#subtle emotional manipulation

[aventurineswife]

platonic aventurine meeting teen/younger reader whos also an avgin who somehow survived

The Last of Us

Summary: Aventurine, the last surviving member of the Avgins, encounters you, a person with strikingly familiar eyes, in a crowded city. The encounter stirs up memories of his past, leading him to wonder how someone else from his people could be alive. Despite his carefully controlled demeanor, he is intrigued by your survival and offers a gift as a gesture of connection. The encounter leaves both of you contemplating the nature of your shared history and future.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Avgin!Teen!Reader, Slow burn, Survival, Intrigue, Psychological tension.

Warnings: Potential for darker themes (survival, manipulation, past trauma), Subtle emotional manipulation, Complex relationship dynamics(?).

Aventurine leaned against the cool marble of the courtyard, the noise of the city behind him almost lost to his thoughts. His fingers, ringed with gold, drummed lightly on the surface of his watch, and his eyes scanned the crowd with practiced ease.

It wasn't supposed to happen.

He had survived it all—betrayal, the fall of his people, and the cruel hand of fate. He was the last of the Avgins, a survivor by sheer luck, and yet, there you were.

A teenager, no older than sixteen, with the same striking eyes that haunted his past. A gaze that mirrored his own.

Aventurine's heart, normally calm in the face of danger, stuttered for a moment. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing you from across the street. You didn't notice him yet, and he made no move to call attention to himself. No, he needed to understand.

Why do you have those eyes?

His lips parted in a thoughtful smile, though it never reached his eyes. How could this be? He, who had thought himself the sole survivor of the Avgins, had now stumbled upon another. But if you were alive… how?

He pushed himself away from the marble wall and moved a few steps forward. His presence was commanding, yet deliberate. The closer he drew, the faster his pulse ran; a feeling of anticipation ran through his veins. He didn't know whether he was more intrigued or unsettled, but he had to know. Had to hear the story that could change everything for him.

"Hello, my friend," he said smoothly, his voice a mix of warmth and curiosity as he stepped into your line of sight. "It seems fate has brought us together."

You looked up, surprised at first, but something in his eyes made you pause. There was no fear behind that gaze; there was only calculation, the kind of look that belonged to someone who had seen the world's cruelty and yet still found a way to push it into being manipulated to their advantage.

His gaze softened slightly as he took another step closer, hands casually slipping into his pockets, but his eyes—those unnervingly captivating eyes—never left you.

“I must admit,” he continued, his voice steady but carrying an undertone of something deeper, “I didn’t expect to see another Avgin. Not after all these years.”

His words hung in the air, an invitation to speak, or remain silent.

You paused, and it was clear that a thousand thoughts had rushed through your mind. You shifted uncomfortably, but there was something about his presence, something almost magnetic, that kept you rooted in place.

"Aventurine," he added, as if that would somehow make you at ease. "You can call me that. It's not often that someone else comes along with a similar history."

There was no urgency in his tone, no need to pry. It was simply curiosity. But underneath that, there was something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

“I... I don’t know what to say.” You looked away for a moment, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve, nervously avoiding his gaze.

"Nothing," he said promptly, his mouth twisting upwards at the corners. "You don't have to say anything, not yet. I'm simply intrigued by your survival. You remind me of someone."

He softened his eyes with the barest trace of nostalgia, before he covered it with a practiced smile. "I won't lie—I'm fascinated. But it's not just about the past. It's about what happens next."

He caught your eyes for a short period; between you, there was some weird sense of understanding, that somehow, he was speaking to himself and not to you. The same loneliness that had driven you both to survive. No pity, though—but in a way, unspoken: You won't be lonely again.

And maybe that was the most shocking of all. A connection, however brief, formed out of sheer chance. And in that moment, the world seemed a little smaller, a little less cold.

Aventurine stepped back, raising his hand in a dramatic, almost theatrical gesture, before pulling out a small, velvet pouch from his coat. He held it out to you, his smile never wavering, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of something more serious.

"Take it," he said, his voice laced with sincerity. "Something small to remind you that you're not alone in this. Not anymore."

You stared at the pouch, weighing his gesture, before you took it, reluctantly. He beamed with pleasure at your hesitation—he knew you would.

"Consider it a gift," he continued, his voice softening. "And maybe... consider it the beginning of a partnership. You see, I believe we could help each other. The world is full of chaos, but perhaps there's a way to navigate it. Together."

He turned his back to you, his form looming against the backdrop of the city, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he had already planned your next move.

“I’ll be around,” he called over his shoulder, that knowing smile still evident in his voice. “I’ll be waiting, my friend.”

But perhaps, just this once, you would gamble with him.

As you watched him walk away, a strange sense of camaraderie lingered in the air. You didn’t know what to make of him yet, but one thing was certain—Aventurine was right. Fate had brought you together, and now it seemed it would keep you entwined in his complex game, whether you liked it or not.

[noirve]

god, armand as a character is giving me serious brainrot. he's such a control freak because he desperately needs to derive meaning from something—anything. whether it's god, rituals, or coven life, he needs to give a purpose to his existence. this is why he upholds these stringent laws and regulations in both of his covens, which are ultimately destroyed by someone he loves who stands outside it all. and he kind of just allows that destruction, despite all of his power, because he is also... bored? it's like he's on autopilot, going through life in this meticulously constructed routine until he meets lestat and later louis, who both refuse to adhere to his carefully crafted structures and disrupt the status quo. this is attractive to armand because deep down, underneath his all masked emotions, he is very lonely and desperate for connection! which is just awfully human for such an ancient powerful being

imagine being this old and alone, how do you endure? armand tries to find value in these rigid structures because otherwise, his life feels empty. "he needs rules to give him purpose" but in the end, this doesn't fulfill him completely because, despite his feigned confidence and stoicism, he is insecure, needy, and traumatized. this is why he seeks out chaos despite having spent all this time trying to control everything and everyone around him. he lets it happen—for love, but also, i think, because unconsciously he desires that total loss of control, which allows him to actually feel something real. every few decades, he almost intentionally lets his entire world, the world he worked so hard to manipulate into his will, be ruined. yet, when he tells daniel he "let it happen," he is lying, too (at least about lestat) because he presents himself as more passive, composed, and reasonable than he really was when his way of life was threatened. he just tells himself that he wanted it that way all along so he remains the one in control. i need to see him crack

[theokusgallery]

Why did you make this AU?

Short answer: I love unethical men.

[reachexceedinggrasp]

Yes the Twelve/Clara stuff I specifically heard is that there's the travelling together/personal enmeshment/the presence of a third love interest representing the mortal world she tries to balance with the new world type of thing, but there's not (yet) the burn-down-the-world investment you have with that pairing, which as I can glean from your posts is very necessary to understanding Twelve/Clara hahaha.

But yeah, I, too, have been trying to resist it, Because I Don't Trust Like That Anymore, and I'm still preoccupied with another pairing eating up all of my fandom energy, but I would never turn my nose up hearing more from people with good taste. I also played New Vegas when I was a teenager, which is considered the best of the Fallout games, and I think it's probably more hopeful than the others? It's also going to be most relevant for the next season, so there's that. You probably know that it needs fan-made patches to run properly without crashes (actually one of the developers released his own patches for it as mods, but they're obsolete now).

It's really funny to see all the fantasy romance enjoyers now being lured into the post-post-apocalyptic setting, lol. When there's a will (a Beauty and the Beast ship) there's a way.

I was initially very hesitant about the show because of the established media property mill, and having watched Westworld, the bad man/nice lady ship was straight-up dark, and after the second season descended into total nonsense. My hope is that the different writer for Fallout doesn't let Jonathan Nolan ever do that again. But it's pretty faithful to the games and one of the original creators, Tim Cain, gave it a pretty glowing review, and that's actually nice to hear. I watch his videos on the YouTubes (they're no frills and actually pretty good) and it's so funny that he doesn't like romance in RPG's because he feels like they're never done very well. Now we put romance in your television show, how do you like that

I'm personally extremely ambivalent about the likelihood of the Fallout pairing evolving beyond flirtation with evil, but who knows? I would love to hear your thoughts on it if you get around to it!

I thought it might be something like that. Yeah, I wouldn't say they were really comparable because the dynamic is very different, but there is the immortal/mortal aspect and him as the knowledgable and hyper-competent native of the larger world versus her more sheltered and ordinary experience. There's the inherent B&tB conflict over power dynamics and emotional vulnerability. But yes lol, part of the essence of Twelve and Clara is us-against-the-universe, being all things to one another, deeply entwined in each other down to the foundations of their identities. Unconditional and unhinged devotion. Which isn't where Ghoulcy is (yet? :D? one can dream).

Oh yeah, just to get further than the menu and actually start a game for Fallout 3 I had to install a mod lmao. My brother was also telling me stop playing that, play New Vegas, it's the best one. But I didn't have NV sitting free in my gog.com library. I got a PS3 version from ebay coming. Hilariously, it's easiest to play the original game, the oldest one. I had zero problems with that on a modern PC.

I know, man. So many times I've sworn off getting invested in anything with such high likelihood of going south or otherwise being disappointing, but the temptation is real. I mean if the second season drops and it goes in a direction I don't like, I would just not watch it, but if they set up something super interesting and squander the potential that's always so frustrating. At least there will be a lot of fic before anyone can rain on the parade.

People are calling attention to the parallels between the characters, but I think we can take for granted they will have a significant relationship going forward, the question is more if it having a redemptive, healing, and/or romantic component is something the writers have considered. If it doesn't hit the first two, I wouldn't want to continue with the show, because that's what's appealing to me about it. If there's a flat token romance with another character for Lucy while her most important and transformative relationship is with Cooper, whom her influence helps reclaim his humanity/decency/hope, that'll annoy me as a missed opportunity but won't make me as sad as if he just stays the same or dies getting revenge or something.

I, too, would have dismissed it as unlikely to be canon (even in a foyay way that doesn't go anywhere) except for how much the creators have emphasised that they wanted him to be attractive and how he's framed very romantically, even heroically by the cinematography (I've seen gifs). That isn't, like, hugely compelling evidence the ship will happen, but it does make it seem like a possibility. It makes me (perhaps foolishly) hope his arc is going in an optimistic direction. If he's literally still wearing a white hat, it's just dirty? I'd honestly put a lot of stock in that.

And maybe I'm basic, but I want my ships to be canon. They don't have to be, I have some that aren't even close, but I do prefer it lol. I like the relationship to be a formative part of the character arcs. If it seems like a good/interesting/satisfying place for the narrative to go, I want it to go there.

[llitchilitchi]

How do MR!dnf handle their relationship with the way things are now? They probably couldn't consider themselves lovers, not with so much going on and so much happened, I feel like there would be moments where they think about it, like a kiss, but don't want to overstep anything

their relationship is strange, to say the least. the last time they spoke was during the dethronement and it feels like a different lifetime, different people entirely. there is the obvious strain and hurt that they dance around and ignore, especially while Dream is recovering, and a strange sense of longing that they only allow themselves to fully embrace when they are all alone late at night. (and Dream wonders sometimes if trying to get closer, romantically, would spell doom to them both, or if George would take it only as Dream taking advantage to guarantee his own safety. either way, this is the one thing he does not want to turn into an attachment or a bargain.)

the possibility of their relationship turning into something romantic shows up only later, down the line, when George and Sapnap learn about the book, the Plan, about Punz and Ranboo and everything else, once Dream knows he can trust them again.

that being said, from the author's perspective, I never intended to make this a dnf au, or at least did not want the romance to be the centerpoint. I want things to be up for interpretation in the weird 'dnf being far too intimate and comfortable with each other and looking at each other with reverence and adoration' way that they have going on. though, looking back, a lot of the AU does revolve around the two of them, so I guess my subconscious took charge there :D

[deadendtracks]

rewatching Mindhunter and they really went above and beyond with Ed Kemper that actor is astounding.

[tyrannuspitch]

Absolutely not.

To be honest, I think this is a classic case of a fan theory where people take parallels and symbolism and try to make them evidence of something black-and-white and completely literal, when they were actually pointing to something much subtler. There are a few details that draw parallels and thereby raise the question (eg Loki telling people to kneel after entering the film on his knees), but there are other details that make it, in my opinion, clearly untrue (eg how Loki argues with the Other, which is not possible for Clint, and the Other threatens him in response, which is not necessary with Clint.)

So like... No, Loki isn't free to stop doing what he's doing, and that is very interesting. But that doesn't have to mean that the literal mechanism of control over Loki is identical to the one he uses on others. There are many different ways to take away someone's freedom, and the film would be much less interesting if it only explored one of them.

Also, given that Loki is a much more developed character than Erik or Clint at the point when the movie begins, I think it was a good storytelling decision to have him under a more grounded and therefore more nuanced means of control. There's more tension and more moral complexity in the relationship between Loki and the Other than Clint and Loki, because Loki is a victim who can still argue back, get angry, and then, when punished for expressing that anger, lash out at others instead. Loki being imperfectly controlled gives him room to be a bad victim, and "bad victim" is... basically the whole point of Loki. He is not breaking the cycle!!

And finally - the fact that Loki can't back out now doesn't mean that no part of him has ever wanted any of this. The most extreme versions of the mind control theory basically call for us to ignore all of Loki's Avengers characterisation, and I think that really flattens him. Yes, Avengers!Loki is a liar, but he's not as opaque as he's trying to be. What he claims to want and to believe is actually incredibly revealing of his inner turmoil (there's a lot of projection, unconvincing denial, etc), and if we dismiss it all as someone else speaking through him, we miss out on some really interesting psychology.

Do you fully believe the theory about Loki being brainwashed (Straight up BRAINWASHED, not just influenced. Not referring to the torture Loki faced at the hands of Thanos, that’s canon/HEAVILY implied, and is not a theory.) by Thanos in The Avengers?

[thermodynamic-comedian]

i've seen some people say that they don't like helen because her specific brand of spiral is too evil and i just wanna say. i love that side of helen so much. i love that she's a lying liar who lies in a condescending and manipulative way. i love that she's a genuine villain, but only ever has friendly conversations with jon and martin.

michael's brand of spiral was very overt. all about confusion and madness and fractals and shapes.

helen is a lot more subtle. a lot more "you know it's fake, but you have to play along" or "you don't know what's going on, but you feel lied to" that girl is playing MIND GAMES she's playing 4d chess with jmart's emotions and i love her for that.

[aventurineswife]

can you do a christmas-centric fic with a dog-human hybrid gn!reader in which he gets them a new dog toy?

In the Spirit of the Season

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sampo x Reader, Dog-Human Hybrid!Reader, Winter Special, Fluff, Christmas , Gift-Giving, Companion Bond, Emotional Depth, Light Manipulation (Aventurine), Subtle Warmth (Sampo), Soft Moments.

Warnings: Mild manipulation, Slightly melancholic undertones in Aventurine's part but nothing major.

The holiday season was a rare moment of peace for Aventurine, a time when the ceaseless political games and high-stakes gambles paused, if only briefly. His lavish penthouse, perched high above the city, was decorated with the finest ornaments. A large, glittering tree stood in the corner, its branches adorned with a mix of gold and silver baubles, but the centerpiece was a peculiar one—a set of dog-themed ornaments scattered around the tree.

Aventurine sat by the window, the early evening glow casting a soft light over his features. His eyes flicked toward the canine hybrid standing in the middle of the room, tilting its head inquisitively. You, the dog-human hybrid, were the one he had rescued from the streets years ago. Over time, your loyalty and companionship had become one of the few things in his life that wasn't a game of manipulation. For all his calculating demeanor, you were one of the very few things he could genuinely care for.

"Are you still staring at that box?" he asked, his voice a soft, amused drawl as you eyed the gift box under the tree, your ears twitching with curiosity. Aventurine's lips curled into a knowing grin. "I suppose you're wondering if it's for you, hm?"

The hybrid nature of your being made it difficult for you to vocalize your excitement, but the gleam in your eyes spoke volumes. Aventurine chuckled and, with his usual flamboyance, walked over and kneeled before you, placing the box in your hands. "It's Christmas," he said, offering the gift with a dramatic flair, "and you've been such a good companion. I figured you deserve something a little special."

You eagerly ripped open the box, and inside was a new dog toy, a plush bone decorated with a mix of red and green fabric that seemed to shimmer in the soft lighting. It was a toy that, like you, had an air of elegance yet function—something that would entertain yet serve as a reminder of his love, masked in his usual complex way.

"Well?" he asked with feigned nonchalance, though there was a soft glint in his eyes. "Is it to your liking?"

You responded with a wag of your tail and an excited bark, your dog-like joy far more genuine than any of the high-society gambits he was used to. In that moment, Aventurine couldn’t help but smile, a smile that wasn't fake, that wasn't a mask for his true feelings. He knelt closer, ruffling your head affectionately, the sharp edges of his usual arrogance softened by the tender moment.

"It's strange," he mused aloud, watching you enjoy the toy, "how something so simple can make everything else feel... less important."

The night grew darker, the city lights below twinkling like stars. Aventurine leaned back in his chair, watching you happily play with your new toy. For all the high-stakes games he had played, for all the manipulations and betrayals, this moment with you—this simple moment of joy—felt like the rarest win of all.

Sampo had never been one for traditions. Christmas was just another excuse to indulge in a bit of frivolity, to make deals under the guise of festivity, and to fill his pockets with a few extra credits. But as he stood outside the door, the chilly winter air nipping at his skin, something was different.

The hybrid dog-human you were, loyal and affectionate, had always been an unexpected part of his life. A few years ago, you’d wandered into his life like a stray, and despite himself, Sampo had grown fond of you. Not in the way most would think, but in his own peculiar way—enough to keep you around, at least.

He knocked, smooth as ever, his usual grin plastered on his face. "I know, I know, you didn’t expect a visit from ol’ Sampo on Christmas Eve, but here I am," he called out, his voice warm and inviting. "Got something special for ya!"

When you opened the door, his eyes immediately landed on you—your dog ears perked up in surprise. Sampo held out a brightly wrapped package, tied with a flashy red ribbon. "For you, my friend. A little token of appreciation for being such a loyal... companion."

You sniffed the package, your eyes narrowing in suspicion as you could sense the usual cunning behind Sampo's antics. But curiosity got the better of you, and you gingerly took the gift from his hands.

Unwrapping the package revealed a colorful, squeaky ball—an odd gift, given Sampo's tendency to prefer more… elaborate schemes. It was, however, clearly chosen with some thought, and as you rolled it across the floor, you could feel the novelty of the gesture.

Sampo let out a light chuckle, his voice smooth. "It's got that squeaky thing, y'know, to keep you entertained. Thought you might like it. You’re always so serious, thought you could use something a little less... businesslike."

The grin on his face betrayed his attempt at playing it cool, but there was a subtle warmth in his eyes as he watched you chase after the ball. For all his self-serving nature, this small act of kindness felt oddly genuine.

"Don’t get used to it," he added with a wink, his mischievous smile returning. "I’m not in the business of giving away free gifts, but hey, consider it a special deal—just for you."

You pounced on the ball, your tail wagging happily as Sampo leaned against the doorframe, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. He would never admit it aloud, but in this moment, surrounded by the quiet of Christmas, there was something comforting about seeing you so happy. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't all about profit. Maybe, there was a little more to the season than Sampo was willing to acknowledge.

As you rolled the ball back toward him, Sampo took a slow breath, the edges of his grin softening just a fraction. "Don’t get any ideas," he said with a playful tone. "But you're welcome."

And just like that, the holiday night felt a little less about the deals, and more about the simple joy of giving.

[cacaitos]

like idk what you want me to say abt transfem gen *theory (not bc it's unimplied or 'not obvious', again just hadnt gave it thought 'till recently). like gen being the 'hand' of violence of the story and all.

[meshiitsukaii]

I FUCKING KNEW IT!!!!

RED YOU LITTLE SHIT. I LOVE YOU BUT YOU LITTLE S H I T.

Four Swords Adventures Manga Fan Comic: Four Swords Returns

Chapter 27: Crimson lies

Pages 870-874

Start | Previous | Next

Shadow's addicted to causing problems.

Like bro go to therapy this shit is beyond petty. X'D

[vunblr]

Wounds and Walls

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Millennial!Female Reader

Warnings: 18+ only. Smut. Unprotected sex. A little angst.

Summary: Bucky starts to walk into his new civilian life but struggles with his painful past, while slowly building a connection with someone who sees through his walls. As the relationship deepens, he must decide if he’s ready for something more, or if he’ll hide and push it all away.

Word Count: About 12k.

note: Revised version. It is the first fic I wrote after many years away from writing and I wasn't entirely happy with the result, so here we are.

Before the government officially recognized Bucky as a victim of Hydra’s manipulation and mandated his participation in Dr. Raynor’s therapy program to avoid prison or other legal consequences, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already stepped in. They proposed a more unconventional approach, enlisting Y/n, a mutant with the extraordinary ability to heal not just physical wounds, but mental and emotional scars. Her mission was clear: stabilize Bucky to reintegrate into civilian life, ensuring he posed no harm to others or himself.

At first, he resisted any form of help from her. His reluctance wasn’t just about pride; it was rooted in years of distrust and the unshakable belief that he had to face his past alone. The idea of a “quick fix” only made him more skeptical, feeding the suspicion that she might be just another tool for the government to keep him under control, another reminder of how he had been manipulated and weaponized as the Winter Soldier.

The Blip had taken an even greater toll on him. The sudden shift in society forced him to adapt to yet another unfamiliar world, one where even the tiny constants he relied on were gone. Steve’s departure cut deeper than he wanted to admit; Bucky had thought they’d face this new world together, brothers in arms like always. Instead, Steve had abandoned him, leaving him to shoulder the weight of his demons alone. It was a wound Bucky hadn’t even begun to process, and one that made accepting help from anyone feel impossible.

Despite his initial resistance, her patient and steady approach began to wear down his defenses. Bucky clung to his reserved, cynical attitude, but he grudgingly allowed himself to cooperate. Slowly, the barriers between them started to lower. Eventually, once it was determined on paper that Bucky was stable and no longer posed a threat, the government had the justification it needed to loosen its grip and adopt a more lenient approach to monitoring his progress. His sessions with her came to an official end, and he was granted a conditional release, with the requirement that he continue regular therapy sessions with Dr. Raynor.

As part of his reintegration, Bucky was “strongly encouraged” to take up temporary residence in a carefully selected apartment building. It wasn’t long before he made a startling discovery: Y/n “coincidentally” lived in the same building, and even more “coincidentally,” in the apartment next door. Bucky couldn’t shake the suspicion that someone had orchestrated this arrangement, placing her nearby as a subtle, silent support system.

She hadn’t expected to see Bucky in the hallway of her apartment building. It had been a perfectly ordinary afternoon until she spotted him, effortlessly carrying what looked like bags of clothes in one hand while balancing a microwave over his opposite shoulder like it weighed nothing. When their eyes met, she caught the fleeting shock on his face before he quickly masked it, his expression slipping into something more neutral.

Curious and more than a little suspicious, she approached him with raised eyebrows. They exchanged awkward pleasantries—Bucky, ever the man of few words, offered a brief explanation: the government had rented the apartment for him as part of his continued reintegration.

It felt almost too convenient. Her thoughts immediately flickered to S.H.I.E.L.D., and she couldn’t help but suspect they’d had a hand in this arrangement. Maybe someone wants me to work for free, she mused with a wry smile

Their mismatched schedules during the week meant they rarely crossed paths, and for a while, their lives remained parallel but distant. Sundays, however, became the exception—though not intentionally at first. It started one rainy weekend when the power went out in the building, and she’d knocked on his door, flashlight in hand, to check if he needed anything. She’d half-expected him to brush her off, but to her surprise, he opened the door and invited her in, muttering something about “safety in numbers” as he gestured toward his couch.

They spent the evening with candles flickering between them, sharing the leftovers she’d brought over and exchanging stilted small talk that eventually gave way to a more comfortable quiet. He didn’t share much, but he didn’t seem to mind listening as she filled the gaps with anecdotes and idle chatter.

The next Sunday, she knocked on his door to ask for sugar for a cake she was baking, half-expecting him not to have any. To her surprise, he did. When she mentioned the cake, she noticed a flicker of interest in his usually blank expression. Feeling a little bold, she offered to bring him a slice as thanks. He doubted but eventually nodded, admitting that he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had homemade food.

Later, when she knocked again to deliver the cake, he opened the door looking awkward, but unexpectedly offered her coffee in return. She hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside. He was watching a documentary about the '90s, and as they sat with their mismatched mugs, the screen played a segment on music. The first notes of Step by Step by New Kids on the Block filled the room, and she couldn’t help but laugh, confessing that she used to love the song as a kid and would dance to it in her living room at five years old. He let out a barely-there smile, the kind that vanished almost as quickly as it came. It wasn’t much, but it felt significant, like the first stone in a bridge being laid.

Over time, Sundays became their unspoken ritual. Sometimes they’d watch movies or documentaries. Other times, they’d just sit together, her talking while he listened, occasionally nodding or grunting in response.

She never pressed him to talk, and he appreciated the lack of expectation. Her presence was steady, unobtrusive, and comforting, like the soft hum of a fan on a hot day, something he hadn’t realized he needed until it became a constant.

As time passed, something shifted between them, and Bucky began to open up, little by little. The cracks in his walls revealed glimpses of the man beneath the brooding exterior, and she couldn’t help but notice the subtle changes. His shoulders seemed less tense during their Sunday hangouts, and he started to relax more on the couch. Occasionally, there was a slight uptick in his voice when he shared a rare observation or commented on a movie. Though he wasn’t exactly chatty, she could tell he was trying. His words were sparse but deliberate, and as he grew more comfortable, he began to contribute to their conversations in his understated way. A dry comment here, a thoughtful observation there, his eyes met hers more often, and the silences between his responses felt less heavy, settling into something warm and companionable.

As the weeks turned into months, she realized her feelings for him were beginning to shift too. Thoughts of Bucky started to linger beyond their casual Sunday hangouts. It wasn’t just the time they spent together that stayed with her; it was the way she found herself worrying about him on the days they didn’t cross paths, or when he seemed more withdrawn during their conversations. Her mind wandered in unexpected ways, catching herself stealing glances at him that were far from innocent.

It was hard to ignore just how handsome he was, how effortlessly he made her heart skip a beat. The way his blue eyes glimmered on the rare occasions he smiled, or the way her breath hitched when he stretched on the couch, offering a fleeting glimpse of his lower abs, left her feeling like a schoolgirl with a serious crush.

-----

One Friday night, piercing screams shattered her sleep. The sounds were raw and anguished, cutting through the stillness of the apartment. They were coming from the other side of the thin wall—Bucky’s place. She froze, her heart pounding as she recognized the unmistakable signs of a nightmare. But this wasn’t like the restless murmurs or muffled groans she’d overheard in the past. These screams were different, drenched in pain and terror.

Her stomach knotted with worry as she quickly got out of bed, moving toward the balcony the two apartments shared. A low, weathered wooden fence separated their spaces, and she hesitated for only a moment before climbing onto a flowerpot, swung one leg over the fence, and then struggled to follow with the other, cursing her pathetic fitness level as she landed awkwardly on the other side, graceless and unstable.

Peering through the glass of the sliding door, she saw him on the floor, tangled in his sheets, tossing and turning violently. His movements were frantic, his face contorted in fear and anguish as he thrashed against whatever demons haunted him.

“HET!” he cried out desperately, the guttural sound ripping through the room. “Pozhaluysta, prekrati!”

Her heart clenched at the sight. This wasn’t just a bad dream, it was a vivid, visceral reliving of some past trauma. She had no doubt it was connected to his time under HYDRA’s control.

Without thinking, she opened the door and stepped inside. Moving carefully, she approached him, the floor creaking softly beneath her feet. His screams ebbed into harsh, labored breaths, but his body remained tense, caught in the grip of the nightmare. Slowly, she knelt beside him and, with a tentative hand, brushed his hair back from his damp forehead.

As she touched him, she sent a gentle wave of healing energy through him, hoping to ease his turmoil. Her powers couldn’t erase memories, but they could soften the edges of his distress and dull the sharpest parts of his anguish. His breathing began to slow, the lines of tension on his face gradually easing as the energy worked its way through him.

“It’s okay, Buck. You’re not there anymore. Wake up,” she murmured, despite the ache in her chest.

As her hand rested gently on his forehead, Bucky’s piercing screams subsided into soft, pained whimpers. “Bol'no...” he mumbled incoherently, his voice heavy with anguish. Despite her whispered reassurances, his body remained restless, his movements erratic and desperate as the nightmare held him captive.

“No... don’t...” he murmured weakly, his voice trembling with fear and conflict. His legs began to shake, the tension in his body coiling tighter with each passing second. She hesitated, her mind racing with the risks of waking him in this state, he could lash out instinctively, putting her in harm’s way.

Swallowing her fear, she made up her mind and knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around him tightly. “You’re safe,” she murmured again, as she transferred more healing energy into him by force.

The contact seemed to calm him. His movements grew less frantic, though his body still flinched now and then, as though reacting to something particularly disturbing in his dream. Still, the nightmare’s grip seemed to weaken, her presence slowly chipping away at the fear and pain that had consumed him.

Suddenly, his eyes fluttered open, blinking rapidly as confusion clouded his features. He looked disoriented, his breathing uneven as his gaze swept the room until it landed on her. For a moment, he just stared, his expression shifting from alarm to recognition. His shoulders sagged slightly as relief washed over him.

“You…” His voice was hoarse as he ran a hand down his face, piecing it together. He looked at her sitting on the floor, with her hair tousled and an old nightie that kissed her knees. Her expression was a mixture of concern and awkwardness. “...woke me up.”

She nodded quickly, her hands fiddling with the hem of her clothes. “You sounded like you were… trapped in something bad,” she said softly. “And you were about to wake the entire neighborhood. I couldn’t just leave you like that.”

Bucky pushed himself upright, with slow movements, like his body weighed more than usual. The exhaustion clung to him in every line of his face, and his voice came out quiet and raw. “Thanks… and sorry.”

“There’s nothing to thank me for, big guy. You were suffering.” She shrugged, trying to downplay the moment, but her next words came tumbling out unbidden. “Um… do you want me to stay? You know, for the rest of the night? In case…” Her stomach tightened immediately. What made her think he’d want her to stay?

To her surprise, he paused, considering her offer. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Actually… yeah,” he admitted, still tinged with weariness. He shifted slightly. “If you don’t mind staying close. Just for a while.”

For a beat, she just stared, startled. Quickly regaining her composure, she nodded. “Not at all. I mean, look at your state. Where uh… do you want me?” Her cheeks flushed the second the words left her mouth, and she wanted to die of cringe. That could’ve been phrased better.

Bucky didn’t seem to pick up on the unintended innuendo, or maybe he just didn’t care. He tilted his head slightly, motioning toward the makeshift bed on the floor. “Close is good,” he said simply. “Just… lean against me or something,” he added, curling up into a somewhat protective position as he waited for her to settle in next to him..

Swallowing her nerves, she laid down beside him, her body angled carefully so as not to crowd him. Tentatively, she rested a hand on his side, her palm finding the steady rise and fall of his ribcage. “Like… this?” she asked, her voice quieter now, more unsure.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he let out a breath that sounded like a mixture of relief and resignation. “Yeah,” he murmured, his hand briefly brushing hers in an unconscious gesture. “This is good.”

As the silence settled between them, she stayed still, attuned to the warmth of his body and the slowing rhythm of his breathing. He didn’t say much after that, but the way his tense shoulders gradually relaxed spoke volumes. Whatever nightmares had plagued him earlier, they seemed a little further away now.

Exhausted from using her powers at such a high level for the first time in ages, she had finally allowed herself to relax, succumbing to the pull of sleep almost instantly.

-----

When she woke, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains, signaling it was late morning. Something big and warm was pressed against her, enveloping her in heat and security. Still caught in the haze of sleep, her eyes fluttered open slowly. She became aware of the steady rise and fall of breathing against her back, and then of the arm draped snugly around her waist.

Her heart skipped a beat as she registered the sensation of someone instinctively pulling her closer, his hold firm yet unconsciously gentle. He let out a low, sleepy grunt, his nose brushing against the sensitive crook of her neck as he nuzzled deeper, inhaling softly. His breath, warm and even, tickled her skin, and a quiet hum of contentment escaped him.

As the events of the previous night filtered back into her mind, realization struck her like a slap. She remembered where she was, and more importantly, with who.

Wide awake now, her senses sharpened, and noticed with increasing alarm that he was still nuzzling her neck, his face burrowed against her as if drawn to her scent. A traitorous warmth spread across her cheeks as his arm tightened slightly, and she could feel the firmness of his chest against her back.

Panicked but trying not to disturb him too abruptly, she whimpered pathetically under her breath and began tapping his bare shoulder with hesitant fingers. “Bucky,” she whispered urgently. “Bucky, wake up.”

Her soft taps and whispered plea had no effect. In fact, he murmured something incomprehensible and -oh no, oh no, oh no- his hand slid just slightly lower along her side, his fingers twitching as if seeking something in his sleep. Her heart thudded in her chest, her face a furnace of mortification.

Desperate, she abandoned subtlety and swatted the back of his head with just enough force to jolt him.

“Guh-!” he startled awake, blinking rapidly as if trying to dispel the remnants of a dream. His eyes, half-closed and unfocused, darted around. “Huh? What time is it?” he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep.

It took a second -or several- for the reality of the situation to register in his brain. As he shifted slightly, his gaze landed on her, and the proximity of their position. The arm draped around her, the way their bodies were pressed together. The faint warmth lingering where his face had been tucked into her neck.

“Oh. Oh,” he breathed, his entire body stiffening. A faint flush began creeping up his neck, spreading rapidly to his cheeks. He immediately withdrew his arm, sitting up fast. “Sorry.” he ran a hand through his hair, avoiding her eyes. “I didn’t mean to. I was… dreaming. I didn’t even realize-” He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he glanced at her. “Are you… okay?”

She nodded quickly, trying to mask her flustered state. “Yeah, I’m fine.” To distract herself, she stretched her arms lazily above her head, the motion easing the lingering tension in her muscles.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Bucky glanced around the room as though looking for something else to look at. The awkwardness between them lingered until finally, he addressed her. “So, uh… Saturday. What plans do you have for today?” he asked casually, though the faint edge of self-consciousness was impossible to miss.

Grateful for a change of topic, she stood up, smoothing her old cotton nightgown and brushing at imaginary dust particles. “Actually, I’m heading out to buy some clothes with a coworker. She invited me to go out to a nightclub with the gang tonight. It’s been years since I’ve been to one.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, his expression caught somewhere between intrigue and skepticism. “A nightclub? That sounds… interesting,” he commented dryly, the hint of sarcasm poorly masking his curiosity. “So I take it you’ll need some new threads first?”

“Yup,” she confirmed. “I mean, I’ve got a decent sense of fashion, but I have no clue what’s in style for places like that anymore. Honestly, I don’t pay attention to what people wear when I see them stumbling home after a night out. I’m usually just walking my dog in old sweatpants or something.” She smiled wryly. “So, she’s helping me look sexy for tonight.”

“Right,” He frowned inadvertently.

“Right,” she echoed, eyeing him for a moment before continuing. “Anyway, since you seem… more than fine now, I should head out. I’m sure you’ve got a packed day ahead, like watching paint dry or maybe finally returning some of those missed calls from Sam.”

She gave him a quick wave and turned toward the balcony, her steps light but deliberate.

Still sitting on the floor, Bucky tracked her movements, his gaze lingering longer than it should on the gentle sway of her hips. The sunlight streaming through the window caught the silhouette of her body through the thin cotton gown, and his jaw clenched before he managed to pull his eyes away. Then he noticed where she was heading.

“The door is that way, in case you didn’t notice,” he said with a faint smirk, gesturing toward the proper exit.

“Oh, I know,” she shot back. “But mine’s locked. I had to channel my inner Cirque du Soleil to get over the balcony and into your place last night.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You climbed the fence?”

“Yeah, and I’d really rather not do it again. Especially with an audience this time.” She paused, turned back to him, and gave him a pointed look. “So, how about you repay me by brushing up on your rusty espionage skills and opening my door without wrecking the lock?”

A lopsided grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, “You’re serious?”

“Oh yeah,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Come on, you’ve got the skills, big guy. Don’t tell me they’re all gone now.”

He let out a low chuckle, pushing himself off the floor. “Alright. Let’s see what I can do.”

------

Later that afternoon, she returned to her apartment with a couple of bags filled with casual clothes, as well as the evening’s potential attire tucked into the mix. She rummaged through them, pulling out the items she thought might work for the nightclub. Objectively, she wasn’t thrilled about the outing -it wasn’t exactly her scene- but she knew she needed to socialize more, to build connections, and maybe, just maybe, find someone to distract herself from the growing attraction she felt toward her grumpy neighbor and friend.

A neighbor who, thankfully, seemed blissfully unaware of her feelings.

He didn't seem interested in her that way, and the prospect of him discovering her little crush was mortifying. Also, she knew he had been attempting to date lately, surely encouraged by Dr. Raynor.

Her mind wandered back to that evening when she’d seen him leaving his apartment with a fresh flower bouquet, heading off to meet the chirpy Asian bartender from down the street. Or the time she’d spotted him in the hallway with a single rose wrapped in flimsy paper, his sharp casual-formal attire making him look infuriatingly handsome. When she raised an eyebrow at him, his only response was a gruff, “Tinder,” before disappearing out the door.

He never shared much about that part of his life, and honestly, she didn’t want to know. The thought of sitting through a conversation about his undoubtedly gorgeous dates, smiling and pretending to be happy for him wasn’t her idea of fun.

Before her thoughts could spiral any further, she patted her cheeks with both hands, forcing herself to focus on the task at hand. She had clothes to choose and a night to prepare for.

-------

After some deliberation, she narrowed her options down to two outfits but found herself hesitating. Against her better judgment, she decided to ask for his opinion. Complicated feelings aside, Bucky was still her friend. And once upon a time, he’d been quite the ladies’ man. Even if he wasn’t that guy anymore, his insights could still prove useful.

She marched to his door and knocked three times. “Bucky, are you home? I have a favor to ask.”

After a moment, the door swung open, and without missing a beat, she held up two hangers, shaking them slightly for emphasis almost against his face. “I can’t decide what to wear tonight. Can you help me figure it out? I’ll pay for Sunday’s pizza if you do.” She presented the options: a short black dress with a daring neckline and a red blouse paired with a matching miniskirt. “What do you think?”

Bucky’s brows furrowed briefly before he managed to mask his reaction with a neutral expression. The black dress was sleek, bold, and undeniably sexy -too sexy if he were being honest with himself-. The red blouse and miniskirt weren’t much better, the skirt’s length leaving little to the imagination.

He knew she was asking for his advice as a friend, but something twisted in his chest at the thought of her wearing either outfit. The idea of her going out in them, surrounded by strangers who didn’t know her like he did, made him uneasy.

His grip on the hangers tightened slightly as a faint, irrational pang of jealousy bloomed before he could push it away. Who else is going to see her like this? Who are these work colleagues, and how many of them are guys? But it wasn’t just jealousy, it was protectiveness, too.

Bucky had spent so much of his life guarding himself from the world that the idea of her stepping out there, dressed like this, left him feeling restless. It wasn’t about the clothes, not really. It was about her. The thought of anyone getting too close or treating her as anything less than she deserved made his stomach turn.

Clearing his throat, he gave her a measured look. “Depends on what kind of vibe you’re going for.”

She raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement in her expression. “Vibe?”

“Yeah.” He held up the black dress. “This says you want to stand out, make a statement. Maybe too much of a statement.” Then he switched to the red blouse and skirt. “This one’s… playful, but honestly, are you sure it’s comfortable?”

Her lips twitched as she fought back a grin. “Are you saying they’re too much?”

He shrugged, his gaze steady but warm. “I’m just saying you don’t need all that to look good.”

Her cheeks flushed at the unexpected compliment, and she crossed her arms. “You’re not exactly helping me choose here,” she noted with a playful huff, snapping him back to reality.

Bucky had to admit, the idea of her going out dating, dancing, or doing anything that a single woman her age might do besides spending Sundays on the couch with him, had never truly crossed his mind. Somehow, he’d stupidly taken for granted that she’d always be there, maintaining the easy status quo of their relationship. Ad infinitum.

But now, the possibility of her stepping out of that unspoken bubble between them hit him, and hard.

Was he ready for something else? Not likely, not when he still felt so damn broken. And the idea of ruining what they had for a failed attempt at something more profound, was unthinkable. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her because he couldn’t get his act together.

So, he forced himself to remain calm, even as his emotions clawed at him. The last thing she needed was his unresolved mess clouding her chance to have fun.

He took a breath, keeping his voice steady despite the tightness in his chest. “The black dress makes an impact,” he admitted truthfully. “It’s bold, sexy…” His gaze shifted to the red ensemble. “This one’s daring too, with the shorter skirt, but…” He paused, his jaw tightening briefly before he finished, “If you’re looking to turn heads, I’d say go for the black dress.”

He handed the clothes back to her, with a composed expression, though his thoughts were anything but. He plastered on a faint smile, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. “You’ll look great, no matter what.”

She accepted the hangers with a small smile, clearly unaware of the turmoil behind his response. "Thanks, Buck. I owe you a pizza," she said with a soft smile, and before thinking twice, she leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.

The brief warmth of her lips caught him completely off guard. He stiffened, his body betraying him with an instinctive flinch, as though his mind couldn’t immediately reconcile the tenderness of the gesture. “No problem,” he murmured, his voice low and almost distant, eyes tracking her as she quickly retreated toward her apartment.

Once her door clicked shut, Bucky let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. His fingers brushed against the spot where her lips had landed, lingering there like he could somehow preserve the fleeting warmth. For someone like him, feelings were a minefield, buried deep and marked off-limits, hidden alongside memories he refused to revisit. She wasn’t supposed to matter like this. At first, she had just been his neighbor, someone who stubbornly broke through the walls he tried to keep fortified.

But over time, things had shifted, quietly at first, like the subtle tug of an undertow, until suddenly it felt like he was drowning.

He sighed deeply, his gaze locked on her door as if it held all the answers. What the hell are you doing, Barnes?

------

On the other side of the wall, she closed her door with a thud, leaning back against it as her stomach twisted in knots. She replayed his flinch in her mind, dissecting it with a mix of confusion and frustration.

Last night, he had wanted her to stay in his makeshift bed after the nightmare, and, for fuck’s sake he even snuggled against her neck in the morning like it was the most natural thing in the world. Asleep, but he did. And yet now, a simple kiss on the cheek had him recoiling like she’d crossed some unspoken line.

Her heart clenched. This is why you need to stop. Whatever feelings she was developing for him, they had to go, and fast. He wasn’t interested in that way. She needed a distraction, something -anything- to pull her away from this spiral.

Fueled by a mix of determination and frustration, she shoved aside his suggestion of the black dress. When the time came, she defiantly slipped into the skimpy red miniskirt and blouse instead. The choice wasn’t just about looking good; it was about reclaiming control over herself, and her emotions. Bold cat-eye makeup followed, along with a slick of glossy red lipstick. Grabbing her purse, she stormed out of the apartment with purpose.

Bucky had just returned from the store, whiskey in hand, when he heard her apartment door open. He turned just in time to see her step into the hallway. His breath caught.

She walked toward him with an effortless sway, the red miniskirt hugging her curves, the glossy lipstick gleaming under the hallway’s dim lights. She looked every bit like a woman who was about to turn heads, and Bucky felt like a deer caught in headlights.

She smiled at him, breezing past with a casual wave. “Goodnight, Bucky,” she said brightly, not even sparing him a second glance.

“Have fun tonight,” he managed to say, his voice tight and strained, as though his throat had suddenly gone dry.

The elevator doors closed behind her, leaving him frozen in place, nearly dropped the bottle.

“Fuck,” he muttered, running a hand down his face as though trying to rub away the image burned into his mind.

That moment, seeing her like that -knowing she was going out dressed like that-sent his thoughts into a tailspin. He had been trying, desperately, to keep things platonic, to see her as the friend and neighbor who had stumbled into his life at just the right moment. He had tried to distract himself by diving again into the waters of dating after… he can’t even remember how much time, to no avail. But the truth was impossible to ignore now: he wasn’t just fond of her. He wasn’t just grateful for her company.

He wanted her.

And it scared the hell out of him.

-------

Just as she was about to exit the building, the rusty main door lock jammed. Great.

After several increasingly aggressive attempts -rattling the knob, shaking the damn thing, and even delivering a few half-hearted kicks- she finally surrendered. She knew who could help her and grimaced. After managing that catwalk exit showing him indifference, now she needed to crawl back to him for assistance.

Taking a steadying breath, she turned around and knocked on his door. It creaked open on its own, poorly shut. Inside, Bucky was slouched on the couch, whiskey in hand, eyes fixed on the flickering screen of a soccer game.

“Hey,” she called softly, trying to sound casual, hoping to mask the awkwardness of her reappearance. “Are you in the mood to roleplay a locksmith?”

He didn’t startle, but there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes as he turned to face her. He took a deliberate swig straight from the bottle before responding, “Again? Don’t you have other neighbors to disturb at this ungodly hour?” he asked a dry tone.

His words were sharp, but she noticed his gaze briefly drop just for a second- skimming her legs before returning to the bottle. The tiniest flicker of frustration crossed his face, like he was annoyed with himself for looking at all.

Her stomach flipped, but she trampled the thought before it could take shape. She was not going to that place just minutes before going out “Come on, Buck. It’s getting late. I’ll make you those garlic snacks you like for tomorrow’s movie night, deal?”

She clasped her hands together, bowing slightly in mock pleading, only to instinctively adjust the hem of her skirt as she straightened. She saw his eyes flick down again, lingering just long enough on the exposed skin of her thighs to make her heart stutter.

Clearing his throat, he tried to sound unaffected. “And you’ll buy me a six-pack. The expensive kind.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Want me to clean your windows too? You know what, give me that.” She took three steps, grabbed the bottle from his hand, and took a generous swig of liquor. ‘Screw it. If he’s going to act all tough, so do I.’  She felt his eyes on her again as she tipped the bottle back, and the weight of his gaze, combined with the burn of the whiskey, made her feel bold, maybe a little too bold.

He clenched his jaw as the amber liquid caught the light, the movement drawing his eyes to the curves beneath her blouse. A heat surged through him. Frustration, arousal, and something raw he didn’t want to name.

“Sure,” he said gruffly. “Help yourself.”

She smirked, handing the bottle back. “What’s with that frown? I thought we had already cleared the phase of that staring thing of yours. Besides, sharing is caring.” She cleaned a stray drop on the corner of her mouth and winked. She fucking winked at him.

Bucky grunted, playing off the moment with a scowl. But his mind was racing by the way she waltzed back in, drinking his whiskey completely unfazed by his presence and ready to go out with some random people to do whatever in a club. He tried to reprimand himself. She was his friend, his neighbor. They had a dynamic: a light-hearted, sarcastic friendship that worked. And now, he couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to just reach out, close the space between them, and…

“It's nothing,” he lied. “Just thinking about stuff I have to do with Sam.” Suddenly conscious of how closely he was observing her, Bucky forced himself to look away, focusing instead on the bottle clutched loosely in his hand.

She noticed the stare this time but decided to let it pass. “If that’s the case, that door’s not going to open itself, so move your firm 106-year-old ass and open it, will you?” she quipped, her voice carrying a playful edge. It was the kind of comment that would normally pass between them without much weight, but this time... she felt it hang in the air a little longer than usual.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and for a second, something playful sparked in his blue eyes. “Firm, huh? Seems like someone’s been staring.”

Heat rose to her cheeks. She cursed herself for slipping, but quickly waved it off with a flick of her wrist. She wasn’t about to let this turn into any kind of flirting after all that self coaching about auto-preservation. “Tic-toc, Bucky,” she said, keeping her tone nonchalant as she raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the hallway. She added a little authority to her voice, more for her own sake than his. She had to steer the conversation back to normal.

The spark dimmed at her response. He nodded stiffly and brushed past her, tensing his shoulders as he headed toward the door. Guess I read that wrong. He told himself it was for the best. Safer.

As Bucky knelt to inspect the lock, she couldn't help but glance at his broad back. The way his muscles flexed under the thin fabric of his shirt was almost hypnotic, her gaze briefly drifting lower before she caught herself. Stop it, she mentally scolded, forcing her eyes to a safe, innocuous spot: a blank patch on the wall that suddenly seemed fascinating.

With a screech of protesting metal, Bucky shoved the old lock using his vibranium finger. The door creaked open, and he stepped back, making a dramatic flourish with his arm. “There you go,” he said, almost indifferent. “If you don’t need anything else, I’d like to get back to watching the soccer match.”

She smiled, hoping to keep things light, even when feeling a weird tightness in her chest. Without thinking, she quipped, “Well, go watch your soccer, then, and wish me luck. Who knows, maybe I’ll meet someone!”

Bucky’s hand, still resting on the doorframe clenched slightly, the wood almost creaking under the pressure. The pang of jealousy was immediate and sharp, a wave of possessiveness that he had no right to feel hit him hard. He swallowed, forcing himself to play it cool. “Good luck,” he responded tersely, managing a strained smile on his lips. It was a pathetic attempt to mask the truth. Luck had nothing to do with what he wanted for her that night. He wanted her to return home alone and unclaimed, just as she had left.

------

Alone in his apartment, with the TV long forgotten, Bucky paced restlessly on the old wooden floor. Each step echoed the growing anticipation and anxiety eating him from within. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more painful than the last. He could almost picture her with some faceless guy, laughing, dancing, maybe even kissing him. It wasn’t his place to feel this way, he knew that. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

Across town, she stepped into the club, momentarily overwhelmed by its sheer size. Neon lights pulsed in time with the heavy bass, bathing the room in a kaleidoscope of colors. The whiskey she’d downed at Bucky’s apartment warmed her blood, taking the edge off her nerves.

She grinned, letting the electric atmosphere seep into her. Liquid courage, she thought, ordering two tequila shots when she reached the bar.

The sharp burn of the tequila was quick and welcome, igniting a spark of confidence. She laughed with her coworkers, the energy of the room infectious, and allowed herself to be pulled onto the crowded dance floor.

The music thumped through her veins, the bass so loud it felt like a second heartbeat. For a while, she let herself go, the weight of her thoughts about Bucky -about them- fading into the kaleidoscope of lights and sound. Each rhythmic beat seemed to push her farther from the strange tension that had been lingering between them, leaving her free to revel in the moment.

Yet, somewhere in the back of her mind, his strained smile lingered like a ghost she couldn’t quite shake.

------

Bucky found himself awake, staring at the ceiling, restless as he checked the time on his phone more often than he’d like to admit. The thought of her out there -dancing, laughing, maybe already with someone else- had him teetering on the edge of something raw and unrelenting.

Finally, he sat up from his nest on the floor with a groan, running a hand through his hair. "Fuck it." Patience wasn’t his strong suit on the best of days, and tonight was no exception. He wasn’t about to sit there letting his mind spiral, conjuring images that made his chest tighten and his teeth grind.

He stood and grabbed his jacket, moving with a quiet, focused purpose. He wasn’t being possessive, he told himself; he was just concerned. Nothing more. He’d check on her, make sure she was okay, and leave. That was it. No ulterior motives.

The cool night air bit at his skin as he slipped out of the building, heading straight for the club he knew she had gone. The monstrous neon-lit structure came into view, its pounding bass audible even from the street. Bucky melted into the shadows as naturally as breathing, years of training guiding his steps.

This wasn’t a mission. He wasn’t stalking a target. He was just... checking in. ‘Just to see how she’s doing’, he repeated in his mind, as if saying it enough times would make it true.

Inside, the club was a sensory overload: pulsing lights, bodies moving in sync to the beat, and a sea of unfamiliar faces. Bucky’s sharp eyes scanned the crowd, his chest tightening as his search dragged on longer than he’d expected. Then, finally, he saw her.

Her flushed cheeks and disheveled hair told their own story, a story that stirred something primal within him. His chest tightened as he watched her throw herself into the rhythm of the music, her body swaying effortlessly to the heavy bass, her face lit up in carefree abandon. Bucky's gaze lingered, drawn to her in a way that he couldn't fight anymore. The pulsing lights of the club flashed around them, but his focus was solely on her, everything else fading into the background.

The pull was undeniable. His feet moved before he could think better of it, closing the distance between them until he was standing just inches behind her, his tall frame looming over her smaller form.

She sensed his body immediately, a presence that seemed to engulf her. Startled, she opened her eyes, prepared to spin around and tell some stranger to fuck off. But when she turned, her heart skipped a beat.

"…Bucky?"

Her voice was a mix of confusion and something else, relief, maybe? It broke through the haze clouding his thoughts.

His breath hitched as he took her in up close: the flush of her cheeks, the strands of hair sticking to her damp forehead, the faint sheen of sweat glistening on her skin. And then there was the feel of her under his hand. His gaze dropped to where it had landed instinctively: on her hip.

His grip tightened for a fraction of a second, and then reality crashed over him all at once, releasing her as if burned.

“Fuck,” he muttered, taking a step back. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She blinked, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes darted away, scanning the crowded room as if it held an answer. “I just... needed to make sure you were okay,” he admitted. His voice was low, rougher than he intended. The excuse felt hollow even to him, but it was all he could offer.

Despite the awkwardness hanging in the air, her heart warmed. Bucky had actually left his apartment, and crossed the city, just to “check” on her. Maybe her situation wasn’t as hopeless as she sometimes thought. Either that, or they were due for a serious conversation about boundaries.

She smiled, trying to ease the tension. “That’s sweet of you, Buck, but completely unnecessary,” she said with a teasing lilt. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Sweet?” he echoed, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone. “That’s a new one for me.”

He exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening before he spoke again, slower this time, as though weighing every word. “Look, it’s... complicated. But the truth is, I couldn’t stand the idea of you being here, alone, in a crowd like this.”

His voice carried a rawness that caught her off guard, the admission revealing more than he likely intended.

Her teasing smile faltered for a moment as his words sank in. There was something unspoken lingering just beneath the surface, and it was enough to make her heart ache. "Well," she said softly, her tone shifting, “I’m not alone… but if it bothered you that much, why didn’t you just ask me to stay?”

Her question hung between them like a challenge, and for a moment, their eyes locked. His stormy blue gaze held hers, and she saw it, the conflict, the walls he’d built so carefully starting to crack. He wanted to say something, to let her in, but the fear of rejection or exposing too much kept him frozen.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped before he could muster a response, his defenses kicked in. His expression closed off, and he abruptly turned away, as if running from the crushing weight of his feelings.

Her heart leaped into her throat as she watched him pull back, the sudden distance between them far more than physical. ‘No. Don’t shut me out now.’  Before she could stop herself, she reached out, wrapping her hand around his gloved metal one, the cool leather stark against her warm palm.

“Wait.”

He froze, every muscle in his body going taut. For a long moment, he didn’t move, didn’t turn around, didn’t even breathe, it seemed. He stood there, caught between the magnetic pull of her touch and the ingrained instinct to retreat into the safety of solitude.

“You came all the way here just to startle me like some creep and then leave?” she joked, her voice light as she tried to break through his stoic exterior. Her hand tightened around his, grounding him, pulling him back into the moment. He didn’t move, but the tension in his body was undeniable, the silent battle raging inside him clear from the way his muscles tensed under her touch.

A long, awkward silence stretched between them before Bucky finally spoke. “Look, I don’t want to make things weird between us,” he said, his voice low and earnest, with just a hint of vulnerability seeping through his usually controlled stance. "But… promise me one thing.” He turned slightly toward her, leaning in closer, close enough that only she could hear what came next. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, thick with intensity. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid while I’m not around, okay?”

His closeness overwhelmed her senses. The scent of cedar, leather, and something undeniably him filled the space between them, making her pulse quicken. Heat flushed through her skin as she felt the full weight of his presence, intoxicating, magnetic. She cursed herself for how easily he affected her. Her resolve, the careful wall she’d built to keep things casual between them, was crumbling. At that moment, it was impossible to pretend she didn’t want something more. "Actually, Buck…” she started, “Since you’re here… I’m getting tired, and I want to go home. Will you take me?” Her words hung in the air, simple but heavy with unspoken meaning.

Bucky’s gaze widened her suggestion. The offer was unexpected, yet in the charged atmosphere between them, it felt inevitable, like the tension that had been simmering for too long was finally bubbling to the surface. "Alright then,” he murmured. “Let's get you out of here.” Without hesitation, he slid his arm around her waist, his touch was firm but cautious, as though he were testing the waters. The warmth of her body against his heightened his awareness of every subtle movement she made.

“Ready for the ride home?” he asked, his voice huskier than he intended as he raised his hand to hail a cab. His fingers brushed lightly against her side, an unconscious gesture that felt more like reassurance, though he wasn’t entirely sure if it was meant for her or himself.

She nodded, and without another word, Bucky guided her toward the waiting car, his hand still resting on her waist as if that physical connection between them had become essential, something he wasn’t willing to break. Once inside, he slid in beside her, their thighs pressing together in the tight confines of the backseat.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper as he turned slightly toward her, “what exactly did you have planned for tonight before I crashed the party?”

She tilted her head back against the seat, eyes closing as though she were unwinding from the pulse of the club. A soft, wry smile played on her lips. “Dunno,” she began, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability beneath the casual tone. “Getting loose, maybe meeting someone... and feeling wanted, for a change.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened, her words hitting him in a place he didn’t want to acknowledge. Feeling wanted? The thought of her searching for that validation in someone else sent another surge of possessiveness through him.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a low, gravelly tone, “considering how much trouble I’ve caused tonight already...” His fingers, tentative but bold, trailed slowly along the curve of her thigh, the warmth of her skin radiating through the thin fabric of her skirt. His touch was deliberate, slow, igniting something raw and unspoken between them. “...you’d better believe you’re wanted right now.”

The weight of his words, paired with the slow, burning sensation of his fingers against her thigh, made her bit her lip. He wasn’t just saying it, he was showing her, in every deliberate move he made, exactly how wanted she was.

She gasped at the feel of his touch continuing upwards, her body reacting instinctively as her legs parted slightly. She turned her gaze to him “I didn’t think that you…” she whispered, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice was rough and low, thick with barely contained desire. “You have no idea how long I’ve been trying not to want you... and failing miserably.” Without another word, Bucky shifted closer, his hand slipping beneath the hem of her skirt, seeking and finding the warmth he had long denied himself.

Feeling the brush of his hand on her thigh, she suppressed a moan as heat started pooling between her legs. Then her eyes darted to the rearview mirror and realized the driver was stealing curious glances toward their activities. She felt a flush of embarrassment and hastily grabbed Bucky’s wrist. “Wait,” she whispered, nodding subtly toward the mirror. 

Bucky followed her gaze, his eyes narrowing as he noticed the driver’s prying eyes on them. A dark, irritated look crossed his face as he made eye contact with the cabby. His fingers hovered on her thigh for a second longer before he reluctantly withdrew.

She quickly crossed her legs, the movement causing her skirt to ride up, offering a tantalizing glimpse of soft skin. Swallowing hard, he turned his attention back to her face, his eyes dark with lust, but remained composed the rest of the trip. 

As the cab pulled up to their building, he took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside him. He opened the door and stepped out, offering his hand to help her exit the vehicle. The cool night air and the stillness of the street seemed to break the spell that had enveloped them, grounding them momentarily.

On the elevator, the silence between them was heavy. They exchanged fleeting glances through the mirror, but neither could hold the other’s gaze for long. Their minds swirled with thoughts, mostly��Was this all a mistake? 

When finally, the doors slid open, he stepped out ahead of her, leading the way down the hallway to his apartment. His footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet space, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears.

Once inside, Bucky turned to face her, his expression a mix of uncertainty and raw, unbridled lust. "So..." he started, looking for the right words. "What happens now?"

She bit her lower lip, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense gaze. This is it, she thought, her heart pounding hard enough to echo in her ears. The heat between them was almost suffocating, her skin prickling under the weight of his stare. “I want you to… continue what you started in the car,” she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Relief and raw hunger washed over his features as his broad frame loomed closer. Without a word, his lips crashed against hers, the kiss rough, desperate, and possessive. She melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair, tugging gently as she deepened the embrace.

Time stilled, the world beyond his dimly lit apartment faded into irrelevance as his metal hand gripped her hips. He pulled her flush against him, and the unmistakable press of his hard cock against her belly sent a rush of slick arousal pooling between her thighs.

When their lips broke apart, gasping for air, Bucky’s mouth didn’t stop. He trailed along her jawline, his scruff scratching deliciously against her flushed skin, before lowering to the sensitive skin behind her ear. He nipped, earning a soft gasp, and then soothed the spot with his tongue, his lips leaving a hot, wet trail down her neck.

“Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice thick and hoarse with barely restrained need. The heat of his breath sent shivers racing down her spine. “And I’ll give it to you. Anything. Just say the words.”

Her head fell back instinctively, exposing more of her throat to his wandering mouth, every nerve ending sparking to life under his touch. Her body moved on its own, grinding against the firm ridge of his hardon, seeking friction. A breathless whimper escaped her lips, her hands roaming the expanse of his broad chest, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt as she pushed it upward, desperate to feel him.

“Bucky…” she whispered, her voice shaky, barely audible over her heart pounding. “I want you. All of you. Right now.”

His lips stilled against her skin for a split second before he pulled back, his eyes locking onto hers with such fierceness that made her knees weak. “You have me,” he growled. His hands moved to her thighs, lifting her effortlessly as if she weighed nothing.

Pinned between him and the nearest wall, her legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. His hips rolled against her, the hard length of him grinding against her soaked panties, the friction sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through her body as his hands roamed the curve of her waist.

“You had to wear the damn blouse, hm?” he murmured, his tone dark and reverent all at once. His lips captured hers again, his teeth grazing her lower lip before his tongue delved inside, deepening the kiss. Her back arched into him, her body desperate for more as the heat built between them, spiraling out of control.

Bucky’s hands moved with practiced ease, tugging the hem of her blouse upward. Instead of wasting time with buttons, he pulled it over her head in one deft motion, the fabric whispering against her skin as it slid away. Before she could catch her breath, his fingers found the clasp of her bra at the front, flicking it open with a sure twist.

The garment was discarded to the side, forgotten, as his intense gaze dropped to her newly exposed skin. The cool air brushed against her hardened nipples, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his hands as they slid up her sides to cup her breasts.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he muttered like the words were torn from him without permission. He leaned in, his mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down her throat and lower, until his lips wrapped around one pert nipple and sucked.

The wet heat of his tongue sent a shockwave through her body, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support. A soft, breathless moan escaped her lips, her hips rocking instinctively against him. “Bucky…” she whimpered, her voice barely recognizable, thick with need.

A soft, breathless moan escaped her lips, her hips rocking instinctively against him, the hardness pressing between her thighs sending shockwaves of need coursing through her. Bucky growled low in his throat, the sound vibrating against her skin as his lips traced a fiery path down her neck.

“What about this, huh?” he murmured, his tone dark and reverent all at once as he roamed the fabric of her skirt on her hips. The accusation in his tone thrilled her, but she couldn’t resist firing back.

“You don’t like it?” she teased breathlessly.

“Didn’t like other men looking at you in it,” he growled, tightening his grip. His blue eyes were stormy, fixed on her face with a mix of frustration and want. “You put this on, asking for trouble, didn’t you?”

“Well…” She smirked, with a flicker of defiance in her gaze. “That was the idea, yes.” she shot back, her breath hitching as his lips claimed hers again in a rough and possessive kiss.

His brows furrowed, and without warning, he grasped the hem of her skirt. “So trouble, huh?” he rasped, his voice dropping to a dangerous low. With one sharp tug, the fabric gave way, the sound of the seam tearing echoing in the quiet apartment.

“Bucky!” she gasped, looking down at the ruined garment now discarded on the floor. “That was brand new!”

His smirk deepened, a predatory gleam in his eyes as his hands moved to her hips, his fingers hooking into the sides of her panties. “Well,” he murmured darkly, “you wanted trouble, sweetheart.” With one smooth motion, he tore the delicate lace, the ruined scraps joining her skirt on the floor. “Now, you’ve got it.”

Before she could respond, Bucky downed her to the floor and dropped to his knees before her, his broad shoulders aligning with her hips as his hands gripped her firmly. He pressed his lips to the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, locking his gaze.

With a steady, almost reverent motion, he guided one of her legs up, draping it over his shoulder. His hands slid down to her other thigh, gripping and spreading her gently but firmly, holding her steady as he settled between her legs.

“Stay still,” he rasped, his voice low and commanding, the timbre sending a shiver through her body. His fingers dug into her thighs just enough to steady her, with a mix of strength and care that left her dizzy with anticipation.

“Look at you,” he muttered, as his gaze burned into hers. “Fucking gorgeous.”

The first brush of his lips against her was featherlight, a tease, but it sent a jolt of pleasure straight through her core.

“Bucky…” she whimpered, her fingers tangling in his hair as her knees threatened to give out beneath her.

He groaned at the sound of his name on her lips, his tongue darting out to taste her. The wet heat of his mouth made her cry out, her hips instinctively bucking against him. His grip on her tightened, holding her in place as he worked her with a mix of deliberate strokes and teasing flicks, the rhythm of his movements driving her higher. Then, he sucked hard at her clit.

Her head fell back, her nails scraping against his scalp as the coil of tension in her belly tightened. “Oh my God, Bucky…” she moaned, her voice breaking.

He growled against her, “You taste so fucking good,” he muttered, his words muffled against her, before diving back in with renewed fervor.

She was trembling, her body on fire, every nerve ending alight under his relentless attention. “Bucky… I-” she gasped, unable to finish the sentence as her world shattered around her, her orgasm ripping through her with a force that left her boneless.

He didn’t stop until her trembling eased, his hands steadying her as he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh again, his scruff grazing her sensitive skin. Standing, he cupped her face in his hands, before his lips found hers again, this time with a slow, simmering heat that promised this was far from over.

With one last lingering kiss, Bucky pulled away and took her hand, his calloused fingers warm against her skin. Wordlessly, he led her down the hallway to his bedroom.

Inside, the soft light of the street spilling from the window cast long shadows across the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind them, his lips were on hers again. His hands eagerly roamed her body, while hers found the hem of his shirt, tugging at it insistently.

“Not fair,” she murmured against his mouth, a teasing lilt to her voice as she tugged the fabric higher. “I’m the only one without clothes.”

Bucky pulled back just enough to let her lift the shirt over his head. As the garment came off, he hesitated for a split second, his gaze dropping, the faintest flicker of self-consciousness crossing his features.

Her eyes softened as she took in the scars that marred his chest and shoulder, where flesh met metal. Without a word, she leaned in, her lips brushing gently over the jagged lines of his scars, trailing soft kisses along the seam of his prosthetic.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered against his skin.

The words made his throat tighten, and his cheeks flushed with warmth. “If you say so,” he muttered, with a rough voice and an emotion he didn’t quite know how to express.

She smiled, her fingers grazing his jaw as she kissed him again, slow and deep.

Gently, he guided her toward the bed, the back of her knees meeting the edge before she sank onto the mattress. He followed, climbing on top of her with a careful but commanding grace, his weight settling between her thighs as he braced himself on his forearms.

“You are the beautiful one,” he murmured, his lips brushing over hers as his hand slid up her side, exploring every curve with deliberate care.

Bucky’s lips trailed down her neck, his hot breath igniting her skin as he moved lower. His mouth found her breast, and his tongue teased a hard nipple before he drew it into his mouth. The way his teeth grazed just slightly the sensitive skin to suckle on it after, sent a jolt of pleasure that had her back arching off the bed. Her fingers threaded into his hair, holding him closer as he feasted on her, his free hand kneading the soft flesh of her other breast. He alternated between them with, relentless attention and when he finally pulled away, with his lips glistening, he shifted his weight back onto his knees, moving his hands to his belt. With a quick flick, he unbuckled it, the metallic clink cutting through the thick silence of the room. He made short work of his pants and boxers, discarding them onto the floor with the rest of his clothes.

Her eyes widened as he revealed himself, unable to hide the surprise from her face.

Bucky noticed her reaction, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. He quirked a brow, saying nothing, though the gleam in his eyes was unmistakable.

Without breaking eye contact, he positioned himself between her legs, his broad hands sliding up her thighs to spread them wider. His gaze softened slightly, his confidence faltering just enough for a faint blush to creep up his neck. “I, uh… I should warn you,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I don’t know how long I’m gonna last.”

Her chest swelled at the vulnerability in his voice, and she reached up to cradle his face, pressing a tender kiss to the tip of his nose. “That’s okay,” she murmured with a small smile, her voice warm and reassuring. “We’ve got all night to practice.”

The tension in his shoulders eased at her words, and he let out a soft laugh, the sound rough and filled with affection. “Well, that is certainly reassuring,” he muttered, leaning down to capture her lips again, aligning his body with hers as he began to guide himself into her, slow and steady.

The tight, wet heat enveloped him, and a deep and guttural groan escaped his lips. His body tensed, his breath hitching as pleasure slammed into him with an intensity he hadn’t anticipated.

“Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, freezing in place. His jaw clenched as he willed himself to calm down, every muscle in his body taut with restraint.

She watched him, her hands resting lightly on his forearms. “What is wrong?” she asked with concern.

He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Give me a second,” he rasped, “I almost -fuck- almost lost it already.”

Her lips curved into a small, understanding smile. She reached up to stroke his cheek, her thumb brushing lightly over his flushed skin. “Take your time,” she whispered, her voice soothing and full of warmth.

He opened his eyes, the stormy blue depths meeting hers, and he gave a small nod. He pulled back slightly, taking a deep breath before pushing in a little farther. The sensation overwhelmed him again, his hands gripped her hips like a lifeline as he cursed again under his breath. “Goddamn it,” he growled, stopping once more, his forehead dropping to her shoulder as he fought for control.

Her fingers threaded through his hair, gently scratching his scalp as she whispered, “It’s okay. We’re not in a rush. Just... feel it, Bucky. I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a low, shaky laugh. “You’re too fucking good to me,” he muttered, lifting his head to look at her again. He took another breath and moved slowly, inching deeper this time, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. He paused twice more, cursing softly each time, but her patient touches and words made him feel like he could take all the time in the world.

Finally, with a low, satisfied groan, he bottomed out, his hips flush against hers. He stilled, his head dropping to rest against hers as he breathed heavily. “Jesus Christ,”

She was doing her best to be patient, to let him take his time, but the throbbing heat of his cock buried deep inside her was becoming impossible to ignore. Her body ached for more, for movement, for relief from the unbearable tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

Biting her lip, she gazed up at him, his eyes still closed, his jaw clenched as he worked to steady himself. The sight of him like this -raw, vulnerable, and completely consumed- only made her need intensify.

Tentatively, she shifted her hips upward, a subtle roll that sent a jolt of pleasure sparking through her body. The sensation drew a soft gasp from her lips, and she couldn’t suppress the small whimper that followed.

Bucky’s eyes snapped open, the sharp inhale he took betraying just how much he felt her movement. His gaze locked on hers, dark and full of warning, but there was no mistaking the desire burning behind it.

“Careful,” he rasped, “You’re making it real fucking hard to keep control here.”

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, her patience finally wearing thin. “Maybe I don’t want you to keep control,” she whispered, as she rocked her hips again, just enough to feel him twitch inside her.

Bucky groaned deeply, pressing his face into the crook of her neck as his composure continued to crack. His body trembled against hers, his restraint unraveling with each passing second. “Fuck,” he growled, his voice low and strained, teetering between a warning and surrender.

Her response was to arch her back, her body molding against his as her nails dragged lightly down the sculpted planes of his back. “Stop holding back,” she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. “It’s like you’re punishing yourself.”

Her hands moved to his nape, fingers brushing softly through the short hair at the base of his skull. “What’s wrong with cumming, Buck?” she whispered, with a tender voice.  “Let go. Next time-”

Her words were cut off by a sudden, hard thrust, his hips snapping forward and burying him so deeply inside her that the blunt head of his cock kissed her cervix. A sharp gasp tore from her throat, her head falling back against the mattress as pleasure and shock rippled through her.

When she met his gaze, his blue eyes burned with steely determination. His jaw was clenched, his face tight with a focus that seemed almost unshakable, as though he’d summoned every ounce of his training to suppress his body’s overwhelming need for release.

“Next time,” he murmured, his voice rough and deliberate, “I’ll make it last.” His hips snapped forward again, hard and precise, pulling a cry from her lips as her body arched beneath him. He grit his teeth, his breath ragged. “I’m not… a fucking teenager. I won’t just… soil myself. I won’t do that to you, doll.”

She blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling as she gasped for air, the meaning behind his words sinking in. His old-fashioned masculine pride wouldn’t let him lose control, wouldn’t let him spill before ensuring her satisfaction.

Her lips parted as a rush of understanding -and desire- flooded her. Sliding a hand down between them, she touched herself, her fingers finding her slick folds and swollen clit.

His thrusts faltered slightly as he realized what she was doing, his eyes widening briefly before darkening with renewed hunger. “Fuck, doll…” he rasped, his voice hoarse and laced with awe as he watched her.

Her fingers moved with purpose, working in rhythm with his powerful thrusts. The added sensation sent sparks of pleasure racing through her body, her moans growing louder as she climbed higher.

“Bucky,” she gasped, her free hand clutching at his back as the tension coiled tighter, every nerve ending alight. Her movements grew more frantic, and she cried out as the release she craved finally shattered through her, her walls clenching hard around him.

That was all it took. With a guttural groan, Bucky’s restraint broke, his hips slamming against hers as he buried himself deep, spilling into her with a force that left him trembling. He collapsed against her, his breath ragged and uneven, his body a heavy, satisfying weight on top of hers.

For a long moment, neither of them moved, the room filled only with the sound of their labored breathing. Finally, Bucky lifted his head, his damp hair clinging to his forehead as he looked at her with a mixture of relief and adoration.

A soft smile curved her lips as her hand caressed his stubbled cheek, "You okay?" she asked softly.

Bucky nodded, his steel-blue eyes searching hers, with a certain vulnerability flickering beneath the surface. "Yeah," he murmured. "Are you?"

Her answering smile was all the reassurance he needed. "More than okay,".

He exhaled a shaky breath, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead. Slowly, he rolled onto his side, pulling her against him, his arm wrapped securely around her waist.

She lay quietly in his arms, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest, as their breaths gradually evened out. But even in the calm, she could feel certain tension lingering in his body.

“What’s on your mind, Buck?” she asked softly

He hesitated, “I’m just… thinking.”

Her brows knitted together, “About what?”

Bucky sighed, his hand pausing its movements. “About how much of a goddamn mess I still am,” he admitted. “I don’t know what I’m doing half the time, and most days, it feels like I’m one bad decision away from falling apart again.” He swallowed hard, his gaze fixed somewhere over her shoulder. “But then there’s you.”

She remained silent, letting him gather his thoughts.

“I can’t stand the idea of you with someone else,” he continued, almost bitter as if the confession cost him. “It’s selfish, I know. You deserve someone who’s got their shit together, not someone like me.”

Her heart ached at his words. She reached up, cupping his cheek and turning his face so he had no choice but to look at her. “Bucky,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the emotion swelling in her chest. “You’re not a mess. You’ve been through hell, and you’re still here, still trying, and that says more about who you are than anything else.”

He sighed, his hand moving to cover hers, holding it against his cheek. “Doesn’t change the fact that I’m broken.”

“Maybe,” she conceded softly, leaning closer. “But it isn’t have to be forever. You just need time. And you’re not alone in this.

His stormy blue eyes searched hers, raw with emotion, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But instead, he pulled her down, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was soft, reverent, and full of unspoken promises.

A faint breeze filtered through the open window, carrying the scent of rain-soaked asphalt and the distant hum of the city settling into the night. Bucky closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath that seemed to carry years of tension away with it.

“I don’t deserve this,” he murmured, the words so low she almost missed them.

“You don’t have to,” she replied softly, her voice muffled against his pulse point. “Just let yourself have it.”

Headers by @/strangergraphics

[rensylph]

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐇𝐔𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐃 🥀🥀

Yandere genshin men being husband,

Characters : ayato, diluc, kaeya, zhongli, alhaitham, tartaglia, neuvillete, wriostheley.

AYATO

He would be a manipulative husband, he wants you to stay with him in meetings and basically wherever he goes, he will have high expectations for you if you ever lash out or you do not control your emotions, he will give you a glare and say that being a lady in the house should be filled with elegance and maturity not throw a tantrum like a child.

He will gift you expensive kimonos as well as high end jewelry, but he didn't give these gifts out of love, it worked as a collar and a sign of an ownership of you. He will also plan to baby trap you. He wants about 3-4 children or maybe more, if your body could keep up.

This was originally an arranged marriage form by him, your clan was on the brink of falling until the head of the kamisato clan offered your family an arranged marriage between you and him so your clan got to live, on your wedding day, that was the last time you saw them. You feel like a caged bird.

DILUC

He would totally see nothing wrong with his ways. You are only allowed to go out of the mansion or go to mondstat with him. He will see this as a way to keep you safe from the outside world. And every time you try to protest about it, he will bring out the excuse of keeping you safe.

He will expect you to give him a kiss or some physical contact from you 24/7, he will hug you like his life depends on it. Caressing your body. Using his vision to give you warmth during the cold nights. He also wants children but not yet until you're ready.

You were his fiance during his childhood, originally he always treats you as if you're a normal friend. Until his father's death he became clingy and during his trip out of mondstat, he said, when he came back from getting revenge you gotta be ready to married with him.

KAEYA

Kaeya would use his charming, manipulative and cunning behavior to isolate you, he would be playful and teasing you but he is also very possessive. he told you to just quit your job and let him take care of you.

He would also use his charms to flirt with some woman just to make you jealous, but if it's you with another man he will wrap his arms around your waist and kiss your cheek while giving the other party a subtle glare. And if you ask him to not flirt with another woman he would only if you promise not to talk to any other man.

You were originally a knight working under him, he would pass some flirting comments and would invite you to drink you with him in angel share. Originally you guys started a relationship and soon he proposed to you. But he's been very against you working as well just to stay as a stay at home wife for him.

ZHONGLI

Being married to the geo archon for centuries wasn't the life you expected, he was sweet and cared for you but sometimes it always feels like you're being suffocated by him to follow his routine. He expected you to be an obedient wife due to the contract that you have signed with him 3000 years ago.

Zhongli is a patient man, even when you lash on to him he will just stand there and look at you and ask are you done. Liyue has many tales of your love story change thru all of the centuries, but none of them once mention one of your accomplishments instead referring to you as his wife.

You were one of his servants that worked closely with him in the archon war, one of cloud retainers first disciple, ganyu was still a little girl during this time as well. And after when he wins the war becoming the archon of liyue he was allowed to be given any price he wants, and he picks you to be his price and his bride.

ALHAITHAM

He would be methodical and calculating, justifying his actions. He would already plan everything out, hes already planned everything before marrying you, calculating what's your schedule, how long will it take to date you until he proposed and he basically already planned everything before hand so everything could go perfectly.

He will maintain a perfect life around you making sure nothing goes wrong, making sure your diet consists of rich and nutrition enough for you to live long, say goodbye to those unhealthy junk food, I mean he would allow you to eat it but only once in a month.

You were a spantamad student, he will always find you sleeping at the library after completing your script, he originally wanted to wake you up but suddenly he stopped and sat next to the chair to your chair and for minutes he enjoys and soak up every feature of your face looking at if it's the most beautiful painting in the world. When you wake up he is already gone and planning your marriage.

TARTAGLIA

A so called or a wannabe shining armor for you, he has this persona or desire of wanting to be your knight and shining armor, he wants to whisk you away from the warm and comfort of your home to move you to a large palace, a cold and lonely palace isolating you from the world as well being a cage for you.

Tartaglia would buy you endless amounts of gifts every time when he's out on a voyage around the seven nations to fulfill the tsaritsa promise of a perfect world. he will be there every step to make sure that world will be fulfilled so you and him could live happily ever after.

Before every event that could lead him up at this point of his life. You and him were childhood friends or were simply forced to hang around due to both of your mothers being best friends, he would only want to play knight and shining armor while your the princess being trapped by a dragon and he comes to save you other then that he's favorite thing to play with you was playing house, him as the husband, you being the wife while his younger sibling who is a baby played as you guys pretend child.

Neuvillete

A refined and elegant gentleman, everyone in Fontaine is fond of you guys marriage, the ludex of Fontaine and his wife always voted number one couple in the steambird, articles of you guys small dates as well detailing on how romantic you guys are. Every time you go out he will guilt trip you to stay inside instead of going out.

Neuvillete will use emotional manipulation as well as guilt tripping to trap you inside the walls of his home, saying it was to ensure your safety. Every time when retrieved back from a trial or work he will personally ask to bath with you, it's the only thing to keep him calm and not worried about you. The melusine sees neuvillete as their father figure and they also see you as their mother figure.

Originally an oceanid that manages to retain their pure form and memory even after egeria turn every oceanid to live as a human and was a loyal servant to the first hydro archon, Egeria. Originally you were against being turned into a human wanting to serve your archon for eternity but During the arrival of Neuvillete you were offered to him as a spouse or a companion to stay by his side forever.

Wriostheley

A confident and head strong husband, he allows you to go outside but since it's the fortress of meriopede there isn't much to see inside as well for being safe due to the criminals that are being kept in line by your husband, so it's unwise to go outside his sight.

The entire fortress as well the staff calls you duchess due to your status of being married to him, you hated that title making you feel as if you were just an object that is held dear by the duke of the fortress, he always find it amusing to this nickname because it means people knew who you belong to for him the title of duchess is a sign or mark that you belong to him.

Originally a prisoner who was accused of a crime that you didn't commit, during lunch time you were eating this prisoner is sitting beside the table you were sitting and decide to make new friends during your time in jail, the prisoner was surprised for your present and ask why are you sitting with you gave him a blunt answer and he laughs and he ask you do you know who he is and you replied with a no, soon that day a Friendship blossom between you and him, until a new comer guard exposed his identity for being the duke, unfortunately it's already to late he has already fallen into a hole of love and obsession over you

[anantaru]

⚝ DAY 2 — POWER IMBALANCE

kinktober 2024. — masterlist | ao3

— including. — neuvillette, diluc, ayato

— warnings. — fem! reader, power imbalance, toxic & manipulation, hard syx, dom/sub, reader teases in diluc's part, ayato is really toxic in this one kinda???

⚝ — NEUVILLETTE

when neuvillette tells you to do something, you're doing it, point blank— because you see, he's your master, the man who's saved you, not to mention your literal boss since he was so nice to give you a job as his sweet n pretty secretary.

as it was, in the grand halls of fontaine's court of justice, neuvillette’s word were law itself— precisely when he tells you to do something, it becomes absolute, you're immediately on your way without processing any of it.

his presence alone commands respect— coldness, it reveals a composed man, an untouchable one—yet his touch, it's surprisingly warm despite the fact that he rarely spoke about love or intimacy.

despite the fact that the subtle gestures on your body— the little kisses and reassuring tugs on your flesh whenever he fucked you on his desk were maddening, never leaving out the best part of it; when he places his palms around your head so you wouldn't hurt yourself, immediately resulting in you melting underneath his broad body as he revealed a softness beneath the stern exterior.

you feel the weight of his authority in every thrust, every grind and harsh squeeze of his palms reaching for your tits.

the unspoken pressure to be perfect for him was there, yes, to make him feel perfect while you're also contemplating if you'd ever be enough for an enigmatic individual like him.

face nuzzling into the crook of his neck, you feel how his fingers apply more strength as he flexes his digits into the flesh of your hips, dragging you deeper towards his cock twitching between your walls— the desperate milking compression of your warm cunt making him want to lose control.

you begin feel lightheaded at the arousal messing him up— and ugh, how much there was, and ah, you’re so tight, even after multiple rounds, desperately waiting for him to drag you against his desk and make your pussy squeeze him, wanting him to feel like you pull him.

⚝ — DILUC

in front of strangers, diluc’s intensity was something which was being noticed right from the start— and well, he wanted it that way, it meant that he had one headache less to worry about.

it doesn't matter though, because behind closed doors, your hand slips under his loosened shirt like it's meant to, graciously rubbing at his bare muscles flexing underneath the softness of your palms. having an affair with your boss surely wouldn't look good to bystanders, nor was it something diluc wanted to get out in the first place— hence why he'd never fail to subtly show you, also throwing a slight passive aggressiveness into it, that he was in charge of this, or whatever you might call the situation between you both.

he sucked in a sharp breath as his dick gradually got hard under his tight pants, pulsating on all the sharp edges and rough lines when you began to fidget with the belt, "hey now, you shouldn't get so bossy," he smiles down at you, cupping your cheek before placing his thumb on your bottom lip to tap it repeatedly

"you have quite the personality today, master diluc," you frown at him, with one hand grabbing at his biceps as he breathes— for a second deflecting the real reason as to why he would pretend to care about what other people thought about him, or about this.

or perhaps he was utterly scared of showing genuine emotions to someone he hasn't known for long.

yet instead of going through with his newfound thought, diluc instantly grabs at your hips to make you fall against his chest in combination with him bumping down the large sofa, the leather of the furniture creaking.

he licks his lips, fuck— diluc forgot how much passion could manifest in simply being felt up a little and he desperately attemps to focus on playing with your tits, or at least watch how pretty and nicely they fit in is hand.

be as it may, all that has really gotten his attention was the feeling of your hand on his cock, fiercely palming him through his boxers, your fingertip teasing along the edge of his waistband.

"you'll get in trouble," he manages to breathe out, whimpering when you angle your hand upwards so he could feel the heat of your hand on his tip.

⚝ — AYATO

ayato, most famously known as the head of the yashiro commission, had an unique gift inside of him— you see, he knew how to use words like deadly weapons.

when he wants something, really craves and desires a certain being, it felt like the world immediately bends to his will— including you, the person he was actually after. ayato will convince you that his decisions are in your best interest, even when they serve his own.

"oh, is my sweet girl worried about me?" he breathes out before placing his wet tip on your clit, tapping and nudging at it— the sound echoing through the room and standing over your head was making you feel hot and cold at the same time.

you can sense the painful squeeze in your stomach to just want to be filled— please, get his thick shaft into your intimate space until it's obvious on your face, sending him back a doe-eyed look while he towers on top of your naked frame— thighs twitching, his dick sinking back into your mushy cunt.

okay, maybe he's gotten a little too lost in you.

since you're intriguing in his eyes, well— ayato knows he can get a hold of you, that you admire him and are more than happy with the job that he's given you— not that he cares, in fact, he need you, that constant drive of feeling you was burning hotter and turning him insane.

his body trembles as he watches your liquids stick around the base of his cock, proving his point that you're as desperate for him as he was for you as he smeared your slick back inside your trembling walls, your skin throbbing and twitching with every unforgiving push of his hips.

with how big he was, in every aspect imaginable, you begin to feel like he was stretching you forever as you gasp out a broken mumble of his name, the waves of his thrusts and rolls stinging along your nerves as you begin to moan out shamelessly, feeling every detail and vein of his cock moulding into your walls and marking its shape inside.

ayato was intoxicating— no, stop it, he's your boss, okay, cool down.

yet it never ever felt fucking better.

© 2024 anantaru  do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[fangdokja]

"You’ll love me," he whispered. "Even if it kills you."

❤︎ Synopsis. In a love that teeters between devotion and obsession, escape is futile—his jealousy isn’t just possessive, it’s a consuming force that leaves no room for freedom. With each calculated act, he dismantles your world, ensuring you’ll always belong to him, body and soul.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Ayato x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Childe x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Scaramouche x Fem. Reader, Yandere! Kaeya x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanons. Heart's Chains - Part 2

♡ Word Count. 2,393

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, psychological manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and touching, forced relationship, BDSM, manipulation of circumstances, threats

♡ Ayato Kamisato – The Serpent Behind the Smile.

“Do not mistake my gentleness for leniency. My love is a silken noose—tender, yet unyielding. You’ll find there’s no escape from my devotion, no matter how far you think you can run.”

Ayato’s jealousy is a masterpiece of subtlety and restraint, a web spun so intricately that it feels like silk against your skin—until it tightens. The Kamisato Estate, with its pristine gardens and tranquil ponds, becomes your gilded cage, every servant’s eyes an extension of his will. Each step you take, each breath you draw, is under his meticulous control.

His demeanor never wavers; he remains the picture of refinement, his words dipped in honey and laced with arsenic. He speaks of love as though it were a blessing, his soft-spoken reassurances masking the sharp edge of his possessiveness.

“You misunderstand, my dear. This isn’t control—it’s protection. Only I can safeguard you from a world so eager to take what isn’t theirs. They don’t deserve even a fleeting glance from you.”

When jealousy consumes him, Ayato’s retribution is chillingly precise. There are no outbursts, no vulgar displays of rage. Instead, he orchestrates a symphony of ruin for the unfortunate soul who dared to admire you. Their family falls into disgrace, their reputation shredded like petals in a storm. And should you inquire, Ayato’s response is delivered with a smile that never reaches his eyes.

“They should have known better than to covet what’s mine. It’s a lesson the world must learn.”

The evidence of his cruelty is as subtle as his touch. The faint scent of blood that clings to his silken haori, the way his hands linger just a fraction too long on your neck as he adjusts a piece of jewelry he chose for you—jewelry that feels more like a shackle than a gift.

His intimacy is a performance of devotion that borders on reverence, each caress calculated to remind you of your place beneath him. He presses his lips to your skin, tracing patterns of possession as though marking you invisible to anyone else. His voice, a low, lilting murmur, sends shivers down your spine, a blend of adoration and menace.

“Do you see now? No one else will ever touch you this way. No one else will ever make you tremble the way I do. They couldn’t begin to understand the depth of what I feel for you.”

When you try to resist, his laughter is soft, almost pitying, as though amused by the futility of your rebellion. His grip tightens—not bruising, but firm, an unspoken reminder of who holds the reins. His fingers trail down your jaw, tilting your chin upward until you meet his piercing gaze.

“Why fight it, little one? You belong to me. Every smile, every breath, every cry of defiance—it's mine. And I’ll teach you, again and again, until you understand there is no life for you beyond me.”

Beneath his polished exterior lies a storm waiting to be unleashed, but you’ll never see it outright. His jealousy isn’t an explosion; it’s a slow suffocation, a quiet reminder with every word, every touch, every stolen freedom, that you are his forever.

────────────

♡ Childe (Tartaglia) – The Predator’s Obsession.

“Love is a battle, and I have not once lost a fight. Don't make the mistake of underestimating me, girlie. In the end, everything you are will belong to me—your body, your soul, your every breath.”

Childe’s jealousy burns hot and wild, like an unrelenting inferno that consumes everything in its path. It is not quiet or restrained; it is raw, visceral, and unapologetically violent. Beneath the playful smile and teasing laughter lies a beast—a predator who thrives on the hunt, and you are both his obsession and his prize.

His jealousy is a storm that no one survives. Those foolish enough to stand between him and you are dealt with swiftly and brutally. He doesn’t care about discretion or leaving no witnesses; in fact, he ensures you see the blood he spills in your name. It’s not just a message to his enemies—it’s a warning to you, too.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice low and chilling despite the blood splattered across his face. “This is what I’ll always do to anyone who dares touch what’s mine. Do you understand now, love? You’ll never escape me. Not alive, at least.”

Childe’s possessiveness is feral, his need for you so overwhelming it feels like drowning. He pulls you into his world of chaos and carnage, holding you tight even as his actions terrify you. His kisses are feverish, desperate, almost bruising, as though he’s trying to claim you with every touch. Yet, there’s a softness in his desperation, a vulnerability that only emerges in these fleeting moments.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice breaking slightly as he buries his face in your neck. “Don’t you see? I’d destroy the whole world just to keep you safe. No one will ever take you from me. No one.”

When you try to resist, to pull away from the suffocating heat of his love, Childe only tightens his grip. His eyes darken, his expression growing colder, though the smile never quite leaves his lips. It’s a predator’s smile—a reminder of the danger you’re courting by testing his patience.

“You think you can defy me? That you can run from me?” he says, his voice soft but laced with menace. “Run if you want, my love. I’ll enjoy hunting you down. The thrill of the chase only makes it sweeter when I catch you.”

In intimacy, Childe’s ferocity doesn’t fade; it intensifies. His touch is demanding, his strength overwhelming, a physical manifestation of his need to dominate and possess you. But he doesn’t simply take—he devours. Every gasp, every shiver, every whispered protest is met with a fervent determination to make you submit entirely to him.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips brushing your ear. “Is it fear or excitement? Don’t answer, my love. It’s both, isn’t it? You hate how much you need me, just as much as you love it.”

Childe leaves marks on your body—not just bruises and bites, but an imprint of his presence so deep it feels like it’s carved into your soul. When he whispers his devotion, it’s not a declaration—it’s a promise, edged with the quiet menace of someone who would tear the world apart just to keep you by his side.

“You can fight all you want, girlie, but it nothing will ever change. The moment I laid my eyes on you, you belonged to me alone. And you always will be.”

────────────

♡ Scaramouche / Wanderer – The Tempest’s Grasp.

“I was forged in hatred and despair, yet for you, I would destroy even myself. Do not test the limits of my love. There is no redemption for what I’ve done—only the eternal chains of my devotion to you.”

Scaramouche’s jealousy is a tempest, violent and unrelenting, born from centuries of bitterness and abandonment. His love is not soft or kind—it is jagged and cutting, a love that consumes, destroys, and rebuilds you in his image. He doesn’t just crave your affection; he demands it, needing every piece of you to prove he is not as empty as the gods once decreed.

“You belong to me,” he whispers, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “I don’t care how you feel about it, and I don’t care who stands in my way. You’re mine, and that’s the only truth that matters.”

He watches you obsessively, his eyes dark with a storm of emotions he doesn’t fully understand. Your every interaction is cataloged, dissected, and judged. His jealousy isn’t just a reaction—it’s a prelude to destruction. The poor soul who dares to come too close to you finds themselves caught in a maelstrom of wrath. Their screams are swallowed by the sky, lightning striking with surgical precision as Scaramouche erases their existence.

“Did you see how they looked at you? So shameless, so presumptuous,” he spits, his hands tightening around your wrists. “They thought they could take you from me. As if I’d ever allow it.”

Scaramouche’s possessiveness is suffocating, his love a cage built from lightning and despair. He doesn’t need to shackle you physically—his presence alone is enough to keep you tethered. His touch is searing, electrifying, a reminder that he could destroy you in an instant, yet he doesn’t. His hands linger on your skin, trembling with restraint, as though he’s waging a war within himself not to claim you in a way that would leave you irreparably broken.

“You think you can escape me?” he sneers, his lips curving into a cruel smile. “Run if you dare. I’ll hunt you down. And when I find you, you’ll regret ever thinking you could survive without me.”

There’s a fragility to his rage, a desperation beneath the cruelty. Scaramouche’s jealousy isn’t just possessiveness—it’s a manifestation of his deepest fears. He’s terrified of being abandoned again, of losing the one thing that gives his existence meaning. When he holds you in his arms, his grip is almost painful, as if letting go would shatter him completely.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he whispers, his voice cracking. “You’re all I have. You’re the only thing keeping me from falling apart. Don’t you dare take that away from me.”

In moments of intimacy, Scaramouche is both brutal and vulnerable. His kisses are fervent, his hands leaving trails of electricity across your body as he pulls you impossibly close. But behind the intensity lies a trembling need, a desperate plea for validation. He doesn’t know how to love without control, without proving to himself that you are undeniably his.

“Cry for me,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Let me see that you need me, that you feel this the way I do. Prove to me that I’m not alone in this.”

And when you look into his eyes, you see the broken boy behind the storm—the creation abandoned by his maker, desperately clinging to the one thing that makes him feel whole. It’s in those moments you realize that Scaramouche’s jealousy isn’t just dangerous—it’s devastating. It’s the love of a man who would burn the world down if it meant keeping you by his side.

────────────

♡ Kaeya – The Icebound Heart.

“Love is such a fragile thing, don’t you think? It would be a shame if someone… shattered it. Or, better yet, if I shattered them for even daring to covet you.”

Kaeya’s jealousy is an arctic wind, deceptively beautiful but cutting to the bone. He cloaks his obsession in layers of charm and wit, each word a snowflake hiding the jagged ice beneath. His playful demeanor is a mask, and beneath it lies a predator—calculating, relentless, and utterly devoted to possessing you.

“They looked at you as if they had a chance,” he murmurs, his smile as sharp as broken glass. “I almost admire their bravery. But bravery is nothing compared to what I’m capable of.”

Kaeya dismantles his rivals with chilling precision, each act of sabotage cloaked in plausible deniability. The merchant who flirted with you finds their fortunes mysteriously frozen. The friend who lingers too long is subtly discredited, their reputation unraveling thread by thread. Kaeya ensures you remain untouched by the fallout, presenting himself as your only solace amidst the chaos he orchestrates.

“Poor things,” he says, his tone dripping with mock sympathy. “It seems the world wasn’t kind to them. But you have me, don’t you? And I’ll protect you from it all.”

His touch is paradoxical—cold enough to make you shiver, yet searing in its intensity. He presses you against the icy walls of his desire, his lips brushing your ear as his words cut deeper than any blade.

“You’ll never need anyone else. I’ll make sure of it. Whether you see it as love or obsession doesn’t matter. You’ll feel it either way.”

Kaeya doesn’t just want your body; he craves your mind, your spirit, every secret you’ve ever held close. He watches you with a smirk that hides his relentless need, his gaze following your every move like a shadow cast by moonlight on snow.

“Do you think you can hide anything from me?” he asks, his voice soft, almost teasing. “I see through you. I know every thought you try to bury, every flicker of hesitation. You’ll learn there’s no use resisting.”

When he kisses you, it’s with a fervor that steals your breath, his lips as cold as the promise of winter. His hands trace your skin like an artist memorizing their masterpiece, leaving behind a trail of phantom chills. There’s a desperation in his touch, a need to mark you as irrevocably his.

“I could freeze the entire world and keep you warm in my arms,” he whispers, his tone an intoxicating mix of affection and menace. “Wouldn’t that be poetic? You, my only warmth in an eternity of frost.”

Kaeya’s love is a glacier—vast, unyielding, and utterly destructive to anything in its path. He whispers sweet nothings as he tightens his grip, his gentleness a calculated act to lull you into complacency. And when you tremble beneath him, whether from fear or desire, his smile turns predatory.

“You’re so exquisite when you’re afraid,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing your lips. “But don’t worry, my love. The only thing you truly need to fear… is losing me.”

For Kaeya, love is not a gentle thing. It is a tempest, a winter storm that leaves no escape. And though his jealousy is a blade of ice, he wields it with such elegance, such devotion, that you can’t help but shiver at the realization: there is no thaw, no spring. Only the eternal winter of his love.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk-blog1

[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 when she was young - nothing happenes until she's of age, 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 young 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. And you knew he respects you that much. 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, keep you safe. 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.

Somehow, being twenty-one did make you feel the anticipation of living a life. Almost twenty-two when 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 probably 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 we met, 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'll—"

"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 be wifed and knocked up as soon as we met, 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. "It's not that big, Dad. I know it's a lot to take in, but Namjoon and I—we're serious about this." You never knew how good you were at lying until today. Your father's eyes narrow, his gaze flicking between you and Namjoon.

"When did this relationship even happen? Is he holding you against your will?!" he demands, his tone a mix of frustration and disbelief. Your smile freezes for a moment, and you try your best not to give yourself away.

"No, Dad, that happens only in movies," you reply, attempting a light-hearted tone to deflect his suspicion. Maybe this is what Namjoon meant by earning trust.

Your father's gaze remains hard, but he doesn't push further. Instead, he turns to Namjoon, his voice cold and edged with protectiveness. "You better take care of her, Namjoon. If anything happens to her, I won't forgive you."

Namjoon smiles proudly at you, almost missing your father's harsh words. His confidence in you seems unshaken.

"You have my word," he replies simply, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, staring at the shiny peachy morganite.

You were never religious enough to step foot in a church after you were christened as a baby. Your parents were indifferent to faith, more focused on the struggles of daily life than spiritual obligations. But your now husband-to-be came from very religious kin, and he himself was a God's worshipper. Ironic enough when he managed to break the Ten Commandments before sipping his morning coffee.

His family, deeply rooted in tradition and devout faith, expected nothing less than a grand celebration steeped in religious customs. The thought of walking down an aisle, flanked by stained glass and the scent of incense, felt foreign and overwhelming.

The morning sun poured into the grand church, illuminating the ornate stained glass that depicted scenes of devotion and reverence. As you and Namjoon stepped through the heavy wooden doors, a wave of warmth enveloped you, mingling with the scent of polished wood and candle wax. It felt like stepping into another world, one where faith and family intertwined seamlessly.

You could see familiar faces sitting on the wooden benches. Kim Taehyung smirking your way when he glanced at your hand interlocked with Namjoon's. He was sitting next to Mr. Jung, whom you recognized by his mullet, and the next seat was occupied by the one and only Mrs. Jung, whom you hadn't seen for a good amount of time. There were also some faces that you did not recognize, yet they still felt familiar to you. You couldn't help but notice the way the Kims and Jungs interacted, the warmth of their bonds evident in the way they smiled, laughed, and shared stories during the prayers. Their camaraderie was infectious, and for a fleeting moment, you found yourself longing for that sense of belonging.

As the service began, the congregation settled into a peaceful quiet, the sounds of rustling papers and shifting bodies fading into the background. The priest took his place at the altar, his voice echoing through the high ceilings as he began to speak about love, commitment, and the sacred bonds of marriage. Each word resonated deeply within you, pulling at your heartstrings as you thought of your impending union. As it was explained to you, this Mass was held as the announcement of your engagement—one of many traditions they had.

Namjoon sat beside you, his presence a constant reminder of the promise you had made. You could feel his gaze on you, intense and unwavering, as if he were silently urging you to embrace this new chapter of your life. But the weight of that ring on your finger felt heavier than ever in this moment.

"Love is not merely a feeling; it's a choice," the priest's voice boomed, and you glanced at Namjoon, catching the flicker of expectation in his eyes. "It's a daily commitment to one another, a promise to uphold each other through trials and triumphs alike."

You shifted in your seat, feeling the heat of his gaze on you like a physical presence. You wondered if love really was a choice—or if, in your case, it was a bargain made under duress. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened ever so slightly, a subtle reminder of the hold he had over your life.

This was the first time he took you out of the penthouse since the day you woke up in his bed for the first time. He simply did not trust you enough to go out in public with you just yet. Hence, his hand remained on yours in a very obsessive manner, as if you were to fly away at any moment.

The priest continued, "Marriage is a sacred bond, one that should be approached with reverence and care. It's not merely about sharing a life together but about supporting and uplifting one another, about being the anchor when the storms come." He paused, letting his words sink in.

Your mind wandered back to your father, the struggles he faced, and how Namjoon had used that vulnerability to secure your loyalty. The contrast between the priest's idealistic views on love and your reality felt stark. How could you ever find true happiness in a union that felt more like a transaction than a partnership? You were feeling heavy.

"And today," the priest announced, raising his voice slightly to draw everyone's attention, "we gather not only to worship but to celebrate the union of two souls destined to walk together."

Your breath caught in your throat, and a mix of emotions surged through you. Murmurs of congratulations rippled through the congregation, and you felt the weight of countless eyes on you, some filled with excitement, others with curiosity. Namjoon's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes gleaming with pride.

You could feel your cheeks flush as the reality of your situation sank in deeper. The ring on your finger felt like a shackle, the promises made a binding contract that left little room for your own desires.

"I—" you started, but the words felt stuck in your throat. "I need to go to the restroom, Namjoon."

His expression shifted, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Now?" he asked, voice low enough that only you could hear, but firm enough to convey his displeasure. "We're in the middle of the service."

Namjoon hesitated, weighing your request against the backdrop of the ceremony. Finally, he released your hand but leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Make it quick, baby."

You nodded, grateful for the small bit of freedom. Your Louboutin heels clicked against the marble floor, each step echoing like a drumbeat in the otherwise quiet sanctuary. The sound felt amplified in your ears, a reminder of the attention you were drawing as you navigated through the rows of wooden pews. You could feel the weight of curious gazes following you, some filled with anticipation, others with judgment. It was as if the congregation sensed the tension between you and Namjoon, the unspoken power dynamics playing out in real time.

You pushed open the restroom door and stepped inside. The fluorescent lights cast a stark glare, highlighting the contrast between the serenity of the service and the storm swirling within you.

Leaning against the sink, you took a moment to catch your breath. The reflection staring back at you was a mixture of uncertainty and defiance, a girl caught between two worlds.

"Why am I still here?" you whispered to your reflection, the question echoing back at you. You thought of the life you had envisioned for yourself, one filled with love, laughter, and independence, not one governed by fear and obligation.

"I fucked up." After a few deep breaths, you steadied yourself. You needed to return before he would throw a tantrum, as he loved to do whenever you were away from him for longer than ten minutes. Paranoid bastard. You glanced at your watch and noted that only a few minutes had passed. With a resigned sigh, you turned to leave, determination flooding your veins.

As you exited the restroom, you found Namjoon leaning against the wall outside, arms crossed and an expression that mixed concern and annoyance. His posture was protective, yet the underlying tension in his demeanor sent a shiver down your spine. He pushed himself from the wall only to walk towards you, making you take a few steps back into the restroom. His eyes never left yours even when he closed the door and locked it from inside, the sound echoing ominously in the small space.

The reality of your situation pressed down on you, an oppressive weight that made it hard to breathe. He moved closer, his eyes dark and intent.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," he replied when you asked him why he wasn't upstairs, his tone both soothing and authoritative.

"You know how important this day is, right? I can't have you slipping away from me."

You swallowed hard, trying to maintain your composure. "I'm fine. I just needed a moment," you insisted, but the way he watched you made it clear he wasn't convinced.

"You can be honest, Peaches," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. "You're in a room full of people celebrating our engagement, and yet you're out here trying to escape."

His words struck a nerve, and you crossed your arms defensively. "I'm not trying to escape," you shot back, though the lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

"Okay," he said calmly, staring intensely into your eyes, as if he was trying to read you. A small smirk played at the corners of his lips, but the tension in the air remained thick. You did not expect him to drop the topic that quickly.

"I just needed to collect my thoughts," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Okay," he murmured again. He stepped closer, closing the distance between you even more, his body radiating warmth that both comforted and unsettled you. He was standing there, inches away from you, yet he was not taking any action.

"W-why are you so calm, what are you doing, Namjoon?" you asked, trying to grasp his demeanor which you yet again did not understand.

"Waiting—"

"Can we just go back to the ceremony?" you whispered, your voice barely audible. Namjoon's smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear.

"Not yet, my love," he whispered back, his voice low and husky. Namjoon's fingers traced the curve of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. "I longed to show you just who you belong to for years."

"You're fucking stunning, Peaches," he murmured, his lips brushing against your earlobe. Namjoon's fingers trailed down your chest, stopping just above your breasts. You felt a jolt of electricity run through your body, and you knew that you were in trouble.

"Namjoon," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "We can't do this here, we're in a church." You tried to push him away.

"You are something I can sin for," he whispered back, his voice low and seductive. You tried to pull away, but Namjoon held you firm, his grip unyielding.

"Namjoon, please," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire and apprehension.

But Namjoon was relentless, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin that left you quivering with pleasure. "You're mine, Peaches," he murmured, his lips trailing down your neck.

"And I'll do whatever it takes to keep it that way."

Namjoon's lips found yours, and he kissed you with a passion that left you breathless. His tongue danced with yours, and you felt your body respond to his every touch. As you kissed, Namjoon's hand slid between your legs, and he began to caress you through your dress. You gasped softly, your body arching into his touch, trembling with the sudden pleasure.

"Namjoon," you whispered urgently, "we have to stop." Your breath hitched as he pressed you against the mirror after he lifted you onto the counter, plunging himself between your legs.

"No, we don't," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "Not until I've claimed you as mine."

The church's silence seemed to amplify the intensity of the moment, and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of a cliff. His fingers traced the contours of your body, exploring every curve and crevice.

"What if someone hears?" you breathed again, desperation lacing your voice.

His lips paused just above your collarbone, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. As if the universe was playing by his rules, the choir started to sing. He chuckled.

"You're mine, Peaches. I won't let anyone take you away from me—not today, not ever." He captured your lips again, his kiss deepening with a fervor that ignited every nerve ending in your body.

His hands were exploring the curves of your thighs, lifting the hem of your dress higher as he pressed you firmly against the cold surface of the counter.

"Namjoon," you breathed, a mix of excitement and fear knotting in your stomach. "We can't…" you continued your protests.

"But we will." His fingers danced dangerously close to your most sensitive spots, teasing you with the promise of pleasure. You felt your resolve begin to crumble under his touch.

"I've waited too long for this," he murmured, voice a velvet whisper that wrapped around you like a lover's embrace.

"Namjoon," you gasped against his lips, torn between the heady rush of desire and the urgent need to pull back. But with each kiss, each exploration of his hands, your inhibitions began to melt away, surrendering to the intoxicating pull he had over you.

"Just let go," he urged, a soft growl escaping his lips as he pressed his body into yours, making you acutely aware of the hard length that pressed against your core.

"Trust me."

A wild, reckless part of you craved this intimacy, this connection that felt both exhilarating and terrifying. Your mind took you back to all those moments you shared that made your heart flutter and belly tight when you did not know why he made you feel that way.

You hesitated for a heartbeat, the weight of your reality pressing heavily on your conscience. His fingers found their way beneath your dress, inching higher until they brushed against your most sensitive skin. You gasped, arching your back involuntarily as pleasure surged through you, igniting a fire in your belly.

"Namjoon!" you cried out, a mixture of pleasure and panic lacing your voice.

"Shh, baby," he whispered, his lips trailing down your neck as he continued his teasing exploration. With a deft motion, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs and tossing them aside as if they were nothing more than an afterthought. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, heightening your senses and making your breath hitch in your throat.

The air in the restroom felt thick with anticipation, each breath you took mingling with the scent of sandalwood and the faint musk of his skin.

“You’re breath-taking,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with desire.

His fingertips traced closer to where you needed him most, teasing you with the lightest of touches. You bit your lip, trying to suppress a moan that threatened to escape, the heat pooling deep within you almost overwhelming.

“Namjoon…” you whispered, half warning, half plea, torn between your desire for him and the reality of your surroundings.

“—and so wet for me.” He breathed against your skin, his breath sending sparks dancing along your nerves. His tongue danced with yours, a heated exploration that deepened your need for him. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you and the intoxicating chemistry that crackled between your bodies.

His fingers pressed against you, expertly coaxing soft moans from your lips as he slid one finger inside, filling you completely. You bit down on your lip to stifle your cries, but the pleasure was overwhelming, radiating out from the point of contact and pooling low in your stomach.

His eyes sparkled with a predatory intensity, relishing in your reaction. He watched you as if he were savouring a fine wine, taking his time to appreciate every detail of your response.

“Namjoon,” you gasped, your voice a fragile whisper, barely able to maintain any semblance of restraint.

“Oppa.” He growled. The way he said it—deep, possessive—made your heart race faster, each beat echoing in the stillness of the restroom. Namjoon’s fingers moved with a deliberate rhythm, curling inside you in a way that sent your mind spiralling.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he commanded, his tone a mix of sultry and demanding, eyes never leaving yours as he watched you unravel under his touch.

You hesitated for a moment, your breath coming in quick gasps as pleasure washed over you. “It feels… amazing,” you managed to whisper, the confession slipping past your lips like a sweet secret. You can regret this later.

“Good,” he murmured, the smirk on his face growing wider. “I want to hear every sound you make.”

His fingers moved faster, building the tension to a near unbearable level, each thrust sending you closer to the brink. The world around you faded completely, leaving just the two of you entwined in this stolen moment of passion, lost in the depths of one another.

“Namjoon. I can’t—” his hand smacked your ass and he deliberately slowed down.

“It’s oppa for you. Don’t make me repeat it again.”

The playful sting of his hand against your skin sent a rush of warmth coursing through you, mingling with the heat pooling low in your belly. His voice was firm, but beneath that authority was a hint of something deeper—a promise that ignited a wild excitement within you.

“Oppa,” you whispered breathlessly, the word slipping from your lips like a spell meant just for him.

He smiled, satisfied, and resumed his movements, fingers working expertly inside you again. The pressure built anew, the delightful tension sending electric shocks through your body.

“Good girl,” he praised, his breath hot against your ear. “I want to hear you, Peaches. Let me know how much you need me.”

With that, he quickened his pace, thrusting his fingers deeper, curling them just right. The overwhelming pleasure began to blur the edges of your consciousness, leaving only the sensations that centred on where he was buried within you. The heat intensified, building towards a sweet, dizzying peak, and you couldn’t help but surrender to it.

With a final flick of his fingers, he found that sweet spot inside you, driving you wild. Your body responded in kind, the sensations intertwining with your every thought. You could feel the tightening in your core, the unmistakable signal that you were teetering on the edge of bliss.

“Namjoon-oppa, I—” you gasped, words failing you as the pleasure escalated.

“Shh, just let it happen,” he murmured, his voice deep and soothing, anchoring you in the moment. His lips met yours in a heated kiss, swallowing your cries as the waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

"Oppa!" you cried against his mouth, unable to contain the raw need bursting forth from within. Your body trembled, the climax washing over you in a torrent of sensations, enveloping you completely as you surrendered to the bliss. The choir's distant hymns created an almost surreal backdrop to this heated encounter, mixing innocence with your burgeoning desire.

As the pleasure receded, leaving you breathless and dazed, Namjoon held you close, his arms encircling you like a protective cocoon. You leaned into him, heart racing and body tingling, reveling in the aftershocks of your release.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it?" he teased, his voice low and playful, a wicked grin spreading across his lips. "To be mine."

Your blurry eyes lifted to look at him, taking him in while you were still panting from the rollercoaster of emotions he made you feel. Flickering down to his bulge covered by the fabric of his black suit pants from Ralph Lauren, your breath hitched again. Enough for him to move his hands to his belt, being absolutely ready to take you. Finally free of his belt, he pulled down his zipper. The fabric of his pants fell open, revealing the outline of his desire, bold and unmistakable.

The urgency of the moment wrapped around you like a tight embrace, making it hard to think straight. You glanced around, the restroom feeling impossibly small, every sound amplified.

"Oppa, please…" you breathed, your heart racing as you tried to pull away, but the undeniable hunger in his gaze anchored you in place. You could see the determination etched on his face, the way his jaw tightened with lust. He had a plan, and it made your pulse quicken. You were not sure what you were begging for—to stop or to continue?

If not for the soft knock on the door, he would have taken you right there, on the church's restroom counter. It jolted you both, pulling you back to the reality of your surroundings. A rush of panic surged through you, and you instinctively glanced around the cramped restroom, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Oppa," you whispered again, this time a plea laced with desire and uncertainty.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Just a little longer," he promised, his fingers finding their way back to your thighs, gripping you tightly as if to keep you anchored to the moment.

"Just one more time," he urged, his voice thick with need. "I need to feel you—"

"Hyung, I know you will kill me for this, but you need to come back upstairs." The voice—familiar and insistent—cut through the haze of desire that had enveloped you both.

Namjoon's expression flickered from lust to annoyance, his grip on you tightening slightly as if to remind you that this moment was still theirs, even if the world outside was intruding.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, his frustration palpable. The intensity in his gaze shifted, but it didn't fade. Instead, it turned into something more predatory, a simmering heat that promised this wasn't over.

"We'll be right there!" He shouted back to the voice behind the door. His eyes slowly returned to watch you and your disheveled form after he fingered the fuck out of you.

He leaned in, his lips capturing yours once more, and it felt like time stood still. The world around you blurred, and for that moment, it was just the two of you—lost in a whirlwind of passion that defied the reality waiting outside the door.

His forehead remained pressed on yours when he whispered to your lips. “Next time, we won’t be so rushed, I promise.” Pecking your lips, he quickly pulled his pants back up, securing his belt with a swift motion, yet the heat of the moment lingered between you both.

The calm shattered in an instant.

The heavy church door burst open with a deafening crash. Armed men in tactical gear stormed in with raised weapons, their shouts filling the air. Namjoon immediately pushed you behind him, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene with deadly focus.

The thunderous crack of gunfire echoed off the stone walls as the air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder. Namjoon drew a gun from beneath his jacket—like several other family men in attendance—his movements swift and practiced. He returned fire, the muzzle flash illuminating his determined face in bursts of light.

Your heart pounded in your chest like a drum of terror and adrenaline. Huddled behind an overturned pew, you clutched your ears against the deafening noise, eyes wide with shock and fear. Namjoon, breathing heavily, scanned the room one final time before turning to you, his eyes softening for a moment.

"Stay down!" he shouted, his voice barely audible above the chaos.

"Jungkook, get them out!" Namjoon barked, his eyes fixed on the fight.

He reached your side, pulling you up by the arm. Jungkook's grip was firm yet reassuring.

"Come on," he urged, his voice a steady anchor amid the storm of violence. He led you through the chaos, his body shielding you from the worst of the gunfire.

Just as you neared the side door, a sharp pain exploded in your side. You stumbled, a cry of agony escaping your lips. The world seemed to slow, the sounds of battle muffled by the roaring in your ears. Looking down, you saw blood spreading across your dress, the pain intensifying with each heartbeat.

"Peaches!"

.

.

.

.

.

𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐝

©pennyellee. please do not repost

tag list: @hecateslittlewitchling - @ratprincessnr1 - @originalbiscuitfiredreamer - @mggv97 - @urlovelily - @ilys00ga - @beautifulcloudfestival - @herareila @mar-lo-pap

Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥

see you next time, love, p.