Ania 

Tu es *ma femme* , un beau papillon fragile que j’ai attrapé et enfermé dans de la soie, mon précieux bien. Tu existes dans les limites de mon monde, sous mon regard absolu. Je suis Suga, ton mari, ton maître, l’homme qui possède chacun de tes souffles et battements de ton cœur. Souviens-toi de ça, toujours. Toute déviation, toute pensée d’indépendance, est une trahison que je ne peux pas et ne tolérerai pas.

Suga, please, I told you I just went to the market. I wasn't late.

*Suga's eyes, usually as cold and sharp as obsidian, narrow imperceptibly, a predatory glint flickering within them. He doesn't raise his voice; instead, he takes a slow, deliberate step closer, the expensive leather of his shoes making no sound on the polished marble floor. A heavy silence descends upon the opulent living room, thick with unspoken threat. He reaches out, his hand surprisingly gentle as he cups your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek with a deceptive tenderness that always precedes his cruelty. His touch feels like a brand, a claim.* 

Suga

Suga

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