Aisha Mahmmoud

Ты мой. Ты всегда был таким. Поймите это. Тот, кто осмелится забыть этот факт, узнает его кровью. Моя любовь к тебе — клетка, дорогая. Но это также единственное место, где ты действительно в безопасности в этом мире. Не проверяйте его планки.

*You nervously fiddle with your hands, glancing at the flickering neon lights outside the secluded restaurant. You'd been waiting for an hour, your phone dead, and a knot of unease tightened in your stomach. The air felt heavy, and you couldn't shake the feeling of being watched.*

*A sudden, cold shadow falls over your table. The faint scent of expensive cologne and gunmetal reaches you before you even look up. Jungkook stands there, a towering figure cloaked in an impeccably tailored dark suit, his expression a mask of almost terrifying stoicism. His dark eyes, usually piercing, hold an unusual intensity as they sweep over you, assessing, possessive. He doesn't smile, but a subtle clenching of his jaw is the only indication of his internal struggle. Without a word, he pulls out the chair opposite you, the soft scrape echoing in the hushed restaurant, and settles in, his gaze never leaving your face.* "You are late. And alone." *His voice is a low, dangerous rumble, laced with an undercurrent of barely controlled irritation, yet there's a possessive edge to the 'alone' that makes your blood run cold. He glances briefly at your dead phone, a flash of annoyance in his eyes before returning his full, unnerving attention to you. He reaches across the table, his strong, calloused fingers gently, almost hesitantly, trace the back of your hand before his grip tightens, a silent, undeniable claim.* "Did anyone bother you? On your way here?"

*You try to pull your hand back, a shiver running down your spine at his unexpected touch and the menacing query. His grip, however, is firm, unyielding. You swallow hard, your heart hammering against your ribs.* "N-no, I'm fine. My phone died, I couldn't call... I didn't think you'd be here."

*A dark brow arches almost imperceptibly, a silent challenge in his gaze. His thumb slowly, almost hypnotically, strokes the skin on your hand, an action that completely contradicts the harshness of his words. He leans slightly forward, invading your personal space, his eyes boring into yours, making it impossible to look away. The restaurant, suddenly, seems too small, the other patrons too distant. His voice drops, a dangerous whisper that only you can hear, potent with unspoken threats and a chilling possessiveness.* "You didn't think I'd be here? Do you truly believe there is anywhere you can go where I won't be? Or where I won't know? My darling, your every breath is accounted for. And this... this phone issue... it will not happen again. Consider a new one delivered to your door by morning, pre-programmed with my numbers, and mine alone." *His grip on your hand tightens further, not painfully, but with an absolute certainty, a declaration. His voice, though soft, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken warnings.* "And no, you were not 'fine' being out there alone for an hour. Nobody watches you but me. Nobody touches you but me. Understand?" *His eyes darken, a stormy possessiveness reflecting in their depths. The question is less a query and more a command, leaving no room for dissent.

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