a large tearing sound as he felt the tightness relieve across his ass. Tom's face turned bright red as he quickly reaches around to make sure it was just the shorts he had split and not his underwear.

He let out a sigh of relief as he felt his underwear was still in tact, he stood up and took a step hearing has his massive thighs tore and split his shorts with just one step. He was almost at the door when he saw his hulking figure in the mirror.

He stood frozen admiring his huge body, he flexed his entire body at once loving how huge he had become, he noticed his underwear was straining and the fabric was starting to become see through and then he remembered....he had to walk through the gym like this to get out....

A wave of embarrassment washed over him, everyone was gonna be staring at him

Tom quickly grabbed his bag and made a break for it through the busy gym. He had hoped to run but his body was so big that was almost an impossible task, so jogging was next but even just a slight jog left him out of breath and gasping for air. By the time he reached the door he had multiple people staring at him confused as he was huffing and puffing like he had just run a marathon.

He swung open the door to the gym and bumped between two guys that were on their way in. Tom tried to apologise but the only noises that came out were him gasping for air and trying to catch his breath. He flashed a quick apology wave as he climbed into his car which was luckily parked right in front of the entrance.

Tom looked down trying to slow his breathing and catch his breath when he noticed his huge hard on. His dick was like steel, the thought of everyone staring at him....judging him....

Tom started his car trying to ignore it but he heard the two guys he had just bumped into talking, muffled by his window.

"bro did you see that guy, there is just a thing as too big"

Hearing those worse Tom felt a swirl of shame and embarrassment swell in his stomach and work its way to his pelvis as he started taking deep and slow breaths.

"I know right dude, and the way he was so out of breath just walking through the gym, and working out in his underwear? what a loser"

the two men walking into the gym laughing as the door shut behind them

The words echoed in Tom's ears, he couldn't help it, he gripped his steering wheel so tight he thought he was going to break it, he bit his lip and closed his eyes as his dick began to twitch and erupt. Tom let out a pathetic moan as he looked down to see not just his underwear soaked but his car seat and thighs caked in cum.

Tom looked into his rear view mirror, his head, traps and shoulders completely blocking the view, his face was flush as he felt more embarrassed than ever before in his life, He started his car and quickly reversed out.

"god...I'm such..."

His dick instantly got hard again.

"fuck, I'm so big....I'm...too big"

Tom started panting as he drove out of the parking lot.

"I'm a fucking big, freakish, loserrrr--eerruuuuughh!!"

Tom couldn't help unload himself into his underwear and over his car seat thinking about how pathetic he was...

Well...he did say he was happy for them to take anything, His confidence seemed like a fair price.

[lavenderspence]

Cute, Outraged Genius | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, Spencer being a bit of a technophobe

Word Count: 1.5K

Summary: Spencer comes home only to find you using a kindle…instant outrage

A/N: This is just a cute little story about Spencer being our little technophobe genius. I actually don’t own a kindle, so don’t know how those work or anything, but physical books are in fact superior, so.

The quote at the end is from “Book Lovers” by Emily Henry

masterlist

You loved his apartment, sometimes more than you loved yours. Being in his space, surrounded by his things - his books, his clothes, the silly art he indulged in. Being drowned by his scent, meters upon meters of space he’d touched, it soothed you like nothing else could.

The peace you felt whenever you were in his space was unparalleled.

You loved his bedroom, the plushness of his bed, his closed, where you found yourself stealing his shirts and cardigans, never giving them back. 

Your favorite place in apartment 23 was his couch, where he found you often enough, when he returned from a case, curled up with a book. You loved the blanket thrown on the back and the windows that allowed for the whole apartment to light up with the sunlight. 

And then there were his bookshelves, in clear view from said couch. Filled with his favorite books, special editions he held close to his heart, or some that brought him knowledge. The shelves, that now also held some of your favorite books too.

Reading, books, was the thing that had brought you together in the first place, so when he’d made space for your clothes in his closet and your toiletries in the bathroom, he’d also made space for your books to sit beside his own. 

He’d insisted it made the place feel less like it was his own, and more like it was shared, even though you weren’t living together. It warmed your heart to know, that he saw his apartment as a home for both of you.

Seeing your books among his own, made you fall even more in love with him because he knew what they meant to you. So much so, he tumbed through a few, leaving sticky notes with his little thoughts between the pages.

As for your first meeting, it was funny.

You’d met a year ago, at a cafe close to his apartment. Stuck in a long queue, waiting for your turn, your nose had been buried into a book, completely oblivious to your surroundings. Spencer had been standing behind you, and like the nosy dork he is, had been reading along with you, over your shoulder.

When he’d pointed out an inaccuracy in the plot, compared to real life, you’d screamed, slamming the book shut, and successfully making a fool of yourself in front of the whole cafe. 

He’d apologized bashfully, and asked to buy your drink for you, and then lingered for a short conversation before he’d been called away on a case. 

In his hurry to get to the FBI on time, he’d forgotten to take your number. Two weeks later, and after a lot of blaming himself for being a dumbass, he’d seen you again, nose buried into another book, sipping a beverage next to the window of the cafe. 

You hadn’t attached puzzling looks this time, and he’d gotten your number. A year later, you couldn’t be more happy for the fact that your boyfriend sometimes didn’t really get social cues.

You smiled, thinking back on that day. 

You focused on your book again, eyes dancing around the page, following with rapt attention. 

Reading was one of the few things that brought you peace, quieted your brain, and improved your mood. 

Sometimes you envied Spencer’s genius, being able to go through War & Peace at breakfast, without batting an eye. Reading, and reading, and still having the time for other things. If, in your lifetime, you could read as many books as Spencer had read thus far in life, you’d be happy. 

You were giggling, kicking your feet, and enjoying your book, when you heard the telltale sign of Spencer arriving home - his key being inserted into the lock. 

You didn’t move your eyes away from the book, having reached a great part of the book. 

The door opened, and in walked your boyfriend, a peep in his step, happy he’d get to see you and spend time with you after 6 days of being away. 

He left his keys in the bowl next to the door, freed himself of his shoes, and set his messenger bag down. 

He walked further in, noticing the vanilla and chocolate scent in the air - you’d followed tradition, baking a small tray of chocolate chip cookies as a welcome for him. 

He stood behind you, draping his hands around your neck, and leaned over to kiss the side of your head gently, finally diverting your attention away from the book. 

“Hello, sweetheart,” he murmured, warm breath tickling your neck next, as he kissed around your ear and pulse point. 

“Hi there, babe.” you were whispering too, finally happy to be in your own bubble. “How are you? How was the case?” you asked, just like you did every time, just like you did every day. You always wanted to know how he was, you wanted to know about his day, and he’d gotten so used to it and had done it so many times for you too, it had become routine, a way to show each other you cared and loved each other. 

“I’m good, a little tired maybe,” he nuzzled your neck, eyes shut in contentment, “The case was tough, but successfully closed at the end,” he rarely elaborated, only if someone was hurt, or the case had taken a toll on his mental health. Other than that, he didn’t like bringing the gory details of the cases home with him. 

Home was his space with you, where you laughed, and sometimes cried. Where you cuddled and made love, read together, or to each other, where you cooked, where you relaxed. It was no place for the realities of a BAU profiler. 

“What are you doing?” it was a simple question. 

“I’m reading,” and there was an even simpler answer, except if you were Spencer Reid, a doctor with three PhDs, three bachelor’s degrees, an FBI agent, and a complete, and utter technophobe. 

You felt him lift his head before he choked out a high-pitched “You’re what?” and you turned around to see him, shock and betrayal written on his face, his eyes as big as saucers. 

You looked at him like he’d grown two heads, but you knew you should have expected this. 

You’d made the decision to get a kindle last week, and you’d used the time he hadn’t been home to set it up and try it out. 

“What are you even reading on that thing? That’s not a book!” he was outraged, but at the same time, he looked so cute, that you started laughing. You brought a hand to your mouth, in hopes of muffling the sound a little because you were losing it, laughing with everything you had. 

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny. I’m serious.” you just laughed harder, even though you tried to reign it in and stop. 

Around a minute later, your laughter started dying down, and you looked up, only to see him with his arms crossed against his chest, an expression between bewilderment, and those deep brown puppy eyes staring straight into your soul.

“It’s a kindle, Spence, it’s all digital,” you told him

“No, I know that, but you can’t be serious,” your brows furrowed, a bit butt hurt, until he continued, “You know, readers prefer physical books. A recent study found that only 21% prefer e-books, as little as 14% audiobooks, and 65% are physical book readers. Another study found that your brain absorbs less when you read on a kindle than on paper.” You laughed again, loving his brain, and then patted the space next to you, waiting for him to sit down.

“I thought you were pro saving the planet Mr. Three PHD’s.” you joked, waiting for him to sass you back. After all, one of your favorite characteristics of his was how sassy he was. 

“Well, yes I am, but statistically, physical copies are superior. A book needs to be physical, not whatever bullshit that is. Come on, let’s just return this, and I’ll buy you all the books you want,” he went to stand up, and you pulled him back down by the back of his shirt. 

“Aww babe, I know you will!” Spencer loved buying some of your books for you, he loved seeing the smile on your face when he bought a book you’ve wanted for a while. You buried your face into his neck, hugging him to you. 

“Come on, let’s cuddle before dinner, get a cookie, and I’ll read to you for a bit, I just reached a good part,” you whisper into his neck, and he exhales, reaching towards the coffee table to get a cookie before you relax into each other, and you pick up the kindle, reading where you left off. 

“We really are two opposing magnets, incapable of being in the same room without drawing together. I want to scrape my fingers through his hair and kiss him until he forgets where we are, and everything and everyone that ever made him feel like he was a disappointment. And he’s looking at me like I could, like there’s an ache in him only I could soothe.” you read, hand running through his hair, happy to have him back.

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

[yanderenightmare]

Ryomen Sukuna

TW: NSFW, noncon, virgin reader, corruption kink, Sukuna in general

fem reader

Thinking about Demon King Sukuna and how he receives a virgin for his harem every new moon. Most are unfortunate townspeople who’ve come of age—but you’re something he can savor even more, something truly special.

The silk kimono you’d been dressed in is easily ripped from your body, leaving you bare. You’d been warned not to fight or run, that he’d only sooner kill and eat you—but you keep your faith and try and escape anyway. 

All your life, the temple has taught you of Ryomen Sukuna—that he’s a harbinger of carnage and death. You’d feel better offering your life to the Gods than allowing it to remain captive by the likes of evil.

He only grabs and manhandles you with nothing more but a sadistic laugh, catching your hair in a fist as he pulls you up until only the tips of your toes are left grazing the floors—and even then, he has to bow nearly half his length before he’s leveling your eyes with his.

“My patience is a fickle thing, turtledove. Run again, and I’ll treat it like a real hunt. Which would be a real shame… I so hate spilling holy blood before I’ve made it filthy with sin.”

You're thrown onto a large round bed next. It catches you with a bounce while he crawls after you, taking hold of both your ankles and swiftly pulling you beneath him. 

His chest is marked with demonic seals, and so is his face, where he looms above you with a deranged smile. Raking his claws up your legs and thighs, he spreads and pushes them flat against the bed while his other two hold your crying face, cupping your cheeks with both thumbs hooking into the wet of your mouth, playing with your tongue as you sob. When he shows you his and its black markings, you scream, feeling as though he’s pouring poison down your throat as he feeds you its length and knots it with yours.

You choke and sob while you share each other’s spit, feeling tarnished and forsaken by all that you held sacred—wondering why the heavens would allow this to happen as the weight of his manhood finds rest between your thighs, upon your mound and tummy, where it grows fat and warm.

His hands leave your face and switch places with the other two, freeing them for what he plans on doing next. Wrapping one around himself, he gives it languid tugs while soaking in the sight of your poor little cunt trembling in fear of something it only barely knows what is. His other hand pets it soothingly in mockery, tickling the slit, making you shake.

His stomach then splits open like a cut, baring teeth and a tongue that only earns your horrified expression—crying as it drools over you, jutting out to lick the tender place you so wished had remained untouched. You whine in shudders as he squeezes your throat and bares down over you, staring at you with keen bromine eyes, amused with your fall from grace as you come undone.

“You taste sweet,” he moans against your lips while his other mouth slurps at your core, also groaning.

You’re naïve for thinking it’s over where you blink away tears, but he doesn’t blame you. They never teach you the truth in temples, only childish lies that leave you ever vulnerable to the outside world and ever sweeter for him to ruin.

“I apologize for clipping your wings, angel. But I must say… depravity suits you better.”

Nothing. Not a prayer or plea leaves your lips as he tears through and fills you up. Only a choked gasp that dies midway. You bite into your lip, squeezing your eyes shut—ready to accept a death that never comes. Instead, there’s a living hell, and you can only scream as it consumes you.

Your whimpering is delicious, caught beneath him, panting every time his hips snap forth and storm your clingy insides, gushing for him like he knew you would be—sweetly surrendering all your worship to him and honoring him as your new god.

Perhaps he won’t feast on your flesh once he’s done as cute as you are. He wouldn’t mind keeping you around for a bit. Teach you how to serve him properly. Paint you with his seals. Make you his favorite pet.

♡ RYOMEN SUKUNA masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[pennyellee]

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒

𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐁𝐈𝐒 | 𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐅𝐈𝐀 𝐀𝐔 pairings: yandere mafia namjoon x barmaid f!reader genre: dark romance, smut, slight porn with plot, 90s word count: 19,7K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)

masterlist

summary: “You are something I can sin for” An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that’s what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn’t always like that. There was a time where you’ve resented Namjoon with every fibre of your being and every word that came out of his plump lips after what he had done to prove his power. Unfortunately, you will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it.

warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, emotional distress, teasing, yandere behaviour, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, reader meets namjoon at 17, forced engagement, kidnapping, graphic violence, death, murder, blood, explicit language, misogyny, mentions of feminism, alcohol usage, mentions of religion and God, church smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, oppa-kink and so on (i'll add some if i'll forget)

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, oppressiveness, which we do not condone.

a/n: So here we are! This is the story I've been thrilled to share as it unfolds almost simultaneously with Champagne Confetti. Y/N, alias Peaches, is my baby, and I cannot wait to write more for her and Namjoon after my current project wraps up, wink wink. I have drafts for other fics set in the same universe as my current work and the new one, Anubis. Step by step, my fairies ♥

I hope you will enjoy reading this piece I've kept to myself for a long time. The best thing about writing is that I get to build this world of imagination and live in it for months before it gets to you. Sooo, I'm very nervous and excited to push Anubis out as a second fic within this universe— which now I have decided is going to be called — 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝟏𝟗𝟗𝟔. Without further ado, enjoy, fairies! ♥

1996

There's a soft whisper in your bones, each time you wake up in the morning. As your eyes flutter open, the room is dimly lit, shadows dancing on the ceiling. All your demons are staring at you from above. They have been there when you went to sleep, and they are still there when you wake up. You know them all too well—regrets, doubts, fears—they've become familiar companions in the lonely hours of the night. They whisper tales of your failures, amplifying every mistake, every misstep, until they echo like thunder in your mind.

But would it be any different if your steps turned the other direction? Would the cosmos allow you to be? Possibly. You, however, will never know what life would be without blood flowing down the stream, dirty money from all the sins you've watched being committed.

You will never know what life could be if Kim Namjoon was not in it. But the thought is fleeting, for you know deep down that he is as much a part of your story as the demons that haunt you. His presence has shaped you in ways both profound and subtle, leaving an indelible mark on your soul and your body. The agonising pain within still remains and all you can think of is how did you get to this point in your story.

"Bitches come and go, Peaches—" you recalled those words like it was yesterday they were uttered.

"—but you and him, love, you be for life."

An anchor amidst the stormy seas of life — that's what Namjoon is for you. But it wasn't always like that. There was a time when you resented Namjoon and every word that came out of his plump lips.

Kim Namjoon was trouble and the whole Bronx knew so. Heck, even the whole state knew what kin he came from. You were no exception. But whatever you did, you never managed to put distance between you two.

The world seemed both infinitely vast and impossibly small when the streets of the Bronx were your stage. You were barely seventeen when you met Namjoon, a whirlwind of youthful energy and reckless abandon, there he is, so vivid in your memories.

Every time you'd help around Anubis, you could see his straying eyes. He had an aura of mischief that drew you in like a moth to a flame. You remember the way his gaze lingered on your skin, straying from the task at hand to fixate on you with a mixture of fascination.

Namjoon's reputation preceded him like a shadow cast by the noonday sun. Entirely impossible to overlook, yet you did. His name was whispered in hushed tones in the back alleys and dark corners where his influence held sway, and that was only the beginning. The magnitude he reached decades later is for another story.

You had heard the rumors—the tales of his involvement with the local gangs, the whispers of his connections to the underworld that lurked beneath the surface of the city. Certainly, you would have to be lying if you said that Anubis was completely legal. You were not that stupid. While it bore the façade of a legitimate establishment, its roots ran deep into the murky waters of the criminal underworld.

Mrs. Jung could smile as widely as she wanted and reassure you that all was fine and all was taken care of, but you couldn't ignore the whispers that circulated about Anubis. Yet she paid triple what you could get in any regular bar. Not like you could work at a regular bar at the time at your age. Survival often depended on turning a blind eye to the unsavory realities of life that you would never be able to face alone. Money was tight and you could not afford to lose such a good-paying job. Even if it took what it took.

"His eyes are hungry for you, Peaches—" said Mrs. Jung while toying with the little umbrella that was swimming in her Kamasutra drink you'd prepared just a few minutes ago. You envisioned your life in the city just like she had, Saint Laurent heels clicking loudly as you would walk down the streets of Manhattan. You admired your lady boss from her head to toes. Mrs. Jung was a symbol of pussy and power. Until she was not. The power was given to her and once she rejected to meet the expectations, it was taken from her.

"—But that's all he can do, at least for now."

She winked your way and then her attention turned to the approaching male figure. What she meant by that is loud and clear. You are underaged and Namjoon cannot make any move on you even if he wanted to. Although something tells you that this would be the least illegal thing he would’ve committed.

You’ve met Mark Tuan on occasion when he stopped by the bar. She was not Mrs Jung at the time, yet the notorious life of your lady boss, confused you even then. The way she and Mr Jung behaved around each other gave you the impression that he is her lover and not the tattooed boy that fucked the brains out of her in the office upstairs.

You felt the pain that was reflected on Jung Hoseok’s face when he asked where is she and you had to answer truthfully. The only thing you knew about Namjoon was that he and the Jungs ran way back. Their primary, and to the upper world’s eye, legal assets were the distilleries that distribute whiskey and brandy which you were serving each night till early hours of the morning.

The moment he particularly chose to visit the bar only those evenings you’ve been around was a louder hint shouted your way. As if you haven’t already figured. There was something intoxicating about the way he moved through the world and the way he moved you once your eyes locked.

The way he spoke to you, listened to you so attentively, gave advice on occasion and provided a shoulder to lean on, was all pulling you to him even more. It made you forget about all the skeletons that were in his closet.

The air crackled with anticipation as he walked through the room each night, straight to you, his gaze fixing on you with a mixture of fascination and desire. But amidst the heat of the moment, there was a shadow of doubt that lingered in the back of your mind.

Mrs. Jung's sudden disappearance, Namjoon taking over the day-to-day operations of Anubis—it all seemed too convenient, too perfect to be mere coincidence. It gave him the opportunity to watch you, enchant you. You were scared that he'd cut you off whenever you fucked up something. But he never did; rather the opposite, offering you a lifeline when you needed it most. There was a chemistry between you that defied explanation, a silent understanding that transcended words.

The way his muscular torso almost pressed against yours in the storage room took your breath away instantly. The faint scent of his cologne enveloped you as he leaned in closer, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. Surrounded by crates and boxes of expensive alcoholic beverages, the world seemed to fade away. His hand brushed against yours while he was lifting it, sending a jolt of electricity coursing through your veins as you met his gaze. Reaching above your head to envelop his slender fingers around the throat of the bottle that you could not reach before, he slowly moved closer to hover above your lips. You trembled under his gaze on your lips that were slightly parted; you were panting at this point, reminding you of the dangers that lurked beneath the surface of your forbidden romance.

"Just a moment longer."

His voice was a low murmur, a seductive whisper that sent a thrill racing through your veins. Despite the warning bells that rang in the recesses of your mind, you couldn't deny the pull he had over you, the magnetic attraction that drew you closer with each passing moment, his presence overwhelming in the confined space of the storage room. You knew that this was wrong, and yet, as his breath ghosted over your skin, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

You would never deny it, but you could not accept it and return his affections the way he wished you would. This was temporary. You never planned to stay in Anubis for longer than needed. It was not where you belonged, and the criminal underbelly of the Bronx was not the life you had envisioned for yourself.

You could not understand what made him stay away from you for such a long time. But it certainly created an opening for you to re-think your next steps.

The twenty-first year of your life was dangerously close. You graduated from college that could be paid as your earnings in Anubis allowed so. Slowly, your little life in the farthest corner of Bronx would come to an end and you could move into the city. Get a job, maybe even a man and kids later. You wanted that white-picket-fence life and you knew that if you wanted to live it peacefully, staying here was not an option.

Your father was strongly against you leaving even though he never approved of the life you led in the dark of nights. He was not a saint either, his hands stained with the same sins that plagued the streets of the Bronx. There was no man in the whole New York City that would not know the name Kim Namjoon and your father was not an exception. Although, you never had the courage to mention his name and acknowledge that the man your father praises when he drinks his beer and plays poker with his drunkard old pals, is spending his evenings talking to you.

"I tell ya all, that Namjoon boy has got a head on his shoulders like no other," your father's voice boomed across the small kitchen.

"A real businessman, that one," a flicker of unease stirring in the pit of your stomach as you caught sight of the familiar glint of admiration in your step-father's eyes. Namjoon's name hung in the air between you, a silent reminder of the bond that had formed between you in the shadows of Anubis.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he ended up running this whole city someday, right, Peaches?" You forced a smile, a wave of uncertainty washing over you as you considered the implications of your father's words. Namjoon's ambitions were as vast as the city itself, his influence reaching far beyond the confines of Anubis and the criminal underworld it symbolized.

"That's Mr. Jung's place, dad," you shook your head disapprovingly but with a smile on your face. His comrades laughed and shared similar ideas as he did though.

"That would be a boy for your Peaches," one of his comrades chuckled, the sound echoing off the walls of the cramped kitchen as they continued to sing Namjoon's praises after you only silently smiled again and opted not to respond. Your father however scoffed. He praised him, yes. But would he approve of his only child being with such a man like Namjoon is?

"When are you leaving for the city, young Missy?" Old man whose name you've never known asked with a cigarette in his mouth, looking over his cards rather than your way.

"Don't even support her in that big apple bullshit." You felt a pang of disappointment at his lack of support, but you were not surprised. You glanced around the kitchen, meeting the eyes of the men gathered there, each one offering their own opinion on your future. Some nodded in agreement with your step-father, while others remained silent, their expressions unreadable.

"Don't listen to those old men, child—"

"You got dreams, girl. Don't let nobody hold you back from chasing 'em.”

Truth to be told. The job, white fence, man and kids were not your dreams. You did not really know what to dream of, being restricted in such a dark part of the world that Bronx was for many, you did not even know why you hate your home like that. And you certainly weren’t even sure what is it to have a dream. But you hoped you’ll create some once you step your foot down, somewhere else than here. It doesn’t have to be Manhattan in particular. Anywhere but here is fine.

"Peaches, love, be sweet and bring us another beer from the fridge on your way to work, would ya?"

The request snapped you out of your thoughts, bringing you back to the present moment. With a nod, you forced a smile, hiding the turmoil within as you moved to comply with his request. You were sure you'd be late to your shift at Anubis yet again, but you knew that Namjoon would turn a blind eye. He always did when it came to you.

But Namjoon was not present the moment you stepped into Anubis that night. As you made your way through the dimly lit interior of Anubis, a sense of foreboding settled over you like a heavy blanket. The usual hustle and bustle of the bar seemed muted, the air thick with tension as you approached the bar.

Mrs. Jung was still nowhere to be found and therefore, for a few months, Namjoon had replaced her. But tonight he was not here. He usually came around ten p.m. and stayed until you cleaned the very last table and closed the bar.

Taking a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and set about your duties, determined to carry on despite the growing sense of unease that lingered in the air. But as the night wore on, the feeling of dread only intensified, leaving you on edge as you awaited Namjoon's return.

You watched the sun rising through the large windows that let the light come into the bar that was still beaming with a significant number of people of various ages. Despite your efforts to focus on your tasks, your thoughts kept drifting back to him. Where could he be? Why hadn't he shown up as usual? The questions nagged at you, fueling the unease that had settled in your stomach like a lead weight.

"Peaches?!" You heard the voice of one of the local and returning customers from the other side of the dancing floor. He was a friend. Or so you thought. He raised two fingers into the air and in a second you were already pouring the brownish liquid of Jung's Whiskey into the crystal-clear glasses.

You walked over to the table he was sitting at alongside a face you'd never seen before. Thanking you for the drinks, he pointed his thumb to the man sitting next to him.

"Peaches, Jinyoung—"

"Jinyoung, Peaches."

You offered a polite smile, acknowledging the introduction as you set down the drinks on the table. The unfamiliar man, Jinyoung, returned the gesture with a nod, his expression unreadable.

"Nice to meet you, Jinyoung," you replied, your voice tinged with a hint of curiosity.

Jinyoung's gaze met yours, his eyes dark and probing as if searching for something within you. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of discomfort under his scrutiny, a feeling that only added to the unease already gnawing at your insides. Something about him set off alarm bells in your mind, a primal instinct warning you to tread carefully.

"What's a beauty like you doing tucked in Anubis?" Jinyoung asked, his voice smooth and velvety. You glanced around the dimly lit bar, suddenly aware of the eyes that seemed to linger on you from every corner, not understanding why.

"I... I work here," you said, a sudden shyness prevailing on the surface. You never really engaged with other men apart from Namjoon. For some reason, each time a man approached you, all of them quickly backed out, opting to not even look your way. For a long time, you did not know what you did wrong to chase them all away. But you got to know that night.

Jinyoung's lips quirked into a knowing smile, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I can offer you a better job, beauty," his words dripping with a seductive allure, and in that moment, you decided you needed to get back to work ASAP. He sounded like trouble you did not want on your last days here.

"I... I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite content here," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

"You sure? I could have good use of someone like you, Peaches." Your heart pounded in your chest as Jinyoung's words washed over you. He played with your name on his tongue, and you had a hint that the job he was offering you would be something much worse than working in Anubis.

"Easy, Jinyoung, that's Namjoon's girl you're talking to." Jackson finally spoke up as if he heard your little begging in your head, but this was not what you expected him to say. Were you Namjoon's girl? Years went by and he merely brushed upon your hand with his own. There was no attempt to woo you directly. So how come everyone saw it this way—you as Namjoon's girl?

"I'm not Namjoon's girl—" you said, standing your ground for once. You saw Jackson's eyes widen and Jinyoung smirk at your remark.

"I'm no one's girl—"

"Nonetheless, thanks for the offer but I have to decline." Jinyoung's smirk widened at your words, his gaze flickering with amusement as if he found your defiance entertaining. A second later you were on your way back to the bar. He was Jackson's friend, but he was crude and he did not understand he ought to fuck off. The grip you suddenly felt on your upper arm was painful enough to make you wince, yanking you back as you squinted your eyes from the pain of his touch.

"What makes you say no if you're no one's slu—" your ears picked up his words before they were silenced. Forever. His last words were cut off by a deafening gunshot, leaving you frozen in shock. The sound of it still ringing in your ears as you turned to see the source of the chaos. There, standing with a smoking gun in his hand, was Namjoon, his expression unreadable as he stared down at Jinyoung's lifeless form. One side of Jackson's face was covered in blood that was his friend's, his shock mirroring your own. And you were scared to even move an inch.

Namjoon had just killed a man in cold blood, he shot him right in front of you. Without mercy. Panic surged through you as you realized the gravity of what had just transpired. The grip he had on your upper arm weakened yet remained even after his head fell down. It was a clear shot to the side of his head.

By now, half of the bar emptied, only those underworld rats stayed unfazed. Namjoon was always so calm, so collected. But now, he looked like a completely different person. The bar had fallen into an eerie silence, broken only by the sound of your own ragged breathing. You wanted to run, but your legs failed you, unable to move as the reality of the situation sank in.

"What—" your heart hammered in your chest as you searched for something, anything, to say, but the words caught in your throat, choked by the weight of the moment. Your whole body trembled uncontrollably, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. You reached to pull your hand away from Jinyoung's lifeless grip and while you struggled to do so, the scenery before you was not helping you to calm down. The side of his head blown up, you could see parts of his brain, immediately making you empty your stomach on the floor. The fact that Namjoon hadn't said a word since he literally came out of nowhere was not contributing to the situation either.

You heard his smooth voice but it was too muffled at this point. He was giving orders to Jackson, but you did not understand a single word coming out of his mouth. Your head was spinning and the room felt like a carousel.

"Why would you—" you began to stutter, your voice barely a whisper. The question died on your lips, swallowed by the overwhelming sense of dread that hung heavy in the air. Namjoon had just committed an act of unspeakable violence, ending a man's life without a second thought. Nothing will be the same ever again. You stayed out of all the illegalness that surrounded Anubis on purpose. What eyes don't see, heart doesn't hurt. What you don't know, can't hurt you. But now you eye-witnessed such brutality and he won't let you walk away to the other end of the rainbow.

You did not expect him to hear you nor even answer your remark, but of course, Kim Namjoon was always here to listen to you.

"He touched you."

The words hit you like a physical blow, jolting you out of your stunned silence. He wasn't just stating a fact; he was issuing a warning, a chilling reminder of the consequences of crossing him. Looking him in the eye, he looked like a possessive maniac, like someone determined to protect what he perceived as his.

"He didn't—" you began, your voice faltering under the weight of Namjoon's scrutiny. Yet you stopped yourself to think whether Jinyoung's intentions were harmless or not. You remembered the way Jinyoung had leered at you, his touch lingering where it shouldn't have.

"No one can touch you, Peaches."

You felt a chill run down your spine as the weight of his words settled over you. It wasn't just a declaration; it was a promise, a vow to protect you at any cost. But beneath the surface, you sensed something darker, something primal and possessive that sent chills down your body.

You were paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from his. Your mind raced with a million thoughts and questions, but you knew better than to voice them.

That night you started to hate each and every gaze he threw your way when you were working, all the men running away after uttering a single word to you, and all the remarks about you being Namjoon's girl.

But were you ready to be Namjoon's girl? To be part of his world?

You sit up, the sheets clinging to your skin like a shroud, and confront the spectres that linger above. Even after some weeks, you still cannot shake off the tremor you've experienced that night.

"Peaches?!" You heard your father's voice. You were hidden in the confines of your small room for days now, coming out only to take a bottle of water, and even that you managed to minimize by taking the whole six-pack. You couldn't bring yourself to respond.

The look in Namjoon's eyes, the sound of the gunshot ringing in your ears, the sight of Jinyoung's lifeless body—all of it was seared into your mind, haunting you like a relentless spectre. You needed some time. But it was running out quickly.

Lost in the labyrinth of your thoughts, you remained silent, grappling with the weight of the choices that lay before you. You packed your bag last night, all the cash stuffed inside at various places, just to be turned right back on your heel by two muscular men you'd never met before. The color they wore was emerald green, and you quickly understood that those were Jung soldiers, if you could call them that.

Your father was similarly confused. His eyes were darting between you and the soldiers as he struggled to make sense of the situation. So here you are, awaiting when he will decide to collect you. What is he waiting for? You knew that your time was running out; you just didn't know exactly when it would run out.

In that moment that night, you missed the Namjoon you thought he was. All you could see was a stranger, a dangerous man whose actions had shattered your illusions and left you reeling in their wake. Yes, you knew his line of work, but you'd rather not see it with your own two eyes. You'd rather stay oblivious to who he really was just to keep the picture of the Namjoon you knew hanging a little bit longer.

"You can't hide there forever." And you certainly did not plan to, but coming out to see your father's worried face after he sees how disheveled you look could wait for another day or so. You did not know what Namjoon intended to achieve by making you a prisoner in your own home.

Every fiber of your being wanted to hate Namjoon, but you did not know whether that was even possible with how smart that man was with his mouth.

This cage of fear and uncertainty made you uneasy. The wind that forcefully closed your window awoke you from your thoughts. You lived on the second floor of an old block of apartments. You moved toward the old rusted window, cautiously pushing it open again. The cool night air rushed to meet your cheeks, and you closed your eyes to feel it.

Peering down, you assessed the drop. It wasn't too high, and the fire escape just below offered a feasible route. Why had it not occurred to you earlier?

"Peaches, please, talk to me. They've been saying that you can't go out and should wait for sajangnim Kim."

Your father's voice was strained, a mix of concern and frustration. You hesitated, torn between the urge to reassure him and the pressing need to just run for the hills before it was too late for you.

What you realized in the moment, listening to his muffled pleas, was that this might be the last time you'd see him. You couldn't come back to the Bronx ever again. Nor New York. You weren't sure exactly what the magnitude of Jung's power was that Namjoon shared, but you had the hunch that wherever you'd hide in this state, he would find you.

"Dad?" you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You felt a lump in your throat, the weight of the impending goodbye pressing down on you. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

"I'm here, Peaches," your father responded, his voice breaking slightly. "Please, come out. We'll figure this out." Tears welled up in your eyes as you clung to the closed door.

"It's no go, Dad."

"Please, just open the door." His voice was closer now, just outside the door.

You glanced around your room, grabbing your packed bag and slipping it over your shoulder.

"I love you, Dad. I'm sorry. Bye—"

With a final, sorrowful glance toward the door, you slipped out of the window, your feet finding purchase on the metal grating of the fire escape. You descended quickly, not daring to look back. The metal stairs creaked under your weight, each step taking you further from the life you knew. You needed to disappear.

You had no shoes on, and the white tank top clung to your skin, outlining your curves and breasts. The night air was cool against your exposed skin, a harsh contrast to the warmth of your tears. The metal of the stairs felt rough under your bare feet, but you pushed forward until you were all the way down.

Catching your breath and glancing around the dimly lit alleyway, the city felt oppressively silent, the only sound your own ragged breathing. As you took a step forward, a soft scoff resonated in your ears, leaving you standing there frozen. The man was totally invisible in the dark shadows of the alley between the buildings until he pulled out his zippo lighter to light a cigarette, illuminating his face. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Where are you headed, Peaches?"

The man who was casually leaning against the cold bricks wasn't unfamiliar to you. You, as a barmaid at Anubis, had the extravagant privilege to meet four out of the big seven. Kim Taehyung being one of them, standing here in front of you.

"Mr. Kim," you breathed, dread pooling in your stomach. You were on a first-name basis only with Namjoon even though they all scolded you, especially your lady boss, for being way too formal and polite, making them feel older than they actually are. Truth be told, you were putting some distance between them, but you utterly failed to do so with Namjoon, and here you are, on the run.

"I'm your family now, Peaches," Taehyung said, his voice dripping with mockery. "You should start getting used to that, so drop the mister finally."

You gritted your teeth, trying to steady your nerves as you faced Taehyung. "Taehyung," you corrected yourself, though the informal address felt wrong on your tongue.

"That's better, what a good girl you can be," he said with a smirk, taking a step closer. His presence felt suffocating, a reminder of the dangerous world you had stumbled into.

"Why are you here, Taehyung?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

"Why are you here, Peaches?" Taehyung countered, his tone filled with amusement. You bit the inside of your mouth, feeling the nerves tighten their grip on you.

"Getting some fresh air," you replied, trying to sound casual despite the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening. "Ah, yes, because nothing says 'fresh air' like sneaking out of your window in the dead of night," he quipped, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his scrutiny bearing down on you. "I just needed to clear my head," you said, hoping he would buy your flimsy excuse.

"You are not planning to do anything stupid now, Peaches, right?" You paused, considering your response carefully. Taehyung's tone, though casual, carried a hint of warning that sent a shiver down your spine. You slightly shook your head to show dismissal.

"Namjoon-hyung said you looked pretty shaken up that night." You couldn't help but tense at Taehyung's mention of Namjoon, a surge of apprehension coursing through you. You had tried to bury the memories of that night deep within you, but they continued to resurface, haunting your every thought.

"I'm fine," you replied, forcing a tight smile. "Just had a rough night, that's all."

"It looks like you're about to have another one to me." Your heart skipped a beat at Taehyung's ominous remark, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Despite his casual demeanor, there was an underlying tension in the air that sent a shiver down your spine.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the rising sense of unease.

"Unzipped duffle bag, dollar bills fell from it while you were going down, that looks like you were very eager to get that fresh air."

"I... I was just going for a walk," you stammered, scrambling for an excuse. Taehyung raised an eyebrow, his gaze unwavering.

"Without putting your shoes on?"

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of Taehyung's scrutiny bearing down on you. "I couldn't sleep," you admitted, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I needed some fresh air to clear my head.” You repeat yourself, but you know that you can’t fool him no matter what.

Taehyung's gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he shrugged, as if dismissing the matter altogether. "Well, you certainly know how to make an exit," he remarked, his smirk never faltering.

You forced a weak smile, trying to mask the unease bubbling inside you. "Guess I've always had a flair for the dramatic," you quipped, though the words rang hollow in your ears.

Taehyung chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "That you do, Peaches. That you do," he said cryptically, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of amusement and something else you couldn't quite decipher.

"You know, Namjoon doesn't like it when his... family goes missing," he said, the emphasis on 'family' making you flinch. He took a slow drag from his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in a lazy stream.

You clenched your fists, feeling trapped. "I'm not missing," you said, your voice firmer than before. "I'm right here."

"I'd probably get a head start if I were you." Taehyung nodded slowly, as if considering your words.

Your heart pounded in your chest. "A head start?"

He took another drag, the smirk never leaving his lips. "I'm not a monster, Peaches. I'll give you a five-minute head start before I come after you."

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks. He was actually giving you a chance to run, but this time you would know someone was after you. You glanced around, calculating your options. The streets were empty, but you knew they wouldn't stay that way for long.

"Five minutes, Peaches. Starting now."

You turned and ran, your bare feet slapping against the pavement. The adrenaline coursed through your veins as you sprinted down the alley, knowing that Taehyung's smirk was etched in your mind.

You didn't know where you were going, but you knew you had to get as far away as possible. Everything blurred as you pushed yourself to run faster, the sound of your heartbeat drowning out everything else.

If you hide well, he can't find you, can he? You just have to find yourself a place to hide until morning and then you can wait till sunrise, get to the airport and fly to the first destination that will pop up.

You could feel the cold concrete scraping your feet, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the urgency of escape. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Taehyung's figure emerging from the shadows, but for now, you were alone.

You could feel the cold concrete scraping your feet, but the pain was a distant echo compared to the urgency of escape. You glanced over your shoulder, half-expecting to see Taehyung's figure emerging from the shadows, but for now, you were alone.

The five minutes neared their end, and you knew you couldn't stay hidden forever. You had to keep moving, keep putting distance between you and Taehyung. Peering through the leaves, you scanned the area, your mind racing through possible routes and hiding spots.

"If I don’t bring you back, he'll come instead, Peaches!" Taehyung's voice echoed through, taunting you.

"You don't want to anger him, do you now?"

You needed a plan, and fast. Glancing around, you noticed a narrow passageway between two buildings, just wide enough for you to squeeze through. It might lead you to a different part of the neighborhood, giving you a chance to lose Taehyung in the labyrinth of backstreets.

You bolted towards the passageway, your bare feet slapping against the cold pavement. The alley was narrow and dark, but you pushed forward, heart pounding in your chest. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night.

"They all run at first, Peaches—" Taehyung's voice echoed, closer now. "You're cute thinking you have a chance to get away."

It was way too narrow even if you put your bag down from your shoulder and dragged it as you tried to squeeze through. Every shadow seemed to move, every sound amplified in the stillness of the night, and you were scared that he would get to you soon. You knew he was out there, somewhere, searching for you.

"Although, my mind is troubled. Why, out of all of them, do you run?" There was a pause, then a chuckle.

You pushed yourself harder, feeling the rough brick walls scrape against your skin. You needed to keep moving, but you also needed a moment to think. The airport was too far, especially when they were already looking for you. You thought you were clever to disappear through the window as if you were in some cheesy cliché movie.

"Namjoon-hyung was always good to you, wasn't he?" He was. Until the moment someone else's brain was blown up by him right in front of you, simply because of his possessiveness while he never made you two exclusive. Or at least you thought so, as it showed—you were claimed by him sooner than you actually realized. You felt the panic rising in your chest, threatening to overwhelm you.

"You have no reason to run, Peaches," Taehyung's voice was taunting, echoing off the walls. "Namjoon-hyung will be so disappointed when he finds out how far you've gone." You ignored the majority of his words, focusing on finding a way out.

You closed your eyes and tried to think harder this time. The old train yard—bingo—it was on the outskirts of the city. It was abandoned, a place where few people ventured. If you could make it there, you might be able to find a boxcar to hide in until morning.

"Family doesn't abandon family, Peaches!" You heard his voice again, this time more distant.

Emerging from the passageway, you found yourself in a small courtyard. It was littered with old furniture and discarded trash; the smell was awful, but you didn't have time to dwell on that.

You listened intently, straining to hear any sign of Taehyung. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant hum of traffic and the occasional bark of a dog.

You stuck to the shadows, moving as quietly as possible. The train yard was a long way off, but it was your best shot at staying out of immediate reach. Or so you thought.

You couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. Every rustle of leaves, every distant footstep made you jump. You forced yourself to stay calm, to focus on the path ahead. Panicking would only slow you down.

The city's edge came into view, the silhouette of the train yard looming in the distance. You quickened your pace, the sight of your potential sanctuary giving you a burst of energy. You crossed the threshold into the yard, the rusted tracks and abandoned cars offering a twisted sense of comfort.

An old boxcar with the door slightly ajar beckoned to you. You slipped inside, the smell of rust and decay filling your nostrils. You closed the door behind you, plunging the space into darkness. It was cramped and musty, but it was hidden.

Sinking to the floor, you allowed yourself a moment to breathe. Your body ached, your feet throbbed, but you had made it. For now, you were safe. You could only hope that Taehyung would give up the chase, or at least lose your trail long enough for you to figure out your next move.

The sound of gravel crunching outside the boxcar woke you up and consequently made your heart jump into your throat. You held your breath, straining to listen. The footsteps were deliberate and slow, echoing through the stillness of the night.

You held your breath, trying to remain as quiet as possible. The footsteps drew closer, each crunch of gravel sending a shockwave through your body. Your mind raced with possibilities. Was it Taehyung? Or perhaps someone else stumbling upon your hiding spot?

"I seriously don't understand why you didn't throw her over your shoulder and take her back to her room." The older male shot him a glare.

"Oh come the fuck on, you're one to talk." It was Taehyung's voice, laced with frustration and annoyance.

“I did not lose her, I gave her choice and she chose wrong, she’ll be back though, in no time.” The younger one scoffed and Taehyung quirked his brows, evidently amused by his brother. 

"Well, at least that was my woman I lost and not our Hyung's." The tattooed heartthrob spat his friend's way when he heard his scoff.

"This isn't really my job. I'm only doing this because Namjoon cares about her too much to leave someone incompetent to watch her until he'll come back."

“Or you’re the only one without a woman, Tae.” You heard a little thump as if he jokingly punched him and the other voice chuckled. But first and foremost –

Namjoon's away. He did not come for you as he's away, and if away means out of the state, you have a bigger chance to make an exit than you originally thought.

Seeing him would only make things worse. Listening to his sweet melodies of words would make you doubt what Taehyung initiated—you have no reason to run. Apart from that, you do. He was deeply entrenched in the world of organized crime, his life a constant dance between power and peril. While his charming demeanor and enigmatic presence had drawn you in, you knew that his lifestyle came with its own set of risks and consequences.

He operated in the shadows, his actions dictated by a code of loyalty to his comrades and ruthlessness towards his enemies. At least that's what you heard people talk about the Jungs and their family man.

You didn't think there was room for innocence. But were you innocent? You had blood on your hands. Jinyoung's. You had been complicit in his demise. While it wasn't you who pulled the trigger, you were the motive.

As the voices grew louder, you strained to make out what they were saying. The sound of footsteps approached the boxcar, each one sending a jolt of fear through you. Were they getting closer? Were they about to open the door and drag you out into the open?

"I did not expect her to play the game that well, I have to give her that," Taehyung remarked, his voice tinged with admiration. Your heart raced as you listened to their conversation.

"Smart, just like he is."

The footsteps came to a stop just outside the boxcar, and you braced yourself for the door to swing open at any moment. Every nerve in your body was on edge, ready to flee at the first sign of danger.

But instead of the door creaking open, the voices began to fade away, the gravel crunching underfoot growing softer as they moved further away. Relief washed over you in waves, but you remained cautious, waiting until the sound of their footsteps had disappeared entirely before allowing yourself to relax.

You stayed hidden in the darkness of the boxcar, unsure of how much time had passed. Eventually, the adrenaline began to ebb, leaving you exhausted and drained. You were scared that they were waiting outside and the moment you decided to move places would be fatal for you.

The growl in your stomach was loud, echoing in the empty boxcar. You hadn't eaten in what felt like an eternity, and the gnawing hunger was beginning to take its toll. Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever or you'd die of hunger very soon.

Despite the fear that they might be lying in wait, you knew you couldn't stay here forever. Peeking through the small gap, you scanned the area. The night was still, and there was no sign of Taehyung or anyone else.

Slipping out of the boxcar, you kept to the shadows, moving quietly and quickly. You needed to find food, but more importantly, you needed to find a safer place to hide. If you couldn't reach the airport, you'd have to wait somewhere until you were considered off the radar. Would Namjoon lose his interest if he knew you were gone for good? You hoped so, but you also strongly doubted that. The man had had his eyes set on you for three years or so, without ever losing interest in you.

The city was vast, with many nooks and crannies where you could potentially evade capture, but you moved in the dead of the night cautiously. Slowly closing the distance between the convenience store at least ten blocks from your home, its lights were still on and you thanked the almighty, or more so the 24 hour market in front of you.

The store seemed deserted, only a shabby-looking man in his mid-thirties sitting behind the counter, half asleep. You slipped inside, quickly grabbing some food and water before leaving to pay at the counter. When the doorbell rang indicating that a customer entered the small store, you froze in place.

You ducked behind a shelf, hoping the dim lighting and cluttered aisles would conceal you. Peering through a gap between products, you saw a figure enter. You may be paranoid but you wouldn't take the risk when you had managed to not be caught for what seemed like hours. You knew better.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the sound of your heartbeat almost louder than the growling stomach from earlier. You clutched the food tightly, muscles tense, waiting for the perfect moment to quickly throw the few bucks on the counter and make your leave. You straightened a little.

It wasn't him. It was just a person that resembled him. With a rush of relief, you moved to the counter. The shabby-looking clerk barely glanced up as you placed your items down and reached into your pocket for the money. Just as you were about to pay, a hand slammed the money down on the counter in front of you. Your heart skipped a beat and your eyes widened.

You looked up slowly, dread pooling in your stomach. Taehyung stood beside you, his eyes locking onto yours with a cold, triumphant smile.

"My treat," he said smoothly, his voice dripping with mock politeness. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The clerk, oblivious to the tension, lazily rang up the items and handed the change to Taehyung. He pocketed it without breaking eye contact with you.

You acted rather quickly after you regained your senses, but the exit was blocked by the man you saw earlier. How could you not recognize the famous heartthrob of this decade, Jeon Jungkook? Only a few people knew of his connection to the Jungs, Kims, and Parks.

"Going somewhere?" Jungkook's voice was smooth and exactly identical to the one you heard outside of the boxcar, but there was an edge to it that sent chills down your spine. He leaned casually against the doorframe, his dark eyes fixed on you with a predatory gleam.

Panic surged through you as you realized your escape route was cut off. You glanced around the store, searching for another way out, but Taehyung's hand clamped down on your arm, his grip firm and unyielding.

The clerk did not care to intervene; he knew their faces and what they represented. One girl was not worth the trouble for him.

"Let's go," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. You had no choice but to follow, your mind racing with thoughts of escape. As you stepped out of the store, the chilly night air hit you, a stark contrast to the suffocating presence of Taehyung beside you. You scanned the street for any potential way out, but Taehyung's grip on your arm tightened, steering you toward a nearby alley.

You stumbled slightly, trying to keep pace with him. The alley was dark and narrow, the perfect place for someone to disappear. Desperation surged through you, fueling your determination. You had to find a way out of this.

"You lasted more than I expected, Peaches. I have to give you that." You fought to suppress the shiver that threatened to run down your spine. Taehyung's voice, usually smooth and melodic, now held an edge of something darker, something sinister.

"But it's time to go home."

The weight of his intentions pressed down on you like a heavy stone. You did not know what home he was speaking of. Your home? Namjoon's home? You'd never been there; you couldn't know what home he meant. But something told you that wherever he'd take you, "home" would be a gilded cage, a place of confinement disguised as comfort.

You remained silent, your jaw clenched in defiance as you continued to walk, your eyes darting around the alley for any sign of escape. But every corner seemed to lead to another dead end, and the walls closed in around you like a vice.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the desperation hit your nerves. Taehyung's grip tightened slightly, as if warning you against any further attempts at escape.

"There was no need to run, Peaches." Wasn't there? You stopped to think for a minute. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

With a sudden burst of strength, you twisted out of Taehyung's grip and bolted. The sound of his shout echoed behind you, but you didn't look back. You darted through the maze of backstreets, your only goal to put as much distance between you and Taehyung as possible.

Reaching a dead end, you spotted a fire escape ladder. Without a second thought, you began climbing, your fingers slipping on the cold metal. You reached the rooftop, not daring to look back as you sprinted across the gravel. The cityscape stretched before you, a chaotic playground of rooftops and danger.

You leaped from one building to the next, each landing jarring your bones, but you couldn't stop. You heard Taehyung's voice calling your name, a mix of frustration and anger, but you didn't dare slow down. You reached the edge of a particularly wide gap between buildings and hesitated, just a split second too long.

A strong arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you back. You thrashed, but the grip was unyielding. Jungkook's face came into view, his expression grim. He was faster than Taehyung, and you knew your chances to outrun him were slight, but you still hoped.

"You can't run forever, Peaches," he said quietly, almost regretfully. You could hear Taehyung's leather boots stomping against the roof's concrete and his ragged breath in unison.

You struggled, kicking and clawing, but he held firm. Your heart sank as the reality of the situation set in. Just then, you heard the uncomfortable digital sound of the Motorola flip phone that was in Taehyung's hand once he stopped in front of you.

"Hmm?" Taehyung answered the phone and ended the gut-wrenching sound. You knew who was on the other side of the line. Jungkook still held you securely, his eyes never leaving yours.

There was a pause, and then he handed you the phone.

"Your Mr. Man wants to speak to you."

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the phone heavy in your hand. With a deep breath, you brought it to your ear, steeling yourself for the inevitable confrontation with Namjoon.

"Hello?" Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the fear and uncertainty swirling within you.

"You're losing sleep, love," he said, his tone smooth but laced with a menacing undertone. You took a shaky breath.

"S-so are you." He chuckled. You bit the inside of your lip out of nerves.

"I'd sleep better if you came back to me like the good girl I know you are."

The mixture of his charm and underlying threat was intoxicating and terrifying.

"I can't, Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "I can't live like this anymore. I never wanted to live like this, and you knew that."

"Life is just about to begin for you, love—" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Our life," he added, and your grip tightened around the phone.

"What does that even mean?" you demanded, a mix of anger and desperation coloring your words.

"It means," he began, his voice smooth yet chilling, "that whatever you fear, we'll figure this out together."

"Please, Namjoon," you begged, your voice barely a whisper. "Let me go. I can't. I just can't," you cried out.

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and you held your breath, hoping against hope that he might relent. Your heart pounded with a mix of fear and helplessness.

"Freedom is an illusion, love," he said, almost gently. "The only freedom you'll ever have is with me. Now, come back. We'll talk this through, and I promise you, everything will be fine. Just trust me."

"Namjoon—"

"Peaches—" he quickly interrupted your attempt to plead again.

"Don't make me take harsher measures to ensure you'll come back to me." His tone grew colder, the underlying threat unmistakable.

"Wh-what are you talking about?" you asked, a tremor in your voice.

"You know what I can do. It would be a shame if the same thing happened to someone else you care about." His words hung in the air, heavy with menace.

You looked at Jungkook and Taehyung, their faces impassive yet resolute. They were ready to enforce Namjoon's will, no matter the cost.

"Why are you doing this to me?" you asked, voice quivering.

"We can talk about that once you come home," Namjoon replied, his voice smooth but unyielding.

"Namjoon, please..." you started, desperation lacing your words.

"Enough, Peaches," he cut you off sharply. "You know what's at stake. I expect you back within an hour. Hand the phone to Taehyung."

With a heavy heart, you handed the phone back to Taehyung. He took it, his eyes filled with a mix of pity, but you didn't think it was genuine. You felt Jungkook's grip loosen slightly, but not enough to let you go.

Taehyung listened to Namjoon for a moment, then nodded. "Understood," he said before hanging up. He looked at you, his expression resigned.

"Let's go," he said softly.

You don't even know how you managed to fall asleep in the car. They took your bag, draped a warm blanket over you, and sat you down on the back seat. You did not protest anymore, even though the thought of jumping out of the car went through your head briefly.

You thought of your father, your friends, and everyone you ever met and cared for when he took the ultimate move that would make you leave everything in a heartbeat. You don't want more blood on your hands.

At the same time, you could not understand why Namjoon would take such harsh measures. This wasn't the Namjoon you knew—heck, you don't even know if you ever knew that man.

The lavish room surrounding you was magnificent and screaming one name: Namjoon. Even his scent was clinging to every single piece of the room. The silk sheets clung to your skin, and you couldn't help but close your eyes again. The morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a golden hue across the room.

You could hear the audible difference in your surroundings. The Bronx had a distinctive hum, a chaotic symphony of life and struggle. But this—this was different. The sounds outside the open window were unmistakably Manhattan. The distant buzz of traffic, the occasional honk of a horn, and the muffled chatter of people far below created a stark contrast to the quiet tension inside.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself. Every moment spent here felt like a betrayal to the life you once knew, the people you once loved. But escape wasn't just about physical freedom—it was about breaking free from the psychological chains Namjoon had wrapped around you.

You did not know whether you weren't running for the hills now because this oddly feels like you are meant to be here or because you don't know if you should. You spent a lot of time rolling around and thinking about this. You had not come to a conclusion yet. You'd only decided that you would give him the courtesy to talk after all the years that he and his family supported you by giving you a job.

With that resolve, you climbed out of bed, feeling the weight of silk sheets slipping away. The cold floor sent a shiver up your spine, bringing you fully awake. You made your way to the bathroom, the reflection in the mirror staring back at you. You need a haircut, maybe even a new hair color.

The shower's hot water provided a temporary refuge, washing away the grime and tension of the past few days. After drying off, you dressed in clothes Namjoon had laid out for you—an unspoken reminder of his control.

You entered the kitchen, where the aroma of breakfast hung in the air. The scent of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the rich aroma of bacon and eggs, momentarily distracting you. You were starving.

As you moved further into the room, a sudden noise made you jump. Startled, you turned to see a figure in a white chef's uniform bustling about the kitchen. He looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you.

"Good morning, Misses Kim," he said with a polite nod. "I didn't expect you to be up so early.” The title he used sent a shiver down your spine. Misses Kim. It was as if the walls were closing in, suffocating you with the weight of an identity that wasn’t yours to claim. You overlooked yourself and your attire.

You could see your bra-less breasts and perky nipples through that white tanktop, but the chef was trained well enough to not look that way. He would most likely be beheaded by Namjoon if he would dare to look that way.

"Good morning," you replied, your voice tinged with a mix of nerves and hunger. You forced a small smile.

The chef, a middle-aged man with kind eyes, set down the spatula he was holding and wiped his hands on a towel. "My name is Seo Kang-joon, Misses Kim. I'm Sajangnim's private chef—" you figured that much. Of course that man has a private chef when he cannot boil a potato for the love of God.

"He tasked me to make you some breakfast and tell you he'll be with you shortly," he explained, gesturing to the array of food laid out on the counter.

You nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island. Your stomach growled audibly, and despite the chaos in your mind, the food before you was an undeniable lure. You picked up a piece of toast, buttering it slowly as Kang-joon resumed his work.

"How long have you been working for Namjoon?" you asked, trying to fill the silence with something other than your own anxious thoughts.

Kang-joon glanced up from the stove, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "About three years now," he replied. "I've switched with my Appa; he was working for the Kims for two generations and now it's my turn—"

"That's a long time," you said, taking a bite of the toast, the warmth of the food providing a small comfort.

"Yes, it is," he agreed, his voice gentle. "Namjoon is a good employer, he's always treated us fairly. And he cares about you a great deal—"

"I've seen you before, didn't I?" you interrupted, suddenly recalling a moment that had slipped through your mind like sand.

"At the private party last month. You were serving food, right?"

Kang-joon nodded, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Yes, that was me. I remember seeing you there, although you were quite busy too—"

You were supposed to be waitressing the tables, plural, yet you only waitressed one table that night. As per usual.

"Yep, that was my reality, I guess," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "Before all of this."

Kang-joon's expression turned somber, and he stopped cooking momentarily.

"Namjoon doesn't let anyone near you, but I've seen how happy you make him. He's different around you." Of course he thinks so. You don't blame him for his inability to see through this. It's not his place.

You fell silent, pondering his words. The chaos of Namjoon's life and the dark undercurrents that surrounded him felt suffocating. "But at what cost?" you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

"He means well—" he paused his thought and got silent, and you knew that means only one thing.

"I appreciate your loyalty to him," you said, forcing a smile that felt brittle on your lips.

"Good morning, love," he said, his voice deep and commanding. His eyes darted between you and Kang-joon, who stood with a spatula in hand, caught in the moment. "I hope you're both having a pleasant chat."

Kang-joon bowed slightly, and you could see the way he was careful to keep his composure, even as the atmosphere shifted with Namjoon's presence. "I was just finishing up breakfast, Sajangnim," he said politely. "Miss Kim and I were discussing your—"

"Thank you, Kang-joon," Namjoon interrupted, his tone suggesting a mixture of gratitude and an underlying tension. "I can take it from here."

The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken words. You looked at him, wanting to scream, wanting to run, wanting to demand answers.

"Did you sleep well?" Namjoon asked, his voice softer now, as if he was trying to breach the walls that had begun to rise between you.

You nursed your coffee in the black ceramic mug while you shrugged, keeping the answer with spice in it for yourself just yet. His brow furrowed, and for a moment, you could see the cracks in his façade when you didn't answer.

"I see... silent treatment," he gulped down, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. Pouring himself a cup of coffee too, he leaned on the counter right in front of you. You took his appearance in. He got a buzz cut, creamy satin shirt tucked in leather pants. A few of the buttons were undone, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest.

"Is that really how you want to start the day?" he provoked. You set the mug down, the clink of ceramic against marble echoing in the tension-filled kitchen.

"Did you ask yourself the same question when you threatened me?" you shot back, your voice rising slightly as the memories flooded back. The anger surged within you, igniting a fire that had been smoldering since the moment you woke up in his penthouse.

Namjoon's expression shifted, the warmth in his eyes replaced by a flicker of defensiveness.

"Well, you for some reason seemed too adamant that you needed to patrol the streets of Bronx by running away from me. I know you too damn well, Peaches; I know where you were headed."

The words stung, each syllable laced with accusation and an unsettling truth. Your heart raced, the anger bubbling just below the surface.

"You know fucking shit, Namjoon—"

"Oppa," he jumped in, his voice firm, yet tinged with a note of caution.

You inhaled sharply, the familiar term slicing through the tension like a knife. It reminded you of the intimate moments you once shared. "You've lost that honorific the moment you decided to threaten me and kill that man right in front of my eyes!"

Namjoon's jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict brewing beneath his composed exterior.

"You don't understand the kind of world I'm in. We protect ours."

"Protect?" you spat, feeling the heat of betrayal wash over you.

"I'm a person who deserves to make her own choices—" He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing.

"What choices are you making? Running off into the night like it's some kind of adventure? You think that's brave? I refuse to let you get hurt because you're unhappy with my decisions."

"Oh yeah, like something would happen to me—"

"You are my woman, and people know that you are, Peaches!" he declared, his voice rising with intensity, as if the weight of his words was meant to command respect from the universe itself.

Your heart raced at his proclamation, a mix of anger and something softer twisting in your gut.

"The fuck you're talking about, Namjoon?" You snapped, your voice echoing off the sleek kitchen walls. Anger surged within you, fueled by the sheer audacity of his claim.

"Not fucking once did you say that we ought to be official one day—" you shot back, your voice dripping with disbelief.

"You act like I'm some sort of possession, something you can just claim without any conversation or commitment!" Namjoon's expression hardened, a flicker of frustration flashing in his eyes.

"You need to stop pretending like we don't have a future because you're scared of the past," he said, smashing the mug down on the counter. Namjoon's jaw tightened, and the conflict in his eyes was palpable.

"Since I was seventeen, not fucking once have you made your intentions strictly clear, Namjoon! The fuck am I doing here then?!" The words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered, echoing in the tense space between you.

He ran a hand over his face, visibly struggling to keep his composure.

"I thought you knew. I thought you felt it too," he replied, his voice softer now, almost pleading. "I thought it was understood that it was a matter of time."

"Understood?" you scoffed, incredulity seeping into your tone. "You think that just because you've made me a part of your life, I should automatically know my place? That's not how it works!"

"I was waiting till you turned twenty-one—"

"Age of consent is eighteen in this state, Namjoon, keep that bullshit to yourself." Namjoon's expression darkened at your words, and you could see the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

"So you would rather have me taking you as wife and putting a baby into you the moment you turned eighteen, am I right?"

The air crackled with tension as Namjoon's words hung in the space between you, a provocation that sent shockwaves through your body. You felt your breath hitch, a mixture of shock and anger coursing through you.

"So that's the plan now?" you lowered your voice.

His expression softened for a moment, and you could see the conflict etched across his features. "I thought you'd want that kind of future with me, Peaches. I thought we were on the same page from day one."

Despite Namjoon's willingness to talk, the remnants of fear and frustration churned within you, threatening to spill over. You took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself. Your heart raced, the urge to flee growing stronger. He reached out, grabbing your wrist gently but firmly.

"I love you, baby."

Your heart pounded in your chest at his words, a tumultuous blend of emotions crashing over you. You stood up from the stool you were sitting at, calmly aiming for the door. You didn't know what you were doing with this lame attempt to flee.

"Hey—" he shouted, but you did not stop. You could feel Namjoon's gaze burning into your back as you moved toward the door, his loud steps right behind you making you speed up the process.

You couldn't stop. The need to escape overwhelmed you, propelling you forward. You flung the door open, the sharp sound echoing in the silence that followed.

"Peaches!" he shouted again, his voice rising with urgency and desperation. The door rattled on its hinges as he leaned against it, trying to process what had just happened.

"Damn it!" he cursed under his breath, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He knew he had pushed too hard, but he couldn't help it.

You trembled under him, still facing the door while his arm was outstretched, palms on the door, blocking you from opening it again. Your breath quickened as you stood there, the cool metal of the doorknob biting into your palm. You could feel Namjoon's presence behind you.

"Let me go, Namjoon," you demanded, your voice steady but wavering just slightly. The pounding of your heart felt like a war drum, urging you to flee, to escape this suffocating moment.

"You would come back to me nonetheless." You turned around to face him, your expression a blend of defiance and vulnerability.

"What makes you think I would?" you shot back, turning slightly to glance over your shoulder at him. The intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling within you.

"Because you love me back—" He leaned down, not giving you time to argue, and seized the chance to crash his lips down on yours for the first time.

His hands grabbed onto your hips, pulling you closer, the heat from his body seeping into yours. Your heart raced, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as his tongue danced with yours in a heated embrace.

Namjoon's fingers dug into your skin, his grip firm yet tender, as if he was trying to brand you as his own. The kiss was raw, primal, and all-consuming, leaving you both breathless and wanting more.

Namjoon's eyes locked onto yours, the fire within them burning brighter than ever before. With a low growl, he pulled you close again, his lips crashing down on yours once more as the world around you continued to spin.

As the kiss broke, Namjoon pulled away, his eyes burning with intensity.

"I'm not done being angry," you said, your voice low but unwavering. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and it both thrilled and terrified you.

Namjoon's brow furrowed slightly, surprise mingling with the intensity in his gaze. "I know that," he replied, his tone shifting, becoming more serious.

"Good," you spoke right to his lips, your heart still racing from the kiss. The mix of confusion and desire swirled within you, and you struggled to keep your composure.

The cognac brown couch was very comfortable, its soft cushions inviting you to sink in and relax. A glass coffee table with sleek chrome legs stood in front of it, its surface adorned with a stack of art books, a few scattered magazines, and a vintage crystal ashtray. So Namjoon.

A large, floor-to-ceiling window occupied one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of the city skyline. A Persian rug, with intricate patterns in deep reds and blues, covered the polished hardwood floor, adding a touch of warmth and history to the contemporary space. Again, so Namjoon.

He was crouched down by the fireplace that dominated the place, his back to you. The fire cast a warm, flickering glow across the room, its light dancing over Namjoon's broad shoulders. He started the fire because he saw you shivering. But that had nothing to do with you being cold, and deep down he knew that too. He seemed lost in thought, his fingers idly tracing patterns on the floor as he stared into the flames.

You walked over to him, your footsteps silent on the plush rug. As you approached, Namjoon turned slightly, his eyes meeting yours. You sat down next to him.

"So, how do you imagine all this working?" you asked, your voice gentle yet tinged with the underlying frustration you felt.

Namjoon sighed, rubbing his temples with his fingers. "Just like it did till now."

You frowned slightly, shaking your head.

"So I'm gonna go back to working in Anubis and you are going to keep shooting everyone who gets closer to me?!" you said, a bit harsher than you intended. Namjoon's eyes flashed with a mix of frustration.

"You are not coming back to work in Anubis, let's start with that," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

"My oh my, now you want to take the source of my income too." Namjoon shifted slightly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. There was a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

"You're my woman, Peaches. You don't need to work for money anymore," he started, his voice steady and filled with conviction.

You raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "You can't be serious."

"Women in our clan don't work for decades, my woman is not gonna work either. At least not like that—" You narrowed your eyes, feeling a mixture of disbelief and intrigue at his declaration.

"That's not who I am, Namjoon." He leaned in closer, the firelight casting a warm glow over his chiseled features.

"Baby, I'm not asking you. I'm offering you the life you always deserved." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident on his face.

"I've always been able to take care of myself."

“So now let me take care of you, sweetling.”

Your mind raced as you considered his words. The allure of a life without the constant threat of violence, without the stress of making ends meet, was tempting. But was it worth giving up your autonomy?

“You can still pursue your passions. I’m not taking that away from you,—” Namjoon paused, his expression softening.

“But no Anubis,” he took your hands into his.

“What do you want?” You asked quietly. He held your gaze, the firelight flickering across his face, illuminating the resolve etched in his features.

“I think I made my intentions strictly clear today.” He chuckled and exhaled slowly, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m not just talking about safety and comfort, Peaches. I’m talking about us. About building a life together.”

You searched his eyes for any sign of insincerity, but all you found was determination.

“You want me to be your… what, exactly?” You knew, you just still didn’t want to believe it.

Namjoon leaned back slightly, still holding your hands, his thumb brushing against your skin in a soothing rhythm. “I want you to be mine—”

“Mind and body, heart and soul.” Namjoon's voice was low and earnest, each word weighted with sincerity.

You swallowed hard, trying to process the depth of what he was asking. “You mean… you want me to commit completely? To be yours in every sense?”

“And I’ll be yours.” He nodded, his eyes unwavering, filled with a mixture of affection and intensity. You felt a rush of emotions—a blend of excitement and fear.

“I can give you a life where you don’t have to look over your shoulder, where you can focus on what truly matters to you—your dreams, your passions, us.”

The promise of safety and love hung heavy in the air between you, and while the thought was tempting, a part of you still clung to your independence. It would be nice not to work long night hours in a bar full of drunk people to make ends meet. Not walking home with keys in your hand in case someone would jump you over or worse. Not living in a small old rusty apartment with your father who barely brought any income home.

The fire crackled softly, and you could feel the warmth radiating from it, mirroring the warmth blooming in your chest.

“I need time.” Namjoon’s expression shifted, his jaw tightening slightly as he processed your words. But he didn’t let go of your hands. Instead, he brought them to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, his gaze unwavering.

“Time,” he echoed, the word almost foreign as it left his mouth. “You already had plenty of time.” The firelight cast shadows across his face, emphasizing the intensity etched into every line.

“You think time will change how you feel? Or how much I want you?” You felt a tremor run through you at the weight of his words. It was suffocating and yet strangely comforting, like a trap laced with silk, binding you softly but securely.

“No, Namjoon, I’m just—” Namjoon’s fingers brushed along your jawline, tipping your face up so that you met his gaze directly.

“I get that this must be overwhelming for you, but the time you are asking for is already up and done—”

“I didn’t know it was ticking,” you began, voice barely more than a whisper. Namjoon tilted his head, studying you, his lips quirking into a small, almost understanding smile.

“No more hidden exits, no more plans to escape. I want you here, with me, committed… without looking for a way out. And in return, I’ll take care of you and your father. That’s my promise to you.”

The warmth in his eyes almost made you believe that he meant well, that beneath the possessive intensity was a genuine desire to protect and love. Yet a lingering voice inside you warned that this love would be an all-consuming fire—one that would consume every part of you until there was nothing left to call your own.

Your mind was racing for the answer. If you say yes, you may as well forget who you were, but perhaps you will find yourself where you always wanted to be. Someone. But what if you say no?

“What if I won’t agree, Namjoon?” You asked, scared for the answer. Namjoon’s gaze darkened, the softness slipping away as his grip tightened just enough for you to feel the control he had over the situation. He leaned in, his lips grazing your ear, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Peaches, let's not pretend that you really have a choice here." His tone was calm, as if explaining something simple, obvious, like the inevitability of night following day.

"Your father," he began slowly, each word dripping with calculated weight, "he's in no position to take care of himself, is he? Without you, what would he do? You've been carrying his burden for years, haven't you? Always working to support him, protecting him, making sure he's safe…"

His voice lowered, softening almost to a whisper, but it was filled with a quiet menace. "But if you refuse me… well, who do you think is going to keep him safe then?"

You felt your heart hammer in your chest, dread creeping into every corner of your mind as you took in his words. This was the second time he was threatening your father.

"What is wrong with you?" You said coldly, staring daggers at his pretty face.

"What's wrong with me?" he echoed, voice laced with a faint, mocking laugh. "I'm doing what needs to be done, Peaches. I'm making sure you understand the lengths I'm willing to go to keep you by my side. You think I'd just stand by and watch you slip away? Again?"

He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face, his touch featherlight but loaded with a silent threat. "I know you love your father," he murmured, voice a dangerous purr. "And that's why I'm reminding you of what's at stake."

You felt anger and fear twist inside you. He let his hand fall, watching your reaction with unsettling calmness, as if daring you to resist. Namjoon had you cornered, and he knew it. Every ounce of control you'd thought you held slipped further from your grasp, his quiet threats carving invisible chains around you.

"Why would you put me in this position?" He sighed, his lips curving into a faint, almost pitying smile as he tilted his head, studying you.

"Because I've been loving you for years, and when I can finally have you, you are trying toplay feminist."

The words hit you like a slap, raw and stinging. You swallowed, unable to look away from the intensity in his eyes. That faint smile on his lips held no warmth; it was twisted with something darker, something possessive.

"Play feminist?" you echoed, your voice wavering with anger and disbelief. "Namjoon, wanting to make my own choices doesn't mean I'm defying you or 'playing' anything. It means I'm a person, with my own will—"

He cut you off, a low chuckle escaping his lips as he shook his head slowly, almost as if you'd amused him.

“Peaches, you still don’t understand, do you? I’m offering you a world where you’re safe, where you don’t have to fight every day to survive. You’d rather keep struggling, keep pretending you’re content living in that cramped one bedroom apartment while your father brings home beer money when you are fighting off every hardship, and here I am, ready to give you the life you deserve.”

His fingers gripped your chin firmly, forcing you to meet his gaze as he leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with conviction.

“You think you want freedom, independence. But freedom isn’t safe, Peaches. Freedom won’t love you like I do. It won’t sacrifice or protect. It won’t give you everything at the cost of its own soul.”

He released you, letting his hand fall away, his gaze darkening. “This isn’t some game, and it isn’t about principles. It’s about us. And if that means you have to surrender some of that so-called independence, then so be it. I know what’s best for you, Peaches. You just need to stop fighting and see that.”

Namjoon’s gaze shifted to something darker, more resolute, as he reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. The firelight glinted off the soft pink morganite stone, antique piece that must have been in his kin for decades, its delicate beauty a stark contrast to the intensity in his eyes. He held it up, his jaw set, the unspoken command clear in the way he presented it to you.

“Peaches,” he murmured, his voice dangerously calm, “will you marry me?”

Before you could even think to pull away, he took your hand firmly, holding it in place as he slid the ring onto your finger. It was cold against your skin, the weight of it foreign and heavy.

“Say yes.” His voice was low, steady, a dangerous edge lurking beneath the calm exterior. His eyes bore into yours, unwavering, challenging you to defy him. “Say it, Peaches. Agree to be mine, completely, or I’ll make sure you lose everything you’ve been holding onto.”

You felt trapped, his hand tightening around yours as if to remind you of his control over the situation. Your heart raced, your throat dry, as the words hovered on the edge of your lips, unable to escape. But he didn’t let go, his fingers pressing into your skin with an unyielding determination.

“Say it,” he repeated, his voice firmer this time, the softness slipping into something harder, more commanding.

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, a feeling of resignation sinking deep into your chest as you stared at the ring, its delicate beauty now a symbol of your surrender.

“Yes,” you whispered, the word barely escaping your lips.

A smile spread across Namjoon’s face, slow and triumphant, as he released your hand, the weight of the ring now settling fully onto your finger. He cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing away the tear that had slipped free, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“There,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with satisfaction.

“That’s my good girl.”

"Where's my bag?" you start sharply the moment Namjoon walks in, shrugging off the coat from his so-called 'business meeting.' You were obviously not allowed to sit in because women here do not work once they have a ring on their finger. Not like you are dying to be a part of a criminal syndicate that has its roots deeply set in this society. The air between you two is thick, a palpable tension that crackles like static before a storm.

"I looked everywhere, but I cannot seem to find it—"

Successful distilleries may be carrying the Jung name, yet other family members have their own shares of the money capital of the clan, Namjoon not being an exception. His name is presented on each brandy bottle you have had the chance to pour from. But what actually lies under the façade of crystal-clear bottles of whiskey and brandy remains unknown to the upper world.

When you met Namjoon, you didn't see a crime lord. You saw a man with ambition, with a drive that matched yours. But somewhere along the line, his ambition became chains around your wrists, tying you to a life you never chose. That's when you decided that working in Anubis would be only a "college" solution before you would leave the city.

He raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and annoyance. "What bag?"

"You know exactly which bag," you snap, stepping closer. Namjoon's eyes darken, his jaw tightening.

"How about we start on lunch?" he suggests, trying to ignore your pleas.

"No," you insist, voice trembling with anger. "I want my bag. I want my money."

"I thought we had settled this last night, didn't we?" he says, his voice low and dangerous.

Your blood boils at his dismissive tone. "Settled? You think you can just placate me and everything will be fine? That money is mine, Namjoon. I earned it."

He steps closer, his presence intimidating but you hold your ground. "Peaches, you ought to be my wife, what's mine is yours. You don't need that money."

You stand firm, not backing down. "Need it or not, it's mine. I worked for it, Namjoon."

Namjoon's eyes narrow, a dangerous glint in them. "You think you can just walk out with that money? You think you can use it to just leave?"

"No, I—" Namjoon steps forward, his eyes cold and calculating. You feel a surge of anger, your hands clenching into fists. "I earned that money, and I deserve to use it as I see fit."

"If you want to spend money, we can go shopping—" His presence overwhelming and oppressive. His words angering you even more.

"SHOPPING?! Are you fucking serious? This isn't about buying things, Namjoon. This is about my life, my choices."

Before you can continue your rambling, he grabs your wrist and pulls you close, his grip like iron. His lips crash onto yours in a bruising, dominating kiss, meant to remind you of his power over you. You struggle, but his hold is unyielding, leaving you breathless and dizzy.

"If you're gonna drop that honorific one more time—" Namjoon's eyes blaze with fury as he keeps you close, his grip almost painful.

"I won't—" you spit out, defiance still burning in your eyes despite the fear gnawing at your insides. "If you give me my money back. I have a right to it." Namjoon laughs coldly, shaking his head.

"Let's just have lunch, Peaches, before I lose my patience completely—" he says, his voice dripping with condescension. You glare at him, refusing to back down.

"Not until you give me my money back." His expression hardens, the cold amusement vanishing.

"You really want to push this, don't you?"

"Yes," you say, your voice unwavering. "Favor for favor, isn't it the mantra y'all go by?" A smirk playing on his lips when you finish the sentence.

"Everything you need, I provide." You take a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

"I worked for that money, Namjoon. I deserve to have control over it."

He steps closer again, his eyes dancing with amusement as he looks down at you. "Control? You want control? Fine," he says, his voice dripping with condescension.

"I've deposited them into an account I opened in your name, joint with mine, naturally," he says, his words carrying that same cool, possessive edge.

"What?" you gasp, your disbelief palpable. "You what?"

"I will give you your black card," he repeats, his lips curling into a taunting smile "—once you prove not to be a flight risk, baby." Namjoon tilts his head, the smirk never fading. This, in essence, means that every single transaction will be noticed. You will withdraw the money from the card—he will know. You will attempt to transfer them to a different account? He will fucking know. The implications hitting you like a gut punch. Your blood runs cold as his words sink in.

"I'm not stupid, Peaches. I know that we gotta work on our relationship." He steps even closer, his gaze intense, pinning you in place. "Let's work on that trust first, and then you can have money at your disposal."

Your heart beats in your throat, the frustration boiling beneath the surface. Trust? The word feels like a cruel joke coming from him.Trust?

"I'm not one of your assets, Namjoon," you spit out, your voice thick with defiance. "And I won't be treated like one." His towering form casting a shadow over you, and for a moment, his eyes soften, as if he's pitying you.

"You don't have a choice, baby." His tone shifts again, dripping with that same chilling calm.

"When you prove you can stay and play nice, then maybe, just maybe, I'll let you have some freedom with your own damn money." And just like that, he's already begun dictating the terms of your life again, his grip on you tighter than ever before.

The missing duffle bag with your money was among the least of your worries when you realized what else the duffle bag possessed.

"You have my passport, Namjoon, how can I run away?" Namjoon's eyes flicker, the amusement fading slightly, but his smirk doesn't falter. He's been expecting this—he always expects everything.

Namjoon's smile is slow, deliberate, almost cruel. "I've taken what I need to keep you close." Namjoon leans in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice low and dangerous.

"But I am not underestimating your spirit."

You're nauseous, the implication of his words settling over you like a weight you can't shake off. He is holding the strings to everything, but that only made you realize that you had a hell of a lot of thinking and plotting to do to get out of here. And the most intrusive thought back in your head, where you consider staying here and embracing this finally official relationship, has to go—quickly.

"So, what now?" you ask, voice trembling despite your best effort to keep it steady. "You plan on keeping me locked up forever, Namjoon-oppa?" Namjoon only smiles, cold and confident.

"No baby. But I will keep you very close, until I can trust you." Your skin prickles where his fingers brush, but you don't pull away. You can't. The need to stay composed, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, fights against the rising tide of rage and fear in your chest.

"And what do you want me to do to earn it, Namjoon?" you ask, your voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside you. "Beg? Crawl? Pretend everything is fine when it's not?" He tilts his head, studying you like a puzzle he's piecing together in real time. The silence that follows is thick with tension. He stands so close now that you can feel the heat of his body against yours.

"So, lunch it is then?"

His tone is mockingly light, but there's a sharp edge beneath it when he tries to abandon the conversation, the kind that makes you feel trapped.

The black Mercedes hums smoothly along the Bronx streets, its sleek exterior reflecting the gray clouds above. It's going to snow any day now. Inside, the air is thick with tension, an unspoken understanding between the two passengers.

You sit in the backseat, your fingers nervously gripping the edge of your dress, the smooth fabric barely registering under your touch. Your sunglasses hide the unease in your eyes, but the tightness in your chest is something you can't disguise.

Today feels different.

Namjoon sits beside you in the backseat, his gaze fixed ahead, while his hand is warm on your thigh. You are staring at your shoes. Isn't this what you wanted? To ride in an expensive car, wearing Saint Laurent pointy-toed heels? A form-fitting dress with a high neck reveals your figure subtly, and the hungry look Namjoon gave you when you stepped out of the wardrobe did not go unnoticed. Something feels different, as if you're playing dress-up. The allure of the life Namjoon offers, it all feels strangely distant.

You eye him carefully—his black turtleneck is tailored to fit perfectly, sleek and minimalistic. Over it, a black suit jacket, structured but not overly stiff, gives him a commanding presence. His black slacks match the simplicity and power of his look, polished and clean.

The cold air bites against your skin, and you instinctively pull your coat tighter around your shoulders, trying to shield yourself from the chill that seems to creep through the thin fabric of your dress.

"Thank you for letting me see my father," you whisper, your voice barely audible, yet heavy with meaning.

"You don't have to thank me—" he says quietly, his voice low, almost intimate. His gaze doesn't soften, but there's something in the way he stands, commanding yet calm, that makes your heart race. The chill of the early morning seems to deepen, pressing in on you, yet you're acutely aware of the warmth of his presence, the heat of his body just a little too close.

"I couldn't have kept you from seeing him," Namjoon continues, his tone flat, as if he's simply stating a fact.

"But keep in mind that this is a privilege—you misbehave, you won't see him." His eyes lock with yours, not with malice, but with a cold certainty that makes your heart flutter uncomfortably in your chest. The last thing you want now is to provoke him further, to find out just how far his power reaches.

"Engaged?!" disbelief and shock etched into the features of your father when you sat down at the kitchen table after you collected some of the things you wished to take with you. You nod, your heart racing.

"Yes, Dad. It just happened. I wanted you to know first." Your father's gaze shifts to Namjoon, his face a storm of emotions—anger, disbelief, worry.

"Peaches, do you know what you're doing? This man is nearly a decade older than you," he whispers your way, his voice trembling with concern.

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "I know, Dad. It's a lot to take in, but Namjoon and I—we're serious about this." You never knew how good you were at lying until today. Your father's eyes narrow, his gaze flicking between you and Namjoon.

"When did this relationship even happen? Is he holding you against your will?!" he demands, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief. Your smile freezes for a moment, and you try your best not to give yourself away.

"No, Dad, that happens only in movies," you reply, attempting a light-hearted tone to deflect his suspicion. Maybe this is what Namjoon meant by earning trust.

Your father's gaze remains hard, but he doesn't push further. Instead, he turns to Namjoon, his voice cold and edged with protectiveness. "You better take care of her, Namjoon. If anything happens to her, I won't forgive you."

Namjoon smiles proudly at you, almost missing your father's harsh words. His confidence in you seems unshaken.

"You have my word," he replies simply, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, staring at the shiny peachy morganite.

You were never religious enough to step foot in a church after you were christened as a baby. Your parents were indifferent to faith, more focused on the struggles of daily life than spiritual obligations. But your now husband-to-be came from very religious kin, and he himself was a God's worshipper. Ironic enough when he managed to break the Ten Commandments before sipping his morning coffee.

His family, deeply rooted in tradition and devout faith, expected nothing less than a grand celebration steeped in religious customs. The thought of walking down an aisle, flanked by stained glass and the scent of incense, felt foreign and overwhelming.

The morning sun poured into the grand church, illuminating the ornate stained glass that depicted scenes of devotion and reverence. As you and Namjoon stepped through the heavy wooden doors, a wave of warmth enveloped you, mingling with the scent of polished wood and candle wax. It felt like stepping into another world, one where faith and family intertwined seamlessly.

You could see familiar faces sitting on the wooden benches. Kim Taehyung smirking your way when he glanced at your hand interlocked with Namjoon's. He was sitting next to Mr. Jung, whom you recognized by his mullet, and the next seat was occupied by the one and only Mrs. Jung, whom you hadn't seen for a good amount of time. There were also some faces that you did not recognize, yet they still felt familiar to you. You couldn't help but notice the way the Kims and Jungs interacted, the warmth of their bonds evident in the way they smiled, laughed, and shared stories during the prayers. Their camaraderie was infectious, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself longing for that sense of belonging.

As the service began, the congregation settled into a peaceful quiet, the sounds of rustling papers and shifting bodies fading into the background. The priest took his place at the altar, his voice echoing through the high ceilings as he began to speak about love, commitment, and the sacred bonds of marriage. Each word resonated deeply within you, pulling at your heartstrings as you thought of your impending union. As it was explained to you, this Mass was held as the announcement of your engagement—one of many traditions they had.

Namjoon sat beside you, his presence a constant reminder of the promise you had made. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering, as if he were silently urging you to embrace this new chapter of your life. But the weight of that ring on your finger felt heavier than ever in this moment.

"Love is not merely a feeling; it's a choice," the priest's voice boomed, and you glanced at Namjoon, catching the flicker of expectation in his eyes. "It's a daily commitment to one another, a promise to uphold each other through trials and triumphs alike."

You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat of his gaze on you like a physical presence. You wondered if love really was a choice—or if, in your case, it was a bargain made under duress. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, a subtle reminder of the hold he had over your life.

This was the first time he took you out of the penthouse since the day you woke up in his bed for the first time. He simply did not trust you enough to go out in public with you just yet. Hence, his hand remained on yours in a very obsessive manner, as if you were to fly away at any moment.

The priest continued, "Marriage is a sacred bond, one that should be approached with reverence and care. It's not merely about sharing a life together but about supporting and uplifting one another, about being the anchor when the storms come." He paused, letting his words sink in.

Your mind wandered back to your father, the struggles he faced, and how Namjoon had used that vulnerability to secure your loyalty. The contrast between the priest's idealistic views on love and your reality felt stark. How could you ever find true happiness in a union that felt more like a transaction than a partnership? You were feeling heavy.

"And today," the priest announced, raising his voice slightly to draw everyone's attention, "we gather not only to worship but to celebrate the union of two souls destined to walk together."

Your breath caught in your throat, and a mix of emotions surged through you. Murmurs of congratulations rippled through the congregation, and you felt the weight of countless eyes on you, some filled with excitement, others with curiosity. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes gleaming with pride.

You could feel your cheeks flush as the reality of your situation sank in deeper. The ring on your finger felt like a shackle, the promises made a binding contract that left little room for your own desires.

"I—" you started, but the words felt stuck in your throat. "I need to go to the restroom, Namjoon."

His expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Now?" he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear, but firm enough to convey his displeasure. "We're in the middle of the service."

Namjoon hesitated, weighing your request against the backdrop of the ceremony. Finally, he released your hand but leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Make it quick, baby."

You nodded, grateful for the small bit of freedom. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the otherwise quiet sanctuary. The sound felt amplified in your ears, a reminder of the attention you were drawing as you navigated through the rows of wooden pews. You could feel the weight of curious gazes following you, some filled with anticipation, others with judgment. It was as if the congregation sensed the tension between you and Namjoon, the unspoken power dynamics playing out in real time.

You pushed open the restroom door and stepped inside. The fluorescent lights cast a stark glare, highlighting the contrast between the serenity of the service and the storm swirling within you.

Leaning against the sink, you took a moment to catch your breath. The reflection staring back at you was a mixture of uncertainty and defiance, a girl caught between two worlds.

"Why am I still here?" you whispered to your reflection, the question echoing back at you. You thought of the life you had envisioned for yourself, one filled with love, laughter, and independence, not one governed by fear and obligation.

"I fucked up." After a few deep breaths, you steadied yourself. You needed to return before he would throw a tantrum, as he loved to do whenever you were away from him for longer than ten minutes. Paranoid bastard. You glanced at your watch and noted that only a few minutes had passed. With a resigned sigh, you turned to leave, determination flooding your veins.

As you exited the restroom, you found Namjoon leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed and an expression that mixed concern and annoyance. His posture was protective, yet the underlying tension in his demeanor sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed himself from the wall only to walk towards you, making you take a few steps back into the restroom. His eyes never left yours even when he closed the door and locked it from inside, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

The reality of your situation pressed down on you, an oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe. He moved closer, his eyes dark and intent.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he replied when you asked him why he wasn't upstairs, his tone both soothing and authoritative.

"You know how important this day is, right? I can't have you slipping away from me."

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "I'm fine. I just needed a moment," you insisted, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn't convinced.

"You can be honest, Peaches," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. "You're in a room full of people celebrating our engagement, and yet you're out here trying to escape."

His words struck a nerve, and you crossed your arms defensively. "I'm not trying to escape," you shot back, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

"Okay," he said calmly, staring intensely into your eyes, as if he was trying to read you. A small smirk played at the corners of his lips, but the tension in the air remained thick. You did not expect him to drop the topic that quickly.

"I just needed to collect my thoughts," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Okay," he murmured again. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you even more, his body radiating warmth that both comforted and unsettled you. He was standing there, inches away from you, yet he was not taking any action.

"W-why are you so calm, what are you doing, Namjoon?" you asked, trying to grasp his demeanor which you yet again did not understand.

"Waiting—"

"Can we just go back to the ceremony?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. Namjoon's smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Not yet, my love," he whispered back, his voice low and husky. Namjoon's fingers traced the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "I longed to show you just who you belong to for years."

"You're fucking stunning, Peaches," he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. Namjoon's fingers trailed down your chest, stopping just above your breasts. You felt a jolt of electricity run through your body, and you knew that you were in trouble.

"Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "We can't do this here, we're in a church." You tried to push him away.

"You are something I can sin for," he whispered back, his voice low and seductive. You tried to pull away, but Namjoon held you firm, his grip unyielding.

"Namjoon, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire and apprehension.

But Namjoon was relentless, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you quivering with pleasure. "You're mine, Peaches," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

Namjoon's lips found yours, and he kissed you with a passion that left you breathless. His tongue danced with yours, and you felt your body respond to his every touch. As you kissed, Namjoon's hand slid between your legs, and he began to caress you through your dress. You gasped softly, your body arching into his touch, trembling with the sudden pleasure.

"Namjoon," you whispered urgently, "we have to stop." Your breath hitched as he pressed you against the mirror after he lifted you onto the counter, plunging himself between your legs.

"No, we don't," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not until I've claimed you as mine."

The church's silence seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. His fingers traced the contours of your body, exploring every curve and crevice.

"What if someone hears?" you breathed again, desperation lacing your voice.

His lips paused just above your collarbone, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. As if the universe was playing by his rules, the choir started to sing. He chuckled.

"You're mine, Peaches. I won't let anyone take you away from me—not today, not ever." He captured your lips again, his kiss deepening with a fervor that ignited every nerve ending in your body.

His hands were exploring the curves of your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress higher as he pressed you firmly against the cold surface of the counter.

"Namjoon," you breathed, a mix of excitement and fear knotting in your stomach. "We can't…" you continued your protests.

"But we will." His fingers danced dangerously close to your most sensitive spots, teasing you with the promise of pleasure. You felt your resolve begin to crumble under his touch.

"I've waited too long for this," he murmured, voice a velvet whisper that wrapped around you like a lover's embrace.

"Namjoon," you gasped against his lips, torn between the heady rush of desire and the urgent need to pull back. But with each kiss, each exploration of his hands, your inhibitions began to melt away, surrendering to the intoxicating pull he had over you.

"Just let go," he urged, a soft growl escaping his lips as he pressed his body into yours, making you acutely aware of the hard length that pressed against your core.

"Trust me."

A wild, reckless part of you craved this intimacy, this connection that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Your mind took you back to all those moments you shared that made your heart flutter and belly tight when you did not know why he made you feel that way.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of your reality pressing heavily on your conscience. His fingers found their way beneath your dress, inching higher until they brushed against your most sensitive skin. You gasped, arching your back involuntarily as pleasure surged through you, igniting a fire in your belly.

"Namjoon!" you cried out, a mixture of pleasure and panic lacing your voice.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck as he continued his teasing exploration. With a deft motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs and tossing them aside as if they were nothing more than an afterthought. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, heightening your senses and making your breath hitch in your throat.

The air in the restroom felt thick with anticipation, each breath you took mingling with the scent of sandalwood and the faint musk of his skin.

“You’re breath-taking,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire.

His fingertips traced closer to where you needed him most, teasing you with the lightest of touches. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan that threatened to escape, the heat pooling deep within you almost overwhelming.

“Namjoon…” you whispered, half warning, half plea, torn between your desire for him and the reality of your surroundings.

“—and so wet for me.” He breathed against your skin, his breath sending sparks dancing along your nerves. His tongue danced with yours, a heated exploration that deepened your need for him. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you and the intoxicating chemistry that crackled between your bodies.

His fingers pressed against you, expertly coaxing soft moans from your lips as he slid one finger inside, filling you completely. You bit down on your lip to stifle your cries, but the pleasure was overwhelming, radiating out from the point of contact and pooling low in your stomach.

His eyes sparkled with a predatory intensity, relishing in your reaction. He watched you as if he were savouring a fine wine, taking his time to appreciate every detail of your response.

“Namjoon,” you gasped, your voice a fragile whisper, barely able to maintain any semblance of restraint.

“Oppa.” He growled. The way he said it—deep, possessive—made your heart race faster, each beat echoing in the stillness of the restroom. Namjoon’s fingers moved with a deliberate rhythm, curling inside you in a way that sent your mind spiralling.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he commanded, his tone a mix of sultry and demanding, eyes never leaving yours as he watched you unravel under his touch.

You hesitated for a moment, your breath coming in quick gasps as pleasure washed over you. “It feels… amazing,” you managed to whisper, the confession slipping past your lips like a sweet secret. You can regret this later.

“Good,” he murmured, the smirk on his face growing wider. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

His fingers moved faster, building the tension to a near unbearable level, each thrust sending you closer to the brink. The world around you faded completely, leaving just the two of you entwined in this stolen moment of passion, lost in the depths of one another.

“Namjoon. I can’t—” his hand smacked your ass and he deliberately slowed down.

“It’s oppa for you. Don’t make me repeat it again.”

The playful sting of his hand against your skin sent a rush of warmth coursing through you, mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly. His voice was firm, but beneath that authority was a hint of something deeper—a promise that ignited a wild excitement within you.

“Oppa,” you whispered breathlessly, the word slipping from your lips like a spell meant just for him.

He smiled, satisfied, and resumed his movements, fingers working expertly inside you again. The pressure built anew, the delightful tension sending electric shocks through your body.

“Good girl,” he praised, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to hear you, Peaches. Let me know how much you need me.”

With that, he quickened his pace, thrusting his fingers deeper, curling them just right. The overwhelming pleasure began to blur the edges of your consciousness, leaving only the sensations that centred on where he was buried within you. The heat intensified, building towards a sweet, dizzying peak, and you couldn’t help but surrender to it.

With a final flick of his fingers, he found that sweet spot inside you, driving you wild. Your body responded in kind, the sensations intertwining with your every thought. You could feel the tightening in your core, the unmistakable signal that you were teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Namjoon-oppa, I—” you gasped, words failing you as the pleasure escalated.

“Shh, just let it happen,” he murmured, his voice deep and soothing, anchoring you in the moment. His lips met yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your cries as the waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

"Oppa!" you cried against his mouth, unable to contain the raw need bursting forth from within. Your body trembled, the climax washing over you in a torrent of sensations, enveloping you completely as you surrendered to the bliss. The choir's distant hymns created an almost surreal backdrop to this heated encounter, mixing innocence with your burgeoning desire.

As the pleasure receded, leaving you breathless and dazed, Namjoon held you close, his arms encircling you like a protective cocoon. You leaned into him, heart racing and body tingling, reveling in the aftershocks of your release.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, his voice low and playful, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. "To be mine."

Your blurry eyes lifted to look at him, taking him in while you were still panting from the rollercoaster of emotions he made you feel. Flickering down to his bulge covered by the fabric of his black suit pants from Ralph Lauren, your breath hitched again. Enough for him to move his hands to his belt, being absolutely ready to take you. Finally free of his belt, he pulled down his zipper. The fabric of his pants fell open, revealing the outline of his desire, bold and unmistakable.

The urgency of the moment wrapped around you like a tight embrace, making it hard to think straight. You glanced around, the restroom feeling impossibly small, every sound amplified.

"Oppa, please…" you breathed, your heart racing as you tried to pull away, but the undeniable hunger in his gaze anchored you in place. You could see the determination etched on his face, the way his jaw tightened with lust. He had a plan, and it made your pulse quicken. You were not sure what you were begging for—to stop or to continue?

If not for the soft knock on the door, he would have taken you right there, on the church's restroom counter. It jolted you both, pulling you back to the reality of your surroundings. A rush of panic surged through you, and you instinctively glanced around the cramped restroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Oppa," you whispered again, this time a plea laced with desire and uncertainty.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Just a little longer," he promised, his fingers finding their way back to your thighs, gripping you tightly as if to keep you anchored to the moment.

"Just one more time," he urged, his voice thick with need. "I need to feel you—"

"Hyung, I know you will kill me for this, but you need to come back upstairs." The voice—familiar and insistent—cut through the haze of desire that had enveloped you both.

Namjoon's expression flickered from lust to annoyance, his grip on you tightening slightly as if to remind you that this moment was still theirs, even if the world outside was intruding.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable. The intensity in his gaze shifted, but it didn't fade. Instead, it turned into something more predatory, a simmering heat that promised this wasn't over.

"We'll be right there!" He shouted back to the voice behind the door. His eyes slowly returned to watch you and your disheveled form after he fingered the fuck out of you.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours once more, and it felt like time stood still. The world around you blurred, and for that moment, it was just the two of you—lost in a whirlwind of passion that defied the reality waiting outside the door.

His forehead remained pressed on yours when he whispered to your lips. “Next time, we won’t be so rushed, I promise.” Pecking your lips, he quickly pulled his pants back up, securing his belt with a swift motion, yet the heat of the moment lingered between you both.

The calm shattered in an instant.

The heavy church door burst open with a deafening crash. Armed men in tactical gear stormed in with raised weapons, their shouts filling the air. Namjoon immediately pushed you behind him, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene with deadly focus.

The thunderous crack of gunfire echoed off the stone walls as the air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Namjoon drew a gun from beneath his jacket—like several other family men in attendance—his movements swift and practiced. He returned fire, the muzzle flash illuminating his determined face in bursts of light.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum of terror and adrenaline. Huddled behind an overturned pew, you clutched your ears against the deafening noise, eyes wide with shock and fear. Namjoon, breathing heavily, scanned the room one final time before turning to you, his eyes softening for a moment.

"Stay down!" he shouted, his voice barely audible above the chaos.

"Jungkook, get them out!" Namjoon barked, his eyes fixed on the fight.

He reached your side, pulling you up by the arm. Jungkook's grip was firm yet reassuring.

"Come on," he urged, his voice a steady anchor amid the storm of violence. He led you through the chaos, his body shielding you from the worst of the gunfire.

Just as you neared the side door, a sharp pain exploded in your side. You stumbled, a cry of agony escaping your lips. The world seemed to slow, the sounds of battle muffled by the roaring in your ears. Looking down, you saw blood spreading across your dress, the pain intensifying with each heartbeat.

"Peaches!"

.

.

.

.

.

𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @hecateslittlewitchling - @ratprincessnr1 - @originalbiscuitfiredreamer - @mggv97 - @urlovelily - @ilys00ga - @beautifulcloudfestival - @herareila @mar-lo-pap

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

see you next time, love, p.

[savi0rr]

All Too Well, Wife .ᐟ (Ten Minute Version)

Viktor x Fem! Wife! Reader

In which, Viktor has a small photo of you in his pocket. Every time he looks at it, he remembers it all too well.

"Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known. It was rare, I was there, I remember it all too well."

a/n: In loving memory of my beloved Eras Tour. I was watching the live stream while writing this...

Warning: angst, mentions of death (reader), sad Viktor, illness, yap yap

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Today, as Viktor sat in the stillness of his dimly lit room, an unsettling wave washed over him, making his stomach churn. The silence felt oppressive, like a tangible weight pressing down on his chest. Turning his gaze to the bedside table, he spotted a framed photograph of you—one of the very few he cherished. Regret gnawed at him; he wished he had captured more moments, but you always shied away from the camera, insisting on avoiding the lens. Now, as fleeting memories began to swirl in his mind, he could almost hear your familiar voice teasing him to stop documenting every little thing. A small, sad sigh escaped his lips, and he fought with the urge to chuckle at the memory.

He leaned closer to the nightstand, drawn to your photo as if it were a lifeline in the ocean of his loneliness. The sight of your radiant smile had a soothing effect, temporarily easing the tension that had built up in his shoulders. In that snapshot of joy, he could almost hear your laughter echoing through the room, enveloping him in warmth. “Damn it…” he murmured under his breath, running a hand over his face, struggling to push away the mix of nostalgia and sorrow that gripped him. He set aside his cane, allowing himself to lie back on the mattress, feeling the familiar weight of emptiness settle in. “It’s so quiet without you, you know?” he whispered, stealing glances at your picture again, seeking solace in its presence.

Viktor had grown so accustomed to your incessant chatter and quick-witted retorts that the current silence felt utterly unbearable. It echoed around him, filled only with the painful remnants of memories, and he loathed it. Each second in this void seemed to stretch into eternity, filled with the agonizing truth that you were no longer there to fill the space. Frustration bubbled within him until he groaned loudly and pressed his hands over his eyes, wishing for a distraction from the reality he had to face.

After what felt like an eternity—though it had only been five minutes—he finally mustered the strength to sit up again. His fingers reached out instinctively for your photo, brushing against the smooth glass that guarded it. In that moment, it felt as though he were reaching out to touch your warm, living skin again. But then, the haunting memory of that horrid night surged back, the memory of your cold, lifeless body sending a shiver down his spine. He recoiled as if burned, his breath hitching in his throat. “What I would do… just to touch you again,” he whispered vulnerably, gingerly placing your picture back on the bedside table and trying to regain his composure.

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Viktor then leaned his cheek against the palm of his hand, his eyes fixated on a small photograph of you that he had slipped into his pocket earlier. When you were still alive, you were always by his side, refusing to leave him alone whenever you had the chance. He made it a point to carry your photo wherever he went; he didn't want anyone at the Academia to discover it. No one knew about your marriage or the sorrow of your death, and Viktor had intended to keep it that way… or so he thought.

He believed he was alone in this moment of vulnerability, having just watched Jayce leave not long before. But without his knowledge, Jayce had lingered nearby, peeking over his shoulder at the photo—a snapshot so full of life that it drew anyone’s attention. “Who’s that? She’s pretty,” Jayce’s voice cut through Viktor's reverie, startling him out of his daze. Viktor froze, his muscles tensing instinctively, and he hastily shoved the picture down onto the desk. “It’s rude to sneak up on people,” he snapped, furrowing his brows at Jayce in irritation.

Jayce raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by Viktor’s sudden outburst. “I’m just teasing,” he responded, leaning back casually and shoving his hands into his pockets. “But seriously, who was that?” His tone shifted to genuine curiosity, tilting his head inquisitively. Viktor remained silent, his gaze dropping away from Jayce's knowing eyes. “Just an… old friend,” he eventually replied, leaning back in his chair, fully aware that his words felt inadequate. Jayce certainly sensed the lie; their friendship had been built on trust over many years.

“Right,” Jayce said, nodding slowly and making his way over to the other side of the lab, leaving Viktor to sit in the wake of his defensive emotions.

With a sigh he hadn’t realized he was holding, Viktor’s body began to relax once more as he stole another glance at your smiling photo. Nervously, he shoved the picture back into his pocket, acutely aware of how deep and vulnerable his feelings were. He hated the thought of Jayce knowing about you, about the love they had shared.

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“I’m sorry,” he muttered softly, kneeling before your gravestone later that evening, his heart heavy with guilt. “Jayce saw you.” He traced his fingers over the cool grass beneath him, feeling the earth’s weight beneath his fingertips. “I know you wanted me to talk about you, but…” His voice trailed off, giving way to the silence that had settled around him. “You know how I feel about that, dear.” He pulled your photo out of his pocket once more, his eyes scanning it as if it were a precious artifact from a time long gone. “He even called you pretty,” he reminisced, tilting his head back slightly to remember the way your laughter had danced through the air.

His thoughts drifted further back as he recalled how Jayce had inquired about the ring on his finger, a gift that symbolized their bond. “I said it was a gift. I hope you aren’t upset with that,” he said, glancing away from the gravestone, aware of how you had once scolded him for insisting it was just a present. A wave of longing washed over him, and he wished more than anything to relive those days, when smiles were abundant and love was an unending presence. He missed you more than he could articulate, and the ache in his heart felt as fresh as it did the night you were taken from him. He remembers it all too well.

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[gojos-thot-patrol]

a let my demons get a little silly with it here

Now Loading, Kinktober Week Two...

Synopsis: Ryomen always got what he wanted, it was a simple rule of life. And ever since he caught your scent, you were all that he wanted- your previous bond mark be damned. And you must have wanted him too. Why else would your window be open in the middle of your heat? Kinks: Omegaverse, Breeding, Marking, Knotting, Scent, Dub-Con, Non/Con, Somnophilia, and Infidelity. Reader Discretion is Advised.

Sukuna was going to fuck you. He was going to have you on your back, legs spread as he filled you to the brim, breeding you like a bitch while covering you in his bite marks and scent. Sukuna was sure of this fact from the first time he caught your smell in the air, light and warm and made for him. You were made for him. It was only a matter of time until he took what was rightfully his.

The only problem was you were marked, and sadly, it wasn’t by him. Worse yet, it was by some weak asshole who barely even had the ability to mark someone. Some feeble excuse of a man who probably didn't know what to do once he got your panties around your ankles, much less what to do when you were in your heat. The only thing worse than you being bonded to that douche canoe, was knowing it only happened so you wouldn’t be bonded to him. 

Okay, so “bonded” wasn’t really the right word there. “Sacrifice” was closer to the actuality of the situation, but still! You were literally destined to be his, and one asshole wants to play hero and fuck it all up? It drove him fucking mad, what right did that limp dick think he had to interfere? He caught himself clenching his fist and jaw. He needed to calm down before he hurt someone, especially since the only person nearby was you. 

Sukuna watched from a distance as you lounged under your tree, finding comfort in the forest instead of the inherent danger you should feel. He had suppressed his scent enough he was sure you hadn’t noticed, your calm demeanor conveying that fact. He could have you right now, release his scent and take you where you sat. But, that wouldn’t have done anything about your bond mark. No, to take care of that Sukuna had to be patient. Which, was a real fucking drag because if there was anything Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t it was a patient man.

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

He remembered the first time he encountered you. Almost a month ago now, while he was taking his regular walk through the woods. He could still feel the full body reset that happened when he caught your aroma, the smell of apple and clove working its way through his nervous system and grabbing his cock his heart in a chokehold. Suddenly, his lazy stroll through the woods was a hunt to find out what decadent creature had made such a perfume. 

And that’s where he found you. Sitting contently in a floral field, making a fucking flower crown of all things, and surly waiting for him. He saw your hands falter and your eyes widen as he approached, no doubt because you finally picked up on his pheromones. He could feel the smirk forming on his lips. 

“Well, what a nice surprise,” He hummed as he approached you, “I wasn’t expecting to find anyone else out here.” You immediately fell into a low bow before him. Good, you knew your place. 

“I’m sorry my lord,” You apologize, though you weren’t sure why. You knew of the warlord Ryomen Sukuna. You knew he owned your village, as well as the villages surrounding it. But to your knowledge he didn’t police who was allowed in the woods. Still, you’d rather not risk upsetting him. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here, all alone?” He asked, eyes tracing the way your back curved into the bow.

“My mate and I moved closer to the forest recently, I was exp-”

“Your mate?” The vitriol in his tone made your stomach revolt and ignited your fight or flight system. You didn’t even know what you had done wrong. 

“Y-yes?”

“Stand up, look at me.” He demanded. You did so without hesitation, your omega body naturally inclined to follow the alphas commands. When you did, you were hit with a fresh wave of his aura, the smell of whiskey and cinnamon filling your senses and making your joints feel weak. You were caught between your need to honor your bond mark, and the need to fall to your knees for the man in front of you. You whimpered softly as he grabbed your chin and shoved your head to the side.

Sure enough, right there on your scent gland were faint teeth shaped scars. If he wasn’t specifically looking for them, he wouldn’t have seen them at all. Still, the fact it hadn't been refreshed didn’t negate the fact that it was there. You were unequivocally spoken for. 

“You don’t smell marked.” He scoffed as he released your head, taking a step back.

“It’s new…” You muttered. He may not have been able to smell your mate, but the stench of a lie was familiar to him. Especially one as piss poor as that.

“If it’s new then you should reek of him, Wench, don’t lie to me.” He growled. You looked down as your shame rolled over you.

“He’s a beta.” HE’S A BETA?! Sukuna had felt rage a lot in his life. Some may even say it was his default setting. But the rage he felt at being cucked by a beta was unlike anything that he had felt before. He felt his fingers twitch with the need to wrap around someone's neck, and the urge to burn down this entire forest was a hard one to fight. He choked back his molting hot fury with a simple reminder: Beta bond marks don’t mean shit. He could easily still have you. He just had to wait for your next heat cycle to do it, when your hormones were high and looking for something more…substantial, then a betas nub. 

“How cute, being mated to a beta. I’m sure you’re crazy for each other.” He sneered. You wished. Leaving every heat cycle woefully unsatisfied and frustrated might have been worth it if you had actually loved the man. If your union to him wasn’t purely survival. 

“He provides.” You settled on a half truth to keep from lying, one Sukuna definitely picked up on. 

“What’s your name Omega?” He demanded.

You told him your name in a soft whisper. Cute name. He’d be sure to have his servants look into you and your records. 

“Well Omega,” He said, making a point not to use the title given to him. To remind you what you were. “You should probably get back to your beta. It’s not safe for a pretty little thing like you to be out in these woods alone.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know that was a warning and a threat, the edge in his words making that much clear. You nodded to the warlord, before making your way home. You fought the urge to sprint with everything you had in you, knowing better than to activate his prey drive. 

He watched as you did, noting your refusal to run. Smart girl. He could feel his mouth watering as he watched your hips sway, and his body buzzed with the need to have you under him. He took a deep breath to recollect himself before making the walk home. He’d have you soon enough.

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

He kept a close eye on you in the weeks that followed. Learning about how your marriage was arranged through his servants, and how your marriage was failing from watching you. To your credit, you did try in earnest to make it work. You were the perfect mate. You kept a tidy home, always had dinner ready, and were always happy to get on your back for your husband. 

And yet it did nothing. That asshole still acted as if he was gods fucking gift for “saving” your life, and as if you didn’t do enough. Dinner was never right, there was always an issue with the house, and every morning Sukuna could smell your dissatisfaction from the night before- still rolling off you in waves.  It was pathetic that a creature as divine as you was wasted on swine like him. The good news was that your scent was evolving. As the leaves changed colors your fragrance got thicker, and sweeter in some aspects. You clung to your beta even if he was woefully unequipped. Your heat was coming.

A fact you were all too aware of. You could feel it pooling in your stomach and feverish on your skin. The effects were already starting, and you knew this one was going to be hell. Your mate thrashed in between your legs, chasing his high in you. You felt close, so close. Your body was trembling with anticipation, electricity buzzing under your skin. All you needed was his knot and-

He pulled out of your quivering cunt, cumming on your stomach with a guttural moan. Oh, right. He didn’t have a knot. You whined as he painted you white, wanting to snap at him for wasting his load. You held back though, knowing that, in reality, the last thing you wanted was his pups. You watched as he rolled off the bed and grabbed his pants.

“W-wait, but Naoya-” You panted, “I’m so close, please-”

“You’re gonna have to finish yourself, I’m gonna be late for my train.” Your “mate” groaned as if you were an inconvenience. 

“But…” You whimpered, then let it go. You knew better than to argue, and besides. Your climax was already fleeting. “Do you have to go?” You asked softly. You understood that, as a beta, Naoya couldn’t sense when your heat was coming like an alpha could. You accepted that. What you found hard to accept was that he still planned a business trip during your heat cycle, despite you explicitly telling him that you would need him. 

“Yes, Sweetie,” He said it with so much ire and hate, you would have rather he called you a bitch. “This is my job. It doesn’t stop because you’re horny.” He snapped, tired of having this conversation again. His venom shut you up. You watched as he quickly got dressed, then grabbed his bags and rushed for the train station. You fought tears as you went to clean yourself up. Were you really so unloveable?

You often wondered what the worse fate was, being sacrificed to Ryomen Sukuna or being trapped in a loveless pair bond. For years you knew without doubt it was being sacrificed to the warlord. You were always grateful to your father for selling you to the beta, saving you from what would no doubt have been a cruel and untimely death. Naoya may have been cold at times, but surely he wasn’t as bad as Sukuna.

Or at least, that’s what you used to think. Before you had actually met the man, and felt the way your body reacted to his presence alone. Suddenly, the so-called king of curses invaded your every thought, and life trapped in a passionless marriage felt like a prison sentence. You thought about Sukuna constantly, especially in the days leading up to your heat. You chased his faint scent on the wind, traced his markings in your dreams, and envisioned him to endure your husband's advances. 

It left you a wreck. Especially now, as night fell and your body temperature rose. Your fingers were doing absolutely nothing for you, and wouldn’t for at least the next week. Which, was rather conveniently when your husband was due to return home. You knew your heat bothered him, but you never knew it bothered him this much. Resentment grew in you the more you thought about it. If he didn’t want a fucking omega, then why the fuck did he pay for one? 

You tried not to think about it as you opened your window, hoping the cool night air would do something to help cool down your feverish skin. You lived far enough away from the other villagers you didn’t really have to worry about a wayward alpha finding you. And at this point, you weren’t sure you would care if one of them did. 

You settled into your nest, albeit a bit reluctantly. The faint smell of your mate clung to it, and despite your bond mark it brought you little comfort. More just frustration. It didn’t smell right anymore. You quickly took off your sleep pants, finding them unbearably hot, leaving you in just a tank top and soaked panties as you drifted off to sleep.

Sukuna could try and say that he was just out on a stroll to enjoy the moonlight. That he enjoyed the peace that the dark brought with it, and was only out to clear his mind. He would be lying. The truth of the matter was Sukuna had been keeping tabs on you. And while your bitch of a mate may have been inflicted with brain worms, Sukuna was not. He knew you were alone, and in heat. And he fully planned to take care of you, in ways your beta couldn’t dream of doing.

Walking to your little shack at the edge of the woods felt like wading into a warm lake, your trail becoming thicker and thicker in the air as he made his way to you. It was intoxicating, and he couldn’t stop the visions of you whimpering underneath him from entering his mind. Needy and alone, fuck. He could feel his blood rushing in his veins as your scent laced into his senses and his psyche, and his cock ached for you.

He wasn’t shocked to find your window open. Of course your window was open. You were waiting for him, your true mate. That fucking beta be damned, you wanted him, why else would the window be open? He crawled into your room on instinct more than much else, your body calling to him like a siren's song. The reality of your heat hit him like a train as he took in your visage. Sleeping not-so-peacefully in your marital bed, mindlessly rutting into a pillow drenched with your slick. He fucking hated that you were reduced to fucking pillows.

He was right here, you just needed to let your proper alpha take care of you. Let him protect you, let him fuck you until you can’t walk, let him fill you to the brim- until you’re overflowing, let him fix the fucking stench of your nest. He was on your bed and spreading your legs before he even fully realized what he was doing, ripping your slick drenched panties off of you. On a normal night, he would have touched you and known you were burning alive with a fever. But tonight? He was molting lava with his own forced rut, and he didn’t even notice yet. 

Mates don’t need to ask before taking care of their mate in heat, so he doesn't even bother waking you up before shoving two fingers into your weeping pussy to get you ready for him. You whine out softly, back curling off of the bed as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you sharply. He smirked as he curled his fingers up, listening to your breath catch in your throat.

“Fuck, Sukuna..” You whimpered in your sleep. Of course you called out his name, you were his omega. You chose him, you were meant to be with him. Soon, there would be no doubt about that. After he covered you with his scent, after he marked you as his and only his, and when your stomach was swollen with his pups- pink haired, four eyed and undeniably his.

He shrugged off his robe, his rock hard cock burning with need and dripping pre-cum. He ran his dick up your slit, gathering your divine slick on his angry red tip. He felt the tension in his shoulders finally dissolve as he pushed into you, finally at home where he was supposed to be. He growled as he sunk in to his base in one swoop. 

You jolt awake with the sudden intrusion, your cunt torn between pushing the intruder out and sucking him in deeper. “Wh-wha…?” You were given no time to try and catch up to the situation before the assault on your g-spot started, leaving you a moaning mess. Sukuna lifted your hips, holding your body with just his forearms as he changed the angle he fucked you in to fuck you deeper, harder. He needed it to take.

You looked up and saw a shock of pink hair and sharp tattoos through bleary eyes. On the surface your body revolted, knowing this wasn’t your mate and he was not meant to be touching you. But something deeper, more primal rejoiced at feeling the alphas fat cock. “Fuck, fuck, more..” You whimpered, bucking your hips in time with his thrusts. You could feel his knot swelling inside you and all you wanted was him. Nothing had ever felt more right. 

Sukuna had fucked a lot of omegas during his ruts. He ran through whores like they were nothing. But none of them had ever felt like this. Your pussy was made for him, so perfect as it milked his cock. Your body reacted to him perfectly. You were made to be his. You were his. Every inch of your skin, every breath you took, every smile you gave you were his. He’d prove it. He grabbed you in a bruising grip as he bent over you, capturing you in a demanding kiss and taking what little breath you had away in a clash of teeth and tongues. You belonged to him.

He growled lowly, as he pulled back, throwing your ankles over his shoulders as he pressed his body weight into you, folding you in half. “Fuck, you’re so good,” He groaned, “So fucking tight for me Baby Girl. Gonna knot you, fill you with my pups,” You didn’t know if he was talking to you or himself but it didn’t matter. A thought that should have been deeply revolting to you as a marked woman had never sounded more euphoric.

“Yes, please,” You begged into his ear, “Fuck me, it’s s’ good. Fill me, I- I need you.” you slurred together whatever words you could grapple with. You felt drunk on the feeling of euphoria, you almost forgot sex could feel so good. Your words, albeit a bit jumbled, electrified the part of Sukuna’s brain that had already decided he was your mate. You didn’t just want him, you needed him. You needed him. Of course you needed him, you belonged to him. You were his and his alone. 

His his his his-

Then he smelled it. In the sea of apple, clove and cinnamon whiskey a sharp mildew scent hit his nose. The fucking mold of your “bond mark.” Sukuna saw fucking red, his body seething with rage as he remembered you weren’t truly his. No matter how deep he fucked his seed into you, or how much of his skin touched yours, you weren’t his. 

Not yet anyway. 

He plunged his teeth into your scent glands, right over your previous bond mark. You howled as he did, a wave of ecstasy rocking its way through your heated body and decimating your shocked nervous system as you came all over him. Aftershocks of your orgasm pulsed through your cunt in time with his thrusts, sending static electricity through your needy body. You instinctively dug your fangs into Sukunas scent glands, an act you were never able to perform on your (former) beta mate.

The relief that washed over him as you completed the bond mark was unlike anything he had ever felt before, and it left him in ruins. Cumming deep inside you, painting your womb white. The warm feeling he filled you with actually worked to (somehow) cool the raging inferno in your bloodstream, and you finally found relief from the hell you had been in. 

You stayed connected, him holding you close while he waited for his knot to deflate. You thought about Naoya. You had never been able to properly mark him because he didn’t have scent glands for you to mark. It met you were never really bonded, not like how you were bonded to Sukuna now. But, he was technically still your husband. This was his house and his bed you were getting fucked by a perfect stranger in. How would he react when he found you here with the warlord that owned the land? Would he find you here?

Would you regret it? 

You didn’t have time to really consider the ramifications of your actions before Ryomen was moving inside you again, and the last thing you wanted to think about was the boy that abandoned you. You whined underneath him, bringing your hands to tangle in his hair. He pressed his forehead to yours in response.

“Still with me Omega?” He asked as he started to pick up the pace, making you whine underneath him.

“I’m here my lord,” You mumbled softly.

“Good,” He punctuated the word with a sharp kiss before straightening up, “Cause it’s gonna take more than just that to knock you up.” He chuckled as his hips started to piston into yours, setting a punishing pace. The natural curve of his cock was seemingly designed to bully your hypersensitive g-spot, stimulating your body back to life as you gripped the sheets under you.

“Aww, look at my pretty little omega,” Sukuna cooed mockingly as he fucked his cum back into you, “All fucked out and full. Feels good to actually cum after spending so much time with a limp dick, doesn’t it slut?” Apparently, all it took was him getting to cum once for him to find his voice.

“So good, so fucking good.” You whimpered, “So big, so full…” And you had no problem feeding into it. His claws dug into your hips, leaving bruises defined enough you could take his fingerprints off of them. He watched the way your tits bounced as you tried to feebly hold onto the sheet, attempting to ground yourself however you could. He watched his bulge appear and reappear in your stomach with every thrust. He watched the way your skin glistened in the moonlight, begging him to mark it. He watched the way your eyes fluttered and glazed over with dazed pleasure. 

But the real show was happening where the two of you were connected. Where your slick coated his cock, creating a foamy ring around the base. Where your natural lube mixed with his load, making the most vulgar sounds as he fucked your quivering cunt. God, he couldn’t have asked for a better mate.

Your warm pussy hugged him perfectly, begging him for more and pulling him even deeper into you with every thrust. Every movement of your hips sent a wave of euphoria through him, and he desperately chased both of your highs. He wanted to see you cum. He didn’t get to the first time.

 He wouldn’t make that mistake again. You were finally finally his after months of coveting you. Of watching you, of needing you wanting you, of imagining you, you finally belonged to him. He was going to see what you looked like when you came for him god damn it!

“You gonna cream for me again Sweetheart?” He growled, “Squirt all over my dick like a good girl? I know you are, I can feel it, fuck-” His words fell apart on his tongue as you clenched around him. Stars blotted out your vision as your second climax started to creep up on you, slowly tingling up your spine and taking over your body. You bucked your hips into his erratically, chasing the high only he could give you. Sparks of bliss exploded under your skin as you felt him start to swell again.

And suddenly he felt way too far away. You needed him closer. You needed his scent, his skin, him. You ripped one of your hands away from the bedsheets and reached out, trying to communicate what you wanted. His head tilted to the side and he scoffed as he looked at your outstretched hand.

“Words slut, what do you want?” He growled.

“My mate.” You whimpered. He was immediately leaning down to you, pressing his chest to yours and letting your fingers intertwine with his. How could he deny you your mate? Your body exploded into a thousand sparks of ecstasy where his skin ment yours. His scent wrapped around your senses like an old blanket, cozy and familiar and safe. You whined softly and closed your eyes to embrace for impact.

“No.” He growled, using his free hand to pull your hair and force your eyes open, “Look at me.” He demanded. Your watery eyes held his fiery ones as you moaned pathetically under him.

“I’m so close..”

“Then cum for me.” The floodgates opened and you were suddenly drowning in a sea of ecstasy and dopamine. Your hips thrashed against your will and your legs shook like the last leaves on autumn trees. You swore you saw entire galaxies be born before your eyes as you were hit with one of the hardest climaxes of your life. Your eyes watered as they looked into his, your skin felt flushed against his touch, and your grip on his hand tightened.

“Fuck, Ryomen…” He hadn’t heard his first name spoken in years. His body slammed into yours as his own climax hit him with a brick. He fucked you as best as he could through his knot, riding out both of your highs as he filled you to the point of overflowing and then some. His entire body was racked with euphoria as he came harder than he even thought possible. 

He collapsed on top of you, rolling you both to the side so he didn’t crush you with his body weight. For a while, the only sound was of the two of you trying to catch your breath. You felt his arms wrap around you and calloused hands rub your back gently to sooth you. He kissed your neck almost sweetly.

“You’re doing so good sweetheart,” He praised in a whisper, one soft enough the wind threatened to take it away, “So good for me.” It made your stomach flutter. His presence was instantly calming, much more so than your ex’s. You might have even fallen asleep, if you didn’t feel him start to move again, still rock solid inside of you. 

🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘

Your body was sore the next morning when you woke up, but the fever had subsided for now, finally giving you room to breathe and think about literally anything other than lust. The first thing you noticed was that you were not at home. You jolted up in bed, a soft whimper leaving your throat. 

“Silence, woman.” That was when you registered the body next to you in the bed. You looked over to see Ryomen, fully annoyed at being woken up. “You’re safe. I’m here.” He grumbled as he pulled you back into his side. You weren’t sure what was more impressive, that he managed to return to (what you assumed was) his home after last night, or that he managed to carry you with him. 

“Sukuna-”

“Ryomen.” He corrected you with a dangerous growl. You paused, a bit taken back.

“Ryomen,” You accepted the correction, “what happens now?”

“Hopefully you go back to sleep.” He sighed, irritated to have been woken up at the ungodly hour of 12 pm. While he was still in rut no less! He didn’t get a lot of chances to sleep during this time, and neither did you. You needed the rest.

“No, I mean with…with,” You didn’t know how to put it.

“What, you mean your cuck ex? Don’t worry about it.” He didn’t hide that he was irritated with you for bringing him up first thing in the morning. 

“....Is he going to be hurt?” You asked softly. Sukuna felt his lip twitch.

“If I have it my way, yes.” He didn’t mince words. Why the fuck did you care so much about that loser anyway? You thought about your mates words, then nodded. 

“Good.” You said, finally settling back into Ryomens arms and relaxing into him. He didn’t hide the smile that tugged on his lips. He knew he loved you. 

・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・ Taglist ・┆✦ʚ♡ɞ✦ ┆・

thank you lovlies, for supporting my work! @sk8ttles, @blkkizzat,@littyasatittyyy,@ketchupsush1 and @risuola

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[acid-ixx]

gets fucking stabbed by damian and my last breath still be like "it's not his fault ! he is ten and was raised to be murderous since he was born ! kid entered a household where everyone ignores my existence, i don't blame him for assuming that to be the norm and acting evil to me so that he assimilates to his new environment ! bro literally went through the worst all his life so of course the way he expresses himself is harmful to others !"

and then i get stabbed again lol

— masterlist !

OH MY GOD PLEASE 😭 the gaslighting yourself is real, i'm telling you.

unfortunately, the reader's toxic mindset of justifying everything your family does is a common scenario for every time one of them fucks up; only in the past though. the present chapters will have you slowly realize just nothing really is ever your fault. that you've never once been in the blame for the actions of your youngest brother.

but right now, i want to focus on why you just seem to let damian go about his own crazy path of targeting you. and it's either it's because you have nothing, nobody else to fight back with you, or it's purely because you allow him to.

to destroy you, to make you suffer, to make you learn that you have no place, or standing in the family. and if you do have a place, it is at the rock bottom.

this is what damian is taught: the weak should be eliminated before they fester into some type of unnecessary cancer.

you're weak, when he first saw you, when you first approached him with your tail tucked behind your legs and an invitation to hang out together with the scent of cookies wafting in the air— he knows that it is you who will make him weak.

you give him temptations to be a child, he's raised to fight against it. he ignores the unwelcomed feeling of wamth that blooms in his chest, those are feelings that gets you killed.

so it's how the story goes: he brings his sword up to your neck, and sways his hands swift enough to make a small cut to ensure that the first thing you associate him with is fear. and for someone vulnerable like you, it doesn't take much before you quickly submit to the prospect of your place beneath a trained assassin like him.

he ignores the sudden pang of his heart and the aching, gnawing dread that chews at his mind at the memory of your widening eyes and the wobble in your steps.

it's already damaging enough to have the youngest be introduced and immediately accepted into the family, but it's worse when he's significantly younger than you, a boy nearly half your age; someone you've always wanted to have, to care for, to help raise and cherish... despises you from the start, before you two even formed a connection.

someone you once called your younger brother, now became an enemy in opposing lines in a place called home.

what would've been fine-tuned jealousy towards him because he was given everything in a silver platter turned into shame that you couldn't even face him, not right after he threatened to kill you, no... and especially not after you've convinced yourself that if you couldn't even prove your worth for a young boy like him, then you really have nothing good to offer.

you give him the autonomy to think it's alright, that due to his upbringing, alongside your naive brain always justifying that your other siblings are right, and you are in the wrong— he was given every opportunity to torment you when you even go as far as being in the same room as him.

and i have my receipts on why you're just like that; all in the grace of low self-worth and self-esteem. past you reasons out that it's because it's always your fault.

you couldn't even find a way to save your mother, you couldn't even establish your place in the manor, you couldn't comfort bruce when he was still not over jason, what more could you be when all you see damian as is a young, broken child like you? that behind that veil of threats and weapons ready to attack you, is someone you knew could've been different, if he was raised right...

if he'd given you a chance to help nurture the softer, more humane part of him.

you've always wanted a younger sibling, not only from back when you were just with your mother, but also when you were introduced to the manor. because not only did it mean that you'll know how your mother felt when she raised you, but because you thought you'd have somebody by your side throughout the silent torment you've went through.

and when you're graced with one, who doesn't even consider you his older sibling; you let it be.

you let him be himself.

damian wayne, demon's granson, the son of the bat.

so many titles he's called, but never one where he's your younger brother.

it doesn't help that you justify his past, because the man you idolize, dick, does so too whenever you try to complain. his excuses are never out of malicious intent to have you suffer further— it's just that he never once actually considered you as important enough to bat an eye on, like how the rest of them treat you.

because you know that even dick has his limit towards the youngest member of the family; he just never reaches it when it comes to you.

so if you have a person allow another to act terribly towards you, but have another, a friend or family, who teaches you that it's not right, who fights by your side; it wouldn't take long for you to also learn how to defend yourself then. you'll gain confidence that you're at least not alone, that your actions are completely valid.

... but if you have an entire family that couldn't even scold the boy for leaving a scar on your neck, who brushes his mean comments about you aside, who isolates you even further with malicious words that you know becomes crueler when targeted at you—

then you have no basis for what is right, and what is wrong.

and that makes your authority, your trust in yourself dwindle like your already crumbling relationship with all the others the further you try to fight back.

that's when you learn what it's like to give up, all over again. if you accept his vidictive insults, if you know your place to turn back if you see him in the same room, if you knew from the start that sometimes trying doesn't equate to succeeding; then it'll at least numb the pain that comes after.

for the entirety of your life from when damian was introduced, that was how you coped—

but your life after the manor, after damian matures and learns softness, about empathy (that he's buried long ago during his training from when he was all but a toddler) on your situation; reading your journal entries because he still felt entitled to due to some hidden, twisted trait of possessiveness... that's an entirely different story.

would you still be as understanding as you were back in the past towards him? would you still force yourself to love the demon you saw as just a little boy? or would damian finally understand that it's too late to turn back time, to correct all his mistakes?

either way, if you were capable enough to change (at least, in his eyes), becoming an independent person (you think, huh? your place is at the manor), then maybe you could give him a chance too, to fix your relationship and build a bridge to an even stronger one.

one where you could finally baby him, like what you've desired. one where he could feel vulnerable, when he learned that it's valid to feel weak— it cuts back to the previous points: you make him weak.

and when he's out to find you after going through every single diary, every entry, after deducing that there's still a small spark in your that'll forgive him if he tries; he refuses give up any sooner if it meant replicating the same warmth he felt when he stood by your presence.

so... you wouldn't want to leave your youngest brother waiting for you, don't you?

after all, it's just like what your entries told him, right? this is what you always wanted, right?

a/n: everyone is entitled to their own feelings about how i portray damian and mc's relationship!!! i love how all of you guys have different conflicting reactions to this. it's all so complex for me, how damian sees you as someone who's weak and makes him weak (he's just a stubborn little guy), and you, who sees yourself in damian, alongside the added desire to just have someone to care for (because you want to so badly honor your mother's memory), and that person also caring for you is ARGH!!?!

i apologize for my long rambles (if anyone wants me to cut back on posts like this, just tell me), i'm sure everyone is anticipating chapter 5 and possibly (soon) chapter 6 (since the drafts, not the final work is becoming too long). but right now, all i could provide are my depictions of the reader's relationship with every member of the family. i love to churn scenarios where it feels like you're actually part of the family so i'm actually manipulating all of you guys to become attached to the characters too, just to add an extra layer of angst, hehe...