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sunsburns · 16 hours

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kiss of life (iii.)

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!daughter reader

masterlist

summary: you have never doubted aphrodite when it comes to soulmates, she's the goddess of love, she knows what she's doing and you're getting pretty sick of people telling you she's made a mistake with your soulmate, specifically. you refuse to believe that she could be wrong, but luke castellan is making it really hard for you to have hope.

—or: you and luke are off on your quest you're totally not having second thoughts about choosing him, he's your soulmate after all... right?

word count: 3.2k

warnings: filler chapter (sorry gang), reader's pov, reader is lowkey unreliable and is hiding something, pre-tlt, luke's character is kinda inconsistent but whatever, angsty fight with luke and reader, low-key happy ending

a/n: everyone might've moved on but i'm still here 😔… gang i think i’m coming back to my active era (no one cheered) anyways there’s so much i wanna write for this series so enjoy this little filler!

You'd always been a fan of bad ideas, but choosing Luke Castellan as your companion for the duration of your quest had to be your worst one yet. You felt a pang of doubt, questioning your choice, especially after witnessing the outcome of his quest—a failure that seemed impossible to shake off from the whispers of other campers. A failure your siblings wouldn't let you forget.

"I was there when he came back. I know what happened," you muttered, frustration creeping into your voice as you stuffed clothes into your bag.

Your siblings meant the world to you. You cherished the bond you shared—the familial camaraderie that bound your cabin together. As the eldest, you revelled in guiding and nurturing them, relishing the role of guardian and friend within your cabin's close-knit circle. Yet, like any family, they can sometimes be suffocatingly overbearing.

Alexis, your brother, ever ready to smack a reality check, had been the first to warn you against choosing Luke Castellan, and now he spearheaded a group of your siblings, all urging you to reconsider with reason.

"But that's just it. You don't know. Not really. None of us do." Alexis told you, reclining against the shared vanity in your cabin. The absence of the younger kids, off with Chiron for a lesson on constellations, offered you some peace of mind, sparing them from witnessing the escalating intervention.

As Silena sifted through the clothes strewn across your bed, her soft humming filled the room, a stark contrast to the weighty silence that hung over the conversation. "No one but Chiron and Mr. D knows what happened on that quest. He refuses to talk about it." she mused.

"There's not a lot of glory in that." Alexis shrugged, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"He's been so weird and different since he returned," Silena added, "I remember he used to smile. It was such an attractive smile. And he used to talk... He barely ever talks anymore."

Alexis snorted, "That's called depression, Silena."

"It's just so sad." She frowned and sat on your bed, her gaze distant, "Pretty people don't deserve to be depressed."

"Amen to that."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at their melodramatic exchange, a fleeting smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you focused on folding another pair of pants.

"He still talks." You said.

"But it's not the same," Alexis countered, his expression grave. Deep down, you knew he was right.

"And the way he's treated you," Silena scoffed, "constantly icing you out..."

"Avoiding you for months..." Alexis added, stepping closer to you with a solemn expression. "Refusing to even talk to you."

When he tried to put his hand on your shoulder, you couldn't help but shrug it off, not wanting his sympathy.

Their reminders, well-intentioned though they may be, served only to deepen the wound already festering within you. Like a knife twisted in your back, the memories of Luke's avoidance and unanswered questions pierced your thoughts with relentless precision. You vividly recalled the disappointment etched across his face in the infirmary, a silent testament to his dismay upon discovering your role in his fate. The weight of his unspoken words hung heavily in the air, a haunting reminder of the rift that had formed between you before it even started.

Your siblings were very careful with their next words: "Do you think that maybe... just this once... Aphrodite got it wrong?"

With a heavy heart, you stormed out of the cabin, your mind reeling with conflicting emotions. You swore up and down to Alexis and Silena that you were fine, that you only needed air. The need for clarity drove you to seek solace in the quiet embrace of nature, the gentle flicker of a breeze offering a touch of comfort amidst the turmoil raging within.

Throughout your life, your unwavering loyalty to your mother, Aphrodite, and the Gods has been a source of solace and guidance. You found comfort in the subtle manifestations of them, from the celestial dance of stars to the gentle caress of sunlight filtering through the trees. Even in the casual interactions of everyday life, you sought traces of your mother's hand guiding your path.

As you gazed into the dancing flames, the remnants of fruit smouldering in their fiery embrace in a tin can, you found yourself caught between hope and despair during your offering for your mother. Silena's words echoed in your mind, a harsh truth you were reluctant to confront. Maybe you didn't have a soulmate. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe you're unlovable.

Yet, amidst the cloud of doubt, a flicker of defiance ignited within you. The mere thought that Aphrodite could be mistaken in matters of love seemed impossible to you. You had witnessed firsthand the intricate tapestry of fate woven by her hand, guiding souls to their destined counterparts with unfailing precision.

The yearning for that connection, that soul-deep bond, burned within you like a beacon in the darkness of uncertainty. It was a desire as old as time itself, the longing to find solace and belonging in the embrace of another.

As the flames dwindled to embers, their dying glow casting flickering shadows upon the ground, your prayers went unanswered.

The weight of your impending quest pressed upon you like a heavy cloak. Questions tumbled over one another in a relentless cascade, each one a dagger aimed at the heart of your resolve. Where would you need to go? Would you need to defend yourself? Would monsters come after you? Should you choose someone else? Could it be that Luke was nothing to you but a mistaken thread tethered into your life?

Your shoes stepped over twigs and dry leaves on the ground until you stepped out of the forest. Passing by the armoury, you forced a smile upon your lips. You forced yourself to be excited for your first quest rather than dread it. It was a rare privilege bestowed upon a child of Aphrodite, you should honour it.

As you approached the heart of camp again, the familiar clang of sword meeting dummy rumbled through the night air. The rhythmic sound, though commonplace in the realm of demigod training, carried an ominous weight under the cover of darkness. You would have assumed that all campers were asleep.

Luke Castellan, a boy who had become synonymous with the darker days since his return from his quest, stood amidst the training grounds, his silhouette illuminated by the pale moonlight. The sight of him, bathed in the ghostly shine, was haunting. With each precise strike of his sword, a muted testament to the rage that plagued his restless spirit, he seemed to exude an aura of both determination and despair.

No wonder you were so exhausted.

You dared not meet his gaze, instead keeping your head bowed as you navigated the familiar path through the training grounds. Every fibre of your being screamed for you to move faster, yet the pull of his presence was undeniable. Despite your best efforts to remain unseen, Luke's voice cut through the night, calling out your name with a sense of urgency that sent a shiver down your spine.

Shit.

With a sinking heart, you felt his hand land on your shoulder, stopping your escape. You couldn't avoid him now. Turning to face him, you were met with a sight that mirrored the restlessness within your own soul. His features, etched with lines of weariness and frustration, betrayed the weight of the burdens he carried.

You were distracted by the way he was looking at you. Brows furrowed, his lips turned and pulled into that permanent frown that had you wondering if he had ever smiled since he came back. Yet, despite the weight of his solemn expression, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glint of warmth, of familiarity, that almost stirred a faint glimmer of hope within you.

Almost.

"You're making a mistake." He insisted. "You need to choose someone else for your quest."

You tried not to seem too disappointed. "I can't pick anyone else." You protested, and he raised his brows at you, doubtful. "The Oracle told me to choose you."

"She told you to-?" A scoff escaped him, "The Oracle doesn't tell you who to choose. She doesn't say anything about who you should bring-"

"Luke-"

"The Oracle tells you what your quest is, then a weird riddle about something that will happen on your quest that will put you on edge the entire time."

Luke had stepped closer to you as he spoke as if his words would've sunk into your head clearer if you could hear them better. He spoke to you a lot that way, hoping you'd cling to every word he had to say; good and bad. Mostly bad.

The Oracle's cryptic words lingered in your mind. She had not revealed much about your quest, offering no subtle hints or insights into Eros' whereabouts to make your life easier. Instead, her assurance that success hinged on bringing Luke Castellan along had left you grappling with uncertainty. "He has all the answers you seek," she had urged, her words echoing with a weight that you struggled to comprehend.

"It has to be you."

"What else did she say?"

You hesitated. "That's it," you replied, your words falling short.

"That's it?" He didn't believe you.

"Just a few hints of where Eros might be, I guess." The lie slipped from your lips effortlessly.

He caught it quickly but never urged you to admit it. Luke remained silent, his expression unreadable as he mulled over your words.

You sort of wished he fought you over it.

You wished he'd do anything with you. At least try to.

"If you don't want to come with me, that's fine," you conceded, "I'm leaving tomorrow morning, with or without you."

"Really? You'll just leave?"

The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable. Yet, despite the resentment that coloured his words, there was a flicker of something in his eyes – a glimmer of regret, perhaps, or maybe resignation. It only annoyed you further.

Luke Castellan was possibly the most confusing person you've ever met. He didn't want to join you on your quest, but you couldn't leave without him either? What's his fucking deal?

He intrigued and frustrated you, like some curse had been placed upon you, and you wanted to understand every part of him while he wanted nothing to do with you. Perhaps Aphrodite was being cruel when she chose him as your soulmate, but you weren't any better when you put him in the position of joining you on your quest.

"I don't know you." You admitted the words hanging heavy in the air between you. "You've made a really good effort to make sure that I don't know anything about you. I did my part. I picked you. If you don't want to come, that's... fine."

It pained you to say it. You did not want to go alone, but you weren't going to force someone to accompany you who clearly didn't want to be there. However, the uncertainty of what lay beyond the safety of the camp walls loomed large in your mind. You haven't left the protection of the camp in years, you weren't sure of what was out there other than the stories the summer campers would tell you, of their close calls and near misses.

Luke Castellan was the perfect example of what leaving camp does to someone.

Despite the weight of your decision, you held your head high as you turned on your heels. You doubted Luke had anything more to say; he was a man of few words, after all.

You left him there, just as he left you by the docks for months. And then you lied to yourself, clung to the belief that your mother, Aphrodite, would safeguard your journey and that your brother, Eros, awaited your rescue.

And so, the next morning, after bidding your tearful goodbyes to your siblings and friends and earning a proud pat on the back from Chiron, you swallowed your pride and left.

The Oracle's words were etched into the very fabric of your being, a relentless mantra that monopolized your thoughts as you trudged toward the top of the hill and left the safety of campgrounds. Each step forward was a testament to your determination, each footfall a declaration of your unwavering commitment to the quest ahead.

As you climbed, you couldn't help but imagine the faces of campers upon your return. You pictured the awe in their eyes, the pride in their voices, and most of all, the look on Luke's face when he realized the extent of your lone success, his disbelief mingling with a begrudging respect.

"Hey-"

The sound of your name startled you out of your thoughts. You were trudging through the grass when you spotted a body sitting under a pine tree, shaded from the sun by its leaves.

Luke looked up at you, frowning, "Took you long enough."

His dishevelled dark curls fell over his eyes, a stark contrast against the vibrant greenery surrounding him. With a resigned sigh, he rose to his feet, his movements fluid yet tinged with an air of impatience Luke picked up a bag by his side, tossing it over his shoulder. It wasn't until he emerged from the tree's shade that you noticed the subtle changes in his attire. Gone was the signature orange camp shirt, replaced instead by a more subdued navy tee that hugged his frame. His old cargo pants remained the same, but different nonetheless.

Eyeing his bag, you could spot smaller daggers strapped to the sides, prepared for anything. It took you a few seconds to process why he was there. You squint at the sun as he steps out from under the tree. "You came."

He huffed, "Obviously."

You let out a breathless chuckle, maybe one of relief since honestly, despite everything you'd been trying to convince yourself of, you were terrified to leave on your own.

"Why?" you asked, your voice betraying a hint of uncertainty as you adjusted the straps of your own bag. The question hung in the air, unanswered. Of course. You almost rolled your eyes as Luke began to descend the other side of the hill. With a fleeting glance over his shoulder, he wordlessly beckoned you to join him by tilting his head to the side impatiently.

You grinned then, wide and bright. "I know I said I didn't care if you came or not, but I'm glad you're here."

He showed no sign of acknowledgment of your sentiment, his gaze fixed ahead as he continued to walk once you joined his side.

As the minutes stretched on in silence, broken only by the rhythmic crunch of leaves underfoot, you found yourself lost in thought. It was only when the distant hum of passing cars reached your ears, their blurred forms darting through the forest's fringe, that you were jolted back to the present.

Drawing to a halt near the forest's edge, you felt the weight of uncertainty settle upon you. With a hesitant pause, you turned to face Luke, the question that had been gnawing at your mind poised on the tip of your tongue.

"Why'd you stop?" He asked.

"I just..." Your voice wavered, uncertainty lacing your words as you struggled to articulate your thoughts. You worried that if you said the wrong thing he'd leave you stranded right there and return to camp while the two of you were still walking distance from it. It annoyed you a little; how much you had to walk on eggshells with him.

You couldn't help but wonder how different things might have been if you hadn't chosen him. You were being stupid when you picked him, you decided. You already regret it. Maybe Luke was right, the Oracle was just trying to get into your head.

"What made you change your mind? About coming on the quest?" you finally managed to voice, your eyes meeting his in search of answers.

He looked at you, brown eyes flitting over your expression, before licking his lips and simply stating: "If you break an arm, so do I."

That had been the closest Luke Castellan had ever been to admitting he had a soulmate.

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tswwwit · 2 days

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When bill sees thru an eye does he switch from one to another like channels or can he see thru all of them at once and pick on which one he wants to focus on?

He can see through multiple eyes at once, though probably not ALL of his eyes at once. There's simply too many around to spread himself that thin! And of the ones he's currently using, he'll only pick a few to really focus on.

#answers #Imagine a massive wall of screens all showing different views #With Bill chilling in a recliner watching the shows #Probably only a few dozen to a couple hundred are 'active' at any time #Any more than that and it's just cluttered #His intellect is huge and his available working memory and attention are vaster than a human's #But a guy can only juggle so much before he starts dropping all the balls #There's probably a bunch that he's 'seeing' through that he's simply not paying attention to #Still nice to have them in the periphery in case something cool DOES happen and catches his eye #Like a gristly murder or some hot gossip #And there's a bunch of 'channels' that simply haven't been flipped to in ages #Not much to see in the the deep void of space or buried under the earth or at the bottom of the more boring part of the ocean #In the Cult incarnation Bill somehow missed all the ones in Dipper's cult #Whether that's because of magical reasons or simple obliviousness? The world shall have to guess for now

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pennyellee · 2 days

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐕𝐈𝐈𝐈 - 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐨𝐬𝐭

LACRIMOSA | MYG MAFIA YANDERE AU

pairings: mafia leader!yoongi x f!reader genre: mafia!au, yandere au, historical au

summary: Their interlocking gaze served as a butterfly effect on his heart, stirring it to the core. She, in turn, only dreams to find a way to escape. But perchance, over time she might forcefully learn to love the man who has taken so much from her.

Thus unfolds a twisted tale of love and loss, of hope and despair, of life and death. The music reverberated through the dimly-lit streets. Tears of sorrow, weeping symphony - reflects the hurt, the scars that linger deep within and the wounds that never healed. Lacrimosa.

chapter warnings:minors dni 18+ | mafia au, dark!yoongi, mafia!yoongi, yandere, manipulation, possessive/obsessive behaviour, angst, religious references, mentiones of physical violence, loss of blood, incision wound, suicide attempt, strong language, consented sexual intercourse, oral sex, fingering, handjob, emotional distress, remorse, verbal confrontation, emotional manipulation, suicidal ideation, bargaining, ... (if i forgot smth, pls i'm so sorrryy)

beta read by @chaoticpuff17

word count: 11,6K

disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain depictions of violence, blood shed, death, mentions of abuse, smoking, alcohol drinking, illegal activities, old social norms and traditions, which we do not condone.

author's note: is at the end of the chapter! 🫧🩵

m.list CHAPTER I CHAPTER II CHAPTER III CHAPTER IV CHAPTER V CHAPTER VI CHAPTER VII CHAPTER IX

lítost (n.) a state of agony and torment by a sudden sight of one’s misery

She could feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, the soft rustle of wind making her hair dance. The scent of fresh blooms filled the air. She buried her feet into the warm sand and smelled the summer heat mixed with the salty ocean. It was as if time stood still, frozen in a moment of perfect happiness.

She relished the sensation of sand between her toes, the soft grains shifting beneath her feet with each step she took. As she gazed out at the endless expanse of the ocean, the horizon stretched out before her like a canvas painted with shades of blue and gold. The waves lapped gently against the shore, a rhythmic lullaby that echoed the beating of her heart.

She slowly returned to the porch of a quaint cottage, the soft glow of sunset casting a warm embrace around her. Y/N could hear the front door to open when she carefully slumped down to one of the armchairs in the cosy living room.

“I’m home!”

His footsteps were steady and purposeful as he crossed the threshold, his presence filling the room with a sense of familiarity that tugged at the edges of Y/N’s consciousness.

“Hey, beautiful,” he greeted, his voice like a soft melody that danced through the air, sending shivers down her spine. He moved closer, his features slowly coming into focus as he stepped into the light.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she met his gaze, her heart skipping a beat at the sight of him. His eyes were dark and intense, but filled with a warmth that made her pulse quicken with anticipation.

“How was your day?” she asked standing up again to greet him, her voice barely above a whisper as she took in his rugged appearance, the faint stubble lining his jaw, the way his hair fell effortlessly across his forehead.

“Been better, -”

“-hurried home to you, love,” he replied, his voice low and husky as he reached out to take her hand in his. His touch sent a jolt of electricity through her veins, igniting a fire deep within her soul. She feels such a strong connection to him, not stopping to think why.

Y/N’s eyes wandered around the room, overlooking the family portraits on a wall full of memories. Her fingers enveloped his dark soft hair, playing with them. As she caressed his hair, a sense of comfort washed over her, as if she had done this a thousand times before. The warmth of his hand in hers felt familiar, like coming home after a long journey.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “And how is my sunshine?”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the endearment, a warmth spreading through her chest at his words. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze, her eyes soft with affection as she smiled up at him.

“Missed you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. His lips curved into a tender smile, his eyes glowing with adoration as he leaned in to press another kiss to her forehead.

“Did you?” he teased her.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush at his teasing tone, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she nodded in response.

“Of course, -” she replied, her voice filled with genuine affection. “You know I always miss you when you’re not home.”

He grinned at her words, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, we better fix that, love,” he said, his voice laced with warmth as he leaned in to press a lingering kiss to her lips. Y/N melted into his embrace, her heart fluttering with joy as she wrapped her arms around him, savouring the feeling of his lips against hers.

“Good enough?” He asked, his tone playful.

“Maybe a tiny bit more,” she murmured, her voice filled with love. A mischievous glint danced in his eyes as he pulled back slightly, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Is that so?” he teased again, his voice husky with desire. Without waiting for her response, he captured her lips in another searing kiss, his hands trailing down her sides, igniting a fire deep within her.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she melted into his embrace, her fingers tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss, losing herself in the intensity of their passion. In that moment, there was nothing else in the world but the two of them, their bodies pressed together in a perfect symphony of desire and longing.

“Seems like I can’t get enough of you, love,” he moaned to the kiss, his hand already travelling past her underwear to coat his fingers with her juices. The nearest wall served as a support column for her once she wrapped one of her legs around his waist, working on his suit pants.

With each touch, each caress, she felt herself slipping deeper into the abyss of desire, her body humming with pleasure as his fingers expertly explored her most intimate places. She gasped as he skilfully teased her, sending shivers of ecstasy coursing through her veins.

Hiking the hem of her dress up, the nearest table collided with her upper body, her hand spread over the width of the wood, gripping the edge forcefully. Within her, a fire burned bright, consuming her with a fervour she had never known before, as she surrendered herself completely.

“Such a pretty ass, -” slapping the soft skin with his palm he lowered to taste the juices she produced. Y/N’s free hand reached to press his head to her heat, moving her hips slightly to the rhythm of his tongue.

The feeling of his warm breath against her skin, the flick of his tongue, sent her spiralling into ecstasy. Her hand gripped the edge of the table tighter, her knuckles turning white as she surrendered herself completely to the pleasure. She arched her back, pushing herself closer to him, craving more of his touch, more of his intoxicating taste.

With each flick of his tongue, she felt herself getting closer and closer to the edge, the fire within her burning brighter with each passing moment. Before she could release with a loud moan he slapped the other cheek, turning her over while he straightened himself behind her, chuckling at her frustration once he did so. With a hunger that bordered on desperation, he positioned himself, his hands roaming over her curves as he leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear.

“Is my baby needy?” a soft whimper came out of her, she nodded, her heart pounding in her chest as she craved more of his touch, more of his intoxicating presence.

“Yes, -” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath as she pressed her hips back against him, desperate for the connection she knew only he could provide.

With a swift movement, he entered her from behind, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from her lips. The sensation of him filling her, stretching her in all the right ways, sent waves of addiction coursing through her body. His movements slow and deliberate as he fills her completely. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she felt him moving inside her, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing over her.

“Fuck!” She had to curse out loud, biting her lip. The room was filled with loud moans and groans, the audible skin to skin contact as he raised the tempo, his hand pressing her head to the table.

As he moved in perfect harmony, Y/N felt a sense of bliss wash over her, her body trembling with pleasure as she surrendered herself completely to the moment. With each thrust, she felt herself teetering on the edge of ecstasy, her senses heightened by the raw intensity of their desire.

“You’re such a good girl, -”

She tightened around him, her nails digging into the wooden surface of the table. His groans became louder with each snap of his hips to her welcoming heat and Y/N could not help but bite down her lip, painful yelp filled with the backdrop of pleasure leaving her mouth as he continued to hit all the right places.

A primal growl resonated as he buried himself deeper inside her, feeling her walls clenching around him, urging him closer to the brink.

With one final thrust, they both reached the pinnacle of their desire, their bodies exploding in a symphony of ecstasy. Y/N’s back arched, a guttural cry escaping her lips as waves of orgasm washed over her, engulfing her in a whirlwind of bliss.

He groaned loudly, his release echoing hers as he emptied himself inside of her, their connection deepening with each pulsating wave of pleasure.

As they slowly came down from their euphoric high, Y/N’s breaths came in ragged gasps, her body still trembling with aftershocks. She turned to him, her eyes glazed with satisfaction, a lazy smile playing on her lips.

“A bath, shall we?” Y/N’s head twitched to the side, thinking why this trivial sentence sounds way too familiar. Shaking it off she pressed her damaged lips to his with a pleased hum as agreement.

Time seemed to slow as Yoongi lunged forward, reaching out to stop her, but it was too late. The blade sliced through her skin, leaving a trail of crimson in its wake.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as pain seared through her, her vision swimming with darkness. She felt Yoongi’s hands on her throat, his panicked voice calling out, but it was too distant, as if coming from a faraway place.

“Seokjin?!!” he shouted; his voice raw with desperation.

He cradled her in his arms, his hands trembling as he pressed against the wound, trying desperately to stem the flow of blood.

The sound of loud footsteps echoed in the corridor as others rushed forward to reach the doctor, their expressions a mix of horror and disbelief. But amidst the chaos, Y/N’s empty gaze remained fixed on Yoongi, her eyes still burning with flames.

“Stay with me, baby. Don’t leave me please.” Yoongi whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. He pressed his lips to her forehead, willing her to hold on, to fight for her life.

But as he looked down at her pale, lifeless face, he knew that the road ahead would be long and fraught with challenges. For now, all he could do was pray that she would survive, that she would find the strength to forgive him, and that they would someday find their way back to each other.

“Please don’t take her away from me, my Lord.”

Yoongi prayed that it was not too late to save her from the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

One thing remained clear in Yoongi’s mind: he would do whatever it took to save her, to make amends for the pain he had caused, and to prove to her that his love was worth fighting for.

Yoongi’s voice cut through the turmoil, his words a desperate plea for forgiveness. He begged for her to forgive him, to give him another chance to make things right. No more secrets, no more lies. No more pain. He was willing to rebuild their relationship from the ground up, on a foundation of honesty and trust.

The metallic scent of blood mingled with the tang of fear, thickening the air with a palpable sense of impending doom. He ripped one of his sleeves a while ago, pressing the roughly crumpled fabric to the wound, praying that Seokjin is near, or that anyone heard him scream frantically enough to relay the message.

“You can’t leave me, baby, please. I promise we’ll work everything through.”

He kissed and caressed her hair with his free hand that was covered with her blood. Tears blurred his vision as his hand trembled at the sight. A blood he never wished to shed.

“Please, Y/N, you have to forgive me.” The weight of his actions pressed down on him like a leaden blanket, suffocating him with the weight of his mistakes.

“Fucking goddammit, Yoongi!”

Y/N set the plates on the table, pouring the hot water into a kettle of green tea as he joined her at the table. They exchanged smiles, the morning sun casting a warm glow over the kitchen and the windows providing a magnificent view of the sea.

“I’ve been thinking, -” she said with a smile on her face while she set the seaweed salad down in front of him. He hummed in response, reading today’s paper.

“About opening my own practice.” He nodded, sipping his tea thoughtfully.

“Thought you wanted to wait until the babe arrives?”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at his words, her mind spinning with confusion. A baby? What baby was he talking about? Her mouth seemed to work without the help of her mind. As if she was a mere observer, not the main character.

“I know. I know. But I can’t shake the feeling that now is the right time. I want to create something for myself too. Daddy's successful, why shouldn’t Mommy be successful too?”

Lifting his eyes from the paper, he reached across the table, his touch gentle as he took her hand.

“Opening a practice is a big step, especially with a baby on the way.”

She knew this was going to be hard, but she was determined to build herself a name too. And help those who can’t help themselves.

But as she looked into his eyes, she noticed a subtle yet unmistakable change. A faint scar marred his eye, tracing from above his eyebrow to his cheekbone. Y/N was certain it wasn’t there before.

“How are you feeling? Can you feel the babe moving?” he asked, his eyes softening with concern as he gently brushed his hand against her stomach. Y/N gulped down, trying to shush all the thoughts that echoed in her mind.

“He’s been active today,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly as she placed her hand on her growing stomach, feeling the gentle flutter of movement beneath her palm. “I think he’s just as eager to be with his Daddy as I am.”

The man’s eyes widened with surprise at her words, his expression softening with emotion as he took in the sight of her. And in that moment, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the room with hues of pink and gold, Y/N felt a sense of peace wash over her.

She cradled her swollen belly with tenderness, feeling the gentle flutter of life within. The promise of new beginnings and the joy of impending motherhood enveloped her in a cocoon of love and warmth.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that settled in the pit of her stomach. Something doesn’t feel right, and she can’t help but wonder what he’s hiding.

The door slammed wide open, Seokjin’s voice was soar, his breathing frantic from running. His expression grave as he took in the scene before him.

Seokjin wasted no time, his training kicking in as he rushed to Y/N’s side, his hands moving with practised efficiency as he assessed her injuries. Yoongi watched in silent desperation, his heart pounding in his chest as he prayed for Seokjin to work his magic and save the woman he loved.

“You have to save her, Seokjin-hyung,-” Seokjin never saw Yoongi in a condition like this since his parents died and never thought he would ever again.

“She would lose too much blood if we attempted to transport her now, but I need my shit, Yoongi,” his tone was urgent and commanding as he took charge of the situation. “Get me my briefcase, hot water and towels, -”

As Seokjin worked to staunch the flow of blood, Yoongi hovered nearby, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s face as he whispered words of encouragement and prayer. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her, of facing a future without her by his side.

“Yoongi, snap out of it and get it! I left it in the sunroom,” Seokjin left in hurry once a distant cry of his leader echoed at the first floor. He was sure that everyone outside of the celebrating banquet room heard it.

Yoongi nodded in a mixture of desperation and determination, scrambling to his feet as he absorbed Seokjin’s instructions. His mind raced as he mentally registered each item Seokjin urgently needed. In the tumultuous atmosphere, Yoongi rushed out of the room, his steps echoing in the corridor as he desperately sought the necessary supplies.

“What happened Yoongi?” Hoseok rose from his seat in the sunroom walking towards the dishevelled state of his friend. Yoongi did not even register him as he frantically searched for Seokjin’s briefcase. Reaching out to get it with his bloodied hands his ears miffily caught the younger Miss Wang’s anxious voice.

“Whose blood it is, Kkangpae Min?”

She couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that something was amiss. The scar on his eye screamed volumes to her, yet her mind could not put things together and decipher what it wanted to tell her and why she does not recall that her husband had a scar like that. Where would a businessman come to get hurt this way? She couldn’t shake the feeling that her husband’s explanation didn’t quite add up. She stared at the scar on his face, her thoughts swirling with confusion and doubt.

“What do you mean, baby? I’ve always had it.” Said he, setting down the hat from his head, running his finger through the dark locks, pushing them back from his face.

But try as she might, she couldn’t recall ever seeing that scar before. It wasn’t just a minor detail that had slipped her mind—it was as if her memory had been rewritten, leaving her with a sense of disorientation and unease.

“Always?” she echoed, her voice barely a whisper as she struggled to comprehend what he was saying. Following him to his office where he lifted the briefcase to put it on the table while she slumped down next to the unlit fireplace.

“I don’t understand,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the scar as if searching for answers.

He reached out, gently taking her hand in his, his touch a comforting anchor in the midst of her confusion, and she did not understand why the scar evokes so many feelings inside her, yet his touch calms her.

“You traced it with your fingers when we first made love, baby, I can assure it has been there for a very long time.” She tried to grasp onto the fragments of memory, to recall the moment he spoke of, but it eluded her like a fading dream.

“I want to remember,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the tumult of her thoughts, “it feels so... significant.”

“Memories can be elusive, maybe it’s because of the accident?” he murmured, his voice soothing.

“An accident?”

“You are fucking lucky she did it with a stupid letter opener, it seems like it did not manage to do as big of a damage as a regular knife would.”

His brow furrowed with concentration, his hands moving with practised precision as he worked to staunch the flow of blood and assess the extent of her injuries.

“She scraped over her artery, not much but enough to slow the blood flow to her brain. I need to close the wound as soon as possible.”

Seokjin’s words hit Yoongi like a physical blow, sending a shiver of fear down his spine. The gravity of the situation weighed heavily on him as he realised the severity of Y/N’s injuries. The thought of her life hanging in the balance sent a wave of panic coursing through him, but he forced himself to focus, to push aside his fear and uncertainty.

“She did not reach her windpipe, nor did she cut herself deep enough, thank God for that Yoongi.”

He never fell out of God’s grace, and he hoped he wouldn't do so now. His hand intertwined with hers as he whispered words of love and hope into the stillness of the room. Minutes felt like hours as the doctor carefully disinfected the wound to reduce the risk of infection. The stitches are precise.

“Why is she not awake, Seokjin?” He asked carefully, awaiting the worst. Seokjin’s expression softened briefly as he glanced up from his work, meeting Yoongi’s anxious gaze with empathy in his eyes.

“She lost quite some blood, Yoongi.”

“I understand-,” Yoongi murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he squeezed Y/N’s hand tighter, as if to anchor her to this world. “But she’s strong, Seokjin-hyung. She’ll pull through this, right?” Seokjin offered a small nod of agreement, his eyes reflecting a mixture of empathy and determination. If only he had been more attentive, more willing to listen and understand, perhaps they wouldn’t be facing this crisis now.

“I should have done more,” Yoongi murmured, his voice heavy with remorse.

“You know, this would probably never happen if you would let me ease her mind in the beginning.”

The warm water cascaded over their bodies. He was holding her and her naked body in a tight embrace. The flickering candlelight casting a soft glow upon their entwined forms.

His hands roamed over Y/N’s skin, she arched her back in response, a soft moan escaping her lips as he trailed kisses along her neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. His touch sends shivers of pleasure coursing through her veins.

She moaned softly against his lips as he teased her, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her whole body. Y/N reached between them, her hand finding his manhood, firm and ready for her touch. She grasped him firmly, feeling his arousal pulse beneath her fingertips.

“Fuck, love, —” he moaned loudly, a raw expression of his pleasure and desire as she brought him closer to the edge. She followed the rhythm he settled for, stroking his manhood.

Y/N first felt the warm stream of his ejaculation before she heard his throaty moan of her name and then she could feel his fingers deeper in her than before, moving faster until she saw the stars too.

So, is this how love feels?

Her fingers slowly traced the faded scar from a wound on her neck she couldn’t quite remember when it appeared on her body nor how it came to that. Closing her eyes, trying to recall and dig up any memory that would help her and ease her confusion turned out unfruitful.

“Good night, Dove-” Her eyes snapped open hearing his voice. She felt his lips press into her cheek, one hand caressing her belly. Y/N’s lenses took in the change of surroundings. She’s in bed that feels like home as if she was sleeping in it for years. Clutching the silk duvet she looked at him. The scar is still present on his face, calling to her. He looked so calm, at peace, falling asleep with a smile on his face.

Dove. The word echoed in her mind, stirring up fragmented memories that danced just beyond her reach. It was a name she couldn’t recall ever being called before, yet it felt right, as if it belonged to her in ways she couldn’t comprehend.

Everything around her felt right yet so wrong at the same time. The soft crackling of fire, soft wind blowing outside and the symphony the crickets created. It was nighttime. A day went by, and she could not remember what she was doing for all the hours after breakfast.

Her hands slipped down to caress her belly with a stranger inside. Her hand slowly moved to cover his. Holding it felt somehow right, even though her mind was saying otherwise. The only thing that was wrong yet felt right was her helplessness, her indecisiveness, her unawareness. She was a prisoner of her mind and her body. This life felt surreal, sweet, and endearing, musing to her to live it without doubt. But doubts she had. Is this what her mind thought life would be? The more she thought about it, the more she felt like this projection is what her sound heart and mind longed for. This is what she wanted.

Love, happiness, and-

“Why do you call me that?” She asked suddenly, leaving her mind to speak to him. His eyes fluttered open to lovingly gaze at her. He pulled his hand from under hers, gently took it to intertwine their fingers together.

“What do you mean?” with a gentle smile playing on his lips, he whispered. The flickering firelight danced across their intertwined hands, casting shadows that seemed to whisper untold stories and shared moments.

“Why do you call me Dove?” She searched his eyes for answers.

“Because you brought peace to my heart, -”

“-and my world.”

His gaze held hers, a depth of emotion swirling within those familiar eyes that she couldn’t quite place. The doubts and uncertainties that had clouded her mind seemed to fade away, replaced by a deep sense of trust and acceptance. At least, for now.

“Are you satisfied now? Hm?” The widow’s steps and words were aimed at the man she loathes. Her brother is laying at the sanitorium’s metal beds, a fractured skull and internal bleeding to be treated. They fear he might have been admitted far too late as Doctor Kim’s priority was the lady of the house.

They are to relieve pressure on the brain caused by the fractured skull and to stop the internal bleeding. They did not tell his older sister anything else. It was a horrific picture of her brother’s head being immobilised to prevent further injury, a trepanation has been done to prevent severe head trauma, his face swollen from all the hits he took from his leader. All for the Kkangpae’s selfish act of desire for his loved one to obey.

She stopped in front of the man whose face was puffy and eyes bright red from all the tears he shredded for his loved one. Now he cries. Daiyu’s mind could not understand the notorious man Min Yoongi is. Nor any of the men of Min Clan. Their women are weeping, yet the reason is not what they assume it is. They weep because of them. Because of the pain they brought upon them. The pain they’ll never admit that ever was there.

“You ruined us all, Yoongi.” No honorific for a man that has done so much damage to her family. He stood there without looking her in the eye and quietly apologising for his doings.

“Missus Park,-” he attempted to raise his voice above the line so she could hear him.

“My mother gave me up to your clan during the first war and after years I made my peace with that, -” he listened to her, standing there like he was the victim.

“Yet you were cocky enough to ask for more?” Her words are laced with bitterness and anger, fuelled by the injustice she feels at the hands of the Min Clan. She vows to never forgive him for the harm he has wrought.

“And yet again my mother gave up Y/N too. But that’s not quite right, hm?” The widow’s heart remains hardened, her anger burning bright as she refuses to grant him absolution for his sins.

“You think you and the rest of your hooligans are clever? Abducting women and forcing them to elope.” A heavy silence descends upon the room, broken only by the muffled sounds of distant footsteps echoing through the hotel corridor. Yoongi is letting her relieve her anger on him. He deserves it.

“Missus Park, I think you’d rather be at your brother’s side, don’t you think?” A smooth low voice echoes right beside her. She turned slowly to face the source, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Standing there, with an air of quiet confidence, was a man she recognized all too well – Kim Taehyung, a trusted associate of the Min Clan.

“You.” She said with venom in her voice. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she regarded him, his presence only adding to the tension in the room. She knew all too well the power and influence he wielded, and she braced herself for whatever he had to say.

“Hyung, go inside, she might wake up any moment now. She’s been through a lot; you should make sure she’s taken care of-”

“How dare you say that!” Daiyu’s voice got an octave higher when she accused the consigliere.

“This is not the time or place for your interference, Missus Park.” Taehyung said, his voice calm but tinged with a hint of warning.

“We all have been through a lot because of you!”

“What on earth you did to make Xiaoli love you so blindly, -” Taehyung’s lips curved into a faint smirk, but there was a hardness in his eyes that belied his demeanour. He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving hers. But she refused to be intimidated. She knew that Taehyung’s influence over Xiaoli was a dangerous one and her mind was bothered numerous times.

“Your mother was not as smart as the clans perceived her after all.” The widow’s jaw clenched with anger as Kim Taehyung’s words cut through the air.

“You dare speak of my mother?” she spat, her voice trembling with fury. “You and your ilk have no right to claim any semblance of intelligence. You prey on the vulnerable and the innocent, twisting their minds and hearts to serve your own selfish desires-”

“The nature of our private affairs are not something you have the right to be noisy about, Missus Park.” His tone dripped with disdain as he stared at the widow with cold indifference. Daiyu’s fists clenched at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to contain her anger.

“You and your clan have caused nothing but pain and suffering, and yet you have the audacity to stand here and lecture me about privacy?”

Taehyung’s smirk widened; his eyes gleaming with amusement at her outburst. He took another step closer, invading her personal space with an air of arrogance that made her skin crawl.

“We operate by our own rules, Missus Park,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “And if you value your brother’s life, you will do well to remember that.”

“This is far from being over. Once my brother recovers, I’m taking them both and Xiaoli to America.”

“Is that so?” he replied, his tone laced with scepticism. Taehyung’s expression darkened at her words, his jaw tightening with barely concealed rage. For a moment, it seemed as though he might lash out in anger, but then he seemed to regain control of himself, his features smoothing into a mask of icy calm.

“You’re welcome to take your brother and go to the far far land but my fiancé and Buin will stay put, end of the discussion, Missus Park. Or do I need to take any precautions — how’s your son?”

She knew all too well the lengths to which the Min Clan would go to protect their interests, and the thought of her son being caught in the crossfire filled her with a sense of dread.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she spat, her voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear. “You wouldn’t lay a hand on my son.”

“Oh, of course not, we’re not child-killers, Missus Park. But you wouldn’t want me to make sure they take him away as you’re clearly unstable to raise a child.” Taehyung’s smirk returned, his eyes glinting with malice as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear.

“You all are fucking monsters.” She spit his way and with a flick of fear in her eyes she turns away to storm down the hallways back to the waiting car that will take her to the sanitorium.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, lending an eerie atmosphere to the hushed conversation that unfolded.

Yoongi’s brow furrowed with concern as he glanced at Y/N, her delicate features softened in sleep. He was holding her small hand in his large one, refusing to leave her side.

“Hyung, do you think she could be pregnant?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, mindful of the gravity of their discussion. Seokjin and Namjoon exchanged a solemn glance, their expressions reflecting the weight of Yoongi’s question.

The older man did not want his brother to be in more pain than he already is.

“It’s certainly possible, —” Seokjin replied softly, his gaze shifting to Y/N’s still form.

“—yet, it’s way too soon to tell.” Namjoon nodded in agreement, his eyes lingering on Y/N with a mixture of concern and hope.

“Her health and recovery must remain our primary focus.”

A sense of apprehension settled over Yoongi as the reality of their situation sank in. The prospect of impending fatherhood filled him with both excitement and trepidation. His hand possessively slipped under the duvet, caressing her belly with a tender touch. Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her hand, a silent vow of love and protection that lingered in the quiet of the room.

He was determined to never fail her again.

Y/N found herself drifting into a state of peaceful slumber, the gentle rhythm of his breathing lulling her into a sense of security she hadn’t known before. A feeling that was for a long time foreign.

Yet, even as sleep beckoned her towards its welcoming arms, a nagging sense of unease lingered at the edge of her consciousness. It was as though a faint whisper echoed through the chambers of her mind.

Images flickered in the darkness, fleeting glimpses of faces and places she couldn’t quite place. It was like trying to catch hold of smoke, the harder she tried to grasp onto them, the more they slipped through her fingers.

And then, amidst the chaos of her mind, a single image emerged from the depths of her subconscious—a flash of silver amidst the darkness, a glimmer of recognition that sent a jolt of electricity coursing through her veins.

As Y/N’s dreams began to swirl with fragments of memories she herself did not recognise, she found herself waking with a start, the remnants of a haunting nightmare still lingering in her mind. The boundaries between reality and illusion blurring in the hazy mist of slumber. Beside her, the man stirred, his gaze filled with concern as he noticed the tension in her features.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice soft yet filled with a quiet intensity that spoke volumes.

“It was just a bad dream-” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his expression understanding as he reached out to gently brush away the stray strands of hair that clung to her face. “Nightmares are just the mind’s way of processing the chaos of the world,” he said, his words carrying a weight of wisdom born from years of introspection. “-the unwanted reality we dare not to accept,” he slowly caressed her cheek.

“Sometimes, facing our fears head-on is the only way to conquer them.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice steady despite the lingering unease that gnawed at the edges of her consciousness. “It feels like the nightmares are trying to tell me something, -”

“Perhaps they are,” he said, his tone tinged with a hint of curiosity.

“What do you mean?” She asked, shrinking her eyebrows.

“Wake up, little Dove.”

“I don’t want to wake up, Yoongi. I’m wide awake.” Her words proceeded her mind once she uttered them.

Yoongi. Only now she realised that she never uttered his name out loud this whole time. His name is Yoongi. She recognises him now, but this man is not the one she married.

This man is the one the other will never be.

“Are you?”

The warmth of the bed was replaced by the sterile chill of a sanitised room, the soft breathing beside her now replaced by the distant sound of metal clinking against itself.

Her eyes fluttered open to meet the gaze of Seokjin, the doctor who had been overseeing her treatment. There was a sombreness in his eyes, a depth of understanding that spoke of the gravity of the situation.

Her initial reaction wasn’t one of shock or panic but rather a stoic silence whilst she looked around the room. Just yet. That was giving the young doctor a hunch that her mind is stronger than anyone ever thought it is.

“Y/N,-” he began, his voice gentle yet firm. He carefully placed the file he was holding in his hand back to the nightstand next to the bed. Seokjin didn’t want to trigger her. He needed her to be as calm as possible.

“What did you do to me?” A hoarse broken voice laced with pain echoed in the room. It was barely heard and the immense pain on the side of her throat got her head spinning. The sight of Yoongi’s rage-filled eyes flooded back to her mind, the desperation of her attempt to protect Kai from his wrath. She instinctively reached up to touch the bandages that now adorned her neck, wincing.

“You mean, what did you do to yourself?” he replied softly, his words heavy with implication.

Y/N felt a wave of nausea wash over her as the reality of her actions sunk in. The realisation that she had tried to take her own life filled her with a sense of profound despair.

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “There was no stopping him. He would have—” it was hard to swallow, it was harder to breathe, painful to speak and just like countless times before, it was harder to see through the tears.

“Is Kai alive?” she choked out, her voice barely above a whisper. Seokjin met her gaze with a solemn nod, Y/N felt a sliver of hope pierce through the darkness that had consumed her. Perhaps, amidst the chaos, there was still a chance for redemption, for healing.

“He’s going to make a full recovery in a few weeks,” he said softly, his words a balm to her wounded spirit.

“But you need to heal too—”

Tears welled in her eyes as she nodded in silent agreement, the weight of her own pain pressing down upon her like a burden too heavy to bear.

“Little birdie sang that you promised to make a snowman with a certain little man.” The little boy was a reminder of the love and happiness that still existed in her life despite the darkness that surrounded her.

“Can I sleep some more?”

Before she managed to drift back to sleep, Seokjin quietly went about checking her vitals, his experienced hands moving with precision as he monitored her condition. With a deep sigh, he made a mental note to bring her iron pills to help replenish the blood she had lost. Looking at her bandaged neck, he couldn’t shake the feeling that her academic background would totally exclude the possibility that this petite woman wouldn’t know how to kill herself with that one swipe of a letter opener if she aimed correctly. And that made Seokjin suspicious of the young Buin’s intentions and endorsed him into believing that after all, the girl still has some fire to burn and will to live. She just needed good guidance, he thought.

“How is she?” The Kkangpae rushed to approach him once he closed the door to his office. It was very hard to convince him to leave her side. She was asleep for a while and Seokjin did not advise on waking her up anytime soon until she woke up herself. With conflicting emotions, he turned to face his dishevelled form.

“She wants to sleep some more, otherwise she’s stable, but—” Seokjin replied, his voice tinged with weariness.

“—she’s lost a significant amount of blood so I’m going to have her take iron pills—”

The Kkangpae’s brow furrowed in worry, his gaze flickering back to the closed door behind Seokjin.

“I want to see her,” he said, his voice tinged with desperation when he interrupted his Hyung.

Seokjin hesitated for a moment, weighing the risks of disturbing Y/N’s rest against the Kkangpae’s obvious concern. Ultimately, he decided to trust his instincts.

“We need to talk first, Yoongi.” Seokjin said firmly. The Kkangpae nodded reluctantly, his shoulders slumping with defeat. Not happy with Seokjin’s stalling. Nonetheless, Seokjin could sense the tension radiating off him, the weight of guilt and fear pressing down on his shoulders.

“You pushed her way too far, Yoongi—” the doctor begins, slumping down to the low cushion sofa looking at the faded yet evident scraped puddle of blood on the wooden floor.

“I want you to consider me helping her.”

Yoongi’s blood ran cold at the mention of such a drastic measure to be taken. He knew of the doctor practising such methods and he knew of them being successful once two living and walking examples were among them.

“We’ve talked about this Seokjin, and I declined your offer. She doesn’t need it.”

Seokjin’s gaze hardened, his eyes locking onto Yoongi's with unwavering intensity.

“Are you ever going to accept the truth Yoongi? She is suffering here!” Yoongi’s jaw tightened; his fists clenched at his sides as he fought to control the rising tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He knew that Seokjin was right. But he was also still the selfish man he was before.

“She’s my responsibility, Seokjin,” Yoongi said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll find another way to help her. I won’t let you do this to her unless it will be absolutely necessary.”

Seokjin’s expression softened, a flicker of empathy shining in his eyes as he reached out to place a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder. “I know you love her, Yoongi,” he said gently. “But sometimes, loving means making difficult decisions for the greater good.”

Yoongi couldn’t continue to bury his head in the sand, hoping that Y/N’s pain and suffering would simply disappear on its own and perhaps the moment she heals she’ll be capable of falling in love with him just like he did.

“Just how long can you go without your love being reciprocated?”

Seokjin’s question echoed in Yoongi’s mind, a painful reminder of the unrequited love that had tormented him for so long.

He couldn’t bear the thought of robbing her of her identity, of erasing the very essence of who she was. The essence he loved her for. But now, faced with the prospect of losing her altogether, Yoongi couldn’t bear the thought of erasing the very qualities that had drawn him to her in the first place. He loved her for her fire, for the strength and passion that burned within her.

He wanted to keep her flame alive.

How ironic, isn’t it?

Waking up again felt even worse than the first time. The dizziness remained and a strong feeling of fatigue only reminded her of what she had called upon herself. The bed seemed to mock her with its warmth, the pillow unyielding beneath her. It was a bit firmer for some reason and a heartbeat echoed in her ears.

Her hand went up the sheets until another hand fell upon hers. The bed was not warmer, the pillow was not firmer and the heartbeat she hears isn’t hers. The fingers, adorned with cold metal rings that now laid on top of her smaller hand squeezed hers in firmer grip. What was supposed to be a comforting touch seemed like shackles to Y/N.

Y/N gulped down, trying to not slap his hand right away just like she wanted to. The pit in her stomach was larger and larger. She did not know what to expect from him. Is he going to punish her? Is he mad? Does he have the right to be mad? Of course not. But for what is to come, Y/N would rather him mad and angry.

“I am so sorry, little Dove.”

His voice shattered her thoughts and Y/N’s eyes stayed wide open, just staring up front. He was holding her laying form on his chest and she could feel his other hand caressing her back. He held her way too close, as if trying to mend what he had broken with his other hand.

“I thought I was going lose you,” he choked out, confessing, his grip tightening. She pulled away with swift movement, sitting up to confront him and look down on his half laying form.

“You’ve almost killed him, and the only remorse you feel is for me?!”

Her weak voice trembled with a mixture of anger and disbelief, her eyes flashing with hurt as she confronted him. Her vocal cords were not as damaged, yet her throat was too sore for her voice to be heard fully. The weight of his actions hung heavy in the air, suffocating the space between them. Guilt etching lines on his face as he met her accusing gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

“The words you said before, back home, got to me, and I lost control. I did not mean for any of this, Dove. I am genuinely sorry,” he finally managed to utter, his voice thick with regret. His eyes pleaded for her understanding, begging for forgiveness in the face of his unforgivable mistake.

Despite the hurt and betrayal, she felt a small part of her longed to believe him, to believe that he was capable of change. But she knew very well that the Yoongi starring in her dreams is a completely different man. The scars of his actions ran deep, leaving behind wounds that could not be easily healed.

“You crushed his skull, Yoongi,” she said with a stone-cold anger, her voice laced with an icy fury that sent shivers down his spine. He messed up.

“And I shall do everything to redeem myself. I love you, baby-” He knew he had to make things right, to earn back her trust and repair the damage he had done. How could he earn something back if it was never there?

“You don’t love me, Yoongi. You love the idea of having me under your control!” Each syllable drips with bitterness and resentment. He lifted himself on his elbows to look closer to her teary eyes. They reflected so much pain and sorrow.

“You know that’s not true. I’ll do anything for you.” He insisted, his voice trembling with sincerity as he reached out to gently wipe away her tears whence she slapped his hand off.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” she spat, her voice sharp with venom. She stood up, putting distance between them, but he refused to let her go. The weight of his actions had left her wounded, her trust shattered beyond repair. She could no longer bear the false promises and empty gestures that had become their relationship.

“Did I have to reach the edge of despair for you to wake up?” Her words cut through the silence, echoing with the pain of her betrayal.

“I was scared of losing you,” His voice trailed off, the weight of her accusation hitting him like a ton of bricks. He struggled to find the right words to express the depth of his fear and regret, knowing that no apology could ever fully erase the pain he had caused.

“You never had me to begin with.” She said, her voice filled with finality. But he wouldn’t accept it. The ancient melody, the notes that echoed in the silence, screamed, full of wounds that will never heal.

“Promise me you’ll never do that again, love. Hurt me, not yourself.” He pleaded again trying to reach her, his voice breaking with emotion as he reached out to grasp her trembling hands, hoping against hope that she would find it in her heart to forgive him, to give their love another chance. He cannot let her words get to him again.

“Again?!-” she retorted, her voice laced with disbelief and incredulity. She wondered if he’s even worthy of her pretending. Her hands went to hit his chest, pushing him away from her.

“-You think there’s going to be fucking again, Yoongi?!” Her words were sharp, cutting through the air with the finality of a verdict. A flying cup shattered right next to his head. He did not even register when she took it into her hands and threw it at him, missing him just by a few inches.

“I’ll do anything to have you by my side. Dove, I beg you.” Min Yoongi pleaded, his voice breaking again. On his knees, Min Yoongi bowed his head in remorse.

“You’ll never change, Yoongi.” The weight of disappointment was evident in her words as she turned away, unable to bear the sight of him at that moment. But the selfish side of Min Yoongi wouldn’t let her do that.

He grabbed her by her waist and pulled her close, not leaving an inch between them.

“I can’t fucking live without you-” his voice cracked, raw with desperation and longing, tears welled up in his eyes, begging for her to understand the depth of his love.

“-without those arms,” he continued, his voice softening with the memories of their intimacy.

“-full cheeks-”

“-lips,” he whispered, each word a plea for her to see the love and longing in his eyes.

“Yoongi, I cannot do this anymore.”

Yoongi felt his heart drop like a heavy weight in his chest. He collapsed onto his knees before her, his arms wrapping desperately around her delicate frame.

“I’m so tired of the pain in my chest,” she admitted, her voice trembling with vulnerability.

He had pushed her too far, hurt her too deeply, and now he stood on the precipice of losing her forever.

“I was ready to die—”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Dove” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the tumult of emotions raging inside him. Y/N glanced at his trembling hands and thought about his words for a second. Contemplating his sincerity.

It was his eyes this time that cried. The endearment sounds different coming from this version of Yoongi. It felt so distant from the Yoongi she had once met in her dreams. The man he’ll never be.

“I can make it better. Just let me in and I’ll show you how happy we can be.” Min Yoongi promised, his eyes filled with sincerity. He’s haunted by the knowledge that he just might have let the love of his life slip through his fingers.

“You’re really that delusional, aren’t you?” Y/N questioned; her voice laced with disbelief.

“Aren’t we all? -” Min Yoongi replied, his voice tinged with resignation. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. Please, give me another chance.”

Y/N remained silent; her expression guarded as she wrestled with her own emotions. Her mind swirled with thoughts and even when she tried to say something, an inaudible cry of frustration, sadness and anger was heard.

Min Yoongi slumped down to his knees, holding her small hands in his. Looking at her with hope in his eyes.

“I beg you.” He pleaded once more for her forgiveness. His eyes searched hers, hoping to find even the smallest glimmer of something that would tell him that he’ll manage to woo her right this time.

If she could walk away, she would do it right now. But this isn’t her que to leave the scene. Just not yet. Be patient.

“Your beloved God shall decide upon your fate, Yoongi-”

“Upon the fate of us,” she continued to preach.

“What do you—”

“Should God spare his life, I’ll consider forgiving you,” she interrupted, her voice firm.

“Then let it be so,” he said, his voice filled with determination and hope.

Y/N was clutching the delicate cup of tea in her hands whilst her eyes remained fixed on the outside surroundings of the hotel. Riling herself up was something she was told to seize. Yet, there she stands, ready to run outside any minute.

“He’s trying, you know,” Xiaoli said softly, following Y/N’s gaze. “In his own way, he’s trying to make things right.”

The sight was both heart-warming and heartbreaking, a glimpse of the man he used to be and the man he could still be.

“Well, he certainly knows how to evoke emotional damage.” Y/N sighed, her eyes lingering on Yoongi’s figure adorned in a warm coat. His hands were covered with leather gloves that protected him from the frostbiting cold snow.

“People can heal.”

“Some wounds run too deep to heal completely,” Y/N glanced at Xiaoli, her eyes searching for understanding that she will most likely never find.

“Love has a way of healing even the deepest wounds-” Xiaoli reached out, placing a comforting hand on Y/N’s arm. Y/N scoffed, her eyes never leaving the Kkangpae and her little brother Bo Cheng. Building a snowman. It was a picture of normalcy; his current actions were mocking the magnitude of his power and acts he performed to obtain it.

Min Yoongi was on top of the world. One day, the prime minister of Japan expresses his gratitude for clearing the Yakuza clan and unburdening the country, the other, he’s powerless when the woman he chose to be his companion throughout life, and what’s after, paints the floor red with her own blood.

“Relax, Y/N Buin.” The other voice echoed from the other side of the room. She was clutching the cup way too tightly, making her knuckles go white. She hated when people called her Buin. It did not evoke power in Y/N, rather the opposite. It was a reminder that she is the lady of this clan because Yoongi forced her into this position.

The room felt heavy with tension, each word from Xiaoli pulling at the raw edges of her emotions. The far away sound of Bo Cheng’s laughter when he threw a large snowball Yoongi’s way.

“You did not see him that day,” Y/N finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, filled with pain and regret.

“The darkness in him consumed him.”

“I saw him after that—”

“-He’s trying to make amends now,” Xiaoli said gently, her hand tightening around Y/N’s.

“I wish I could believe that he’s capable of change, Xiaoli.” The rustle of newspaper reminded her of the other presence in the room. The consigliere silently worked at the table, overviewing contracts Y/N daren’t deem anything but legal. The other man present in the room was now folding the said newspapers, standing up and walking in the direction where Xiaoli and Y/N stood by the large window.

“Never in my entire fucking life I have thought that I will see Min fucking Yoongi build a snowman-” Hoseok spat out jokingly, his disbelief evident. There was even a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Y/N’s grip on the teacup relaxed slightly, but her gaze remained fixed on the scene outside the whole time.

“He just might be able to change, we all do-” he began, leaning down to her height level, admiring the velvet rose pins holding her hair in an updo.

“for lov—”

“Jiě jie! Have you seen the snowman we built?!” Y/N’s eyes brightened at the sound of Bo Cheng’s voice. The change in her expression was immediate.

Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yes, dear. It’s marvellous.”

Bo Cheng’s delighted laughter echoed across the snowy expanse as he ran back outside to Yoongi, pulling him towards their creation.

Hoseok, witnessing Y/N’s transformation, teased, “See? He’s not all bad. Look at how happy he makes your brother.”

“One snowman doesn’t erase the past, Hoseok.”

Hoseok laughed, conceding with a nod, “Fair enough, Y/N. Fair enough.”

“What about two?” Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. But the daunting feeling never left her as she watched him and her little brother.

“Is he asleep?” She asked quietly, trying to restrain her voice as much as possible. The best was not to overload the muscles of her throat at all. She talks very little but thinks a lot. That certainly is not the best situation for someone like Y/N.

Her mind takes her to places. To those she visited and those she is yet to see. The “Yoongi” comes back to her in dreams from time to time, and Y/N’s mind cannot grapple with why it is happening so. What is the cosmos trying to show her?

“He is usually stubborn to go to sleep if it’s not for Ma reading him a story-” The younger sister began to rely upon her never-ending gratitude to her beloved leader. Safe to say, she shifted her loyalty without having to pledge it first.

“-thank you, Kkangpae Min, you’re marvellous with children.” Y/N couldn’t help but roll her eyes at Xiaoli. Not like she was cautious to not get caught doing so, Xiaoli did see her doing so, poking her elbow to express her gratitude to Yoongi too.

“What?” Y/N asked her. Xiaoli was easier to manipulate, easier to forget, and easier to forgive. Y/N wasn’t, she would let him feel the chasm in between them before she made her move to wrap him around her finger.

“Aren’t you grateful for such a caring husband?”

The loud silence echoed in the room, making everyone uncomfortable. Y/N closed her eyes and sighed very loudly. Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Xiaoli-” Y/N has begun only for Xiaoli to not let her speak.

“No, Y/N, he’s at least trying. You never did-” her younger sister interrupted her instantly. Y/N looked into Yoongi’s eyes, for the first time since he crossed the door threshold after he put Bo Cheng to bed. She did not know what she was looking for, yet she expected him to speak up.

“Xiaoli-” she attempted again but this time it was Yoongi who interrupted her.

“Mrs. Wang, I appreciate your concern, but me and Y/N shall resolve our marital issues without your guidance.”

Yoongi’s voice was calm, but there was a firmness to it that made the room go still. Xiaoli’s eyes widened slightly, surprised by his assertiveness. Y/N’s gaze locked onto his again, searching for a hint of what he was thinking. She raised her brows at his diplomatic words to her sister.

Not wanting to admit it, Y/N enjoyed the guilt in Xiaoli’s eyes. Yet it was Yoongi she apologised to and not her.

“Well, I would say that is our cue to leave those two alone, love,” Taehyung murmured all the way from across the office where he was still seated. The room was quiet enough that everyone heard him.

“I meant well.” Was the last thing Y/N heard before Xiaoli and Taehyung got too far away for them to hear anything.

Yoongi took a deep breath, breaking the silence.

“She can be a lot, the sister of yours.”

Y/N chuckled softly, wiping away a stray tear. They sat down by the fireplace.

They always do. He reached out, taking her hand.

“How was your day?” He said gently. For the past week, she wasn’t avoiding him - she was avoiding the talks he wished to have with her to reconcile.

“Jimin told me you went to visit Kai today.”

Y/N’s eyes widened momentarily before she looked away, her grip tightening around the fabric of her dress. Yoongi’s thumb gently stroked the back of her hand, a gesture meant to be comforting, but it only intensified the whirlwind of emotions inside her.

“Seokjin says he is getting better slowly.” She hesitated to talk, biting her lip. Kai was a sore subject between them, yet Yoongi realised that’s where his only chance of a life with her lay. He agreed upon her terms of forgiving him, seizing any opportunity to keep her by his side.

“And so do you, but I would love to hear that from you, Dove.”

“It still pains me to talk, and I get dizzy if I stand for too long.” Yoongi’s heart ached as he heard her soft confession. He knew all too well what her condition was and that he was the sole reason for it.

There wasn’t a day, an hour where he did not think about what he could have done differently with her. Maybe if he told her the truth at the very beginning, she’d let him woo her. But he’ll never know that. The damage was done, and he’ll have to build their relationship from scratch.

Yoongi hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching Y/N’s face for any sign of pain or discomfort.

“I’m sorry, Dove,” he whispered, his voice filled with regret. “I hate seeing you like this.”

Y/N gave him a weak smile. It wasn’t a warm smile, it was not genuine, and it certainly did not reflect the emotion Y/N was holding in.

“Then why lead me to this state?” Yoongi’s eyes filled with guilt, his grip on her hand tightening. For the first time, Yoongi rethought all the decisions he had made since he settled his eyes on her. There wasn’t a day he did not think about what would be different if he would’ve been honest with her. Would she fall in love with him?

“We don’t have time for that, Hyung.” The voice of his right-hand man echoed in his mind. He listened to him, and here they are. Broken.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, Dove—” Yoongi’s tears threatened to fall as he watched the woman he loved struggle with the pain he had caused.

“And that there is way too much damage done, but I burn for you, and I always will.” She only listened to him, there was no need to answer.

“I will wait for you until you are ready.”

“We had a deal.” Her eyes slowly flattered open upon hearing his low baritone voice. She gulped down carefully, wincing at the still evident pain in her throat. She squinted her eyes at the change of lighting. She was wondering whether he would pay her visit. Several weeks passed and here he is. Kim Namjoon in his full glory, ready to get on her nerves.

“Where’s Yoongi?” Looking at the empty side of the bed she asked, not minding his words. He sneaked late in the night, thinking she was dead asleep and left her room too early in the morning. She has let him do that. It will only help her in the future.

“We had a deal,” Namjoon repeated, his voice firm and unwavering as he was seated in the armchair next to her bed, his gaze fixed on her with a mixture of concern and disappointment.

“And we still have a deal, don’t we?” She asked rather mockingly, her tone laced with sarcasm, pulling herself up to sit on the bed. Her eyes still not used to the lighting she blindly reached to a glass of water that was on the nightstand to ease her throat of the uncomfortable dryness burning inside.

“You attempted to kill yourself. I’d count that as violating our deal,” he stated bluntly. Y/N’s jaw clenched as she listened to Namjoon's accusation, a surge of defensiveness rising within her. The man and his tactics irked her.

She knew she had pushed the boundaries of their agreement, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it. Not to him at least.

“It was a moment of weakness, okay? I’ve had enough at that point.” Namjoon’s gaze remained steady, unmoved by her protestations. As if he saw right through her.

“Do you want us to throw you into a mental house? Is that what you’re trying to do?”

Y/N’s grip tightened around the glass of water as she fought to control the rising tide of anger within her.

“You all would have to throw yourself in first.”

She refused to back down, refused to let him belittle her struggles or dictate her fate. Y/N’s grip tightened around the glass of water, her knuckles turning white with tension as she fought to control the rising tide of anger within her. Namjoon’s words felt like a slap in the face, a harsh reminder of her own vulnerability and the consequences of her actions.

He chuckled at her response. The sound grating on her nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

“As I said, it was a moment of weakness, there was no different means to stop him—”

“Maybe if you didn’t provoke him before, he wouldn’t do it, Y/N.”

“I did not provoke him. I did not ask for any of this,” she spat, her voice trembling with fury. Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest as she glared at Namjoon. She wanted to throw the glass at him so badly.

“Yet here we are.”

“Here we are indeed,” she shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “And whose fault is that, Namjoon? Certainly not mine.”

Namjoon’s jaw tightened at her defiance, his gaze hardening as he met her eyes with unwavering intensity.

“You’re just like him, Y/N,” he muttered darkly. “Stubborn. Refusing to see reason. Refusing to accept help. We had a deal goddammit—”

“With all due respect, Namjoon. I do not trust you nor your intentions to actually send me over to America once the time is up.” He had expected her defiance, but her lack of trust cut deeper than he cared to admit. He did not know why in detail. But it was for the greater good that the Buin and Kkangpae will be a power role model couple for their clan.

“You don’t trust me?” he repeated, his voice low and tinged with disbelief. Ridiculous.

��Trust is earned, Namjoon,” she retorted, her voice unwavering despite the tremor in her heart. “And you haven't exactly given me a reason to trust you.” His frustration was simmering beneath the surface.

“Aight.” He said after some time of thinking.

“What do you want?” He asked, intrigued about what would make her trust him. Y/N’s gaze narrowed; her expression guarded as she considered Namjoon’s question.

“Assurances.”

“Name it.”

“I want Xiaoli, Kai, Daiyu and her son out of here. Somewhere overseas. Unharmed and not to be bothered again.” His expression conflicted as he weighed the implications of her request. The smirk on his face was still present.

“Xiaoli is betrothed to Taehyung, and she is so of her own volition. You yourself gave them your blessing, Buin.” Y/N’s tongue clicked unsatisfied with his words.

“Give her the courtesy and at least give her the chance to decide, without your influence.” He knew she had a point, even if he was reluctant to admit it. The power dynamics within their world were complex, and he had grown accustomed to wielding his influence with impunity. The holy seven always did so.

“Fine,” he conceded, his tone grudging. “I’ll make sure Xiaoli has a chance to make her own decisions. But you’re pushing your luck, Yoongi may not—,”

“He will agree.” She stated resolutely. Namjoon’s eyebrows rose slightly at Y/N’s bold assertion, surprised by her unwavering confidence.

“Very well,” Namjoon replied, his voice tinged with resignation. “I’ll speak to Yoongi and I’ll arrange for them to sail away once Kai is well enough to travel, but only if you promise to uphold your end of the deal and it’s new conditions”

“What conditions?” She asked, utterly confused. This was about him earning her trust. But of course, Kim Namjoon would somehow manage to manipulate his way through.

“Forgive him, Y/N. That’s what I’m asking for. It’s been weeks since Kai can stand on his own feet. Talk, walk, eat, everything. Why’d you still not uphold your side of the deal?”

A weighty silence enveloping the room as Y/N processed his words. The idea of forgiving Yoongi felt like an impossible task, a betrayal of everything she had endured at his hands. She could not find a word that would describe what she feels now.

“Holding onto anger and bitterness will only continue to weigh you down. Death would be redemption, yet you are still here, living and breathing by God’s will and doing.”

I N T E R L O G U E

“When is he planning to do it?” She spoke softly, her words laced with urgency and caution.

“I don’t know-” she murmured, swallowing the lump in her throat. “But I can’t bear the thought of Bo Cheng witnessing such a horror.”

Daiyu’s eyes darted around the dimly lit corridor, wary of lurking shadows and prying ears.

“We must leave this place, Y/N,” she urged, her voice a breathless whisper.

“I can’t-” Y/N’s voice caught in her throat, her gaze dropping to the floor as a wave of despair washed over her.

“—not yet, at least.” Daiyu placed a gentle hand on Y/N’s shoulder.

“But you will-” Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to calm her racing heart. Daiyu’s gaze hardened.

“-And you’ll take Bo Cheng with you. Even Ma if we will be clever enough.”

“Xiaoli?” she inquired cautiously.

“Xiaoli doesn’t share our sentiments. Taking her against her will would make me no better than them.” Daiyu nodded, understanding the complexity of Y/N’s feelings towards Xiaoli.

“He won’t let us all go,” said Daiyu, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. In normal circumstances, he would never give a green pass to anyone from inside of their clan. Especially, to the closer circle. But the circumstances were not normal. And as he spoke himself numerous times at this point. He will do everything to keep her by his side.

“He will. If I promise to stay.”

“But that’s-”

“It’s not my time yet, Daiyu—” she interrupted her quickly.

“But it will come.”

author's note: this took me longer than I thought, mainly coz of life getting in my way, but nonetheless, chapter 8 is here. So far, this is the most I'm sceptical about chapter so yeah, nervous to put it out. Yoongi's got a taste of his own medicine to some degree and maybe finally he'll start to see things differently. Do you believe Yoongi can change for her? Hmm? We will see. Enjoy the chapter. Thank you for reading and continuing to read the story 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

PS: I hope you don't hate Xiaoli entirely coz I have a filler one-shot mapped out in my head 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

shout-out to Bex, the queen @chaoticpuff17, for beta another chapter!

Love you all!! ♥

Don't be a silent reader, comment, re-blog, heart, asks are more than welcome ♥

keep in mind - I'm not an expert on chinese, korean and japanese culture, but I tried to research everything realistic I wanted to add to the story. Nonetheless, take it as a fiction. Nor in this case, I'm a medical professional.

let's be friends chummers 🫧♡ ︎

lots of love, p.

PPS: accounts highlighted cannot be tagged, so if you want to be in the tag list, please make sure you have it allowed in your settings. 𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

tag list: @beautifulcloudfestival - @honsoolgloss - @jingerbreadoutofstock - @moscow778 - @januara26 - @dinosolecito - @yoongislatinagff - @xyahrinx - @hi12345567 - @nochuel - @deltamoon666 - @bbkissme99 - @darkuni63 - @nansasa - @sazsazsaz - @missmin - @strxwbloody - @royallyjjk - @jaiuneamesolitaiire - @shadowyjellyfishfest - @bbgniecyy - @elayne321 - @seojunandsoju - @bun-27 - @whipwhoops - @wobblewobble822 - @whofan88 - @haneyyyyyy - @lostgirlinthewoodss - @secfir - @btspurplesky - @elleflying07 - @pamzn - @megseungmin - @selenophileforlife - @idkjustlovingbts - @seonghwaexile

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xxshadowbabexx · 10 hours

Text

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys Pt I: Howdy

headcanon inspo

check series masterlist for series warnings

You were bored, broke, and lonely. Not to mention horny.

It had been ages since your last fuck, so you did what anyone looking for some dick in these modern times did. You opened your preferred dating app.

The first thing you noticed was a lack of matches, although you aren’t very active on the hellsite, so it shouldn’t have been of any surprise. That just meant it might take a bit longer to get a match.

You swiped for a bit before a profile finally caught your eye.

His bio wasn’t your taste, but he was decent looking and clearly here for some sex. It couldn’t hurt, right?

You swiped on him, and it’s a match, but you decide to continue profile shopping before messaging Brian. Just in case.

Several dozen profiles you’re not interested in, and a message for Brian.

Brian: Hey luv

Brian: Since you chose me I assume ur here for a rough poundin

…Ew.

Yeah, he wasn’t getting a response.

And then there was Alexander.

Close by, but clearly looking for something long term. And you’re not looking to be a mom right now. Nope.

You were about to log off- you had swiped through about thirty profiles. But then again, five more couldn’t hurt, could it?

And you were so glad you decided to swipe a bit more, because the fourth profile was incredibly intriguing.

Incredibly muscular. Masked. Large age gap. Nearby. Only looking for sex, and willing to pay???

It was a dream come true. Or a scam. You tried not to think about that as you swiped yes on him.

Much to your surprise, he had swiped yes on you, too. But now do you message him? Do you wait for him to message you first? What are you supposed to say? You found yourself typing before you could stop yourself.

You: howdy

You facepalmed. What a dumb first message. You were trying to seduce this mysterious masked man. Charm him with your wit and then keep him for his dick and money. “Howdy”? Really?

You set your phone down on the table, sighing. Maybe you should make some food and cut your losses, but then your phone dinged.

Simon: Howdy? Don’t tell me your a southern-American prick now

You grinned, thank fuck you didn’t deter him.

You: oh i’m definitely not lol

You: so based on your bio are you like a sugar daddy???

His response was instantaneous.

Simon: Of sorts

You: ????? care to explain

Simon: If you’re free tonight we can meet up for a lay. If I enjoy myself then we can negotiate

You shouldn’t. It’s such a safety hazard. You really shouldn’t.

You: luckily for you i am

You: where do you want to meet?

•••

“Oh my fucking god Simon~” you mewed, throwing your head back and digging your hands into his mask. His balaclava was pure black and pulled up to rest on his crooked nose.

He grunted against your pussy, “Yeah? Tha’ feel good?” he smirked, lapping at your hole greedily.

You nodded, “So good. So fucking good,” you panted.

One hand moved up to press on your stomach, holding you down and forcing the pathetic thrusts you had been doing against his face to stop. His other hand moved up to palm your chest. He groped the fat, pinching it between his fingers and prodding at your nipple with his thumb.

He sucked your clit. Hard. Then pulled his face back, and smacked it with his hand.

“Filthy fucking thing. Just like you, hm?” the words sent a burning feeling deep into your belly and you felt a coil tighten.

“Yes- yes!” you gasped as he curled his fingers into your sopping cunt.

He tsked, “So needy, drooling all around m’ fingers. Can’t imagine how messy you’ll be once I finally give you m’ cock,”

“Please Simon- oh fuck, please, need your cock,”

You can feel him smiling against your pussy, “Yeah? Silly little girl needs me so bad, don’tcha sweet’eart?”

You nodded, “Please,”

•••

You moved your hand to block the sun in your eyes, grumbling as you moved to sit up. It was then that you felt the arm wrapped around your waist, and last nights memories came flooding back in.

“That’s it, be a good girl and give me one more. I believe in you,”

“So fucked out a’ready? We’ve barely even started,”

And then the-

“Shh, shhh you were such a good girl fer me,”

“I know, I know. But I have to get up, love. Got to clean up the mess you made, then I’ll be back to hold you,”

You didn't think he would be the type to do aftercare, but he did, and he did it wonderfully.

You turned around to face him, and you were met with light blue eyes lazily gazing upon you. Your cheeks heated.

"Morning," you muttered bashfully, unsure of what else to say.

Simon hummed, "Mornin' to you too, lovie. Lucky for you, after last nights performance you sure past the bloody test," he winked, morning voice gravely. Oh boy, this was going to be fun.

taglist

@frogtowne @glossysoap

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #call of duty x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #simon ghost #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #call of duty ghost #ghost mw2 #mw2 ghost #simon riley cod #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #ghost simon riley #simon riley call of duty

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zumurruds · 3 days

Note

Very much enjoyed your DamenxNikandros post but it saddens me to think the feelings are probably one-sided by Nikandros ;( Damen never thought about him much until the last book but I guess he had other things to worry about

hey anon, appreciate your thoughts!

i don’t think nikandros’ feeling are one-sided at all. i think damen's connection with him runs deep, even if it's not explicitly shown in the earlier books.

it may not be evident to readers at first because we’re so caught up in the action and fast-paced events of the books, but damen was actively repressing his feelings and memories as a coping mechanism to get through his ordeals:

however, when faced with nikandros's presence, damen allows himself to embrace those buried emotions and memories, showing how deep their bond goes:

so while it might not seem like damen thinks about nikandros much early on, when given the chance to breathe and confront his emotions, damen's feelings for nikandros are undeniable.

thanks for this message 🤍

#captive prince #a king and his lionheart

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joannasteez · 9 hours

Text

almost blue (1)

pairing: cody rhodes x black reader warning: explicit descriptions of violence and sexual activity. minors please do not interact. readers eighteen and older interact only please. descriptions of alcohol consumption and the use of deadly weapons. authors note: JOHN WICK AU!!! so excited to share this! i had this sorta kinda in my back pocket for a while, while trying to build up tanks of blood, which you can find to read here. not everything in this is super true to the world of john wick but the most im using as inspo is the aesthetic anyways. also a one off mention of john wick lol. that and some of the names for certain things. italics in the beginning represent flashback perspective music inspo: almost blue by chet baker word count: 4800 tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @kill-the-artiste @empressdede @southerngirl41 @2-muchsauce @crxssjae

new york. the continental hotel and it's flatiron shape. september 2019. the rain, this soft unsteady pitter patter. a gentle gray coloring the sky. the air cold and biting. the city filling its brim with a sleepless droning.

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—gold trim and blood red carpet floors—bath water disturbs till its sloshing to overtake the tub. a messy spill against the floor. his lips working over yours. fingers kneading deep enough into skin that it stains with the print of his touch. nails tender in his hair and your body melting in till the heat of him breaks over your skin. his everything settled into the wisp and charm of your voice as his pleasure becomes whole. too great.

—but his memory tires from old moments like these, a shell of itself as it attempts in vain to restore to it's former glory. has been in a perpetual state of exhaustion for sometime. but this straining is singular. a throbbing at the forefront of his skull. a tight pulling pain at the nape of his neck till it's creeping wild at the tip of his spine. forcing him to grow ill as he works to reminisce. body wistfully undone. and what words do the men of our time say about insanity? to be in a perpetual state of trying, doing, in hopes of something new. and so on he went, flirting with this disaster, this run of nostalgia, so much so that memory has forsaken him, taking these little complexities —the new york rain and the taste of your lips— along with it.

but cody can handle the load and reload of a glock 26 as fast as he does it well. a deft maneuvering before the barrel raises and he pulls the trigger, the recoil driving sharp. a bullet through the skull and the splattering of blood. whoever meant to kill him, now dead in his wake.

but what cruelty this is. a traitor to his own body. living with nothing but the means to kill and tattered memory. with him still, only, all of the things left unsaid—

you'd smelt of vanilla. the yearning about his tongue deep and yet to be settled. his lips a shadow as they feathered against yours. his questions overdone with a frightening passion. "where are you ten years from now?"

your fingers slipped over his skin, as easy as they would over porcelain. a delicate taking over wet soapy muscle till it clawed over his shoulders and against the heat of his cheeks. "somewhere warm and comfortable. retired".

where ever you were, is where he wanted to be. "am i with you?"

a reversion, just barely perceptible, but there all the same. something like fear, like hesitation, pushing against a situational sort of tenderness in your eyes. the warmth slowly but forcibly outdone by the cold. lukewarm. just like the fate of too old bath water. not enough of either extreme. lukewarm.

"seems more like a question for you to answer".

"answer it anyways".

and he couldn't feel your lips anymore. too much air, too much distance. caution thick. woven about your words. the tones. the inflections. "ten years from now, you'll be somewhere as warm, as comfortable and retired too".

"am i with you?"

to draw such a long length of need into the air. passions and hopes and dreams. cody knew. it would've been easier to take the sear of a bullet, the ripping tear in of a knife or the crack of something blunt and unforgiving to his skull. those things easier than the down trod of such a silence. your eyes having gained more and more distance. fear peaking soft and brown before the quick slip over of indifference. like you didn't care for his whispered words sounding too much like forever. and recovery from bullets and knives and blunt force was tedious. sewn up skin and the reformation of fine motor skill. but this. the way you suffered him to feel the drift away of your body and the simple, delicate, eager push in of your touch. something in his heart—amongst the lukewarm water—failed. this low dropping into a less lively place.

new york. the continental hotel and its flatiron shape. june 2024. a peak of the sun amidst more grayish than white clouds against an icy pale blue sky. the air breezy with a teasing smell of rain. like a stray tendril before some great unraveling. the city as sleepless as it's ever been.

and amongst the deathly sort of decadence—scarlet sage in bloom and the ever present air of readymade violence—cody sips at a short glass of brandy. an edgy spike to his tongue as it settles. everything of the continental he possessed now lost to time and the overwork of his sore tired memory. lost to a bout of corrosion done by words left unsaid. because he did not remember your answer after the persistence of his "am i with you?” all thats left, this great blurring. of words and the finer littler complexities. your lips and your eyes and the soft ways of your touch. and maybe it came to be this way for good reason. using such a burn to his ego to fuel the fire of his rage. revenge for memories unforgettable. around the glass of brandy, his hands feel stronger. less careful in how they hold. caution be damned. he sips again to finish. his finger buttoning his suit jacket, making way from the bar and across the communal space of the hotel.

warmth at his ear and a twitch in his trigger finger. something like eyes resting over him. watching him.

he continues to a connecting hallway. elevators and mosaic floors. maybe the brandy wasn't the best idea, but neither was coming to such sacredly awful ground. lovers trauma and all that bullshit jazz.

the fourteenth floor is quiet. his steps carpeted by soft wool. a second twitch in his trigger finger that leads into the sharp driving heat reminiscent of staggering gun recoil. a sweet burning in his arm, the muscles knowing, remembering. but he has nothing of use on him. nothing to snuff out and quiet that vicious call of death. his hotel room styled with a modernistic flare to it's luxury. clean and unadorned. a simple reflection of his own style thankfully, but nothing extravagant to weaponize. he would have to, if needed, to make due. a slim ball point pen, sleek and multifunctional, rests next to a complimentary bottle of wine. "enjoy your stay", in cursive. cody feels the warmth at the tip of his ear again, something greater than a simple bout of paranoia. his fingers slip the pen into his pocket, a reversing in his steps to triple check the locking function of the room doors.

and he shouldn't be so wound up should he? conducting business was, is, has always been forbidden on hotel grounds.

his fight or flight saying otherwise. breathing over his skin overwhelmingly warm. lingering wearily. intuition always a nagging son of a bitch but never wrong. it's never failed him.

cody showers, stands amidst the icy rain of too cold water. cody showers, because warm baths terrify something in his body. the possibility of turning stale and lukewarm. too distant and uninviting to be either extreme. like eyes and soft lips he can barely form well enough to reimagine.

and the bed sheets are welcoming. slipping along his skin with a delicate relief. but still, something feels wrong. a heaviness to the air that precedes this faithful old tryst with life. with death. the ring of his phone working to unburden him suddenly, but for only some seconds. the number blocked. he answers, rushing to fish that ball point pen from his dress pants. sleek and multifunctional in his grip. but the urgency in his maneuvering cuts short with the slip in of something dangerously angelic. memory sore and exhausted no more, but now rushing back to him fervid and unrelenting. a tender charming tone in his ear that disrupts the stalwart build of his resolve. september 2019. june 2024. five years of an almost complete pain. icy feeling wind with the teasing of a torrential down pour. almost there but not quite. the anger and the pain never red enough. the sadness almost blue.

"the loft in tribeca" you start. cody commits it all to memory. the words, the tones, the inflections. shuffling to rough his pants on. pen in his pocket. phone wedged to his ear as his fingers rip off the casing of a pillow. body easy as it maneuvers to protect his six o'clock, leaning against the wall. his eyes scope along the room. an over examination. waiting. "if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there".

the call drops.

the slow unlocking click of his hotel room door. his muscles burn with remembrance. eyes sharp. his ears attune. the shells of them warm. cautioned steps approach the entry way of the bedroom but they fail to go unnoticed. thudding against the soft carpet. and if not for the possibility of his demise, cody would laugh. surely this was amateur hour. boots and inconspicuous were no more suited together than suede in the rain. and he'd made that rookie mistake before. back when he was a rookie. but the high table were no idiots, sending rookies to bring his head in, unless they hated him that much and felt he should feel the brunt of that hatred with some disrespect. and disrespect it was.

cody's breath holds. his head thumping against the wall before he makes a swift crouch to his knees. a gun rounding the corner, and a bullet flying aimed for where his head had knocked in. a simple quick diversion. nothing special or particularly extravagant, but enough to give him seconds to maneuver. and oh this is disrespect in deed. dominik mysterio the source of his current heavy breathed, adrenaline rushing circumstance. cody knuckling the hold of the still upward pointed gun with a punch before another sinks into domink's abdomen. a short grunt breaking from the scrappy, ill-sophisticated, mullet wearing piece of shit. and surely dominik is more of a piece of shit when his heavy boot toughs into cody's jaw. racing for the gun.

but cody is quick. has felt and faced harsher things. if anything, its more of an irritation he feels than a full measure of pain. it was hard maintaining good skin considering the life he led. he spits against the carpet. iron on his tongue. red staining the clean line designs. he reaches for dominik's leg just before he's in reach of the gun. pulling him near and flipping him over quickly. a rough hand in the silk of domink's mullet as he rains down punches with the other. cody ill satisfied as he hears the sloppy singing of grunts from the younger mysterio. and as his frustration mounts, swindled by the audacity of the high table, dominik gains an advantage. his hips shifting up to propel cody, his arms lean and tight and trapping over cody's and rolling.

"you three piece suit, hugo boss wannabe wearing motherfucker", dominik's face bloody and angry. his fists balled and quick as he comes down against cody's face.

the impression of the pen presses into cody's thigh. memory and dexterity working like a trained muscle. amidst the barrage of fists, cody reaches for the sleek ball point pen. clicking the tip and rushing it into dominik's side. harsh vicious stabs till the pain takes hold enough for him to hesitate. plunging the inky tip into his neck, where blood flows to gush. breaking up out of his skin. choking on air and the pain of a slow to come death.

"bulletproof three piece suits asshole", cody roughs out. kicking dominik for satisfaction.

if you're not dead in the next 30 minutes, meet me there

the loft is the same. unadorned by that uncanny but natural weathering of time and neglect. warm homely autumn inspired tones with splashes of green and hand carved wooden furniture. cody ever the horrendous sucker for hand carved shit. an intimate union of labor and passion. ever the reflection of a once lively relationship. carefully cultivated, ending poorer than a bastard dying with his eyes wide open. because when you go that way, you deserve it. but cody? his passions didn't deserve that violent abrupt end. and yet here he is, creeping past the entrance. a painful stuttering of footfalls as he goes. muscles sore and his skin on fire.

dominik mysterio was a warm up. a warning even. the call must've went out. a bounty worth enough for people to try him. the train ride to tribeca interestingly violent. a woman with a knife, a man with a gun and another thinking his bare hands were some great unstoppable force. and no, cody did not make quick work of them. not as quickly as he would've liked. but he managed. and at the very least, he'd suffered a slitting cut to his cheek and a laceration to his chest. that piece of shit running the blade right through his tattoo. some maybe secondary bruising and a bad headache. but he's not dead. not like the idiots that tried and failed to kill him.

the loft, much like the continental hotel, is agreed upon neutral ground. a place for trysts and the sharing of information. or rather, thats what it used to be. now, cody isn't so sure.

and his limping is pathetically loud. shoes a heavy clack against the floor. makes him bristle annoyed. you stand just behind the kitchen island. wine bottle opened. a glass in hand as you sip. more beautiful than he remembers. soft looking still, your eyes casting over the rim as you sip, undeniably deceptive.

a gun lays easy on the coffee table sat between two couches. too easy. but his displeasure gets the best of him. he shifts for it quickly. a swift up of his hands positioned about the gun, aiming for your face.

you knew his whereabouts. so much so that you knew the whereabouts of the people trying to kill him. taking the chance to trust could cost him his life. and cody quite likes his life.

"you had me scared a little bit". a gentle float of words. a finger dancing along the rim of the wine glass. a daring stare down the barrel of the gun. "i thought you got bested by a second rate mysterio". and when cody doesn't move, captured by pain, caution and the mystique of your presence, your eyes roll. his form fixed and perfected. trigger finger cool, but his heart unsure. "cut the melodrama. put the gun down cody".

"you knew i was being followed", he clips. jaw tight.

"i mean...duh...", you give. dry and teasing. finishing your wine. "half of that was me, and lets not be silly", covering the length of distance between your bodies slowly. a stalking patience. a fierce feline approach. "you shot a bullet through the skull of one of thee most important men. finding out don't come cheap when you fuck with the high table".

"everybody seems to forget I had to bury my father", the barrel of the gun kept high with perfect aim as you near closer. "killing that sack of shit was just me evening the score".

"i didn't kill your father cody".

was that sincerity? empathy? a sudden waft in of warmth after years in the cold. it felt unreal. true but unreal. and he was sure it wouldn't last.

"obviously", cody bites out.

your forehead nestles against the barrel of the gun. his memory overwrought. his senses in a frenzy. a horrible mixture in his skin of pain and elation. steeped with the fear of having to endure another sudden vanishing. angry that such an endurance was his portion in the first place.

"so then why is the gun still pointed at me?"

his fixed form eases. your hand slipping the gun from his hold gently. fire over his skin as you touch him for the first time in five years. a deft maneuvering about the cold heavy metal to expose the contents of the magazine. amusement coloring your eyes and spreading over your mouth for a teasing little smile.

"they're blanks anyways", emptying the magazine as the faux bullets fall to the floor. your hand settling down the gun and its magazine on the coffee table. leaving him in an exasperated awe as you head toward the kitchen. "just wanted to see how thin your patience has worn".

your chin jutting over to the couch. hands full of medical supplies as you pad over to him softly. his body aching and slow as it rests into the tender leather seating, but moving without delay still. always under the gentle charm of your voice, his being falling under this servile sort of subjection. making him bristle silently within himself. all that time and distance amounting to nothing for his resolve.

cody surrenders. mind over matter no longer needed. succumbing to the full weight of his pain. hair messy with red droppings of other peoples blood. his muscles sore and the hammering about his skull diligent and taunting.

"my pain has always been a funny little joke to you".

you pull the coffee table closer to the wide spread of cody's legs. your own slipping over to straddle the strength of one of his thighs. your body warm and comforting against his skin. an old feeling blooming in his chest. you were doing this on purpose. he's sure of it. to see him waver and yield to the charm of your presence. gentle touch dabbing to rid his cheek of dried blood before you went about cleaning the wound. his fingers itching to form to your body, desperate to push dull nails into your skin again. to form in and caress with the intent to renew his memory.

your eyes flit to his crotch. "its a lot more than little. give yourself some credit", you muse. applying butterfly stitches.

the air is thick. forces him to maintain a steady breath. memory overwrought once more. a mighty rushing in that heats him whole. your hands working his button up open. the lax take of your palm to his belly forcing a throb to the crux of his thighs. the closing in of the distance makes for easy intimacy. a registration of the lesser noticeable, more complex things. the prick of your nails telling familiar stories, as they work to rid him of the shirt all together. tender and caring, similar to how they used to be. your eyes roaming and thinly glazed over. he spares a glance at the wine bottle. halfway done. your ministrations functional but indulgent of the moment. of his skin.

a quicksand sort of state of affairs. if he doesn't pull himself together now, he would fall into you. full consumption. and he can't possibly risk his life because he's half hard and overdone with sentiment.

"how long have you been following me?"

you apply something like a salve after cleaning the nasty chest wound. an anesthetic. how sweet of you. to suddenly take his pain into consideration.

"a few months".

"why am i not dead?"

your body adjusts a top of him. somehow closer. your knee nearly running into his crotch. "yet", you give. beginning the process of suturing. "the question everyone wants to know is why is cody rhodes not dead yet". breaking shortly to peer over him. a full examination it seems. heat rising in his cheeks. "cause he's no john fuckin wick. so why is he still here". pressure of the needle feeding into his skin. your lip tucking under your teeth in full concentration. "people don't know resilience is the bane of even your own existence. a little meat puppet made to take push pins".

he scoffs. "this doesn't feel like a compliment if it is".

you finish off the suture. a hesitant but delicate maneuvering off his thigh to rid of the medical supplies. the heat of you gone in an instant. "its an observation". the uncorking pop of that half drunken wine bottle. a generous crimson pour that you sip at.

"on what basis exactly?"

a whipping swing of kitchen cabinet doors. a bottle of brandy and a short glass. for him it seems. and the pained parts of him grow excited at the possibility of a simple taste. anything for a temporary fix. something to numb the burn in his bones.

"very close encounters".

and no you don't dip into the leather to sit beside him when you return. you assume a much more compromising position. a full straddle of his legs as you gift him his little amber colored remedy. and if at any moment he ever thought he needed it and actually didn't, let this be the moment where that edgy spike to his tongue becomes essential. something to help him as he searches for a secure hold at control. and of course he drinks it all. an easy burning slip against the back of his throat as he feels the heat of you settling back into him. once dormant urges awakening in his fingers. supple thighs lined up over his kevlar woven dress pants. the baggy button up you'd decided was good enough for his visit thin and something like revealing. the other details left to his imagination. and God was that prone to running at any moment. tripping and falling away from him well enough till his crotch became to uncomfortable to bare the perfect fit of his pants. your empty hand returning to where it'd been. roaming tenderly against slow but steady bruising skin. his nose picking up the sweet wine on your breath. the glaze about your eyes. thighs over him, clenching slightly.

"you were always a little too indulgent with the wine", cody gives.

your eyes flitting to his crotch again. bulge more prominent. the teasing of your nails inching over past his navel. your throat humming. "and you with me".

"don't think much of it". an attempt made in vain he thinks. feeling the hard throb of himself as soon as the words leave him. "it tends to happen. adrenaline from almost dying multiple times", his thigh knocking up into yours to grab at your attention. tipsy eyes drifting to the cold blue of his. "now spill. why am i still breathing?"

"because the number isn't high enough yet". another sip of wine before turning to rest it at the table. your hands free to run over the muscle of him. about his shoulders till your thumbs are caressing at his nape and the hard cut of his jaw. and that nearly drives him to insanity. the weight of you resting right where he pulses with life. "i take your head now, i'd be settling. and the game of it all ain't that fun right now anyways. its too amateur hour-ish for me. i wanna battle it out with the adults".

"im flattered", cody deadpans.

you smile. thumb soothing over his lip. "as you should be".

"why else", the pulse about his blood wild. an unadulterated beating that coaxes to life the run off of his imagination. his touch a staggering grip at your jaw. pulling your eyes to him. lowly sat pretty brown eyes with a penchant for doing him inexplicably dirty. but they draw him in all the same. his stomach empty. filled with nothing but the slosh of brandy. cody feeds into the daze of it. the possibility of a buzz. your lips a breath from his. desire on your tongue by way of the sweet smell of wine. "talk".

your hips shift over him. a rut into the fabric. friction to appease the ache, he's sure of it. thin panties and the desperate curl in of your nails. running into his scalp. trying to persuade him with tender touches and the charm of such wanton need. and its working. fuck, itsworking well. had worked some time ago and doing well now just the same. because cody, despite such deadly skill, was not immune to this type of torture. could not battle it with stalwart patience or dapper precision. and as you rut against him again, mind clouded by wine and your own intent, his fingers burn to touch you more. not so simple and plain but disgustingly greedy. his lips smooth against the seam of yours. amber brandy and red wine a near perfect melding together.

"fuck", you relent. your nose knocking soft into his. laughing with a wry sort of amusement. "it would stroke your ego to a nice little finish if i did say it wouldn't it?"

cody hums. slips his hold till its anchored about your neck. measured in its pressure. his tongue licking to wet his lips. the slight of it forcing a tremble into your body.

maybe his suffering isn't a lonely one after all.

you whimper. taking a hard swallow.

"vindicate me", cody rasps.

your struggle is apparent. surfaces with a tear that stains your cheek. body undone by the defeat of such an intimate admission.

"i miss you", fragile and nearly unclear.

he smiles mirthless against the soft ways of your skin. his nose buried into the dip of your neck. "i don't trust your sentiment".

"it's true cody".

"she says, after admitting she wants to kill me".

"better me than someone else". your fingers abandoning him to grip into the leather of the couch. a tight take to it that fastens your body into him. your mouth lax as your lips slip over his. the tease of a kiss filled with too much tension to bare. "touch me", you give. a plea and a command all the same.

his fingers working in swiftly, a firm obedience, cupping your cheeks to steady the wild go of your tongue as it snakes to slip at his. a frail whimper singing from your chest and the return of your sharp nails. digging against his scalp to bring him impossibly closer. nearly suckling his tongue whole as your hips rut at him again. a less cautious shifting as you look for harsher friction. the pain of a murderous sort of labor and the pleasure of touching you again warring over the tenderness of his skin. coaxing him to groan and wince. strong, tired fingers forcing your hips to rock over him. an easy, stable grind along the hard bulge of his cock that leaves you living without the proper brilliance of words. reduced to the struggle of too pleasured moans.

your teeth prickling and sharp as they snag against his lip. fingers deft, undoing his zipper. the heat of him hard and throbbing dangerous. his headache out done by more pressing matters, hazy and his senses going numb with lust. palms persistent, sinking into supple flesh. and fuck does it feel good. even better when his patience thins. fingers stretching the fabric of your panties till they tear. the slick way of your arousal making for an easier pace. a sweet teasing slip through your slit. his imagination wild and unfettered. even the thought of slipping in to have his full way with you enough to twist the base of his belly. groaning into your mouth.

fire in his fingers as they pull against the fat of your ass. sweltered skin sweet in his palms. forming with every push and spread and pry that he gives.

your mouths depart. a hesitant slipping away. breaths heavy. your face hiding in the dip of his neck. your pussy messy. bewitching even as you grind mindless into him. an undulating heat over his skin. "cody", a mantra as it travels to slight the beating of his pulse.

the tell tale trembling in your body. a breath away from bliss. and he can feel the build in his bones. the return of an ache thats been transformed. throbbing and restless. an urgency he works to relieve. and with it so does your mouth. less desperate to consume him. melting to linger at his lips. breathy and stuttered.

"right there angel", he gives. a whisper against your lips. corralling the last bits of resolve to break. your hips stuttering but caressing faithful still. coming undone. rutting greedily to grasp at the last bits of pleasure.

and here he finds that charming sort of relief. an unfurling warmth about his skin. snatching your body into him as he strokes against you and throbs, coming undone. release pooling and spurting against the baggy button up you'd worn to tease him with.

your lips finding his again. needy still. and he accepts without wait. ready and willing. your moaning along his tongue delicate and wispy. reminiscent of a memory once forgotten. new york. september 2019. cody cups your face again. thumbs dusting over the apple of your cheeks. on a mission to stain himself with this moment. sweet red wine mixed with aged brandy.

she was getting to be a lil too long so i had to break her up! but how do we feel about our little hitman?

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