#its lasted me this long and i still have enough in it to get that car without getting into the CD so hell yeah

[lila-lou]

✨Peanut✨

Summary: Stuck in a safe house with Soldier Boy is a test of patience—and nerves. He’s sharp-tongued, cocky, and impossible to ignore, pushing your boundaries just to see you flinch. You try to keep your distance, but he has a way of getting under your skin. You’re supposed to keep him in check, but the real challenge might be keeping yourself together.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Nickname, Shy!Reader, MENTION!Reader was touched without consent, Ben being as cocky as ever, some kind of fluff i guess

Word Count: 10523 (long ass shit here, lol)

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The room felt heavy, like the air itself was holding its breath, waiting for him to make the next move. Soldier Boy—Ben, as Butcher had instructed you to call him—sat at the battered wooden table in the middle of the safe house. He was grinding pills into powder with the flat of his knife, muttering to himself, the motion aggressive and precise. Every scrape of the blade against the wood sent shivers down your spine.

You kept your eyes fixed on the television, not really watching whatever rerun was playing. It didn’t matter. Nothing could drown out the weight of his presence. The way he dominated the space even when he wasn’t speaking. Even when he wasn’t looking at you.

You didn’t know why he tolerated you. Out of all the people who’d tried to babysit him since Butcher hauled him out of whatever Russian nightmare he’d been buried in, you were the only one still standing. Maybe it was because you didn’t push him. Or maybe it was because you were too afraid to even try.

Two years ago, your fear of supes had been planted like a landmine in your chest. One night, one supe, one scar across your soul. That was all it took to change you forever. Now, being in the same room as one, especially him, felt like walking barefoot through a minefield. One wrong step, and everything could go to hell. Literally, in his case.

Ben scooped the powder into a neat little line, the corner of his mouth twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smirk. “You don’t have to sit there like a deer in headlights, you know”, he drawled, not looking up. His voice was gravelly, tinged with a roughness that made you want to shrink further into the couch. “Not gonna bite”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. “I’m fine here”, you said quickly, your voice thin and brittle.

“Sure you are”. He leaned back in his chair, his shirt unbuttoned enough to show a glimpse of the skin of his chest. That chest. The one that could, and had, turned entire blocks into ash. He tapped his nose twice before snorting the line with practiced ease, sighing as he leaned back again. “You’re terrible at pretending, you know that?”.

Your breath hitched, and you cursed yourself for it. He noticed everything. “Pretending what?”, you muttered, eyes glued to the TV screen.

“That you’re not scared shitless of me”, he said, his tone almost amused now. “It’s cute. Kind of pathetic, but cute”.

Your stomach twisted. The urge to snap back at him rose like bile, but you shoved it down. Provoking him was the last thing you wanted to do. Instead, you focused on keeping your voice steady. “I’m not scared of you”.

Ben laughed—deep, low, and sharp enough to make you flinch. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart”.

You clenched your fists, your nails biting into your palms as you tried to keep your breathing even. This was your job. This was what Butcher had asked of you. Watch over him, keep him in line, don’t let him blow anything up. Easier said than done when every fiber of your being was screaming to get the hell out of there.

Ben finally looked at you, his green eyes narrowing slightly. “Relax. I’m not gonna hurt you”. His tone softened—just barely—but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “Not unless you give me a reason to”.

That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, but you nodded anyway, not trusting yourself to speak.

He reached for another pill, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “You know”, he said, his voice quieter now, “it’s exhausting, being treated like a goddamn bomb all the time”.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden shift in his tone. He wasn’t looking at you anymore, his gaze fixed on the table as he rolled the pill between his fingers. For a moment, he almost seemed… human. Vulnerable.

But you didn’t know what to say. Didn’t trust yourself to say anything. So you just stayed where you were, curled up on the couch, watching him out of the corner of your eye and praying you wouldn’t be the one to set him off.

Ben tossed the pill back, swallowing it dry like it was nothing before reaching for the whiskey bottle on the table. He took a swig, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and stood up. For one fleeting second, you thought he might leave the room, give you some space to breathe. But no—he grabbed a bag of popcorn from the counter, ripped it open with his teeth, and made his way to the couch.

You tensed immediately. There were at least three other places he could sit, but no, he dropped himself right beside you. Not just close—touching. His thigh pressed firmly against yours, the heat of him seeping through the fabric of your jeans like a live wire.

Your body locked up, your heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe. If he noticed your discomfort—and of course, he did—he didn’t let on. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth, his eyes flicking toward the TV screen before turning to you.

“Whatcha watching?”, he asked casually, his voice a little softer now but still holding that rough, unshakable edge.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely above a whisper. “Just… whatever was on”.

He snorted. “Riveting choice”. Another handful of popcorn disappeared into his mouth, and he leaned back, spreading out like he owned the place. Which, let’s face it, he kind of did. Every room he entered felt like it bent to him, like the walls themselves were trying to make room for him and his ego.

As the minutes dragged on, he kept up the small talk. About the shitty popcorn, the weather, the ancient couch springs that squeaked every time one of you shifted. His tone was light, conversational, but his eyes… his eyes were anything but.

He wasn’t looking at the TV anymore. He was watching you. Really watching you. The way your shoulders hunched in on themselves like you were trying to make yourself smaller. The way your hands fidgeted with the hem of your hoodie. The way your legs were pressed tightly together, like you were trying to disappear into the cushions.

“You’re tiny”, he said abruptly, almost thoughtfully, his gaze dragging up and down your frame. “Like, seriously. How are you even a person? You’re what, a buck twenty soaking wet?”.

You stiffened, your face flushing. “I’m… normal-sized”, you mumbled, refusing to meet his eyes.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Normal? Sweetheart, if I even looked at you wrong, you’d probably snap in half”.

Your stomach churned at the words, at the casual way he said them. Like it wasn’t a threat, just a fact. And maybe it was. He wasn’t wrong—he could break you without even trying. Supe or not, he was built like a goddamn tank, and you… well, you weren’t.

His gaze lingered on you, sharp and appraising, like he was trying to figure you out. “What’re you so scared of, huh?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less dangerous. “You think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The lump in your throat was too big, your fear too loud.

“Relax, doll”, he said, leaning a little closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “If I wanted to crush you, I wouldn’t need to waste my time sitting here talking to you, now would I?”.

That didn’t make you feel any better. In fact, it made your skin crawl. But you nodded anyway, because what else could you do?

Ben smirked as he leaned back, stretching his arm casually over the back of the couch. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly, his eyes never leaving you.

“So”, he drawled, cocking an eyebrow. “Got a boyfriend, Peanut?”.

The word caught you off guard, and you glanced at him sharply, your confusion momentarily outweighing your fear. “P-Peanut?”, you stammered, the nickname so unexpected it almost made you forget how close he was.

He grinned, his teeth flashing white against his scruffy beard. “Yeah, Peanut. You’re tiny, right? Probably weigh, what, eighty-five? Ninety pounds tops? I could pick you up with one hand, and you’d barely be a snack”. He chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like he found the whole thing hilarious. “Peanut fits”.

Your face burned with embarrassment, but you didn’t say anything. What could you say? He wasn’t exactly wrong, but hearing it said out loud—especially by him—made you feel smaller than ever. You tucked your legs up under you, trying to create some kind of barrier between his imposing presence and your body.

“C’mon”, he said, his voice lighter now, teasing almost. “You seriously don’t have some guy waiting around for you? Someone to take care of you? Feels like you’d need a bodyguard just to make it through the grocery store”.

You shook your head, your voice barely audible. “No boyfriend”.

He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin crawl. “Huh. Surprising. A thing like you? I’d think guys would be lining up”.

His words weren’t comforting. They weren’t meant to be. They carried an undertone that made your stomach twist, a reminder of how easily he could take you if he wanted to. You shifted uncomfortably, pulling your hoodie tighter around yourself like it could somehow shield you from the heat of his gaze.

“What’s the matter, Peanut?”, he asked. “I’m just making conversation. You don’t have to look so freaked out all the time”.

“I’m not freaked out”, you lied, your voice trembling just enough to betray you.

He snorted, clearly not buying it. “Sure you’re not”. He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees, bringing himself closer to you. The smell of whiskey and faint cigar smoke clung to him, mingling with something sharper, something distinctly him.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. Told you already, didn’t I?”.

You nodded again, but the tension in your body didn’t ease. If anything, it grew worse as his eyes traveled over you again, lingering in ways that made you want to sink into the couch and disappear.

“Man”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re wound up tighter than a fucking spring”. He reached for the popcorn bag again, the casual motion a stark contrast to the intensity of his words. “I don’t know what the hell Butcher was thinking, sticking me with you. You’re not exactly intimidating”.

You bristled at that, a tiny flicker of indignation breaking through your fear. “I wasn’t supposed to intimidate you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m just… here to keep an eye on you”.

He laughed—loud and abrupt, the sound startling in the otherwise quiet room. “You’re supposed to keep an eye on me?”. He leaned back again, throwing one arm across the back of the couch again and grinning down at you like he’d just heard the best joke of his life. “Fuck. That’s rich”.

You didn’t respond, biting your lip to keep the words locked in. You couldn’t afford to snap, couldn’t afford to give him a reason to escalate. Not with how close he was. Not with how easily he could overpower you.

Ben’s laugh faded into a low hum, almost as if he were talking to himself, but the words were loud enough to reach you. “You know”, he muttered, swirling the last of the whiskey in the bottle before setting it on the floor, “I could help you relax. You’re all wound up like a little bird that flew into the wrong fucking cage”.

The comment made your stomach tighten, your pulse spiking as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze wasn’t on the TV. It wasn’t even on the popcorn anymore. It was on you. Slowly, deliberately, like he was working through some kind of internal checklist, his eyes dragged from your face, to your neck, to the way your hoodie hugged your body.

“Yeah”, he said, his voice dropping lower, rougher.

“I’d probably crush you. Tiny little thing like you. But…”. He leaned his head back against the couch, as though considering something deeply. “I could figure it out. Work on my self-restraint”. He exhaled sharply through his nose, almost like a laugh, but it didn’t carry any humor. “Not sure you’d survive, though”.

Your throat went dry, and your mind raced for something—anything—to say to steer the conversation somewhere less terrifying. But the words wouldn’t come. It was like your brain had shut down entirely, overwhelmed by the weight of his presence and the dark, unsettling undertone to his words.

“I mean, shit”, he went on, almost lazily, like he was just idly musing. “It’d be a tight fit, no doubt about that. But I’d manage”. He turned his head toward you, one eyebrow quirking as though he was waiting for some kind of reaction. “What d’you think, Peanut? Think you could handle me?”.

Your heart felt like it might explode. You shifted slightly, trying to put even an inch of space between you, but the couch offered no escape. He noticed, of course he noticed, and the smirk on his face only widened.

“Relax”, he said again, though this time it sounded more like a command than a suggestion. “I’m just messing with you”. He leaned back again, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth like the last thirty seconds hadn’t just happened.

But the tension in the air didn’t dissipate. His words lingered, sinking into your mind like oil, staining everything. You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare breathe too loudly, your entire body coiled as tightly as a spring.

Ben glanced at you again, his expression unreadable now, the grin gone. “You really gotta lighten up, Peanut”, he said, almost absently. “You’re making me feel like a fucking monster”.

You wanted to tell him he wasn’t making it easy. That his very presence was suffocating. That every word out of his mouth only fed the gnawing pit of fear in your stomach. But you couldn’t. So you stayed silent, staring at the TV and praying that he’d get bored soon. That the night would end without him pushing any further.

Ben shifted slightly on the couch, the springs groaning under his weight. He tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling as if lost in thought, but you could feel his attention still anchored on you, heavy and unrelenting.

“You know”, he started, his voice low and casual, “I heard Butcher and that cum-guzzler talking about you”. He popped another piece of popcorn into his mouth, chewing slowly as though giving himself time to savor the words that would follow. “Something about why you’re so jumpy around supes”.

Your heart clenched, and you went rigid. You hadn’t realized Butcher had told him—why would he? What purpose would it serve, giving Soldier Boy ammunition? You glanced at him sharply, trying to gauge his intentions, but his expression was frustratingly neutral, save for the slight quirk of a smirk playing on his lips.

He chuckled, low and gravelly, shaking his head. “Can’t say I blame you”, he continued. “Sounds like you had a real shitty time of it. Some asshole supe gets a little too handsy, decides he’s owed something just because he’s got powers. That about right?”.

The knot in your stomach tightened, but you didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat felt like it was closing, the weight of his words pulling every horrible memory to the surface.

Ben didn’t seem to need a response. He let out a long breath, his smirk fading as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees again. “Here’s the thing, Peanut”, he said, his tone quieter now, almost contemplative. “Guys like that… they give the rest of us a bad name. Not that I give a shit about my reputation, but, you know, principle and all that”.

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Why… why are you bringing this up?”.

He shrugged, the motion casual, but the intensity in his eyes betrayed him. “Just thinking out loud. If that’s the only experience you’ve got with supes… well, no wonder you’re scared shitless. That’s the memory you’re stuck with”. His gaze slid to you, sharp and probing. “But maybe I could fix that”.

“Fix it?”, you echoed, your voice trembling. “What… what does that mean?”.

He smirked again, leaning back and stretching his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing just a hair’s breadth away from your shoulder. “I’m just saying”, he drawled, “maybe if you had a different kind of experience, you wouldn’t be so fucking scared all the time. Replace that shitty memory with a fucking awesome one”.

The implication in his words was crystal clear, and your stomach churned violently. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your hoodie, your nails digging into your palms. “That’s not…”. You trailed off, your voice barely above a whisper. “That’s not how it works”.

He tilted his head, studying you with a mixture of amusement and something darker. “You sure about that? Sometimes all it takes is one good memory to wipe out the bad. One moment to make you forget the rest of the bullshit”.

You shook your head, your pulse hammering in your ears. “I don’t think—”.

“Calm down, Peanut”, he interrupted, his voice dropping into that low, commanding tone again. “I’m not saying I’d do anything. Unless, you know, you wanted me to”.

Your breath hitched, and you pressed yourself further into the couch, as if the cushions could somehow swallow you whole. His gaze was piercing, unrelenting, and you could feel the weight of his words pressing down on you, suffocating.

“But hey”, he continued after a moment, his tone lightening again as he grabbed another handful of popcorn. “It’s your call. I’m just saying… I could make it worth your while”.

You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond. Your mind was racing, your body frozen in place.

The safe house was quiet except for the distant hum of the water running in the bathroom. Ben was in the shower, and you were stuck on the couch, your nerves coiled tighter than ever. It had been weeks since that first night, weeks of this strange, unbearable dance between the two of you. He hadn’t pushed things too far, but he hadn’t stopped either. The teasing, the lingering touches, the weight of his gaze—it was constant, suffocating, impossible to ignore.

And now, as you sat there waiting for him, you hated yourself for the stupid summer dress you’d chosen to wear. It was hot, unbearably so, and the safe house didn’t have air conditioning. The dress had seemed like a practical choice at the time—lightweight, easy to move in—but now it felt like a mistake. The fabric clung to your skin and you couldn’t help but feel exposed. Vulnerable.

You shifted uncomfortably, pulling the dress down as far as it would go and wrapping your arms around yourself. It didn’t help. The room felt stifling, and the faint sound of the shower only added to the tension. You couldn’t stop your mind from wandering, couldn’t stop the little voice whispering in the back of your head: What’s he going to say this time? What’s he going to do?

The shower shut off, and your breath caught. You stared at the TV, not really seeing it, your heart pounding as you heard the sound of the bathroom door creaking open.

Moments later, Ben emerged, a towel slung low around his hips and his hair damp, water droplets trailing down his chest. He was a vision of raw power and confidence, and he knew it. The smirk tugging at his lips told you as much.

“Hey, Peanut”, he said casually, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He grabbed a second towel and ran it through his hair, his muscles flexing with the motion. “Didn’t think I’d keep you waiting, did you?”.

You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back to the TV. “I wasn’t—”, you started, but your voice faltered. “I mean, I’m fine”.

“Sure you are”, he said, chuckling under his breath. He crossed the room, tossing the towel onto a chair as he made his way to the couch. You felt his presence before you saw him, the heat of him, the sheer weight of him, as he sat down beside you. Close. Too close. Again.

His eyes flicked to your dress, lingering for just a moment before he leaned back, draping his arm over the back of the couch. “Nice dress”, he commented, his tone light but his gaze sharp. “Didn’t know we were getting all dressed up today”.

Your face burned, and you tugged at the hem again, wishing it were longer. “It’s just… it’s hot”, you muttered, refusing to meet his eyes.

“That it is”, he agreed, his smirk widening. “But you didn’t have to go all out for me, Peanut. A little effort goes a long way, though, so… thanks”.

You clenched your jaw, your hands twisting the fabric of the dress in your lap. “I didn’t—”.

“I’m just messing with you. Don’t get so wound up”, his voice dropping into that familiar, teasing drawl.

You wanted to snap back, wanted to tell him to knock it off, but you couldn’t. You just sat there, frozen, your heart pounding as he shifted slightly closer, the edge of his thigh brushing against yours.

The problem wasn’t just that you were afraid of Ben anymore—though that fear was still there, lurking beneath every breath, every glance, every word. The problem was that, over the past few weeks, something else had crept in, something worse.

Attraction.

You hated yourself for it. Hated the way your pulse quickened when he smirked at you, the way your thoughts lingered on his voice, deep and rough like gravel underfoot. And now, as you sat beside him, that stupid towel slung so dangerously low on his hips, it was taking everything you had to keep your eyes on the TV.

But you failed. Of course, you did. Your gaze flicked toward him out of the corner of your eye, drawn like a moth to a flame. The towel clung to his hips precariously, the line of dark hair below his navel trailing downward, disappearing beneath the fabric. And lower—your breath hitched—the outline of him was visible, faint but undeniable.

You quickly looked away, your cheeks burning, your heart hammering in your chest. What the hell is wrong with me? you thought, biting the inside of your cheek so hard it almost hurt. This was Soldier Boy. Ben. The same man who teased you relentlessly, who could crush you without a second thought. A damn supe. And yet…

“You’re quiet, Peanut”, he said suddenly, his voice breaking through your frantic thoughts. His tone was casual, but you knew better than to believe it wasn’t deliberate. He always knew how to needle you just enough to get under your skin. “I mean, you’re always quiet, but today? What’s the deal?”.

You didn’t respond, your throat too dry to form a coherent excuse. You tried to keep your eyes locked on the TV, pretending to focus on the images flickering across the screen. But you could feel him watching you, the heat of his gaze sliding over your profile, lingering far too long for comfort.

“C’mon”, he pressed, his voice dropping an octave, rich and deep enough to make your stomach do an unwelcome flip. “You’re the only action I’ve got in this shithole they’re hiding me in. Least you could do is talk to me. I’m bored as hell over here”.

Your hands twisted in your lap, gripping the fabric of your dress like it was the only thing anchoring you to reality. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, not with the way his words made your skin flush and your heart pound.

“I don’t know what to say”, you mumbled finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben leaned back against the couch, his towel shifting just slightly. “You don’t have to say much, Peanut”, he drawled, his smirk audible in his tone. “Just give me something. Anything. Hell, even a complaint about how much you hate being stuck with me. I know you’ve got those”.

You glanced at him for just a split second, and that was your mistake. He was sprawled out, all lazy confidence, the towel still clinging low on his hips, the light from the TV casting faint shadows over his chest. The sight made your stomach twist, and you quickly looked away again, your cheeks burning.

“I don’t hate you”, you blurted out, immediately regretting it.

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Don’t you now?”. His smirk deepened, and he leaned in just slightly, the arm draped over the back of the couch brushing your shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me with the way you can’t even look at me half the time”.

You swallowed hard, your fingers knotting into the hem of your dress. “I just…”, you stammered, unsure how to explain without giving away too much. “You make me nervous”.

Ben tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost curious. “Nervous, huh?”, he repeated, his voice quieter now, like he was mulling over the word. “Why? You still think I’m gonna hurt you?”.

“No”, you said quickly, though the fear still lingered at the edges of your mind. “It’s not that”.

“Then what?”, he asked, his tone deceptively gentle, but his gaze was sharp, unrelenting. “What is it about me that’s got you so wound up?”.

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Your silence only seemed to amuse him further. He let out a low chuckle, leaning back again, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest.

“Shit, Peanut”, he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re like a puzzle I can’t quite figure out. Makes me want to push, see how far you’ll bend before you break”.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you forced yourself to keep your breathing steady, to keep your focus anywhere but on him. You didn’t know how much longer you could keep this up, this fragile pretense of calm, but you knew one thing for sure: he wasn’t going to let this go. Not tonight.

The tension in the room was suffocating, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands trembled as you placed them on your thighs, pushing yourself up from the couch. “I… I need some water”, you mumbled, not daring to look at him. You didn’t wait for his response—if he even had one—and walked quickly toward the little kitchen tucked into the corner of the safe house.

Your footsteps felt too loud against the worn wooden floor, the tiny kitchen offering no real reprieve from his presence. You grabbed a glass from the cupboard, your fingers trembling slightly as you filled it from the tap. You told yourself the sound of running water would drown out the pounding of your heart, but it didn’t.

The quiet click of his footsteps behind you made you freeze.

“Thirsty, huh?”, Ben’s voice came from far too close, his tone casual but laced with that ever-present teasing edge. He was right behind you now—you could feel him, his heat radiating like a furnace, the space between you barely a breath.

“I just needed some space”, you said, your voice quiet and shaky, gripping the glass like it was a lifeline.

“Space?”, he echoed, like the word was foreign to him. You heard him shift, his hand brushing lightly against the counter as he leaned against it. “Still can’t handle being near me?”.

You froze, the glass trembling slightly in your hands as you felt him step even closer. His body was right behind yours now, close enough that you could feel the faint brush of his chest against your back every time you shifted.

“You look really pretty today”, he murmured, his voice softer now, quieter, but no less unsettling. His words sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you gripped the glass tighter, your knuckles turning white.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against your hair, playing with a loose strand like it was the most natural thing in the world. The movement was slow, deliberate, as if he were testing your reaction.

“Didn’t think a little dress like that could make someone so…”. He trailed off, his fingers gently tucking the strand behind your ear from behind, his touch warm against your skin. “Sweet. You do surprise me, Peanut”.

Your heart pounded, your breath catching in your throat. “Ben, please…”, you whispered, barely able to get the words out. You didn’t know what you were asking for—for him to stop, to step back, to leave you alone—but your voice carried the weight of your unease.

“Oh c'mon now”, he murmured, his tone dipping into that low, velvety register that always made your stomach twist. “I’m just saying you look nice. No harm in that, right?”.

His hand lingered for a moment longer, brushing lightly against your shoulder, before he stepped back just enough to give you a fraction of space. But it didn’t feel like enough. The air around you still felt heavy, charged with his presence.

“You don’t take compliments well, do you?”, he asked, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice as he leaned casually against the counter. “What’s so scary about me telling you you’re pretty?”.

“Nothing”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ben’s gaze dropped, shamelessly traveling down your body. You could feel it, the weight of his eyes lingering on your legs. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips, and you caught the faint movement out of the corner of your eye. It sent a fresh wave of heat through your face, your stomach twisting into knots.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and teasing, almost contemplative, “it’s been quite a while for me.” He leaned a little closer, his arm brushing lightly against yours as he rested it on the counter beside you. “And with you here, looking like that, acting all shy and innocent…”.

He trailed off, his smirk widening as his gaze dragged back up to meet yours. “It’s really hard for me, Peanut”.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and your breath caught in your throat. Your grip tightened on the edge of the counter, your knuckles white as you fought to keep yourself grounded. “Ben, stop”, you said softly, your voice barely audible, but there was a tremble in it you couldn’t hide.

“Stop what?”, he asked innocently, though the glint in his eyes betrayed him. He wasn’t innocent, not even close. “I’m just being honest. You don’t want me to lie, do you?”.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart pounding as you met his gaze. His smirk was maddening, equal parts charming and infuriating, and the way he was looking at you—like he was sizing you up, deciding just how far he could push—made your pulse race for all the wrong reasons.

“I’m not… I’m not doing anything”, you stammered, your words tumbling over themselves. “I’m just—”.

“Just standing there, looking all sweet and pretty”, he interrupted, his tone playful. He straightened slightly, his height and presence towering over you as he leaned a little closer. “You have no idea, do you? How hard you make it for me to keep my hands to myself?”.

Your breath hitched, and you stepped back instinctively, the counter digging into your lower back as you put as much distance between you as you could in the small space. But he didn’t move closer—he just stayed there, watching you, his smirk softening into something almost… curious.

Ben’s smirk deepened as he watched you, his eyes narrowing slightly, like he was peeling back every layer of your defenses. “You know”, he murmured, his voice soft but still carrying that teasing edge, “I think you actually like me, Peanut”.

Your eyes widened at his words, and you shook your head quickly, your back pressing harder against the counter. “That’s not true”, you said, your voice trembling with the effort to sound convincing.

But he didn’t seem fazed. If anything, your reaction only amused him more. His hand darted out, slow and deliberate, resting gently on your hip. It wasn’t forceful, wasn’t threatening—it was almost careful, like he was testing the waters, giving you a chance to stop him.

Your breath hitched, and your body tensed under his touch. The heat of his palm burned through the thin fabric of your dress, the weight of his hand grounding you and overwhelming you all at once.

“You’re not pushing me away”, he said softly, his voice dropping lower, more intimate. His fingers flexed slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he was there. “That’s gotta count for something”.

You opened your mouth to say something, to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, but no words came out. You were frozen, caught in the weight of his gaze, the closeness of him, the way his presence consumed every inch of space around you.

His other hand came up slowly, brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen into your face. He tucked it behind your ear, his touch featherlight, his green eyes locking onto yours. “You keep telling yourself you’re scared of me”, he murmured, his tone quiet, almost tender. “But I think you’re scared of something else”.

“Ben, I…”. Your voice cracked, and you trailed off, your hands clutching the edge of the counter like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

“Shh”, he whispered, his hand on your hip shifting just slightly, his thumb brushing against the curve of your waist. “You don’t have to say anything, Peanut. Not if you don’t want to”.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your uneven breathing, the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner. His touch wasn’t rough or demanding, but it was firm, grounding, impossible to ignore.

And then, slowly, he leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against your skin. “Just… Push me away if you want me to stop. Promise I won´t be mad”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his lips so close to yours you could feel the ghost of their presence.

Your heart pounded, your mind racing with conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, and something far more dangerous bubbling beneath the surface. You hated how much you craved his attention, hated how much his touch made your body betray you. But even as you stood there, frozen, his words echoed in your mind: Push me away.

Would you? Could you?

The choice was yours.

Bot you didn’t push him away. You stayed still, your breath hitching as Ben’s smirk deepened. He took your silence as permission—or maybe just a challenge he was eager to win.

Without a word, his hands slid more firmly around your waist. Before you could even process what was happening, he lifted you effortlessly, like you weighed nothing. The glass of water slipped from your fingers, landing with a dull clink on the counter as he set you down atop it. The cool surface against the back of your thighs made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the heat radiating from him.

He stepped closer, pressing himself between your legs, his movements deliberate and unyielding. Your legs opened instinctively to accommodate him, the fabric of your dress sliding up as you shifted. The hem bunched high on your thighs, and your stomach dropped when you realized how exposed you were. The little triangle of fabric between your legs was on full display, and Ben’s gaze dropped to it immediately, his lips curling into a wolfish grin.

“Well, would you look at that”, he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the faintest edge of amusement making it all the more dangerous. His hands trailed down to your knees, his thumbs brushing against the inside of your thighs, sending a shock of warmth through your body. “Peanut, you’ve been holding out on me”.

You squirmed, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as if it could anchor you against the storm of his presence. “Ben…”, you whispered, your voice trembling, unsure if it was a plea for him to stop or to keep going.

“Shh”, he said softly, his hands sliding higher, spreading your legs further apart. “I told you, I’m not gonna hurt you”.

But the way he looked at you—the hunger in his eyes, the possessive way his hands claimed your body—made your pulse race for entirely different reasons. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your neck as he pressed his hips against yours, his body firm and unyielding.

“You have no idea”, he whispered, his voice rough and thick with desire. “No idea how hard it’s been. Watching you, waiting for you to stop running, stop hiding. But now…”. His lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Now I’ve got you right where I want you”.

Your heart pounded, your mind spinning as his hands continued their slow, deliberate exploration of your body. You hated how your body reacted to him, how the heat pooled low in your belly, how your breathing quickened despite yourself. Hated how much you wanted him, even when you knew you shouldn’t.

And Ben—he knew it, too. You could see it in his smirk, in the way his eyes burned with triumph. He was in control, and he knew it. You wanted him, and that he sure knew too.

Ben’s smirk deepened as his hands slid higher, his thumbs brushing teasingly against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His touch was firm but not rough, as if he were savoring every moment. He leaned back slightly to get a better look, his eyes darkening as they locked onto the little triangle of fabric barely covering you.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice low and full of heat, “I’ve been imagining this for weeks. But it’s even better than I thought”.

You opened your mouth to respond—to say something—but the words caught in your throat once more as he hooked a finger under the fabric. His gaze flicked up to meet yours, a wicked gleam in his green eyes as he gave you - again - just enough time to stop him.

But you didn’t.

With a sharp, controlled movement, he ripped the delicate material apart, the sound of tearing fabric echoing in the quiet kitchen. The force of it sent a jolt through your body, but it didn’t hurt. It was more of a shock—both from the action itself and the way his eyes devoured the sight before him.

Your breath hitched as the ruined panties fell away, leaving you bare to him. His hands stilled for a moment, his gaze fixated on your glistening, perfectly shaven lips. A low growl rumbled in his throat, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on your thighs.

”Fuck peanut”, he muttered, his voice rough with desire. “Look at you”.

Ben’s grip on your thighs tightened as his eyes darkened, roaming over every inch of you like you were something he was about to own. He let out a low, gravelly chuckle, shaking his head with that familiar smirk—cocky and unapologetically lewd.

“Is this what chicks are doing these days? All shaved, all fucking spotless?”. His thumb traced lazily along your inner thigh, teasing just close enough to make you squirm. “In the ’80s, everyone had a damn jungle down here. Didn’t matter who you were, movie star or some chick at a dive bar—hair everywhere. But this?”.

His thumb slid lower, brushing over the seam of your closed, glistening lips. The slickness made his touch effortless, his rough hands stark against your softness. “This is a whole fucking upgrade”, he murmured, almost to himself, his tone filthy and raw. “Smooth as hell… fuck Peanut, you’re like a fucking dream”.

Ben’s eyes stayed glued between your legs, completely enthralled, like he was witnessing something unreal. The pad of his thumb pressed further, parting your slick lips with almost lazy confidence. He slid it down to your entrance, where he paused, testing the way your body reacted to him.

“Fuck me”, he muttered under his breath, his voice gravelly and thick with lust. “You’re soaked, Peanut. Look at this. Look at you”.

Your breath hitched audibly, your chest rising and falling as his thumb pressed lightly against your entrance, his other hand tightening its grip on your thigh to keep you exactly where he wanted you. His touch was slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the moment.

“You’re fucking perfect”, he murmured, half to himself.

Ben’s thumb dipped just barely inside you, and the moment he felt how tight you were, he froze. His breath hitched, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips as he pulled his hand back. His grip on your thigh tightened, grounding himself as he muttered under his breath, “No fucking way. Not with my fingers. I’m not wasting this on anything but my dick”.

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, filled with a dark hunger that sent a shiver racing down your spine. He took a deep breath, his smirk returning as he dragged his hands up the outside of your thighs, pushing the fabric of your dress higher as he went.

“You’re something else, Peanut”, he growled, his voice thick and unapologetically filthy. “This body, this tight little hole… it’s all mine”.

He grabbed the hem of your dress, tugging it upward with slow, deliberate movements, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn’t. Instead, you lifted your arms instinctively, your breath catching in your throat as you helped him pull the dress over your head. The fabric slipped away easily, pooling on the floor beside the counter, leaving you bare except for your trembling body beneath his gaze.

Ben stepped back slightly, just enough to take you in, his eyes roaming over every inch of your exposed skin with raw, unfiltered desire. He let out a low whistle, his lips curving into a grin that was both predatory and approving.

“You’re even better than I imagined”. His hands moved back to your waist, firm and possessive as he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, positioning you exactly where he wanted you.

“You don’t even realize, do you?”, he muttered, his hands trailing over your hips, your stomach, your thighs, like he couldn’t get enough of touching you. “How fucking perfect you are. How fucking lucky I am”.

He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “I told you, Peanut. You’re mine now. Every inch of you”.

With one swift motion, Ben pulled the towel from his hips and tossed it carelessly to the side, revealing himself fully. Your eyes widened the moment you saw him—huge, heavy, and impossibly intimidating. A gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you instinctively pressed your hands against his chest, trying to push him away.

But he didn’t budge.

Your heart raced, panic and uncertainty flooding your senses. You weren’t a virgin, but this… this was different. The sheer size of him made your stomach twist with both fear and something else you didn’t want to name.

“Whoa there, Peanut”, Ben murmured, his voice low and teasing, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eyes as he glanced down at himself, then back at you. “Scared already? Thought you said you weren’t afraid of me”.

“I just…”, you stammered, your palms pressing harder against his chest, but he didn’t move. He stood there, unyielding, his muscles firm under your touch as he watched you with that same maddening smirk.

“Relax”, he said again, his tone dipping into that familiar mix of amusement and raw lust.

Your voice came out in a shaky whisper, your eyes wide and fixed on him. “This… this won’t fit. No way”.

Ben’s smirk deepened, the gleam in his eyes turning even more smug, like your fear only fed his ego. He let out a low chuckle, his broad chest rumbling under your trembling hands. “Won’t fit, huh?”, he repeated, his tone dripping with amusement. “You really think I’d let that stop me?”.

Your breath hitched, your fingers curling slightly against his chest as you tried to pull back, but his hands on your hips held you firmly in place. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “Don’t sell yourself short, Peanut. You’ll take it. You just need a little… encouragement”.

Your stomach twisted at his words, a mix of fear and heat flooding your senses. “Ben, I—”, you started, but he cut you off, his hands sliding slowly up your sides, strong and possessive.

“I’ll make it fit”, he murmured, his voice low and dripping with confidence.

One of his hands moved between your bodies, and your breath hitched as he grabbed himself, his cock heavy and intimidating in his hand. His green eyes flicked up to yours briefly, watching your reaction.

“Just.. relax, Peanut”, he said softly, almost mockingly, as he positioned himself. “This is gonna feel real good. Trust me”.

You bit your lip hard as you felt the tip of him slide through your slick lips, the slow, deliberate motion making your body jolt with unexpected pleasure. The contrast of his roughness and your softness was overwhelming, your hips twitching instinctively as his thick head dragged against you.

“Fuck”, he muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on where your bodies touched. “You’re already soaking for me. You feel that, Peanut? That’s your body telling you it wants this. Wants me”.

A shaky whimper escaped your lips, and you hated yourself for the sound, for how much you wanted him. The warmth, the pressure, the way he moved—it was too much, too intense, too consuming.

Ben chuckled, his thumb brushing over your thigh as he kept guiding himself against you, letting his tip tease your entrance but not pushing in just yet. “Look at you”, he muttered. “Already whining, and I haven’t even given you the real thing yet”.

You bit your lip harder, trying to stifle another whimper. His free hand slid up your side, gripping your waist possessively as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“Don’t hold back now, Peanut", he growled. “I want to hear every little sound you make. Wanna know how much you’re feeling this”.

The heat pooling low in your belly was unbearable, your body trembling as he continued his slow, torturous motions. He wasn’t even inside you yet, but the weight of him was enough to leave you breathless.

Ben’s cocky smirk softened just slightly as he began to nudge himself inside you, his movements surprisingly slow and deliberate. He pressed forward an inch at a time, giving you room to adjust to his size. His hands gripped your hips firmly, keeping you steady as he worked himself in, his gaze locked on your face.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered under his breath, the usual arrogance in his tone giving way to something deeper, rougher. “Tight as hell. I knew you’d feel good, but this? Fuck”.

You winced at the stretch, your body instinctively tensing around him as he pushed in further. The sensation was intense, overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the soft whimper that escaped your lips.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice low and almost soothing as he paused, letting you adjust. “I know, baby. It’s a lot. But you’re doing good. So fucking good”.

Your hands gripped his forearms, your nails digging into his skin as he slid another inch deeper, the burn of the stretch making you gasp. “Ben”, you whispered, your voice trembling, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.

“I’ve got you”, he said, his voice steady and firm, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your skin in a rare gesture of comfort. “You’ll get used to it. Just breathe”.

You tried to focus on his words, on the way he moved so slowly, giving you time to adjust to every inch of him. The stretch was still intense, still bordering on too much, but as he eased in further, your body began to relax, the pain giving way to a different kind of pressure.

“That’s it”, he murmured, his lips quirking into a small smirk as he watched you. “See? I told you you’d take it, Peanut”.

You couldn’t form a response, your breath hitching again as he pushed in another inch. He groaned softly, his head falling forward briefly, his self-control evident in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.

Your body trembled, the overwhelming fullness leaving you unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. He stayed still, his hands firm on your hips, his gaze softening just slightly as he gave you a moment to adjust.

“You’re doing so good, Peanut”, he said, his voice low and almost gentle, though the hunger in his eyes hadn’t faded. “Just a little more, and then I’ll make you feel real fucking good. I promise”.

Ben pushed in further, inch by inch, until he finally bottomed out, his hips pressing flush against yours. The sheer fullness, the stretch, was almost too much, and a breathless moan escaped your lips, mixed with a high-pitched whine that you couldn’t suppress. The sound seemed to drive him wild.

“Fuck”, Ben groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your collarbone as his hands tightened on your hips. His breathing was ragged, and his entire body seemed to tense as he fought to keep himself in check. “You feel… Fuck, Peanut. You’re so fucking tight”.

You trembled under him, your hands instinctively clutching his broad shoulders as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely. He was so big, stretching you to your limits, and every inch of him pressed against places you didn’t even know could feel like this.

“Ben”, you whispered, your voice shaky, unsure if you were pleading for him to move or to give you more time to adjust.

“I know, baby”, he muttered, his voice gravelly and low, muffled against your skin. “I know. Just… fuck, just give me a second”. He groaned again, a deep, primal sound that vibrated through your chest, his hands gripping your waist like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.

“You’re perfect”, he murmured, lifting his head slightly to press his forehead against yours. His green eyes burned into yours, dark with lust and something deeper, something almost reverent. “Fucking perfect. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me”.

You let out a shaky breath, your body slowly relaxing more around him as he stayed still, letting you adjust to the fullness. His hands moved to cradle your thighs, spreading you wider as he groaned softly again, his lips brushing against your jawline.

“Breathe, Peanut”, he said, his voice softening for a moment as his thumbs rubbed gentle circles into your skin. “Just breathe. You’re taking me so damn well”.

The praise sent a rush of warmth through your body, making you shiver against him. Slowly, he began to pull back just an inch, testing, watching your reaction with sharp, hungry eyes. The drag of him against your sensitive walls made your breath hitch, and his smirk returned as he groaned again.

“Yeah”, he growled, his voice thick as he leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. “You’re gonna love this, Peanut. I’ll make sure of it”.

Ben groaned deeply as he began to move, the drag of his length against your tight walls slow and deliberate. He pulled back just enough to make you feel every inch before sinking back in, his hips pressing flush against yours once more. The stretch still made you wince, but the intensity of the sensation was quickly mingling with something warmer, something almost unbearable.

“Shit”, he muttered against your collarbone, his breath hot and ragged. His lips grazed your skin, his teeth scraping lightly as he fought to keep his pace measured. “You’re squeezing me so damn tight. Like you were fucking made for me”.

A breathless whimper escaped you as he thrust again, a little deeper, a little harder. The fullness was still overwhelming, but with every slow, calculated movement, your body started to adjust, to mold to him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, and he smirked against your skin, clearly enjoying the way you clung to him.

Ben’s thrusts grew harder, his hips snapping into yours with more purpose, more force. The sound of your bodies meeting filled the room, raw and intimate, but you bit your lip, desperate to keep quiet.

But Ben noticed. Of course, he noticed.

“Peanut”, he growled, his voice low and commanding, roughened by pleasure. He angled his hips just slightly, hitting a spot that made your back arch involuntarily. “Don’t you fucking hold back on me”.

A soft whimper escaped you, and his smirk returned, wicked and dangerous. “That’s more like it”, he muttered, his hands gripping your hips even tighter as he thrust again, harder this time. “I want to hear you. Every. Fucking. Sound”.

You clenched your teeth, your nails digging harder into his shoulders as you fought to keep quiet, but it was no use. His pace was relentless now, each movement deliberate, dragging pleasure and desperation out of you with every stroke.

“C’mon, baby”, he murmured, leaning in close, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t be shy. I want to hear how much you love this. Want to hear you beg me for more”.

You shook your head weakly, trying to resist, but when he thrust again, deeper than before, a moan slipped past your lips, raw and unrestrained. Ben groaned in response, the sound rough and guttural as he rocked into you harder.

“Fuck, that’s it”, he growled, his teeth scraping against your neck as he buried himself to the hilt again. “That’s the sound I’ve been waiting for. Knew you couldn’t stay quiet forever”.

Your breath hitched as he moved faster, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. His hands moved up to grip your waist, holding you steady as he claimed every inch of you, his lips grazing your skin as he spoke again.

“You feel that?”, he muttered, his voice thick with satisfaction. “Feel how perfectly you’re taking me? That tight little body of yours was made for this, Peanut. Made for me”.

You couldn’t hold back anymore, your soft moans turning into desperate whimpers as he pushed you further and further. His words, his touch, the sheer intensity of him—it was too much, too overwhelming. And Ben—he soaked in every sound, every tremble, every gasp, his grin widening as he kept driving into you like he couldn’t get enough.

“That’s my girl”, he murmured, his hands sliding up to cup your face as his eyes locked onto yours. “Now stop holding back and let me hear it all”.

Ben could feel it—the way your body tightened around him, your walls fluttering as you approached the edge. His pace didn’t falter; if anything, it became sharper, more deliberate, each thrust angled perfectly to drive you closer to unraveling completely.

“You’re close, aren’t you, Peanut?”, he murmured. “I can feel it. You’re squeezing me like you don’t wanna let go”.

You whimpered, your nails raking against his shoulders as the pressure in your core built to an unbearable intensity. Your head fell back, your breath coming in short, desperate gasps, but Ben wasn’t about to let you hide from him.

“Uh-uh”, he said sharply, his hands gripping your hips harder as he slowed his thrusts just enough to regain your attention. “Don’t you fucking look away”.

Your eyes fluttered open, your gaze hazy and unfocused as you tried to meet his. His green eyes burned with intensity, dark with hunger and something possessive that made your stomach twist. He leaned in, his forehead pressing against yours, his movements deliberate and unyielding as he pushed you closer and closer.

“When you come”, he growled, his voice rough and commanding, “you look at me, Peanut. Got it?”.

You nodded weakly, unable to form words, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He thrust harder, deeper, his rhythm relentless now, each motion pulling soft cries from your lips that you couldn’t control.

“That’s it”, he muttered, his gaze locked on yours, unyielding. “That’s my girl. Let me see it. Let me see you fall apart for me”.

The final thrust sent you over the edge, your body clenching tightly around him as your release crashed through you. Your eyes locked onto his, your vision blurring with the intensity of it, and Ben groaned deeply, the sound rough and raw as he watched every second of your undoing.

“Fuck, Peanut”, he muttered, his voice strained as your walls gripped him like a vice. “You’re so fucking perfect like this”.

Your body trembled as the waves of pleasure coursed through you, and even as you came undone beneath him, Ben didn’t stop. His movements slowed just enough to let you ride out your high, his hands firm and steady on your hips as he kept you exactly where he wanted you.

“Fucking beautiful when you come. Told you I’d make you love this”, he murmured, his smirk returning as he leaned in to brush his lips against your ear.

Ben wasn’t close to being done with you—not by a long shot. After a moment of catching his breath, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the couch and sitting down with you straddling his lap. His hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you as he eased you down onto him again. The stretch made your breath hitch all over again, but your body had already molded to him, making it easier this time.

“You’re not done yet, Peanut”, he murmured, his voice low and smug, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “Not until I’ve had my fill”.

You didn’t know how much more you could take, but your body responded on instinct, your arms wrapping around his neck as he thrust up into you, slow and steady. Every motion sent shivers through you, the pressure building again despite how spent you already felt. His hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, holding you steady as he moved beneath you.

Time blurred. You lost count of how many times he made you come—how many times your body tensed, shook, and fell apart in his arms. Ben took his time, alternating between hard, commanding movements and surprising moments of gentleness, as though savoring every second. His voice was a constant in your ear, filthy and possessive, coaxing every moan, whimper, and gasp out of you like they belonged to him.

By the time you collapsed against his chest, your body spent and trembling, you couldn’t even think straight. Your breaths came in soft, shaky gasps, your cheek resting against his chest. Ben’s hands moved to your back, stroking gently now, his touch grounding as you slowly came down from the overwhelming high.

“Shh”, he murmured, his voice softer now. “You’re done, baby. You’ve earned your rest”.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you securely against him as he leaned back into the couch. The tension in your body eased, and you felt your eyelids grow heavy, the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body lulling you into a daze.

Surprisingly, Ben didn’t push for more. He simply held you, his rough hands surprisingly gentle as they traced lazy circles on your back. His cocky smirk had softened into something almost content, his head resting against the back of the couch as he watched you drift off.

“Guess I wore you out”, he muttered, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest as he shifted slightly to make you more comfortable. “Can’t say I blame you, Peanut. You did good”.

You didn’t respond—couldn’t respond—as sleep overtook you. Completely spent, your body went limp against him, your soft breaths warm against his skin as you passed out in his arms. And for once, Ben didn’t press or tease. He just stayed there, holding you close, his gaze lingering on you with something almost resembling pride.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

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[buckevantommy]

Buck could fill a small bakery with the amount he's baked in the past few weeks. He cleaned out the flour shelf at his local corner market, used a coop's worth of eggs, pushed his mixer to the limit, and had his oven working near constantly. Every neighbor on his floor and everyone he's passed in the lobby has had a loaf of some kind left on their doorstep or politely shoved into their hands. Everyone at the station is begging him not to overload them on anymore sugar - they'll take the carb-loaded meals he makes at work but avoid Buck the moment he enters the bay doors with a basket of saran-wrapped sweet bakes.

The worst part is that it's not even working anymore. It never really distracted him enough to not want to call Tommy, just put his hands and head to use for an hour or two at a time so that he couldn't text or call.

But now there's nothing left to bake with. And Eddie is looking at houses in El Paso. And everyone has family to go home to, except for Buck. And every reason he has for not being the one to reach out first goes out the window.

After a few rings, Tommy answers with a questioning: "-Buck?" and it's a gutpunch he doesn't need today but he's already feeling like shit so the pain just gets absorbed into the rest of it.

"H-hey, Tommy." It feels good to say his name under- well, not better circumstances than addressing his broken heart, but something with a bit of tentative hope at least.

And it's good to hear his voice. The voicemails and audio notes and videos from their time together have soothed him and tormented him at different times, but hearing Tommy respond sends a pang of longing through him.

"Um. I-I, uh."

"Are you okay?"

A bitter sound trips its way out of Buck's mouth. "No. No, I-I'm not okay."

"Are you hurt?"

The urgency in Tommy's voice thrills him; he still cares. But Buck doesn't want to misrepresent himself, doesn't want to trick Tommy into caring about what he's going through.

"Guess that depends."

"On what?"

"What kinda hurt you mean."

There's an inhale across the line. "What can I do?"

Tears prick at the corners of Buck's eyes. "I just- need someone to talk to." He doesn't say: even though we're not together anymore, can we still be friends? because even though he's missed Tommy being in his life, he doesn't know if he could be just friends.

"Okay." Buck hears some rustling in the background, footsteps, background noise receding. "I'm here. Talk to me."

Tommy wants to hear what Buck has to say, he always did. So Buck talks. He tells Tommy about Eddie moving away, and Tommy listens. And when it gets too much he tells Tommy about a new niece or nephew of his on the way, and Tommy offers his sincere congratulations. And then he tells Tommy about his baking coping mechanism and Tommy quiets.

So much so that Buck checks to see if the call dropped.

"I'm on my fifth engine," Tommy admit. "I keep taking them apart and putting them back together until they work better than before. But everytime I was done I had to start again, fix another broken thing, because I couldn't fix.."

Buck takes an unsteady breath. Us. "Me."

"No," Tommy says emphatically. "I couldn't fix me. Too broken to be good enough for you."

It's a heartwrenching confession, but Buck feels a smile beneath the tears sneaking down his face. "You don't think I'm broken? Nobody stays for me, Tommy. At some point I gotta realize I'm just not someone people wanna stick around for in the long run."

"Evan.."

Buck breezes over the sound of his name in Tommy's mouth, can't dwell on how good it feels because it won't last. "Guess neither of us are forever guys, huh." His heart, bruised and battered, bleeds a little more. The tears stream freely now. He sniffles, but manages to steady his voice as he says: "I loved you. That was real."

Tommy's breath hitches. "I was a coward."

Buck nods. Cries some more. They're both fucked up.

Tommy hesitates, but then: "I'm off-shift soon. We could.."

He leaves it hanging. There's so many ways Buck could finish that sentence, most of them unbearably hopeful. He doesn't want to stay in his empty apartment anymore. "Yours?" His voice is a little wet. "Maybe I could help you with that engine."

Tommy's breath of amusement is a balm to Buck's aching heart. "You know something about vintage cars I don't?" It's teasing, and gentle, and Buck has missed this.

"Maybe. Maybe trying to do it alone is the problem."

Another breath of laughter, followed by resignation in Tommy's voice. "Yeah. Maybe you're right."

Buck listens to him breathe for a moment: in, out, in..

"I'll meet you at mine."

Buck's poor heart beats a little stronger.

*

It was more than an hour later, of battling crosstown traffic and then letting himself into Tommy's house because Tommy had explicitly told him to use the spare key. They never gotten to the point of swapping keys. That probably should've been a step they didn't skip over. Buck's too-long legs had skipped too many for Tommy's comfort.

He pushes all thoughts of that aside. He's not perfect, he's too much, but Tommy agreed to see him. Tommy wants.. he's not sure.

Buck stands in the little living room, surveying Tommy's space while his mind spirals, heart yoyo-ing between hope and hopelessness. He doesn't know how much time passes when the front door opens and Tommy appears in the entryway.

He looks good. Tired, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by, but good. His hair is a little longer all over, and it suits him. Buck wants to tell him as much but he can't seem to say anything.

Then Tommy says, "Hey," soft and concerned and fond, a sad smile at the corners of his eyes.

And Buck's tears threaten back into his own. "Hey." His voice is watery and brittle.

Tommy's there in three strides, gathering Buck into his arms, and Buck lets himself be wrapped in an embrace. Winds his arms around Tommy and presses into his solid warmth. Breathes him in as the tears come.

He feels safe. Seen. His heart cradled in care the way his body is cradled in Tommy's arms.

Buck takes a deep, steadying inhale of Tommy's scent and pulls back enough to look him in the face. His hands loose their grip at Tommy's shirt, smoothing to palm him through the cotton.

"About that engine.."

Tommy's smile is wide enough to crinkle his eyes in that way Buck loves, with joy etched in the creases.

"I wanna help you, if you'll let me. We could make it work. Together."

Tommy's eyes glisten. His smile breaks into a grin. "I'd like to try that."

buck probably called tommy every chance he got when they were together. driving home from work and stuck in traffic, it’s time to call tommy and tell him about his shift. late night in bed and he’s struggling to fall asleep without him, tommy’s soft voice will lull him to sleep from the other side of the phone. both on shift and the calls had been particularly slow, he will go and sit on the roof with tommy on loud speaker and they will just talk about anything and everything.

and when buck finds out that eddie is thinking about moving back to texas, tommy is the only person who he wants to talk to about it. so he finally gives in and calls. and of course, tommy will answer.

[hai7ani]

Haitani Rindou, Me and My Girlfriend Tokyo Revengers' Ending Special

Your birthday is cold. The wind is big and your jacket is not doing its job good enough. Orangey leaves fall from the trees and they land on your heads. Sweet potatoes have never tasted so sweet before, but he thinks your smile is sweeter.

Tokyo has been getting pretty cold these days, but Rindou is always warm.

"It's soooo cold." You hide your face into his much thicker jacket and mewl like a sweet little kitten seeking for warmth. He reels your body in closer to wrap his arms around your figure, tight. "Told'cha to wear the other jacket." He sways you both around lightly. Your paper bag from Chrome Hearts is heavy and he grabs it off your fingers.

"But I wanted to wear this one for today. You got it for me." You sneak a peek from his chest to look at his face. He rolls his eyes in faux annoyance as you smile cheekily.

Draken is not happy with what he's seeing.

"What the hell? Did this guy just skip the gang meeting to date? That's some lame shit." He clicks his tongue, irritated. A thick vein bulges from his forehead and he starts stomping towards you both, who're standing under a tree all cuddled up together and so, so cozy 一 it's such an eye-sore.

Emma stops him before he can get any closer. "Oh, leave them alone, would you? Let them date in peace. Haitani Ran attended the meeting anyway!" She scolds, hands on her hips. Senju drags along Hinata with sparkly eyes and a wide-open mouth. "Ehhh? She's so pretty! They look so good together."

"Hah? Ya tellin' me four eyes' got a girlfriend?!" Hakkai's strikingly blue eyes almost falls out of his sockets as he witness the scene before him: you're stepping on your tippy toes to place a smooch on Rindou's cheek sweetly, and he's actually smiling like a damn fool. Sanzu only snarls 一 a common reaction for a guy who's just broken up with his girlfriend, while Hanma is busy smirking as he lights up a cigarette. "He's got some balls showing up here all lovey-dovey." ...He'd just broken up with his girlfriend, too.

Mitsuya snickers, "they've been together for a very long time already, I'm surprised you lot just found out about this," while Souya and Nahoya seem normal about it. "Do you guys not follow his SoundCloud? He makes a lot of songs for her. He shared his link with us willingly, too."

Chifuyu pitches in. "Last week they visited the pet shop to get some cat supplies, and he pretended not to know me with his nose up high, but he made me give him a staff discount while she was busy playing with Peke J. Evil person, I say." Baji smacks the back of his head, "that's just you, dude. He said hi to me and Kazutora." The said man raises his hand as a confirmation.

Inui's face does not change. "Draken wasn't around so he doesn't know, but they both came by D&D the other day to make me check on his car. We don't fix cars, bruh, but he still left with his engine problem solved. No idea how, 'cause I didn't do shit. Goofy guy."

Kokonoi sighs. "It's been ages since they've been doing this, guys. Has no one ever realised the freaking hickeys on his neck? He's fuckin' cocky 'bout 'em too."

But as always, Draken is quick to get pissed off even with reason. He scoffs, "So what? We meet up just once a week to talk about the gang. Is it so hard to show up for just two hours every Sunday?"

...Mikey is always faster. He's already looming over you both (in his head he is) while the others are still busy busting their heads over you two.

"You." His voice is flat and his eyes are squinted, very annoyed. He looks like a grumpy child pissed that he didn't get a souvenir from his classmate. It doesn't help that he is much shorter than your boyfriend as well.

"What the hell are you doing here? If you wanna skip a meeting at least don't show up at our venue to show off. Are you asking for a beating?"

You poke your head out from his jacket just enough to take a quick look at Mikey who is standing behind you both, arms crossed while tapping his feet on the ground. Rindou turns his head and eyes the growing crowd who're slowly circling around you both.

Shion and Izana shrug simultaneously with their hands in the air when Rindou glares at them. 'We didn't say shit,' but his best friend mouths to him anyway, 'dumbass'. And for once, Kakucho is laughing.

From the corner of his eyes he can see Ran slowly approach you both, left behind by the crowd while sucking on a popsicle at this weather like the maniac he is. He quickly stands properly to fix on your clothing gently without letting you go from the confines of his jacket 一 to keep you warm like the loving boyfriend he is or to keep your face hidden like the petty boyfriend he is, you're not too sure.

He faces the crowd with you hiding behind his back, eyes wide as you listen.

"It's my girl's birthday today." He simply mutters, loud enough for the crowd to hear. No attitude, no eye roll 一 just five words, plain and simple.

"Huh?" The steam rising off of Mikey's head vanishes like a fire being put off by water, and Draken's expression significantly drops. He immediately coughs into his fist and bows a little when he sees you looking at him, pretty eyes folded into thin crescents as you pat on your boyfriend's back a little, whispering into his ear to ease up.

"What? I can't take you out to shop on your birthday now?" He says it to you with the expression of a sad little mistreated puppy and you try your best to shut him up while laughing. "Yes, yes you can. Now quiet, be nice to them." You say between giggles.

"Sorry. Happy birthday." Mikey immediately apologises, dazed. You snicker against Rindou's back and try your hardest to nod as a courtesy with your face half-hidden.

He still has something to say, though 一 like the big boy who doesn't like being misunderstood that he is 一 despite your best efforts on making him play nice and not be rude to his friends.

"I didn't come all the way here to show off, baka. We're waiting for this guy to celebrate together." He explains, one finger pointing to his nonchalant brother, as you both meet with Ran under the lamppost.

"And, dating isn't lame. Still being single is." His gaze switches to Emma who is playing with the buttons of her cardigan silently behind Draken, with a teasing smirk on his face.

"Asshole-"

"Bye. Don't follow us." He mocks the way Draken's mouth moves with a grin and you hit his arm while lightly bowing to the others as a goodbye.

"She looks so familiar." Takemichi whispers as he watch the three of you take off, and Hinata hums for him to continue. "I feel like I've seen her before."

Mikey looks at him with a soft smile on his face, as he takes a glance back at the rest who are still discussing about you two. They're all loud and boisterous, but they're having fun, and they're alive.

And suddenly the wires connect in his head.

Yeah, that's right. In the timeline before this, the timeline before that, and in all the timelines he's met with the Haitani Brothers, he's seen you too. You and Rindou side by side, and you're always together with Ran. You and him were never together before this because of your disapproval on their dangerous gang activities, but you are together now, in this timeline, where Ran and Rindou aren't just juvie kids and they're no longer cold-blooded murderers.

Mikey knows that too.

"Finally a happy timeline, right, Takemicchi?"

i'm extremely late to this but happy 2 years since tr ended and also not much tags cus idk what this is honestly. just read for fun LOL :p

[starrihan]

Little Black Dress (Beomgyu Fic)

-> Pairing: Beomgyu x afab! Reader

-> Plot: You don’t have a crush on Choi Beomgyu… so why are you getting ready to see him at a party?

-> Genre: smut, college student! Beomgyu x college student! Reader, dom! Beomgyu, sub! Reader, fingering, piv sex, doggy, no protection (wrap it up), both reader and beomgyu are drunk,

-> Ft. Belle from Kiss of Life and Soobin (he catches some strays, sorry)

-> Warnings: none

-> Word Count: 2,709

-> Notes: I just wanna thank you guys again for getting my leehan fic to 35 notes in 3 days like that’s actually crazy to me! I hope you enjoy this little fic! Also I did not proofread this but I wanted to get it out today please excuse any mistakes in spelling thank you!

-> Fun fact: Beomgyu is my ult bias and TXT is my ult group

༄ ༄ ༄

It was embarrassing enough that you wanted his attention. It was even more embarrassing the lengths you’d go to get that attention. When it boiled down to it, Choi Beomgyu was the root of all your problems. If it wasn’t for Choi Beomgyu, you would’ve won the 7th grade science fair. If it wasn’t for Choi Beomgyu, you would’ve been valedictorian of your high school. If it wasn’t for Choi Beomgyu, you wouldn’t be scrambling to get ready for this party right now.

It was the last party you would attend before finals week and you knew Beomgyu would be there. You curse yourself for letting it get to this point. Beomgyu was always better than you, always one step ahead of you.

You don’t know what you were trying to achieve by dressing up and looking hot at this party, but you didn’t care. You just wanted Beomgyu to think of you as anything other than a nerd who wasn’t even as smart as him. With your makeup done, you turn to find an outfit.

“Which dress do you think looks better?”

You turn to your roommate, Belle. Holding up a short, silky, dark blue dress in the left hand and a long sleeved, short, strappy black dress in the right.

“The blue one looks cute and comfortable. But if you want Beomgyu to fuck you, I say go with the black one.”

“I do not want Beomgyu to fuck me”

You said, rolling your eyes at her, but still going with the black dress anyways. You didn’t want to come to terms with the fact that you did, ever so slightly, have a crush on Beomgyu. You knew for a while, since high school, when he started dressing better and grew into his face more. It became lustful when you got to college as he grew taller than you had expected and he was very lean, his long black wolf cut and blonde highlights the subject of many sleepless nights for you. You shook your head at the thought and put on the black dress, while Belle took the blue one you didn’t choose to wear. After pregaming with 2 shots, you felt good enough to start walking over to the party. Being a lightweight, 2 shots was enough to have you feeling buzzed. You quickly grabbed your things, keys, purse, phone, and headed out.

༄ ༄ ༄

Upon arriving at the party, you see your friends Kai and Taehyun. You go over with Belle to greet them. When they notice you guys coming up to them, they pull you into hugs.

“Hey guys! Finally you’re here!” Kai says, laughing.

“I was ready, it was Y/N that took her time.”

“It’s the last party of the semester, forgive me for wanting to look nice.” you retort.

“Alright, alright, enough with this. Wanna grab a drink? Me and Kai just finished our cups”

Taehyun says, breaking up your little argument. You both nod and follow them to the kitchen that the drinks were in. After taking another shot, you decided to just chill with your little group for now, saying hello to some other friends here and there.

༄ ༄ ༄

A little while later, 5 shots in, you start feeling a little drunk, and decide to drag Belle and your friends to the little group of people dancing in the middle of the living room. It’s as you’re dancing with Belle that you catch a glimpse of Beomgyu, who was looking straight at you. A smirk finds its way onto his face, knowing he’s been caught looking at you, but he doesn’t look away. It’s then that you notice your cheeks feeling hot, though you don’t know if it’s from the alcohol or if it was because you were blushing under his gaze.

Beomgyu always had a little crush on you. Ever since elementary school where he first saw you. He was always too shy to say anything to you though, always opting to hang out with his friends rather than go up and talk to you. When he got that first grade back that was better than yours, he saw how you sulked and felt bad. He wanted to apologize but it seemed that you had gotten over it rather quickly, so he didn’t feel the need to do so. As the years went by, he could tell that the better he got, the more furious it made you. He liked the attention it brought to him from you, always telling him how you’d do better than him on the next test, even though you never did. He felt that, even though you hated him– or so he thought– that the negative attention it brought him was better than potentially getting rejected by you, so he opted for teasing you about his better grades instead, always making it a point to study harder than you to get those good grades. And the way you were shying away from his stare right now had his chest swelling with pride.

“I have to use the bathroom,”

He ripped his eyes away from you, glaring at his best friend, Soobin, for having the bladder of a hamster.

“You’ve only had 3 drinks dude.”

“I can’t help it! The bathroom door doesn’t lock, I need you to stand outside and make sure no one comes in while I pee!”

He groaned at the taller male, ultimately following him to the bathroom and waiting outside the door for him. Beomgyu was only slightly drunk, but he could feel the effects of the 4 drinks he had starting to kick in. A couple minutes later, Soobin came stumbling out of the bathroom.

“Damn dude are you alright?” Beomgyu asked, concerned for his best friend.

“Yeah, I’m alright. Do you need to go? I’ll wait for you out here.”

Beomgyu nodded, taking the opportunity to use the bathroom before Soobin got too drunk. The time this happened, he had to carry Soobin home on his shoulders while holding his pee in. He did not want to go through that again. As he was washing his hands, he didn’t expect you to come stumbling into the bathroom.

“Oh, I didn’t know you were in here, I’m sorry,” you said, your words slightly slurred, about to leave before his next comment made your ears perk up. He scoffed,

“Dumber than me and no common courtesy? I should’ve figured”

“Excuse me?”

You turned around on your heel, hoping he didn’t actually say what you had heard. Figuring that Soobin probably forgot that he was supposed to stand outside the door and decided to walk off, he looks up at you.

“Who walks into the bathroom without knocking? The door was closed.”

“Why didn’t you lock the door then?”

“Locks broken. I had Soobin waiting outside for me but I guess he left.”

“He probably couldn’t stand your insufferable ass anyways.”

He looks at you with an amused expression on his face. He walks closer to you, kicking the door close behind you in the process. He leans into your ear,

“I’m insufferable?”

He lets out a small chuckle, the close proximity of his mouth to your ear sending shivers down your spine.

“Y-yes. Yes, Choi Beomgyu, you’re insufferable.”

“God, I love it when you say my full name.”

All while he’s breathing into your ear. He smirks as your stutter, knowing that his stance is getting to you. You can’t help the arousal that’s pooling between your thighs right now, the way he’s talking into your ear has you rubbing them together slowly.

“Can you get out? I want to use the bathroom,”

You say, trying to move away from him. Unfortunately, the small bathroom didn’t provide much room for you to move, trapped between the door and the sink, and Beomgyu of course.

“Admit that you want me, and I’ll leave.”

This time, he moved his face away from your ear and looked at you face-to-face, his mere inches apart from yours.

“I’m not gonna admit something that isn’t true. Now move.”

You try your hardest to sound as commanding as possible, but to no avail. Your voice comes out broken, the effect of the alcohol in your system on display.

“Oh yeah? Then why are you rubbing your thighs together like you need me?”

You didn’t know what to say and instead avoided his gaze. He takes his hand and holds your jaw lightly, having you face him.

“Say you don’t want me right now and I’ll get out. I promise.”

But you don’t say anything. You don’t want to admit that you want him but the ache in your core is telling you otherwise. Your eyes are pleading with him, hoping that he won’t force you to say it and will just fuck you instead. He gets the memo, releasing your jaw from his hold, moving both his hands down to your waist to pull you in for a kiss. Your arms instantly wrap around his neck.

The kiss is hungry, your moans coming out immediately at the contact. He takes this opportunity to gently slide his tongue into your mouth. You slightly tug on his long hair, causing him to bite your lip as he pulls away.

“I like when you pull my hair.”

He says to you, attaching his lips to your neck. He’s a little harsh, biting down on you like a chew toy, but you love it, continuing to pull his hair. He moves his hands around your body, stopping at your ass and giving it a good squeeze.

“You look so sexy in this little black dress.”

“I’m glad you like it, I wore it for you.”

“Did you now? I knew you wanted me. ”

His tone is cocky, but you love it. You only moan as a response, wanting him to touch you where you needed it the most.

“Please touch me, Beomgyu. I need it.”

“Fuck, normally I’d have you beg more but I can’t wait.”

He hikes your dress up before slipping his fingers into your wet slit.

“And no panties either? I didn’t know you were such a slut.”

The comments came rolling off of his tongue, only making you want him more.

“Shut up,”

You basically mewled back at him as he was working his fingers along your slit. He unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers. His hard dick sprung out, finally free from its confines. You looked down at it. It was a lot bigger than you thought. He looked at your expression and laughed before inserting two fingers into your arousal. You let out a loud gasp as the intrusion, not expecting him to put them in right away.

“I know it’s big honey, you’re drooling. I’d have you on your knees for me, but I need to be in you now,”

He says. He thrusts his fingers in a few more times, making sure you’re prepped and ready for him. He makes you face the mirror, going in from behind.

“Watch yourself as I ruin you on my cock,”

He says before sliding in. He lets out a long sigh, waiting for you to adjust before moving.

“M-move,”

Is all you can say, knowing you’ll start slurring if you say anything more. The room is spinning, partly due to the alcohol, but mostly because of the way Beomgyu starts slamming his hips into you. He grips your waist tight, moving you back and forth to meet his thrusts. Eventually, you start rocking yourself back onto him, wanting more. The way he has you chasing his thrusts only makes his smirk grow wider.

“You’re so eager for my cock baby, keep fucking yourself onto me.”

You can’t respond as you start to move yourself on him faster. His hand snakes around your neck, pulling you into a sloppy kiss, taking over again as his other hand holds you in place, thrusting into you faster and deeper than before. You can’t keep the kiss going as your moans grow uncontrollable, your walls fluttering around his dick.

“I’m s-so clo-ose Beomgyu, please…”

“You’re so fucking sexy when you beg for my dick”

Your whining and begging has him speeding up, not knowing how much longer he can last with you around him.

“Do it, come for me Y/N.”

His words are all it takes before you’re coming hard all around him, dripping down onto his cock. He pulls out and pulls your dress up higher before finishing on your ass. He gives it a good slap, to which you yelp, before grabbing some toilet paper to clean you off. You’re both panting really hard, silently trying to catch your breath and stop the room from spinning as much.

“Wow, you came a lot! It even dripped onto the floor a bit!”

“That’s your cum, dumbass.”

“Oh”

You stand up, pulling your dress down before stretching, the way you were arching your back earlier making you feel stiff.

“Now will you admit that you wanted me?”

“No. But I can’t lie, you were really good.”

He pulls you into a hug, which confused you.

“If you couldn’t tell, I like you Y/N. And I know you like me too. But if you aren’t ready to admit your feelings for me yet, it's okay. I’ll wait. But you have number, let me know if you want to do this again when we’re not drunk.”

He gives you one last, slow kiss before letting go, walking out of the bathroom and leaving you to yourself. You smile, using the bathroom and fixing yourself before heading out. Feeling a lot more sober now, you approach your friends.

“Finally you’re back! You were gone for like 20 minutes. Is everything okay?”

Belle asks, shouting through the loud music. You just smile and nod, think about the events that just transpired. The party dies down after a bit, you and Belle agreeing that now is a good time to leave. As you leave, you catch Beomgyu’s eyes again, but this time he winks at you. Smiling back at him, you walk back to your dorm.

༄ ༄ ༄

“Okay so can you tell me what happened and why you took 20 minutes in the bathroom?”

You sigh. Of course she would ask the moment you got back in the dorm. You’re surprised she didn’t ask you on the way back.

“You were right. I did want Beomgyu to fuck me. And he did…”

“WHAT?!” WHY WOULDN’T YOU TELL ME BEFORE!”

You cover your ears dramatically, signaling her to quiet down as it was quiet hours at the dorms.

“First of all, stop shouting. Second, it was too loud at the party. Plus I like keeping you in suspense. But yeah he basically confessed that he likes me and he told me that he knew I liked him but said he’d wait for me to tell him myself.”

“Wow, I didn’t think he was so mature. But finally you admit that you like him. I was going crazy”

She says as she plops onto her bed.

“When you guys do eventually get together, please don’t fuck him while I’m here. I don’t wanna hear you moaning for him.”

“Fuck you”

[writtenwhalien]

a lover's redemption | chapter 3

chapter 3. the new normal

pairing ↠ mafia leader!park jimin x reader

genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)

summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.

word count ↠ 13.3k

18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).

taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3

notes ↠ please enjoy and shareeeee xxoxoxox and pls share your thoughts w me as we get into it ;) also in case its not clear, jimin's birth year in the fic is 1995, same as real life, and Y/N is 2 years younger than him. I always put the year for any flashbacks so you can work out how old they are :) any confusion, please let me know (i might make a mistake!) thanks angels! <3

17th July 2009

The heavy scent of cigar smoke lingered in the room, curling around the dark oak furniture. Jimin sat quietly beside his father, his small legs barely brushing the floor. Across from them, Lee Han-Jae exhaled a long puff of his cigar, looking tired.

“They confirmed the crash?” Jihoon asked, his tone devoid of warmth.

Jimin did not know what accident his uncle and father had planned but he knew that his father had been on edge all day because of it.

Han-Jae nodded. “Mostly. But he's gone.” He downed what was left of his drink. “Did we take care of the family?”

Jihoon swirls his glass. “We’ll let them go, they have no one.”

“Except Kija and Min-Baek-hyun,” Han-jae counters.

“They mean nothing to us.”

“But they were loyal to Sehun.”

Upon hearing this, Jimin goes still, realising what’s happened. 

“Their loyalty was not just to Sehun but the entire Han family. They will protect them at all costs and they’ve been in this long enough to know not to retaliate if they want to keep themselves safe.”

Han-Jae says nothing else of the matter but his face does little to mask his disapproval. He took another puff of his cigar before he spoke again. “The other two men survived. Escaped before the flames could finish the job. They’re digging through the wreckage, but the police are sniffing around."It seems dental records are proving... inconvenient.”

Jihoon’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “Inconvenient?” he echoed. “The detectives are a problem?”

Han-Jae waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

“Funny,” Jihoon said, leaning forward slightly. “You said the same thing about the last case they opened. And now I hear whispers about them building something bigger — trafficking charges. Another detective’s on the case, isn’t he?” His tone sharpened. “You’ve been careless, Han-Jae.”

The room tensed, the air thick with unsaid threats. Han-Jae stiffened, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment. “Watch your tongue, Jihoon.”

Jihoon’s lip curled. “You’ve been playing dirty, using our resources to fund your side business."

Han-Jae remained indifferent. "You'll be asking for a share soon. All the pieces are almost complete and this detective is nothing more than a bump in the road. I'll deal with it."

"That's besides the point. I trusted you and you're acting foolishly."

"Foolishly?"

"Is it not?" Jihoon asked, patronising.

Jimin watched as Han-Jae got up wordlessly and walked over to his cabinet. He picked up the decanter and generously poured himself some whiskey.

“I’ve given you more than enough leash,” Jihoon continued, his voice rising. “But if you think I’ll let you drag my name down with yours, think again.”

Han-Jae emptied his glass before he turned, his face a mask of fury. “We’ll talk about this later,” he spat. “We have somewhere to be.”

Jihoon didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned his attention to Jimin, his gaze cold and commanding. “Get a gun.”

Jimin froze, his blood turning to ice. His lips parted, but no sound came out.

“Now,” Jihoon snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut. "Then meet me by the car."

Jihoon left the room and Jimin followed, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. He went towards the basement, down the stairs and past the training floor, all the way to the locked room at the back. Some of his father's men watched as he walked, but none said a word. Hands trembling, he pressed his thumb to the scanner and waited for the door to unlock, revealing an entire array of weapons lining the walls.

Jimin didn't think. He picked up the first handgun he saw, checked it was loaded and then walked out with the cold metal feeling alien in his grasp, the weight far heavier than he anticipated.

Without realising it, his feet carried him to the kitchen, where his mother stood slicing vegetables. She turned at the sound of his shaky breathing, her eyes immediately softening when she saw the gun in his hands.

“Jimin,” she whispered, crossing the room in an instant. She crouched down in front of him, pulling him into a gentle hug. The faint scent of lavender filled his nose, momentarily drowning out the suffocating reality around him.

“I can’t,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “I can’t do it.”

His mother’s embrace tightened. “I never wanted this for you, Jimin,” she murmured, her voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled back, brushing his hair from his face with trembling fingers. “But this is your life now. Your father won’t wait. If you don’t go back, he’ll only get angrier.”

Jimin shook his head. “Why do you let him—” His voice broke off and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

"I'm so sorry." Her face crumpled, but she quickly composed herself and closed his fingers around the gun. “You have to go now, before he comes looking for you.”

Reluctantly, he nodded, his small frame trembling as she kissed his forehead and guided him toward the door.

The container yard smelled of damp concrete and iron, the air thick and stifling. As Jimin stepped out of the car, he immediately spotted Kwan and Duri ahead of them. 

Jihoon and Han-Jae walked ahead while Taemin and Jimin followed behind. As they went further into the yard, around a dark corner, Jimin glanced at Taemin, hoping for some kind of answer. Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a reassuring smile of sorts when Jimin glanced his way, but it did little to make him feel better. Jimin figured he knew where they were going since he and his dad spoke often.

Duri pulled the heavy door of one of the containers open as they approached and both fathers stopped short outside of the container. Han-Jae laughed mirthlessly and they both stepped aside for Jimin and Taemin to see.

Two detectives knelt on the floor, their faces bloodied and swollen, their hands tied tightly behind their backs.

Suddenly, the dead weight of the gun in his hand felt heavy again.

Jihoon glanced over his shoulder. “Stay here,” he ordered both boys.

Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a solemn nod but said nothing.

Jihoon stepped into the container, and crouched in front of one of the detectives, his voice low but menacing. “I warned you to stay out of my business. But now, you’re here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

The detective spat at Jihoon’s feet, earning himself a sharp backhand. Jihoon stood, motioning to Jimin. “Come here.”

Jimin hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Now, Jimin."

Taemin looked between them and gently nudged Jimin forward. "Go on," he whispered.

Reluctantly, Jimin got closer, his eyes glued to the ground.

"This man is a threat to us,” Jihoon said, calmly. “End him.”

Jimin’s breath hitched. “I-I can’t—”

Jihoon’s hand lashed out, striking him hard enough to send him stumbling. “You’re weak,” he snarled, stepping close to Jimin and speaking low in his ear. “Your mother’s made you soft.”

Jimin’s head snapped up and he ignored the harsh stinging sensation on his cheek. “Is that why you always send her away?” he asked, teeth gritted. “To keep her away from me?”

Jihoon froze, his face darkening. For a moment, Jimin thought he might strike him again. But instead, Jihoon looked right at Jimin and spoke, his voice icy. “She chooses to leave. Every time she walks out that door, it’s her choice. And it’s time you grew up and realised that.”

Jimin’s grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles white. He didn't look at the man before him but raised his arm, finger closing around the trigger. "You're right," Jimin said, voice low. "It is time I grew up."

The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, the sound ringing in Jimin’s ears long after the man’s body hit the floor.

Jihoon’s voice cut through the haze. “Finally.”

But Jimin didn’t hear him. All he could see was the blood, pooling and spreading across the cold concrete. All he could feel was the weight of his father’s shadow, pressing down on him, suffocating him.

Jihoon glanced at Han-Jae, his lip curling in irritation. “You deal with the other one.”

Han-Jae smiled thinly, his hand settling on Taemin’s shoulder. “Go on, son.”

Taemin hesitated, his youthful face pale under the dim light of the yard's lights. He glanced at Jimin, whose expression was frozen in a mix of horror and detachment, and then back at his father.

Han-Jae’s smile faded. “Do you want to disappoint me?”

The weight of that question hung heavy in the air, and Taemin swallowed hard, but slowly, he stepped forward.

The second detective, bloodied and trembling, began to plead incoherently, his words dissolving into a sob.

Jimin’s stomach churned violently. He couldn’t bear to watch as Taemin raised the gun with far steadier hands than his own, nor could he endure the suffocating tension of the warehouse any longer. His voice was hoarse as he muttered, “I’m going to the car.”

Jihoon turned his head slightly but didn’t object. “Fine. Go.”

The indifference in his father’s voice stung more than any reprimand. Jimin moved toward the exit, his legs unsteady but quickening with each step.

The sound of the gunshot rang out just as he stepped out of the container, the echo chasing him into the night.

The air outside was still warm despite it being well past midnight. Jimin usually loved late summer nights like this but not today. As he walked around the bend, he felt more hot, and the humidity worsened the thick, suffocating tension inside.

He made it only a few steps further before his stomach betrayed him. Rushing over towards a stack of crates, he retched violently. The contents of his dinner surged upwards and all Jimin could hope was that he was far away enough from his dad.

His throat burned, and his body trembled as he leaned a hand against the cold metal for support.

When the heaving subsided, the silence around him felt deafening. His mind was a storm of guilt and revulsion. He could still see the detective’s lifeless eyes in his mind, and worse, as he still held the gun now, he kept imagining his finger was still around the trigger.

“This is your life now,” his mother’s voice echoed in his head, her words a hollow comfort against the growing ache in his chest.

His throat tightened, and for a brief moment, he felt the urge to cry. But the tears didn’t come. They couldn’t — not here, not now. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs until the sharpness of it dulled his emotions. He repeated the motion over and over, steadying himself, quieting the chaos within.

Jimin wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and straightened up. His legs felt heavier than before as he trudged toward the car, but by the time he reached it, his breaths had evened out, and his face was expressionless once more.

Sliding into the back seat, he leaned his head against the window and the chill of the glass grounded him.

As he sat there in silence, the weight of his actions settled like stones in his chest, and he knew this wouldn't be the last time.

Present day

It takes you a while to come to your senses, your fuzzy mind drifting in and out of sleep, telling yourself that you’re dreaming every time your eyes half open to see the surroundings of a room which isn’t yours. Your head sinks back into the feather filled pillow, your breathing is slow and steady and you remain completely still as you wait to wake up in your own bed, in your own home.

But it doesn’t happen. 

As you start to focus on the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath, your eyes flutter open fully and everything comes rushing back to you. Seojun lying helplessly on your kitchen floor, Minjun and the men flooding your kitchen, Dani and Siho dying to protect you. And Jimin.

The thought of it all hurts your head, and you push the thoughts down, focusing on something else for now. You have many questions and you’ll make sure to get answers, but right now, one thing you’re sure of, is that you’re safe. 

Looking around the room you’re in, you faintly recognise the large wooden doors and particular coving style on the walls. You spent more than a few days running around the halls of this estate, hiding and playing in the rooms belonging to the boy you were once friends with — now the man who saved your life…

It hasn’t escaped you, that had Jimin and his men not walked in when they did, Minjun would’ve killed you after he got whatever information he needed from you. 

You’ve never forgotten him, and now it seems like an odd sort of fate that you’ve ended up entangled in some kind of mess with him, thanks to Seojun. 

There’s definitely something going on, because there must’ve been a reason why Seojun was in your house, why he spent those late evenings at the cafe just trying to have a conversation with you. 

Looking next to you on the nightstand, you see your phone and purse, as well as a few of the other items you had in your pocket and your first thought is to call Yoongi. Whatever’s going on, you need to tell him and he might know something too. 

There’s also a small bowl of fresh fruit on the nightstand and a bottle of water — a small reminder that you’re safe here. 

As you reach for your phone, you feel a mild throbbing pain in your wrist. You almost forgot that Minjun cut you, but the wound is neatly bandaged now. Pushing the sheets back, you look down at your thigh to see it’s also been bandaged and you’re almost certain you’ll find stitches under there. You’re also wearing clothes that aren’t yours — a loose tee and baggy basketball shorts. You don’t remember anything since falling unconscious but you’re sure one of the housemaids must’ve dressed you.

Reaching for your phone again, you expect to see a call from your grandma since she normally calls you every morning, but your home screen shows no notifications except the many security camera notifications which you’re sure must show the events that took place at your home – you might be able to use it to identify a few of the men who were there, Yoongi certainly would be able to help you with that. 

Unlocking your phone, you open up your contacts and scroll through to find Yoongi’s name. Just before you can press call, there’s a knock at the door. Pausing, you look up and a few seconds later, the handle turns slowly. 

A slim man enters the room, dressed sharply head to toe in a suit… Your eyes widen, and suddenly, everything makes sense.

“Yoongi.” 

He smiles, though somewhat apologetically.”Y/N.” Walking over to your bed, he doesn’t hesitate to pull up the chair that sits in front of the dressing table and bring it beside your bed. While your thoughts race, Yoongi sits quietly and waits.

He’s been working for Jimin, of course he has – his dad was close with yours and Jimin, and after your father’s death, his dad, Min Baek-hyun, stayed close with your grandparents and still resides close to your grandma in Namwon, while Yoongi stayed in Seoul. All these years, you’ve stayed close friends with Yoongi, not knowing he was so close with Jimin too – someone you once considered a best friend.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you ask finally.

“I didn’t want to complicate things,” he murmurs, looking up. As soon as you meet his gaze, you know what he means by that… 

You still remember that night, a few months ago, when Yoongi asked you to take out the Cheong men at the warehouse holding the drugs. For the first time, you asked for something in return – for him to help you find who killed your dad. It was the fact that he looked away as soon as you said the words that told you he already knew. 

 “I need something in return.”

Yoongi lifted his head calmly. “Is everything okay?”

You nodded, placing the key down on the table. “Just, promise me you’ll do it first.”

At this, Yoongi’s expression changed to one of concern and he hesitated. 

Meeting his gaze, you said his name. “Please.”

“Alright.” Yoongi shifted, keeping his eyes on you. “I promise.”

There was a moment of silence as you mulled the words over in your head. It had been on your mind for a while, something you’d been considering often for the last few months, since you passed what would’ve been your father’s fifty fifth birthday. Not a day had gone by that you didn't miss him, and you’d known since his death that the last place he was called to, wasn’t a timely coincidence. You may have only been 12 at the time of his death, but your father always taught you to be aware of everything, and you’d noticed the tension between him and his friends for months before that night. Even the fact that you hadn’t seen Jimin in years, and the way Jihoon always disregarded your presence – that is before your father limited their visits to your family home. He was trying to protect you from them.

“I want to know who killed my dad.” 

The words felt strange on your tongue – though your dad’s murder wasn’t a secret to you, you didn’t often speak about it so forwardly, especially not to Yoongi. 

Concern returned to the lines in his face, brows furrowing as he shook his head and reached for your hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

You moved your hand from the table before he could hold it. “You know.”

He paused, eyes flitting down to where your hand was. Releasing a slow sigh, he closed his eyes. “And I think you already know.”

The anger and frustration you’d been holding on to for years began to surface.“It was them, wasn’t it?”

Yoongi looked up. “Y/N–”

“Lee Han-jae? And Park Jihoon?”

Yoongi gave the smallest of nods, and your fist curled in your lap. 

“Do you know why?”

“Y/N, please, don’t–”

“You promised, Yoongi.”

Meeting your gaze, Yoongi sighed. “Alright, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”

“Everything.”

So he did…

Na Doyun was a corrupt prosecutor who worked for the Lee’s, keeping them out of trouble as long as they paid her well enough. It was the perfect deal until some of the DA became suspicious of Doyun’s intentions and motivations, and she panicked, demanding more money, as well as a way for her to launder all the funds she was receiving. 

The Lee’s had no choice but to comply since she had enough dirt on them to put them away for life, (as well as a supposed contingency plan that would expose them should they try anything to harm her), and so Han-jae developed a nightclub under his name and added Doyun as a majority shareholder, as well as a few others under his influence. It became one of the most popular nightclubs in all of Seoul and the perfect place for any illicit activity,

“The one that closed down months ago?” you asked, vaguely remembering. You were sure you'd followed more than a few unsuspecting victims of Yoongi’s from there on one of your errands for him..

“Yes. They have a few all over Seoul but none as big as that one. And you remember Taemin?”

“Lee’s son?”

“Yes.”

You barely saw Lee Taemin growing up. Though he was close in age to Jimin and you, his father had sent him to school in the United States. There were a few occasions where you were there together but unlike Jimin, he barely spared you more than a glance. 

“Closing the club was intentional on their part. Han-jae wanted Taemin to replace it with something much bigger and better.”

“The Benitoite.”

Yoongi nodded. “A clever move on his part. The nightclub was becoming a hot spot and that was risky for them. After years of illegal trading, predatory lending and more, they had to find a way to get rid of any liabilities who used to frequent the club for their own gain, and with the Benitoite, they got the DA off their backs while attracting a whole new world, as well as another way to make their money clean again.” Looking up, Yoongi carried on. “Once that was done, Doyun had nothing left to hold over them.”

“They killed her?”

Another nod.

Your hand tightened around the fob. You couldn’t say you felt bad for the woman, she was corrupt after all and served men doing worse than herself, but it still didn’t make any of this easier to hear.

Yoongi sighed, his hand moving towards yours. “You okay?”

“Fine. Tell me.”

“When that nightclub before the Benitoite first opened, your dad wasn’t opposed to it so he never said anything. But, Jihoon or Han-jae weren’t just abiding by what Doyun wanted, they both saw an opportunity and wanted to run part of the nightclub as a secret brothel for invited guests only, those who would pay enough.”

Yoongi looked up apprehensively, but he saw your expression and continued.

“They knew anyone who knew of them, or had any kind of business with them, feared them, so they used that. If there was anyone who had done them wrong, or owed them money, they offered them a way out.  Hundreds and millions worth of debt in exchange for years of service, and they didn’t care who it was. 

“A mother, father, son, daughter, brother or sister. Any relation to the person who owed them was good enough and as you can imagine, none of the actual offenders offered themselves so it was all innocent family members being taken in. They would kidnap them and coerce them into working there doing whatever it was that needed to be done too. The whole thing was set up as a way for them to earn honest money to pay back whatever was owed.”

You looked up, repulsed. These are the men you once regarded as your uncles, seeing them as your dad’s friends you thought of them as family while growing up. It’s true that as you got older, you started to feel a certain way towards Jihoon because of how cold he was, especially with Jimin, but this was still beyond anything you would’ve expected of them.

“So that’s why they killed my dad?” 

Yoongi shook his head. “Not exactly.” Pausing, he studied your expression for a few seconds before he leaned over the table to grasp your hand. After a gentle squeeze, he let go. “There was a lot happening around that time, I don’t know the details but the way Han-jae and Jihoon saw it, is that your dad became soft. When he first found out about the nightclub he was angry and threatened both of them.”

Your stomach curled.

“They wanted to appease him so they said they would reconsider.”

“But they didn’t.”

“No. And truthfully I don’t think your dad ever believed them anyway.”

It went quiet, the distant humming of car engines along a nearby busy road carried the sound of your thoughts as they ran endlessly. 

Yoongi took another sip of his milk, watching you carefully. “Y/N,” he spoke softly. “I can tell you the rest another time.”

You looked across at home, taking a slow breath. You do feel like you’ve heard enough, but you need to know. “What more is there? They killed him after that, no?”

Traces of a grimace appeared on Yoongi’s face. “Not quite.” He paused, waiting. 

Wordlessly, you nodded for him to continue. 

“Did you know Han-jae was married twice?”

Nodding, you remembered his step-daughter, Jiyoung. She looked after you occasionally, but like Taemin, she wasn’t always there. “Yeah, his first wife passed away but Jiyoung was from her, right?”

“Not exactly, Jiyoung wasn’t Han-jae’s daughter.” 

Now, this was news to you. 

“And her mom wasn’t a huge fan of Han-jae, their marriage was arranged after her first husband died, and she had plenty of reasons to dislike the man and he felt the same, except she always threatened to expose him.” 

The arranged marriage wasn’t a surprise to you, as it was common amongst many of your father’s affluent friends, including your own parents, but you hadn’t known that Han-jae’s first wife despised him. 

“After she died, Jiyoung got older, she looked more like her mother, acted more like her, and Han-jae didn’t like her just as much as she didn’t like him, so…  he saw an opportunity to get rid of her.”

Eyes widening, you asked, “The nightclub?”

Yoongi nodded, looking down. “But your dad saved her.”

Despite the warm evening breeze, you feel your skin go cold.

Yoongi continues. “He knew something was going on and he happened to be there the night she was being taken. He killed the men and took her away to a safe place, out of the country.”

And just like that, it all made sense. “So that’s why they killed him.”

Taking your hand again, Yoongi nodded silently. “It was a means to an end for them,” he murmured. “Han-jae and Jihoon had changed. They weren’t who your dad befriended and their morals and ambitions were far from the same.”

Yoongi’s words were said to comfort you, but they only fueled your anger… your dad’s closest friends, the men who he regarded as brothers, were the ones who killed him.

That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, and as you see Yoongi sitting in front of you now, you understand why he chose not to tell you, but you can’t help but feel a tiny bit betrayed.

“Still could’ve told me,” you mumble, looking away from him.

“Would it have made a difference to anything?” he asks, leaning forward with a playful smile. 

Realising he’s right, you frown indignantly. “Might’ve stopped this,” you say, knowing it’s a weak point.

Yoongi’s expression darkens. Shaking his head slowly, he meets your gaze. “Nothing could’ve stopped this.”

Seojun is the first person that comes to your mind, and you feel your stomach coil. 

Reaching to hold your leg over the covers, Yoongi says your name. “You need to tell me everything you know.”

Nodding, you push the mental image of Seojun out of your mind. “I don’t actually know much,” you start, “Seojun had been coming into the cafe around once a week and would talk to me, just small talk. He must’ve known who I was but I didn’t realise until the last time. He seemed worried about something and kept asking me about grandma, and when she called, he’d left and there was a note on the table.” Looking towards the night stand where your belongings are, you see the note you pocketed then, and the drive is there too. You take them both, handing the note to Yoongi.  “This is what it said.” 

Yoongi takes a few seconds to read the simple words, She’s the only family you have left. You should stay with her. Frowning, Yoongi lowers it to the bed. “He must’ve known, but I don’t know how.” Looking up, he asks, “you never told him anything about your grandma?” 

“No,” you shake your head. “He just knew.” Thinking of this, you suddenly remember all those conversations you had with Seojun… he had a girlfriend. “Yoongi?” You meet his gaze with worried eyes. “He had a girlfriend.”

Yoongi’s expression softens, lips pursing. “Yeona. She knows. She lives here with us, she moved in with Seojun a year ago.”

Nodding your head slowly, you look away. You don’t bother asking how she’s doing, that would be a pointless question – you could tell how much Seojun loved her and from the stories he told you, you’re certain she loved him just as much, she must be heartbroken. The thought of it reminds you of the night your dad passed away… you’d never seen your mom in so much pain. 

As your emotions begin to swirl heavily again, you look up at Yoongi. “Did he not say anything at all about what he’d been doing?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “We knew he was up to something, but Jimin told us to let him be.” Again, Yoongi’s expression looks pained. 

“Why?”

“A few weeks back, Jimin had one of their clubs raided by the police on the same night they were receiving a weapons shipment and there’s since been a good few detectives on their case. Taemin’s uncle got some time in prison for it and even though he’s out, they still wanted to send a message to Jimin, a way to get back at him… so they killed Seojun’s mom.”  

The words wound the knot in your stomach even tighter. “So Seojun wanted to get back at them?”

Nodding, Yoongi shakes his head. “Jimin warned him not to, he promised they’d work it out together and end things for once, but Seojun was angry. Once we figured out he was up to something, Jimin told us to leave him and once Seojun had a plan, we’d join in on it.” Releasing a shaky breath, Yoongi looks down. “We never got to find out what it was, and each week we’d see him less and less. Everyone here knows how to look after themselves, but now I wish we’d taken more care.” 

Seojun was a friend to everyone here, Yoongi included, you realise. You know you ought to comfort him but you don’t think you know how. “I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you murmur. 

He gives a small smile. “Finish telling me what happened.”

Sitting back into the cushions again, you recall the events from that night. “I left work as normal, came home and when I went upstairs, something felt off. So I went back down, and then I saw him in my kitchen, he was bleeding, barely conscious on the floor and I ran over to him. I tried to help him but he kept apologising, and then he gave me this.” Looking down, you hand the drive to Yoongi.

Confused, Yoongi turns it over in his hand. “Did he say what’s on it?”

“No,” you shake your head. “And it’s probably protected too since the Lee’s wanted it as well. But he told me to take it and find Jimin.” At this, Yoongi looks up and meets your gaze. “He kept saying he’d keep me safe and that I should leave him and go.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I couldn’t. He needed help, but it was too late. When I was about to get out, Minjun and some of his men came in. Seojun tried to help me but in the end…” you trail off, looking down. “In the end it was Minjun questioning me, asking me who I am. I lied, of course.” You finish telling Yoongi the rest of what happened, up until when Jimin and his men came in. 

When you’re done, Yoongi is cursing under his breath. “Minjun was a fucking psychopath.”

“Yeah, he seems like it,.” You remember the way he laughed when Jimin was punching him. 

“He has a brother, Kwan, he’s just as crazy, if not worse.”

The thought of it leaves you shuddering. Minjun was ruthless and you can’t imagine how much worse his brother is. You hope you never have to meet him, although luck hasn’t really been on your side recently.

“Hey,” Yoongi says quietly, moving from his seat to the bed. “You okay?”

“Mhm,” you nod. 

He smiles softly. “Your wrist should be better in a few days, but your leg might take two or three weeks to heal well. I got you some crutches in case you wanna use them.” 

“Thanks, I probably won’t use them though.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”

Smiling at him, you push the sheets back to look at your bound leg. “It’s not deep is it?”

Yoongi shakes his head. “You got lucky. Only an inch or so. Ah, also,” he looks up at you apologetically, “you’ll need to stay here for a while until your house gets fixed.” 

“Oh.” You remember how the windows were smashed in as Minjun attacked, and you’re sure there’s more damage to the property that you’re not even aware of. 

“Jimin is making all the arrangements,” Yoongi continues, “but he’s trying to keep things quiet so I don’t know exactly when things will be sorted.”

“He doesn’t have to, I can do it myself.”

“He wants to,” Yoongi responds. “He blames himself for what’s happened, so just let him please.” His words appear to carry more meaning, and you can’t imagine how he must feel after seeing Seojun dead. You still remember the look on his face when he saw the body.

“Why?”

“He blames himself for a lot of things,” Yoongi murmurs with a soft sigh. “This hasn’t helped.”

Even though it’s been years since you were close with Jimin, you still find yourself feeling a familiar twinge in your chest – ever since you’ve known him, Jimin has had to suffer so much hurt, you couldn’t even count on your hand the amount of times you saw him looking so defeated and terrified in front of his father. He seemed to prefer the company of Lee Han-jae over his own father, although you don’t know how much better Han-jae was as a father since his son, Taemin, was in America most of the time to study. All you know is how he treated Jiyoung.

Now, curiosity (or care) gets the better of you, and you ask, “What happened between them? Han-jae and Jihoon?”

Yoongi looks up, grimacing. “It started with money. Han-jae got greedy and wanted the Benitoite to be only his, but Jihoon insisted it belong to them both since the nightclub was half his effort, though he never really cared for the extra money, he just needed the front. Han-jae reluctantly agreed but it was clear he wasn’t happy. 

“And then Jihoon found out that Han-jae planned on going behind his back and he got angry. Han-jae was drunk one night and started threatening Jihoon, which only made him more angry. But before he could do anything, Taemin stepped in and shot him.”

“Taemin?!” you ask, surprised..

Yoongi nods. “He knew of his dad's plan for the Benitoite and he wasn’t fond of Jihoon, so he did what he had to to protect his dad. But Jimin was there.” His expression darkens. “He watched his best friend shoot his dad, who was bleeding out in front of him. I’m so grateful we were with him that day…” He trails off, exhaling as he looks down.

He doesn’t need to say anymore for you to know what he means – Taemin was going to have Jimin killed too. 

Your head lowers too. You don’t allow your thoughts to wonder what would’ve happened if Jimin had been alone, you’re just glad he got out. Though you can’t imagine what he must’ve felt given his relationship with Jihoon.

“Did he get to have a funeral for his dad?”

“Yeah,’ Yoongi answers. “Han-jae had just lost another one of his friends and the blood was on his hands, so he sent the body back to Jimin and tried to make amends, but Jimin wasn’t having it. He was already against everything they were doing and now that his dad had gone and he’d lost Taemin as a friend, he had no reason to keep ties with them.”

Leaning back into the cushions, you mull over everything he’s just said. For years, you stayed away from these families who were such a big part of your life growing up, and now you learn that they’ve fallen apart as well. 

After a moment, Yoongi speaks again. “I was surprised when they brought you in.” You look up at him as he continues. “I thought he might’ve recognised you, but he said nothing.”

“Do you think he does?” you ask, remembering the look on his face when he first saw you. “But he’s just not saying it?”

Yoongi shrugs. “Might be. If he does remember you though, he’ll say something.”

“Are you going to tell them?” you ask, looking at him.

“Only if you want me to.”

After a few quiet seconds, you shake your head. “At least not yet.”

Yoongi nods and it goes quiet again. You close your eyes, leaning against the headboard as you think back on everything that’s happened, and then it comes to you.

“Dani and Siho,” you say, opening your eyes again as a heavy weight settles on your chest. “Did you get them out?”

Solemnly, Yoongi nods. “I sent them back to their families and have offered to make all the necessary arrangements for anything else they need.”

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Let me know what they say, I’ll sort it out for them..”

Yoongi nods again, pursing his lips as this time he reaches forward to take your hand and comfort you. “They knew the risks, Y/N,  better than anyone else.”

“I know,” you sigh. “But it’s different, they were there because of me.”

“Yeah, but they made that choice, they wanted to fight for you,” Yoongi says, shifting on the bed. When you look at him, he winces slightly. “Sorry if this isn’t helping, you know I’m shit at comforting people.”

You smile. “I know.”

“Hey, you’re not any better though,” he says defensively, “you didn’t even hug me properly when my mom passed away.”

“What?” you chuckle. “I tried to, but I know you don’t like hugs.”

Yoongi shrugs. “Not normally, but then I would've liked it.”

“Oh…” Now you feel bad. “Really?”

He nods, only looking up at you when you fail to respond. Seeing your face, he smiles. “It’s okay though, I got lots of hugs from the guys here.”

Scoffing, you absentmindedly pull the covers over your legs again, feeling cold from the aircon. “Yeah, you’re telling me Park Jimin was giving out hugs?” It comes out sarcastically and without much thought.

“Yes, actually,” Yoongi answers simply. 

Pausing, you realise what you said and his response. You don’t know why you feel surprised when the Jimin you knew was nothing but caring and considerate towards others, oftentimes more than he was towards himself. 

As though he can read your mind, Yoongi smiles. “Surprised?”

“Kind of.”

“You knew him though,” he says, as though that makes it so obvious.

“Knew,” you repeat. “I didn’t expect him to still be the same.”

Yoongi hums in agreement. “I wouldn’t say he’s changed, but I wouldn't exactly say he’s the same either…” looking up, he smiles again. “I guess you’ll get to see for yourself now.”

“I guess so,” you say, reaching for an apple from the bowl beside you. Seeing Jimin again has been weird, but you can’t ignore the part of you that is ready to welcome a part of your old life back, someone familiar, someone you liked very much. Like Yoongi said though, you’ll get to see for yourself if he’s anything like you remember him. Although you were both younger then, you don’t think he would’ve changed much from what Yoongi has told you so far.

“D’you want something a bit more filling than that?” Yoongi asks, nodding to the apple you’ve just bitten into. “Dinner is just about to be served so you can come down to eat or I can bring it up for you?”

“Oh, yeah, actually,” you answer, hearing your stomach growl after receiving a tiny morsel of food. “I am quite hungry, so I think I'll come down.”

“Sure,” Yoongi chuckles, “you must be hungry, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days.”

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Three days?!” When he nods, you immediately reach for your phone. “I need to call Moni, she’s probably wo–”

“I already have,” Yoongi says, interrupting you quietly.

Fingers freezing over her name, you look up at Yoongi. “What?”

“I already called her.”

A frown settles on your face. “What did you say?”

Yoongi has always been aware of your wish to keep everything hidden from your grandma, so he hesitates now, knowing this would be your response when he told you he called her. “Everything, but Y/N, she needed to know.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make.”

“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “Sorry.”

For a moment, it goes quiet and you lower your phone to the covers. Yoongi is right, she did need to know about this, and it’s not like she’s a stranger to this kind of stuff. Besides, what happened wasn’t related to any of the stuff you’ve been doing for Yoongi, which is what you always wanted to keep from her, and what’s happening now does seem to involve you, and therefore her.

“Sorry,” you say. “You’re right, I just didn’t…” you sigh, trailing off as you think about how worried she must be. Your grandma is a strong woman and you’re everything to her, just as she has been yours. 

“I know,” Yoongi says, understanding what you mean without you saying it; he knows your grandma well enough too.

“What did she say?” 

“First, she just wanted to know if you were safe,” Yoongi answers. “After that, she didn’t say much except that she’ll come as soon as she can.”

You nod. Knowing she’s coming brings a smile to your face, you’ve missed her a lot. Before you can respond, your stomach growls again. 

“Come on,” Yoongi says smiling, getting up and pushing the covers back, “let’s get you some food.”

“You still remember it?” Yoongi asks, a tone of surprise in his voice.

Taking another step, you shrug. “I wasn’t that little when I was last here, I must’ve been, what, eleven? Twelve?” 

“Hm, Yoongi hums. “Still impressive.” He keeps a hand hovering around you should you need him, but you’re doing just fine, walking slowly down the hall you recognise as being the third floor.

The Park Estate isn’t much different from what you remember. The estate sprawled across acres, is a masterfully designed blend of elegance and practicality. The entrance opens to a grand foyer, splitting into two distinct wings. The East Wing houses the biggest office which used to belong to Jihoon, and now you assume it would be Jimin’s. It’s flanked by a suite of offices, all of which are bathed in polished woods and leather tones, belonging to his closest men. The West Wing, larger and more personal, feels more like a home. It rises three floors (taking the space above the East Wing) to accommodate the family’s quarter’s on the top most floor, a lounge and other rooms on the second, and downstairs is a dining room, a sleek kitchen caters to formal gatherings and another lounge. 

Yoongi points out his room as you pass it, as well as naming some of the other guys whose names you try to pay attention to as you ignore the mild pain that spreads through your leg. 

As you approach the stairwell, you notice another dimly lit corridor leading off the main hallway. You can’t see anything down the corridor as you pass, only a wall with light coming from the left and you assume it continues on. 

“Jimin’s room is down there,” he says, answering your unspoken question.

“Ah,” you nod, carrying on. It makes sense for his room to be separate from the rest.

The second floor has a few extra guest bedrooms which are rarely used, and a private lounge which is different to what you remember, with a huge balcony that overlooks the gardens and the furniture has changed from mostly dark colours to a much warmer colour palette.

Downstairs, the split between the East Wing, and the West Wing is much more noticeable. The entrance to the West Wing from the grand foyer is always guarded and behind is a much more private hallway with more guards at the end for extra security, and the only way to go upstairs is from the two staircases within the West Wing. The staircase you’re approaching now takes you downstairs where the kitchen is. 

As you approach the stairwell, you freeze, your eyes landing on a painting hung up on the wall at the far end of the hall. Yoongi says your name as you begin to walk towards it, but you don’t respond as an old memory suddenly returns to your mind, from the night your father was murdered.

“Lightning…  is it a storm?” you asked, standing next to your dad in front of the easel. 

“Yes,” he said, ruffling your hair with his elbow as his hands were smudged with paint. 

“What does it mean?”

“Sometimes it can mean power,” he answered, turning back to the canvas in front of him. “But sometimes it can also mean punishment.”

You looked up, frowning.

He smiled. “Sometimes, too much power isn’t a good thing. If you’re not a good person, then it can be dangerous.”

“Oh…” You looked back at the canvas, admiring the deep shades of blue and black and grey he’d used to paint the night sky.  In the centre, a spear of light struck the violent waves of the sea below. “Who is it for?” you asked.

Your dad’s smile disappeared as he looked back at the canvas. “An old friend.”

The painting is just as vivid as you remember, and seeing it now brings tears to your eyes as you feel a bout of nostalgia. 

“My dad painted this,” you say quietly as Yoongi joins you in front of the huge canvas. 

He doesn’t say anything, but instead looks up at the painting, admiring it in its entirety as though he’s never seen it before. “It’s beautiful.”

Nodding, you blink a few times to get rid of the stinging sensation in your eyes.. You realise now that Park Jihoon was the old friend your dad mentioned; realising he called him an ‘old friend’, you know your father must’ve known in those months leading up to his death that he couldn’t trust Han-jae and Jihoon.

Just then, Yoongi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Reading a text, he quickly excuses himself. “Come down if you can, or I’ll ask someone to come up,” he calls out as he’s already walking off towards the stairwell.

“Okay,” you answer absentmindedly, still looking at the painting.

It’s not often you allow yourself to dwell on the past, but it’s also not often that you find yourself face to face with things that remind you so much of the past. There’s a reason your grandma decided to leave Seoul all those years ago and it’s a decision you agreed with. Even when you moved back to Seoul, you knew you couldn’t return to your old home, not when all you had there was fond memories of a life that was so unfamiliar to you now. But now, standing in front of your father’s own hand painted work, a flood of memories return and you find it harder to fight the lump that settles stubbornly in your throat.

You don’t realise you’re standing there for long until you hear someone approaching behind you. Turning around, you recognise the man approaching you as one of the ones who were with Jimin that night at your home. He smiles as he comes to a stop beside you.

“Admiring the art?” he asks. 

“Mhm,” you hum, still watching his face – you didn’t realise then but now you see just how handsome he is, you feel like you can’t stop staring. 

He chuckles, glancing at the painting. “You know I was talking about the painting, not me?”

Shaking out of your daze, you smile. “Yes, sorry. I just recognised you from the other night.”

“Ah, yeah, sorry we had to meet in such a way,” he nods, still smiling. “I’m Seokjin, but call me Jin.” He extends his hand which you shake.

“Y/N, and it’s okay, not your fault.”

“How’s the wrist?” he asks, pointing to your wrist.

“Oh, it’s okay,” you answer, lifting your arm for him to see. You can still move your fingers fine, just the occasional stretch or twist of your wrist hurts. 

“Good. And the leg?”

“It’s mostly fine,” you nod.

He smiles again. “That’s good. Your wrist will heal fast, the leg might take a few weeks but it’s looking good so far. I didn’t expect you to be up so soon though,” he adds, raising a brow as though impressed.

You shrug.

 “I take it this isn’t your first time getting hurt like this?” Seokjin says casually.

 “What makes you think that?”

“You didn’t flinch that night, when we all aimed our guns at you. And the way you handled your own gun…” he shakes his head, smiling. “It definitely wasn’t your first time, and no normal person would point their gun at a mafioso at that.”

Chuckling, you turn back towards the painting again.  “I guess I like getting shot at.”

“Just like everyone else here,” he laughs. “Well, you must be hungry, Yoongi asked me to walk down with you.”

“Sure,” you nod, turning away from the painting. You can return to it later. “So what about you?” you ask Seokjin as you approach the stairwell. 

He watches carefully as you descend the first few steps. “What about me?” 

“This definitely isn’t your first time stitching someone up,” you remark. 

“Ah,” he nods. “Definitely not.”

You have to pause, reaching out for the banister to continue on. “So you’re a doctor?” 

He snorts, stepping along beside you. “No, but I should be. I’ve done this kind of stuff enough times.”

Smiling, you know his statement is true enough. Injuries like yours must be a regular occurrence in the Park household. Stepping onto the landing, you take a breather and sit on the bottom step for a moment before you continue on. At the same time, you hear hurried footsteps running towards you and Seokjin. 

“Jin hyung!” A bubbly voice sounds from down the corridor. You look towards the source and see two men who you recognise from that night – the man bun guy and the slender brown haired one behind him. They can’t see you sitting on the bottom step but as they get closer, Jin nods in your direction, turning their attention to you. 

They both smile warmly when they see you, bowing their heads. 

“Oh, miss L/N,” the first one comes forward, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, nice to meet you.” He has an adorable bunny smile and you can’t help but return it with one of your own. 

“Nice to meet you Jungkook,” you reply, shaking his hand. “And you can call me Y/N.”

“Y/N, got it,” he nods, taking a step back so his other friend can greet you properly. 

“Hi, Y/N,  I’m Hoseok, Hobi for short,” he grins, shaking your hand. 

“Hey.” You return his handshake, feeling slightly taken aback by how relaxed these guys are compared to their stoic looks from when you first saw them. Jungkook looks like a bunny rabbit in human form, and Hoseok beams like a ray of sunshine. 

“How are you feeling?” Hoseok asks, motioning towards your leg. 

“Um, it’s okay,” you smile. “I can still walk at least.”

He smiles with you, helping you as you start to get up. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”

You hum in response, allowing Seokjin to continue walking beside you as Jungkook walks ahead, leading you to the extensive lounge. 

Distractedly, you look around the familiar room. The coffee table you’re sitting at is still the same as it was when you used to have extra helpings of dessert with Jimin, secretly given to you by the housemaid who had a soft spot for Jimin. Being here reminds you so much of your father too, and knowing how much of a huge part of his life this family was makes you miss him dearly. 

Before any of the guys notice you’re not tuned into the conversation, you return your attention to what they’re saying. It hasn’t escaped you that none of them have said anything about your identity, and you reckon it must be because Jimin hasn’t recognised you – if he did, surely he would’ve told these guys since they were there too. You’re not sure if they know anything at all about you – perhaps you should’ve asked Yoongi about that before you came down. 

Whether they know anything or not though, they keep the conversation away from anything that would involve you from sharing too much, and you realise now, how their warm smiles and easy conversation is a stark contrast to the tense memory you have of first meeting them the other day. However, there’s some missing.

“Are there more of you?” 

Jin, in the middle of swallowing a big sip of water, nods and hums. 

Hoseok answers for him. “There’s Yoongi, who you saw already, and Taehyung, Namjoon and Jimin.”

“They were there the other day,” Jungkook says, his tone dimming slightly. 

“Namjoon and Taehyung will be joining us,” Jin adds, ignoring the last comment and keeping up his chipper attitude. “We always eat together whenever we can and they’re about somewhere.” 

It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t mention Jimin’s name though.

“Taehyung is probably in the wine cellar,” Hoseok says.

“Ah, yes, Taehyung loves to pick out the wine for dinner.”

Jungkook snorts. “He thinks he’s a sommelier.”

You smile. “Well, does he make a good choice?”

“I can never tell,” Jungkook shrugs.

Hoseok jerks a thumb in his direction. “He’s not matured enough.”

“Hey!” Jungkook starts, but is interrupted by Jin, glancing toward the doorway.

“Ah, speak of the devil!” 

You look up and see two more men entering. One has dark curls and sharp features, his posture relaxed but his gaze calculating as it sweeps over the room. The other one has dark grey hair and broad shoulders, wearing glasses that give him a sophisticated air. You recognise both of them from the other day.

“Yoongi said you’d come down,” the man with dark curls remarks as he approaches. His tone is calm, and a slight smile plays on his lips. “I’m Taehyung. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

“Hi, Taehyung,” you reply, shaking his hand. His grip is firm but not overbearing. He’s undeniably striking, and there’s something about his presence that feels both inviting and enigmatic.

The broad man steps closer, adjusting his glasses as he nods at you. “I’m Namjoon. I handle most of the boring work around here.” His smile is disarming, and his voice carries a hint of dry humour. “Finances, logistics, making sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”

“Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” you say, shaking his hand. His words make you curious about just how much he handles behind the scenes.

Namjoon takes a seat in the armchair across from you and sinks into it comfortably. “How are you? I imagine this isn’t how you thought your day would go.”

You smile wryly, keeping your responses guarded. “Not exactly, no.”

Taehyung sits down next to Jungkook and returns his attention to you immediately. “Yeah, you put up quite the fight. Most people would’ve frozen in your position.”

“Not the first time I’ve had to defend myself,” you reply simply, not offering much else.

There’s a beat of silence as they all exchange glances, clearly intrigued but not pressing further. You appreciate the lack of prying.

“So,” Hoseok pipes up with an ever-cheerful tone. “Yoongi mentioned you might like spicy food. We had the chef prepare something special just in case.”

“Spicy works for me,” you say, grateful for the change in subject.

Jungkook claps his hands together. “Great! That makes two of us. The food here is amazing – you’ll love it.”

As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, you glance around the room again. The faces around the table are new, but the setting is steeped in nostalgia. Flashes of your childhood in this house flit through your mind – running down these halls, playing games late into the night, and the quiet presence of your father when he was here.

You force yourself to focus, tuning back into the conversation just as Seokjin asks, “So, Y/N, what’s your impression of the estate so far?”

“It’s... different,” you reply honestly, but keep your tone light. “Bigger than I remember.”

Seokjin tilts his head. “You’ve been here before?”

You curse yourself for slipping up but recover quickly. “Not this one exactly. Just a similar setup.”

Namjoon raises a brow but doesn’t say anything else, and you’re thankful for the reprieve.

The door from the far end of the room opens, and an older woman with an apron tied around her waist steps in, carrying a pitcher of water. Her hair is neatly pinned back, and her face is composed but kind. You immediately recognize her – Ara, one of the housemaids from your childhood.

Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and something flickers in her expression. She knows who you are. You’re certain of it. But to your surprise, she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she places the pitcher on the coffee table and begins pouring water into the glasses.

“Thanks, Ara,” Jungkook says warmly, and she nods with a small smile.

When she reaches you, she hesitates ever so slightly before pouring the water, her gaze lingering on you. You hold her gaze for a beat, searching her face for any sign that she might say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she finishes and steps back, her expression carefully neutral.

“If you need anything, let me know,” Ara says softly, glancing at the rest of the table before leaving the room.

Namjoon watches her leave, then turns back to you with a faint smile. “She’s been here for a long time. Reliable, like everyone else here.”

You nod, trying to mask the unease and nostalgia that her presence has stirred up.

On the opposite side of the room, Yoongi comes in from the corridor you came through. With a smile at you, he then nods at everyone. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat before Jungkook inhales the entire table.”

Jungkook laughs, not bothering to deny the accusation. Everyone rises from their seats, and Yoongi gestures for you to follow them to the adjoining dining room.

"Taeheyung, did you choose a bottle for dinner then?" Hoseok asks.

"Of course. It’s spicy food so I brought up a Riesling."

"Nice one," Yoongi murmurs in approval.

"I want a beer," Jungkook says, with no regards to Taehyung's expression.

"More for us then."

As you walk, Namjoon falls into step beside you. “You’ll find this place can be both a refuge and a maze,” he says softly. “It’s easy to get lost, but it has its charms.”

You glance at him, wondering if there’s a deeper meaning to his words. “I’ll try not to get lost, then.”

He smiles faintly. “If you do, just call out. Someone will find you.”

Returning the smile, you find that any uneasiness you'd been feeling, begins to dissipate. It’s clear these men, while different in personality, share a bond that goes beyond mere loyalty to Jimin. You can see why they’ve been by his side for so long – they feel like a family in their own right.

Once everyone is seated at the table, conversation flows more freely and the atmosphere is surprisingly warm. Jin sits at one end of the table, serving himself a generous helping of the roasted chicken and rice dish.

“Jin-hyung, don’t hog all the drumsticks,” Jungkook whines as he watches Jin’s plate pile up.

“Then grab faster,” Jin quips with a smirk, not slowing his pace.

Taehyung leans back with an amused grin, observing the chaos. “I’m telling you, Jungkook, he does this every time. You should know better by now.”

“Should I?” Jungkook huffs dramatically. “Maybe next time I’ll just take the whole plate first.”

“Do it, and I’ll poison your portion,” Jin deadpans, but with a twinkle in his eye.

Hoseok chuckles as he passes you the salad bowl. “Don’t worry, Y/N. They act like this every meal. You get used to it.”

You smile faintly, watching them banter. It’s strange to see these men, who just days ago were all sharp glares and deadly precision, behaving like siblings teasing each other.

“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you always eat so quietly? Or are you just plotting something?”

You blink at him, caught off guard. His face is serious, but his lips twitch with suppressed amusement.

“Maybe I’m just afraid to get between Jin and his drumsticks,” you reply lightly.

Laughter ripples around the table, and Taehyung raises his glass in salute. “Smart answer.”

Jungkook grins at you between bites of food. “Yeah, but next time, you should at least try to grab a piece before Jin wipes out the whole plate.”

“I heard that,” Jin retorts, mock-offended. “I’m ensuring quality control.”

“You’re ensuring there’s nothing left for the rest of us,” Hoseok counters, sipping his water.

As the banter continues, you allow yourself to relax a little. It’s a stark contrast to what you expected when you first woke up in the Park estate. 

“By the way, hyung,” Namjoon says, turning to Jin. “Have you checked the medical inventory reports? They were due yesterday.”

“Oh, are we doing shop talk at the table now?” Jin sighs dramatically. “Can’t a guy just eat in peace?”

“It’s your own fault for procrastinating,” Namjoon replies smoothly, adjusting his glasses.

“Don’t drag me into your world of schedules,” Jin retorts. “I’m a free spirit.”

“You’re just lazy,” Jungkook interjects, earning a flick of a bread roll from Jin.

“Enough guys,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in mock exasperation.

Namjoon’s phone buzzes on the table, followed immediately by Hoseok’s. They both glance at their screens, and their smiles fade slightly. Exchanging a look, they nod in unison before standing up.

“Sorry, something’s come up,” Namjoon says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We’ll catch up later.”

“Don’t eat all the dessert without us,” Hoseok adds with a wink as they head out.

“Like we’d wait for you,” Jin calls after them before turning his attention back to the table.

“Do they always leave like that?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Pretty much,” Taehyung replies, leaning back in his chair. “They’ve got the busiest jobs out of all of us. It’s a miracle they even sit down for meals sometimes.”

“Or they just like to be mysterious,” Jin adds, rolling his eyes. “Half the time, it’s probably nothing.”

You smile, but you feel the weight behind it all. These men might act carefree, but there’s no denying the underlying layers to their lives.

After a while, another two housemaids quietly enter to clear some of the empty dishes.

“You okay?” Taehyung asks, drawing your attention back to the table. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”

You nod, brushing it off. “Just tired, I guess.”

“Understandable,” Jin says, rising from his seat. “You should rest. Recovering from an injury takes time.”

The others murmur in agreement as they begin to disperse, leaving you with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. The warmth of their camaraderie is undeniable, but beneath it all, you can’t shake the feeling of what’s happened, and what is undoubtedly yet to come. 

Only Yoongi remains at the table. He sits across from you and smiles. “It’s bringing back memories, huh?” He asks, seeing right through you. 

“Yep.” You look around. “Loads. I don’t know how this might sound, but it feels like I missed it.” You look across at Yoongi, expecting to see a puzzled expression but he just smiles.

“I think it’s normal. You were young when you came here and I don’t think you have many bad memories associated with the place. Only good ones, right?”

He’s right. Back then, coming here usually meant evenings filled with laughter, hiding in closets with Jimin, and Jiyoung’s occasional teasing if she was here. Your dad was still alive, and this house, in a strange way, felt like an extension of home. Now, it’s like walking through a memory you can’t decide if you’re grateful for or aching to forget.

You smile softly at Yoongi and nod, letting the silence stretch as you stand. He doesn’t press you further, only watching as you cross the room to the wide, cushioned window seat at the far end. The large pane of glass offered a view of the front of the house. Settling into the seat, you lean against the frame, your gaze drifting outward.

Outside, the estate is alive with movement. Men are stationed around the house, their presence a constant reminder of the life you’re now steeped in. From the East Wing, you spot four men climbing into a sleek black Escalade. Then your attention shifts to the house’s front steps, where Namjoon and Hoseok emerge, walking with purpose.

Behind them, another figure appears and you recognise him instantly. 

Jimin, dressed sharply from head to toe, walks across the front drive. He pauses briefly in front of his Porsche, glancing back toward Hoseok, who says something you couldn’t hear. A moment later, Hoseok and Jin climb into the car, and Jimin gets into the driver’s seat. The engine roars softly to life, and within moments, his Porsche is gliding down the private lane, the Escalade following closely behind.

Your gaze lingers on the lane until the cars disappear into the distance. Though you can’t see the estate’s gate from here, you can picture it clearly in your mind – a familiar marker from years ago.

“Where are they going?” you ask without turning, your voice quiet but curious.

“Something’s wrong with one of the shipments we received from the Takahashis. They’ve been a bit of a pain these past few months. Jimin reckons they’re now involved with the Lees and are trying to keep us distracted.”

You hum in response, saying nothing more, but your eyes stay fixed on the far-off trees that bordered the estate. Centred in front of the west wing, a fountain catches your attention, its centrepiece intricate and elegant. It reminds you of the one in Jimin’s mother’s garden and absently, you wonder if that fountain was still there.

As you shift, a sharp pang shoots through your leg, where the knife wound throbs dully. Your wrist isn’t much better, but the pain in your leg is what makes you wince audibly.

Yoongi notices immediately, his gaze darting toward you. “I think you’re due for your meds again.”

You exhale softly, nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”

“You wanna stay here or go back up?”

You push yourself to stand, biting back a groan as the strain makes your voice tight. “Mm, I know I slept for days, but I’m actually still exhausted.”

Yoongi chuckles, rising to help steady you. “That’s to be expected. Don’t worry.” He gestures toward the far end of the room. “We’ll go up, but this time we’re taking the lift.”

You can’t help but smile faintly at his consideration. “Appreciate that,” you murmur as he slides a steadying arm under yours.

The dim light of the ensuite glows behind you as you step into the bedroom, a towel draped over your head. You had just woken up after another long nap, your internal clock utterly thrown off by the days of rest. It's late now, just past midnight and the night is quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the soft padding of your feet on the carpet.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you absentmindedly rub the towel through your damp hair.

Your gaze drifts to the shelves by the dresser table, now stocked with an array of skin and hair care products. A small smile tugs at your lips as you stand to examine them, fingers lightly trailing over the meticulously arranged items. Appreciatively, you sit and carry out a full skin and hair care routine – after three days without it, you definitely need it. You wonder if it was Ara who must have put them here. You're certain she recognised you at dinner and when you think about it now, you think it would be nice to speak with someone familiar.

Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the bed. Turning, you see the screen light up with an incoming FaceTime call. The name on the screen sends a swell of emotion through you.

“Moni?” you answer, settling back on the bed as your grandmother’s face appeared.

The sight of her brings a pang of guilt and relief all at once. Her tired eyes search your face and you can tell she must have been worrying nonstop. “Y/N,” she says softly, her voice warm. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” you reassure her quickly, though your heart aches knowing she must have been so anxious. “Really.”

She gives you a sharp look, the kind only she can manage, and her tone turns brisk. “Good. Stay safe there, you hear me? We're figuring out what's going on and Yoongi will tell you more when he can."

You nod, knowing better than to argue. Her expression softened just a little as she continued. “Tell me about Jimin.”

“He hasn’t said anything.”

“About recognizing you?” she asks, her brow lifting slightly.

You nod. “Nothing.”

She sighs, a mixture of fondness and exasperation crossing her features. “I don’t imagine he would. But I have no doubt he does. You haven’t changed much. He, however... he’s different.”

Her words hang in the air, and you find yourself looking up, your thoughts turning to Jimin.

“Life hasn’t been kind to him,” she continues, her voice tinged with melancholy. “When I last saw him, I didn’t see the same little boy I knew.”

A bittersweet smile crosses your lips. “Life hasn’t been kind to any of us.”

Your grandmother purses her lips, acknowledging the truth of your words. “Do you remember his father?”

“Of course I do,” you say without hesitation. “It’s hard to forget a man as cold as him.”

“And Mr. Lee?” she asks, her tone cautious.

You nod, already anticipating where this was headed. “I know, Moni,” you say quietly, cutting her off.

She looks up at you, her expression briefly surprised, but it fades just as quickly. "Of course, I should have expected you would piece it together."

“I know it was them,” you say, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “They did it. They killed Dad.”

She lets out a slow breath, her gaze steady on yours. “They were his best friends,” she says softly. “And then, all of a sudden…” She trails off.

You nod. You can only imagine that the sting of betrayal is still fresh even after all these years. Your grandmother's gaze remains on you, sharp and searching. “You’re there now, though… so, do you trust Jimin?”

You pause, memories of the night at your house flashing through your mind -- seeing Jimin in your kitchen with your gun aimed at him and he didn't retaliate in the slightest.

“I didn’t, at first,” you admit. “But I think I do. Besides, I trust Yoongi, and Yoongi trusts him."

She exhales slowly, relief evident on her face and a small smilw touches her lips. “You’re safe there, Y/N.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting her gaze. “You trust Jimin?”

“I do,” she says without hesitation. “I trust him with you, and you’re my everything.”

The words wrap around your heart, and you wish you could reach through the screen to hug her. Instead, you nod and smile.

“You need to rest,” she instructs, her tone turning firm again. “I’ll call you later. Baek-hyun and I might come to see you. I think he wanted to see Yoongi too.”

Your lips quirk up at the thought. “That would be nice.”

"Good," she nods, and you eventually exchange goodbyes.

As the screen goes dark, you set the phone down, feeling a renewed sense of comfort. The thought of her visiting makes you smile softly as you sit in the quiet of the room.

Still restless though, you wander to the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds bathed in the moonlight. You spot three men stationed at the back of the house, conversing together as they keep watch. The gardens stretch endlessly, just as you remembered. You can’t see the part of the grounds where Jimin’s mother’s garden would have been as it's hidden beyond the trees, but it would be nice to visit it tomorrow when the light returned.

As you shift, you feel your leg still aches, but it's different this time, more like the dull stiffness of inactivity than pain. Restless energy courses through you, and you decide a walk would do you good. The house is big enough and you need to keep your legs moving.

Stepping out of your room, you close the door quietly behind yourself and hear the faint hum of distant voices and sounds that tells you that not everyone is asleep yet.

As you move through the corridors, memories of Jimin filtered into your mind -- moments you hadn’t thought of in years now rising to the surface with startling clarity and they give you a strange sense of familiarity.

Eventually, your wandering brings you to your dad's painting again. You stop in front of it, the vivid strokes of lightning and sea send a wave of nostalgia over you, gratitude mingling with sadness. You remember you have a few of your father's paintings hanging up at home too and you make a mental note to ensure they're safely retrieved.

“Can’t you sleep, little bear?”

The voice, familiar and gentle, pulls you from your reverie. You turn to see Jimin standing a few feet away.

Dressed casually now, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up, he looks markedly different from the composed figure you saw earlier. There’s a softness to him now, something that reminds you of the boy you once knew. His smile, small and tentative, feels as though it might disappear if the silence breaks too loudly.

You smile back, and the corners of his lips lift a little more.

Realising what he just said, his words stop you short – it’s the name of the book you gave to him the first time you met him, so many years ago.

Jimin steps closer, the lamp’s dim light casting soft shadows on his features. As he nears, the subtle scent of his cologne reaches you – a delicate blend of cedarwood and something faintly sweet, familiar yet grounding. It lingers in the air between you, quietly drawing your attention to his presence. Despite the weariness evident in his eyes, there’s a steadiness about him, a calmness that feels both reassuring and disarming.

“Y/N,” he says, your name leaving his lips quietly, as though testing how it feels after all these years. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you?”

“I wasn’t counting on it,” you admit, your voice soft. “I’m surprised you remember the book.”

Jimin’s smile grows, faint but genuine. “How could I not? I never got to thank you for it properly.”

“Thank me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

He nods, shifting as if the memory is a tender one. “It was a comfort to me for a long time. I wasn’t allowed picture books of my own, so… thank you.”

You remember then how he once told you about his father’s strict rules. A cold man, his father likely saw no value in picture books – if they didn’t teach something useful, they weren’t worth having.

“You’re welcome,” you say softly.

Jimin’s gaze lingers on your face, and you feel a warmth creeping into your cheeks. Turning back to the painting, you focus on the familiar strokes of your father’s work.

“He was talented,” Jimin says quietly, standing beside you.

You smile faintly. “He was.”

After a moment, he adds, “I can have it moved to your room, if you like.”

You shake your head. “No, no. It’s okay. This is where it belongs.”

Jimin laughs softly, the sound low and soothing. “It’s actually covering up a stain we couldn’t remove. You might remember it since it was you who put it there.”

“Me?” you ask, eyebrows rising in surprise as you look at him.

He nods, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yep. One of the nights our fathers were away, and you had to stay over. Jiyoung was babysitting us, and we were painting. When it was time for bed, you didn’t want to sleep, so you ran away from her – with all the paints.”

As he speaks, the memory surfaces, vivid and sheepishly embarrassing. “Oh gosh, I remember. I tripped, and the paint went everywhere.”

Jimin smiles wider now, clearly suppressing a laugh. “We tried to paint over it a few times, but the colours were too bright. Eventually, my dad decided to put this up.”

You shake your head, laughing softly, though you still feel a twinge of embarrassment. “I can’t believe that’s still here.”

Jimin’s smile lingers, and the space between you feels quieter, weighted by an unspoken familiarity. His eyes flicker back to the painting, then to you. “It’s been a long time since then,” he says, his voice gentle, almost reflective.

You glance at him, catching the subtle shift in his tone, something deeper beneath the surface. “Yes,” you reply, turning your gaze back to the painting. “Though being here again… it almost feels like no time at all.”

Jimin studies you for a moment, his expression softening. “I imagine it feels different,” he says, “without your father?”

“Exactly,” you answer, the memory stirring a pang of longing. “It felt safe wherever he was.”

“And now?” His question is soft, careful, as though he’s weighing each word before speaking.

You hesitate before answering, meeting his gaze. “I want to say yes,” you admit honestly, “but experience tells me not to feel safe anywhere.”

Jimin nods, his expression contemplative, and something about his calm presence makes your honesty feel less vulnerable. “You’ve learned not to trust anyone,” he say, his voice carrying a quiet understanding.

You look at him, searching his face, but his steady gaze gives nothing away except an openness that feels disarming. “You’re right to think that,” he continues, his tone neither judgmental nor apologetic, as if he understands the walls you’ve built all too well.

The words sit between you for a moment before you ask, carefully, “Can I trust you?”

His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, silence fills the space between you.

“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “But you’ll make that decision on your own.”

You nod slowly, his answer settling something inside you. There’s no urgency in his response, just a quiet assurance that feels like a small but solid anchor. It’s not a promise – it’s an invitation.

“Until then,” he continues, his voice softening, “please, make yourself at home. You’re safe here.”

The sincerity in his words lingers, and while they aren’t a guarantee, they feel real.

Jimin doesn’t say anything else, but you catch the way he watches you, something unspoken but soft in his expression. You feel it yourself too – after so many years there is so much to say, to ask, but for now you take the peaceful quiet for what it is.

His presence feels closer now and you let out a faint smile, glancing back at the painting.

It occurs to you now, how strange it is, that this time, there is something familiar that Jimin’s presence stirs in you – a reminder of what it feels like to trust, even if only a little.

note. thank you all so much for reading! please don’t be a silent reader :’) this fic takes me forever to write and I’d love for you to share your thoughts w me -- i really wanna know what you guys think! and rb toooo <3333

[fashionteahouse]

out of your league - paul x reader

AN: Seventeen entire parts have been loved and supported and i cant thank you all enough ! hugs and kisses

<<prev

It wasn't annoying. It was in fact was soothing. The soft snore in your ear lets you know he was getting some type of sleep. One hand was under his head as he faced you. His face is very close to the side of your face.

You haven't made the effort or plans to move out of the bed. Tomorrow, you would have to leave him.

An entire week.

You remember the last time you haven't been around him for that long. Thinking back, you didn't know how you survived since it was way longer than a week.

A soft poke in your cheek startled you a bit, Paul's wide awake eyes looking back at you. You sigh.

"Sleeeep." you tell him with seriousness.

He just comfortably looks at you. Simply, defying you.

You look at him back.

"Sam gave me off today." Paul says quietly, still staring at you.

A small grin forms your face. "Good. You have all day to get some rest." you tell him.

"Except, I'm not." He says.

You shake your head in amusement at him. Nothing was said for a moment. You both basked in each other's presence. Your eyes were very curious as you paid attention to Paul. You paid attention to the blanket that barely covered his naked body.

You look away from the sight but a hand snatches your chin back to the sight. His once flaccid body part that was laying over was now sticking straight up. His hand takes yours and place it around it, making you stroke as he gives an encouraging groan.

You sit up straighter. At the same time, you both licked your lips.

"We just did it until the sun came up." you whisper to him, his intense hungry gaze made you nervous.

He sits up a bit straighter, displaying a wicked smile that made your stomach do backflips. Placing a sensual peck on your lips he makes a devilish suggestion, "Do you want me to do all of the work?"

Words were caught in your throat as the velvety sound of his voice and his predatory eyes wrapped you tight. He leans up to steal another kiss, but you soon find yourself already under him due to his hands rearranging your position.

Both of your hands were soon gripping the sheet under you as you looked down at the sight. You made heavy breathy noises as you felt like you were losing your mind. He hasn't been lapping at you long and your legs were already quivering.

You have one hand that gripped a handful of his hair as you push him back a bit, the feeling was intense. He did nothing but scoot you closer, making your head flop backwards, back down on the bed as your knees were now separated by your head. He dove right in with his mouth, sucking and licking your soul away. He wasn’t shy with making noises. You both were soon synchronizing noises as he felt good that you felt good.

Your body wouldn't stop moving on it own as you had trouble focusing on reality. Paul made it no better, as he felt all over you still with his hands while you were high with euphoria, making you moan just with his touches, you were sensitive. You crawl away and lay on the bed as you clenched your legs together with a case of the trembles, not wanting him to touch what was between there. It was overworked.

Your face was scrunched and a few stray tears came out of your eyes. You pant as you try to catch your breath. You push Paul's greedy hands away as you turn from him. Silently sobbing a bit. You soon found yourself being dragged by your ankles to the end of the bed. He stood over you as he made half of your lower body be hung off of the bed. He kept your knees by your head. The thrusts were slow, you felt every inch as your body clung onto him. You hissed as he kept pulling himself out completely before slowly sliding back into you.

He then leaned forward, making you clutch and claw at him as he rolled his hips sensually.

"You're mine right?" he whispers as you heard the wetness of yourself be heard as he slid back into you.

"Mhm." you say, hoping its coherent for him to understand. He now had your legs over his shoulders.

"Say it." he whispers as he slowly pulled himself out again. Your body instantly missed him and was screaming for him to come back.

"I'm yours. You're mine." you say breathy but prettily before a groan is followed up. Paul picked his pace up, making you lose your breath.

A plate was slid towards you as you blushed. Paul leaned to place a kiss near your ear as you looked at the breakfast he made you.

He sits near you as you both dig in. Halfway of your plate being empty, you look up with your cheeks full, to Paul's quiet snickering as he's looking at you.

Swallowing, you ask him, "What?"

"Worked up an appetite, huh?" he teasingly asks and you roll your eyes as this only makes him laugh. You couldn't help but look down and crack a small smile of your own.

He rises to take his empty plate and takes it into the kitchen. You rise as you are finished, meeting him in the kitchen. He takes your plate and before you know it, you’re almost the same height as him. Underneath your legs, you feel the cold counter surface.

Paul steps in between you and gives you a sensual opened mouth kiss. You press his chest back subtly with a couple of your fingers. His mouth sloppily moves to your ear and to the side of your neck. You try to jump off of the counter but when you moved forward, his bulge just hits your direct sex. He fully takes advantage of your limited clothing, the only thing that you had on was your underwear and a cotton t shirt.

You make a surprised sigh as you realize your breasts were displayed before him, his hands had scrunched your shirt up to show you off.

“Paul.” you say only to gain his attention, but he thinks its motivation as his face is now pressed onto your soft tissue that lay upon your chest.

Two large hands support your back as your body arches to him.

You’re not on the counter anymore. You’re in his arms, pouring back into the kiss he was giving you while he adjusts his naked self into your opening.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he stands and thrusts up in you. Your hips don’t know which way to move as your insides are being scraped all around. The flame of pleasure builded up as you whisper his name and oh my god’s. This didn’t slow him down. He was so strong as he manually made your body meet with his. His grunts got heavier as he made your body move in ways you never thought would come from you.

He turns and lays you on your side on the table. You look at him and he leans captures your mouth with a tongue filled kiss. The side of your body moved up and down as your mouth hang open. Paul rocked forward into you and your breaths were hitched. Your hand then grabs onto the arm that belonged to the hand that rested and gripped the skin on the side of your hip as you both shook as both climaxes were reached.

You look at him as you feel cozy. You both were under the blanket, facing each other with nude bodies pressed together. It was intimate as the silence surrounded both of you. You didn’t want to move. He didn’t want to move.

A slow drunk smile stretched across your face, softly with low energy you break the silence, “I didn’t even pack yet.”

Paul blinks and hums out a response.

That’s when his eyelids started to droop. You stay still so he could lose the battle of going to sleep but his body jerks lightly as he blinks his eyes open. His eyes focused back onto yours. You huff out an annoyed but very soft sigh, “Why won’t you sleep?” you question him.

He hums an I don’t know noise.

You move your body a bit as you humorously tell him in a low voice, “You know.”

He then closed his eyes, mushing himself even more against you and he gets comfortable. He breaths out a sigh before speaking, “I know you better answer me when you go.”

“Look at you, being bossy.” you say as a small laugh shake you both.

“It’s going to be hell. An entire week of hell.” he says.

“It’s not. I’m not being drafted for war.” you say as you look about.

“It feels like it.” he says low to the point where you felt lucky that you were able to catch what he said.

“I could’ve made you something before I left. To remember me by.” you say.

“I’d rather remember what you feel like.” he says his hands demonstrating his claim.

Your eyes flutter closed a bit before seeing a dark and lustful look on his face. You scoot back a bit but his body weight is heavy.

Swiping a strong stroke with his fingers on your sensitive center, you groan and squeeze your eyes shut.

“Please, Paul.” you whisper to him as you shake your head a bit.

He does nothing but drag your body over him. Your body clutches to him as you pull out of his sloppy kiss and sit up. A hand immediately cups your boob. Hissing at the sensation, you gently climb off of him.

“Just one more.” he says quietly as he pulls on your arm and placed his lips close under your eye.

“I would like to still know how to walk.” you say to him but this makes him darkly chuckle.

“Okay fine. Let’s cuddle.” he says and you scoot back over to him.

You turn over, he’s hard pressed against you but it’s nice and intimate. His flutters of breath tickle across your cheek as he lay close.

Your eyes fall close, feeling a wave of total relaxation. You started to drift but couldn’t go into the wonders of dreamland as you felt something wet and ticklish in your ear. Something ticklish was brushing against your hip and as you look down to see the head of stiff flesh staring right back at you. Your eyes squeeze shut as your breath turn shaky as you kept feeling the moist tongue trace the outline and anatomy of your ear. The grunts and groans that were made just for you, it made you open your mouth. It was as if you two rehearsed it, you both were matching each other’s tone, his fingers pressed and caressing your sensitive pearl.

Feeling familiar hardness grind against that same sensitive spot , made you drool as he made a way to keep his fingers there and rhythmic pleasure waved throughout your body.

Your eyes were closed as your chest was rising up and down, calming down from your intense orgasm. He didn’t even stick it in and you fell apart this hard.

You feel covers being slid off of your naked body as you pop your eyes open. A very naked Paul has the covers in his hands as he stares at you.

“Come with me.” he says as he drops one of his hands and thrusts it forward to you. You tiredly take it as he effortlessly pulls you off of the bed, the front of your body is held and pressed to him as he carried you the entire way into the water of the shower.

He lets you slowly slide down, your breasts slides down on his chest as he let you down to your wobbly legs. He grabs a bit of soap and lathers a small amount, smoothing over your chest. You held your lips in as you squinted, he enjoyed the view very much. He nipped and pulled at your nipples with his fingers and your body agreed with his touches. He caressed the front of you as he took his time to really cup and grope you.

You copy him, but only to stroke him The soap acted as lube. You use two hands. His fingers travel to the sides of your face. He cradled your cheeks as you sensually pump all of him. His tongue circled yours as you use one hand to stroke the two balls of flesh that were between him. You felt as he buck his hips to what you were doing to him. You didn’t care that the kisses were sloppy and Paul definitely didn’t.

You grabbed a towel as you both were finally managed to get clean. Paul leaves the bathroom still naked before you could fully wrap your towel around your body. You move into the bedroom to find him still stiff and ready to go as he lay up on his back. He glances over to you as soon as you could process the room.

He soon has your towel on the ground as you cross your arms at the coldness in the air. He manhandles you a bit, keeping you to his lips, as he’s now acting needy for physical affection.

You were very sensitive to the touch, you started to whine a bit as he lifted you right back into bed with him.

“I will sleep. Just ride me, baby.” he says in between kisses, the urgency didn’t turn you off as you catch wind of his heated eyes.

The muscles between your legs were sore, you sink down slowly. With Paul so eager, he takes over and you’re pressed back on top of him. Paul didn’t notice the tiny breaks of skin that formed on his arms from your fingernails. His mind was too far gone and too mushed to even understand. Both of your insides licked one another as cries for each other reached an all time peak.

You tiredly fall away from him with a flop on the bed. Laying on your stomach, you head is faced away from him as you still feel his touches.

You felt yourself drift off to sleep.

To your surprise, when you woke up, the sky was dark, making the room dark. A hard body was smushed to you, you couldn’t turn your head due to this. You did hear the faint and soft sound of Paul snoring. You listened and you could tell that the sleep he was getting was much needed.

You let your eyelids close again. His breathing and soft snoring let you know he wasn’t waking up any time soon.

“Good.” you thought to yourself and drifted off.

You woke with a shake this time. You blink your eyes open to the light that was turned on.

You rise up quickly and look to Paul.

“What time is it?” you ask in worried state. He’s not worried. He tells you it’s only very late into the night. The covers fall from your body as you slump with sigh of relief.

Paul reached over and pull the nape of your neck to him and you pull back to where you’re looking at him slowly open his eyes back up.

“I still have to pack.” you say and try to move but he holds you at bay.

”Look.” he says softly and jet his eyes to get you to look.

A full suitcase. You look to him as he moved closer and you place two hands on his shoulders. You rise out of bed and he watched you the entire way.

You don’t even notice your naked body at the moment as you take set the suitcase on a space on the bed as you take a peak.

There wasn’t anything that you could think of or comment on, for things that you were missing. He knew what you would’ve brought. You chuckle a bit as you saw the clothes that he packed weren’t even ugly outfits. You look at him with a twinkle in your eye.

“One day you’ll trust me.” Paul plainly comments with two arms behind his head as he watched you.

“One day you’ll be my stylist.” you joke.

He does nothing but wet his lips a bit as he lets it known he’s staring at your body, “You’d wear nothing.”

He's looking down at you with his bottom lip inward as both of your ankles are held up by only one of his hand.

Your entire body feels hot as his hips roll forward to reach all of you. Your body shakes as well as your voice. You felt achy but, he was making new places feel achy. Your ankles are now over his shoulders as he reaches new heights with you.

You both catch your breath as your body is shake your head slightly, you felt like you couldn’t move.

“How? How can you do it?” you asked in a whisper as he glanced over at you with a soft sigh, “It’s your fault.”

You nudge him while laying in your lazy spot, “My fault?”

“You’re the one who’s making me so fucking horny.” he says as he closed his eyes and pulled you close.

You lay close to him as an idea pops in your head.

“We should eat before I have to leave.” you suggest.

He kept touching you while you were trying to cook breakfast food. It was now near dawn and your time was ticking down.

He wouldn’t let you sit in your own seat. You were seated in his lap as he ate with one hand. He looked at you more than the food he put in his mouth.

You dressed slowly as he watched you. Each article of clothing that was placed on your body, his face got sadder and sadder. Fully dressed down to socks you step in between his legs as you cup his cheeks.

“I will just cancel. Screw them.” you say as he closed his eyes and still managed to pull out a small smile. He rubbed down your back with his hands as he says, “Don’t do that.”

“I will. I hate leaving you like this.” you say to him and reach to press your lips on different spots of his face.

“Come on, I don’t want you to miss your flight.” he says and his voice was thick.

You kept a hand in his as he drove. He was the one who kept conversation flowing in the car. He didn’t let silence fill the air. You were thankful for this.

The drive to the airport seemed short. As if there was not enough time. You slowly got out of the car as he gave you your suitcase.

Both of your arms wrapped tight around him and you felt tightness. You didn’t know what was wrong with you. You shuddered and felt your face get hot before he rubs your back, “Please don’t do this to me now. You’re making me feel fucked up.” he says with a chuckle.

You brush your eyes with one swipe as you join his chuckle, “I’m sorry. I’m really going to miss you.”

He dropped his head to place a lengthy kiss on your lips. Making out against the car, you held each other close.

He’s the one who pulls back, he takes a glance at your face as he doesn’t know how to feel. You feel empty as your hand is on your suitcase.

He stares back at you. He looked like he wanted to say something but he chose not to. He didn’t know if it was the right time or not. He watches you take a hand in your pocket, you give him a folded piece of paper.

“Don’t read it until you get home, okay?” you ask him. He nods. You take him in with your eyes.

“Go, Y/N. You’re going to miss your flight. Call me as soon, and I mean as soon as you land.” he says and you nod and your head is back on his warm chest.

You hated that you slept as much as you did today. You were wide awake. You envied the couples that got to excitedly chat about the new experiences they were going to have with each other. You sigh as you check your phone, something you haven’t done at all.

Bella left you two messages. Two different times.

“Hey i’m working on my scrapbook today do you want to come over?”

“I don’t know when you’re leaving but be safe!”

You type back.

“Sorry. I’m just now seeing this :/ i’m at the airport now :) thank you”

You press send.

You decide to text Paul.

“I miss you already 😞”

You watch as he is typing something back to you.

“I miss you more”

You kept rereading it.

You click in your seatbelt as the pilot announces where the flight is going. You’re glad your seat is a window seat. You were glad that you bought the cd player. You got comfortable as music drifted into your ears.

You found a small piece of charcoal in your jacket pocket and doodled for some time. Time passed and you didn’t realize that the entire cd was over and you heard the muffled sounds of your surroundings.

You rip out and over fold the picture that you created in your sketchbook and stuff it in your jacket pocket. The plane lands and you move through the airport.

As you talk to Paul, your face morphs into sadness.

“Soak in everything.” he says to you on the line.

“I will. I can’t wait to come back home already.” you say with somber. Saying your goodbyes, you type to John that you’ve arrived. Almost immediately, he sends you a location for later on to meet him at.

You agree and come out of the airport with your suitcase wheeling behind you. You don’t even process the new city air because your body freezes.

A pair of amber eyes make their debut in your eyesight.

You see a car door open as you start to frown. You see a glimpse of his sparkling teeth as he looks to the side and grins.

“We’re not spending any time together.” you say to him with your arms crossed.

“Do you have a ride?” he asks.

“I have somewhere to be.” you say and turn to walk away but a cold hand halts you.

“I can take you.” he insists calmly.

“No.” you answer dryly as you try to book a ride.

“There’s no use in spending money.” he says with a ridiculed grin.

A singular rain drop slaps you on your hand as you held your phone. You gasp and look up to the sky and see Edward with that same grin.

“Just go away. I need to focus for tonight and I’m not letting you or anyone mess it up for me.” you hiss and never taking your eyes away from him, letting him know that you’re clear. He’s not grinning anymore as he lets you finish.

“Don’t get stuck in the rain at least.” he says as his keys, that are dangling from his hand, are looking right back at you.

The light patter started to get heavier as you scowl at the sky with a huff.

"Are you cold?" he asks as the sound of windshield wipers follow after him.

"I have my jacket." you say as you stare out the window. A perfect mixture of lights and people.

You then hear and feel trickles of heat make its way onto your body, the vent in front of you blowing softly. You roll your eyes in your head.

"You don't even know what hotel I'm staying at." You state with narrowed eyes as he maneuvers his way through traffic.

"What hotel are you staying at?" he questions back as his liquid gold eyes surf the road.

You don't say anything as you realize you don't know your way around the city.

He then glanced in your direction but down, "It's fine. I know my way around."

You look to him as honks are in the background, "You read my mind this time?" you ask.

He grins and shakes his head, "No, it was just written over your face."

You look at the place he's slowing down to. You know what you came here with, this was definitely out of your reach. The architecture alone looked expensive to look at.

"Um..." you mutter as Edward gives his keys to the valet and your bag is taken through the door.

Edward speaks before you could say anything.

"I will leave you to it." he says as he stands in the hallway with you. You were outside of your door, a mobile key now in your possession.

"Not so fast. Why are you doing this?" you ask. You didn't need anyone to buy you anything.

"Alice booked your room for you. I had nothing to do with it." he says.

"You could've told me."

"Why, so you could run away?" he asks with a smirk.

You narrow your eyes at him as you close the heavy door.

After a shower, you sat with your phone in your hand and pressed on a contact name to make a phone call.

"Hello?" the high voice answers.

"Alice, I'm booking my own room." you say but she cuts you off, "No, please. It's your first time here and it has to be perfect." she says.

"Here? Wait, you're here too?" you inquire.

A knock is sharp on the door as you open it to find the petite vampire in front of your door. You're in shock as she almost knocked you over from a hug.

"So, how do you think of it so far?" she asks and you cross your arms. You look as she tried to cheer you up, "I don't want you or anybody to pay for my stay here."

"Y/N, I do anything for my friends. You will have a good time here." she says with a convincing smile and tone, she glances at the outfit that you're wearing.

"Where are you meeting him?" she asks.

You show her the location as you didn't know your way around.

"Hm. It's not too fancy." she comments as she reads the restaurant name.

You look at the time on your phone and you hear soft thud on the bed. You look to find another pair of pants that were in your suitcase, laying there.

"It would be a good idea to wear these instead." she says. You give her a look and she adds on, "You will feel comfortable. Trust me."

Sighing, you quickly change and you start to put your jacket on. She walks you out all the way to the lobby and hugs you again, "Be safe. Call me!"

You stare out the window as the driver, she also paid for, drove you to the destination. Stepping out of the car, you felt a bit nervous as you went inside.

You didn't have to wonder where John was as his table was a bit more lively than others. Tearful laughs were circling the table as you slowly walked. Wiping his eye, John sobers up and waves you over.

He shoved the man sitting next to him in the arm and point to you.

"This is Y/N." he says as if you were a huge prize. It actually made you blush and gasps went around the table.

"Oh my god. Sit down." The man, who introduces himself as Mark, turns to you. Both hands are up and he looks ahead for a second as he tells you, "I cannot believe your mind. Can I borrow it?"

This makes you relax and smile, "Take it."

"Seriously. I'm so glad you're here. How long are you going to be staying for?" he asks you with great interest.

"A week." you simply answer.

A frown is formed, "That's it?" he quickly sobers up, "Never mind. I guess its best to get things out of the way quickly."

The conversation was interesting. You both forgot about the other around the table as you both poured and splashed ideas around. You both were quite fond of one another as he was deeply into fashion. He was dying for something fresh and different and you were dying for something more challenging. His show was happening at the end of the week and he wanted to squeeze a creation by you.

"I don't know how to make clothes." you say with a laugh.

"I need you to paint a portrait of the model I'm going to use. I'm a co-editor for my friend's issue of the magazine.” he says with excitement.

As you both walk toward the exit, he gives you his personal number, telling you he will set everything up for tomorrow. He then says, "You should come with me, I'm meeting someone for a party."

The first thing you wanted to do was tell Paul everything.

"It's okay. I had a pretty long day. I flew in today." you say.

"And then what happened?" Paul asked you as he looked at you through the video call.

"He invited me out to stay out but, I'm pretty tired." you say. You see that he's not saying anything but staring, you call out to him.

"Paul?"

Not moving, he says, "Yeah?"

"What's wrong, you got quiet on me." you say with a chuckle.

"I miss you." he simply says.

"I miss you too." you say, quietly and you couldn’t believe how the simple action made you still blush.

Paul stared at the screen, he didn’t want to talk, he just wanted to look at you. Little to your knowledge, beside him, he held the corolla you gave to him some time ago. He always kept it, his fingers repeatedly traced over it as you both contently blinked at each other. You both wanted to reach out to each other through the screen.

[ryuzakemo128]

Grim Reaper Part Nine

Pairing: Poly 141 x female reader / Female reader/ You x Her mental health x König

Content Warnings: Violence, bloodshed, injuries, Premeditated murder on the brain (Female Reader), swearing.

Words: 756

Note: Sorry for a short one. Wanted to get this one out. Next one will be longer I promise.

Masterlist - Prequel - Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight - Part Nine

Supernatural AU — Poem

Credit for Dividers:@cafekitsune + @strangergraphics

Summary: Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? That I have fallen for a lie. You were never on my side.  Fool me once, fool me twice. Are you death or paradise?

Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? That I have fallen for a lie. You were never on my side.  Fool me once, fool me twice. Are you death or paradise?

Was I the problem? Did I do something to make you hate me so much? 

Why didn’t you just leave me instead of lying so many times to my face?

Was I stupid to love you? Was I reckless to help? Was it obvious to anybody else? 

I hope you rot in this hell you have made yourself. It’s my last gift I will give to you.

You knew how my life was before I met you. Yet you still did this to me. 

Cold. Calculated. That is all you will ever be.

If I had the power to curse you. I would have done it long ago. 

Once I leave this house, this country all over again. Do yourself a favour. Stay away from me.

Stay far, far away from me.

Otherwise, I can and most absolutely will kill you myself.

If you wish to keep your life.

Stay in your country and I will stay in mine.

I don’t want to be pushed into a corner. But you keep being adamant on doing so.

Don’t blame me when I bite you. Blame yourself for ignoring the warning signs.

You are the reason we are no longer married. Take accountability for your actions and shut the fuck up. 

König. You still don’t know if that’s his actual name or just simply a call sign. He never told you either way. 

But what does it matter? 

The man who had once been the epitome of comfort and support in your life had become a shadow of his former self. The trust that had once been as solid as steel between you had been shattered into a million pieces.

Leaving a gaping chasm of doubt and anger in its place. 

The coldness in his eyes, the way he looked at you now, it was like you were nothing but a stranger to him. 

Someone who had merely crossed his path at the wrong time.

"I will leave, and you won't see me again." you snarl, getting up to get your things.

König remains seated, his expression unreadable. "Reaper, I know you're upset, but we need to talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about. You chose to cheat. You made that choice. Suffer the consequences. I'm not the one who needs to explain anything. You're the one who broke our vows.” 

“My life is in my hands. I will not become who you are.” You told him. Your knuckles turning white from the way you turned your hands into fists. You were so tired of the kind of excuses coming from the mouths of men who neither cared nor wanted you around. 

You weren’t going to let König know you again. To choose death than suffer through his presence a second time. It made so much sense to you. You do enough talk. What did you learn from your mistakes? Did you even learn from them at all? 

If he can’t see it. May he drown inside his endless well of pitiful tears. 

You are not his wife, his friend, his punching bag. The call sign ‘Grim Reaper’? You earned it for a reason. Too bad he’s too blind to see it. 

What has eyes but cannot see? 

Escape.

Escape and run faster than he can hope to catch up. 

If he can’t take the hint, then…..you would have to kill him yourself.

Can’t be too hard to kill a six-foot ten adult man, right?

You can hear the shouting between him and his girlfriend. A sickening, twisted grin spreads across your face. Sweet revenge for the child you lost years ago.  Weight began to lift from your shoulders. It wasn’t over by a long shot. But now you know how to twist the knife to get what you wanted in order to leave. 

To head back home where you felt like you belonged completely. 

Home. Your home. 

The one where you don’t have to hide from broken bottles, yelling, shouting, endless need to feel like you have to explain yourself. 

Could it still be there when you go back? Will it still be there now?

[sevs-corner]

Another one of my wild dreams coming to me, I swear the voices are having too much fun when I’m unconscious, where its the usual Soulmate-Reincarnation trope but the Tf 141 guys always get to meet each other but…you.

Every. Single. Time.

In each new life, they’d always happen to meet, but nearing the end of theirs— a longing always seem to linger in their hearts. Pieces of their memory always missing with a piece of their soul not being fulfilled.

At first, they don’t notice it— it was already rare enough to have 4 soulmates all tied together. So, to think of another partner being somewhere out there? Yeah, that was outrageous.

They were already thankful enough that they had each other, how could they still feel so greedy and longing?

We’re they not enough for each other?

What was lacking? What were they lacking?

When then they hear murmurs of soulmates being together, they all said they’ll feel something snap into place.

They think its the soulmate bond being locked into place, their soul finally complete and fates intertwined.

Yet… they only got to the first couple of steps to that. Seeing that zing in each other’s eyes that recognizes each other as soulmates, the bonding ritual, the return of past life memories…

Every time they get to that point, they’d remember that something was just… missing.

So they try, in each life to the next, to find some way to fix that last piece into place— test out all their theories.

What if there was something wrong that they did? Were they truly partners? What if one wasn’t their mate with the other?

It wasn’t until Price offered the idea that there may be… a fifth person… involved that their tactics changed.

But they never got lucky.

How come it was so easy to find each other but not…you?

They were just about to give up in this timeline, their lives being ran rugged in the military made their hearts weak and souls crushed already— why would they make the extra effort when they already had the partners they wanted right besides them?

But they regret saying that, bringing it up and believing in it when that familiar zing rings across their brains and underneath their skins as they see you— fresh eyed recruit sent right to their team.

It was like their prayers have finally been answered, all the sacrifices their past selves made now coming to fruition—

But you see no zing- you’ve never had one.

That must be another reason why you always happen to miss them- whether it be through an early death, a bad relationship, an unfortunate event, living across the country from them.

But no, you were always right near them. You just couldn’t find them like they did with each other.

It just didn’t click until now for you and they are distraught for you.

They are so happy, souls now complete and their memories as well— but you had nothing.

That feeling of wholeness and unconditional love— you couldn’t feel it.

So they swear, that from then on, they’d always find you next— no matter how many times they’d repeat it, all the struggles and pain, it was incomparable to you who felt nothing from a forced severed soul bond.

My sleepi and awake mind are cooking but im not in the kitchen- send help what the

Masterlist here! Prev dream idea i was talkin about here- its becoming a saga oml

[ashprince-of-bel-air]

To Love An Emperor: Part 2

*sigh* all roads lead to smut, I am not a strong woman, I will give the public (and myself) what they want, because I know you guys are as thirsty as I am.

Part one

The kiss was rough and passionate, Caracalla’s hands were pressing your face against his, ensuring you could not move away from him, scared that you would disappear if he was not holding you. You could feel the desperation in his kiss, it was as if he could not get close enough to you, wanting to feel every inch of you against him. His mouth was rough against your own, he was impatient and craving more from you, he wanted to feel how much you truly loved him.

Eventually his hands released your face and travelled down your body, savouring every curve that was hidden beneath your gown, groping at every piece of you that he could. Once his hands were upon your hips he lifted you and pushed you back onto the bed. Laying before him, completely at his mercy. Caracalla paused for a moment as he took in the image of you, dishevelled yet radiant, in his mind you were putting the goddesses to shame with your beauty. Geta may have the upper hand and control in political matters, but he would never have someone so beautiful laid before him, someone so willing to please.

You felt Caracalla’s body press against your own, feeling his length against your thigh made you moan slightly, you had lain with Caracalla many times, each was better than the last, like he was learning how your body worked, wanting to please you; hoping it would make you love him more. You could feel his face buried in the crook of your neck, his lips tasting every inch of your skin. You felt a lone tear drip onto your neck as he spoke “You love me don’t you?” Caracalla’s voice cracked as he spoke, the words coming from his mouth between desperate kisses against the soft skin of your neck.

Your heart ached for him, you weren’t sure if it was love that you felt but you wanted him to be happy, to feel peace for once. At first you comforted him out of obligation as his future wife, yet now you longed to be the one to soothe him, to wipe away his tears and take his pain away. You tangled your hand into his hair, pulling him even closer to you now, letting him devour more of your skin. “Of course, my Emperor” Your words were like sweet nectar to him, he was your Emperor and only he could have you. Many things in life Caracalla had to share with his brother, but not you, you belonged to him, you were now his property. He thought more of you than that though, you were his confidant, the one he could unburden himself to, someone to soothe his aches and bathe with him after a long day, you were more than property, something his brother would never understand.

Your words had ignited something within Caracalla, calling him ‘your emperor’ always made him feral for you and you knew it. In an instant his teeth were grazing your neck whilst his hands were tearing your clothes away from your body, he was desperate now to feel your skin against his own. It did not take long for him to free you from the silk dress that was covering you, one strong rip was all it took before you were bare before him. The goddess Venus herself could have laid naked before Caracalla, yet he would not have looked upon her with the same reverence that he gave you. You were truly a vision before him, he had seen and devoured your body many times now and every time it was like the first time he was seeing you, gazing upon your naked form and committing it to memory.

His own robes did not last long, you helped him pull them over his head and cast them aside, not caring where they land, passion had taken you both now. Your skin tingled as his hands roamed your body, breathless still at the feeling of his lips against your neck. Caracalla’s hand moved its way down your body to your core, groaning internally at the wetness between your legs for him, knowing that only he could make you feel this way. You gasped slightly as you felt his fingers press inside you, arching your chest into him, wanting to feel his skin against you.

“I am yours, and you are mine” Caracalla whispered these words into your ear as his fingers warmed you up for him, ready to take him properly. You shuddered as he whispered to you, desperate to please him. Caracalla removed his fingers from you, a feeling that made you whimper before him, desperate to have him fill you and pleasure you the way only he could.

You felt the cold rings on his hands over your skin, his hands roaming your body and gripping every bit of flesh that he could as he pressed into you. A small gasp escaped your lips as you felt him stretch you, no amount of warming up would ever make you ready for him. Caracalla chuckled at your gasp, you felt his lips upon your chest, feeling his smile against your skin. His rhythm was steady, wanting to enjoy the feeling of you beneath him. You pulled his face towards your own and kissed him passionately, the pleasure now starting to rise within your body, needing him to bring you to climax.

Your body was like heaven to Caracalla, you soothed his emotions and his needs. This time he would mark you with love bites, he wanted to show that you were his, his teeth and lips moving desperately upon your skin, devouring you wherever he could. All his life he had to share with Geta, but not now, you were his, laid before him and taking him like the good wife you were soon to be.

Your back arched and you pressed your body towards Caracalla, hungry to feel his skin against yours as he thrusted into you, almost at the precipice of your climax. You raked your nails down his back, trying to hold him close to you as you came, your walls pulsed around him whilst you moaned softly in his ear. Caracalla buried his face into your neck, you could feel his moans vibrating against your skin, knowing he would cum soon.

You felt a breathless moan against your neck as he fell on top of you, the energy spent from fucking you. You felt a wetness on your neck as he held you close to him, unsure if it was sweat or tears, you chose not to press the matter and held him back, kissing the top of his head and telling him that you loved him.

For the first time you both spent the night together, laid naked in bed, your limbs entwined. You may not have loved him at first or enjoyed the fact you were betrothed to him, yet now you would not wish to be parted from him. He had his anger and issues, but you wanted to be the one to bring him peace, in this life and the next.

[hexlenx]

I'D PICK HER OVER ME — james fleamont potter

note: I do not own any of the characters in harry Potter except for the plot in this small fic. This is purely made for entertainment purposes as well as cuz I am craving for some angst.

warnings!: mentions of death, angst

__________________

James was tired, he really was.

Being a single father was hard, plus being an auror for the ministry. His schedule from his work as well as being a father at the same time was harder than the war that had just ended four years ago.

James sighed in exhaustion as he covered his eyes with his arm while laying on his bed. He had just came back from a meeting in the ministry that ended two hours ago. The meeting ended very late and he hadn't had the time to rest until earlier before waking up in cold sweat.

James had nightmares. It was always the same.

Getting paralyzed by a spell, watching his wife get killed by a dark curse, his son almost dying but some miracle happened and the curse thrown at him was rebounded towards the killer, and repeat. All the same thing, every night.

So James did the only thing that helped him everytime it happened. Sitting up as he groaned, he began to stand up to walk towards downstairs and to the kitchen. Arriving at the location, he began to brew tea. Normally when he was still in his adolescence, he would drink firewhiskey to cope with the war, but now he settled for tea that he added a teaspoon of honey to cope with his loss.

It was what his wife always had whenever she was stressed, tea with a bit of honey. Something he never understood why that preference until now.

"Papa?" A timid voice of a young boy called out to James making him snap out of his daze.

"Yes, Harry?" James said to his son. Harry was a four year old boy, unruly brown hair like his father, circular black glasses on his face because of the poor eyesight he gained from his father. He was practically the carbon copy of James Potter but the only thing different is his son's eyes. It was his mother's, the only woman James had ever loved.

"Where's Mama?" Harry questioned. The air stilled but the small child was oblivious of it. It was a very sensitive topic but it is not a taboo. With sharp intake of breath, James knelt down to his son's height, putting his hand on his shoulder as he fixed his gaze on Harry's.

"Your mother." James started as he paused for a moment to think of a sentence to explain why his mother is gone. "Is in a far away land, at the moment."

"But why so far?"

"Because, Harry, she is trying to protect us from something and she needs to go away for a while." That's it, James. The father encouraged himself. He's still young, tell him when he is old enough. He continued these thoughts as he looked at his son's thoughtful expression.

"Will she come back?"

Silence. There was no answer to that question as James embraced his son in his arms, brows furrowed as tears were threatening to fall from its sockets. The truth was, his mother was not gonna come back but how could he tell that to his four year old son?

Finally having set his son to bed, James took one last glance to Harry before going downstairs to sit on the couch of the living room. The honey-tea has long gone cold as he sat in front of the fire that was slowly dwindling. James stared blankly at it as his thoughts were loud but at the same time quiet.

If only you were here.

"If I could pick on who would survive that day, I would've picked you." James muttered to himself out loud, quietly sniffling his tears that slowly fell on his cheeks to his hands.

"Because you would've known what to do.."

The crying of a baby echoed through the house in Godric's Hollow. The scene showed a master bedroom, two bumps could be seen under sheets of the bed. As the cry continued, one of the figures moved.

"Fuck.."

A deep male's voice cursed out as he sat up, not being able to fall asleep now because of the noise. Another voice moaned out from being awaken from the movement of the man.

"I'll take care of him, love. Just continue sleeping." The man coaxed to his wife beside him who blinked at him to ask if he's sure.

"You sure?"

"Yea, you sleep and I'll tend, yea?" With that, the woman went back to her dreams as the man carefully unravels himself from the sheets before walking out the bedroom to the nursery.

"Shh, it's okay, Harry. I got you, bud." He said the moment he took Harry from the crib and coaxed him in his arms. The man was James Potter, the leader of the band of misfits, Marauders is now a father. The one thing he never knew he would be with the war going on.

Harry, the baby, now stopped his fussing and opened his eyes that he got from his mother to stare at his father. Smiling widely, he giggled and tried to reach for James' hair.

"Hey now, not the hair you little twit."

"Do not curse at our child, James Fleamont Potter." A stern melodic voice spoke out from behind the father who flinched as James chuckled sheepishly.

"I'm not...." James trailed off as he looked everywhere but his wife, who rolled her eyes.

"I swear, I can't leave you alone for one second with Harry." You scolded your husband with a slight slap on his arm making him grin at you.

"You love me!" James teased to which you rolled your eyes again.

"Unfortunately." You said while grabbing Harry out of his hands and propping him up on your hip.

"What is that supposed to mean?!"

James leaned against the door frame of the kitchen as he wore a pink apron with a giant cute teddy bear printed on its front, courtesy of Sirius saying it was to look husband material and James agreeing to it because he was told it was husband material, he was listening to you humming a small song to Harry as you kept him occupied by holding up a toy on your son's face.

James was cooking up lunch because he wanted you to rest and let him handle household chores while you occupy your son. It was the least he could do for you as the war lead both of you into hiding your son from the Dark Lord because of a prophecy. He knew you wanted to spend more time with Harry before the worse happens, so he did all the chores while you spend your time with your child, even after so many of your refusals.

James smiled in content as well as fondness as he watched the both of you. How could he have such a wonderful family with how arrogant and stupid he was when he was a teen. He didn't think he deserved such thing after being such a prejudice prick towards Slytherins.

"Take Harry and run!" James yelled out to you as he tried to push the Dark Lord back even if it was just for a delay. He couldn't let him get to both of you, you're all that he had left.

Successfully stunning the Dark Lord, James then ran upstairs to be with you and Harry. It was the only thing he could do to help you run away before the Dark Lord catches up. Unfortunately, James underestimated the Dark Lord's recovery from a stunning hex. The moment James arrived at the doorframe of the nursery of where you were, he fell paralyzed by the spell the Dark Lord had thrown at him.

"No.." James mumbled as his eyes went wide in horror. He kept chanting the word like a mantra as he helplessly watched the scene in front of him. His mumbles becoming screams as he sobbed heavily. Sweat dripped his forehead as his face turned red, eyes squinting, brows furrowing hard as tears kept flowing down like a waterfall from his reddening eyes.

No...not my family..

Not the one I just built..

Please don't do this to me..

A green light blinded the whole room as a loud thump echoed the room. Silence overlapped as the Dark Lord grinned viciously. James' brown eyes stilled as he watched the limped lifeless body of the woman he was proud to say was his, the love of his life, the mother of his son, his wife, you.

James was not spared from tragedy as he now watched his son getting cursed by the Dark Lord before he stared in disbelief as the curse rebounded and hit the one who casted it. Watching as a lightning bolt of a cut appeared on his son's forehead.

But the moment he was free from his trap, he screamed in agony, not from his wounds, but from the death of his love.

"Now, Harry. If I could choose on who would've lived between me and your mother." James said to his son who was now in his teen, sixteen, as they stood in front of a gravestone. A familiar name etched in the stone.

[ Your Name ] Potter

[ Birthdate ] — October 31st, 1981

"In loving memory of a great friend, sister, mother, and wife."

"I'd pick her over me."

"Why?"

"Because, she would've known what to do."

[mybiasisexo]

Entangled - Part 11

Pairing: Chanyeol x f.Reader Chapter Warnings: Language Word Count: 8.1k Author Notes: DOUBLE UPDATE BICTHESSSS!!!!! ok this is my big sorry!!! i was gonna post this earlier today but then coachella happened lol and my priorities changed, but we're back!!! tbh....im so scared to post this 😀. Its just a yap fest if im being honest, so if youre not into that....my bad. but ok yes ill stop blabbin. l adore you all pls enjoy 😩

It’s another hour before you leave the restaurant, impossibly full and content.

The ride back is silent. Most of the crew pass out as soon as you’re on the road, Seulgi being one of them. She uses your shoulder as a pillow. It doesn’t look comfortable, but she’s drooling into your clavicle, so it must be. You can’t sleep, so you quietly watch the beautiful dark scenery, ignoring the occasional prickles on your skin from being watched.

Once you’re back at the hotel, you start saying your goodbyes in front of the van. Everyone’s leaving at different times, so it makes sense to do your farewells now while you’re all present.

It’s bittersweet.

Jongdae is the first to approach you, collecting you tightly into his arms.

“Tell Eunhee I missed her this weekend, and congrats,” you tell him.

“Will do and thank you.”

He squeezes the shit out of you, making you yelp in pain. In retaliation, you smack his shoulder and he hisses, escaping to the next person before you can strike again.

You’re rolling your eyes as Jongin makes his way over, chuckling at his friends’ silly antics.

“He’s mean,” you whine.

“I know,” he coos as he hugs you. You instantly relax in his comforting arms. He really should start selling these things.

“It was good seeing you,” he says, making you sway.

“You too,” you say. “I’m sorry for getting you in this mess.”

“Don’t be.” He repeats. He tightens his arms. “It was bound to happen. I still believe it can work out.”

You smile pathetically. As if he can sense it, Jongin kisses the top of your head before separating.

“Make that runway your bitch,” you tell him. He smirks and bows in thanks.

Baekhyun quickly replaces him, pulling you into a firm hug.

“You’ve made this trip far more eventful than it needed to be,” he says in your ear.

“It wasn’t my intention,” you huff into his shirt.

He chuckles. “Look, I know things didn’t end on a good note, but I promise….” He leans back far enough to look into your eyes and says your name. “It can be. Everyone deserves a second chance. Even you, okay?”

The urge to cry hits you hard and you give him a watery smile. “Thank you, Baekhyun. For everything. I’ve gained some respect for you.”

His jutting jaw is the only acknowledgement he gives your last statement. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want my friends to be happy.”

“You’re hogging her.” You’re being yanked away from Baekhyun and he lets go without a fight, waving goodbye before heading inside the hotel.

“Do we have to say our goodbyes right now?” You ask, staring up at the best friend who you aren’t going back to a shared apartment with. “I’m going to cry.”

Sehun sighs before wrapping his arms around you. “Don’t be a baby.”

You’re already fighting tears, and the lump in your throat grows larger. “I’m really going to miss you.”

“I know,” and he sounds like he’s trying his hardest not to get choked up. “I’ll miss you more. I’ll visit Seoul soon. Most likely for Jongdae’s baby shower. I'll even bring Kyungsoo. I know you’ve been curious about him.”

You laugh through your now falling tears. “It’s not me who’s been curious about your little friend. I’m sure Seulgi will be pleased to hear she’ll finally be introduced.”

“Why do you think I’ve been stalling for so long?”

You share a laugh. “Okay. Jongdae’s baby shower isn’t that far away. I can handle that.”

“That works for you?” He asks sarcastically.

“It does. Just make sure to not leave without saying goodbye again, okay?”

He groans like you’re inconveniencing him, but whispers into your hair. “I won’t.”

Satisfied, you break the hug. Now that your arms are free, you wipe your damp face, laughing at how ridiculous you are. Sehun sucks his teeth in faux disapproval. Shaking his head, he lifts a hand in an attempt to help dry your face, but you knock it away. You’re about to tell him to screw off, but you’re interrupted by the clearing of a throat.

You turn towards the sound and startle slightly when you see Chanyeol standing a few steps away. His hands are deep in his pockets as his eyes flicker between Sehun and you. It’s then you notice just how quiet the portico has become, and check your surroundings. Only the three of you and Seulgi are left outside the hotel, everyone else retiring to their rooms. Seulgi is a few feet away, as though she was also leaving but decided to linger for a bit. When your eyes lock, she throws you a knowing grin.

“Sehun,” she calls. “Let me buy you a shot.”

Sehun seems to catch on quickly. “Oh! Can’t say no to a free drink, can I?”

His eyes never leave yours as he speaks, conveying an important message. ‘Talk to him and get your closure.’

He pats you before sauntering over to Seulgi, throwing an arm around her shoulders to drag her into the hotel.

Now alone, you give in and face Chanyeol.

There isn’t a flicker of the animosity or detachment you saw on the boardwalk the night before, and you aren’t sure if that’s a good thing or not. He’s admiring you, not with disgust or lust, just looking. The lack of emotion has you curious about what's going on in his head.

“Everyone’s said goodbye except us,” he finally says.

You lift an eyebrow. “Does last night not count?”

He frowns. “Do you want it to?”

“No, it’s not that!” You quickly correct. “It’s just that my decisions always hurt you in the end, so I understand if you never want to speak to me again.”

Your eyes water at the thought of going back to strangers with Chanyeol, of losing him again. But, you know you don’t deserve to ask him to stay. If he’s done trying with you, you’ll accept it without complaint. it’s the least you can do after the pain you’ve caused him these past couple days.

He turns away from you, as if he can’t stand to see your tears. One of his hands pats at his thigh as he squints at the beach in the distance.

“We’ve both made poor decisions.” he sighs heavily. “But yesterday was really really bad. I no longer know if there can be an ‘us’ after this. Maybe you're right. Maybe we’ve grown too far apart, and the people we are today aren’t able to love each other like we used to.”

He takes a deep breath and you brace yourself for his rejection. “It wasn’t until dinner that it really hit me, that today is our last day here. I don’t want to leave, to go back to Seoul, and continue living as I did before the wedding. I can’t. Not after seeing you again. I don’t want to leave Jeju with any regrets, and if we leave things like this, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”  

“Me too,” you admit. “I’ll regret it too. I already regret so much.”

“Do you regret us?”

“No. Never. I regret where we are now, but I’ll never regret you, Park Chanyeol.”

Your throat tightens from the confession, hating how it sounds like a farewell on your tongue.

You swear his eyes gloss over, but he hides it quickly by turning his head to look behind him. When he faces you again, his features are under control. He tilts his head in the direction he just checked. “Walk with me?”

This is it, and you know it. The last chance with Chanyeol. The inevitable talk you’d been skirting around all weekend. Now is the chance to have your closure, and Chanyeol is giving it to you. If you decline, what is left of your bridge will be burnt for good, keeping you both on opposite ends with no chance of return.

You’re relieved that he offers to walk. When you imagine this conversation, it’s always in Chanyeol’s suite, and you’re honestly not strong enough to ever go back there. The memories are too fresh, and you have zero faith in your self control when it comes to him.

So, you eagerly agree to his request and follow him as he starts walking down the sidewalk. It’s silent as he leads you away from the hotel, taking a path that heads towards the city not too far away. Chanyeol’s steps seem sure, and it makes you wonder if he has a certain place in mind.

He answers your unasked question five minutes later, when you take notice of a faint glowing in the distance. Chanyeol throws a couple nervous glances your way, and the shift in his demeanor has you alert.

You walk a few more feet before you can fully see a white gazebo on the edge of the sandy beach. Golden fairy lights dangle off the sides, making a surreal romantic atmosphere.

You stop dead in your tracks. Chanyeol halts beside you, intently watching your reaction.

“Do you remember this place?” he asks, voice thick with controlled emotion.

You do.

You climb up the steps into the gazebo. A wooden bench wraps around the walls and vines with pink flowers curl around the thin poles connecting to the rounded roof. You stop a little before the center and turn to Chanyeol who stayed back, allowing you a moment to yourself.

“This is where you proposed to me.”

The lights reflect off his round eyes, softening them. Or maybe it’s the memory you both share. A day that you will never forget.

It was your senior trip. Come to think of it, there are many similarities to the one you’re currently on. All of your college friends came to Jeju and stayed at the same hotel, thanks to Junmyeon. You were in a different suite that time, with a different roommate. For five days, the gang ran around the city, exploring and partying. Basking in the last moments you all had before fully joining the real world. Well, Jongdae, Baekhyun, Junmyeon, and Chanyeol had already graduated, but that didn’t stop them from acting like it was their last moments as well. Speaking of Chanyeol, the two of you were deeply in love by that point. You were that nauseating couple that would get lost in your own little world, gravitating around each other in your own solar system. The last day of the trip, he had talked you into having a girl’s day with Seulgi. You were hesitant, because you wanted to spend the last day with him, but he assured you that you’d have him all to yourself that night.

That was enough to have Seulgi drag you around town, taking you to get pampered with a spa and convincing you to let her buy you a dress that she was adamant you had to wear later that night. Little did you know she was in on a plan being prepared behind your back. 

When the sun was setting, you followed her to where you thought you were going to meet up with everyone else for dinner, and were confused when she dragged you to the middle of the beach. That was when you spotted the gazebo. There were pink and white balloons on the far side across the entrance. And in the center, dressed in a fancy black suit, stood Park Chanyeol.

You glared accusingly at Seulgi, who just laughed and shoved you into the gazebo. Your heart raced dangerously fast, nearly drowning out the speech Chanyeol prepared for you. It was beautiful. Chanyeol, ever the poet, poured his heart to you, tearing up as he explained his endless love and devotion.

Then he dropped to one knee and pulled out a ring from his pants. You’d later chastise him for not keeping it in its box. He held it up and it shimmered against the lights surrounding you, but it paled in comparison to the shimmering in Chanyeol’s eyes.

‘Will you continue to be the melody of my life’s song?’ He asked. ‘Will you marry me?’

You were screaming yes before he could finish his question. His smile was blinding as he slid the ring onto your finger and you pounced on him. He held you tightly, lifting you up with him as he stood, and buried his face into your neck as you both cried. You hadn’t noticed all of your friends poking around the outside of the gazebo, popping streamers and cheering as you held onto your soulmate and cried with a happiness and love you knew only a few people have genuinely felt. You were so lucky to have Park Chanyeol. You were so lucky to be loved by him….

You blink.

“That was the best day of my life,” he whispers.

“Mine too,” you admit.

You turn away, not able to handle the tenderness he carries.

He tentatively enters the gazebo, sitting on the bench near the entrance. “I stumbled across it after our… conversation last night. It felt fitting. A reminder of why we’re here.”

Indeed. This was the beginning of the end of you. It makes sense to end this trip here, to end your relationship here. If that’s what you were doing.

You wrap your arms around your stomach, holding yourself together because you’re already at your limit and know you’re about to shatter. Your back still faces Chanyeol, not ready to see the way the fairy lights warm his handsome face. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have told you where I was taking you. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m not upset,” you assure. It’s not a lie, but it’s not completely true. You aren’t upset with him for bringing you here. If anything, you need to see this place. You finally turn to face him and the stark difference of how he looks now compared to the last time you saw him under this roof is startling. He wore no fancy suit, only casual khaki pants and a cream button down shirt. His hair blows gently in the breeze, longer and lighter than on that day, and his expression has lost the confidence and joy that was hard to hide then. He is now a shadow of the man that proposed to you, he is a man who has lost the one thing he thought he’d have forever. “It’s just a lot.”

He nods in agreement. “Do you want to leave?”

“No. I agree with you. This is the perfect spot. We can talk here if that’s what you want.” Again, you make sure to let him know that you’re doing this on his terms. He’s in charge here. You’ll be truthful, you’ll answer any question honestly, and you’ll let him be the one to decide how this trip ends.

“Where should we start?” he asks as you make your way over to sit beside him. You make sure to leave some space, knowing how distance can skew your train of thought around him.

“Let’s start with this,” you begin. “What do you want from this conversation?”

“I just want us to not avoid each other the next time we’re in the same room.”

“You think we can be friends?” You ask, genuinely curious of his answer.

He shrugs feebly. “If that’s all we can be. I'd rather have you in my life as a friend than not in it at all.”

You’re not a fan of his answer. Earlier, you told him that you didn’t think you could ever be his friend, and you still believe that. The thought of him actually moving on one day, and having to watch him regard somebody else the way he did you has your heart squeezing in agony. Seeing him with Yerim has been difficult as it is, imagining him with someone he actually loves leaves you disturbed.

Tell him, the Baekhyun in your head urges. Tell him how you really feel.

You already tried to last night. You still have so much love for Chanyeol, but sometimes that’s simply not enough. There’s still too much left unsaid, blocking the path to a future that can possibly end with you back together. The ball that’s always been in your court has now rolled over onto his side, and you aren’t sure if he’s going to pick it up or kick it away and finally put this long game to rest.

But he deserves that choice. Chanyeol has been so strong for you. He’s given you up multiple times, has had his heart broken because of you far more times than you have by him. You owe it to him to choose what he wants for himself. As much as you’d rather part ways on good terms and continue living as you have–without him in your life–if Chanyeol still wants you in his, you’ll suck it up and be present. Because you know for a fact that if the roles were reversed, he’d do the same with no complaint.

Still hurts like a bitch though.

Not yet, you tell your inner Baekhyun, ignoring the way he rolls his eyes. You don’t need his sass right now.

“If that’s what you want,” you push through the tightening of your throat. “Then we should start off easy. How did you end up at Junmyeon’s wedding with Yerim as your date?”

He coughs a shocked laugh. “If that’s the easiest topic, we’re going to be here til the sun rises.”

You shrug a shoulder. “That’s fine with me.”

He watches you for a moment before dropping his head to look at his hands that lay limply between his parted thighs. “As soon as I got Junmyeon’s announcement, I thought of you. I knew you were going to be there, and I couldn’t shake this feeling that you were going to bring a date. The idea of seeing you being happy with your new boyfriend, while I had no one, made me sick. I began to panic, because I didn’t want to be the loser who hadn’t moved on. I wanted you to think I no longer cared. I needed a date.”

That makes you pity him a bit, and you feel bad for calling him an asshole. The intentions behind it are anything but. He was trying to protect himself, and that’s nothing to make fun of.

“And then you met Yerim.”

“And then I met Yerim.” He sinks further into the bench and your ears perk at the name. It hits you then that it’s the first time you’ve heard Chanyeol speak her name. Was he being respectful towards you by neglecting to voice the name of the ‘other’ woman in your picture? Or maybe that was his poor attempt at pretending she didn’t exist while in your presence. Intrigued, you study the way the syllables left his mouth. It’s said with contrition, and that jealous part of you that you’re surprised to still find vanishes with content.

“I don’t know if you remember,” he continues, unaware of the healing already being done to you. “But she works at the cafe near my job. If I’m being honest, I’d been going there for months and hadn’t paid her any mind. I just knew she made the best Americano I’ve ever had in my life! But, after some time, it was kind of obvious she had a little crush on me. Although I was flattered, I never pursued it because I was never interested. That didn’t stop her from being bold. She always made a point to have a conversation with me, even when they were slammed, and I guess she wore me down. Our little talks started becoming the highlights of my days, and I started paying her more attention.”

His story brings to mind a few times Yerim mentioned a cute customer to you. How wild is it that Chanyeol is the customer she’d always tell you about.

“She is funny,” you acknowledge begrudgingly. “And pretty.”

“She is,” he agrees, and you guess your jealousy hasn’t vanished after all. “But, that’s not what ultimately drew me to her.”

“What was it then?”

He avoids your gaze. “She reminded me of you.”

“Oh!” Okay, now your jealousy is officially gone.

“Yeah. Oh. The more Yerim and I talked, the more she sounded like you. Now it makes sense, because you’re close friends so you must’ve rubbed off on her. But, at the time, it really felt like I was getting a second chance. How could I not fall for her when she acted so much like you?”

Your eyebrows raise at that. You’ve never noticed your influence on Yerim, but apparently it’s strong enough to catch your ex’s attention. In a strange way, you are the reason they got together. You’re not sure how to react to the fact. Part of you is sympathetic towards them both, at the fact Chanyeol only liked Yerim because of you. But you’re also flattered and a bit proud for ruining him so much. 

Even though you think you know the answer, this conversation is all about honesty, so you have to confirm something. “Did you like her? Like that? You’ve been pretty adamant about her not being your girlfriend.”

“She wasn’t,” he’s still quick to deny. “And I didn’t. At the start I thought I did. Well, I thought I could fall for her. Maybe if we had time before the wedding to actually get to know each other outside of the cafe, I would have. But the timing was bad. She tried, she really did. But I was too distracted by what was about to happen to give her my full attention, and once I saw you, all thoughts of Yerim went out the window.”

“That’s why you kicked her out?”

“It is. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.” He backtracks, continuing his story where he left off. “The main reason for me being so adamant on bringing a date was to prove to everybody, including myself, that I was completely over you. But, the fact that I started pursuing someone because they reminded me of you should have been the first sign I wasn’t. Still, I ignored it, and when the wedding got brought up, I saw my perfect opportunity. She agreed all too easily.”

“Like fate.”

“It felt like that. Like it was too perfect. Baekhyun said it was a dumb idea. He told me I wasn’t going to get you back that way. I told him I didn’t want you back. As you can imagine, he didn’t believe me.”

“Did you even believe you?”

“I did,” he defends, slightly offended. “I thought enough time had passed, and thinking about you didn’t hurt as much as it had. Sure, I didn’t know if I was capable of ever loving someone as much as I loved you, and I had built some walls after us, but I was ready to try again. And I was going to prove it during dinner. I wanted to make you feel the same as I did. I figured we both could suffer a little, and I…I wanted to hurt you. But, even though I knew you were going to be there, I still wasn’t prepared for the shock of finally seeing you in person. All that bravado I had vanished the moment I saw you. Especially after I realized you did not, in fact, have a date.”

“Technically, I did,” you correct. “Seulgi was my date.”

“Should I have been worried about her?” he asks skeptically.

You can’t miss the opportunity to tease him. “A lot can happen in a couple years. Who knows? We could’ve been inlaws.”

His face pinches in disgust. “That’s a sick joke, Me….”

He lets the petname die on his tongue, unsure if that’s something he still wants to call you.

“I deserve that,” you mumble and attempt a reassuring smile. He takes one look at your stretched lips and immediately starts nervously nibbling on his own. You sense his internal battle, fighting the instinct to defend you while also agreeing with what you said.

The light atmosphere you created dissipates as quickly as it comes.

He clears his throat. “Anyways, that’s why I brought Yerim. I wanted to get a reaction out of you.”

“And did you get the reaction you wanted?” You ask.

“In the grand scheme of things, I guess I did. But at the moment, I didn’t think so. It felt more like it backfired on me. That whole dinner I tried to taunt you by using Yerim, but you never took the bait. You didn’t care at all. That hurt more than I’d like to admit. Especially because your presence was eating me up inside.”

“I’m a better actress than I give myself credit for if you couldn’t see how affected I was. I pretty much went through exactly what you were afraid of happening to you, with an extra brutal layer of personally knowing the date. Trust me when I say you succeeded.”

“It doesn’t feel like a victory,” he shares. “As soon as dinner was over, I realized Baekhyun was right, bringing Yerim was dumb. I was overwhelmed with all these old resurfacing feelings, and all I could think about was you. How was I going to see you again, and what would I say when I did. I made some pretty rash decisions, like kicking Yerim out of our room because I didn’t want you to think we were sleeping together, and then forgetting to have breakfast with her the next morning like I promised because I talked to you the night before. Our conversation was proof that I wasn’t alone in these old feelings, and gave me the courage to attempt to pursue you. It wasn’t a lot, and you were really drunk, but you kept giving me this look I was very familiar with, and I couldn’t deny it if I tried.”

“A look?” You question, having no idea what he’s referring to. He’s never told you about a look before.

“Yes.” He sounds tortured thinking about it. “You get this look on your face whenever you want me to lean down to kiss you. These past few days, we’d argue, you’d tell me how wrong this situation was, and then you’d stare up at me with those eyes of yours. I could never forget that expression, it’s one of my favorites. So, I’d try to oblige you, and at the last second, you’d push me away, and I’d go back to my room and yell in frustration. It was frustrating, knowing you still wanted me, even if you weren’t aware of it, all because of the way you’d look at me.”

Hell. He really can read you like a book.

“So, you ended things with her because of the way I was looking at you?” You confirm.

“I broke up with Yerim because I was leading her on,” he corrects. “But also, I can admit that I was being selfish, and she was in the way of what I truly wanted. You. I knew with her out of the picture, you’d be less…resistant.”

“What did you expect would happen?” You implore. “You’d tell me you broke things off with her and I’d come running back into your arms? Was that the plan?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Maybe that you’d lower your guard and stop fighting me. But, I mean, you did run back to me not long after she left….”

You narrow your eyes. “That was because of the wedding.”

“I thought we were being honest with each other?”

That shuts you up. He knows he got you there, if the smug look on his face is any indicator.

“Fine,” you relent. “I most likely wouldn’t have done that had Yerim still been here.”

He bows his head in gratitude for your honesty.

“Alright,” you drawl, fiddling with your fingers. “It’s your turn to ask me a question.”

Chanyeol inhales deeply, and you know it’s going to be a difficult one.

“Last night,” he starts, and you already dread what’s next. “You said that you couldn’t get over what happened the last time we were together.”

“I did.”

“It made me realize that I hurt you way more than I thought I did. You’d mentioned it a couple times, but I didn’t get it… not until now.”

“I may have called off the engagement,” you say. “But it was you, Chanyeol, who ultimately broke us up.”

“Is that how you see it?” He asks, a darkness creeping into his tone.

“How else am I?” You retort. “I asked to get back together and you said yes.”

“I didn’t realize….” He shook his head in denial. “I wasn’t listening.”

“I gathered,” you scoff, growing irritated. “That day I had worked up the courage to call you. It had been a year since we’d last seen each other–”

“Ten and a half months. But who’s counting?” he cuts you off to say.

“Ten and a half months,” you correct. “I felt so stupid because of that. I made such a big show of leaving you, just to beg for you back not even a year later.”

“I wouldn’t have seen it that way,” he says. “I was waiting for that call. To me, those ten and a half months felt more like years.”

“I wish I’d known that then, because I was so nervous. I feared the worst. That you would be angry at me for ending things just to come back so soon. Or worse. That you’d somehow moved on during that time, or realized that you were no longer in love with me. It was that fear that drove me to come up with a cover, an excuse to get you to come over.”

“The ring,” he realizes, jaw clenching at the grim reminder.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I had it all planned out. I’d tell you that you needed to come over so that you could take it back, but then I’d confess and ask for another chance.”

“You could’ve just told me you missed me,” he says. “It would’ve been just as effective. Actually, more. I would’ve been there faster.”

“I couldn’t just tell you that,” you explain. “I didn’t want to come off desperate. But, I admit, using the ring was the worst thing I could’ve done. I swear I had no intention of giving it back.”

“You were very convincing in acting like it was,” he mutters. “I didn’t even have time to ask how you’d been before you were sitting it on the table. I was hoping you weren’t being serious. But as soon as I saw you, it was obvious you’d changed. It hadn’t been that long, but you were different. You didn’t want me anymore.”

“I didn’t need you anymore, Chanyeol. I still wanted you, if later that night was any indicator.”

“You couldn’t stop raving about how much better your life was now that I was no longer in it! I had to listen to you go on and on about your great new life without me, all while staring at your engagement ring. It was the first time I’d ever seen it not on your finger, and it felt like a punch to the damn gut! My heart was breaking all over again, but there was no hope to latch onto this time.”

His words are enlightening. Despite your attempts at blocking the memory, you remember that night in great detail. You remember how sweaty your palms were from the nerves, to the point you couldn’t even hold a glass of water. You remember the wave of relief that swept over you when you opened the door to see Chanyeol on the other side. You remember his expression, the conflicting emotions of love and hope, battling against reluctance and defeat. Putting the ring on the table was also due to nerves. You wanted to keep pretenses for a little longer, but the way he had zeroed in on the piece of jewelry worried you so much you began rambling.

He never took his eyes off that ring. You remember that clearly. It made you panic, and in a poor attempt to fill the silence, you started updating him on your life. You told him about the job you had just gotten that you’d been dying to get, about your hesitant plans on moving in with Seulgi, about the trips you had taken, anything to get him to react. He didn’t. By that point, you decided to get to the main reason for inviting him. You remember easing into it, telling him you had a lot of time to think about what you wanted in life, and had succeeded in your mission to find yourself. You were ready, if he was still willing. You were ready to become his wife.

He didn’t say anything. Hadn’t moved an inch.

You were positive he hadn’t blinked once during your monologue. Was he angry? Of course he was! That’s when you realized you’d made an irreversible mistake and was now living through the consequences. Maybe he didn’t want you back. Maybe you put too much faith in his love for you. Now looking back on it, you felt a lot like you do at this moment. If Chanyeol was done with you, you’d let him leave. You were going to put him first this time.

‘Chanyeol?’ you called gently. That seemed to bring him back. His eyelids fluttered and he straightened in his chair, pulling away from the ring to finally look at you. You were mesmerized by the richness of his eyes, they were prettier than you recalled, but maybe that was the unshed tears reflecting off the lights overhead. His mouth had fallen open, eyebrows lifted in a question, and you cleared your throat and forced yourself to blink, to break the intimate contact.

‘Are we good?’ You asked, voice shaking in apprehension. You were terrified of his answer, terrified of this being the end of you. Yet, you were prepared for rejection.

‘Yeah, we're good,’ he said. Not expecting that, you stared at him in shock for a moment until reality hit. He was taking you back! Instantly, you felt silly for doubting him. Of course he was taking you back. He already told you that he’d always love you. Feeling giddy with excitement, you weren’t even thinking when you reached out to him….

“I didn’t….” Chanyeol seems to also be back in that living room, reliving that dreadful day. “I couldn’t listen to you brag about your newfound happiness. It was like you were trying to hurt me. So, I stopped listening. Next thing I knew, you’re saying my name and like an idiot, I look at you. You asked me if we were good. I was confused, because you were obviously nervous, but I assumed you just wanted to leave on good terms. So, I agreed. ‘Sure, we’re good’.

….And then you kissed him.

“And then you kissed me.” His eyebrows furrow in the confusion he still feels. “And nothing else mattered after that. Not the ring, not the break up. Just you.”

Chanyeol gives you a Look of his own, and the moment turns tender.

Except all those feelings from the morning after bubbled up to the surface, and you despise the softness of his gaze. 

“That was until the morning, right?” You say bitterly. “Then I didn’t matter at all.”

“That’s not–”

“You left me!” You snap. His mouth audibly shuts at the rise of your voice. “You agreed to get back together, had sex with me, disappeared in the morning, took the ring, and blocked me on everything so that I couldn’t get ahold of you! You claim it was because you were afraid of being used, but that’s what you ended up doing! You used me, Chanyeol, and I haven’t been the same since. You destroyed me! ”

“I didn’t use you!” He pleads. “Stop looking at me like that. You told me you didn’t hate me.”

“I don’t,” you say. “I’m just trying to understand. Was it one last fuck for old times’ sake?”

“God, no! Don’t say it like that. I’ve never ‘fucked’ you. That’s not what that night meant to me.”

“Then what did it mean?” You beg for answers. “If it wasn’t your get back, if it wasn’t you confirming our relationship. What the fuck did it mean to you?”

He meets your gaze, determination igniting within him. “It meant everything to me! That kiss may have felt like the beginning to you, but for me, it was an ending. And I had something to prove. If that was going to be our last night together, I was going to give you every last piece of me. I wanted you to feel my love deep inside your bones, so that you could never forget what it felt like to be truly loved by me. I wanted to ruin you, so that any man that touched you after would pale in comparison. I wanted you to yearn for me on lonely nights, to miss me even if it was a fraction of the loss I was going to feel. I wanted you to still want me.”

Your breathing hitches at his explanation, because you’d be damned if that’s not exactly what he did. Your body awakens from his words, desperately calling for him the way it always has. You battle with the need to pull him close and have him sink into your soul. He made sure to leave his mark on you that night, to carve a hole deep within your heart that could never regrow. You’ve felt that emptiness since, carried it unknowingly. And now that you’ve been reunited, you see that he still holds that chunk with him. Chanyeol still possesses the missing piece to your heart.

The fire inside him seems to diminish once his speech is done. Now guilt slumps his shoulders and lowers his head.

“That morning….” He licks his dry lips. “It was a lapse of judgment.” You can’t help but wonder if he’s told himself this multiple times throughout the years to rationalize his decision. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my entire life. You have to believe me. It took everything to get out of your bed, everything to touch that ring. Everything to leave your life for good.”

“But I didn’t want you to,” you confess, on the verge of tears. 

“I know,” he whispers, eyes just as glossy as yours. “I know that now. But, at the time, it was too impossible a dream to even fathom. I had to protect my heart too, you know?”

You did. He had every right to keep his guard up, even if it was at the detriment of your own feelings. 

“And trust me when I say,” he continues. “I suffered too. I hated myself just as much as you did. I still do. Knowing that I broke you so badly…. I can’t even put into words how sorry I am. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you.” He says your name. “That night was no exception.”

“You literally just said that you brought Yerim to hurt me,” you point out with a sniff.

“Right.” He winces. “But, that’s the only time, I swear!”

He reaches for your hands and you let him hold them. They’re big and warm and the contact soothes you. “Had I known…. Had I listened to you that night, I would have never left. If I knew that kiss meant so much more than a goodbye, we would’ve been married the next week. It’s my fault for not listening and for leaving without an explanation. I hurt us both that day. I’ll accept that now. I’m so fucking sorry, Mel.”

Him calling you Mel again is enough to make you finally shatter. Leaning against him, you press your forehead to his chest as sobs rack your own. He pulls you into his arms, rocking you back and forth as apologies fall from his mouth. You can hear the tears he sheds.

You both cry until you’re dried out, and as the gazebo quiets Chanyeol still holds you.

Once you’ve collected yourself, you speak through a stuffy nose. “I’m sorry too.”

Chanyeol stops swaying at the sound of your voice, so you continue. “I held a lot of animosity for what you did, but I ended up doing the same thing to you.”

“You were confused–”

“It’s no excuse. I left because I was scared, but I still hurt you.” You pull back so that you can show him your sincerity and finally own up for the things you did. “I’ve been playing with you this whole trip, because of my indecisiveness. I’ve been leading you on for days, pushing and pulling away, and you don’t deserve that. No matter our past, you don’t deserve to be treated the way I’ve been treating you.”

“Thank you,” he accepts with a sniff.

“No, thank you,” you counter. “For explaining yourself, and for giving me a chance to explain myself as well. You didn’t owe me anything after what I did to you.”

“You didn’t do anything–”

“You don’t have to protect me anymore, Chanyeol. We’re past that now, aren’t we?”

He grows contemplative at that. “After our night together, much like when you kissed me all those years ago, I assumed we were back together.” As he speaks, he dries your wet face with his hands. You close your eyes, savoring his touch just in case it’s the last. “So when you denied it at the beach, I was hurt. I didn’t understand your reluctance, and I couldn’t figure out what was so wrong with me that you kept rejecting me. It wasn’t until after our fight, when I kept pushing and pushing and yet you still didn’t want me, that I took off the rose tinted glasses and reality set in. Seeing you again, at the place where our love was at its peak, it was easy to forget all the ways we went wrong. You were back in my life, and that was the important part. In my mind, we’d figure everything else out later. Because of that, I didn’t take your feelings into consideration, and I was moving way too fast. I guess, deep down, I knew that I had fucked up and was trying to make up for it. But you weren’t ready, and let's be honest, I’m not ready either. I thought about your offer to give it some time once we’re back in Seoul to separate the past from the present. I’d like to take you up on it, if it still stands.”

You’re relieved to know he finally understands what you were trying to explain to him yesterday. That it wasn’t necessarily a no, just a not-right-now. 

“I would like that,” you admit. 

You both smile at each other, taking in the other unabashedly in your safe space. You catch him glance down at your lips and pout. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever not be attracted to you. Is that bad?”

You can’t help but laugh. “I think this trip is proof of how bad it can be, but I feel the same regardless.”

He lets out a sigh full of longing, and nervous about the changing atmosphere around you both, you speak. “Let’s make it a pact then. After we leave tomorrow, we’ll continue living as we had before the wedding, and after some time has passed, we’ll meet up and decide if this is something we actually want to try again, or if we should officially move on.”

“How long?” He asks.

You hum as you think of what a good enough time could be. “Jongdae’s baby shower is in four months. Do you think that’s enough time?”

His eyes take on a familiar shimmer. “I think it’s perfect.”

Chanyeol gets to his feet and pulls you up onto yours. You expect him to start walking back, but instead he pulls you deeper into the gazebo, until he’s standing in the center. 

“How did I do it again?” he mumbles before sinking onto one knee, and your heart lurches into your throat.

“Chanyeol, what are you doing?” You choke.

He holds your left hand, thumb sliding over where your engagement ring once sat. He lifts his head to gaze up at you, and the fairy lights ahead douse him in a golden hue, sparkling in the dark depths of his soul. He now fully embodies the man he was four years ago, and you have a hard time differentiating what year you're in.

Your full name falling from his lips makes you focus on the present. “The last time I was here, I proposed to you, so it’s only fitting I do it again. I’m sorry, but I don’t have a ring this time.”

“Probably for the best,” you wheeze, still overwhelmed.

“Tonight, I’m proposing a deal. That we leave here and figure our shit out, and on the day of Jongdae’s baby shower, we will come to an agreement on how we will pursue this relationship. We will decide to either date again, stay strictly platonic, or become nonexistent. Do you agree to the terms?”

“Yes.” You agree.

Chanyeol smiles largely, and pretends to put a ring on your finger before kissing it. “Then it’s a deal.”

With that, he stands up and you look at him expectantly.

“There’s that look,” he whispers before obliging your unspoken request by leaning down to kiss you.

You kiss as though it’s the last time you ever will, savoring the other and indulging in such a forbidden touch. Whenever you think Chanyeol’s about to break it, he merely tilts his head the other way to deepen it and you giggle and fall right back into your perfect rhythm. A slow warm heat builds from your core, up to your chest, to burn in your throat. Surprisingly, it’s not arousal. It’s something more grounding, more brittle. It’s affection, it’s grief.

It’s love.

The two of you pull apart eventually, staring deep into each other’s eyes as you attempt to catch your breaths.

“There,” Chanyeol says, voice gravelly and deep, as though he just woke up. “Sealed with a kiss.”

You’re smiling, and it all feels so bittersweet, you think you may also be crying again.

“I….” Chanyeol brushes your hair back. Whatever he’s about to say–and you have a suspicious feeling you might know what it is–he decides to keep to himself. Instead, he presses another kiss to your forehead and untangles himself from you. “Let’s go back. I have an early flight.”

The walk to the hotel is peacefully silent. You don’t hold hands or anything, but you’re close enough to have your arm brush his occasionally. When you’re in the elevator, you stand on opposite sides of the cart, just as you had a couple nights ago. He’s smiling at you, and it’s so sweet and boyish, you can’t help but smile back. The action makes his smile grow wider.

When you’re deposited onto your floor, he walks you to your door.

“Sorry for all the drama,” you say as you dig for your room key.

“I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” He grins at you, nudging your shoulder with his arm.

Opening the door, you pause and turn to him. He meets your gaze expectantly.

“See you at the baby shower?” You ask anxiously.

He nods. “I’ll see you at the baby shower, Mel.”

Reassured, you head inside, closing the door quietly behind you. Your heart is pounding a million miles a second, and you take a moment to calm it down with deep breaths. It doesn’t help much. You’re too excited. You’re…hopeful. You know that whatever you decide on the day you see Chanyeol again, he’ll be on the same page. 

You finally got your closure, and are now ready for a new chapter, with or without him. And that doesn’t scare you nearly as much as it had this morning. You’ll never let him know, but Sehun was right. The talk was much needed.

You get ready for bed, and take in the room you spent some of the most stressful days in. You find you’re going to miss this place. Maybe next year you can book the same room, you think as you crawl into bed and fall into a peaceful slumber, knowing all but one of the knots in your rope have finally been untangled.

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[dxxtruction]

"Louis acting like a pimp to Armand" And what is a pimp exactly? Quickly. And, oh so sexual trauma survivors can't engage in kink now without it being all about that? Pet names? They can't be submissive anymore? Consensually? Sexually healthy? Be serious. I'd hardly say there's much power difference between them during all this anyway, except that Louis is freer than Armand and it's been putting a strain on their relationship. Louis wants more from Armand, and less of this 'being his past' for them both, and so helping Armand with this could fix that. It's healthy to want to help your partners get out of a rough patch?

I mean, the whole exchange was very clearly set up as a "I want to help you" after such a great moment of vulnerability Louis feels just how much Armand is desperate for it. Louis called Armand so they could work out a plan together.

And the bit with the umbrella was Louis' way of asking 'are you willing to listen to me?' and Armand said yes by unfolding it. Louis goes on and explains, Armand is allowed to argue against it, but Louis makes his point. And then he gives Armand a way to make his own choice in it too. Armand's already decided 'I want you, more than anything else in the world', but Louis still asks after if he's sure of his choice, and with a name, Arun, that is the one of his fullest agency, running the point home. Honoring the situation Armand calls Louis Maitre - as a way of being like 'I'll do as you've said then'. To make this work he's going to have to give Louis some of the control, yes. But it's the first time such a role is ever established, and it was his choice to do it. So so what if they do it in a very suggestive way? They can't like doing that? I think it's them having fun.

I struggle to find how Louis is being overly domineering here when really he's giving and offering Armand the most agency he's ever had. Same with finding it manipulative. The manipulation was more earlier in the episode I think, when he was stringing him along, giving mixed signals. He's no longer toying with him like that. Louis might be pushing Armand, leading him on to make a decision, but he doesn't mean bad by it.

But back to this pimp thing. I find it frankly offensive that this is where people are going with this. I get it, but to run with it being the case is, on many levels, wrong.

Louis told us episode 1 this was the only sustainable line of work to support his family and keep their standing, at the time. It was never his choice to be doing this either but his blackness allowed no other options. He did what he did so his family could stay in that house and maintain all their same comforts. It gave him privileges most black men didn't have at the time that he wanted to maintain and even have more of. Anyway, it doesn't and had never defined him the way 'being good at running things' had. And in that case he just likes having that kind of control where he can get it, which makes sense.

The world is what placed that kind of role onto him of what he was allowed to be able to run, not himself. And on that he actually treated the sex workers he employed well and respected them enough to give them more opportunity.** He recognizes they don't have much in the way of options either.

Louis employed sex workers, yes, but he didn't subject them to abuse, (like how Armand was)*. He didn't oversee things in a way that would go against their consent (see; episode 1 again)**. Sometimes a job is just a job. And Sex work is work.

Armand's particular past with sexual abuses may strike a particular cord with Louis, given all that, but the very last thing either is thinking is that Louis' pimping Armand out here. This is merely their decision as companions, and had nothing to do with adding another line in a laundry list of selling Armands body out to people at the command of someone else. Armand rescinds some of his control to Louis' wishes, because he wants him, and he trusts him, that's all.

If you aren't allowing Armand that choice, and are doubtful it's fully his, you're putting him right back in the box of being defined by his abuses. Putting him back into that space where he isn't given any agency over what he does. (Which is exactly opposite of what the intent of this scene is for)*.

*: (edit) added for clarity.

**: (strike through) numerous people are saying I'm misremembering these points so disregard it. (Thought he was siding with Bricks, it was the other way around). (Technically one aspect of those opportunities were for getting around the law). I don't have a perfect memory, it happens. Let's not get mad about it. Doesn't change much of the point which is that Louis, now, Louis then, was always considering more about the running things and for stated purposes. So I guess I'd say he may only have respected the SWers enough sometimes for what allowed him to do that, and there are moments he certainly expressed remorse over the fact, but he has a great deal higher respect for Armand that is genuine. It's incomparable. Please read my added notes in the tags, it should address most other concerns.

[spitinsideme]

please draw more Vaggie (hazbin hotel) those are literally everyone’s favorite. I simp for her, ok?

But I think everyone agrees that you should draw more from hazbin hotel, it’s even your most popular posts

sorry if I spoke too much I’ll go now

i admire your dedication and determination to makr me draw vaggie .. lie you really laid out a few points to convince me to draw vaggie .. im not into hazbin hotel anymore but ill draw this one vaggie for you

[obsob]

do you make enough money from selling prints in etsy to sustain your life? how are you able to afford this beautiful house and time to crochet and go on walks and all of that? i’m not asking for nosiness but because i’m trying to figure out what i would need to do in order to make my life financially sustainable… is art an option… etc

short answer i mooch off my bf <333333333333333

[skunkes]

[m00ngbin]

TFS TUESDAY!!! (WEDNESDAY??)