Mouth Of The Wolf, Eyes Of The Lamb
𖤍 gun park x f!reader [2/2]
❝ I know, I know, the way that it goes
You get what you give, you reap what you sow
And I can see you in my fate
I know, I know, I am what I am
The mouth of the wolf, the eyes of the lamb
So darling, will you saturate? ❞
You were raised to submit, while he was raised to destroy.
Even children, drowning in the cusps of bruises and solitary, reach for each other through the dark to stay afloat. That is until one of you lets go to survive, and the other drowns.
Eight years later, and the reunion forces you both to confront what you've severed and what still binds.
It's true that the eyes are the window to the soul, even when their teeth are too sharp to speak.
𖤍 content ✒︎ yakuza, canon compliant, self sabotage, heartache, angst, fluff, yearning, childhood friends, pining, right person wrong time, child abuse, morally grey, emotionally repressed, slow burn, trauma, family issues, graphic violence, heavy themes, soft moments, mentions of harakiri, dark romance, imagery, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort, falling in love, smut, stomach bulge, choking, biting, cunnilingus
𖤍 author's note ✒︎ song inspo rain by sleep token. Thank you for giving this small two shot fic so much love on here and on AO3! I never thought it would. This piece meant a lot to me. If we ever see Gun free from prison, perhaps I'll come back to this piece with a bonus chapter—I cannot promise that I will, however. But I will miss these two lovebirds. Seeing Gun in future chapters is like a reward, he's definitely coming back. PTJ makes it obvious on his TikTok who his favorite is. Enjoy the reunion AND SMUT ya filthy heathens.
"How much can you blame a hunting dog for biting when it's only ever been trained to use its teeth?"
— The Wolf And The Woodsman by Ava Reid
The crunch of snow whined beneath the soles of your boots as you trekked down the road with an umbrella in hand to shield you from the bite of snow that swallowed the sounds around you. In your other hand rested a bouquet of daffodils with their bright sun petals and golden center; shades you once hoped for in your futures to come.
A cloud of frost billowed from your lips as you halted in front of stone with the marks of your old friend. HARUTO YAMAZAKI written in bold kanji stared back you from the grave almost menacingly.
A year had passed since Gun's disappearance. The Yamazaki estate flourished once more since Shintaro Yamazaki took his stand as rightful heir.
You crouched before the grave with sullen eyes tracing every bit of gravel marked with his name forever etched in stone. The plastic crinkled beneath your fingertips as you placed the bouquet on the edge. Your palm reached out, and your index and middle tracked a line down the stone as if abstracting his face in view.
His broadened smile came to mind. The summer wind ribboning his hair in curtains over his eyes.
You fluttered your own closed to halt the onslaught of tears that warranted awake. You clasped your palms together in a prayer. "Until next time," was all you said.
Not much is needed to be told to your departed friend. You had made your promise long ago. It was just time for your preparations to begin.
You spent your years studying away while working any part time job to sustain your balance. You racked up as much as you possibly could toward the day you set yourself free from the claws of your mother. The day you turned eighteen was when you finally approached Somi Park.
Nestled in the quiet corners of the Yamazaki Estate, away from peering eyes and careful ears, you sat across from her.
"Tell me where he is," you queried.
"I'm not sure what you're asking for," was all she answered.
"I've done my diligence for this family since the day I was born. All I ask in favor is for your son's whereabouts. One favor for another, and you will never have to see me again." You took in a breath, steeling yourself. You shuffled closer to her and arched into a bow to the floor. "I beg you, tell me where Gun is."
Only the tunes of dancing leaves from beyond the shoji doors surrounded you. A soft chime echoed outside from where it hung, a gentle melody in tune with the wind.
Somi's breath came out in a huff. "You believe I know where he is?"
You glanced up into her charcoal eyes and straightened your back, "If there's any humanity left that resides in you from within these walls, then yes."
Her brow twitched. Her face almost fell as if recalling a memory.
"Then you won't find your answers here with me," she concluded.
"I see…" You viewed to the side, discouraged. You palmed at the tatami floors and rose onto your feet, heading towards the fusuma doors. You reached a hand to slide it open, then slightly twist your neck back towards her. "Thank you for your time."
You didn't get to slide them open when she called your name. You were surprised she even remembered.
"You would walk towards the ends of the earth for that boy? Even while abandoned at sea?" she asked.
A smile crested on your lips. "He was the only one to lend me a hand when I thought I would drown."
Another beat of silence. The fusuma doors shuffled open and you step through.
"Beyond that sea," she continued, "you'll find a land adjacent to ours. Do what you will with that information."
Your eyes grew determined and you never looked back.
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"You will do no such thing!" your aunt Iyo bellowed as she watched you shove clothes into your backpack.
"I have no other choice," you reasoned. "Living here means I would just rot till the day I die!"
"You can come live with me—I'm sure your mother wouldn't mind…"
"We both know that is a lie."
"Listen to me, dear." She perched her hands onto your shoulders. "If you go, who knows what the Yamazaki will do to you if they find you meddling with him. He will only bring you bad luck! You'll be a foreigner. Imagine how they will treat you!"
You waved her off and plucked your wallet from your bed, shoving it into your backpack with a harsh zip. "I don't care. I can handle myself just fine." Your chest left a heavy breath. Your palms found their way to her face. "I'm much stronger now. You know this."
"When you were forced to marry uncle Sougo, you told me you would have done anything to be with Rui if given the chance." Your voice began to mellow as she gaped at you. "So this is mine. Please, auntie. I'm tired."
Your vision started to blur, voice coming out raspy from each breath as you sunk to the floor with her. She caged you in her arms, patting your head as she did when you were younger.
"Okay," she wheezed with tremulous shoulders, "okay."
She strung you along into her car and stepped on the gas towards the airport with your hand gripped in hers. She never once let go until you reached the boarding lines.
The months had gone by—rough as it may be with translation—but with a learning app on your phone, you were steadily picking up Korean. Thank God for Google Translate as well. It made scanning labels much easier with your phone camera.
You'd stay in hotels that would allow minors under nineteen given any more money that could shove under the counter. You'd done your luck pawning away goods that belonged to your late father, as well as taking what you could from his safe before fleeing Japan.
You had traveled everywhere in Seoul you could—Asan, Cheonan, Daejeon, Gangseo. You didn't stay in Incheon for long, however. From the looks of it, you didn't want to court with death any time soon.
A year in and you had been kicking it well in Gangdong. You found a decent living with a group that called themselves Hostel for runaway kids to call a home. This place wasn't exactly home to you, however. You helped them with jobs and they stay out of your business like you'd asked; that was the deal.
But every aching week doesn't quell the hunger deep in your marrows for your search. Some nights you're restless, and others, you're waking up drenched in cold sweat with Mother's face.
You recall every single one of them. The times when she'd shove you into the shed outback in the dead of winter for a mistake. The pinch in your shoulders when she'd shoved you against the cold floors that felt warmer than your skin. Every ruthless pound of her heel pushing tighter against your back.
Then there were those of Gun.
His face a smear of oil paint upon a canvas as his fingers slipped from yours. Skies that were once feathered in sun and summer breeze split into storms that cried blood. Below jagged cliffs were a sea of waves taller than the mountains could reach. Every scream you let out would render useless as the shadows writhed passed your lips, edging and burrowing deep into your throat to find home within your esophagus.
They were the worst ones, you fear.
The mattress of your bed sprung as you tossed your backpack to it with a thump. You had recently returned after a run to the grocery store like Sally asked, claiming aloud that she wanted to cook up some samgyetang and extra kimbap for Eli to pack for lunch the next day.
With a groan, you stretched your arms above your head flexing the tension in your muscles. You supposed you could call your aunt—it had been a long while since you'd spoken to her. Today would mark your nineteenth birthday, not that anyone else knew no matter how much Sally begged. You just flicked her on the nose.
Your feet padded against the cold tiles of the room towards your desk. A soft, golden light illuminates in ombre over the amber wood, filtering against the shadows of your bed. An olive picture frame rested at the edge and you could not help but smile at the image behind the glass plane. All huddled together were of you, Warren, Eli, and Sally during the day they first took you in—it was Sally's idea, of course; anything to commemorate the memory.
That day had been night with a rest under the stars in a secluded bush within a park. Warren caught sight of your foot peeking out thinking someone lost a shoe. He grabbed at it, alarming you awake, and you shot out with a grappling head lock to his neck and shoulders.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, pervert?" you had cursed in broken Korean, mixing the word pervert in Japanese.
"Are (you crazy?!) Let me go!" shouted Warren, arms failing about.
You blinked at him. Did this guy just miss a whole speech? And you thought your Korean was bad.
"We're so sorry," Sally cried with cautious arms in the air, "we thought someone lost a shoe!"
"Please forgive my friend. He was just curious," Eli explained.
He stepped closer to you both as you nearly made Warren chew dirt. His palm reached out and your fingers gripped his wrist before letting Warren go. He winched. "You're…strong." He looked at the backpack lying on the grass, recalling your language, then back at you. "You're not from here."
"What of it?" you mocked.
Warren hissed through his teeth as he dusted his jacket. He inched closer with an outstretched hand to your shoulder. "Let (my) friend go—
Both men twirled in the air before tumbling to the ground with a loud thump by your sides. You unhooked your arms from a cross at your front and stomped over to snatch your backpack. Eli stared at you, perplexed.
"Warren!" Sally cried as she dropped to her knees to help him up.
"Funny," Eli cracked into a pained chuckle, adjusting himself to perch on the ground. "But you're the one who's lost." He hung his head and laughed.
You whipped your head to him and cursed in Japanese, "Shut up!"
"Why don't you come with us. You need a place to stay?"
You should have rejected, and you shouldn't had fallen for his warm smile and dainty laugh. But Eli had that way with people—a magnetic pull with such graveness to make things finally feel okay. Sally's overbearing attitude that bordered endearing, and Warren's eagerness right after to learn the technique you handed him. As odd as they were, you caved.
They helped you in your studies of Korean literature and characters. That much you were grateful for just as much as they didn't pry too far into your personal life of why exactly you were here and who you were. Only your name, your age, and that you wanted a fresh start.
You stared at the photo with a roll of your eyes. But you still smiled.
You fished for your phone through your backpack, feeling for the acrylic case that brushed your fingers, and plopped onto your bed with it in hand. The blue light screen bites your eyes. You squinted to scroll through your contacts and tapped on your aunt's name. You pressed the phone to you ear as the ringer sounds through.
Your aunt shouted your name, "Happy Birthday! How have you been, dear? Did you eat yet?"
"I'm good," you replied, "and thank you. I've been…" you switched to lay on your side, peering at the photo frame, "Adjusting. My Korean has got better as of lately. Sally should be done making dinner soon. How about you?"
You'd spoken to her about your new found friends the day you met them. You can still recall your aunt crying in relief on the other side babbling about thanking the heavens that you were finally off the streets. She could be a bit dramatic at times.
"Sougo and I just got back from dinner! Remember that one place we went for your sweet sixteen?"
"Oh, yeah! I remember some guy tried hitting on Mother before."
She hesitantly laughs, "Gosh, I do remember that…she threw away his number right after we left."
The both of you shared a chuckle over the distant memory. Then, it settles in like a fog.
"…how is she?" you asked. Only silence befell the line, almost too loud it settled in your bones. "Auntie?"
You heard her breath hitch. A shuffle in the background followed a closed fusuma. "I have to tell you something," she finally said.
"What is it?" You sat up from your bed. "She hasn't found me yet, has she? You haven't told her?"
From what you can remember, your aunt played a fool to your mother in your disappearance.
"No, dear, she's…" She went quiet. "She's dead."
How is one to handle such bringer of news? Does a child cry for the loss of a mother? Do they bawl their eyes enough to fill the ocean?
You peered down at the cotton thread to your blanket. Something hangs from your shoulders—relief.
Maybe you truly were a good for nothing child.
Your aunt calls your name again, and you swallow.
"Just a little after you left," she admitted. "I'm sorry."
"And you didn't care to tell me?"
"Because of what? What else aren't you telling me?"
You fall silent. "What does he have to do with it? I can handle two troubles at once. You know that."
"That's not…dear, I…" You heard her sigh. "He came back."
"What?!" You grabbed your backpack by the straps and lunged it towards you. You zipped it open to find your wallet. "This whole time—I can't believe you didn't—argh, where the fuck—"
"Please calm down, I'm truly sorry," she said quickly, "but head my words, child, do not come back. It is too dangerous with the Yamazaki running around Japan more than ever."
"You think I care? Because I don't! You've been lying to me this whole time—wait." You found your wallet and gripped it as apprehension festered above your ribs. "How long. How long has he been back."
You bit the words out, "Tell me."
"Two days after you left."
"Your mother died the week after that. The Yamazaki…Shintaro and Somi are both dead. The day Gun arrived." She paused and you held your breath. "He is now leader. But he left a few weeks after that. No one knows where he is."
You slumped against your headboard, feeling defeated. "I've been running in circles this whole time…"
"I didn't want to tell you because if you came back, who knows what your mother would have done. I'm truly sorry…" She sniffled. "Please, find it in your heart to forgive me. I was only doing what a mother would do for their child."
You squeezed your eyes shut. Your nails dug into the skin of your palm. "I don't need you protecting me."
"I know," you could hear her muffle into her hand as she cried, "I could never bear children, and you're the only one I have…so when you told me you found friends and a place to stay, I thought perhaps—I could protect you just a little longer. Let you start a new life. Safe and away from it all."
You didn't know whether you were living or dying. In the end, it all felt the same.
"Goodnight, Auntie," you whispered.
Her voice cuts out calling your name as you hung up. You balled your fists to your eyelids, your lungs heavy as if to burst, and you shot up from bed. Your feet lead you towards the roof of Hostel that oversaw Gangdong.
You stomp towards the railings and clung to them so hard they could have dented. The wind billowed around you it sounded of thunder, but the only thing you could hear was the howling of your scream.
Or perhaps it was just the thunder. Water drips onto the railing with hollowed chimes and you peeled your eyes open. Your vision blurred.
Your skin tickled with the bite of salt down your chin.
What for? The feeling of betrayal from your aunt? The frustration of the man who came back yet is nowhere to be seen? Or perhaps the death of your mother.
But you felt relieved to hear the news—she could no longer hurt you. A woman who nailed you down from her expectations and abuse. A human who you saw no humanity.
A mother, you once sought warm arms from to cradle you from the storms that buried you beneath its rain. Everything melted into one. There's no emotion you could tell other than rage.
The things you have done, the things you've endured chasing after a ghost felt useless.
Why couldn't she love you? Why didn't he come looking for you?
He promised. And yet, he was nowhere to be seen.
You looked down behind the railing. It would be quick. Painless, even.
You took a step. Someone shouted your name.
You turned around. A bed of blue and pink cotton candy hair sticks out from the blur. "Eli…"
He spotted the blood red veins around the whites of your eyes. Your cheeks were wet. You turned back in shame.
Footfalls echoed towards you and the metal croaked as he mirrors your stance. "Y'know…when I get upset, sometimes I think about the ones I have in my life," he says. "Yenna strives me to be a better person. A better father. Warren and Sally pick me up when I'm beaten down. Hostel…makes me want to have a better world for those who need it when I didn't get the chance."
You wiped your eyes and glower at the ground below. "I'm glad…you have them," you hoarsed.
"And you," he turned his neck towards you, "help me with my studies and dreams of being a hair stylist."
A warmth crested around your tear stained cheeks. "That's only because you ask."
"Though your attitude could be a little better."
"What is that supposed to mean!" You spun on your heel to smack him on the shoulder, but he grasped your knuckles with his palm.
"There she is!" he laughed, using his other hand to pat your head.
You swatted his hand away but failed, "Cut it out!"
He stopped, keeping his hand on your head. "Feeling better?"
The warmth on your cheeks died down into the mellow of the soft wind. You peered up and saw the sky bruised in gray and deep cerulean.
"What if…you don't have anyone like that in your life?" you quietly inquired.
"Well…I know you can be stubborn about seeing us as family, but either way, we're here for you. You know that—do you not?"
"But you don't know me." You hung your head and gazed to the side. "I'm not looking to stay here forever. I'm on my own no matter where I go."
"You don't have to be alone forever."
Your chest heaved with a breath. "For the longest time, I wasn't." You shook your head and detached from him, sliding down the bars of the railing to perch on the ground. He sat down beside you.
"What happened?" he warily questioned.
You hooked your arms over your bent knees and played with your index finger. "He left. I've been looking for him since but he's nowhere to be found."
"So that's why you're in Korea." He bent a knee and jutted his elbow on top, resting his chin into the palm of his hand in thought. "How can you be so sure he's here?"
"His mother said so. But I don't even know where to begin. I've been searching and searching. But I know he's alive. That much I'm sure."
Eli tapped his foot against the ground in a gentle and slow rhythm. "Does he have a name?"
You shifted your eyes to his halted foot then trailed them to his face. He looked lost in thought. Yet why did his eyes turned dark?
He quietly—almost too calmly—got up, dusting his bum and started to tread away.
Your eyes grew wide, heart hammering like a drum behind your lids. "You know something." You bolted onto your feet and ran to him. You caught him by the wrist in a painful tug. "You know."
He grew quiet, then, "I suspected from the day I met you when you used his technique." He tilted his chin behind his shoulder. "I would suggest you stay away from him. Whoever you're looking for, it's not him."
A petal of water dropped onto your eyelash.
"Tell me where he is," you implored. "Please, Eli."
The anguish in your eyes was enough to pang his heart. He'd seen it before—the same desperation he had to see Heather again.
He sighed, "He's here somewhere in Seoul. He's everywhere and nowhere."
Another droplet of rain smacked against the roof. A sprinkle started to form.
You let him go and pushed past the ajar door to the roof.
"Even if you find him," he said loudly, "he's nothing but a monster now. And in the end, you'll still end up alone walking alongside him."
You slammed the door shut behind you, not catching his final words.
"The next time we meet won't be as friends."
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The clap of thunder rung against the sky in a fissure of light that stretched beyond the outskirts of Seoul. Rain pelted against the pavement in a cacophony of dreaded symphonies.
A mist of icicles fans past your opened lips as you ran. Your zipper tangs against the metal teeth like a bell in juncture of splashed puddles. Your clothes had glued to your skin, your legs strained in heat from the marathon, and your mind ran as a circus.
You bounced into every hot spot store, restaurant, hotel, arcade, karaoke, and even desperately enough to knock on neighboring doors for answers.
"Excuse me, do you know someone by the name Gun Park?" you would ask.
They all would looked at you as if you grew a second head on your shoulders. Some even looked nervous—terrified, even, by the name.
"Don't ask such stupid questions!" they would say.
"Are you trying to look for trouble? Scram!"
You thumped against a nearby alleyway to shelter from the rain. Your chest burned as the sun from exhaustion as you panted air back into your lungs. Your throat dried, your head formed a migraine, and your legs gave out.
Your nails dug far into the roots of your hair in scratch to your scalp. You fished for your phone tucked in the pockets of your coat and scrolled through your contacts.
His name popped up. Hesitantly, you opened the chat.
It had been disconnected a long time ago some days after he had left.
At least let me know you're okay.
Thirty seven missed calls.
You peeked at the old messages. Some made you laugh even still, and some still felt bittersweet.
Did you make the old testament or something?
It was about a picture you sent of croissants you made without yeast—you had forgotten to add them in—the most key ingredient. You didn't eat it, of course; you thought it'd be funny to still bake it.
You clicked your phone off and pressed the back of your head to the wall behind you. A shivering breath bellowed out from your throat.
You shoved the phone back into your pocket and adjusted the straps of your backpack. The heel of your boots scraped against the asphalt as you straightened to stand up. Your feet dragged behind you as you exited the alleyway into the backstreets of the area, turning into a opened pavement with shops closed for the day. It was nearing midnight.
The rain began to slow down. You could find a hotel nearby to settle for the night. You weren't taking the chances of sprinting back to Hostel as if they'd greet you back with opened arms. Eli most likely had told them by now.
Puddles from the alleyway trickle in a bounce.
"Hey, you," a voice called out.
The smell of cigarettes filled the air even in the rain.
You turned your head, water dripping from your chin, and stared tiredly at a group of men with opened umbrellas that emerged from the mouth of the alley. One tilts it up to peer at you through his glasses.
"I heard some little girl is running around asking for Gun," he states. "Said they ran over here." He combed a hand through his blonde hair with an arched brow. "I'm guessing that's you, yeah?"
"And who the fuck are you?" you asked, turning on your heel to fully face them.
"Watch your mouth," one of them says through gritted teeth, a lit cigarette hanging from them. "Damned brat."
"I like a woman with a mouth on her." He tutted with a strided walk towards you. He hung the umbrella over your head and gave you a smile. "So what's your deal with Gun? You a fangirl or something? Man," he hung his shoulders, "why does he always get the ladies? No fair…"
"What do you know about him?" you asked, taking a step back.
"I'll tell you if you tell me," he grins. He leans in, towering over you like a giant. "What's your name, anyway?"
You took another step back and he grabbed you by the shoulder, "Now wait a minute—"
Your foot landed on his groin with a sharp kick. His umbrella dropped to the rain soaked pavement.
"Goo!" one of the men shouted.
"Get her," another exclaimed.
"I let that one happen," Goo wheezed, clutching his hands over his crotch. "Only because your beauty struck me much as my dick getting hit." He holds up a shaky finger. "Plus, I don't hit women."
You quickly shuffled backwards with stern eyes as the men started rushing towards you. Your backpack dropped to the ground alongside your peeled coat.
"I'm in a really bad mood," you mumbled, one foot forward and the other behind as both of your arms crossed at the wrist in front of you. "Piss off."
Goo gained his composure back and hissed from his teeth. He picked up his fallen umbrella and plucked a cloth from his back pocket, wiping his glasses off from the droplets of rain. He shoved it back onto the bridge of his nose and watched as you sprinted, jumping in the air to land a kick at one of their heads. They flung across. Bones splintered in through the drum of rain as they knocked into a rusty metal trashcan.
"Huh…" Goo let out a whistle. "She's strong." He studied the way your body flows from one blow to another at them. You were already exhausted yet still holding up. Not much longer, however.
He took out his phone and dialed, pressing the screen up to his ear. "Hey, dude. Come check this out."
The time ticks by in a flash. You're on your knees as one of them held you by the wrists with one hand and the other clamped in your hair.
All you hear is the steady engine of cars. Bright lights eclipsed your vision. A man all in white stands before you under a black umbrella. He speaks, but you don't recognize it—deep, calm, and almost raspy. You don't see his eyes until the shades come off.
You broke free. Your eyes were wide. You sprinted, then halt in front of him.
Everything leading up to where you both are now in the eight years gone.
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Huddled into the back alleys of Seoul, a restaurant filled with aromas of gochujang and fish sauce waft from their hotpots. Snow white pupils stared at a boiled squid from hanging metal chopsticks. A ringtone sounded off. From their periphery, they can make out hangul spelling out Four Eyes.
A slender hand swiped it off the table.
"What is it?" the White Ghost asked. He closed his eyes with a sigh as he placed the chopsticks down. "Do they have a name? Mm." Black scleras peeled open. "On my way."
He gathered his white coat and nodded to the men sitting around him.
He plucked a hefty amount of won and tapped it on the table. The bell to the restaurant door dings their departure as they followed behind him.
On the drive over, he isn't sure what to expect other than someone looking for trouble. He'll kick Goo's ass later for spoiling his dinner later.
He nestled into the backseat of the car and pulled up the coordinates Goo gave him. Only a twenty minute drive.
"Better be worth it," he mumbled, putting on his sunglasses.
When he reached his destination, he's surprised to see two men, bloodied and bruised, holding down a girl to her knees, and few other men scattered on the floor in bruises. Goo just stands there with a hand in his pocket, glasses white from the glint of the headlights.
The door opens for him and he takes the opened umbrella given to him.
"That's the one?" he asked Goo, walking over.
The White Ghost's steps were that of his name as he walked over. He stopped just a few feet away with a vindictive tut of his tongue. He noticed the woman's head still bowed.
Hopefully she didn't pass out, he thought to himself.
"I heard you were giving my buddies here a rough time," he said. "You have my attention. Now, who is it do I owe the pleasure to? I do apologize on their behalf."
Nothing. Not even a peek.
He blinked to the side and caught the ray of light filtering over the old backpack. He blinked again.
A Teru Teru Bozu strapped to it.
Something reels in his head—a feminine face that had the smile of a thousand suns to cast away the rain. He looked back at the women.
Unknowingly on command, his tongue switched to his mother language.
Your heavy head raised up and he's frozen. For what he left back on a shelf, the dust cast into nothing as your presence reined down on him like the storm itself. Your face alone was enough to asunder the ice from his heart.
His lips pursed. His hand hesitantly hovered above his shades before taking them off.
The whites of your eyes grow. Ivory irises with scleras dark as obsidian stared back at you. Your pulse picks up momentum.
Everything plays out in a film within your theater of thoughts—laughter beneath the cherry blossom trees, water splashing as knees deep into the pond of koi in a messy dance while hand in hand, the bristling through bush leaves as fingers touched in a silent reunion, the festering summer heat cooled with shared popsicles, and arms caging one another under the milk of the moon in a quiet promise that later severed.
Across from you, his own mind played the same. And across you ran, breaking loose as the men try to chase, only to stop by a single raised hand from the man in white.
Your running slowed with mind in a disarray as you drag yourself to him while fighting through fatigue. You halt just a foot away.
He's taller now. His hair slicked back as usual. He's more muscular and riddled with a scar between his eyes. You could see his jaw taut, his eyes shifting away.
How dare he. How dare he look away.
Your gasp came out frigid as the air that settled within your bones. Your heart palpitated so hard you could feel it pressing against your breasts. You could feel the tendrils of shadows emerging around your neck to steal you of your breath. Your fingers felt of static.
You felt everything and nothing all at once. The anger, the sadness, the relief, the awe, and the frustrations ripping out from within.
Your breath hitched. Your vision began to blur as everything bubbled past your lips.
He's here, and yet, he was everywhere and nowhere.
He could see the tremor in your hand as you reached it forward. His neck snapped to the side. Sunglasses dosed in water as it fell to the ground.
A cherry red bloomed on his cheek in the shape of your hand, and his pupils turned black—his scleras turned white.
He's now awake in the present clear as ever.
He hears your breath tremble with a sob, and his heart aches. Crumbling from his own hands that he forged to be where he is now as his blood bleeds in the shape of your name.
You shove at him, tongue rotting with anger, "How could you!" The tears are overflowing, mixing with rain as you pound a fist to his chest like a child. "You promised, and you left! You left!"
Your mind becomes fuzzy as a chilling heat builds at your temples.
"Oo, drama…" Goo coos from the side.
He gulps, understanding at least one word in Japanese from you.
Gun calls your name but you don't listen—you're insistent on drumming your fists against him.
"Two thousand, nine hundred and twenty days, four hundred and seventeen weeks, and ninety six months! You know how fucking long that is?!" you rasp, gasping up at him through your onslaught of tears. "Eight whole fucking years!"
Damn, she counted, Goo thinks to himself.
Gun closes his eyes and wraps his fingers around your wrists. His skin was warm against your cold ones. But they're not gentle. They're hard. Just enough to hold him together.
Your voice cracks, "Say something!" Your hands desperately anchor to the white linen of his suit. You shake him hard that he stumbles forward and back. "At least look me, damn it!"
His hand squeezes your wrist as if to imprint you. To mold you into his own skin. He feels your pulse beating beneath him and knows you're real.
"I know," he peels his eyes open and steadies his gaze at you. "I know."
You see how he traces each line of your features as if to burn you into his memory, sculpting you from wood among the vast majority he's kept like a trophy. You're one made of gold in his eyes.
He whispers quietly with hardened eyes, "You shouldn't be here."
You don't know this man now, but you see the boy you fell in love with all over again.
"But I…" Your knees began to buckle, your breath coming out heavier than usual. "I finally found…" Your eyelids drop as your body sways. "…you."
Goo lets out a gasp, and Gun catches you against him.
"You've got some explaining to do," Goo tilts a smile.
"Piss off," Gun scowls in Korean, feeling your temperature with a hand at your forehead. He cradles the metal stick of the umbrella into the juncture of his neck, and arms behind your back as the other hooks underneath your knees. He looks to Goo and quirks his head to the car. "Drive."
"First you tell me to piss off and now you're asking me to drive? Have some manners, sheesh."
Gun strides to the car with you as one of the men opens the backseat for him, "Shut up. And get her belongings."
He carefully puts you in the corner up against the window and peels off his jacket to blanket over you, then shuts the door as he gets inside next to you.
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Bright incandescent lights strain your eyes when you awake. Your head pounds with a cold chill. Your throat burns with an itch. You sit up and cough.
"Easy now," a voice lulls.
A hand comes to your shoulder, easing you back down. Your head sits on a fluffed pillow like a hug.
You flutter your lashes open and squint. Everything is hazy. You can barely make out the shapes. You blink again and see black and white staring back at you.
Your voice rasps, "Where am I?"
"Somewhere safe." A thumb presses against your chin followed by a cold glass against your lips. "Open."
You do as told and let water trickle down your throat. The glass clinks against the wooden ground and hands leave you. Your hand shoots out to grasp, landing on an arm.
"Where you going?" you query worriedly, finding his eyes.
"Nowhere," he assures you. A plastic film now rests at your lips. "Medicine."
He feeds you the bittersweet syrup and you glumly swallow. You gladly take the water as he gives it back to you. You watch as he departs for a moment to come back with a hot bowl of soup. He sits you back up and tries to spoon it to you but you huff.
"I can feed myself," you mumble weakly, taking the bowl in your hands.
He fights back the roll of his eyes and hands you the spoon, "Suit yourself."
The moments pass as you quietly eat. He sits there crossed legged with a phone in hand, scrolling through nonsense of emails.
You hand back the empty bowl and he stops by the door when you call out his name.
"Where have you been?" you asked.
"Rest first and we'll talk," he says, closing the door behind him.
A day goes by, and only silence befalls through the hours. A week follows after, and you're feeling your body come back to itself.
His place is small—one room, one bathroom, and a kitchen that counts as a living room. It's bare throughout the trailer from what you've concluded. You aren't allowed to wander unless it was the bathroom; your phone was the only entertainment despite how dreadful the service here was.
Your thumb always hovers over your aunt's name.
Gun sleeps in the living room with his own futon while you rest in his room, always with the door opened. Sometimes you wonder if he even sleeps at all. Maybe just lying there awake to make sure he knows you're there.
You always hear in the other room when that Goo person shows up at the door with groceries. Gun just slams the door on his face right away, and you can hear Goo loudly pout about wanting to say hi.
Whenever you're with him, you can tell he's dodging the elephant in the room. That's until you hear him leave in the middle of the night when he thought you were dead asleep.
Gun sits out onto the front porch of the engawa with a pocket knife in hand carving away at wood, chips feathering to the ground in a pile. He fishes the silver lighter from his pocket along with a packet of cigarettes and hangs one between the pearls of his teeth. He cups a hand to shelter it from the breeze and ignites the lighter with a spark.
The cigarette glows like a firefly as he inhales the smoke into his lungs to ease his tense shoulders. Ashes brush dust off the tip as he taps it to the side.
He hears the door behind him open and he goes rigid again.
"You smoke?" you ponder, tilting your head.
A cloud billows from his lips. "Not around women."
"Mm." The blanket from your shoulders bunches around you as you sit next to him, your feet hanging off the engawa. Your palms dig into the edge. "Give me one."
He looks at you, perplexed. Bitter smoke ribbons around his face as he plucks the butt of the cigarette back between his lips. He slips one out and hands it to you.
You roll it between your fingers and study it, catching the label. "Good choice."
He flicks his lighter out, "Need a light?"
You hum to yourself, gazing at the stick then his. You wrap your lips around the butt and lean in.
He ignites it—it dies out. He didn't even get to fully light it. Because you're pressing your cigarette against his with a tilt of your chin.
He hears you breathe in and he can feel his soul being sucked.
His eyes trail down to your lips then back up. You're staring at him with lidded lashes. He blinks away the burn when you lean back to blow a smoke to his face.
"A junkyard, huh?" You flick away ash. "Didn't expect you the type to live somewhere like this. Are you that broke?"
"It's quiet," he answers. "And private. And, no, quiet the opposite."
"You sure all those high end clothes in your closet aren't stolen?"
"Not at all. All paid with my hard earn money."
"…where have you been working all this time, then?"
He falls silent, then, "In Seoul. For someone who took me in. He promised me power and money, and I took that offer. That's all you need to know."
"Power…" You bend your legs up to the porch and jut your chin on your knees. "Is that why he called you a monster?"
He studied you from his periphery, "Who?"
You sigh, "He and his group called Hostel took me in when I first got here in Korea. He's the one who tried to stop me from looking for you that day. But from the sound it…I'm guessing you know him, too."
"He's the punk who gave me this scar," he points between his eyes.
He clicks his tongue. "He'd be like me, too, if he took my offer."
"And who are you, really?"
He takes in another puff of smoke and exhales. "Just a man with the world in his hands."
You laugh. He's dodging again. "So you get to have everything. All the power, and all the money—yet you choose a dump like this?"
"Not everything," he confesses.
"Really?" You press your cheek against your knee to arch a brow at him. "Not even women?"
You squint and a frown etches on your lips from his answer. Then, "Are you a virgin?"
He crushes the cigarette between his fingers. He turns his head towards you with a tight smile.
"Would it upset you if I wasn't?" he jests.
Your lips purse. "I didn't say that." You turn your head away and gaze far into the night where the moon fades its light on rusted steel, ears peeled as the man next to you shaves off another scrap of wood. "Why didn't you take me with you?"
The scrapping stops as he glowers at the shavings in relics of himself. The air is astringent of tobacco and earthly metallic it's almost bitter as his words he speaks, "Because you were weak."
You storm off after that.
Gun wasn't sure if the words were directed at you.
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Both of you waltzed in a simmered vexation the whole week. Gun couldn't handle the silent treatment you gave him up until he dragged you to the awaiting car.
"Where are we going?" you asked, sitting in the passenger seat.
"Shopping," he looks at you momentarily then back at the road. "You need clothes."
"I've been doing just fine in your old ones," you deject.
Truthfully, he might go mad if he continues to see you in them. "Ones that actually fit."
It was an hour drive back into the city. Your feet heavies as you're strung along from store to store—luxury brands you didn't even know existed, and hidden gem bakeries that were just out of reach from where you previously stayed.
Each time you suggested a cheaper store, Gun would shrug you off. He'd tell you to choose whatever fancied your taste.
You stop in front of a vendor stall and feel his eyes on you. On top of the table is an array of shoes; one sticks out from the rest. You're gazing over the designs etched into the fabric one by one.
He looks at them then back you, "Do you want it?"
You lean back up to turn around. "No," you answer, "let's go."
He calls to the vendor and pulls out a handful of won bills.
A heat ripples across your cheeks and you pull at his sleeve, "No, it's fine—"
He hands over the won before grabbing the pair of shoes off the rack, sticking it into one of your bags he's carrying. His hand engulfs yours. "Stay close to me."
You can hear your pulse beating behind your ears that travel to the muscle fluttering beneath your ribs. Something awakens inside of you all at once as you hold onto him.
Your lashes flutter once, and he's a watercolor of the boy you knew eight years ago that tread you through the bush. You blink again and it's the man everyone calls the White Ghost.
Your mind starts to grow numb. Something wasn't right.
He navigates through the sea of people towards the elevator that leads down to the parking lot. Not much is conversed between you two on the car ride, especially when he pulls in front of a restaurant you don't recognize. It's nice and clean inside, and you're definitely not dressed for the occasion—just a simple pair of shorts and t-shirt with boots. Everyone else here seems to be in business wear.
A waiter sits you both down with menus and all the meals look fancy from the pictures.
"It's expensive," you gape, overlooking the prices.
"Don't worry about it," Gun reassures, "just get whatever you want."
You're not sure why he's been so adamant on paying for everything. You have money.
Would this be considered…a date? No, that couldn't be. He's your friend. Don't be foolish.
Then why does this knot churn away at your stomach the entirety on the way back to his home?
When he helps with lining the bags into the room, your mind fizzles into answers you desperately need. Paper crinkles beneath your finger tips as you're met with the pair of new shoes you oogled earlier today. He shuffles in the background and you're whirled into phantom arms that reach you from long ago.
"It doesn't work," he hears you mumble. He looks at you and sees you holding the pair of shoes.
"Did you even try it on?" he questions. You're trembling now and the dark of his eyes grow. "Were they not the ones you wanted?"
"This…" You clutch them tight into your hands. You drop them and stomp towards the other shopping bag and grab one of them. "All of this," your voice comes out ragged and bruised, the bag crumpling as it smacks against the wall, "changes nothing!"
When you turn to him with tears pearling in your eyes, his shoulders slump.
"You said we'll talk," you storm over to him, "so let's talk." You swing a hand to gesture at the new items. "You think all of this is going to make up for everything? You left me and you think buying me things and taking me out to some fancy dinner is going to solve every problem between us?"
The anger residing within you boils to the surface. An ocean resides in your eyes as you stare at him for answers he won't bring himself to reel in.
"All my life you've been wandering beside me like some ghost that I went out looking for you!" Your eyes burn so heavily that you rub away the salt with your knuckles. "I have spent nights wondering—dreaming! Then I thought…perhaps they killed you like they did Haruto. Then Somi told me and this whole time you were…" You gasp for air, hand fisting at your chest to ebb away the pain. But it just keeps flowing out.
"I didn't have a choice," he rasps. "Mother helped me escape after Shigen's defeat. And ever since then, I'd been locked up at a juvenile center. I had no contact to the outside world."
"But you said someone took you in?"
"That was after I got out. I only came back on a whim."
A whim? That almost angers you. You recall your conversation with your aunt and something clicks.
"My mother…" Your glassy eyes peer at his. "Was it you?"
Gun's throat cottons. He swallows and says, "Yes."
When he looks away, you grab at the front of his dress shirt.
What was the reason to go to such lengths? It wasn't his job to take that from you—one of which you've constantly dreamt beneath cold blankets and cherried bruises.
His mind flickers in film as he recalls blood painting the canvas of his face. The last sigh your mother took as her skin opened in petals bloom and bones splintered like brittle wood when he unlodged his arm from her stomach. The floor pooled in red as thick as oil.
Was it for his unyielding devotion he oathed to you? Or perhaps revenge for all your misfortunes in the form of tears he never got to wipe with his own hands?
One thing was clear to him; she could never harm you again and that's all that mattered to him.
You shake him, "Answer me!"
His hands come up to your wrists as he ponders for one. One opens from his caged heart, filtering through his lungs it blooms on his tongue, tasting the words that was once bitter.
Gun was never sure back then when he met you—something he's always wondered himself; something he could never name no matter how hard he tried to search for it throughout his life. He's only ever been born in the soil of wars, that much he's sure.
He always thought it was something you could only gain by hurting others.
His voice croaks in solemn admission, "Because I love you."
Something travels between disbelief and idyllic scourges within you. It finds home in your chest and transforms into your tear ducts.
Love? That concept felt foreign, melancholy. Terrifying. You couldn't grasp it. Was it something you could crown? Did you really deserve it?
But you've felt it before. And it was the most peaceful you've touched.
Take it back, you wanted to say.
Your fingers loosen on his dress shirt. You take a step back. He holds you still.
"You're lying," you croak.
You can't look at him. You flutter your lids shut and take another step back. He follows you in a quiet waltz, hands holding more grip as your shoulders collide against the cold of the wall.
His grip encase over your knuckles and he says, "If you believe me a liar then just say the word and I'll go."
Deja vu spears through you in catatonic strokes you feel a ripple of fear. The last time he said those words his departure wasn't of your own accord. But this time it could.
Your vise was imperceptible now that his shirt could be torn. You hung your head, labored in defeat and your sniffles wrung through as your tears won you. Your voice comes out rigid and broken, "Had you always known I was here?"
He presses his forehead just above your hairline. "I thought you freed yourself from your mother and started somewhere new in Japan where she could never find you. Somewhere you could be happy."
"Then why did you not come looking?"
"Because I didn't believe that was something I could give you."
"Back then…" You finally peek up at him through your tear covered lashes. "If your mother had told you where I was…would you had come looking?"
His breath slows and his right hand palms your cheek. His eyes flitted over yours as if searching, playing scenarios he could redo and stitch back together in some semblance of a man he could be for you if he tried harder.
"Perhaps if I had known back then…I would had flown back to Korea and ran everywhere I could."
You almost laugh. "Even when your legs give out?"
Forehead flat against yours, nose brushing your own, he tells you, "I'd crawl."
A gurgling choked noise rustles out your throat. Your body surrenders before your mind as your arms throw themselves over his shoulders. Your face rams into his chest and his arms wrap to catch you. You both collapse onto the ground, the wall being the only support to hold you both up as your back slides down, your legs folding beneath you, his knees thumping onto the ground and sliding in between your thighs.
The two of you grasp desperately at each other in an earnest hug. Fingers digging through fabric, your cries muffling in his chest, your vigorous tremble it rattles through him, and his other arm crossing over your back with a hand behind your neck.
"Had I not left, what would you had done?" you say through chattered teeth. "Would you take me then?"
"I'd tell you Happy Birthday and make up for all the festivals we could not share," he rasps, "and every other birthday you spent alone due to my negligence. Then I'd take you in this lifetime—not as a boy, but as a man."
What was once a cacophony of rain in spillage that had been home, there's a ghost once made from cloth and string now in the form of flesh and bone, shielding you in their arms, and casting back the sun. And that sun, once distant, now resides in your arteries. Something the earth could never disperse from your breath.
"I missed you," you tremulously cry.
"Yeah," he huffs, holding you tighter he's almost scared to let go, and for once, the shadows that once swallowed him no longer felt cold. "I missed you, too."
What felt like forever as you two hold each other, Gun's hands find their way to your tear stained cheeks, tilting your head upward for him to peer into your glassy eyes. This thumb reverently strokes your cheekbone as if to rewrite the woes embedded in them. He lowers his face closer and your palms perch on his knuckles, inviting to hold him there as you pull your weight down to your legs to straighten forward.
Lips mold against each other. At first, it's a slow dance, filling the quiet of wet lips. He pulls back momentarily to look at you again but you reel him back in and his panting rots behind his throat, flowing into a satisfied groan.
Your hands cling everywhere they can—his shoulders, his arms, his hips. They fiddle with the hem of his dress shirt and fingers find their way to peel beneath to lay just above his v-line. You feel his skin ripple. His hands shackle your wrists into one hand and he keeps them pressed to his stomach.
"Impatient," he pants, trailing his mouth down your jaw and up against your neck. You yelp from a sharp nip and he suckles.
"Gun," you whine, "what if people see that?"
He frees one hand to slither beneath your shirt, tracing along the side of your hip, feeling every dip and curve to mold against his flesh. But it isn't enough. He wants to worship you properly.
"C'mere," he sighs, anchoring his one arm underneath your bum and the other around your waist.
He steps over to the futon and gently lays you down. In one swift motion, he's tearing the buttons off his dress shirt before peeling it off his body, lazily tossing it with the rest of your bunched up bags.
You're trailing your eyes over the well known yakuza tattoos painted on his forearms. The familiar garnet washing with orange. You're tantalized by the litter of scars slashed across his abdomen and can't help but bring up a hand to feather your fingers across it. He shivers from your touch and tangles his own with yours, pressing your knuckles back against the futon covers.
He hunches back down and buries his tongue in your throat, moaning along with you. His other hand busies against hooking on the lining of your shorts and tugs them down. You wiggle your hips to help shimmy them off.
He goes for your shirt next. Your arms drape against your naked stomach, shrinking into yourself as he peers down at you to drink up every curve of your body. Warmth fans across your face as he plays with the hook of your bra that lays in front.
"Let me see," he muses, seeing how your fists are resting just beneath in ready to cover them.
Your lashes flutter up at him then look away, removing your arms to the side. He lets out a hum and unclips the hook before removing the bra with a toss to the side.
His slacks feels tighter, hips feeling a heat that almost throws him off his psyche. Your nipples perk from the cold that he can't wait to warm with his tongue.
His lips find the column of your throat and you let out a sigh. "Gorgeous," he says between kisses, trailing his mouth down your collarbone and in between the valley of your breasts. His words cause a bloom of red on your face.
"Gun…" you moan breathlessly, hips grinding up to reach him as he blankets his lips around a nipple. He turns his attention to the next one, twirling and writhing his tongue with a work of his jaw before planting kisses along down your ribs.
You pout, "They're comfortable, okay…"
Your chest rises up and down in heated anticipation, eyes locked on the way he pinches the hem of your underwear between his pearling teeth, just looking at you as he peels it off. He throws it behind him and peers down. You're soaked and his mouth waters.
The sheets rustle quietly as he slides you closer with his arms hooked under your thighs, fingers wrapping and digging into the supple flesh. Your abdomen tingles from the press of his lips nipping and leaving wet trails to your pubic bone.
"Wait, it's dirty," you whine, your hands grasping at his temples.
"I'll clean you up," he coos.
His tongue, warm and wet, darts out to press flat against your clit. He circles and swipes from side to side, jaw unhinging and bobbing. You brace your thighs against his head with a mewl as something in your belly begins to coil and churn.
"Mmph, good…feels so good…" you pant out.
He plunges the tip of his tongue inside of you and groans. You're so warm, so tight—he's almost impatient to feel you wrapped around his already throbbing dick. His mouth releases from you and you disappointingly whine.
He presses his cheek against your inner thigh and lays a chaste kiss. "So pretty," he tracks more down, "my pretty girl."
Your back arches off the futon, fingers digging into his hair, nails scraping his scalp, mouth wide open in a moan as he suckles and slurps on your clit. Every flick, and every stroke, he writes his name.
Gun has never let another person touch his hair before. But he'll make an exception for you if he gets to make you melt in his hands with those sounds that spur him further.
You're desperately grinding on his face, spew of whimpers from your lips, and messing up his hair as you tug him harder against you. Your eyes clamps shut, mind focusing on the work of his jaw as fluids run down the slip of your ass. Your blistering nerves beckon a dam within your belly to break, sending a tingling sensation up the pelvis to your taut throat.
He laps up your juices and trails a mixture of his saliva up to your naval with the flat of his tongue. He hovers above you and grips your jaw as his other hand slowly coats his fingers with your soaking cunt.
"Look at you," he jests, "so desperate to cum."
You gasp, "Please…" Your throat crackles out a sob as he slides two, thick, fingers inside of you, stretching to mold to him. Your hands fist at the sheets. "Gun!"
"Mm, not yet." He curls his fingers, earning a whine from you. He grins with all teeth. "Awe, you can be louder than that."
A wet plop resounds off the walls as he slides them out and thrusts back in to the knuckles. A sound croaks from your throat, mouth agape, hips in the air, and head lolling to the side. He does it again as the heel of his palm presses and rubs up against your clit that you clamp down.
"How many can you take?" he snarls, curling his fingers. "Maybe three?"
He slows down and probes one more finger, stretching you to him. You can barely keep your eyes open—face flushing and pussy restraining against his fingers. He satisfyingly hums to the fastening of your walls. He grunts as he shoves his fingers upward till his tips drive up against the roof, and he begins curling them back and forth with every stroke.
You moan out his name, throat taut for air.
He cups your cheek and leans down to peck kisses along your shoulder, biting and dragging a tongue over it, "One more, yeah?"
He shoves his pinky next down to the knuckle. Your hands wrap around his forearm with a loud gasp. "Cah…can't—too much!" you groan pathetically, nails bitting through his skin. You felt full, gripping him so tight it only felt like it was heightening the sensation of him pumping deeper inside of you.
"Too much, she says," he mocks, roughly palming your clit with the heel of his hand. "And yet you're grinding against me so desperately…how cute."
"I—oh, god—Gun, please!" You're wailing the words out, hips rolling against his palm, belly festering a knot.
"Juuust like that," he croons, licking his lips as if savoring the sounds of your cries and sultry juices soaking his hand. "You can take it…cum for me." He groans, feeling your cunt clamp and quiver around his fingers, soaking him even more as you cum with a cry, and he thrusts them harder to force it out of you. "There you go. Such a good girl…oh, my pretty girl."
A metallic jingle zips through the room and thuds to the floor as leather meets wood. A sharp hiss of the zipper follows. You're gulping for air as something swollen and hot teases at the entrance of your pussy. You flutter your tear soaked lashes open and squint below him.
There are olive and violet veins vining around the base of his dick, hard and blushing tip glistening with precum. He smears the head of his cock around your juices up to your clit and back at the entrance, tapping his underside against it. You're entranced between thrill and denial of being able to take him.
Your right hand palms your pelvis, imagining the shape imprinting inside of you. He sees this and bites down on his lip. Your pussy throbs and clenches at nothing, eyelids heavy as you stare at him. A warmth begins engulfing you again from the inside out.
"Oh, god…" you whimper, feeling him glide the underside of his cock against your labia. He felt so hot and heavy. You could feel him pulsing.
"You are going to look so pretty on it," his voice was molten with heat, eyes glued to your sticky juices drooling down the valleys of your supple thighs. His palms claps around your hips, thumbs soothing your skin. His eyes are fixed on the tip of his cock gliding inside slowly, disappearing till he reaches the first ring of resistance.
The stretch brings an immense sting. A sharpening of a blade that cuts at your nerves. Your neck tilts backwards with a hitch in your throat.
"Mmm, I know." He feels you engulf around him as if just squeezing his lungs that he has to gulp for air. He hits his sweaty forehead against yours and coos your name. "Relax. It's not even all of it."
Not all of it? You already feel full—it feels like he's in your lungs.
Your hands find his shoulders for purchase. Your eyes are screwed shut and straining against him as he pushes forward. Your chest caves with every breath of his name in prayer for either salvation or mercy. He seals your lips with his own and swallows your whines as he pulls his hips back before flushing it against your own.
He licks along your tongue, dancing in tandem with his thrusts that can't hold back. A shallow, weak cry of his name and he nearly spirals. The slap of wet skin rings hollow as he plunges harder this time, picking up a faster tempo to make your back arch.
The sheets ruffle beneath you both, the wood grain of the floor creaks like a wail of your own as he slams into you. You feel completely full—there's something else. Your stomach feels tight.
You break from the kiss with a gasp and peek between your bodies, hiccuping with tears pearling your eyes, "Ohh, fuuuck…"
There's an evident bulge at your stomach just enough to sketch out with every ripple of your skin to his thrusts.
"Deep," you choke, your nails gnawing his shoulders, "ahn..fuck, you're so deep…"
"And you're taking me so well," he muses, clasping a hand around your throat, fingers pressing onto the sides below your jaw. "Be a good girl and give me another, yeah?"
"I-I can't," you drag for breath, eyes rolling back and head feeling lighter, "it's—ahh—too much."
His fingers dig harder and all you can feel is the dragging sensation of every vein, every ridge of his cock pumping inside of you. The tip grinds against the roof of your pussy that makes your thighs clamp his torso as your vision starts to blur. A languid moan weeps out from your lungs, back arching to chase that growing numb of euphoria once again.
You're lurched back into ecstasy as he grinds his pelvis against your clit. "Too much…i-it's too much!"
"One more," he breathes. He hooks your leg over his shoulder and presses his chest flush with yours. The floor thumps and creaks as he drills inside of you much rougher this time. He huffs out a groan, feeling his tip start to tingle. "Haa..shit—c'mon, sweetheart. You can do it."
"Mm, there you go. That's it. Ohh, such a—mmph, my good girl."
You clamp down on him, vision eclipsing with lights behind your lids with a sob. He unhooks your leg to press every inch of your skin against his with arms circling beneath your hips to angle them up. His back welts with beads of blood from your nails cresting into his skin. Your teeth wound onto his shoulder, pinching into his nerves that he quivers from the mesh of pain into pleasure. His body trembles in tandem with yours as his dick twitches profusely with bursts of his hot, thick cum brimming inside of you.
Your jaw fastens tighter on his shoulder as your body writhes to the sensation of his heated cum flowing deep inside of you. You mewl and shiver, melting to the act of him claiming you from the inside out in such a sloppy mess.
"I love you," you spur incoherently, "I love you…"
He tilts you chin up to kiss you in response. His body feels like a thousand spiders crawling on his skin, moaning your name as he grinds the last of himself deep inside of you. He takes a moment to let you catch your breath before peeling his chest from yours.
"Fuuuck," he rasps, heavy lids flittering down at how much of his cum seeped out. Bracing his forearms by your side, he gives another roll of his hips, gawking at more of his cum drooling out, painting you in the most serene. He needed it everywhere on you body.
"Gun," you whine, body jittering with a sharp pleasure. Your fingers thread in his hair, lashes of dew fluttering at him. "I'm so sensitive, please…"
"One more," he repeats, voice filled with gravel as he hovers his lips above yours.
It's endearing how his name sounds on your tongue. The soft little gasps and sharp cries in a mix of plea and absolute insanity.
You looked at him the same as before when you both were younger. The crinkles on the edge of your eyes as you looked at him with such warmth. A small plea in prayer to the heavens that he never leave your side again. He wanted to keep it that way.
Back then, he used to look at you with wonder. Such curiosity blooming in his chest that reached out in phantom hands to tangle with yours through the wreckage. A simple symphony noted under choirs of cicadas and trickling water.
He looks at you now through a glass. Your leg crossed over the other. Your hands clasped together in your lap. You're still as beautiful as ever even through your waning smile.
How long has it been since he let you see him? He can't recall.
7552. That was his name now behind these prison walls.
His left eye looks a little less auburn these days. His bindings to his chest do not feel as cinched as before. But even so, there is still one behind his ribs that pang as the calender flips.
"Have you eaten?" Your voice sounds muffled through the glass. It's a better sound than the quiet in his cell.
Gun's white pupils trail down to the azure linen of his pants. "I have." His eyes shift to the silver glint on your finger. Not much, but a promise. One he plans to hold well until the real thing.
But how much can Gun Park make this time without breaking? He has broken enough bones—they can heal. But your heart? Scars are permanent. You were just better that mending with your hands while his are only ever taught to draw blood.
"You know that one day I can not give you all of me," he's told you once before—a time before the fall of Charles Choi.
"I know," you told him under the morning sun, your hands molding gel into his hair while combing a brush along the sides. "If not in this lifetime, then another. Because right now you're mine."
He's warned you many times that the path you walk alongside him could only end in pain. Selfishly, you both still ran to each other no matter how treacherous the ground molded. And somehow, you two still end up behind the bush.
He leans against the wooden chair and stares back at you, "And you?"
"I only had gyeranbab this morning. I need to go grocery shopping sometime soon. Maybe some unagi don this weekend, or perhaps karaage. What do you think?"
His lips twitch into a smile. "Karaage. With some pickled cucumbers on the side."
Gun listens to the wave of your voice, his elbow propped on the wood arm of his chair, knuckles pressed at his temple as you ramble about what spices to use this time. You comment about a potato salad, in which your aunt gave you a recipe the other day, instead of pickled cucumbers, and he suggests adding more mayo this time.
"Times up," one of the guards roar.
Both of you pause, eyes never leaving each other even as they grasp his wrists to put in shackles. The rattle of chains split in sound that bites through the churn of your stomach. You stand up and watch his back turn to you.
You call his name, acting as if the glass between you were invisible. "Don't stay out too late."
He cranks his neck to peer at you over his shoulder. He looks back down at the ring. Your fists fastened on the strap of your old bag—the Teru Teru Bozu hanging by a string mocks—in composure to the tremulous ache inside of you.
Gun does not believe in the fallacy of regrets. Only in the consequences in price paid that he chooses to muddy in. This is one of them behind chains.
Out of all people, you still choose to love someone as imperfect as him. A love he has never known till you barged in and still does not believe he deserves.
He loves you, that he knows. You're more than he could ever deserve as broken as he is now from years gone. He had shared a drink with a man he built a legacy with, and one day, he'll share his last name with you.
His own knuckles turn white. He could definitely use a smoke right now.
He poignantly smiles, "I won't."
dividers : me , strangergraphics , saradika , cafekitsune
stormborns
dailybridgerton
areudirty
titsay
andulkaphoto
annaxmalina
