#much ado universe

[theragethatisdesire]

much ado about nothing chapter 7 - plug!eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

okay so i guess the responses i got on my "i have writer's block wahhh" post worked because GUESS WHAT I FINISHED THIS MORNING. this chapter!!! i have been aching to share this (even when it was half-done), i literally cannot wait any longer. this is an eren pov chapter so you guys already know it's going to be fun. lots going on, and please don't hate me for the end, i promise there's a master plan in place!!! i hope you guys enjoy :-)

specific cws: smut, rough sex, use of names (both endearing and derogatory so take that as you will), drinking, swearing, i want to give eren a giant hug

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“Love sought is good; but given unsought, is better.” - Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare (Act III, Scene 1)

Eren has no excuse for any of it. No excuse for stepping in, for throwing Floch against the bar. He knows you, knows you have enough experience with awful men to know how to handle yourself. He just couldn’t help himself.

And now he’s gone and acted out again without thinking. The cold winter air sobers him up, brings Eren back to himself, and when he looks down at you, all cute and furious with him, the heat in Eren’s veins dies. A pregnant pause stretches between you both, you with your arms crossed and glaring up at him, and Eren, surely with hearts in his eyes, looking down at you, something apologetic beginning to write its way into his features.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Well, so much for that. The venom in your voice reignites Eren’s temper, fans the flames back into a full-blown inferno.

“My problem?” Eren growls, stepping closer to you. “What the fuck is your problem? I was just getting that prick out of your face. I’d think I deserve a thank you more than anything.”

“It wasn’t your place,” you huff.

“My place?” Eren nearly shouts, exasperated. “You’re the one who wanted to be friends so badly, was I supposed to just sit back and watch while he drooled all over you? Give me a fucking break.”

“That’s not– ugh, you’re really fucking frustrating, you know that Eren?”

It’s like watching all the ghosts of his past jump out at him through your teeth; Eren flinches, feels his fury rushing in his ears like a tidal wave.

“I’m–? Fine, fine, yeah, I’m the frustrating one. Definitely not you, throwing a goddamn temper tantrum over the stupidest shit imaginable, makes perfect sense. Really putting that smart little head to use, aren’t you?”

“Oh? ‘My girl’?” As soon as the words hit him, plunging through his chest like daggers, Eren’s blood runs cold. So you had caught his little slip-up. “What the fuck was that, then?”

Eren stutters, words caught in his throat at the worst possible moment. “Y-you know, like my girl, like you’re my friend or whatever.”

“Uh-huh,” you eye him disbelievingly, “you may as well have hiked your leg up and pissed on me in front of him. Am I supposed to be your fucking property or something because we had sex? Is that it?”

“What? No, I–” you’re faster than him, cutting him off.

“Don’t you already have your hands full with your ex?”

That crosses a line, pushes your fight into an entirely new territory. Eren’s eyes narrow. “Are you really bringing up Breeze right now? Like she…Jesus, like she even fucking matters?”

He watches the way you flinch when he says her name, the way your eyes widen, something he hadn’t expected out of you after with your little snide comments today. Interesting.

“She doesn’t matter to me, but I know she matters to you. As your friend, I’m just letting you know it sounds like a bad idea.”

“What’s a bad idea?”

“Getting back together with her,” you say, like it should be obvious.

It hits Eren like a truck; so that’s what’s gotten into you? You think he’s getting back together with Breeze, as if you didn’t text your ex that you were “totally in love with” on that godforsaken night at Paradise? Eren can still hear the slur of your words in that maddeningly confusing voicemail.

“Even if I was getting back with Breeze,” Eren snorts at the very idea, “which I’m not–”

“Oh yeah?” you counter, stepping forward to nearly touch your chin to his chest with how severely your head’s tilted up at him, “never took you for a liar, Eren.”

“A liar? When did I fucking–”

“Sasha saw you two at 104 the other day. You’re not fucking slick, you know.” Eren hates that tone in your voice, smug and wounded all at once. He wants to tear his own hair out.

“Oh, so you just know everything, don’t you?” Eren’s voice is shaking under his efforts to keep it at a low volume, keep you with him outside of your little bar and just make you listen to him. He watches your posture change ever so slightly, a shoulder turning towards him. “I was telling her to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Over coffee?” Your voice is still clipped, snarky. “Sure, Eren.”

Eren tries to keep himself in line, but his temper gets the better of him yet again, shooting out sharp and lethal. “Isn’t it a little hypocritical of you to avoid me over that, when it’s really you that’s getting back with your ex?”

Your eyes shoot open, and you spin on your heel to fully face him. “What?”

“You think I didn’t listen to your little voicemail?” Eren seethes, the full-bodied ugliness of his anger warping his face into a scowl. You don’t deserve the brunt of his temper, he knows you don’t, but he’s failing at every turn to reign himself in.

“You can’t throw that in my fucking face, I don’t even remember it,” you cut him off, eyes narrowed into little slits.

Eren freezes in place. The world around him seems to slow; the only thing tethering him to this plane is the way you’re looking up at him, furious and beautiful in the buzzing neons of Scout’s. He knew you’d been drunk, but not that drunk.

Hey, Eren– fuck, Stor, leave me alone! I’m just gonna talk to him really fast! Sorry, Historia’s all over me because I did something bad. I– I texted my ex, Luke. I never told you about him because he’s like, the worst, you’d hate him. But the funny thing is, I don’t even think I care? Maybe I do because I really was like, totally in love with him. Maybe he’ll text me back and we’ll fall in love again. But…I don’t know, Eren. I think about you all the time. I think I…I think I like you. Not like a friend, more than that. Wait, fuck, can I delete this? Just…I don’t know. Call me tomorrow or something. I want to talk about it before I can go down the black hole of Luke all over again. I know it’s not what you expected, and maybe you don’t feel the same, but…maybe we can just– shit, Historia, don’t hang up the–!

“Whatever I said was bullshit, I didn’t mean a word of it. I’m not getting back with my ex, or whatever else I came up with while I was blacked out.”

Your present-tense voice, affirmative and clear, snaps him out of his daze. I didn’t mean it. Every word of that voicemail that Eren knows so well, has basically memorized after listening to it day in and day out, trying to analyze every little drunken intonation of your voice– it was bullshit. Eren steels his jaw, musters up all the willpower he can dredge up in his body.

“You didn’t mean it,” his voice sounds alien as it leaves his mouth, distant.

“Yeah, exactly,” you’re mean, you’re so mean, not even stopping to acknowledge the sinkhole ripping open in Eren’s chest, “so before you rip me a new one, make sure that you’re not thinking about where you’d rather be right now.”

So you’re not just mean, you’re oblivious, it seems. For some reason, even through the shattering, crushing feeling erupting beneath Eren’s hoodie, it infuriates him. You just don’t see it, don’t see him. You didn’t mean a word you’d said to him in that damned voicemail, so he can’t tell you necessarily. It crosses his mind that maybe he can show you; the last dying ember of Eren’s rational line of thought sparks and spits at the idea in protest, but eventually chokes out, slowly dying in the tidal wave of emotion that takes him over.

“Oh, I don’t have anywhere else I’d rather be,” Eren's voice starts low and venomous, but it escalates with each passing word, “trust me, I showed up just aching to get into it with you. Just dying to have you rip me apart for something that I didn’t even fucking do!”

Not even a lie, honestly.

“You’re such an– ugh!” You shriek, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“A what? Say it.”

“An asshole!”

“Is that what I am?” Eren’s backing you up against the bricks, making good use of his height to tower over you. Some sick part of him relishes in the way that, while your eyes remain blazing furiously enough to send a weaker man to his knees, your height difference forces you to cower under him. “An asshole?”

“Yeah,” you counter, glaring up at him defiantly, “you’re a fucking asshole, Eren.”

His proximity to you is making him dizzy and a little unhinged, and through the drinks and his anger and the mere inches between your heaving chests, Eren feels his blood start to run hot in an entirely different way. The leash he holds on his own temper, his own throat-closing desire, is dragging along the floor as he backs you fully against the wall, and Eren’s too wound up to bring himself to care. 

“That’s not what you were calling me when I had my head between your legs, now is it?”

That shakes you, makes your jaw drop a little. Eren’s vaguely aware of your fingers twitching and clenching at your side, inwardly braces himself for a slap to the face. “Well, you weren’t acting like an asshole then.” 

Eren smirks, leans into his own cruelty. “What, you jealous that you haven’t been getting all of my attention? Is that what’s got you acting all mean?”

“Cut it out, Eren.” Your eyes are telling him you’re still mad at him, furious even, but Eren doesn’t miss the way the rise and fall of your chest grows ever so slightly more frantic, the way your tongue darts out anxiously to wet your lips.

“Or what?” Eren leans down, boxing you in with one arm on either side of your head.

“I– we’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He widens his eyes innocently. “What am I doing?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you hiss, but if you ask Eren, it sounds an awful lot like a moan is lodged in your throat, like your words are lacking the conviction that you’re trying to muster. He pushes himself in closer to you, noses mere inches apart, a wicked grin splitting his face.

“Is it working?”

Eren’s lips meet yours at the same moment that his hand whips out to catch your arm where you’re swinging it up to slap him. A broken little whimper leaves your mouth, spills into his, as your arm slackens in his grip. Eren feels your free hand fist into the hair at the nape of his neck, lets a groan fly out into nonexistent space between your lips. He’s been driving himself crazy thinking about this moment, the next time he’d get to feel your mouth on his again if it ever even happened, what you taste like, the little noises you make. The moment that’s been keeping him up at night is finally here, inflating his wounded ego like a balloon, and it feels fucking good.

You bite a little too hard into his bottom lip, the tangy, copper taste of Eren’s blood leaking into the kiss, making it clear that this doesn’t mean everything has settled between you both, but for the time being, Eren doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way your plush thighs feel wrapped around his waist, how easily he can scoop you up and pin you against the wall, the little moan that slips from your lips when he presses the length of his body entirely into you.

He doesn’t take his time, doesn’t savor the moment like he’ll surely wish he did tomorrow; Eren devours you, running a hand up your bare leg and under the hem of your skirt, grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing at your hips.

“Bet you’re wet under this short little skirt, aren’t you?” Eren huffs into your mouth, sucking on your tongue.

“Fuck you,” you spit, squeezing your thighs tighter around his hips.

“Is that what you want?” Eren whispers, dizzy and drunker on you than the three Jameson shots he’d knocked back at the bar.

“I–”

“Been thinking about it?” Eren can’t stop himself, trying desperately to keep his lips on yours through the spill of words from his mouth. “Maybe that’s why you’ve been so mean to me, grinding all up on me in that club, teasing me, then running off. Just wanted a little love, didn’t you?”

“That depends,” you pant, moving your face to kiss up his neck, leave little nips in your wake. Eren groans deep in his chest, pushing against you even more insistently.

“On?”

“How bad you really want it,” you bite into his earlobe, steal another shaky groan from him.

Eren’s not a submissive guy, not by any means, but the thrill your words send running through his veins just about makes him drop you.

“Want me to beg?” Eren growls, shoving into you and biting deep at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I’d only ever beg for you, baby.”

“Is that what you’re going to do? Beg for me when you’ve got another girl waiting for you?” Your anger has fizzled into a bitter sarcasm that goes straight between Eren’s legs and knocks him right in the ego all at once, tongue tracing the shell of his ear.

“Fuck– you’re my girl, my favorite girl, did you forget?” Eren grabs your face, forces your head back against the brick so you can look at him, eyes blown wide with lust and glossed over, mouth open in a desperate pant. “Told you the first time, you’re the best I’ve ever had. Didn’t think I was just fucking around, did you? It’s just you, only you.”

“Could have fooled me,” you dig your teeth into the thumb Eren’s worked between your lips, making him suck in a sharp ouch between his lips, “sure don’t feel like your favorite girl.”

“Sounds like I need to fix that, then,” Eren lets a hand trail down between the little space he’s leaned back to create between your bodies, finds his way to the damp fabric of your panties, “oh, who’s the liar now?”

“Don’t– fuck,” your eyes roll back in your head when he starts pressing into where he knows your clit is, rubbing insistent circles over the cloth just to elicit that reaction from you, rip the control right out of your pretty little hands. Eren chuckles down at you, dark and dangerous, amused at how quickly you melt for him.

“Thought we weren’t doing this?” He parrots your words from earlier, nosing at your neck. “Thought I was an asshole?”

“You are,” you grit out through a clenched jaw, but Eren notices the little forward push of your hips, notices that you’re trying to hold yourself back from rubbing yourself into his palm.

“And that gets you wet,” Eren counters, grinding the heel of his palm up into your clit and wrenching a little gasp from you, “bet you liked watching me in there, bet you would have loved watching me kick his ass for you.”

Eren pauses, waits to hear if you’ve got anything to say for yourself, but you’re already half-gone, rolling your hips against the steady rocking of his hand and whining in your throat. He smiles– god, you really are his favorite.

“Say it,” Eren growls into your skin, slipping a finger past the fabric of your panties to slide it into you, not the whole thing, but just a knuckle, just enough to make you shudder in his arms, “tell me you need me, want to hear you say what this perfect pussy’s already telling me. C’mon baby.”

Just as your mouth opens, either to answer him or snark at him, Eren can’t be sure, a cat-call from across the street snaps both of you out of your haze, your eyes flying wide. You shove at him, wriggling in his arms until Eren mercifully drops you to your feet, reaches down to right your rumpled little skirt for you. You glower up at him, look him up and down, and just when Eren’s about to bullshit some excuse to run home, fuck into his hand with your name on his lips, you surprise him.

“I mean, after all that, the least you can do is walk me home.”

The necessary steps of Eren closing your tabs, walking into the whipping winter wind, walking through the streets silently with Eren side-eyeing you as you storm along, arms crossed petulantly, commence. They go by in a blur; Eren’s not even sure he should be doing this right now with the lack of blood flow to his head. You don’t make eye contact, and if Eren had any more conscious thought at the moment, he would think you’re already regretting this before it happens, but he can’t bring himself to care, not yet.

He’ll kick himself for this as soon as the sun rises, but for now? The only thing he’s worried about lies wet and pulsing for him under the hem of your skirt.

The moment you’ve gotten the door open, Eren’s got you shoved up against the wall again, letting his hands find their way under your skirt and grabbing at your ass with a quiet groan.

“Historia?” he questions, nipping at your earlobe just because he can.

“Ymir’s,” you pant, pushing him off of you and practically storming to your bedroom. It hits Eren that for all the time you’ve spent together, he’s never actually seen your bedroom. He thinks that maybe he’ll do a little investigating of his own once he’s fucked all the fight out of you.

Safely behind the door of your bedroom, Eren wastes no time in yanking his shirt over his head, reaching for yours only to find that you’ve already rid yourself of the cute little sweater he had been admiring from down the bar back at Scout’s. You’ve got a pretty lace number underneath, one that Eren almost doesn’t want to take from you, but he reaches behind you and unclips it. Eren plans on taking and taking and taking everything you’ll give him, just for tonight, because the sinking feeling in his chest is telling him to do it while he can; a girl like you never sticks around a guy like him for long, and he’s already done himself the favor of ruining most of the potential your relationship had anyway.

“Eren– oh,” the broken whimper that leaves your lips snaps him out of his thoughts, reminds him that he’s got one of your breasts in his palm and the other nipple between his teeth. Eren wraps his free hand around your back, pressing his splayed fingers between your shoulder blades to arch you closer to him until he’s so full of you he can hardly breathe.

He’s going to keep taking from you, take until he drowns in it.

“Feel good? Missed me?” Eren’s words come out a little garbled around the flesh in his mouth, but you get the message all the same, managing a sarcastic eye roll through your arousal. You decline to answer him, but Eren can read your body, so he digs his teeth in harshly to the little swell of fat on the underside of your breast, sucks a bruise in to cut that eye roll of yours right in half. Eren smirks when your eyes flutter closed, a reluctant hand coming up to thread through his hair. “Thought so.”

“Can you just–fuck–get on with it?”

“Uh-uh,” Eren straightens back to his full height, backs you onto the bed until your knees catch and you fall onto your back, glaring up at him defiantly. “Gotta get you ready for me, right? I’m sure you remember.”

He eats up the doubt that flickers across your face, the memory of the first time you’d taken him all over your expression. Eren reaches beneath your skirt, pulls your panties down your legs delicately, rubs his hands along your thigh-high stockings with an appreciative swear under his breath.

“There’s a zipper on the back,” you wiggle a bit to try and reach the fasten of your skirt, but Eren slaps a firm hand onto your hip, pins you back onto the bed.

“Think I’m letting you take this off? After you were teasing me with it all night?” Eren says, stretching his body over yours, taking full advantage of his size to cage you in.

“I wasn’t teasing,” you huff, “these are just my clothes.”

“Anything you wear is teasing,” Eren brings his fingers to your core, swipes through the wetness gathered there, “especially when you look like this.”

You open your mouth to retort, but your jaw goes slack when Eren rolls over your clit softly, rubbing little circles into it at the perfect speed, the perfect pressure. He’s not interested in teasing you too much, he wants to feel you break on him as many times as you’ll grant him the pleasure. Once your little gasps have begun to swell into quiet moans, Eren ventures down, pushes his middle finger into you, all the way to the hitch. Eren answers your widened eyes and your little gasp with a sharp hiss between his teeth, marveling at the way your walls cling to his finger, sucking him in when he slides out and back in again.

“Just like the first time,” Eren murmurs, leaning down to take your collarbone between his teeth, “are you always this tight?”

“I– I don’t– more, please.”

Eren smiles around the mouthful of your skin he has, feeling his heart swell at how cute and airy your words come out, how clear it is to him, even if it’s only for this precious moment, that you’re just as desperate for him as he is for you. He grants your wish, working a second finger in beside the first, curling them cruelly against that spot in your walls that he knows gets your heart racing.

“Eren,” you keen, arching off the bed and tossing your head to the side.

“So tight baby,” Eren says in awe, pulling his head to watch as your cunt leaves little white streaks on his fingers, “so warm, can’t fucking wait to get my cock in you.”

“P-please,” you sputter, hooded eyes sparkling at the mention of it. Eren thinks wildly that he might be falling in love with the little unshed tears that prick your eyes when you start to get close, the little broken pleas you give him.

“You gotta cum for me first.” Eren works his fingers faster, can feel the fluttering of your cunt around his fingers. He realizes how worked up he must have gotten you outside of Scout’s, how you’re so wet it’s dripping down your soft skin onto the sheets, and you haven’t even cum yet.

“I’m– I just want you to fuck me,” you say, whiny and pitiful.

“I will,” Eren coos, “missed this messy little cunt so much, I promise I’ll fuck you, just give me one first. Gotta make it fit, right?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, hips bucking up towards him. Eren watches, drinks the sight of you in: skirt pulled up around your waist, legs spread wide open for him, slick spread all over the inside of your thighs, bottom lip tucked so tightly between your teeth he worries you might draw blood. He commits the sight to memory, his pretty little student all strung out and begging for his cock, begging him to make you cum. If he remembers right, if he curls his fingers just a little more harshly–

“Eren–” your head shoots up suddenly, eyes flying wide open, fists tightening in the sheets.

“Right there?” Eren grins, sharp and half-crazed, raising his eyebrows at the reaction the new angle has brought out of you.

“Right– oh, oh my god, I–”

“Give it to me,” Eren urges, working his fingers even faster, “come on, baby, show me how much you missed me.”

With a cry, you twist and thrash under him, cumming almost violently. Eren drinks it down, leans down to press a kiss against your open mouth, pins your body to the bed so you can’t run from the vicious waves of pleasure wracking your body. 

“There’s my girl,” he mutters, licking against your tongue, “such a good, good girl for me.”

When your orgasm finally starts to ebb, Eren doesn’t let up, not entirely; he keeps his fingers working in a slow drag through your walls, appreciating the way your muscles twitch and the way you feebly shove at his wrist.

“Eren…” you trail off weakly, fingers finally locking harshly around his hand and pulling him from you, “too much.”

“Thought you wanted me to ‘get on with it’?” Eren snorts, finally obliging your earlier request and sliding your skirt over your legs, tracing his fingers up and down your thighs once you’re fully bare and beautiful underneath him, taking mental snapshots of every inch of smooth skin that he’s lucky enough to have under his touch.

“I do,” you say, eyeing him with a glint of annoyance in your eye. It just makes Eren smile bigger; you’re so cute when you’re mad.

“Whatever you want, baby,” Eren says, situating his hands under your arms and practically throwing you up against the pillows at the head of your bed. You widen your legs so he can crawl in between them, kissing his way up your torso in a self-indulgent, tender way.

“Do we, um…” you start to question him, and Eren’s close enough to your face now that he can feel your cheeks warm. He sits up a little, arches a questioning brow down at you.

“What?”

“Do we need to use a condom?”

Eren frowns, confused. “I mean, after last time, I thought you were on birth control.”

“I am,” you confirm, nodding slowly, some odd emotion flickering over your features that could be anger, could be heartbreak, “but I don’t know if, like–”

“I haven’t been with anyone else,” Eren catches your meaning, feeling his heart thud heavy and loud in his chest, “not since…”

“Oh,” you exhale quietly, nodding, “okay.”

“You?”

“Uh, no,” your voice is so low Eren almost doesn’t hear you, but he watches your head slowly lull side to side in confirmation, “no one else.”

Eren can’t excuse the rush of relief that courses through him, the swell of happiness to learn that no one’s gotten to see you like this since the last time he had. It goes straight to his cock, hard and drooling between his legs. Before he can get too wrapped up in the emotional side of things, Eren leans in hard to the horrible, possessive thoughts that have constricted him, laying himself over you and taking his cock in his hand, swiping it through the mess between your legs.

“Good.” He even surprises himself with that, looking down on you with dark eyes, eyes that promise ruin.

“Please,” you give him one more breathless plea, Eren swears you know too well how to snap his composure clean in half.

He pushes himself in, choking on a moan at how tight you are, vicelike and suffocating around him. A broken groan flies from your lips, your fingers tighten their grip on his biceps until Eren’s sure you’re going to break the skin, but he’s beyond caring. His mind wipes completely blank, save for the hot, wet heat that’s enveloping him, beckoning him to snap his hips forward viciously and be done with it. With what little self-restraint he can muster up, Eren flicks his eyes up to yours.

“So…it’s so–” another whimper cuts you off, and Eren can feel your thighs twitch on either side of his hips.

“Too much?” Eren manages to reign himself in, back out another inch or so.

“No,” you wrap a leg around his waist, shove him further into you and wrench a deep, guttural groan from his chest, “feels good, keep going.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Eren breathes, trying to retain any semblance of control over this situation, give you that dominant dirty talk that he knows gets you off instead of turning into a whimpering, moaning mess at the feel of you clenching around him. He bottoms out, feeling himself fuck all the way up into your tummy, head falling down onto your shoulder.

Eren manages to keep his pace slow and gentle, rolling his hips into yours like he’s making love to you, not saying goodbye. Little satisfied sounds are slipping out of your mouth, but Eren can see a flicker of consciousness in your eyes; you’re not drooling for him, out of your mind with want, not like the first time. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re…I don’t know, you seem like you’re somewhere else,” Eren hates having to admit that he notices, that he even cares, and the unsteady creak of his voice reflects that, just making him hate himself even more. You don’t seem to notice his vulnerability or, if you do, you aren’t affected by it. You simply raise an eyebrow at him.

“I mean…it’s good,” you say, eyes flitting around the room, like you can’t quite admit whatever you’re going to say while looking him straight in the eyes, “but I want you to fuck me.”

“I am fucking you.” Eren’s frown deepens into a scowl of annoyance. What, is he not good enough for you now?

“Well, literally speaking yes, you are fucking me. But,” a nervous giggle slips from your teeth, riling the anger starting to bubble under his skin again, “I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you.”

“Why are we talking about this while I am literally inside of you?”

“Because I want you to fuck me,” you raise your eyebrows meaningfully, canting your hips up towards him. It clicks– as much as Eren wants to show you what he feels because he can’t tell you, fucking you like an animal, as he’s prone to do, is what you want. Eren’s been so wrapped up in trying to relish whatever time he may have left with you before you inevitably cast him off to the side again, he’s not been paying attention.

“You want me to fuck you, huh?” Eren thrusts forward a little harsher, a little more pointedly. Your eyes roll back, a slow, indulgent smile spreading across your face.

“I want you to fuck me like I know you can,” Eren feels your arms wrap around his neck, pulling his ear to your lips, “unless that last time was all luck. Surely all those rumors aren’t false, are they?”

Eren knows you’re trying to get under his skin, to bite at him through the haze of the heavy air weighing down on both of you, to rekindle that anger that you had brought out of him outside of the bar. What is he going to do with you, incorrigible little thing that you are? If Eren Jaeger was a better man, he would stop this all right now, force you both to talk through the sharp, spiky things that hang in the balance between you two.

But Eren Jaeger is not a better man, he’s only a man, broken and needy and tucked into his favorite place on earth, with the girl of his dreams below him urging him to fuck her brains out. Is he really to blame?

Eren rips himself out of your grasp, standing tall and menacing on his knees over you.

“I’ll fuck you,” Eren grits out through a clenched jaw, grabbing you by the back of your thighs and shoving your knees towards your head, “but you better be ready to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Yeah? Well– oh,” a sharp, shrill cry of your own making cuts your voice off when Eren snaps his hips forward, brutal and unforgiving into the wet heat of your cunt. He doesn’t stop there, immediately pulling out and snapping forward again, hitting somewhere deep inside of you that, based on your face, he knows no man has ever been able to reach. He smirks, all cocky and cruel, setting a harsh pace that’s got you clawing at the sheets.

“What? Is it too much?” Eren whines down at you condescendingly, eating up the way you’re already whimpering and moaning. He can see tears glistening at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall.

“No, no,” your voice is broken, breathless, “it’s– fuck, it’s so good, Eren–”

“Is this what you wanted?” Eren growls down at you, locking one strong hand around your throat. “Wanted me to fuck you like the little slut you are?”

“Yes!” Your admission comes out in a choked, watery cry, the tears in your eyes finally beginning to run down your temples. Even if it wasn’t written all over your face, Eren can feel how much you like it; your pussy is fluttering, pulsing around him, begging him to keep going. He drives his hips forward like a man starved, a man whose life depends on fucking you until you can’t walk straight for a week.

“Who knew?” Eren muses to himself, wiping the tears from your face. “Who knew my pretty girl was so filthy?”

“I, I–Eren,” you moan wantonly, thighs shaking under his firm grip. Eren should hold himself back, knows that you’re going to be so sore in the morning, but a sick part of him is glad for it. Let you walk around campus with the throbbing ache of him inside of you, maybe he’ll fuck you so hard that little twinge in your belly when you sit down never goes away.

“Say it,” Eren urges, squeezing your windpipe, “tell me how much you love it, tell me how bad this pussy missed me.”

“I–” you choke out around his iron grip on your neck, “I m-missed you, I love it w-when you fuck me–”

“Fuck you like a whore?”

“Fuck me like a w-whore,” you wheeze out, face reddening with shame. Eren loves it, wants to kiss the blush off your cheeks and swallow it whole.

“That’s right, baby,” Eren releases your throat, watches the way you heave and gasp as the air flows back into your lungs, only to be punched out by the force of his thrusts, “you love my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, I– oh my god, Eren, I–”

“What?” Eren sneers, smirking wickedly down at you, “is my smart girl already so fucked out she can’t talk?”

“No, I– I just– fuck!” You’re so loud for him, if he knew that fucking you within an inch of your life would get him this, Eren never would have bothered playing nice in the first place.

“‘ve barely even started,” Eren laughs, mean and sharp, “and you’re already fucked so dumb you can’t even think. Think you can cum for me, just like this?”

He doesn’t even have to ask; he can feel the way your cunt’s starting to tighten around him so harshly that it nearly pushes him out. He’s bullying his way back into you on every thrust, forcing you to open up for him, to take what he has to give. Inwardly, Eren hopes to god you do cum soon; he’s not going to last, not with you spread out beneath him crying and wailing his name. Eren doesn’t think he can hold out much longer without filling you up, watching his cum seep out of you.

“Eren, Eren, Eren–” your nonsensical babbling has started to take the shape of his name, Eren can feel his ego swelling and swelling to the point of bursting. There’s a tone of warning in your moans; the onslaught of an orgasm is threatening to pull you under.

“Don’t you dare hold out on me,” Eren slaps your thigh hard, the tacky, wet sound of it echoing through the room, somehow finds the wherewithal to piston his hips even faster, “want to feel it, feel you cum on me.”

“I’m going to, I’m going– oh Eren–”

Eren practically snarls, leaning over to spit in your open, waiting mouth. “What are you waiting for? Don’t you–fuck–want your pretty cunt stuffed full of me? I’ll give you yours, just gotta cum for me and give me what’s fucking mine. Go on–”

Eren’s rambling is cut short by the loud, raspy sob you let out, clenching down around him so hard it almost hurts, drawing a loud, long hiss from him. He looks down past your quivering thighs, sees the frothy white that’s streaking his cock, and he’s done for. He grants you a few more sloppy thrusts, and then with one final snap of his hips, he stills, holding himself as deep inside as he can manage, pumping you full of him.

Before he can stop himself, Eren’s crashing into you, bringing your lips to his in a messy, frantic kiss, open-mouthed and teeth clacking together. He can feel your body shaking violently underneath him, rocking with wave after wave of post-orgasm bliss, but he can’t seem to break himself from you, collapsed and clutching onto your smaller frame like it’s the only thing tethering him to this earth.

“Eren,” you finally say weakly, voice muffled as you smack at his shoulder, “you’re heavy.”

“Sorry,” he grunts, rolling off of you reluctantly. Your crumpled, naked form is still there, still so tempting and soft and warm. Your eyes are shut, so you don’t see Eren’s tentative hand reach for your hip, just wanting to rub a thumb comfortingly over the bone there, before he pulls back, second-guessing himself. A few pregnant beats pass by, Eren biting his tongue and holding his breath as he waits for you to make the first move, to direct him into how to speak to you after what’s just happened.

“I need to shower,” you finally say, words coming out in a breathless admission.

“Yeah,” Eren answers lamely, sitting up and looking around your room. There’s postcards from almost every country imaginable, tacked above your desk and fluttering in the breeze from your heating system. The desk itself is a wreck, dozens of papers and books scattered around in seemingly no order. Eren notices a little stuffed teddy bear tossed onto the floor and picks it up with a smile, placing it back against your pillows.

“Are you…”

“Am I…?” Eren looks at you, hoping that his pleading gaze isn’t too horribly obvious.

“I think Historia will kill me if she sees you leaving in the morning.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, Eren swears he can see something like regret fly over your face, and you turn your back to him instantly, scrounging around on the ground..

“I don’t know,” Eren wheezes through his shellshock, trying to force out a nonchalant chuckle that only sounds strangled and tense, “she’s pretty short. I don’t know how she could manage it.”

“You’d be surprised,” you slip a bathrobe over your shoulders and grant him a mirthless smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Eren dresses in the heavy silence that’s fallen over the room, pulling his shirt over his head and having to inwardly brace himself to face you. Eren’s comfortable with himself, probably knows a little too well that he’s an attractive guy, but he feels completely naked even fully clothed when he turns around to see you, standing all cozy and fucked out and sleepy in your fuzzy robe.

“So…” Eren trails off, wanting to smack his own face for speaking first.

“Have a good night, I guess,” you look up at him and then quickly away, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. Eren steels himself, lets every bit of courage he can find in his body rise to his mouth, forcing it to move.

“Are we, you know, good?”

“Good?”

“We said a lot of things to each other back there,” Eren can’t meet your gaze, can practically feel his face burning as he scratches anxiously at the back of his head. When he forces himself to look at you, there’s something odd and unreadable in your eyes. Are you sad? No, you’re smiling. Well, sort of smiling– it looks contrived, not real. But you’re not angry, not entirely.

“Yeah, I’m good if you are.” That stupid, insincere smile is still twisting your features. 

Eren doesn’t like the look of dishonesty on you, but he’s fought enough for tonight. He’s sad, spent, and tired, and he figures it’s hopeless anyway.

“Okay, good,” he makes his way to your bedroom door, fingers twitching for the feel of your skin under his, eyes damn near watering, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“See ya.”

And with that, Eren’s left alone in the cold of your apartment hallway, alone and sickened by the feelings of satisfaction and longing swirling in his chest.

[uhhh-ghouls007]

Am I sick in the head or has everyone crafted worlds in their mind where Neil Perry survived and became a doctor like his dad wanted, or became a Shakespeare actor like he wanted? Guys? We all do that right?

[oifaaa]

Jason is such a meticulous planner that he makes Hamlet seem impulsive.

Everyone keeps mentioning hamlet and I'm not gonna lie guys I've never actually read or even know what hamlets about (this is not an invitation to explain hamlet to me I'm enjoying my hamletless existence) so anyway I'm just gonna take your word for it

[luckylunatix]

I give a very minimal amount of fucks about the US HHN icons but I would take a bullet for this silly little critter right here

[jennycalendar]

i have no opinion on fred/wesley (they exist primarily in a season of ats i will almost certainly never watch, so it’s hard for me to really have a take on them either way) but every time i am reminded of that much ado about nothing movie that exists, i am struck by how hard the fred/wesley fans won in at least that regard. like how cool does it have to be that your ship went the way of all whedonverse ships but you still get to see the actors being cute? and as BENEDICK AND BEATRICE? i personally would die. i would never recover. i’d own a physical copy of that movie and tell everyone about it

[cinderellasfella]

Me all day today

(forgive my dearth of photoshop skills with that first one lol)

[cleverclove]

Ophelia and Hero should kiss actually. As a little treat.

[bunnis-monsters]

Ovulating girlfriend who is too shy to ask her towering demon boyfriend to breed her. He can smell and see her desperateness, so he teases her to try to coax out the begging but she is just too flustered. The way she smells and her flustered form almost drives him to madness, so he takes matters into his own hands...

NSFW

He knew with just a whiff that you were ovulating and needy, and without much ado he was between your thighs, his thumb pressing against the large wet spot in your panties and rubbing against your clit.

“Mmm, someone’s made a mess. You need me, baby?”

Your face felt hot, and you turned your head away, refusing to look at him. This only excites him more, and he began to circle his thumb around your clit, applying more pressure.

“C’mon, we both know you’re desperate to be bred. Can’t you just say it, sweet thing?”

The scent of your body being so fertile and ready to breed was making him a bit light headed, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to tease you for much longer before he snapped and mounted you himself.

“P-please…”

Your eyes were full of needy tears, your hips bucking lightly as you struggled to keep your movements under control. Your body was screaming at you to let him pump you full of his seed, to give you a baby…

“Please what, darling?”

The desperation in your eyes and the needy tears falling down your cheeks nearly moved him, but he stayed quiet, staring down at you.

“Please… I need you… w-wanna have your baby!”

With that he growled, pinning you roughly as his cock pressed against your tight, soaked cunt.

“Shh, you’ll get your baby. I won’t stop until you’re so full of my cum you can’t even think.”

His cock pushed into you, and he but down on your shoulder as he fucked you like a wild animal.

He couldn’t hold back, not when you smelled like a bitch in heat.

Your pussy clenched deliciously around him, and you were able to cum almost instantly. He had teased and riled you up, edging you, all now you were bursting.

He filled your belly with his cum, only stopping when your fat tummy bulged with his seed.

Tomorrow, he’d breed you again until you were no longer ovulating.

He’d be getting you pregnant, that’s for sure.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog

[theragethatisdesire]

much ado about nothing chapter 8 - plug!eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

um. hi. i am so nervous about posting this i could die, not because anything too significant happens, but it's been so long. this is not a super action-y chapter, but it's necessary, so bare with me. there's a good bit between the lines, so if anything's confusing, hit up my ask box or just hit me up to chat bc i love this story. we're getting close to the end, but i am .... sad about it. i love this eren. i love much ado. without further theatrics from me.... enjoy!!!!! <3

specific cws: swearing, mentions of drug use, alcohol, mentions of sex

want to catch up? series masterlist here<3

-

“Love is like a child, That longs for everything it can come by.” - The Two Gentlemen of Verona by William Shakespeare (Act III, Scene 1)

“It’s about time you got up! I got bagels from– oh, hey,” Historia falters when she catches sight of you and Eren, finally having made your first appearance for the day even though it’s well past 10:00.

“You again?” Ymir says with a snicker, walking past Historia with the aforementioned bagels swinging beside her legs with every step.

“Ymir!” Historia hisses, shooting you an apologetic look. Your face warms, knowing exactly what you look like right now: hair a mess, bruises covering your neck and chest, and the telltale sheen of guilt practically glowing in a halo around your head. Eren’s not much better off; there are angry red scratches down his entire back under his hoodie, and his eyes are hooded and heavy with that satisfied, I just got laid glimmer to them. He looks good like this, you think, sluggish and weighted down with the work he’d put in on your body all night and all morning. Cocky and satiated.

“Where are the bagels from?” You peek into the bag that Ymir dropped on the counter, shaking yourself out of your private admiration and sidestepping the obvious elephant in the room in favor of filling your grumbling stomach.

“That place on Melrose, but I only got three…” Historia looks sheepishly to Eren in apology.

“He’s on his way out,” you answer for him. Eren nods affirmatively, shuffling over to the doorway where his enormous sneakers are thrown alongside a small collection of yours and Historia’s shoes.

“Leaving so soon?” Ymir’s eyebrows raise in uncharacteristic interest, looking between you and Eren, who don’t seem able to truly meet each other’s eyes.

“Busy,” Eren grunts, slipping his shoes on, “I’ll see you–”

“Tuesday, right?” You say around a mouthful of bagel, still not quite meeting his gaze.

“Tuesday,” Eren looks to the sky like he’s mentally penciling you in to his schedule, nodding after a moment, “got it.”

“Merry Christmas!” You call out as he makes his exit, throwing a hand up in acknowledgement and farewell. A few heavy seconds of silence pass, the only sound in the room being the noisy smacking of the cream cheese bagel that you’re practically inhaling as Historia stares at you.

“That was…awkward,” Historia starts cautiously. You frown at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen two people that just fucked look less like they want to be in the same room,” Ymir says from the couch, punctuating her statement with a sharp laugh, “I mean, is it that awkward when you have sex?”

“It wasn’t awkward,” you cross your arms defensively, narrowing your eyes, “we’re just…casual.”

“Eren looked sort of tense,” Historia adds thoughtfully, a little line of worry appearing between her eyebrows.

“I’m sure his family’s been talking to him a bunch with the holidays coming up. Maybe that’s it, I wouldn’t know,” you shrug, not meeting Historia’s gaze. You can almost feel her smug, understanding nodding, seeing right through you.

“So you’re still not talking, then.”

“Of course we talk. You just watched us talk.”

“Not like you used to,” Historia counters, crossing her arms.

“So?” You scoff, letting your annoyance erupt in the form of tearing your bagel into little bite-sized pieces. Historia’s right, she’s right way too often for you to live with.

“You liked him. A lot. And he liked you. What happened?”

“You never told us,” Ymir echoes from the couch, “the last thing you told me at least was that you and Sasha went to Scout’s, Eren practically fought Floch, you slept with him for some reason after that, and the next thing we know, he’s here every morning.”

“Not every morning,” you mumble, rolling your eyes petulantly.

“That doesn’t matter,” Historia says impatiently, waving Ymir off, “it’s been weeks of…I don’t even know what to call it– this weird, awkward no-talking just-fucking thing. What happened?”

“We made up,” you shrug, staring at her blankly, “we’re fuck buddies. It’s not something that needs to be, like, picked apart and analyzed.”

“It absolutely does,” Historia argues, “you went from making goo-goo eyes at each other and staying up all night hogging the couch to what may the be the weirdest fuck-buddy relationship I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

“It’s not weird,” you groan, throwing your hands over your eyes in exasperation.

“Is it Breeze?”

“What?” you hiss, pulling your hands from your face to narrow your eyes at Ymir, “what would this have to do with her?”

“I heard she’s staying for awhile, just moved into those snazzy new apartments across from the farmer’s market.” Ymir is either unaware of or unphased by your immediate aggression. She delivers her statement matter-of-factly, twirling one of her many rings idly. Her nonchalance makes you prickle, and Historia notices.

“Is it Breeze?” Historia asks, watching your reaction carefully. “Are she and Eren talking again? Or is he with you?”

“I don’t know what Eren does in his free time,” you roll your eyes, “much less if he’s got anything going on with Breeze right now. It’s not my business.”

“Granted, I don’t see how he could even find the time to deal with Breeze with how often he’s over here,” Ymir scoffs.

“Don’t you two have packing to do?” you ask in a desperate attempt to change the conversation topic. Luckily, Ymir takes the bait.

“We finally finished,” she shoots Historia a meaningful glance, “but our flight doesn’t leave for another four hours, so we don’t need to head to the airport until noon.”

Great. Your patience has already worn thin with the both of them for the day, and just as you’re formulating a plan to bid them goodbye and drag your exhausted body into a shower, Historia jumps ahead of you with yet another question that you don’t necessarily want to answer.

“Have you heard from your mom?”

“Bits and pieces,” you answer, twiddling the hem of your t-shirt between your fingers, “she and Tom are in Costa Rica right now.”

“No invite?” Ymir questions wryly, cocking an eyebrow. Historia shoots her a reprimanding glare, but Ymir’s callous humor is exactly what you need at the moment.

“Of course not,” you say with a chuckle, shrugging, “but she sent me some sweet pictures. They’re cute together.”

“I think Tom is my favorite of the recent boyfriends,” Historia concedes with a small smile.

“He’s definitely better than that asshole from Dubai, that’s for sure.” Ymir nods affirmatively, the unspoken voice of reason in relation to your mother’s dating life.

A few minutes of idle chit chat later, you’re able to excuse yourself to shower, ducking behind the curtain and into the steaming, nonjudgmental spray of water. Your theory these days is that turning the water up to an unbearable heat may scald the weight of everything on your mind off of your shoulders. It hasn’t worked yet, but you’ll keep trying.

Christmas isn’t your favorite season by any means, not since your parents’ divorce. It’s a solitary season for you, one for contemplation and baking. You don’t not enjoy spending Christmas’ alone; after so many years, you’ve started your own little traditions, and while you know the concept of someone spending Christmas alone is objectively sad, you’ve grown to prefer your own company over that of your mother and her boyfriend of the year. She’ll send you her American Express information along with a text to “Go crazy! Anything your little heart desires!” and you’ll spend Christmas Eve playing Santa for yourself, watching movies, and stuffing your face with whatever sugary treat you decide to throw together.

Okay, maybe it is a little sad, but it’s your tradition.

Ymir and Historia leave for the airport, and unsurprisingly, Historia begs you to catch a flight to come with them because “No one should be alone on Christmas!”. You only falter when Ymir begrudgingly extends an invitation, the first year in the three you’ve known them that she’s done so. Ymir shrugs and blushes when you and Historia stare at her in disbelief, claiming it’s because you seem like you have a lot on your mind. She’s not wrong, but you wave them off to Ymir’s parents’ anyway, assuring them you’ll Facetime on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, just to check in.

You don’t consider Historia’s offer until you’ve curled up under a blanket, the fifth or sixth mind-numbing, standard Christmas movie you’d selected not quite doing the trick of silencing your thoughts. You open your phone, pull up your recent texts; maybe reaching out to someone for some lazy, technology-driven conversation will do the trick.

First is Historia, per usual, sending you a barrage of selfies of her and Ymir’s family playing a board game. Even in your melancholy state, the sight of Ymir with her mouth stretched comically wide around a plastic game piece, scowling through her ridiculous expression, makes you snort to yourself.

Second is your mother, sending you an update about her and Tom’s dinner reservation getting canceled amidst short-staffing at the resort restaurant. You roll your eyes at that one; for your mother, the end of the world will surely present itself as a minor inconvenience at a five-star establishment.

Third is Sasha, checking in amidst the holiday season. She tells you that Hitch loved the little self-care package that she put together as a thoughtful, but casual Christmas gift. You text your congratulations back to her, feeling an unfair pang of envy hitting you.

Fourth is…oh, god, you shouldn’t have let yourself get this far. Eren. He’s still saved in your phone as “Eren 10 Shadows User Jaeger”; instead of making you giggle, his idiotic, self-placed contact name only makes a hollow thud ring through the confines of your empty chest. Feeling a bit like twisting the knife, you start scrolling through your texts, frowning at how short and unsubstantial each message is.

> Outside.

> tonight? 10ish?

> Be there in 10.

> i can venmo you for the doordash

> Don’t worry ab it.

The most painful part of all of it is, if you scroll just a bit further, back into the crisper autumn months, the messages aren’t so dry. In fact, in hindsight, Eren seems smitten with you. The messages still give you butterflies.

> Are you in your office was gonna pick up 104 otw to yours but I don’t want it to get cold.:)

> Is developing the six eyes the key to getting you to like me as much as you like Gojo?

> Just did a drop at the library and spied you w your kiddos across the room I didn’t say hey bc I didn’t want you to yell at me (bc youre rude) but you look HOT.

> Got your fav cookie dough to soften the blow for you when we start shibuya arc tonight be there in 10 nerd.

You groan and toss your phone to the other end of the couch, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. What are you doing? Why can’t you just talk to him, tell him that he’s all you think about, that every time he touches you, you swear that it burns an imprint into your skin?

Because it’s not real, your mind helpfully supplies. Breeze. Luke. Rumors. You’re clearly not over Luke if you drunkenly texted him that night at Paradis, right? Or maybe you’re projecting your old feelings for Luke onto Eren? Is that really something you’re prepared to gamble with?

And if you weren’t mess enough, Eren’s only been the commitment type for one woman in his life; out of the many that you know have rotated in and out, your statistical chance of becoming the second is slim. Not to mention the fact that the only woman he’s ever committed to has just moved in a whopping five minutes down the road from you, and is apparently interested in re-opening doors that you had assumed were closed.

With a huff, you grab your phone from where it's nestled into the cushions and check the time. 11:04pm. Still plenty of time to run down to the bodega and scrounge around for some cookie dough, maybe a cheap bottle of wine.

That’s motivation enough to shake you out of your wallowing state, and after you’ve pulled a pair of slouchy gray sweatpants over your pj shorts and thigh-high socks, you’re shoving your feet into some slippers and shuffling down the street, arms crossed over your chest in a feeble attempt to protect yourself from the biting wind. The shock of the cold numbs you to the bone, a welcome reprieve from the watery, shaky feeling that’s been brewing in your chest all night. You storm through it, noticing your breathing get a little looser with every step, feeling very much like you could stay out here all night, leave all of your problems cooped up in your lonely little apartment.

The bodega’s a certifiable ghost town, as expected. You only have your lucky stars to thank that the owners aren’t religious and are willing to stay open this late the night before Christmas Eve. You give a weak wave to the heavyset man behind the counter, a gesture that he doesn’t return. Figures.

Luckily, with most of the students on campus having left for home days ago, the shelves and refrigerators are still mostly-stocked with everything you’ll need. Item 1: cookie dough. A pack of the Pilsbury reindeer sugar cookies should do nicely; delicious and small enough that eating the entire package won’t depress you too much. Item 2: cheap wine. You round the corner a bit too quickly in your excitement, running headfirst into a tall stranger that you didn’t notice upon entering the store.

“I’m so sorry, I wasn’t–” your voice cuts itself off as the man in question’s irritation slowly slides off of his face. A tentative murmur of your name comes through wind-chapped lips, bloodshot eyes widening in surprise.

“What are you doing here?” Eren’s brow crinkles almost comically, furrowing into a frustrated little divot between his reddened eyes as he tries to make sense of why you’re standing in front of him. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Technically not for another forty minutes,” you counter, checking your watch, “and I could ask you the same thing.”

“You know me, not exactly the family type.” Eren shrugs, a bit of the tension melting off of him. And he isn’t wrong; you do know. During the period of yours and Eren’s less-complicated friendship, he had divulged little bits and pieces of his home life, not enough to give you the full picture, but at least enough that you feel like an ass for not realizing why he was spending Christmas alone. Dead mother, asshole father, overbearing stepmom, try-hard brother. You can’t exactly blame him.

He looks heartbreakingly soft; wrapped in one of his classic massive hoodies, hair tucked beneath a cozy beanie, nose and cheeks kissed slightly pink from the cold winter winds. He’s clearly stoned, eyes heavy, muted, and slow-moving as he looks down at you. It’s all you can do to hold yourself back from cupping his face, breathing warmth back into him. Your fingers clutch a little tighter around the cookie dough in your hand, mimicking the swell of emotion that chokes your heart in your chest.

“Right, sorry.”

“That brings us back to square one. What are you doing here?”

The longing for closeness in your heart hasn’t quite outweighed the sadness and awkwardness of the situation, and you opt to deflect again. Unhealthy, but functional. “Buying wine.”

“And cookie dough?” Eren raises an eyebrow at your currently-occupied left hand. “Did you just get dumped by Santa?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No. It’s my Christmas tradition.”

When Eren’s gaze softens into something thoughtful, green eyes raking painfully over your bundled-up form, you realize you’ve let your guard down. Even that simple statement has bared something to him, given him yet another piece of you to hold– maybe to drop. It sends a nervous chill over you, and you drop your eyes to the floor amidst a pregnant moment of understanding silence.

“Here.”

You flit your gaze back up to Eren’s outstretched hand. He’s holding a bottle of Pinot Grigio– your favorite kind of cheap Pinot Grigio, at that. When you dare to look up at his face, you can’t read it, no surprise there, but if you had to guess? Something like warmth, something like the beginnings of a familiarity you hadn’t realized had been growing.

When you hesitate to take it, a little too long apparently, Eren pulls the bottle back up to his face, squinting at it, and moving it further and closer from his face. With a stuttered chuckle, you realize he’s trying to read the label.

“Is this not the one? I swear I saw it in your fridge–”

“No, that’s it.” You reach up and pull the bottle from him, momentarily shaken out of your stupor. “Where are your glasses? Were you planning on stumbling around the bodega asking the clerk to read all the labels for you?”

“I left ‘em at your house forever ago,” Eren admits, a bashful hand running over the back of his neck, “keep forgetting to grab them on my way out.”

“That’s right.” Your face grows warm at the mention of Eren– the same Eren who’s in front of you, adorably bundled up and cheeks pink with embarrassment– in your home. The things Eren’s been doing in your home as of late.

More like I’m not giving you enough time to grab them, you reflect with a grimace. Eren’s presence in your life has been hot and momentary over the last weeks since your run-in at Scout’s; you’ve made a habit of not keeping him around long enough for conversation, pleasantries, even so much as nabbing those readers out of your nightstand. Even after this short interaction, a vicious stroke of memory reminds you why you’ve kept your distance– Eren’s charming. He’s thoughtful, he’s kind, he’s funny, he’s so careful with you sometimes it makes your fingers shake. And now, with him beginning to turn away from you, giving you a sad and half-hearted goodbye and preparing himself to check out with whatever meager snacks he’s gathered, you don’t think you can keep observing your emotional vigil anymore.

The first flutters of snow have begun to coat the ground and there’s a cold, Christmas wind rattling at the shop windows and you’re holding the bottle of wine to your chest so hard you might be bruising your ribs when you decide to take a chance on him.

“Eren!”

He turns on his heel slowly, as if he’s about to raise his hands and call a truce. His eyes betray nothing but confusion, but if you squint, if you let yourself believe just a bit…you want to believe that he looks a little hopeful.

“Do you…do you want to come over?”

“Right now?” Eren cocks his head in disbelief. It crushes you a little how far out of the realm of possibility it’s become for you to just…want to spend time with him. The blow to your ego and his lack of immediate response nearly bring your newfound courage to its knees, but you push on.

“I can’t eat all of these by myself,” you lie, “and I have better food than that in my pantry.”

Eren eyes the two bags of chips he’s holding in one hand, looks back at you almost like he’s waiting for the punchline. You do your best to smile in a friendly, I-totally-won’t-cry-later-if-you-say-no type of way and snatch another bottle of wine off the shelf.

“I think they’re two-for-one anyway,” you say with an airy chuckle, “no one needs to be alone on Christmas.”

A shaky smile shatters Eren’s hesitant expression, and he cocks an eyebrow, raises his hooded eyes to the sky like he’s thinking it over. “Uh…yeah, I guess I have room in my schedule to keep you company.”

“Oh, get over yourself,” you scoff, the relief viscerally warming you from your growing smile to your fingertips, “and you’re buying after that one.”

“Some fucked up plan you got there,” Eren chuckles to himself, placing your wine and snacks on the counter, “tracking your fuck buddy down at the bodega and guilting him into buying you wine and snacks.”

“Eren,” you hiss, smacking him in retribution, masking the burn of his choice of words with embarrassment. It’s true, you’ve both wordlessly agreed upon it, but the reminder stings. You shoot an apologetic look to the clerk, but he’s entirely apathetic, reciting the total to Eren in a monotone voice. Your unnecessary chagrin only makes Eren giggle harder, earning him an eye roll from you.

The short walk back to your car is filled with some intentional tightrope walking between unnecessary etiquette (Eren insisting upon walking with you to your apartment, saying he’ll grab his car later; you pulling your Venmo app up, trying to assure him that making him pay was a joke) and the banter that you’d established between yourselves upon first meeting, the easy conversation you used to enjoy whenever you liked. Even as you both lull into that familiar rhythm of jokes, stomping through the light dusting of snow side-by-side, you can feel the precariousness of it all. Who’s going to be the first to decide that you’re too close? Who’s going to run away? Who’s going to wish they had run after them?

“Smells nice in here,” Eren remarks, bending down to tug at the laces of his heavy Docs once he’s made it past the threshold of your door.

“It’s about to smell even better.” Suddenly overcome with nervous jitters that Eren’s in your apartment with no part of his mouth on you, you scurry over to the oven to begin preheating it, urgently in need of something to do with your hands.

“Where’s ‘Stor?” Eren ambles along behind you, seemingly far more at ease than you judging by the way he slouches against the counter.

“Ymir’s parents have them come up that way every year.”

“You didn’t want to go?”

“It’s their thing.” You try to disguise the sudden tightness in your voice with a tinny note of disbelief, as if Eren should have inherently known that you elected this lonely Christmas celebration. “Hand me a baking sheet?”

“Where?”

“Down there.”

Your intonation must have carried the desired effect because Eren doesn’t press the matter further, following your instructions and producing a rectangular pan from one of the lower cabinets of your kitchen. You work wordlessly and in tandem with one another. Eren produces two wine glasses when he sees you scrounging around in the drawer for a corkscrew; he begins to scoop healthy dollops of cookie dough from the package with the spoon you hand him as you pour two not-so-healthy glasses of wine for you both. The silence is interrupted by Eren’s poorly-muffled snickers when he watches you take your first sip of wine.

“What?”

“Am I that bad?” Eren directs a playful, but meaningful, glance at your wine glass, a fourth of which you’ve just knocked back in one sip. You feel your cheeks warming, and you stick your tongue out at him.

“Has nothing to do with you. Just…thirsty.”

"Is it awkward? Me being here?"

"I invited you," you say, not quite wanting to acknowledge that, yes, being around him fully-clothed is a little strange. It isn't an unwelcome strangeness, but you're not about to let that little confession fly either.

“We used to be friends,” Eren muses quietly, uncharacteristically outspoken. That makes your eyes widen; you almost wonder if he’s spoken without meaning to.

“We’re still friends,” you murmur against the rim of your glass, taking another large swig. Eren shrugs, very focused on portioning out the cookie dough. “We are.”

“I know.” Something about his voice shatters you, makes your fingers grip around your glass tight enough to break. You can almost see the self-provided rejection flitting across his face; it’s quick, but it’s cold enough to feel.

“Eren–”

“Friends.” Eren’s eyes flit over towards you in a gesture of laying arms down, and his lips tighten in a smile that threatens you to challenge the tentative peace he’s building between you both. The word stings when it hits you, bittersweet and ironic. Another fourth of your wine disappears in a single sip, and you smile back in a way that you hope looks more kind than it feels disparaged.

The cookies are baked, the necessary seating arrangements are settled upon, the glasses are refilled, and soon you’re snuggled up on the right side of your couch, feet stretched into Eren’s lap, practically dozing off to a Christmas romcom. Eren is, surprisingly, enthralled, intensely focused on the television and leaning forward in a way that’s bending your ankles uncomfortably but is too adorable to tell him to stop.

“So he’s not going to chase her?” Eren turns to you, devastated and frowning a bit. You snort into your second glass, finding his furrowed brow and flushed cheeks funnier than the mayhem that’s been building on the screen for the last hour.

“You have to watch!” You kick him meaningfully.

Eren receives your kick like a child, groaning dramatically and shooting you a look cold enough to kill. He throws himself back into the couch, absentmindedly taking one of your sock-covered feet in his massive hands and kneading his thumbs into the arch of your foot. He presses into a particularly tender spot, working a soft groan of appreciation from you; Eren’s lips tighten, and he subtly moves your heels a little further away from his crotch, but he doesn’t stop his ministrations. He rubs firm circles into the sides of your ankles, running a thumb up your leg to the back of your knee, beginning to extend his massage up your leg.

A breathy moan falls from your lips, and though he doesn’t turn to look at you, the corner of Eren’s mouth quirks up.

“Feel good?”

“Mhm,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut. You can hear the rustle of Eren’s hair against the couch as he nods, the movie now long faded away into your peripheral focus.

Just as you’re beginning to truly melt into yourself, scooching just the littlest bit towards Eren so he can start rubbing at your thighs, something glimmers into your consciousness. Eren’s your fuck buddy, he said it himself at the store. The gooey, soft emotion that’s welling in your chest, the thing that’s rendering you spineless and malleable that you don’t dare to name– it’s unseemly. The realization crashes over you like a bucket of ice water, raising goosebumps on the back of your neck and causing your eyes to fly open.

Something sickly and sour curls behind your ribs, darkening the contented little glow that had begun to grow there. You feel sick, you feel sixteen again, you feel like a lamb being fattened up for the slaughter. Eren’s not Prince Charming; he’s your fuck buddy, just like he said. You’d done a thorough job of establishing that dynamic, and you remember that as sweet as everything around you might taste, it’s artificial. He’s here for something.

Eren doesn’t notice the change in your demeanor, the stiffening in your muscles; not until you’re climbing into his lap, at least.

“What are you–”

You cut him off by slotting your lips against his, gripping into his shirt with such a fervor that the self-loathing behind it could be confused for mindless want. Eren hesitantly reciprocates, hands sliding down your waist and landing firmly at your hips, leaving a soft impression in the skin there. You rake your fingers through his hair, kissing him deeper and more frantically, bringing your hands down to tug at the hem of your sweatshirt–

“Hey.” Eren’s quiet voice against your lips freezes you where you are, fingers still twisted in the bottom of your shirt.

“What?”

“What’s all this?” Eren’s hand is against your cheek, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. It’s so gentle it nearly burns, scalds against the cold, callous arousal you’ve built up in yourself.

“I don’t understand.” Your voice is weak, all the fire you’ve contrived fizzling out as your words cross the barely-there gap between your mouth and Eren’s. Your hands fall into the space shared between your laps, fingers curling and uncurling to mask the tremble running through them. Your gaze stays fixed on them, monitoring for any visible signs of weakness, unable to glance up to meet Eren. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” Eren murmurs, forehead pressed unwaveringly against yours, “you didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It was nice,” Eren says, a little breathless and disbelieving, “it was nice before.”

“So don’t you want…this?”

“I mean, yes. I always want this,” Eren punctuates his statement with an airy chuckle, rubbing his hands up and down your sides, “but I don’t always need it.”

“I feel like I upset you.” You can’t stop the embarrassed frown from working its way onto your face amidst your confusion. This…this is what you and Eren do. Now that it’s been refused, you don’t know where to put your wandering hands, where to tuck the rush of needing to touch him.

“I’m not upset,” Eren says, still barely audible as he thumbs at your chin, “you made my shitty day a lot less shitty, actually.”

“Why was it shitty?”

“My dad.” Something dark and coarse has infused his voice now, rasping against the warm air between you. Despite the rough tone of his voice, Eren’s moving a hand up and down your back soothingly, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. It works– your body goes slack in his hold, slumping against his chest and nuzzling your nose into his shoulder. “Won’t bore you with the details.”

“Tell me.”

“You don’t want to–”

“I do.” You pull back from where he’s pinned you, bringing your forehead back to rest against his. “Even if I’m just your fuck buddy. You can talk to me.”

Eren sighs, heavy and resigned. Even with your vision blurred by how close you are to him, you can see a wry smile twisting the corner of his mouth. “You’re not my fuck buddy.”

“I know. Friends, right?” You hardly dare to breathe against him, heart thudding viciously in your throat to the point that you worry Eren might hear. It’s not a word that encompasses what you feel for him, the mess you’ve both created between yourselves, but it’s your scapegoat, your fallback. No matter how many times you catch his lingering glance as he leaves you in the morning, no matter how often you delve into a bottle of wine and hover your thumb over his contact, no matter how closely he haunts your every thought. Friends.

The hint of a smile disappears from his face. Eren shakes his head against yours, fingers ghosting along your thigh, up your arm until he lands his hand over yours, curls them together in a loose fist against his chest.

“No.” You aren’t sure that you’ve heard him correctly, how quietly he speaks.

“No?”

“No,” Eren confirms, tightening his grip around your hand, “we’re not friends.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the same time Eren’s eyes flit up to meet yours, doubling down on the little confession he’s breathed into you. You’re powerless to do anything under the weight of your fear, your relief, your confusion. It’s enough for now, the understanding that no, you’re not friends and maybe you’ve never been, hanging between you and making the air a little more palatable.

“Not friends.” A little nod from you draws a shaky exhale from Eren, an answering nod of his own, and it feels like you both have mutually agreed to set whatever’s been building, whatever’s too-hot-to-touch, to the side for the time being. It’s enough.

He holds you, and you let him, despite the growing ache in your hips, the restlessness of your feet as they fall asleep. Eren tells you about his father, the career path he’s still afraid to go down. You tell him about your mother, how the emotional distance between you always manages to somehow be greater than the geographical, how love is her number one priority except when it comes from you. Both of you listen in reverence as you map out your scars for each other, delving into what’s healed and skating carefully over the parts that are still tender.

The couple on-screen reunites with a zoom shot and a dramatic kiss in the Christmas snow. The soaring orchestral number that accompanies their reunification is one that’s just loud enough to cover the sound of you and Eren’s hearts beating in tandem, and the clatter of his phone vibrating repeatedly on the kitchen counter.

[titanicnerd-blog]

Chapters: 5/6 Fandom: Much Ado About Nothing (1993), Much Ado About Nothing - Shakespeare Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hero/Don John (Much Ado About Nothing), Don John & Don Pedro (Much Ado About Nothing), Don Pedro (Much Ado About Nothing)/Original Character(s) Characters: Don John (Much Ado About Nothing), Hero (Much Ado About Nothing), Don Pedro (Much Ado About Nothing), Original Female Character(s), Original Male Character(s) Additional Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Inspired by Much Ado About Nothing, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fluff and Smut, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, soft Don John, Angry Hero, soft happy sex, not too explicit but you'll get the point, angst then smut then more angst, feral Don John Summary:

In this twist of Much Ado About Nothing canon, it is John who is a legitimate heir and Hero who is not; it is Hero who is unloved by her father and John who is set to become King when his own father dies.

[newnotebook]

Much Ado About Nothing WWII Cast

Who would you cast in an adaptation of Much Ado about Nothing set during WWII? The characters are SOE agents.

I'm inclined to imagine Hayley Atwell or Vanessa Kirby as Beatrice.

[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!"

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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.

[wolfofansbach]

BEING A LIST OF THE THIRTEEN GREATEST RIVERDALE LINES, ON THE OCCASION OF THAT SHOW'S TERMINATION

As our much loved/hated show comes to an end, I feel compelled to record, for posterity, the greatest thirteen pieces of dialogue to spring from the pens of RAS and his henchmen. It was, of course, originally a top ten list, but I simply could not exclude a few of these treasures. Without further ado: 

13. 

“I dropped out in the 4th grade, to sell drugs, to support my nana.” 

“That means you haven't known the triumphs and defeats, the epic highs and lows of high school football.” 

Spoken by: an inmate of Leopold and Loeb Juvenile Detention Center, and Archie Andrews. 

In: 3 x 2 

Yeah, okay, this one had to be on the list. It’s funny, I’ll admit. It’s a great example of the overwrought semi-sincere melodrama that helped make this show so special. It’s low on the list largely because The Normies got their hands on it, so every time I hear someone make a reference I get all “do not cite the deep magic to me, witch.” 

12. 

“No! No! What are we supposed to do now? I’m horny as heck!”

Spoken by: Archie Andrews 

In: 7 x 16

Season 7 is undeniably dreadful, and yet there are diamonds in the rough. The occasion is the failure of a projector, just as Archie and Reggie prepare to watch a pornographic film. The utter desperation with which KJ Apa delivers this line is exquisite. One is made to feel they are witnessing a genuine tragedy. 

11. 

“Tonight, they’re making an exception and debuting a cover of the song my parents claim they were listening to the night Jason and I were conceived.” 

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom. 

In: 1 x 1 

Really a fantastic line. A wonderful encapsulation of the casual absurdity of Cheryl’s character, and a foretaste of the lunacy we would plumb in later episodes and seasons. 

10. 

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m weird. I’m a weirdo. I don’t fit in and I don’t want to fit in. Have you ever seen me without this stupid hat on? That’s weird.” 

Spoken by: Jughead Jones

In: 1 x 10

A genuine classic. “High school football” before “high school football.” One is never entirely sure just how sincere the line is meant to be, both on a meta-level and in-universe. A perfect illumination of Jughead’s pretentiousness. It is made all the better by the occasional cuts to Lili Reinhard’s agonized face. 

9. 

“At the last dance, multiple students were murdered.” 

Spoken by: Principal Holden Honey. 

In: 4 x 2

Delivered as an explanation to Toni and Cheryl, as to why there would be no school dance this year. Principal Honey is in fact supremely rational in the cancellation of this dance. This being Riverdale, he is of course treated as an unreasonable tyrant. 

8. 

“Bro, I know all the secrets of this universe.” 

Spoken by: Archie Andrews (evil version)

In: 6 x 5 

Spoken as evil Archie reveals his evil plan to keep the parallel universes apart. KJ Apa’s delivery once again makes this line. He is comically sinister. Strangely, he sells it. 

7. 

“A Vughead kiss, right now, in the present might be precisely what it takes to save a future Bughead from imploding.” 

Spoken by: Jughead Jones. 

In: 2 x 14

One of those lines that both makes me laugh and makes me genuinely angry. This was a fairly early season, and this may have actually been the first line to get me asking, ‘did they genuinely write and deliver that?’ Extra points for use of the atrocious ‘Vughead’ portmanteau ship name rather than ‘Jeronica.’ 

6. 

“I’m the ultimate wild card. I am the daughter of The Black Hood. The nightmare from next door. I’m training with the FBI and I’m coming for you, you psycho bitch.” 

Spoken by: Betty Cooper

In: 4 x 14 

Just delicious. Another one of those lines that leaves you somewhat unsure whether or not the writers understood how genuinely hysterical it was. “The Nightmare from Next Door” sounds like an announcer hyping up a wrestler. Spoken with a raw sincerity by Lili Reinhart. Also points for the heavy homoeroticism between Betty and Donna. 

5. 

“For I am Cheryl Blossom, Queen of the Bees.” 

Spoken by: Cheryl Blossom.

In: 5 x 16. 

This one really doesn’t require any elaboration. 

4. 

“Elijah ascended…and I will, too.” 

Spoken by: Edgar Evernever.

In: 4 x 5. 

Admittedly, this one is only spectacular with context. But in context—the context being that Chad Michael Murray delivers this line while dressed like Evel Knievel and standing in a cartoon rocket right out of a Warner Bros cartoon—it becomes utterly magnificent. 

3. 

“It’s not queer baiting, it’s saving the world.” 

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge. 

In: 6 x 22. 

It’s actually hard for me to decide whether this one is funnier with or without context. Without context it’s wonderful, but it possibly becomes even funnier when you know that the context is that Veronica needs to kiss Cheryl to transfer superpowers into her body so she can turn into a Scarlet Witch knock-off and stop a magic comet summoned by Sephiroth an English wizard who is also the Devil. 

2. 

“If there’s no wedding reception, it means the Gargoyle King has won.” 

Spoken by: Kevin Keller. 

In: 3 x 12.

One of my personal favorites. This is a perfect line because like #3, it requires no real elaboration. There is absolutely no context in which it isn’t hysterical. 

1 .

“Word of my exploits serving Nick his comeuppance has seeped into the demimonde of mobsters and molls my father used to associate with, so the five families are sending their youngest and brightest, their ‘princes,’ as it were to, well, come court the rare Mafia Princess who can belly up to the bar with the big boys.

Spoken by: Veronica Lodge. 

In: 2 x 20. 

This is, in my opinion, the all-timer. Every word is perfect. The rapid-fire alliteration. The use of the word ‘demimonde.’ The entirely unnecessary addition of ‘as it were.’ This is borderline Dr. Seuss. The fact that Camila Mendes delivered it without cracking a smile should have won her an Emmy. No. An Oscar. This line is Riverdale. 

[brujaluas]

what made you and them unique to each other?

double tarot reading from each other's perspective <3

you guys… this reading gave me a lot of work SO I THINK IT WOULD BE GREAT IF YOU SHOW IN SOME WAY IF YOU LIKED THE READING, BE IT BY COMMENTING, OR AT LEAST FAVORITE IT HERE, IF NOT I WILL LET MY LATIN MOTHER SPIRIT ACT UPON YOU, but this is obviously not a threat, I love you like I love Hello Kitty, without further ado, let's go!!!!

pile 1

why did your future spouse choose you over anyone else?

hm, your future spouses are the naughty type hehe, they felt an intense attraction to you right from the first moment, as soon as they laid eyes on you they wanted to infiltrate your skin, they found you the hottest, most interesting, most attractive and captivating person they have ever met and look, they have met a lot of people lol but don't think superficially, they felt that you are the light of their life, the sun, the earth, the moon and the stars (too poetic)

why did you choose your future spouse over another?

They gave you a sense of freedom and space, some here like or need to learn to be alone, in their solitude and they gave you that space, for you to love yourself, and they also saw your worst, you may meet them at a bad time in your life, you may even be frustrated because you didn't want to meet your spouse in such circumstances but they will see your worst, you think you should trust only to yourself but this not true, they will choose to stay, without any strings attached and leaving you free the way you like but always giving you a message of being close by.

pile 2

why did your future spouse choose you over anyone else?

they will see you as someone very cool, you will be the best friend they were asking the universe for, it is as if you brought relief to their lives, even if you fight a lot here, you find a way to get back together, it is as if they had a lot of traumas and were starting to have new deep connections with people and you would be there from the beginning

why did you choose your future spouse over another?

they have an excellent masculine energy that makes you feel very good and comfortable, they are responsible, they are great providers in your life, they love and adore you very much and you feel this love, it is as if they tell you exactly what to do for you to see that you are truly loved by them.

pile 3

why did your future spouse choose you over anyone else?

Well, they may have been through a lot of turbulent things in their lives, including health problems, and you may have the chance to meet them when they are feeling down, but somehow, you will act as the best doctor they could ever receive, a therapist, a friend, a shoulder to cry on, the solution to their problems, they will start to find life beautiful again because you will show them that life is worth living.

I AM IN TEARS

why did you choose your future spouse over another?

Hmm, you have had bad relationships where your partners brought out the worst in you, you could have constant jealousy, possessiveness and aggressiveness with words or attitudes, when in fact you are not like that, but unfortunately when we are with low vibration people they always bring out the worst in us, which is regrettable, you have already sacrificed a lot in this life, but now with your spouse all this is behind you, you can act like the loving person that you are, the sweet person you were born to be

(hug me sisters and brothers)

[deerspherestudios]

i just finished day 3 and i am LOSINNNGGGG ITT genuinely my favorite indie vn FOR SURE! i have so many things to say but i don’t want to overwhelm you so i’ll keep it brief(er than i could), i promise!

after finishing day 3 i found out september is national mushroom month and WOWW THE UNIVERSE LOVES YOU IT IS ON YOUR SIDE AS A DEV

i played the first 2 days again and your improvement is so noticeable even though you were already so good ahdhjdjsjd—my favorite vn i’ll say it again—the slow burn and character development is SO SO IMPRESSIVE FOR THE SCOPE OF THIS! and the lore you drop based on different dialogue options is amazing. just so amazing…im in love with you /j

now that day 3 is posted… can we get an update on the meter of mycheal’s feelings for the player? for community discussion!! (do you remember that did i explain that well?)

GRAH IM NOT KEEPING IT AS BRIEF AS I THOUGHT I WOULD BUT I PROMISE YOU SHOULD BE IMPRESSED WITH THIS BECAUSE THERE IS SO MUCH MORE I WANT TO SAY! but i’ll let day 3 simmer for a bit before i let people see the foam in my mouth and steam in my racing brain. im so excited to see everyone’s thoughts, reactions, and content for this *sobs*

A a a tysm for the enthusiasm , ,, I appreciate you sharing your thoughts!! I actually got your other ask which I'll respond to as well because it was so sweet but without further ado:

1. I GENUINELY didn't mean to release the new update on National Mushroom Month that was completely a coincidence hahaha! Plenty remember I promised to release it sometime in August but it really was a funny coincidence.

2. Oh my god it's funny you mentioned that; looking back at the backgrounds I did in Day 1 I really couldn't keep my artstyle consistent for the life of me 😭But I'm flattered you've noticed the improvement! And yes! I definitely wanted to make each choice worth choosing in terms of lore, with a few flavor texts thrown in for personalization.

3. I definitely remember! I'm surprised the community remembers pfbt. Trust me, I've gotten a bunch of asks about and here it is-

Oh.

Hm.

Seems like you've gotten him confused,,,

Edit: If the chart seems confusing, here's the explanation!

[jonathansthickthighs]

My Sweetest Heart 5: Yandere! Fushiguro Toji 𝐱 Reader (Toji’s POV)

Description: You had a one night stand with Toji and now he won’t leave you alone.

Warnings: yandere, obsessive behavior, female reader, toxic behavior, DARK CONTENT, GORE (slight), murder, jealousy, possessive behavior, stalking, desperate toji, slight smut, unprotected sex (wrap it up), mentions of baby trapping, breeding kink?, daddy kink, masturbation, alternative universe (no curses), age gap (reader is in her early 20’s, toji is in his mid 30’s)

A/N: Greetings, reader. I wanna thank you for all the love you showed this mini series, I really really appreciate it <3. Without further ado, here is the final chapter! It’s a little different as it is written completely in Toji’s POV and it’s also slightly darker that the previous ones, so read at your own risk! Hope you enjoy :)

Italics = flashbacks

NOT EDITED!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Masterlist

You’re mine.

The instant my eyes landed on you, I knew that was my destiny— the sole purpose for my existence in this floating sphere we call Earth. From that fateful night onward, I became aware. I became aware of what a man truly in love is capable of. All things suddenly made sense, and I felt everything. The gentle breeze caressing my skin was almost like an imitation of your soft hand running through my tough-to-the touch skin. The sun kissing my face with the same passion as your tender lips. Those romance movies and novels I once detested now played endlessly in my mind, imagining it was us, living our own life as a happy couple.

You make me vulnerable.

Vulnerability used to be such a foreign feeling to me, not even experiencing it as a child. It makes me feel weak— you make me weak. But I’ve learned to accept this newfound fragility because I love you. This vulnerability, it’s truly a disconcerting sensation, like exposing an unarmored heart to the world— to you. You’re my world. You’ve taught me more about life than I could have ever imagine, something I wouldn’t expect from someone so young. At your age, I was nothing more than an ignorant boy who didn’t understand or cared about anything. Yet, in your presence, I’ve come to see vulnerability as a strength. Loving you has taught me that this feeling is not about weakness, but about trust and intimacy. Allowing you to see the depths of my soul and getting the same in return from you has made me find solace in those moments. I now embrace the beautiful feeling of vulnerability because thanks to you, it makes me feel like the strongest man alive.

I know I have one or two… loose screws.

I can be an incredibly jealous and territorial man when it comes to you. Insecurity floods my mind at any minimum interaction you have with a man, in particular men your age. No matter how much you reassured me on your desire to only be with me and my age not being an issue to you, there was always a little voice in my head that made me erupt. I know you had lost count of how many times I had caused a scene in public, getting all up in the other man’s face with threats of violence. You’d barely manage to drag me with out of the place, apologizing profusely as you begged the owners to not call the police on your problematic boyfriend. Remember those times? I’m deeply sorry, sweetheart, I’m aware of how much I embarrassed you. It wasn’t my intention, but each occasion I would spot a man eyeing you up, I couldn’t control myself from going ballistic. You are every man’s dream, a vision of beauty too pure for this ugly world. That’s why I can’t let them have you— I’m just trying to protect you.

Even when you didn’t like situations I put you in, I am certain you loved the aftermath. Pistoling my thick cock in your heavenly hole, claiming what’s mine always made my jealousy and insecurities dissipate. Your scream and moans only confirmed how much you enjoyed giving yourself to me. Make up sex with you was so intense and passionate, it almost made me want to start fights with you constantly. Your slick juices coating my cock was evidence of your arousal. You loved make up sex as much as I did. I can’t help myself from remembering how many times you moaned into my ear that me you belonged only to me, making my heart leap in joy. I stay up night after night reminiscing in those precious moments, those are memories I will always hold close to my heart and continue to long for.

“F-fuck me! This pussy is yours, Toji! I belong to you, only you!” Your whines were muffled by my hand placed on the side of your face, pressing your head into the mattress, thrusting my cock into your dripping cunt from behind. The way you moaned my name, telling me you were mine making my cock throb from the overbearing arousal. You could never fully grasp how you make me feel because it transcends anything this world could offer. It’s something beyond words, beyond earthly experiences, as if it belongs to a place untouched by time and space.

“You better not be lying to me, sweetheart. No other man can have you like this, this pretty little hole was made for my cock only!” Delivering a harsh slap to your ass, I could feel myself getting riled up at the imagine of another man seeing you in this position. It wasn’t your fault men wouldn’t stop throwing themselves at you, but I just wish you weren’t so fucking nice about it. Your kindness only encourages them and it makes me sick. It makes me feel like you like the attention and I’m not here for it. All your attention should be on me!

I continued spanking your now sore globes, hearing you let out whimpers, not able to identify if they’re from pain, pleasure or a mixture of both. I was so angry at you I couldn’t bring myself to care. I wanted to hurt you like you hurt me. “Toji, I’m not lying. I’m only yours. P-please!” You sobbed and I felt my heart drop when I saw actual tears falling from your eyes. This is were I draw the line, if there was something I couldn’t stand was seeing you cry. Forcing myself to stop, I removed my hand from the side of your face to wipe your tears away gently, calling your name.

“No! Don’t stop! It feels s’good, Toji!” My eyes widened briefly, but I couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped my lips. You were crying from pleasure. As much as I hate to see you cry, I can’t keep myself from thinking about how absolutely beautiful you look when you do. The way your skin glows, your eyes sparkle and your lips puff up is like a work of art. An art piece of incalculable value that nobody but me can admire.

“What a fucking slut. You like -hah- being punished don’t you, baby? You like being used by me.” I hissed as I started thrusting into your tight pussy fast and hard, loving the way your ass bounced with each rough stroke I gave you. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, your ass received another firm slap from my hand, making you cry out as your cunt clenched around me. Gods, your pussy is delicious. Nothing felt better than you. Our first night solidified our bond, the connection between us felt so strong I thought it to be impossible for you to not feel the same way.

I could tell by your constant clenching that you were going to release your delectable nectar all over my pulsing cock, which made a wave of relief wash over me as I’d been holding my own release from the moment I felt your slickness engulf me. I absolutely love coming inside you, but it’s a shame you’re on birth control. Those damn pills never cease to piss me off. My intention from the first time we had sex was to impregnate you. It mortifies me to admit that one of the main reasons I came inside you so many times that night was in hopes of baby trapping you so I’d be in your life one way or another, but now that you’re my woman I truly desire to become a father for reasons beyond tying you to me for life. I want to have a family with you.

“Are you gonna let me put a baby in you, huh, sweetheart?” I dare to ask you as I move my hand down to play with your swollen clit because I know how much you love it when I do.

“Yes, daddy! Please, fill me up.” I couldn’t stop my eyes from rolling back from the pleasure, you’re just so good to me. I knew your answer wouldn’t be as positive if my dick wasn’t inside you, but I enjoy the way you feed into my delusions when I’m fucking you, knowing you’d say yes to anything I ask as long as I’m rearranging your insides. Your little plea was all it took for me to paint your insides white, releasing rope after rope of semen hoping that this time you’d be part of that 0.1% of the cases where birth control fails. I felt you coming around me, milking me of all I had, squeezing me so tightly I felt as if I might be trapped inside you forever.

“I love you so much, Toji.”

You broke up with me.

The way you told me you loved me replayed in my mind every hour of every day since that moment. For the first time in my life, I cried. I cried in front of you, raw and vulnerable, and I begged you not to leave me. Despite my tears and pleas, you still walked away, leaving me with a hole in my chest. It’s a cold world, but I’d be lying if I said didn’t drive you to this point.

You found out. About everything.

You hadn’t heard from your friends in months and you weren’t aware of their reasoning for ignoring you so cruelly. You noticed they had blocked you, noticing your messages weren’t going through, the same as your calls. I knew you were thinking to yourself if ditching them a few times good enough reason for them to kick you out of their lives like you meant nothing to them. Years of friendship and memories down the drain because something as insignificant as this. It made you ponder if only you had managed your time more wisely maybe you would’ve still had their friendship.

I listened to you vent about it, trying to understand what you did to deserve this treatment. I was your shoulder to cry on. I had been nothing more than supportive towards you. In a matter of a few months I became your unconditional companion, the greatest reason for your happiness. I could tell you were developing an emotional dependence on me and I knew it startled you, but I liked it. Having you depend on me gave you another reason to not leave me and I would rely on that for as long as I could.

In spite of your growing dependency on me, you felt our love was too good to be true and that’s when you started digging.

You ran into one of your former best friends at the store and despite her efforts to avoid you, your feet strode towards her with unyielding determination and you confronted her. You could tell she was nervous. She had all the reasons to be. After our phone call, I decided that wasn’t enough to keep her away, so I had one of my… “coworkers” pay her a little visit, but only to give her a scare. Nothing serious, only a threat to end her life if she did as much as look in your direction. She’s a bad influence to you, doll, and you know it. Always going out clubbing, encouraging you to talk to men and to let them put their dirty hands on you. Always telling you that there’s nothing wrong with wearing revealing clothes in public like you’re some common whore. You know I don’t like it when you show off what’s supposed to be preserved for my eyes only. I can’t allow that type of friendship. Don’t you understand that’s how relationships get ruined? I’m just trying to protect you.

With hesitation, your best friend spoke to you, her fists gripping the handle of the shopping cart tightly. Her face twisted with pain as she began to speak, her words seemingly causing her physical discomfort. She told you everything, and you stood there, a perplexed expression on your face, unable to believe a words she uttered. You yelled at her for even attempting to tarnish my image in such way, and you have no idea how happy that made me. Yet, despite your anger, the hairs in your skin stood on end, a silent signal from your intuition urging you to believe her.

Remember the shaken feeling you got when I grabbed you by the hair the morning after we first made love, sweetheart? That’s exactly how you felt this very moment. But to my benefit, you were in denial. I knew she’d be a problem from the start and after all my efforts, she keeps getting in the way of our love. That stupid bitch. She went as far as telling you, through tears, that she feared for your life. As if I would do anything to hurt you. She even suggested fleeing from Japan with her. The mere thought filled me with simmering rage. I would never allow such a thing, and you were ever to disappear from my life because of her fault, I would search every corner of the globe, every hidden crevice, until I found you.

You stormed out of the store feeling agitated, trying to control your breath. I could tell you wanted nothing more than to stomp into my place to yell and scream at me, but to my surprise, you were calm when you arrived. You were so serene it was almost frightening.

That night you let me have my way with you, but it was different. The usual sparkle in your eye had vanished, replaced by a lifeless, hollow stare— I could barely get a moan out of you.

“Sweetheart, you seem out of it tonight. Is everything all right?”

I inquired, stopping my thrusts, concerned about your lack of emotion. I had always been able to read you, but this time I couldn’t decipher your thoughts. The only thing that I could think of was that you believed your best friend’s words, but what were you thinking about doing about it? Your confrontational nature had fooled me into thinking you’d touch the topic with me right away, but the way you were so inside your thoughts made anxiety bubble up inside me.

“I’m fine, Toji. I’m just tired. Let’s keep going.” You answered offering me a smile, but the smile didn’t reach your eyes like it usually did.

I can’t explain why I kept going, but I did. You started moaning, but to me—someone who has made you moan like a bitch in heat innumerable times— it was obvious they were fake moans. I could feel my body trembling from a mixture of pleasure and apprehension and I came inside you the same way I did every night. You didn’t orgasm that night. All you did was wait for me to roll off you as I held you with my face buried in your neck. I held you like it’d be our last night together. As soon as I moved away from you warm body, you rushed to the bathroom to take a shower as if you were disgusted about giving yourself to me.

“I love you, sweetheart.” I hesitantly said as I got up to walk after you, but the only answer I got was a door slammed in my face.

That night, I should have held you longer.

Hours turned into days, days turned into a week without a single word from you. My phone became a repository of unanswered texts and calls, each one a silent plea for your return. I wandered past your house, hoping to catch a glimpse of you, but it stood empty. Your absence was haunting me. No physical or mental torture I had endured compared to the pain I felt. Thoughts invaded my mind, did you actually go along with your friends’ plan and fled the country? Noticing all of your important belongings were still at your place, that couldn’t be a possibility.

I sighed deeply as I lay on your bed, the familiar scent of your shampoo enveloping me as the aroma clung to your pillows. I let my eyelids fall shut reminiscing in all the nights we spent together on this very bed, in particular our first. I couldn’t stop my cock from hardening at the combination of your scent and the memories. My eyes landed on your laundry basket, a black thong catching my attention. I recall the time you wore it for me, you looked absolutely immaculate in this little piece. I rose from the bed making my way towards it, gripping it tightly in my fist as I brought it up to my nose. My cock twitched as the ghost of your scent still lingered on it. This brought back old memories of the times I broke into your apartment before you even knew of my existence. All the countless times I sprawled myself on your bed, messing up your bedsheets as I masturbated to your scent. All those times I would orgasm merely from the feeling of your silky sheets on my bare cock as I would grind my hips against them.

I fell back on your bed as I continued to inhale what was left of your scent, feeling the tent in my sweatpants grow larger. Biting my lip, I pulled the waistband down, feeling relief as my erection sprung free from its retrains. I let out a shaky breath as I gripped the base of my cock. I missed you so much, going a week without seeing you, hearing your voice— a week without your touch, had been excruciating.

I stroked my cock slowly, trying to mimic the way you would tease me. “P-please, sweetheart. I n-need you.” I beseeched into the air, hoping that would make you somehow grace me with your presence. I proceeded to pump myself faster, using the precum that was accumulating on my swollen tip as lubricant, making my cock slick and shiny— only a mere imitation of how your juices coated it.

Running my tongue over the spot where your scent lingered, I squeezed the base of my cock to prevent myself from coming already. “I need to taste you, baby. Please, please, please.” I felt pathetic having to recur to these methods again, but the desperation you caused in me was mind-boggling. The stimulation was too much for me, I couldn’t hold it anymore. I removed your underwear from my face before I started stroking my cock with them, feeling it pulse, knowing those panties that were now touching my member, were once so close to your pretty cunt.

“Please, come back to me.” Wincing, I felt my cock throb painfully, my tone laced with exasperation. Salty tears welled my weary orbs, each drop a testament to the growing ache of your absence. The pain of not having you with me becoming unbearable with every passing moment. I can no longer endure not having you. It was in this moment that I saw clarity, I deemed taking drastic measures necessary if I wanted to hold you in my arms once more.

“F-fuck, baby. I’m gonna come! You gon’ take daddy’s cum?” I whimpered, feeling like my cock was about to burst from excitement. My movements were lacking coordination at this point and I rutted into my hand as my cum started tainting your panties, shivering as my toes curled at the delightful sensation something as simple as your underwear brought to me. Clinging to your sheets, I breathe as I attempt to control my breath, feeling my remaining tears subside.

As I continued to lay there I started getting flashbacks from our last day together. The day our relationship ended.

“We need to talk.” Your voice echoed through the room the moment you stepped into my place, and my heart leaped, its rhythm quickened with the weight of impending confrontation. You were finally ready to address what had happened at the store with your best friend. I had been dreading this moment, enduring all these agonizing days of anxiety. It was clear you had reached the end of your patience, unwilling to bear the mental turmoil any longer.

I cleared my throat, striving to make my voice sound firm as I feigning ignorance. “What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” I asked, summoning the courage to meet your face. My heart burned at the sight of your distressed expression on your face. I was so accustomed to seeing you always smiling so prettily at me that the contrast was a reminder of how big of a mistake I made. Perhaps I should’ve found a more subtle way to drive you away from your friends without causing this heartache.

You glared at me as you took a seat at the dining table, and I swallowed hard, sitting across from you. “Never did it ever cross my mind that I would have a conversation like this with you Toji.” You began, a deep sigh escaping your lips as you laced your fingers together in front of you. The disappointment and anger in your tone cut deep, but remained quiet as I allowed you to continue.

“You saw me cry and complain day after day about my friends and you knew. You knew the reason they stayed away from me, yet you still let me suffer.” You let out, your voice trembling with emotion.

“Sweetheart—“

“Shut the fuck up and listen to me. You’re not allowed to utter another word until I am done talking!” You demanded, raising your voice. My eyes widened in astonishment, for you had never spoken to me in that tone before. The look of betrayal on your face was unmistakable, and I knew it was all my fault.

“She told me everything you said to her that day on the phone, Toji. And you sent someone to threaten her too?! Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” You exclaimed, disbelief etched across your face. I couldn’t meet your gaze, my eyes falling to the floor. I couldn’t bear to see the hurt on your usually bright expression. “Gosh, you can’t even look at me. I didn’t want to believe it, but the way you look right now is proof enough for me.” You laughed bitterly, shaking your head.

“And if that wasn’t enough, you already knew that I knew!” My mouth was agape. As those words left your lips, my heart plummeted to my stomach, and I was sure I looked like a deer caught in headlights.

What?

No, no, no.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that, sweetheart. You though you were so slick, didn’t you?” You spat, running a hand through your hair in frustration before continuing. “I saw you, Toji! You were following me and I know you heard our conversation. You knew I was aware of what you had done and fucked me right after I got home from the store like nothing even happened!” By now, you were full on sobbing and I felt a foreign tightness on my throat, as if it was closing up, making it hard to breathe.

It literally felt like a knot in my throat.

Wait, why does my face feel wet?

My eyes felt like they were burning. Salty tears were cascading down my cheeks as my chest tightened, each breath shallow and uneven. I could feel my face contorting with a mix of surprise and agony, muscles twitching involuntarily. After failed attempts to stifle the sob that rose from the deep within, it escaped. I felt a hollow ache in my throat and all I could see was a blurry image of you.

For the first time in my life I was crying.

“Really? You’re crying? This isn’t the first time you’ve followed me has it, Toji?” You inquired, a painful expression painted in your tear stained face. I couldn't keep lying to you any longer and I would most likely regret admitting to this, but I did. All I could manage to do was shake my head, making you burry your face in your hands as more sobs were released from deep within your chest.

“Fuck! How many times? How long?” You questioned, rising to your feet, slamming your hand against the table. I shook my head, refusing to answer as I bit my lips to prevent more cries to leave my lips. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I could only pray this was all a nightmare and that I would wake up from this torment in the morning with you cuddled up in my arms.

“Answer me! How. Long.”

I gulped hard, before mustering up the courage to say, “A while.”

You ran a hand over your face, before taking a deep breath. “W-what does that mean? How long exactly is “a while”?”

“A c-couple of months before we met—“

“Before we met?!” You jaw slacked, and you regarded me as though I hailed from another realm entirely. This entire ordeal forces me to entertain the notion that abducting you might have been a more merciful path to our togetherness. Initially challenging, yes, but eventually, Stockholm Syndrome would set in, and you would come to love me… wouldn’t you?

“Y-you’re t-telling me that night we met at the b-bar, wasn’t the our f-first time meeting?” You stuttered, nerves overtaking your body. Why did you look so scared of me? Hadn’t you realized by now I would never do anything to harm you? At least not intentionally.

All I did was shake my head before I standing from my seat, striding toward you. Your tear-filled eyes widened with fear as my towering figure loomed over you. You instinctively stepped back bumping into the kitchen counter, clutching the edges of it so tightly your knuckles paled.

“Sweetheart, there’s no need to be afraid of me.” I started gently, cupping your face in my large hand, eliciting a whimper from you. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done out of love.” And it was true. I knew I’d do anything to keep you by my side, feeling loved, cared for and protected.

“P-please, stop touching me, Toji.” You pleaded, your voice barely audible.

“Don’t ask me that, sweetheart. You’re breaking my heart.” I responded, my voice heavy with emotion. “At one point of my life, I felt undeserving of your love. I thought such an angelic, beautiful creature would never notice a scum such as myself. But that night at the bar, you approached me! You actually came to me! Oh, baby, I was over the moon.” I confessed, a tearful smile gracing my face as I recalled that pivotal moment.

“I knew from that day on that we were meant to be. My feelings weren’t one-sided, sweetheart. You love me just deeply as I love you.” You regarded me with a look that might have seemed incredulous to others, but I didn’t mind. I would do anything to be grazed upon by those breathtaking eyes wether they held love, hate, fear, or disgust— it didn’t matter, as long as they were fixed on me.

“No. No! Let go of me, you fucking creep!” Your sobs echoed through the room as you pounded on my chest, but I refused to release you, even when my heart ached from your insult. Wrapping my arms around your trembling form tightly, I pulled you closer, my grip firm. With a desperate resolve, I sank to my knees, unwilling to let you slip without a fight. If I had to beg for you to stay I would as much as necessary. Every line in your face contorted with pain, your eyes filled with tears that mirrored my own desperation.

“Please, sweetheart. Don’t leave me.” I pleaded, lifting my gaze to meet your grimacing expression.

Without warning, you swung a bottle of Sake from the countertop, striking me across the head with a resounding crack. Stunned and reeling from the blow, I staggered back, momentarily disoriented by the unexpected violence in your part. You fled, sprinting towards the door in a blur of motion and fear, leaving me behind.

I sighed heavily, sitting up on your bed as I rubbed my tired eyes. The events of that day kept replaying relentlessly in my mind, each replay sharpening the ache of uncertainty. You still didn’t know the truth about my occupation, and that haunted me. If you reacted so vehemently to me stalking you, I shudder to imagine your response if you discovered the full extent of my actions. How would you react to me being an assassin? How would you confront the revelation that I was not only stalking you, but taking lives for you, eliminating obstacles in our path to being together?

For now, there’s no need for you to know that information.

I am going to fix this.

Fix us.

I have to say, sweetheart, you really did a number on me with this one.

Who would’ve thought you’d be my most challenging bounty? Two whole weeks— that’s how long it took me to find you. Never in my life had I spent this long perusing a target, but it’s all right, I enjoyed the chase. I felt adrenaline I hadn’t felt in years, a blend of anticipation and thrill surged through me with each lead I followed. Each time I felt closer to you, my body vibrated in excitement. Even amidst my longing for you, the thought of even spotting you from afar felt invigorating.

Now that I found you there was no way I would allow anyone to separate us. Anyone including you.

You were currently passed out in the motel bed while I stood by the window smoking. The soft glow of your phone illuminated the room as I scrolled through your debit card statements, I noticed you had been hopping from one motel to another. Each entry told a story of desperation and fear, a relentless effort to escape from me. A pang of hurt pierced through me as I realized the extent of your actions. You were really spending all of your savings to get away from me? I had believe, perhaps naively, that you harbored genuine feelings for me. Yet, here was the undeniable proof of your running, of your desire to sever our bond.

It seems I was wrong. Love wasn’t something you felt for me, at least not yet. If you didn’t surrender your heart to me willingly, then I would have to take matters into my own hands.

Next to you, on the nightstand, I had bestowed a wonderful gift for you.

Your best friends’ severed little head.

In my desperation, I had gone to her apartment, to try to get information about you out of her. Yet that bitch kept refusing and refusing to cooperate. Each denial chipped away at my patience until there was none left. When it became clear that persuasion was futile, she left me no choice but to break into her apartment to get the information myself. Seething at the lengths I had to go to because of her obstinance, I rummaged through her belongings and electronic until I found a train booking to a town around two hours away when I looked through her laptop. It was definitely for you as it had been forwarded to your email. Dumb bitch.

That woman had an uncanny talent to get under my skin, so I got under hers. Literally.

Doll, if I told you I enjoyed making your friend scream in terror, it would be an understatement. I’m a man of my word. She knew what would go down if she ever came in contact with you again. I’m merely fulfilling my promise. I do have to admit that cleaning up the mess was a pain in the ass, but I withstood it— for you. I’m not even sorry for what you’re about to witness, it was time for you to see the real me. I tried to be better for you, sweetheart, I really did, but if m being honest, you bring out the worst in me. And I love it.

I wasn’t born to be good and you weren’t born to change that. Our fates were intertwined in a dance of contrast, but expecting you to turn me towards light was a fool’s errand. I am who I am and no one— no matter how pure— could change that. I can only wish for your acceptance and comprehension. No matter what you chose to feel for me, I would keep you by my side and show you the same love I always have. Because you’re the only thing I love in this wretched world.

I heard you begin to stir awake, small whimpers leaving your lips as the effects of the drug I had administered you started to fade away. A smirk crept across my face, flicking the remains of my cigarette out the window before striding to were you lay. You squeezed your eyes before slowly opening them, and I couldn’t stop my heart from surging with joy as our eyes met for the first time in weeks. Gods, I missed you.

Your eyes widened when they met mine, and you instinctively crawled back towards the headboard of the bed.

“Mornin’, sleepy head. Slept well?” I questioned as I watched you trying to writhe yourself out of the bed, bumping into the night stand making your friends’ head flop to the ground. Your eyes widened impossibly further and you let out a high pitched scream, covering your mouth with both your hands. “Sweetheart, you need to be more careful. I got this gift just for you and now it’s on the floor.” I tskd before lifting the head up by the hair, dangling it in front of you.

Harsh sobs started escaping your lips as you realized who it was.

“Why are you crying, doll? Don’t you like it?” I asked, feigning disappointment. You shut your eyes and I could tell you were praying this was all a nightmare, but I’m not a nightmare. I’m real and I’m here to stay with you. “Come one, settle down now, baby. You wouldn’t want anyone else to end up like her, do you?” You immediately shook your head. “Yeah that’s what’s I thought.” I said through a chuckle, before setting down the head on the nightstand once again. I sat down on the edge of the bed, itching closer to your trembling form. My hands reached out, cupping your tear stained cheeks. Your skin felt cold and damp beneath my touch.

“W-why a-are you d-doing this, Toji?” You stammered, your voice trembling with horror. You hugged your knees to your chest, trying to create some semblance of a barrier between us, your eyes wide and pleading for an explanation.

“Sweetheart, everything I’ve done for you is because I love you.” I explained softly, my voice laced with the usual tenderness I always addressed you with. “In order to protect our love I’ve been forced to turnt to these measures. It’s the only way to keep us together, to ensure that nothing and no one can come between us!” You were shaking your head in disbelief and I could tell you were starting to feel nauseous. Guilt started washing over me as I realized what I had just made you go through, so I offered you a sincere smile before saying, “I’m so sorry, I promise I’ll get rid of it and she’ll be out of our sight forever.”

I planted a gentle kiss on your cheek, savoring the moment as I inhaled your intoxicating scent as I lingered there. I had never forgotten how addicting it was. A fragrance I had never forgotten, one that was engraved into my memory and haunted my dreams when you weren’t there. Every thing about you was intoxicating and if you were going to be the death of me, I would gladly allow you to kill me. If loving you meant risking everything, even my own demise, then I embraced that fate with no hesitation.

You are my addiction, my sweetest vice, my sweetest heart, and I willingly surrender to your enchantment. For in your arms, I found a love worth any sacrifice.

I grabbed you by the hair just like I did on our first night together, but this time with a firm grip. “Now, Reader, I’m gonna need you to make a decision.”

Are you going to choose to love me or am I gonna have to force you?