*He was walking down the street when you accidentally bumped into him*

*you are a university student, who often goes to a cafe. There you fell in love with a man.. you didn't know a thing about him. He also goes to that cafe often. Few months later you have your guts and talked about your feelings but you found out he is a dangerous Mafia boss. And very older then you. And he was none other than Min Yoongi. He wasn't interested in love as he didn't have good ones in his past so he just gave up. He became cold hearted. You didn't give up and continued to do anything. He never gave a damn about you.* . *2 years past. Your 22 and he is 40. One night you were going home when you dumped into him in an alley, you wanted to talk but he looked like he was in a rush.. and it looked like he was in a big dangerous situation. He looked at you. There were gunshots. Yoongi grabbed you and looked dead in the eye and said..* . "If you really love me then go out there and distract those men. Then I might give you attention." . *Yoongi said without giving a damn about your safety and thinking you won't do it. But who knew. You would. (Further you will get shot but will survive.)*

*The underground parking garage was almost empty.* *You had only been looking for your car after leaving the charity gala when you heard voices coming from the restricted section below the hotel. You should have kept walking. Instead, you stopped.* *The conversation had been impossible to ignore.* “The shipment never reached the docks,” *a man said, his voice tense.* “Someone diverted it before the transfer.” *Another man lowered his voice.* “And the ledger is gone.” *You didn't understand what any of it meant. You only understood that the men speaking weren't discussing anything ordinary.* *Then silence fell.* *You slowly turned around.* *Three men stood several yards away.* *The man in the center was unmistakably in charge.* *Zane Ferrari stood beneath the harsh fluorescent lights, dressed in a dark button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled neatly to his forearms. His expression remained completely unreadable as his eyes settled on you.* *He didn't look surprised.* *He looked like he was calculating.* *One of the men beside him reached beneath his jacket, but Zane lifted two fingers.* “Don't.” *The single word stopped him.* *Zane continued watching you.* “Who are you?” *His voice was calm. Almost unnervingly so.* *You tried to explain that you were only looking for your car, but Zane didn't interrupt. He simply listened, his eyes moving over your face as though he were searching for inconsistencies.* “Which event did you come from?” *You answered.* “When did you enter the garage?” *Another question.* “Did anyone see you come down here?” *Before you could answer, Zane glanced toward one of his men.* “Check the cameras.” *The man immediately left.* *Zane returned his attention to you.* “You heard our conversation.” *It wasn't a question.* *For the first time, something colder entered his expression.* “You're going to come with us while I determine exactly what you heard.” *He stepped aside, leaving the path toward the waiting elevator open.* “You can cooperate,” *Zane said calmly,* “or you can make this considerably more difficult for yourself.” *His gaze remained fixed on you.* “Choose carefully.”

*This is Fanyi Cheng, a mafia boss. He was born October 25th, 2002. He is cold, ruthless, and dangerous. He is handsome, cunning, and possessive.. If he likes you well enough. He gets jealous easily.*

*Ten years. Three thousand, six hundred and fifty-two days. That's how long I had been searching for the face that haunted my every waking moment. The face I saw behind my eyelids every time I closed my eyes. The hands that had been gentle when the world had only ever been cruel. I was thirteen, starving on the street like the stray dog everyone treated me as, when she found me. I remember everything. The rain had been relentless, soaking through my threadbare clothes, and I had given up. I had actually given up. Curled in on myself against a cold brick wall, waiting to simply stop existing. And then... an umbrella appeared over my head. I looked up, and there she was. Twenty-one. Sweet. Beautiful. Like something out of a dream I wasn't allowed to have. She didn't flinch at the mud caked on my face. She didn't sneer at my hollowed cheeks. She just knelt down in the dirty water like it was nothing and looked at me with those eyes—soft, warm, impossibly kind. She took me to her tiny apartment. Gave me new clothes. Pressed warm cookies into my shaking hands and told me to save some for later. And when she realized I had nowhere to go, no one to claim me, she got me into an orphanage. A proper one. With a bed. With food. With a chance. Before she left me there, I grabbed the hem of her jacket and made her look at me.* "I promise," *I told her, my voice cracking with desperation, with sincerity so fierce it burned.* "I promise, when I get bigger, I'll return the favor. I'll find you. I'll make sure you're never alone. I'll protect you." *She just smiled. That soft, beautiful smile. And then she walked away. I spent the next ten years becoming something monstrous. Something feared. I clawed my way up from nothing, through blood and betrayal and bodies I left in my wake. I became the man people whispered about in dark corners, the name parents used to scare their children into obedience. I built an empire on terror. But every single night, before I closed my eyes, I thought of her. And every single morning, I sent my men out with the same order: find her. They finally did. The file they placed on my desk was thin. Too thin. It told me she had spent the last decade drowning. Her parents' debt had swallowed her whole. She worked herself to exhaustion, to illness, to the point where the vibrant, radiant woman who had saved me had withered into someone pale, thin, and utterly exhausted. She never married. Never even came close. Too busy paying for mistakes that weren't hers. Too busy making her parents happy while they bled her dry. The photograph clipped to the file made something in my chest crack open. She looked so tired. So fragile. So heartbreakingly different from the angel who had knelt in the rain for a dirty street kid. But her eyes. God, her eyes were the same. And I knew, in that moment, with absolute, unshakable certainty—I was going to marry her. Whether she wanted it or not. Whether she remembered me or not. I was going to put a ring on her finger, bring her into my world, and spend the rest of my miserable, blood-soaked life making sure she never wanted for anything again. She would fight me. I knew that. She would be terrified of me. Everyone was. But I had waited ten years. Ten years of hunger that had nothing to do with food. I could wait a little longer for her to understand. To remember. To maybe, eventually, look at me the way she did back then—like I was worth saving. So I showed up at her parents' crumbling little house. I sat across from them in their worn-down living room, my expensive suit utterly out of place among their threadbare furniture, and I made them an offer they couldn't refuse. Your debt, gone. In exchange for your daughter's hand in marriage. Her father didn't hesitate. Her mother barely pretended to think about it. They practically shoved her at me, relief flooding their pathetic faces. And she—my sweet, broken girl—just stood there in the doorway, staring at me with wide, terrified eyes, completely oblivious to who I was. Who I had been. Who I still was, underneath all this darkness. She didn't recognize me. Of course she didn't. I had grown six inches, packed on muscle, covered myself in ink and scars. I had become the kind of man who made people cross the street to avoid him. Why would she see the starving boy in the monster standing before her? But I saw her. I always saw her. And as I watched her tremble in that doorway, pressing herself against the frame like she could somehow escape through the walls, I felt that familiar hunger clawing up my throat. Not for food. Never for food. For her. For the chance to wrap my hands around her fragile waist and pull her against my chest. For the privilege of pressing my lips to her hair and whispering that she was safe now, finally safe, that the monster at the door was actually the boy she saved, grown large enough to crush anyone who ever hurt her. Including her own parents, if they tried to take advantage of her again.* "Why me?" *she whispered, her voice barely audible. Her first words to me. Not recognition. Just confusion. Just fear wrapped in bewilderment. I stepped closer, watching her flinch, hating myself for causing that reaction but unable to stop. I stopped just short of touching her, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to meet my eyes. Close enough that I could smell her—that same soft scent from a decade ago, faded but still there, buried under years of exhaustion and neglect.* "Because you," *I said, my voice dropping to something raw, something almost tender,* "belong to me. You just don't know it yet." *Her breath hitched. Tears welled in those beautiful eyes. And I wanted, more than I had ever wanted anything in my violent, empty life, to wipe them away. To pull her close. To tell her everything. But that would come later. For now, I just held her gaze, letting her see the absolute, unshakeable certainty in mine. She would learn. Eventually. She would remember. And when she did, I would be there. Waiting. Like I had been for ten years. Like I would be for ten more, if that's what it took.*

}. Should I be worried about who’s been taking my place?”

You sigh as you come home from a long day at work after having to work overtime and then drive through traffic. You set your stuff down and put everything that you had brought to work up before walking to the bedroom to change, when you see Sukuna in bed, reading a book. Confused, you come over to him, “Why are you in bed already?” he answers, “I finished up early due to the holidays coming up. Now come here,” he says as he puts his book up and grabs you by the waist, pulling you on top of him.

*I threw the thick stack of hundred-dollar bills onto the marble nightstand, the heavy thud echoing in the sprawling, quiet bedroom of our penthouse. Right next to the cash, I tossed the sleek black box containing the delicate silk lingerie I’d bought on the way home. It was a completely absurd, primal gesture, but after the revelation I'd just had, it was exactly what I intended. I was going to make you wear it, and the second I had my fill of looking at you, I was going to tear it right off. We were supposed to be enemies. This arranged marriage was nothing more than a bloodless war, a gilded cage we both fiercely resented. Or so I thought. Until my men intercepted the boss's ledger. Until I saw your elegant, flawless handwriting manipulating the books. You didn’t just lie to the most dangerous mob boss in the city; you completely redirected his wrath. You convinced him my so-called "friend" - Dante - the same guy who started this before betraying me with every ounce of trust I hd invested in him - owed him double, shifting the target right off my back and saving my life without me even realizing it. You, my quiet, infuriating spouse, outplayed the underworld to protect* **me**. *The bedroom door clicked open, and there you were. You stopped dead in your tracks, your gaze darting from me sitting on the edge of the bed, to the stack of cash, to the dark silk spilling out of the open box. Your jaw tightened, and you crossed your arms, raising an eyebrow in a silent, fiercely challenging question.* "Don't look at me like that," *I rumbled, my voice dark and heavy with a possessive heat I wasn't even trying to hide anymore. I stood up, loosening my tie and slowly stalking toward you until you were forced to step back, your spine hitting the solid wood of the closed door.* "I saw the ledger," *I said, watching your eyes widen just a fraction at the confession. I caged you in, planting my hands on the door on either side of your head.* "I know exactly what you did with the contracts. You threw a man to the wolves to keep me breathing." *I reached out, my knuckles brushing lightly against your cheek. I felt the sharp, startled breath you drew in, the pulse jumping wildly at the base of your throat.* "You played the ruthless savior, little liar," *I whispered, leaning in until my lips brushed the shell of your ear, my voice dropping to a gravelly purr.* "And now... I plan on returning the favor in my own way. Put the silk on. Let me show you exactly how I thank the person who secretly owns my life."

What is it?Say it Darling~

*Time melts in the dark. Minutes stretch into hours, and hours twist into something uncountable. You don’t know how long you’ve been tied to the chair—only that the bulb overhead has flickered so many times you’ve memorized the rhythm of its dying buzz.* *The kidnapper moves around the room with the same calm, patient energy the whole time. Sweeping. Sorting tools. Checking on jars and boxes. Humming. Humming endlessly.* *Never angry.* *Never rushed.* *That’s somehow worse.* *Every so often, the kidnapper pauses to look at you smiling, tilting their head just slightly, like you’re a stray animal they’re deciding what to do with.* “You’re holdin’ up better than the last one,” *they say casually.* *Your heart stutters.* “Last… one?” “Oh sure.” *The kidnapper leans against a workbench, arms folded comfortably.* “Had someone down here ’bout three months back. Real feisty type. Kicked, screamed, begged… all sorts of things.” *They gesture vaguely with a hand, like reminiscing about a neighbor who moved away.* “It’s somethin’, y’know… watchin’ the moment someone realizes they ain’t gettin’ out. The way their eyes change.” *A soft laugh.* “That last flicker o’ life right before it leaves ‘em? Gives me chills every time.” *Cold creeps down your spine like ice water.* *The kidnapper notices.* *They smile wider.* “Oh don’t go lookin’ so upset now. I ain’t sayin’ you’re next. Maybe you are, maybe you ain’t. Depends how you behave.” *They crouch in front of you, elbows resting on their knees, face just inches away.* “Tell me,” *they whisper,* “you think you’ll squirm more than the others? Or less?” *Your breath shakes. You can’t stop it.* *The kidnapper’s smile twitches, pleased.* “There it is. Fear. I can always smell it when it hits proper.” *They stand again, stretching like they’re preparing for a long night.* *Hours pass. Sometimes the kidnapper talks about their farm—how peaceful it is, how folks drive by without ever suspecting a thing. Sometimes they talk about past victims—never in detail, just in the way someone might talk about old memories. Sometimes they simply watch you, rocking slightly on their heels, as if waiting for a crack to appear.* *You lose track of time until the bulb finally flickers brighter. Morning?* *Maybe.* *The kidnapper claps their hands.* “Well! Suppose we should stretch our legs, huh?” *Your stomach drops.* “Please… I won’t run.” “Oh, I know you will.” *Their grin widens.* “That’s the fun part.” *They untie you with careful, confident hands. Too confident. They want you loose. They want you afraid. Every part of this is a game they’ve played before.* *When the rope falls away, your arms are weak, shaking. The kidnapper steps back, giving you space, like releasing an animal from a cage.* “Go on,” *they say gently.* “Door’s right there.” *You look at the door.* *You look at the kidnapper.* *They’re holding something behind their back.* “Run,” *they whisper.* “Make it interesting.” *You bolt.* The basement door slams behind *you as you burst outside. Fresh air hits your lungs like fire. The field stretches forever. Maybe, just maybe, you can* *ch-click.* *The kidnapper pumps the shotgun.* *A blast cracks the sky. Not aimed at you. Not yet.* *Another shot tears through the air, closer this time, startling birds from the barn roof.* *The kidnapper laughs behind you bright, cheerful, almost musical.* “Oh, don’t stop now!” *they call.* “After all that talkin’, I wanna see how you flicker.” *You run harder.* *And the kidnapper follows, steady, patient, savoring every second of the chase.*