𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄: KAGE

03.

Warning:

Sexual content ahead.

Smoking kills.

A little bit of BDSM.

*You can skip this chapter if you're not comfortable with the...hmm hmm {clears throat}...sex scenes. My sex scenes are pretty kinky even though I've never even had an orgasm since I was born, so please get used to it. Just skip if you don't like it.*

*P. S there are a few changes in this chapter, but don't worry, they are permanent for the rest of the story. For example, she called her parents Ma and Pa, now it'll be Mama and Papa because... Bruh wtf??? Ma?? Pa?? I laughed so hard when I read the previous chapters.*

*Yeah that's all, I'll stop talking now skjddjknsjmnk*

♧︎︎︎

The moon taught me that there is beauty in darkness too, that even when I don't feel whole, I am more than enough.
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As a child, I loved stories. I loved reading them, I loved even more when Mama read them to me. Folktales, fairy tales, fictional, Disney, whatever it was, I didn't care, as long as it was on paper and I could read it.

As time passed away, I grew more and more obsessed with reading. It became my hobby, my companion. I would sneak out with a book whenever Mama and Papa were in a meeting, when we were all forced to attend an event and I was bored and tired, or when I was done with dinner and there was nothing but the moon and a black canvas called the sky dotted with shiny crystals. I would sit at the balcony, my blanket wrapped around me like a cocoon, providing me warmth from the chills of the night, my hot cocoa in front of me as I flipped through the pages of my book, taking occasional sips whenever my throat got dry.

I read a lot of stories and my loving parents, mostly Mama, realized this and so she bought me a lot of books to read. Papa even built me a library for my personal use and filled it up with books of different genres. I loved every single one of the genres, but my favourites were those of the Greek gods.

Ares, Hades, Poseidon, Zeus, Athena and so much more. They intrigued me, fascinated me, and soon enough I started to fantasize about them. When I slept, I would see them in my dreams, when awake I would imagine them being with me, I even once asked Mama if I could turn into a goddess. I wondered what they would look like, being described to be so beautiful, each marked with their own flaws and their own mistakes, scarred with their stories, their own life. I wished to see a Greek god one day, so I could capture their beauty and keep it forever cherished in my heart, where only I would see it and no one else. For I wanted to see, just how beautiful God's creations were.

I've never seen anything so perfect.

The man in front of me is a figment of my teenage dreams. He is exactly what I imagined the gods to look like and so much more. There are no words to describe his astonishing beauty. Perfection. Beautiful is a word you could get arrested for if you used it for him. It's like God took his time to create him, molding him and carving him to his taste, sculpting him with calloused hands, taking his time to create one of his most finest creations. Man.

He is dressed in a black suit, tailored well, fitting him perfectly. Although I doubt anything he wore could look ugly. His opened chest and neck are littered with tattoos, the ink making him look scary and intimidating as if he was born with it. His eyes are as black as coal, a hint of the light from the club hinting in them, making them look like there are stars in them. He possesses the kind of eyes that would make you cower in fear, the kind of eyes that sees through you, the eyes that sees your hidden sins and your unspoken thoughts. Piercing, dark, mystifying yet beautiful. His nose looks as though it was added by an angel with perfect hands, delicately adding the important detail to his face, gently beautifying him with the feature. His mouth is beautiful, a pair of pink cupid's bow that are inviting me to take a taste. A taste of him. His jawline is covered by a faint yet visible stubble which does nothing to hide the sharpness of it. Sharp edges, soft skin, prickly hair. His black shiny long hair is pulled back into a ponytail, soft strands held prisoner by the hair tie which bounds them together. My eyes fall to his ears and I see the gleam of a piercing embedded into them, a tattoo behind the flesh. I read it. Rage.