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colormepurplex2 · 2 years

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Till Death Do Us Part | We End How We Began, Covered In Blood

↳ Hitman Yoongi x Kidnapped f.Reader ⤜ Enemies/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 7,690 ⚠️ Blood/mild gore, descriptions of blood, minor character deaths/murder, Yoongi is an asshole, degradation, a bit of manhandling, mild dub-con blowjob, vaginal fingering, cum play/breeding kink with an allusion to tampering with birth control

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The cracking boom of three bullets expelling from your Ruger LC9 reverberates around you. It's simultaneously the best and worst sound you've ever heard. It's the sound of both freedom and heartache. It's hard to kill a man, even harder to kill one you love. Seeing him there, slumped over on the floor and covered in blood? Yeah, not something you'll ever forget. You're certain you'll have nightmares for many years to come…if you live that long.

Blood coats your face, your hands. It slithers down the nape of your neck just to soak into your already filthy shirt. It's not all your blood, some of it's his, some from the others. In the end, it doesn't really matter, though, does it? It all looks the same, it tastes the same as it coats your cracked lips, and it'll wash the same down the drain once you leave this cursed place...this tomb of your undoing. Perhaps your own tomb, too. Maybe you won’t leave after all. Your heart definitely won’t.

The spent shell casings are still clattering against the dirty, cracked cement floor of the warehouse as your heart shatters and your will to stand disappears. You can hear sirens in the distance, their blaring horns growing closer. Will they be too late? The question fades from your mind before it can even fully form. Of course it's too late. They're all dead. You're so numb. It's now, on your knees just a few feet from his still form, that you whisper the words he's been begging to hear from you for a long time now.

"I love you."

The smallest movement in your peripheral catches your eye. You try to raise your head, to make sure, but everything is so heavy. Your vision narrows to pinpricks, the edges blurring until everything takes on a sickly gray hue. The ground rises to meet you, cradling your broken body in a cold embrace. With your cheek pressed to the concrete, your eyes finally fall back on him, a slight smile tugging up at your bloody lips. You're happy he's the last thing you'll see. Another jerk thrums through his body. Though, before you can decipher if it's a breath or just a death spasm reanimating the nerves in his body, the gray fades to black.

6 Years Prior, Christmas Eve

The holidays aren't supposed to be bloody. But, that's how you spend Christmas Eve when you're eighteen. There are rust-colored stains on your white dress, congealed globs in your hair, and your hands look like you're wearing crimson gloves. The metallic tang is heavy in the air, mixing with the burning stench of smoke from the fire now raging behind you as the estate you call home is consumed in flame.

You sit on the lawn, the fresh blanket of snow on the ground from this morning slowly soaking through your clothes. Your bare feet are painfully numb, but you can't seem to muster enough energy to care. Two men, boys really as they don't look much older than you, stand over you. Their dark eyes periodically drop down to you only to snap up again and survey the yard. They don't have their weapons drawn, but you're hyper-aware of the handguns tucked into the backs of their dress slacks.

It all happened so quickly. Though, it felt like hours. The cook, Ms. Yates, had just placed the honeyed ham in the center of the dining table when there was a loud knock at the front door. Your father's assistant, Lawrence, excused himself from the table to see who could possibly be knocking on the door at this hour, on this day.

You could hear the front door open and words exchanged but the foyer is too far for conversation to be discernible. A soft grunt echoed down the entry hall, followed by a louder thud. Several sets of footsteps began coming toward the dining room.

"Who is it, Lawrence?" Your father called out after a moment. There was a nervous waver to his voice and even you found it a bit unnerving that Lawrence didn't call out and announce who it was after answering the door.

Still, there was no answer. The footsteps grew louder, rivaling the pounding beat of your heart as it began to gallop in your chest. You cast a glance at your mother. Her eyes were locked on the open doorway of the dining room, brows furrowed, her knuckles had gone rigid as she clutched her wine glass. It was only half-raised as if she forgot she was bringing it up for a sip.

"Dear, perhaps you should," your mother nodded toward the doorway to the hall.

Your father cleared his throat and quickly stood, skirting around the table. He made it to just the other side of the table before he stumbled to a halt.

Things moved in slow motion, just a moment suspended in time. A man you didn't recognize stepped through the doorway, followed closely by a dozen others. Your eyes darted between the newcomers and your parents. Before you knew what was happening his right arm raised and a bang assaulted your ears. You jolted violently in your seat, never having heard a gun fired at such close range before. There was an echoing thud to your right accompanied by the frantic screaming of your mother. You don't remember turning your head, but you must have because you found yourself staring at your father, pitched over the arm of the chair at the other end of the table. A large hole punched right through the side of his head, blood seeping down his face and fragments of brain and skull decorating the back and seat of the chair. The impact sent splatters dancing across your face and hair, too.

"Run!" Your mother screamed at you as she snatched up a knife from the table. Her chair toppled backward as she shoved away from the table and charged toward the strangers.

It was a valiant effort, but she knew her steak knife was no match for the firepower these men had. She was just trying to buy you time. But, you couldn't seem to make your feet work. She got within a few feet of the man in the front before he put a bullet through her chest. Her body jerked back so hard from the impact she hit the dining table where you were still seated. Perhaps that was the push you needed to take action. Though, it's not the action she requested of you. Instead, you found yourself scrambling out of your chair and falling to your knees at her side.

It wasn't until another shot rang out that you realized you were screaming, your hands trying to stem the tide of blood bubbling from the wound in your mother’s chest. It's like everything was finally catching back up, moving in real-time now. Screams, gunshots, and barked commands filled the air around you.

"Get the girl," the leading man commanded. "And shut her up. The last thing I need is a wailing bitch in the house." It's then that you found the strength, perhaps just a moment too late, to try and follow your mother’s request. You shoved back from her lifeless body and stumbled around the other side of the table, trying to make it to the door to the kitchen.

Of course, you didn't make it. You barely had taken five steps before arms were banding around your middle and hauling you back. You screamed and struggled, flailing and kicking all the way until you were deposited on the ground, in the snow, where you currently sit. The two boys took over for the man that hauled you out shortly after. Whereas he held a gun to your head to make you compliant, they simply stood there as if daring you to try and run.

You're not sure why you stopped fighting so suddenly. It's probably shock. Yeah, that has to be it. Seeing Lawrence's bloodied body on your way out the front door sent a fresh wave of panic into your body. Not the kind of blind panic that makes you see red, but the panic that obliterates your soul. It wasn't long before you noticed flames licking up the side of the house and realized there was no point anymore. You don't know who these men are, why they're here, or what they want. All you know is that you hate them, all of them...but, you're also at their mercy.

"Don't look so put out, princess," one of the boys says. You look up, meeting his stare. He's still got a boyish roundness to his face, though his body is anything but soft. Even with the blazer covering his upper half, you can see the definition of his muscular physique. His hair is slicked back, the blond highlights in his dark mop of hair catching in the glow from the fire. You blink slowly at him before your eyes drift to his companion. Similarly, he has a bit of a baby face that doesn't quite fit with his body but his short-cropped hair is a pure black that seems to devour the light instead of reflecting it.

"Five minutes and I bet I could get her to say something or at least moan," the other one smirks, winking at the first boy.

A sliver of fear enters your belly at his words, uncertain as to whether they intend to harm you or not. The first boy scoffs, rolling his eyes before turning away. "Dad would kill you and then Yoongi would resurrect you just to kill you again. She's his."

"What do you mean?" you squeak out in question.

The second boy throws the other one a sharp look before cutting his eyes back to you. "Listen, princess, it's simple. Your daddy made a deal, reneged on it, now we're here to collect."

"Deal?" you press, anxiety filling your veins like ice.

He sucks a breath through his teeth like he regrets trying to explain to begin with. "Your dad owed our dad a lot of money, they made a deal that when you turned eighteen, you'd enter into an engagement. You turned eighteen almost six months ago and your daddy dearest dropped off the face of the planet. Why do you think you moved here?" He gestures to the burning estate, a place you've called home for only that long. Your dad had said something about retiring and needing a break from the world. The estate sits in the middle of a two-hundred-acre forest, as far from civilization as you can get without losing the ability for Wi-Fi. "Anyway, our dad being the gentleman that he is decided to give your dad some time, figured maybe he was just caught up or otherwise indisposed. However, we caught wind of a deal he dropped the ball on and well, one thing led to another, we did some digging, and now we're here. To collect. You."

"You're not making any sense," you whisper, shaking your head. None of it makes sense. Your dad doesn't associate with violent people like this and he most certainly wouldn't make a deal that involved giving you to someone else. An engagement? Absolutely fucking not.

"You should shut up already, Taehyung," the first boy hisses, swatting the air between them.

"Bite me, Jimin, you fun suck," Taehyung retorts with his own eye roll for the other boy. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other and hooks his thumbs through the side belt loops on his slacks. He cocks his head a little to the side, his eyes drifting over your cowering form in the snow. "Don't worry. You'll find out more soon enough, princess."

You did, indeed, find out more. It was a hard pill to swallow but it was impossible to deny after all the evidence was shown to you. There was video footage, phone conversations, email correspondence, and even a written contract signed in blood. A slightly smaller, yet no less bitter, pill to swallow was learning that your father was actually a mafia arms dealer. The 'international business trade' your father claimed to keep was a bit more than he'd ever let you know. For good reason.

It was useless trying to explain that flesh trading wasn't legal for a reason, that you weren't just property to be bartered with. It's the only conversation you've ever had with the man who shot your father, the man only known to you as The Hitman.

Of course, the mafia doesn't care what's legal, much less what's right or wrong. They only want their pound of flesh. In this case, that flesh just so happens to be you. The Hitman and his sons, all seven of them adopted, lead one of the world's largest arms dealing operations outside of the U.S. military.

They don't hurt you, not really. But they're not exactly nice, either. You have your own room and are free to go anywhere on their sprawling estate that you wish. They buy you fancy gifts and make sure the cooks prepare at least one of your favorite meals every week. It could pass as an ideal life, one filled with luxuries and good intentions. However, the malice in your heart continues to fester with each passing day.

This isn't the life you want, nor the life you intend to have. One day, they'll all pay, starting with the snarling beast who seems to think you're his to keep.

Yoongi.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

5 Years After Christmas Eve

"I won't marry you, you vile, heartless bastard!" Your scream echoes through your room, emphasized by the shattering of the glass vase you lobbed across it. You were aiming for the bastard's head, but he managed to sidestep at the last moment.

He eats up the distance across the room in a few quick strides. There's fury in his eyes, his fingers hooked into claws. "You don't have a choice," he roars back, his chest meeting yours as his momentum sends you backward into the wall. Air leaves your lungs in a grunt as he shoves himself against you, pinning you there. "You are mine whether you like it or not, you ungrateful little bitch."

It's a futile effort, slamming your fists against his chest trying to shove him away. He's an immovable force, full of hatred and dense as a rock. He might be one of the smallest of the brothers, but he’s no less formidable.

"I hate you." The words seethe from between your clenched teeth. "I'll never be yours, Yoongi, I'd rather die."

His laugh is sharp and caustic in your ears. "Oh, that can be arranged," he whispers. "Just as soon as I marry you and fuck a kid into that tight little cunt of yours." There is a wicked gleam in his eye as his tongue darts out to swipe over his bottom lip.

"You're a monster." The words come out weak. You cringe internally at the way he makes you feel. He's unhinged, frightening. Though, he wasn’t always like this. In the beginning, he was nice, kind even. Yoongi always brought you nice gifts, took you on walks through the estate, told you stories about his childhood and you even shared a few laughs with him. It almost felt normal, like perhaps things would be okay. But then, he proposed. He said it was for appearances and thought you would like the gesture before actually getting married. He didn’t expect you to say ‘no’… but you did, of course you did. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen someone so angry. He didn’t understand how you could still hate him. That was a year ago and he’s been different ever since.

Yoongi shoves away from you, his upper lip curling in a silent snarl. "The reception dinner starts at seven, Mai will be up shortly to see to it that you're decent." His eyes flick from your head to your toes. "Hopefully she can work some sort of miracle in the next four hours."

Just as swiftly as he entered your room, he's gone, the door slamming behind him. You nearly take the skin from your finger as you hastily rip off the engagement ring that's nestled on your left hand. You love and hate it. It's a beautiful ring, a large princess-cut diamond surrounded by amethyst teardrops set in a white gold band. But, you hate what it represents...who it represents. You may have said ‘no’, but that didn’t change your fate. You chuck it, giving it just as much force as you did the vase. It bounces off the door, pings across the hardwood floor, and rolls under your bed where it'll probably stay until you need it again for appearances.

"I hate him," you reiterate to the empty room. Your shoulders slump and you're tempted to crawl under the bed and join your ring if only to try and hide for the next forty-eight hours. Just as you're about to give in and drop to your knees, there is a soft knock at the door.

"Miss?" You hear Mai's voice muffled through the door.

"It's open, Mai."

You're grateful for her kindness. Mai, along with most of the rest of the staff who run the house, is always polite and respectful. They're the only ones you know that actually knock on doors. You've since become desensitized to having any of the sons barging into your room, regardless of your state of dress. You once broached the subject with Yoongi, thinking surely he would mind other men seeing your body like that. He simply laughed and made a remark about knowing full well what his brothers see and do and how it's his choice who he shares you with. That proclamation made you hate him and his brothers all the more.

Well, you don’t hate all of them, not really. The only decent one out of the bunch is the youngest, Jungkook. They try to keep him busy, always sending him out on business. Yoongi said it was to try and toughen him up a bit. It pains your heart that they’re intentionally trying to damn a beautiful soul simply because they think he’s weak. You admire his ability to withstand; because surely that’s true strength and not weakness, right?

“Sir sent this dress for you to wear tonight, Miss,” Mai informs you, holding up a black garment bag.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what Sir wants, Mai,” you sneer the title they make all the staff use for them. “Let’s just get this over with so I can have a drink.”

Mai’s hand trembles as she hooks the garment bag on the hook at your dressing table. “Ah, umm, Miss…Sir has given strict instructions to all staff that you are not allowed to touch the wine tonight.”

Because of course he would, the controlling asshole. “Next he’ll be telling me I can’t eat carbs or some shit,” you grumble as you plop down on the stool before your vanity. Mai must have heard your words because she lets out a small choked sound and quickly turns around to fiddle with the garment bag again. “Really, Mai? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! He said that, didn't he?”

Her shoulders curl in on themselves as she turns, eyes on the floor at your feet. “Sorry, Miss, but yes. Sir has given instructions to the kitchen that moving forward your diet will no longer include carbs or saturated fats.” Her words finish in a whisper, the tremble coming back into her hands.

A thread of guilt twists around your heart. “I’m sorry, Mai.” You grab her hands and squeeze them softly. “I know it’s not your fault and I’m probably coming off as a grade-A bitch right now. Yoongi just put me in a mood.” Her hands slip from yours as you turn to face the mirror. “I’m not sure I ever really thought about how my wedding would go, but I know this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Disney got it wrong, beasts don’t turn into a handsome prince after a kiss, they just grow bigger claws and sharper teeth.”

Mai clears her throat as she begins to work on your hair. “I know it may not seem like it now, Miss, but you will find happiness. Miss Miriam said much the same before she wed the oldest Sir. Now, just look at them. She’s absolutely smitten.”

“Seokjin isn’t Yoongi, Mai. He’s not so brusque or mean. Seokjin may not be a saint, but he’s not the monster Yoongi has become.” You try to relax under the feeling of Mai’s fingers in your hair, but it’s hard with the ten-pound lead weight of dread sitting in the pit of your belly. “I’ve been here for five years, Mai. Sometimes I’m grateful I’ve gotten as much time as I have, but now that I’m down to mere hours it suddenly doesn’t seem like enough time at all.”

When you were first taken, you had assumed you’d be forcibly wed shortly after. It was definitely a surprise when you learned The Hitman held a semblance of propriety in how he wanted his sons to be wed. As old of a tradition as they come, his sons would marry in order from oldest to youngest. So, as it was, for the last five years The Hitman was working on the marriage arrangement for Seokjin. The only reason you weren’t his intended bride is due to a simple contract deal gone wrong a few years back. He already had his own marriage contract when your dad signed yours. Seokjin’s first engagement was cut short just three years ago when the poor girl ended up as a casualty of her own father. His dying words, at the hands of Seokjin himself, were how he’d made a mistake in signing the marriage contract and he’d rather see his daughter dead than married into the family of The Hitman.

This left their father in a predicament. He could forgo tradition and let Yoongi marry before Seokjin since you had already been acquired, or he could postpone your nuptials and find Seokjin a replacement wife. It would seem fate and maybe a bit of luck made the decision easy when the following week another world-renowned arms dealer approached him with the prospect of marriage to tie the families together. That’s how Miriam came into the picture. She’s a spitfire but has a good head on her shoulders. She grew up in this environment, her father didn’t shield her from it as yours did. So, although she fought it in the beginning, in the end, she wasn’t nearly as reluctant to marry as you are. Granted, her family wasn’t brutally murdered before her eyes either, but you digress.

Perhaps you should hold your tongue around their staff, but you've also learned over the years that the staff doesn't talk about anything. They've been trained so well they don't even speak of your own tirades and actions. At least, not unless they are very specifically asked to talk about it. Though, even then, they have a way with words that surprises even you.

"You're right, Miss. Seokjin isn't Yoongi. But, if I may be so bold, at least Yoongi isn't...the tall one," she finishes in a whisper.

A cold shiver works its way down your spine just thinking about...him. One of the middle sons, a loose cannon with even looser morals. You wave a hand in the air, trying to dismiss the thought of his dragon eyes. "You're the right one, Mai. Maybe I should count my blessings a little better." It's a mumbled statement but you know she hears it by the soft hum she lets out. "What does this dress look like?" you ask, nodding to the still closed garment bag.

That puts Mai in better spirits. "Oh, Miss, it's the prettiest dress I've ever seen," she titters brightly.

Four hours later, you've been thoroughly poked, prodded, and trussed up in tight silk. It's a pretty dress if being half-naked is what you were going for. It's buttery, soft purple silk with off-the-shoulder drooping straps of gossamer dotted with opalescent rhinestones. The glittering drops continue across the scant fabric of the bodice, accentuating the subtle ribbing that draws attention to your cleavage which is on full display thanks to the exaggerated low neckline, that if it were an inch shorter would reveal your navel. The skirt of the dress might drift just above the floor but only having two panels, one in the front and one in the back, means it's open all the way to your hip on either side.

"This is what Yoongi wants me wearing to our wedding reception?" you ask, a bit incredulously as you eye yourself in the floor-length mirror beside your dressing table. "One wrong move and it'll be a free peep show."

Mai's cheeks flush at your comment. "You look beautiful, Miss."

Her words take the angry wind out of your sails. As much as you want to scream and rage at how indecent you feel, a small part of you does feel beautiful...and powerful. "Thank you, Mai." You turn left and right, taking in the dress one last time. Letting out a defeated sigh you try to plaster on a smile for Mai, you're sure it looks more like a grimace. "Let's get this over with."

It's a small affair, just a handful of guests along with the 'family'. They're all faces you recognize, associates of The Hitman and his sons, but as with all other times you've come face to face with these people, you're not introduced. They know who you are and that's good enough. It also means you're relatively left to your own devices. The only thing expected of you is for you to smile and look pretty, and, of course, anything else Yoongi instructs you to do.

Which is how you've found yourself trailing after him through the large dining room, playing the part of a cup holder for his whiskey glass.

"She's quite the obedient little mouse isn't she?" A middling-aged man remarks to Yoongi, changing the subject from an arms deal to you.

The seams on Yoongi's black suit jacket strain slightly as he shrugs his shoulders. "Any dog will do as you say for the right reward."

Your knuckles ache as you clench the whiskey glass in your hand. It takes a tremendous amount of restraint not to use the glass to bludgeon his face in. Instead, you drop your eyes in what you hope is a demure gesture, letting the anger burn into your cheeks as a faux blush.

The man guffaws, clapping Yoongi on the shoulder. "Hope you're not rewarding her too greatly, wouldn't want to take a ruined bride to the altar. Even if you're the one doing the ruining." He adds a wink for emphasis as if Yoongi, and you, may not understand his underhanded meaning.

"Agreed," Yoongi murmurs, snatching his glass from your grip and downing the rest of the contents. "If you'll excuse me." He gives a tight smile to the man and turns, snapping his fingers for you to follow.

Your feet are starting to ache from the heels Yoongi insisted you wear. "Can I sit down somewhere?" you venture to ask as you follow behind him. He continues as if he hasn't heard you, pushing through the glass French doors that open onto the stone patio leading to the garden. "Yoongi," you try again, following him through the doors, "did you hear m-."

"I heard you!" he stops short and rounds on you, making you stumble back a step. "You need to sit and I need a fucking break." His hand flicks off to the side, toward a wrought iron chair and table set.

It’s far enough to the side of the patio that they're fairly secluded in shadows. The conversation in the dining room fades even further away as you make your way over to the chairs. You're just about to let out a grateful sigh and settle into one of them when something is clamped around your wrist and you're hauled back a step. "What the fuck?" You glare down at Yoongi's fingers wrapped around your wrist.

He sits in the seat you were about to plant your ass in. You shake your wrist, trying to dislodge his grip. Instead of releasing you, he pulls you forward so hard you lose your footing, only managing to catch yourself from landing in his lap by slamming your free hand against his shoulder. "Have a seat." His eyes flick from your wide ones down to his lap.

"I don't think so, asshole." The words curl your lips, baring your teeth. You give another tug on your wrist, trying to stop yourself from leaning over him. His eyes drift up from his lap, landing on your heaving chest.

"Don't make this harder than it needs to be, princess." Yoongi's voice is low, husky. Which, you think, makes it seem even more threatening than usual. With an aggravated huff you turn and perch yourself on one of his knees. It's not comfortable. You're putting more pressure on the balls of your feet trying to not settle fully against him, which makes your feet ache even more. "Relax." He tries to coax you back, releasing your wrist and wrapping his arms around your waist.

He's strong, you only struggle a little as he pulls you fully into his lap. It's hard not to notice what your ass rests on now, even harder not to notice the way it shifts as he adjusts his body to accommodate yours. "This isn't appropriate," you whisper-yell at him over your shoulder.

"You want to know what's really not appropriate?" he questions, splaying his hands over your stomach. The tips of his thumbs brushing the dip in your dress, barely a caress against the bare skin of your breasts exposed there. "The fact that as soon as Haynes mentioned defiling you, the only thing I could think about was doing just that. Now, that would be fine, if it didn't then lead me to thoughts about how pretty you're going to be filled up with my cum."

A gag rises in your throat. "You're sick. A delusional man."

"No, princess, I'm a man that's going to pump you so full of cum tomorrow night that there won't be a chance in hell that you don't end up pregnant."

That gag turns into a gasp. The birth control you religiously consume tells you that’s an impossibility, but the twist to his words has tingles spreading across the back of your neck and your heart hammering painfully in your chest. The increased presence against your backside has you attempting to stand again. You grip his wrists and dig your nails in, hoping a little pain might thwart him. "Let me go!"

Yoongi laughs. It's harsh, filled with dark promises. "No, I don't think I will. Actually, I think I want to have a little fun instead." He rips his hands from your grip. It's so abrupt that pain lances through your fingertips as your nails jerk from his flesh. He's quick to take both of your wrists and wrench them behind your back. You cry out as your arms bow awkwardly. "Shut up," he snaps, forcing you to bend at the waist. His body jerks a little behind you and you hear fabric sliding against fabric. "Here's what's going to happen, princess, I'm going to take my tie and secure your hands back here," he explains. You feel the silky material of his tie slip around your wrists. "Then, I'm going to be a gentleman and put my jacket down on the ground so you have a comfortable surface to kneel on." He jerks you upright and stands, dragging you with him. You can feel his movements behind you as he shrugs out of his jacket. A second later he's turning you around, forcing you down to kneel on his rumpled blazer. He drops back down, looking like a bad-boy king sitting on a stolen throne before you. The way he's slouched in the seat, knees thrown wide, it sends a small sliver of desire into your belly that has you even more panicked than before. You shouldn't want this. You don't want this...right? "Now, you're going to finally do something of worth with that mouth of yours." His eyes are locked on yours as he thumbs open his slacks. The whisper of his zipper sliding down is like a scream in your ears.

"Yoongi, please, we can't do this." Your words might as well be meant for the stars, as they're probably the only ones listening to you out here.

The corner of his mouth slips up in a smirk. "What's wrong, princess? Afraid you might like it again?"

"No one could possibly like being forced to do something they don't want to do." You put as much venom in your words as you can but your voice still waivers. This isn't right. Despite your projected turmoil, there is a small part of you that is desperately hanging on to his every word in anticipation. It's not right, but it also doesn't feel completely wrong to be on your knees before Yoongi. He might be a beast, but deep down we're all just animals anyway, right? You could easily blame the moisture you feel making your lacy panties stick to your skin on the primal instincts he's bringing to the surface in you. Could, but you know that might only be a half-truth at best. That probably scares you more than him, the fact you're even trying to justify this somehow...that he might be right, that you like it.

"Come on, it'll be just like last time. You wanted it then, didn't you?" he prompts with a small smile that's less threatening than before. This has happened before. Just a few months prior to the disastrous proposal that turned him into the monster he is now. You were finally coming to terms with your situation, choosing to hate The Hitman instead of his son. Who, you reasoned, wasn't the one to pull the trigger, meaning he wasn't that bad right? If anything, he was just as trapped in this arrangement as you were. So, you indulged in a little fun behind the gardening shed. It was the first time you had ever done something like that but Yoongi made it feel like second nature.

His pants are open, revealing the very prominent bulge still contained within his red boxer briefs. The cotton fabric is pulled so tightly that you can see the defined outline of his cock. There is a small patch of moisture darkening where the head is. "Last time you weren't a raging asshole," you whisper, forcing your eyes away from his crotch and focusing on one of his knees instead.

"You know this will happen no matter how much you say you don't want it to." The way he speaks those words, you're not certain he's talking about the blowjob anymore. It's a blanket statement that truly just encompasses everything you're facing, his cock the least offensive of them all. He lifts a hand, gently thumbing your bottom lip. "I promise to try to not be such a raging asshole in the future, but can we just pretend I’m not for now?" It might be a nice sentiment if it wasn't accompanied by him fisting his cock out of his boxers and angling it toward your face. "Be a good girl and open up."

You suck in a stilted breath through your nose and swallow against the bile rising in your throat. Opening your mouth to try and continue your protest, the furthest you get is parting your lips to begin saying, "I-". It's opening enough for Yoongi, who hooks his other thumb over your bottom teeth and forces your mouth to open wider. He uses the hold he has with that thumb to pull you forward, straight onto his waiting cock. You try to sputter and jerk back but the hand that he was holding himself with comes around to the back of your head to keep you from going too far.

It's an assault on your senses, the scent of his cologne and the faintest undertone of sweat invades your nostrils, the subtle salty taste of his warm skin and precum on your tongue, and the feeling of velvet cover steel slipping between your lips. His thumb slides out of your mouth, that hand drifting down to faintly take a hold of your throat. "Fuck," he shudders out with a groan.

With your hands bound behind you, you’re at his mercy. The hand cupping the back of your head works in tandem with the one at your throat, setting a quick pace of back and forth. His fingers fist into your hair, eliciting sharp pricks along your scalp. Saliva gathers at the corners of your mouth, threatening to dribble over. Even with his jacket beneath your knees, you can feel the rough stone of the patio digging deep into your skin. It’s a dull ache, compared to the one in your soul. As much as you mewl in protest around his cock, deep down inside, you’re grasping on to this small thread of intimacy. Maybe this is how you can survive this loveless marriage. Skin to skin, lost in pleasures of the body.

A flutter of panic sends your stomach somersaulting when Yoongi pushes you a little too far. The wet choking noise that emits from your throat is obscene. But, it seems to just spur him on. He does it again, and again. Your lungs burn. The scant air you’re managing to suck through your nose does little to take the edge off the need pinching in your chest.

“Yoongi!” The sharp bark of his name sounds from behind you. You both freeze, his cock half in your mouth. “You got ten minutes. Speeches. Make her choke on it and be done with it.”

The soft snick of the doors closing brings Yoongi’s focus back to you. “Okay, princess, you heard Namjoon.” Your wide eyes meet his. Shame flushes your cheeks at having been caught, especially by him. He works you back down his length, getting back to the same up and down rhythm as before. Each time he dips to the back of your mouth, your gag reflex has your throat convulsing. “That’s it, baby, take it just like that.” A deep moan curls his words like thick smoke, drowning you in a new wave of arousal. “I’m close. Don’t swallow, hold it on your tongue.”

His hips cant forward, jerking under you as the hand in your hair holds your head steady. A moment later Yoongi is letting out a loud grunt. His head kicks back, sinking between his shoulders. Liquid warmth floods your mouth, filling in all the available space around his cock. “Mmm,” a moan escapes your own throat before you can suppress it. You silently berate yourself. You’re not supposed to be enjoying this. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem Yoongi noticed. His chest is heaving as he slowly pulls back and slips from between your lips. He absently tucks himself away, still half-hard.

“Let me see,” he pants softly, finally bringing his head up and staring down at you. You open your mouth, cupping your tongue so nothing slips down your throat. “Beautiful.” Before you can close your mouth he hooks a finger over your teeth again. “Now, it’s your turn. Let’s see how quickly I can make you cum.”

“Huh?” The sound comes out garbled, his finger still in your mouth.

He just nods his head slowly, a coy grin tugging at his lips. “Keep your mouth open,” he instructs, using his free hand to hoist you up from your knees. Your legs are wobbly from being on your knees for so long. Yoongi wraps an arm around your waist, anchoring you against him. He finally removes the finger from your mouth, giving you a pointed look that says ‘remember what I said’. He brings that hand down and pushes the front panel of your dress to the side, pinning it between his thigh and yours. The cool air kisses your heated skin, causing you to suck in a shuddering breath through your nose.

His cum still sits on your tongue. A small ache is starting to settle in your jaw from keeping it open for so long. “Yoongi,” you try to voice his name but it’s hard with your mouth hanging open.

“Shh, princess. As much as I loved cumming in your mouth, there is only one place I really want my cum to be.” Your body jerks against his as he snags the front of your panties and effortlessly rips them from around your hips. The tattered fabric falls slack, dangling between the meat of your thighs. The shock only grows as he shoves three fingers into your gaping mouth. He gathers his cum, scooping his fingers against your tongue until they’re thoroughly coated. They glisten with the milky evidence of his orgasm as he holds them up for you to see. “You can swallow now, baby.”

Your throat is dry, despite the extra moisture in your mouth. He should taste bitter on your tongue, but you might as well be drinking the nectar of life with the way you crave to recapture his fingers and suck them clean. Later, you might try to rationalize that the only reason you wanted to lick them clean was to prevent what happened next, but who knows?

Yoongi’s knee presses between yours, knocking your legs wider. The ruined lace of your panties flutters to the patio as your thighs part for him. He wastes little time, immediately seating his fingers against your core. A low, satisfied groan leaves him. Eyes locked on yours, his hot breath fanning along your jaw, he smears his cum around. “Yoongi.” This time his name comes out with a whimper, clear but damning.

“This is just a little taste of what’s to come,” he laughs at his own dirty pun. “The biggest difference is it’ll be my cock,” he emphasizes the word by sliding two of the three fingers into you, “instead of my fingers.” You gasp, mouth falling open all over again. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, princess? You’re going to enjoy me fucking you.” He slowly withdraws his fingers just to plunge them in again, earning himself another gasp.

The ache between your thighs, that built while you were on your knees for Yoongi, begins to recede as it’s replaced with another type of sensation. It runs deep, invigorating your body. Filling you with small electric shocks that zing throughout, even down to the smallest part. Proving just how fucking screwed you are even on the most basic of levels. Your body craves Yoongi’s touch. It’s addicting, primal and utterly terrifying.

You know it’s not possible, but you’re certain you can feel his cum coating your insides as he works his fingers against your inner walls. There is an added heat you’ve never experienced before. It’s his thumb settling against your clit that kicks it up another notch. Heat floods your body, stabbing into the pit of your stomach like a knife. The patio and garden fade away, the party beyond the French doors ceases to exist. The only thing that matters here and now is Yoongi and the way he’s making you feel.

The way his fingers crook up with each plunge has them dancing over a spot that brings a blur to your vision. His face inches closer to yours. You’re breathing the same air. You can feel the way his breaths pant against your mouth, the faintest hit of whiskey lingering over your lips. You flick out your tongue, intending to wet your lips, and the tip of your tongue grazes his bottom lip. It’s almost too intimate, but adds just the right amount of surging pleasure that has your orgasm barreling closer.

“I’m going to cum,” you whisper, your lips brushing over his.

“You like the feeling of my cum inside you, don’t you?”

His thumb against your clit rubs with just enough pressure that it has your eyes fluttering closed and your lips parting on another moan. “Yes!”

Your body clamps down around his fingers before you explode in a rush of ecstasy. Without realizing it, your knees knock as your thighs trap his hand between your legs. It’s a high you want to ride into oblivion. Everything else be damned. Forget the reception. Who cares about the wedding? You’re content to just float in this void of pleasure, a bubble without any worries or pain. A place where Yoongi truly isn’t all that bad, as long as he continues to ply your body with his ministrations.

“Good girl,” he praises softly. You melt against him, ready to just continue existing in the moment. Though, as your body finally begins to settle again, you’re faintly aware of Yoongi doing unusual motions. His fingers are still sliding in and out of your body, but it’s almost like he’s gathering all the arousal that’s seeped out and trying to push it back in.

“What are you doing?” Coming to your senses you try to pull away, but with your hands still bound behind you and your legs wobbly, it’s not happening.

He chuckles, his eyes boring into yours for a moment before he looks down at his hand working between your bodies. “Just a little assurance. If I want to get you pregnant, I can’t let a single chance slip by. Every little bit counts.”

That has a chill settling beneath your skin that has nothing to do with the cool air outside. “Yoongi, you know I’m on birth control, right? I’m not getting pregnant any time soon.”

His dark eyes snap up to yours. They hold an intensity that has your breath catching in your throat. He leans in close, his cheek brushing yours until his lips are poised beside your ear. “You mean those silly little sugar pills you’ve been gobbling down like candy?”

Your heart gives a painful lurch. “Don’t joke like that,” your words come out as a hoarse whisper. That ecstasy from a moment ago is quickly morphing into something that has your stomach curdling.

“You’re mine, I’ll do as I please with you. Body, mind, and soul.” Yoongi gives one last thrust of his fingers before withdrawing them. He gives a jerk to the tie around your wrists, setting them free. “Clean yourself up and get back inside. Two minutes. Don’t make me have to come back out here.” With that, he steps back, further trampling his suit jacket. He leaves it forgotten on the ground as he slips his tie back around his neck and quickly knots it. “Now,” he hisses, before stepping around you and leaving you, too.

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katenewmanwrites · 3 months

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Racing Hearts - Chapter Six

Warnings: Gun violence, Language, Intimidating behavior, Sexual harassment/Unwanted advances

Sofia leads the way to her car, a sleek and well-maintained SUV. As I climb into the passenger seat, I can't help but feel a little overwhelmed by the idea of learning how to shoot a gun. But at the same time, there's a thrill of anticipation coursing through me. I'm about to learn a valuable skill.

The drive to the shooting range is long, as Sofia drives us out of the city and out of the suburbs. The scenery quickly turns rural, with rolling hills and patchwork fields stretching out as far as the eye can see. As we pull into the parking lot of the range, I feel a mixture of anticipation and nervousness in my stomach.

The shooting range itself is a large building. Sofia leads me to the counter where a young man is sitting behind a desk. He looks up as we approach and gives us a friendly smile.

"On shooting range duty today Marcus?" Sofia asks the young man behind the counter.

"Yeah, it's a nice change of pace." Marcus replies, glancing at me briefly before returning his attention to Sofia. "You know what you're doing, go on through and I'll get you set up with a lane."

Sofia nods, and we follow him through the door marked "Authorised Personnel Only." The air inside is filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and wood smoke. The walls are lined with rows of cubicles, each containing a small bench and a gun rack holding an assortment of handguns and rifles. At the end of the cubicles, there's a long hallway leading to the indoor shooting lanes.

"So, is this where you all train?" I ask, "Is it owned by the Rossi's?" I've never been to a shooting range before, I don't know if this is normal or if it's just their way of doing things.

"It is," Sofia replies, nodding. "The Rossi family owns a majority stake in this place, as well as a few others like it across the country. It's one of their many business interests. They like to keep their fingers in a lot of pies." She flashes me a knowing smile. "And yes, this is where we train."

As we walk down the hallway, the sound of gunfire echoes around us, growing louder with each step. My heart starts to race. This is all so surreal. I never imagined I'd be here, preparing to shoot a gun. But here I am, a far cry from the quiet library I used to work at.

Sofia grabs a vest, glasses and a set of earmuffs from the counter, handing them to me. "You'll need these," she says, her voice matter-of-fact. "The noise can be pretty intense for your first time and it's best to protect your ears anyway."

I take the vest and put it on, adjusting the straps so it fits snugly around my torso. The glasses go over my eyes, the earmuffs around my ears. They're surprisingly comfortable. "Okay," I say, feeling a little more at ease.

Sofia also puts on the vest, earmuffs and glasses, making sure they're in place. Then she leads me down the hallway to one of the lanes, Marcus is waiting for us. "Hey, Sofia," he says with a nod. "You're here for the usual?"

"Can you also grab me a Ruger LC9 for my friend here?" Sofia asks Marcus. "She'll need to practise with something compact and lightweight to begin with and I think it's smoother trigger pull could help her feel more comfortable."

Marcus nods and disappears for a moment before returning with a second gun case. He hands it to Sofia, who then hands it over to me. "Here you go, Lily. This should do the trick."

Sofia shows me how to load the gun, carefully sliding a magazine into the well, then chambering a round. She guides my hands as I get the feel for it, her touch firm but not overbearing. "Alright, Lily," she says when I've got the hang of it. "Now time to learn how to shoot."

Marcus had set up a target at the end of the lane, about twenty-five feet away. He then handed us each a block of practice ammunition. "Alright, you're all set," he says. "Remember, safety first. Always keep the gun pointed downrange, and make sure you keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to shoot."

Sofia takes her position first, standing sideways to the target. "Okay," she says, "just line up the sights with the centre of the target, take a deep breath, and squeeze the trigger." She exhales slowly, then does as she says, and the gun fires with a soft click. The recoil is surprisingly light, and she follows up with another shot, then another.

I watch her closely, noticing the calmness in her eyes and the steadiness of her hands. She makes it look so easy. Then she puts her gun down and turns to me. "Your turn, Lily," she says, her voice confident and reassuring.

I take a deep breath and pick up the gun. It feels heavier than I expected, but also balanced and comfortable in my grip. I line up the sights with the center of the target just like Sofia showed me, taking care to support my arms and elbows. When I feel ready, I exhale slowly, just as she did, and squeeze the trigger.

There's a sharp recoil, more than I expected, but I keep my focus on the target. The gun bucks in my hands, and the noise is surprisingly loud. I see a hole in the target, not quite as centred as hers was but close enough. I take a moment to steady my breath before firing again, trying to replicate her calmness and precision. This time, I'm a little closer to the bullseye.

As I fire round after round, my body begins to adjust to the recoil, and my shots grow more accurate. I find myself losing myself in the rhythm of it, the focus required to steady my breath and line up the sights. There's a sense of power and control that comes with each successful shot, and I realise how much I enjoy this newfound skill.

Sofia watches me intently, "You're actually pretty good at this, Lily. You have a natural talent for it. Keep up the good work." I feel a warmth spread through my chest as I hear her words. It's encouraging to know that someone thinks I'm capable.

The next few rounds seem to fly by as I grow more confident in my aim and stance. My breathing becomes more controlled, my muscles more relaxed. I begin to take in the atmosphere around me, the smell of gunpowder and sweat mixed with the faint tang of metal. The sound of bullets being fired echoes off the concrete walls, creating a symphony of destruction that somehow feels soothing to my nerves.

"I think that's enough for today," Sofia says, her voice slightly breathless from the exertion of our target practice. "You've made great progress. let's clean up and head back."

She hands me a cloth to wipe down the gun, and I do as she instructs, careful not to touch any of the sensitive parts. Once it's clean, we return it to Marcus, who grabs our targets and seems impressed with our efforts.

As we put the safety gear back on the counter a tall man with green eyes that seems to be in his thirties comes up to us. "Sofia!" He exclaims, "need any help dearlin'?" It's clear he's flirting with her.

"No, Dom, I don't and we were just leaving anyway." Sofia scoffs, rolling her eyes.

"Who is your beautiful friend?" He asks, looking me up and down with a calculating gaze. I feel a shiver run down my spine, and I can't help but feel grossed out by this man, Dom.

"Lily is off limits, Dom," Sofia says firmly, shooting him a warning look. She places a proprietary hand on my shoulder, which makes me feel even more uncomfortable. I don't know what's going on here, but I'm starting to get the feeling that I should keep my distance from this man.

"Oh don't be like that," Dom teases, ignoring her warning. "She's a pretty thing, I'm just saying hello." His hand brushes against my arm as he speaks, making me want to shrink away from him.

"Well sure, don't listen to me, but when Finn finds out…" Sofia lets her voice trail off, a warning in her eyes. Dom's expression sours, and he glances between the two of us, seemingly realising that he's overstepped his bounds.

"Right, well, nice meeting you, Lily," he says finally, offering me a smile. "Give Finn my regards."

"I will," Sofia agrees, giving me a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder before leading me away from Dom and toward the exit.

"Who's that?" I ask as soon as we're out of earshot, trying to make sense of the tension that had just filled the room.

"Dom, works for Mr. Rossi," Sofia explains as we walk away from the shooting range, her voice tight with annoyance. "He's Rossi's Consigliere, but he has a tendency to flirt with women that are too young for him, taken or not."

She glances at me, her expression softening a bit. "I'm sorry about that. I should have warned you. I didn't think he'd be here today."

"No, it's fine," I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. "So… he backed off pretty quick after you mentioned Finn?" I ask, hoping to make sense of this.

Sofia nods, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Finn has a reputation and they've butt heads before." She says. "Not even Dom is dumb enough to piss him off anymore."

"Oh, what kind of reputation?" I ask, feeling a shiver run down my spine. The idea that someone could be so powerful or intimidating that they could just make someone back off like that is both fascinating and terrifying to me. "Well, he's got a temper, and he's not afraid to use it," Sofia replies, looking thoughtful. "If you mess with someone he cares about…let's just say it's not going to end well for you."

I feel oddly comforted by this fact, and yet also a bit nervous. The thought of having someone so protective and strong watching over me, is both reassuring and unsettling. It's a strange mix of emotions that I can't quite put my finger on.

"So… what does he do for the family exactly?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"He's a Caporegime," Sofia explains. "A captain. He's in charge of a crew, who work for the family. They handle a lot of the dirty work: collecting debts, enforcing deals, that sort of thing."

“Thanks, Finn hasn’t told me much.” I say.

"I won't defend him but… he probably didn't want to overwhelm you with all this information," Sofia says, opening the car door. "It's a lot to take in."

She pauses, thinking for a moment before continuing. "Look, the Rossi family is complicated. They've been in the business for generations. It's not just about money or power; it's about honour, loyalty, and protecting what's yours. Finn is a part of that… and he probably wants you involved as little as possible, because he doesn't want you to get hurt."

"Okay," I say slowly, trying to take it all in and getting into the passenger seat. "I don't think I can blame him for that." I pause for a moment, looking out the window and watching the people going in and out of the shooting range. "But…"

"This is your reality now too, Lily," Sofia says gently, reaching over to pat my hand. "And sometimes, it's better to know the truth and face it head on. That way, you can make informed choices about what you want to do."

I nod slowly, still not quite sure what to think about all of this. I know that I trust Sofia and Finn… but the idea of being involved in something so dangerous and shady is terrifying. And yet, a part of me can't help but feel a sense of belonging, I didn't feel that when I was trapped with Patrick.

As we drive back to Finn's penthouse, I can't help but feel a mix of emotions. The shooting lesson has made me more aware of my own strength and capabilities, and I can't deny that there's a part of me that finds the power and control of the gun appealing.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

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