🌙I'm a Moonchild🌙

Black creative writer (She/Her)✨ BTS 94-line enthusiast✨ Ask me anything✨

[therkive7]

Welcome to therkive7’s masterlist

my name is Bree & I’m a BTSARMY 💜. As many know on here, I’m a black creative writer and visual artist. It was only a matter of time until I made a masterlist for everyone to enjoy my literature. My inbox is open as well to suggestions. 🌙

my main twitter acc. 🌙🌙🌙🌙

BTS

RKive Afterdark masterlist (RM/Namjoon) 🔞

Oscar Diaz (OnMyBlock)

SETSUNA: A Rose In A Gun Barrel masterlist

[albmami]

I only want the best for u but I'm the best for u

[akingnamedamarii]

January: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! February: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! March: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! April: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! May: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! June: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! July: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! August: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! September: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! October: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! November: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH! December: HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH!

[youmyjhope]

ARE YOU ALIVE??

I AM TRULY ALIVE AFTER THIS🤣💀🩷

[kyoshithewriter]

Angel.

wc: 3.8k

Warnings: mentions of drugs, smut, mature themes (18+)

A/n: I had this almost complete and sitting in my docs a while and decided to just finish and post. I wanted to try characterizing Virg a little differently here so here we are and idk😅 enjoy?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The bustling streets of Manhattan is something Virgil loves and hates equally. The city breathes life; people of every race, every background— a melting pot of multicultural heaven that forms something so beautiful when he sits and ruminates on it for a while. A guy shouting in Arabic here, then an older, mature woman responding in some English creole that he uses context and tone to make sense of. It’s truly wonderful to be reminded of how different we all are— of how welcoming the city is. On the other hand, the fact that the big apple opens its loving arms to everyone, means the population is extremely large. Especially during peak hours on Wall Street. Traffic is always at a stand still on his way to the office. He even tried leaving home a little earlier every morning; today, he left home 25 minutes earlier than he usually does. Yet, he finds himself tapping at his steering in annoyance five minutes late while still being minutes away. He has a feeling he would’ve probably been fired by now if he wasn’t COO. It takes another fifteen minutes of slow progression and huffing until he finally parks along the curb reserved in front of the grand office. His eyes flicker to the expensive watch sitting on his wrist— twenty minutes late. With a frustrated huff, he hurries to gather his things from the passenger seat then exits the vehicle. In his haste, he whirls around and immediately starts marching in the direction of the building with his eyes still focused on his watch. Virgil takes three steps before colliding into a much smaller figure. Time seems to stand still at the feel of something warm and very wet soaking into the material of white shirt.

“Owww.”

The woman in front of him rubs at her forehead, fixing him with an annoyed glare. She stands at about 5’7 with glowy brown skin and almond shaped mocha brown eyes. Her plump, pink lips are set in a petulant pout with pink lipgloss smudged around them. Matter of fact, all her makeup is smudged— eyeliner streaks below her eyes, eyeshadow messy like she rubbed at it for hours. To top it all off, she’s wearing the tiniest, black dress he has ever seen. It leaves so little to the imagination that he shamefully takes a few seconds to admire her body.

“What the fuck are you made of? Bricks?” Her palm still rubs at her forehead.

Belatedly, he finally looks down the length of his body. There’s a huge, brown patch on his shirt and the smell of coffee is prominent. A cup with a logo he doesn’t recognize sways uselessly at his feet on its side. Virgil takes an inhale through his nose, rolling the building tension from his neck.

“You ruined my shirt.” He says calmly.

Her brows furrow; “You were the one who wasn’t paying attention! That was my coffee for my hangover!” She stomps her right foot petulantly.

“You need to buy that back! I have no coffee at home and I spent my last $8 on that.”

He can’t help but blink in bewilderment; “You’re complaining about $8 when you just ruined my Armani shirt?”

“I didn’t do shit!”

“Look at you, you’re drunk at 8:25 am in the morning. You could’ve easily walked right into me because you don’t know up from down right now.”

She gasps; “Hey! I’m not drunk! Well, I sobered up like 2 hours ago I think… Also, don’t sound so judgmental about people having fun because you have a stick up your ass.”

Virgil chuckles in disbelief.

“Yeah, I don’t have time for this.” Virgil rounds her sputtering figure and strides straight into the building. He’ll send his secretary on a run for a new shirt later.

*****************

Virgil feels dead on his feet as he stumbles out of the office at 6:30 pm. He’s pretty sure he saw bags under his eyes when he caught a brief glance of himself in the glass windows on his way down to the lobby. There’s a little warning voice ringing in the back of his mind that he has been ignoring: ‘you’re working too much.’ But what else is he supposed to do? His job is his life, literally. His movements halt suddenly, eyes widening slightly at what he finds outside. Leaning against his car, though she’s now free of makeup and looks more rested, is unmistakably the woman he bumped into this morning. The cheetah printed dress is even more risqué than the black one he saw her in earlier. The boots on her feet are chunky and black. Uncrossing her arms, she eases away from his car to stride towards him. Her expression is hardened with determination.

“You owe me coffee.”

“You’re fucking joking…”

“Nope! I want my coffee.” She blows an obnoxious bubble with the watermelon scented gum she’s chomping at.

“You know what?”

Virgil roots around for his wallet in the pocket of his slacks. He pulls out a crisp $100 bill and shoves it in her direction.

“Here. This should cover coffee for a few days, hm?”

Her brown eyes twinkle with something mischievous as she snatches the note from his hand.

“Thanks, but this still isn’t coffee.”

Virgil sputters incredulously; “What?”

Cocking a hip, her eyes do a slow perusal of him from head to toe; “What’s your name?”

Virgil wills his neck to not go pink under her intense gaze. He’s used to being the center of attention in meetings, but getting attention from an obviously younger woman who’s as bold and looks so stunning is something else entirely.

“Virgil.”

“Nice to meet you, Virgil. I’m Angel, and you’re coming with me.”

His brain blanks.

“Uh….”

Angel cocks a brow then grasps his wrist in her delicate hand before tugging him along. For whatever reason, Virgil doesn’t resist.

“My car… I can’t just leave it here.”

“You’re a New Yorker who drives?” She folds her lips to contain her laugh.

“I have a garage.” He mutters uselessly with a shrug, because for some strange reason he feels embarrassed.

“Of course you do, give me the keys.” Angel stretches an open palm in his direction.

He shouldn’t, but he’s attracted. He’s so attracted and really wants her to spend time with him. So though he hesitates, Virgil presses the fob to his Volvo XC90.

“A Volvo…do you wear a helmet when you ride a bicycle?” She cackles at his nonplussed expression before strutting over to the lone car still parked along the curb.

Virgil tries not to let his eyes stay glued to the assured sway of her hips and the plump curve of her ass. He gulps, wiping his sweaty palms along the length of his slacks. He rounds the vehicle just as she gets into the driver’s seat and his car comes to life with a gentle purr. Virgil scrambles with his seatbelt just as she pulls onto the street with tires screeching.

“Please slow down.”

Angel rolls her eyes with an endeared smile;

“Where do you live? Lemme guess, Brooklyn Heights?”

Virgil feels almost disappointed at how easy he is to read.

“Yes. But why do you want to go to my house?”

“Cause I’m taking you out with me and you can’t wear a suit.” She pops her gum absentmindedly, swerving unnecessarily.

“But I…” he trails off as she cocks a brow at him.

Virgil swallows his protest;

“Turn left after the stop sign.”

**************

Angel whistles appreciatively as she pulls into his garage.

“You know, I’ve never really had a lot of aspirations, but owning a Brownstone house? That’s something I want eventually.”

Virgil tries not to show much of a reaction to that.

“You can, you just hav-”

“Please don’t say work hard.” Angel rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“Oh… sorry.” He clears his throat loudly, the sound of the garage door closing behind amplifying the awkward air tenfold.

“Are you gonna give me a tour of your house? Or are we gonna die in this fucking garage?” Angel smirks at him while he fumbles with the seatbelt.

He leads her inside his living room that’s sparsely decorated: a tv that spans almost the entire length of the wall with a console beneath with a few figurines. She recognizes them as characters from Dragon Ball Z. A coffee table and a coach. That’s it.

“Very… minimal.” She drags her index finger along his console while walking further into his home without permission.

“I… uh… my wi- ex- wife handled most of the decorations so it’s…” He shrugs carelessly but avoids eye contact with her.

His words bring her attention to the lighter circular line cutting through the rest of his tan fingers.

“How long?”

“Uh… almost two years.”

“Just recently stopped wearing your ring to keep up appearances at the office?” Her voice is sickly sweet. Virgil pauses, scratching at the back of his neck that’s starting to grow red.

“Uh… yes.”

Angel hums contemplatively before speaking;

“Take me to your bedroom.” She blinks up at him in an exaggerated way that she knows will make him fall apart. She’s right. His Adam’s apple bobs heavily, eyes almost bulging from his head.

“What?”

“Bedroom, for your clothes, silly.”

“Oh! Right…”

He fidgets in place for a few seconds then turns to stride down the narrow hallway. Not before she hears him cursing himself under his breath. Angel bites her lip to keep her laughter at bay.

His bedroom is just as minimal but his scent is concentrated here. It makes something in her lower belly shift. Virgil opens his walk- in closet and steps aside for her to do her perusal.

“So, where are we… what’s the vibe of the occasion?”

She waves him off in dismissal, eyes glued to rows of clothing inside. “Go freshen up, I’ll take care of it.”

He doesn’t protest.

By the time he emerges from the bathroom, Angel is holding a black knitted Polo shirt, a pair of jeans and a pair of black suede Clarks.

“Well, this was the best I could do and woah! You have tattoos.” Angel’s eyes are comically wide at the revelation. He’s only wrapped a towel around his lower half; whatever she expected him to look like under his suit, he surpasses her expectations. Virgil clearly stays active, she’d even say he’s religious with his visits to the gym. But the swirling dark ink that occupies the entire length of his left hand steals her attention.

Virgil, flustered under her gaze, eyes his arm then shrugs impassively; “Yeah.”

“You might be the most uncool person with tattoos ever.”

He frowns bitterly; “You’re really mean.”

She cackles without remorse, shoving the clothes in his face. “Put these on, and I advise you don’t wear any of your watches that cost thousands.”

Angel waits for him in the kitchen, making herself comfortable by pouring a glass of orange juice and snacking on a protein bar she found in his cupboard. He re-emerges after she freshens her makeup and draws harsh, black lines around her eyes in his kitchen using her phone camera as a mirror.

“Ready, pretty boy?” She eyes from head to toe, pleased but keeping it a secret. His clothes look almost custom made the way they mold on to his big frame. His man bun looks refreshed and his cologne permeates the air around them.

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Why? You like it too much?” Angel teases.

“Where are we going?” He asks just to change the subject. Angel notices and smirks but decides not to torment him further.

“A club; and we’re taking the train like real New Yorkers.”

*******************

Angel takes him to Gray’s Papaya before they make it to the club. Virgil sticks out like a sore thumb as she greets the cashier she has now grown familiar with.

“Lemme get two Franks, ketchup, mustard, onions and two medium papaya drinks.”

Virgil stays close, surveying the space as if he’s afraid some rodent will suddenly jump at him from behind the counter. Angel pays from the same $100 bill he handed her earlier. They stay by the counter as they wait for their order. Turning to face him, Angel eyes him with amusement.

“I promise they won’t poison our food.”

“I just… why here? I could take you somewhere be-”

“I want a hotdog.” She says with finality.

“Do you miss your wife?” Her tone is conversational despite the weight of the question. Virgil’s eyes widen; Angel’s expression remains neutral.

“Uh… I don’t know. I miss the company, she was my first and only love and I haven’t been with anyone else so it’s a little difficult to date.” He clears his throat in a gesture that clearly shows discomfort.

“You didn’t answer my question.” Angel wipes a small smear of aftershave cream from his goatee with her index. Virgil looks down at her with lidded eyes.

“I don’t. I’ve just been lonely.” He finally admits.

Angel gives a pleased hum just as their orders arrive. Unsurprisingly, Virgil loves the hotdog. He devours it in three big bites, humming after every one. Angel only gloats a little as they walk side by side sipping from styrofoam cups while the city awakens for the nightlife around them.

***************

They get swallowed up in a crowd of bodies in the humid heat of the underground club. Crimson lights set the atmosphere for depravity— for drugs, liquor and lust. Virgil keeps an ironclad grip around her waist, eyes alert and body tense. The bass from a rock song shakes her chest so hard but instead of discomfort, it makes her blood sing in excitement. She lives for scenes like this.

“You already look like I plucked you right off a golf course, loosen up so people don’t think I’m holding you hostage.” Angel yells at him over the music.

“I… this is a lot!” He says with furrowed brows.

With a roll of her eyes, Angel roots around in her purse and pulls out two carefully packaged gummies. One she pops in her mouth, the other she unwraps and stretches towards him. Virgil’s head recoils.

“It’s just an edible. It’ll help you loosen up and have fun.”

He eyes it skeptically for a few seconds before he dips his head lower for her to feed him the gummy. He chews thoughtfully.

“Good, huh?”

“It does taste good. I’ve never been high before, just a heads up.”

She giggles at his somber expression; “It’s not a high enough dose to really fuck you up, you’ll just feel good. You’ll see.” Angel throws her arms around his neck, pulling his body closer.

“Why me?” He asks as he tries to follow her swaying movements.

“What do you mean?” She inquires in faux innocence.

Virgil gives her an exasperated look. With a giggle, Angel laughs freely and concedes.

“You’re handsome. I wanna fuck you.” She says with a nonchalant shrug.

Virgil chokes around nothing, grip on her waist tightening.

“Why are you surprised? Have you seen yourself?”

Virgil gapes like a fish, words seemingly lost to him.

“Want me to prove it?” Angel suddenly steps out of his embrace, whispering something to a woman who looks to be about her age that’s standing next to them. She’s decked from head to toe in black, jet black bang falling into her eyes. Her lips painted with a dark blue lipstick stretch into a smirk and before Virgil can make sense of it, she replaces Angel in front of him.

She introduces herself as Raven, and is just as bold as Angel. She turns to press her back to his front and begins a steady grind against his crotch. Virgil thinks it must be the edible, but he’s suddenly aware of the very blood pumping through his veins. The temperature in the room rises, but he feels immune. He feels emboldened. His hands find Raven’s hips, moving as best as he’s able to with her unsteady rhythm. His eyes cut over to Angel a few feet away. She’s in a similar position as Raven with a different guy; unlike Raven, she flows with the beat. They make steady eye contact across the room while they dance with different partners; for whatever reason, it builds the tension between them despite the distance. Angel pushes her ass back into the guy harder, mouth popping open slightly. Virgil feels the front of his jeans tighten as his blood roars in his ears. He needs Angel. He manages to restrain himself through three more songs before he steps away from Raven with a quick smile of appreciation. Angel smirks as he approaches, as if she was expecting it. Virgil doesn’t acknowledge the guy behind her as he pulls her into his body. Angel smiles up at him, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Did you mean that? What you said earlier?”

Angel grasps one of his hands that’s around her waist and trails it between her legs until his finger tips graze her bare pussy under her dress.

“I didn’t wear underwear, just for you.” She stands on the tips of her toes to whisper against his mouth.

Angel isn’t sure who moves first before they start devouring each other as the club pulses around them. It’s wet, it’s hurried, it’s passionate. Angel lowers from tipping but Virgil folds his body to follow her downward. She suckles on his tongue that tastes like him and the faintest hint of papaya juice and the watermelon flavoured edible. Angel moans at the feel of his chest rumbling.

“Back to your place?”

Virgil nods eagerly.

***************

Virgil thinks he’s dreaming. He must be. He chances a glance at the woman kneeling on his bed between his legs again. The perfect arch showing her narrow waist and round ass, but most importantly, the part that’s making him feel like he has to be gripping at his sanity so it doesn’t completely slip away, is the way she’s staring at him with her mouth stretched around his length. Angel slurps her way upward like she has all the time in the world, eyes locked on his own. Virgil’s toes curl until he gets a cramp in his foot.

“Angel, baby, I-” he can only moan helplessly, mouth agape and eyes disbelieving.

“Hm?” She pulls off him with an audible pop, but keeps her mouth around his tip, spitting and slurping over and over.

Virgil feels his eyes roll to the back of his head, belly spasming. He wants to stop the embarrassing sounds that keep tumbling out of his mouth, but Angel, fucking Angel. She’s so good. Too good. She teased him with her words, her eyes, with subtle touches during the entire train ride back to his side of town. He has been on edge for what feels like hours; hiding his erection was a real pain and she laughed at him for it, though she did promise to make it up to him. Now he knows what she meant.

“Virgil?” She calls him sweetly.

It takes a few seconds for his vision to focus, when it does, Angel sticks her tongue out and slaps the weight of his dick against it.

“Angel, what the fu-” he suddenly chokes because she sinks all the way down his length while her fingers touch at sacs delicately. He’s sure she feels them pull taut under her touch.

Angel hurries to pull her mouth off him and tightens a fist around the base of his dick when she feels him starting to throb.

She tuts softly; “Not before you fuck me.”

Angel crawls up the length of his body to press their mouths together sloppily. She moans in his mouth, pulls away an inch and puckers her lips. Virgil opens his mouth for every drop without complaint, diving back in to attack her soft, plump lips. His breath hitches as she fully straddles his lap and takes his drenched dick in her hand. She doesn’t tease, seemingly as impatient as he feels. Virgil tenses in anticipation as she positions his dick at her entrance and begins sliding down the length of him. They gasp simultaneously.

“So fucking big and perfect, Virgil.” She moans from the pit of her belly, quivering above him when she’s almost seated fully on his lap.

Virgil squeezes his eyes shut, focusing on the sweat trailing down his temples so he doesn’t come prematurely and ruin her night. It has been almost three years since he last had sex. And Angel feels too wet, too tight, too warm. Too much. Her hands settle in the middle of his chest and she raises herself to the tips of her toes.

“You better not come before I get mine, Virgil.” It’s too whiny to be a command but it sticks anyway. Angel wastes no time in riding him with abandon. She bounces along his length, head thrown back and moans pitched high. Her black nails are a perfect contrast against his skin.

“Fuck- I-”

With sweat trickling into his eyes, Virgil plants his feet and starts meeting every downward bounce with a harsh thrust of his hips. Angel screams, nails biting into his chest.

“Yes! Just like that, Virg. Big, fucking di-” Angel grunts as he angles his hips just right.

“Angel, I’m gonna-”

“Not yet.” She whines, bouncing harder, eyes squeezed shut.

Virgil reaches for her breasts, thumb and index lightly squeezing her taut nipples. Angel stiffens with a small cry. Virgil snaps his hips faster, harder.

“Yes, daddy!”

Virgil’s vision goes white. His entire body tingles as Angel milks him for everything he’s worth. He thinks he’s probably crying out, he can’t be sure with all the ringing in his ear. His hips don’t still. He can’t. It feels so good he thinks he might actually pass out or fucking die. Who knows? Who cares? If this is his last experience on earth he couldn’t ever be mad. What a way to go, actually. When he regains his senses, Angel is lying against his chest. Breaths heavy and heartbeat erratic— like his own.

“Angel?” His hand rubs the length of her back.

“Hm?”

“Did I hurt you?”

She snorts; “No. it’s big but I’m a size queen.”

“I don’t know what that means.” He admits truthfully.

This time, she giggles; “You’re adorable, I almost want to keep you.”

He goes quiet, contemplating if he wants to risk shattering his pride. But he decides that he wants to see her again. He needs to see her again. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun, or tried something new and exciting.

“So keep me.”

Tense silence follows for almost a minute before Angel lifts her head to face him with a smile.

“Yeah?”

Virgil feigns nonchalance; “Yeah. I’d take care of you and we could see each other like, a few times a week and I’d buy you things-”

“So you wanna be my sugar daddy?” She smirks.

“No! I’d take you to dinner and maybe give you an allowance and… yeah, a sugar daddy for fuck’s sake.” He admits with a frown.

Angel cackles like a maniac; “Hm, well, I already called you daddy so might as well reap the benefits. Also, you’re taking the day off of work tomorrow, you have dark circles under your eyes.” She says around a yawn. He knows better than to argue.

“Okay.”

Angel gets comfortable on his chest again, uncaring of his dick softening inside her. In fact, she seems to relish it as she subtly rocks against him with a pleased little moan.

And Virgil? Virgil could really get used to it.

[mellarkslovergirl]

“Maybe in another life” but I wanted it to be this one

[minyoonjin]

HE LOOKS SO GOOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[yoongikook]

the world's prettiest samsung ambassador has returned

[jjungkkook]

BTS - '2.0' Official MV

[jjungkkook]

(cr. 4brilia)

[aidashakur]

I think I owe myself an apology for being in spaces where I knew I wasn't wanted & appreciated.

[jung-koook]

I’m so soft rn 🥹

[kyoshithewriter]

Obsessed with how every tumblr update is more useless than the last. Thanks tumblr! Narrowing my keyboard when I’m typing in the comments is sooooo much more needed than being able to make gcs on a social media app😊😊😊😊😊 @tumblr @staff

[wetheurban]

At the end of the day, you can’t delay joy until life looks a certain way. You deserve to enjoy your life now.

[kyoshithewriter]

Pomum. (Part six).

Wc: 4.3k

Warnings: violence, mentions of mental health issues, angst, mature themes (18+)

A/n: I couldn’t do too much of his pov because I felt like that would give too much away😭. Also, did you guys know that his mom is blasian???? I had to do something with that information. I also apologize in advance for this loool. Enjoy?

The mug of half-drunk coffee somehow manages to steal his attention despite the important presentation, Mr. McLeod, the COO, is currently giving at the front of the conference room. The tendrils from the cup now rise in sparser intervals and are a lot less prominent. They probably wouldn’t be noticeable if you weren’t paying keen attention like he is. But it’s not the black liquid that’s cooling in the cup that has his attention— no, it’s the mug itself. White porcelain and plain, just as he requested. He likes things simple and pristine; it brings a sort of peace that cuts through the constant buzzing in his brain, like thousands of bees are always in his vicinity. Simplicity, order, cleanliness and recently, Sofía. But the more Virgil stares at the mug, the louder the buzzing seems to grow. There’s a chip on it. It’s minuscule, but it’s there: a light grey patch that sullies the glistening white.

“Mr. Van Dijk?"

On instinct, his fist folds into a harsh clench at the use of his surname. A reminder of the man who has made him everything he is today. A man he is torn between despising and admiring.

“Yes?”

Mr. McLeod quivers under his stare, so he hurries to relax his features: empty—blank, rather than the harsh furrowed brows and piercing glare he knows he first pinned him with.

“Oh I was saying um…” the Caucasian man clears his throat, adjusting his tie out of nerves. But it only manages to tick Virgil off more because he now makes it crooked. It leans a little too far to his left.

“In summary, operations are good and profits are even better since we started importing goods from China.”

“Good. If that’s all?”

Relief ripples throughout the room and it annoys him further. He hates the way his employees in office cower in his presence because they dub him as intimidating. Sure he’s not looking to attend after work socials, but he treats them all with respect, listens to their opinions or concerns and pays them all handsomely. ‘Maybe if you’d try showing an ounce of emotion around them rather than annoyance?’ He ignores the rational side of his brain to focus on his surroundings.

“That’s all.”

“Then the meeting is concluded. Who seconds?”

The CFO raises his hand to second the motion. Virgil stands and everyone else follows suit. Before exiting the conference room, he turns to address his assistant; “I need a new mug. White, plain and porcelain. Please.”

**********

“Have you decided if you want to move forward with the plan yet?”

Scratching at his goatee four times, Virgil reclines in the plush chair in Mr. Zhào’s humble space. The smell of burning Chinese herbs in his small ‘doctor’s office’ helps bring a level of calm the rational side of his mind chooses to combat; he’s not one to believe in the use of plants and weeds to regulate emotions or stall one’s mind from collapsing in on itself. He had witnessed his father trying and failing for years. Mr. Zhào’s face is textured with wrinkles, crows feet and dark brown moles. His black hair is thinning in the middle and he now has a characteristic hunch to his shoulders and bend to his knees. But Virgil is no fool, he knows weaponized helplessness when he sees it. It’s easy to underestimate a man like him— a fool’s first mistake. This man not only has a high rank in the Chinese Triad, but he’s also a master of martial arts. He helped mold Virgil into the parts of himself that he despises a little less than the others and is still a valuable ally.

“A certain… complication-”

Mr. Zhào cuts him off with a wheezing laugh. It’s scratchy from years of tobacco abuse. It also shows in the yellowing of his teeth.

“Complication, huh? What’s her name?”

Virgil stiffens in his seat; his fingers tap against his thigh: once, twice a third time. He pauses and tries to physically fight against the buzzing in his brain but concedes after only two painful seconds to bring his finger down a fourth time.

‘You waited too long; the rhythm is lost. Go again.’

His brain is almost screaming at him despite his calm demeanor. He hurries to tap four times then clenches his fist.

“Why are you so sure it’s a woman?” He eyes the man whose wisdom is always something he has been envious of. Mr. Zhào is patient, strategic and wise; always armed with old Chinese sayings and information from leisurely strolls throughout the streets of California.

“Or a lover. I’ve been in our world a long time, Virgil. ‘Complications’ usually mean only one thing, especially for levelheaded, smart men like yourself.” He states in a matter of fact tone. He reaches over to hand Virgil a cup of ginseng tea he had been steeping since he stepped into his office.

He takes the offered white mug. Porcelain and pristine. Mr. Zhào has known him since he was a child, after all.

“Not exactly a lover but…”

“Ah, you want her to be. It’s that daughter of his, isn’t it? Don’t look so alarmed. I’m old and I know things, you know this, nephew.” He says with a small laugh at the slight widening of Virgil’s eyes.

“What have you heard?” The mug is starting to burn his palm that he has clasped tightly around it.

“Don’t worry, no rumors about the two of you. Just that she’s supposed to marry the Ferrante heir and that she’s all bright eyed and beautiful. The Chen’s wanted to make a move when word started going around that her father was looking for a suitor to strengthen his position. And many others in fact— a beautiful bride that comes with the Hernandez last name. A name that has been respected in these parts since the 1970s.”

Virgil exhales a relieved breath, placing the cup on the dark wooden desk between them.

“A name that is also slowly starting to lose the respect it once had. Barka is slowly amping up his reputation because he keeps getting away with blatant disrespect. The Ferrante’s are slowly starting to earn more respect because their shipments of drugs are now more reliable. I have been here for almost a decade and you have been meeting me here for the better part of two years and he still has no idea.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Mr. Hernandez, xū zhāng shēng shì.”

Virgil’s mandarin is a little rusty but he knows that saying well; ‘all bark no bite.’

“It took you going to the club to scare Barka in his shell a little. But since Mr. Hernandez told you not to… handle him properly, he’s out and about again. Virgil, Mr. Hernandez needs to be dealt with. He still thinks this is 2011 when people were scared of his name; as distance tests a horse’s strength, time reveals a person’s character. Mr. Hernandez was not only respected because of his last name but because he was loved. His actions these past few years have turned people against him.” He pauses his rant to take a tentative sip of his tea. And Virgil knows all too well. He understands the world they’re in but even they have certain moral codes. Mr. Hernandez has been despicable, and he worries how Sofía will react when she learns just how cruel her father can be.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, Virgil? The longer he’s allowed to keep believing the illusion that he’s still top dog, the worse it gets for everyone around him. Your reputation is being muddied and the surrounding families will start going to war for territories that’s slipping from his fingers. I understand your instinct to remain loyal for the sake of the young woman, but remember, bīng bù yàn zhà.”

“Soldiers don’t hate deceit.”

Zhào nods solemnly at his contemplative translation. All is fair in war. The war might not have started yet, but they’re on the brink of it. Everyone, except the clueless man he chose to partner with, can feel it.

“We have to be smart about it, though. We cannot go for the head first. Something small to… hinder certain things.” Zhào looks up at him and quiet understanding passes between their gazes. Virgil tries to contain the quiet relief that passes through him. He can now justify his plan as strategic rather than done out of rash emotion.

“Is everything in place in case I make a decision soon?”

Zhào offers a solemn nod.

“Good.” Virgil downs the lukewarm tea in one swallow. The liquid warms his throat and chest as it glides through his body.

“How is your mother?”

Virgil’s nostrils flare. “Uncle…”

“You need to speak to her… she misses you. You have this idea that she wouldn’t be proud of the man you’ve beco-”

“And I’m right.” He clenches his fists four times rhythmically in his lap.

Zhào scoffs. “Are you forgetting she’s my sister? Despite what I do? Despite who I am? Did she keep me estranged from the family? She willingly dated your father as well. Sure, she would’ve preferred a doctor or a damn engineer but you’re a product of your environment. She knows that, we all know that. Wiring hundreds of thousands to her from secure accounts every month is not enough. She wants to see you. Bǎi shàn xiào wéi xiān.” He chastises sternly. (Among hundreds of virtues, filial piety comes first).

For the first time in a long time, Virgil feels a hunch to his shoulders. He’s ashamed.

“You’re right, Uncle. I’ll… I’ll speak to her, I just need to…”

“Yes. I know. Just promise me you will.”

Virgil gives a firm nod.

“Good. And stop by one of these days for a sparring session. Or do you think you’re better than me now?” Zhào asks with a smirk.

“Only a fool would underestimate you, uncle.”

Zhào barks a sharp laugh. “And don’t ever forget it.”

Flipping his wrist in his line of sight, Virgil eyes his Patek. “I need to get going. Hernandez wants me with him to escort them to the Ferrante’s for dinner in a few hours.” His heart thumps in a way that’s embarrassing at the thought of seeing Sofía again.

Zhào stands with him to escort him to the door of his little cramped office. The building is so unassuming and only labeled in mandarin that translates to “Zhào’s alternative medicine shop.”

They eye each other in quiet understanding. “Okay, nephew. And remember to please take care of your mind. Stop by one of these days so I can take care of you.”

“Uncle, burning herbs and acupressure to unblock chi won’t help. It didn’t help my father.”

“Because your father was already broken beyond repair when we found him. Your mother helped for a while but it wasn’t enough. He was too… damaged.” There’s a hint of melancholy in his voice.

“I might be too.”

*************

His feet take him around back before he even alerts Donavon of his presence. He doesn’t question it or think too deeply; he just allows himself to go where the air smells earthy with an underlying scent of bitter citrus. There he finds her, humming softly to herself while she fills a little basket with lemons. Her curly hair is secured on top of her head with a colourful scarf— it makes her cheekbones more prominent. Her brown skin seems to always glow along with her pretty brown eyes and moisturized pink, plump lips. Lips that he has already missed. She’s wearing a little flowy, shorts set— perfect for the summer but terrible for his self restraint. It shows too much skin and the ample curve of her hips and ass. Rational thoughts flee his mind for a moment as he marches in her direction with laser-like focus. She startles when she finally notices his presence when he’s a few feet away.

“Virgil! You scared me.”

Her pretty eyes blink up at him in wide eyed stupor as he grasps her hips, moving them in the shadow of the lemon tree. It’s reckless doing this in broad daylight, but he feels starved. Her little moan is sweet when he captures her lips in a kiss. Lemons clatter by their feet and her hands, sullied with soil reach up to grip at the lapel of his jacket. And Virgil realizes that his brain remains quiet. There’s no buzzing or the need to wipe at it until his muscles burn. Because all that matters is Sofía’s pliant little mouth and her soft skin beneath his palms as he cups her behind. She eagerly sucks his tongue into her mouth, drawing a groan from the pit of his stomach. He can feel himself harden beneath his slacks and boxers, his control is slipping fast. The way Sofía moans almost helplessly while she grinds against him doesn’t help. She’s such an eager little thing; that night she cried as she came all over his fingers while thanking him might’ve costed him a little bit of his already fragile sanity. He needs to have her fully at his mercy; he’d make her forget everything but his own name. The whisper of her touch against his growing bulge forces a heavy exhale from his flared nostrils. He allows her another two seconds to tentatively feel at him before breaking the kiss and grabbing at her wrist. Sofía looks up at him in awe.

“It’s so big.” The words seem to be blurted from her mouth in a breathless whisper.

Virgil quickly moves away from her body. Wiping at the sticky essence she left behind on his lips, he eyes the entrance of the greenhouse to ensure they’re still alone.

“Oh, I’m so sorry! Let me-”

He watches as Sofía, clearly panicked over something, leaves a dirty trail behind on her clothes as she wipes her hands on them in haste. Then she hurries over to brush her hands against his abdomen. It takes him a second to realize that she’s trying to get rid of the dirt she accidentally left on his clothes. His brows furrow in confusion at her frantic movements and the apologies that fall from her mouth almost desperately.

Gripping at her wrist, he speaks; “It’s fine, Sofía. Relax.”

“No it’s not! I know how you are with things like this. I’m so sor-”

“What do you mean?”

Sofía blinks up at him in confusion. “Um, being clean and um… immaculate is important to you? I figured you might have ocd or something closely related.”

“What?” He can’t mask the disbelief in his tone. Ocd? He figured something was wrong with him but he never gave much thought as to what exactly.

“Uh… your suits are always clean without a single wrinkle. If your jacket is off, your shirts are folded four times up each arm neatly— if they aren’t folded, you adjust the cuffs on each arm four times; you brush your hand over your hair to make sure it’s slick often and always four times; you scratch at your goatee four times; you clench your fists four times… Virgil, you’re a man working in organized crime with hand sanitizer in your cars.” She whispers the words cautiously.

“I…” Virgil eyes her unsurely. He’s not exactly sure how to reply and he’s torn between being impressed by her observation and wary of it. He doesn’t enjoy being… read.

“I could be wrong. I just googled after I noticed and…Where did the obsession with the number four come from?”

“My father. He was somewhat of a bodyguard to very important people. Someone he was assigned to protect died in his service because he shot the assassin three times but he somehow survived; tricked them all into thinking he died then killed the target anyway. I was very young but he came home almost crazed and he kept repeating to always…” He trails off, jaw clenching almost painfully.

Sofía nods; without him having to finish, she easily pieces the rest of the puzzle together.

“Why are you always wearing a suit anyway? Is it to conform to the apparent rule of this… kind of business?”

His shoulders start to relax at the change of subject. “I have a job.”

Virgil smirks a little at the way she gapes at him.

“As in… a legitimate job outside of all this?”

“Of course, Sofía. I’m not an idiot.”

“What kind of job?” Curiosity lights up her already pretty eyes.

“I own a business; it deals with…import.” He says cautiously. Sofía rolls her eyes, cocking her hips to glare at him. Fuck, the things he wants do to her for that attitude.

“Importing what?”

“Produce.” He answers truthfully.

“As in… fruits and vegetables?”

Virgil nods easily, watching as her skepticism changes to something contemplative.

“A legitimate business that explains your finances; one that also requires regular shipments coming in for you so that your goods are under less scrutiny. Perfect cover for you to smuggle your apparently ‘very special’weapons from The Netherlands with a lot less hassle.”

Virgil is not sure how many times this woman is going to surprise him but it’s now a bit concerning.

“Don’t look at me like that, the men around here don’t respect me, remember? I heard them speaking…” Virgil's eyes narrow as she licks at her lip and avoids his eyes.

“You have something else to say.” Not a question, a statement.

“They put off my dinner with Romano for three days but we’re going later. That means the arrangement isn’t off; I thought you were going to fix it.” She pouts her pretty mouth while glaring at him.

“I’m working on it, little rose. I promise.”

Virgil’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he knows without looking it’s Mr. Hernandez wondering why he’s not in his office yet.

“I need to head inside. You should too, to start getting ready for dinner later.”

****************

Sofía eyes her reflection in the mirror of her bedroom. She’s adorned with pearls and a creme coloured Chanel dress that hugs her figure all the way to the middle of her calves. Her heels are closed toe and pointed with a thin delicate strap. Modest. Ever since Sofía found out about the horrors her mother has been suffering in silence under her father’s cruel hands, she has made a point of reigning in her subtle acts of rebellion. Her fear for her mother’s safety has now taken priority over whatever else she’s feeling. Everyone is already gathered in the living room by the time she ambles down the stairs. Virgil’s eyes do a quick sweep of her from head to foot before he turns his attention back to whatever her father is saying. Sofía notes through the warmth that floods her face the way Virgil stands within the small semicircle formed. He angles his body slightly away from her father completely; he’s not showing outright disrespect by standing outside the circle and not giving his attention. But the little gesture isn’t lost on her. Raúl, Enrique, Joaquin and Galo complete the small group and she wonders if this means that Galo’s rank has changed recently. He has been more… involved lately.

“It’s decided. Celeste, you and I are riding with Raúl and Enrique. Sofía, you’re with Virgil and Galo. Joaquin will stay just behind with Juan, Sal and Mendes for extra security.” Her father says with finality before leading everyone out the house.

And if the tension between the two wasn’t obvious before, it is now. Her father always rode with Virgil. Celeste mirrors her shock but they both know better than to say anything. So quietly, they move to obey.

Sofía makes her way to the passenger side of the vehicle but she’s stopped abruptly by a gentle hold on her bare forearm.

“No. Galo rides up front.” Virgil says sternly.

Sofïa glares at him but moves to enter the backseat as he holds the door open for her. He fixes her with a look that screams ‘behave.’ The door is slammed shut with a muted thud that makes her even more annoyed as her ears start ringing. Raúl pulls out of the driveway first with Virgil right on his tail and Joaquin just behind. The ride is tense and quiet; Galo is not someone she has spent a lot of time with, so she isn’t sure what the man is like. Folding her hands in her lap, she glares at Virgil’s side profile. There’s a certain tension that’s visible on his frame even more so than usual and she wonders if it has to do with Galo being in the car.

“Can we turn the radio on?” She asks with faux sweetness dripping like honey from her voice.

“Sur-”

“No.”

Galo clears his throat as his approval is cut off by the Dutch man in the driver’s seat. Sofía hopes her stare actually scorches his skin. She watches the way he squeezes at the steering four times before turning onto the main road. Red lights from the stop sign at the intersection illuminates the inside of the vehicle; and as Sofía sits in the backseat eyeing both men up front, a sudden feeling of unease washes over her. Her heart suddenly starts beating a little too fast; she wills herself to breathe, watching the lights turn green. Just as the vehicle lurches forward, a pair of bright head lights descend upon them from the right.

“Virgil!”

Sofía’s body is flung against the door as Virgil swerves sharply to avoid being bulldozed by the matte black suv. A flurry of loud, black motorbikes suddenly appear from both sides and another black suv breaks the red light to pull in front of Raúl’s vehicle up front.

“Little rose, down.”

It takes a while for her brain to properly process Virgil’s words. Time seems to slow watching as Galo fumbles with his gun in the front seat; but Virgil; Virgil moves with calm efficiency to examine the bullets in the cartridge before chambering and locking it in place.

“Sofía!”

Sofía ducks just as the first round of shots ring out. The car starts moving again as bullets thud against the bulletproof exterior. Cupping her hands over her ears, Sofía stays cramped on the floor of the backseat as chaos unfolds around her. The vehicle swerves again, this time with a hideous sound as the tires skid across asphalt. Her chest tightens painfully; she was already on the verge of hyperventilating before and now she’s sure she might pass out from the lack of oxygen. A shrill scream is torn from the pit of her belly by the sound of a gun going off. This one sounds so much closer than the others. There’s a choked off groan and the sound of something splattering in the vehicle; something warm and wet drips onto the back of her neck causing Sofía to start clawing at the skin of her chest.

“Virgil?” She calls out in a timid whisper.

“Shit. I’m okay, little rose. Keep your head down, okay, baby?”

The car swerves again before she hears the front door open and close just as quickly. Police sirens wail in the distance while the car pulls a dangerous u-turn and starts speeding. Sofía is not sure how long she stays down while he drives but she’s too scared to move. Low vibrations hum from his direction before he starts speaking.

“Yes, she’s fine. Galo was not so lucky.”

Galo… Sofía feels like heaving.

“No, I’m taking her somewhere safe. Don’t go home, go to the safe house and call more reinforcements; we need to regroup. I’ll call in 30 minutes.”

Silence stretches on for another minute after his phone call.

“Little rose, you can get up now.” He says softly.

Sofía limbs shake violently as she gingerly hauls herself off the floor and onto the leather seats. Virgil eyes are brimming with concern when they make eye contact in the overhead mirror. Keeping one hand on the steering, he reaches the other around for her to hold onto for dear life. She’s so desperate for an anchor, anything to stop the tremors that wrack her body and to slow the erratic pace of her heart.

“Don’t cry, you’re safe now.” He promises. Sofía wants to believe him but her eyes keep scanning the roads in every direction. Wherever he’s taking her, looks to be away from the city as the amount of cars on the road lessen significantly.

“My mom… is she alright?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Yes. Raúl and Enrique kept them safe. I’m not sure about Joaquin and the others.”

“Galo…” she eyes the now empty front seat with something cold pitting in her chest. Galo was just there— he was alive and breathing. Hair with copious amounts of gel like he always liked to wear it. Liked. Past tense— because now he’s gone.

“I’m sorry, Sofía.”

Virgil words sound like they are coming from underwater. She can’t look away from the front seat. More specifically, the window by the front seat. There’s blood and what she’s sure is marrow splattered all over it. But that’s not what really has her attention. It’s the glass itself; still intact with only a little dent with small splinters surrounding it. The glass on all her father’s suvs are bulletproof after all. The realization makes Sofía break out in immediate cold sweat. The glass wasn’t penetrated, so Galo couldn’t have been shot from outside. He wasn’t. Swallowing thickly, Sofía slowly turns her gaze back to the overhead mirror to find Virgil already watching her. His gaze is piercing, knowing. He watched her put the pieces of the puzzle together. Sofía drops his hand like it burns, scooting away to the corner behind the passenger’s seat. His jaw clenches, now empty fist squeezing four times before he brings it back to the steering.

Sofía sobs softly before asking; “Virgil… what did you do?”

[fahadaccount]

realized my love language is reciprocity, I need what I give

[misfit13ari]

Heavy on this.

[jjkwithyou]

Happy Birthday, Namjoon! ♡ (1994.09.12)