#overall i had a great time at my friends house but my body is paying the price

[godfistgonnalive]

GOODNGIHT. FOREVER 😈😈😈😈😈😈😈.

[arealphrooblem]

A Favor for a Favor Part 7 -- The End!

Part one here

CW for the fic overall: kissing/fade to black off screen sex, mentions of non-consensual drugging, non-graphic wound care, off screen murder mention

Synopsis:

When Roxanne -- Agent name Rocket -- is back-stabbed by a friend and given a serum that drains her of her powers and leaves her helpless, she has no choice but to turn to the one person she can't trust: Her nemesis -- a politician and king of the underworld. With her powerless and in the palm of his hand, what he decides to do with her is greatly influenced by their chance meeting as teenagers that neither of them have been able to forget.

The Present

The next morning she woke up alone. The Ibuprofen and a glass of water were on the nightstand next to her. But his side of the bed was tidy, the covers made up. There was no sign of him in the apartment. 

Unease stirred in her gut as she wandered the rooms. Last night was an impulsive, reckless, stupid decision that would cause unnecessary complications, but she didn’t regret it. He wanted it as much as she did, a fact that continued to surprise her. 

Unless, of course, he didn’t. 

Unless, of course, he distracted her with it and then snuck off to do something . . .nefarious. She didn’t know what. But trusting him these last few days felt like walking on cracked ice. She hoped with every fiber in her body that it would hold up, but if she sunk through, it would be no one’s fault but her own. 

Everything depended on him right now and it scared the shit out of her. Now she realized why he had acted so feral and wary of her when she rescued him. It was hard to be in someone’s debt when they could ruin you in an instant. 

He kept her suspended in gut twisting suspense for the better part of that day. When he finally stepped through the front door, she was moments away from climbing the walls. 

“Where the hell did you go?” she demanded. “You didn’t leave a note, you’ve been gone for hours!”

He said nothing as he hung his coat up. She felt like a hysterical house-wife, sizing him up for an affair. Ridiculous. 

He continued to say nothing as he walked towards the living room, small briefcase in hand, and set it on the coffee table. It clicked open to reveal a padded inside, with space for a needle and a vial of dark liquid.

Roxanne felt like all the air had been punched from her chest. 

“Is that . . .it?” she dared to ask. 

“Yes. I didn’t trust it to be delivered, so I secured it myself.”

She stepped forward, taking the vial out with great care. Hope crested like a sunrise in her chest --

They pay for it of course. A favor for a favor.

And reality bloomed like a dark cloud. 

“What do I owe you for this?” she asked, turning to him. 

He looked at her with that same inscrutable expression from last night. “Nothing.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Bullshit. You never do something out of the kindness of your heart. A favor for a favor, right?”

“I’m not doing it out of kindness.”

The realization hit her like a flash of lightning. “You still think you owe me.”

It was a relief as much as a disappointment. Because of course this strange connection between them was nothing more than transactional for him. And what did that make last night -- an indulgence? A debt?

“Of course I owe you,” he said. “You saved my life. I wouldn’t be where I am without you. But I’ve repaid that debt many, many times without you ever knowing it.”

“What do you mean?” A pit grew in her stomach.

“I know your birth name. I know you were illegally unregistered as a teenager. I know where your parents live and what they do. I have more connections and contacts than you could ever uncover. Do you have any idea how easy it would have been to stop you from your investigations, your attempts to dethrone me? And this is before I had the neutralizing serum created.”

She swallowed thickly, feeling sick. “So all my victories against you only happened because you let me win?”

God, she couldn’t even look at him. All these years thinking she had made some kind of difference, some kind of impact, and he was just toying with her. A cat with a mouse. 

“No, you earned those.”

He stepped closer to her, tilting her chin up. She reluctantly met his gaze, too afraid to believe the sincerity in it.  

“I’ve put in considerable resources to get you to stop. But I didn’t put them all in. If I had focused all of my efforts into stopping you, you would not have been able to withstand it. But I never did so and that is because I owed you.”

“So what is this?” She shoved the vial against his chest. “No more mind games, John. I need to know where we stand.”

“This . . .” He placed the vial back in her palm and closed her fingers around it. “This is because the world needs people like you because it makes people like me. This is because you are the only person who ever wanted anything better for me. This is because I want to.”

Again, the fear of trusting him beat in her chest. It sounded too good for truth. John did not make himself vulnerable to anyone. He learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago and she didn’t really blame him for it. But if she added all these pieces together, it only presented one solution.

“ . . . Do you love me?”

His gaze did not shy away from hers. “Do you think I would ever admit it if I did?”

“I think . . .” She squeezed the vial. “I think you already have.”

“Then you have your answer.”

The Past

When she came home from school, the burden of her project finally lifted, the place was empty. She called for Cornelius but he wasn’t in the library or the living room or the kitchen. None of the bathroom doors were shut. Panic growing, she looked around the apartment for signs of struggle -- what if he had been kidnapped? But the place was clean -- cleaner than when she left that morning. Dishes had been washed, trash taken out, the towels and blankets from the couch in the laundry room. 

The only sign of him she ever found was a note, scribbled on a ripped piece of printer paper, under her pillow. 

Thank you

I owe you.

[lilacs0ap]

my girlfriend and i had a really long talk one night about women, and our generational anger. i know i have it. it runs so deep in me, and i feel it all the time. she mentioned that in school, the workouts that they had the girls doing, consisted of things like aerobics. which, in my opinion, is a workout pretty much just for aesthetics. versus the type of workouts they had for the boys, which consisted of things like running, push ups, weight lifting, etc. all things to build stamina, strength, endurance. i mentioned the way that fish grow, depending on the size of the body of water that they live in. if you put a fish in a pond, it’ll get just as big as it needs to get to occupy that space. if you put a fish in a bowl, it’ll only get so big. and if you start breeding that fish in the bowl, and you keep breeding those fish, they’ll only ever know that tiny bowl you put them in. they’ll never grow any bigger.

men are cowards in the way that they still carry this narrative that we’re genetically inferior to them, as if that hasn’t been their whole game this entire time. after decades and decades of imprisoning us, domesticating us, etc., they have the raw nerve to act as if we were just designed to be weaker than them. as if they didn’t put all these systems up, and band together to uphold those systems, just to keep us on the bottom. i know so many strong women. both physically, and emotionally. women can survive under pressure. women can grow as big as they need to, but rarely do we ever have the space to encourage that type of growth. we have to go out of our way, defy “gender norms” and all this other bullshit, just to find some sort of autonomy. some sort of strength that relies on ourselves alone. i think this is why women are so community driven. we have been conditioned to just huddle in a corner together and comfort one another as we all pretty much sit helpless, because we don’t know what we’re capable of. and we’re quite frankly scared of discovering it. because the price you pay is often deadly.

i feel like i wasn’t taught many lessons about self preservation. i feel like i was unfortunately taught how to be a housewife. i’m great at cooking, cleaning, keeping tidy, being pretty and getting fucked. being told what to do and doing it. i’m great at all of those things. and i can’t break out of those habits. i dedicate so much fucking time to looking beautiful, and keeping clean and tidy, and overall having the qualities of a housewife. because i feel like i’ll lose all of my value if i pursue anything else. even as a lesbian, which in a way, means i’m failing at traditional womanhood, i still have these problems. i have so many aspirations. so many dreams. so many things i want for myself. and i don’t go for them. ever. i watch time go by and think to myself, “well, i probably could’ve never done that anyways.” i was taught that i can’t do things on my own. i can’t survive under pressure. i have completely surrendered to that mindset. i remember a period of time where i didn’t surrender to that type of lifestyle. and it was honestly just fucking exhausting. all the fighting, and all of the disappointment from my family and friends. when you don’t play by the rules, everybody fucking hates you. i’ve just laid here helpless for i can’t even tell you how long now. feeling like there’s no end, no escape. i’m just supposed to submit to someone and stay at home and keep the house tidy and functional. but i’m not really like that. i don’t want that. i just keep using these tools i was given as a little girl, and they’re not doing me any good. i guess my life is safer this way, but it isn’t gratifying. i never feel alive until i do something fucking crazy or stupid. and realize, “damn, i didn’t die. nobody came after me or hurt me for doing this.”

it’s frightening to realize the gravity of life as a woman. to realize that you’re still very much in a cage. and to sit at the bottom of that cage and wonder to yourself, if i somehow got out of here, would what all happened to me on the way out even be worth it?

[i-was-raised-by-a-polyglot]

I was raised by a polyglot. This gives me a imprimatur from the universe to shit-talk anyone in a language they don't understand. This habit of mine is often juxtaposed by my peers, who figured out my trick quite quickly, with my overall friendly personality. For this, they have always considered me a simulacrum of a good person. Hard as I try, all look askance at me when I pass them by. Never deeming me worthy of their care.So hoary this treatment, it has ceased to have an effect on me. To still give them much thought after all this time would be a waste, as the effort is much better spent tending to my minions.

Since my childhood, I have been fascinated with the cerebral task of creating life from the ether. My first experiment was putting salt junk, blood, hair and baking powder in the oven. I was flummoxed when it not only didn't work, but I almost burned my house. My parents misjudged my actions as both intentional and nefarious, and disowned me. This mistake weighs heavy on my conscience, an emotional leviathan I fear I will never conquer.

In the streets, I piggybacked off of a homeless shelter while I perfected my formula for minions. I schmoozed a grocery store clerk to get the ingredients. After I mixed the mushrooms, pineapple and beef in a blender, chanted some magical-sounding words at it, nothing happened, though I did wait a few hours, in case the new life was just in abeyance.

The solution to the fractious subject of life creation continued to alude me until last year. I was able to mollify my concerns that I would never get it right with the help of The Book of Alzoreth. Written by the sagacious Abraham Lincoln, this book tells many great secrets about the universe.

My first minion, my horrific darling was a creature half frog, half fog. I gave him 10,000 newspapers so that he could orientate himself on how the world works, and even allowed him to choose his own name. He chose the name "Cave" and I hated it so much I had a conclave with my colleagues to decide what to do with my creation.

I argued that he clearly had a ramshackle brain, but the others didn't couldn't understand my point of view at all. One of them, Mark, even bloviated about the "deep meaning" and "stunning poetic nature" of the name for ten hours straight. The moral turpitude of them to expect me to allow my legacy to be tarnished by some half-wit's idea to name himself after a type of hole. I had to picture the verdant fields of New Zealand just to not immediately banish them from my home.

I couldn't stand to hear about how "the simple beauty of it is unmatched" and "it harks barks to humanity's humble beginnings as cave-dwellers". I called all of my "friends" every epithet in the book, and promptly left the room.

My rage was nonpareil as I went to Cave and slapped him in the face. That was the start of the long and arduous process of indoctrinating my minion into my way of thinking, as to prevent further errors in his judgement. I eventually put the kibosh on his original personality when I made him do nothing but read my autobiography repeatedly for a month.

My ad hoc thinking truly payed off, and the time to ask the question once more had finally come. When I asked about his new name, he told me, his voice trembling a bit, he wanted to be called "Paradox".

I galumphed backwards into my couch. My feelings were mercurial even to me. However, soon my emotions crystalized and I became sure that this new name had only dandered me up more.

I couldn't believe this, and after how benevolent I was.

I immediately banished "Paradox" to the dungeon, shackling his legs with fetters. But then, the most uncanny thing happened, he fought back. He sneezed inside my mouth and germs began propagating within my body. They went on a junket inside me.

Paradox commemorated by doing forty back-flips, fully utilizing the incredible genetics I had given him. His joy turned out ephemeral when I stabbed him with a pocketknife.

At the behest of his tiny mind, he stabbed me back with a knife of his own. Anger and despair melded in my brain as the fight went on. The feeling was so overwhelming that I felt as though I was outside myself and the act of blinding Paradox in self-defense seemed almost perfunctory. He decried my actions, cursing my name and biting my arm.

Now, what I am about to describe may not have a lot of fidelity to the real event, but I believe in this account whole heartily. Paradox reached into my pocket and pulled out my sumptuous, diamond-encrusted phone. He called someone and talked extensively about his vocations.

He dreamed to of becoming a government official who would have the opportunity to arrogate the power to enact Martial Law. His biggest aspiration was to acquire the scientific knowledge to create a pill that would make all feelings evanescent.

I felt like a lout listening to him. I fully understood how headlong my efforts to discipline Paradox had been. The way to do it wasn't to wound his body, but to burglarize his mind.

My panacea was now within my grasp. The walls of my Mind Palace were festooned with daydreams of the brighter days ahead. Credulous about their plausibility, I set out to make them a reality.

I started out with fake adulation. I told Paradox how obliged I felt to tell him how magnificent his knifes skills were. I spoke extensively about the way his redolent body filled my heart with joy. I promised to emancipate him from my control as soon as he turned 47. I was being quite garrulous, and was certain Paradox could tell, so I stopped abruptly.

My prescience told me Paradox was falling right into my trap. However, as soon as it became his turn to talk, he immediately started quibbling about everything in my speech. I expected him to be ingenuous towards my affection, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

He returned to chatting with his confidant on the phone. I felt as though my very soul was noisome.

All my efforts to create life, and this was what they had all culminated into? I would have been better off if I had just gotten into jingoism like my grandfather wanted me to.

My fulsome behavior haunted me for months. My spirit was in constant duress. I thought of making amends to Paradox by scintillating him with jokes about boats and canoes, but I saw the man little during these times. He had gotten a job at NASA, and so was too busy debunking moon landing conspiracies. Apposite fate for both of us, I suppose.

One day, I spotted Paradox at the dinner hall teeming his belly with pasta. He was truly a Yankee at heart. He seemed happy until he saw me standing across the room, he was still a cantankerous fella when it came to me.

My recidivism started to act up again, and I felt the urge to stab him with one of my 17 pocket-knifes. He must have thought me inscrutable, because he asked me: "What are you doing?".

I panicked and postulated that I was simply imagining ways in which humanity could harness the power of the Sun to create a defense system against alien threats again. "That sky behemoth is such a layabout, it's about time we made it earn its keep around here!".

Paradox changed the subject to that night's gibbous Moon. He carped about how the fact that our perception of the Moon's shape was under constant change made a lot of people think it was a hologram. What an eccentric mind he had.

Our back-and-fourth complaints about celestial bodies evolved from a duology to a trilogy, and then a saga. We validated each other's grievances with the cosmos for hours.

[werewolf-morgue]

Dear Diary,

Morning

I didn’t really sleep last night. I just HAD to finish the thing I was working on, and by the time I was done it was 8 am. I opened the window and the blinds today. For both me and my cat. I think she knew we both could use the sunlight and fresh air. It was sunny out and you could see how blue the sky was! The warmth of the sun felt nice on my face and hands and toes. Maybe I’ll go out onto the balcony and drink some tea, maybe even read that book a friend lent me. But for right now I’m going to cuddle my snuggle buddy and get a nap in, hopefully.

Noon

I did not end up getting a nap in unfortunately lol. My roommate sort of hurt my feelings after I found out she was talking to her friend about how she’s the breadwinner, which is true and I’m so thankful she’s been kind enough to help me with rent and groceries and I’m so glad she has a well paying job to do her hobbies on top of helping me out! But she kind of worded it like I wasn’t trying to get jobs when I absolutely have been. I’ve been walking about two miles since my car is completely broken down to the places I can apply to. Plus I’ve been doing all the chores around the house with little help from her. Every time I ask she gets very upset and it’s hard to ask for help as is. It’s just upsetting to feel unappreciated I suppose. I guess I don’t really have all the information and I’m going to try to look at it in a positive light! Luckily I have therapy in a few hours so I’ll be able to express my feelings on it.

Night

Alright so we started the session and beforehand I was frantically deep cleaning my entire apartment and was super dissociated. I had my first meltdown in YEARS and it was very overwhelming, to say the least. But we realized if I’m focusing on a certain body part (which was my feet) we could bring myself back. I realized I was very uncomfortable with the socks I was wearing so I went and grabbed my emergency comfy pair and put them on. It really helped me feel so much better and we proceeded with the session. At this point I was also running on no food for about 20 hours, no sleep, and it was close to my shower time so I was feeling not so great overall (reminder to eat even when you really don’t feel like you have to or don’t want to, I know it’s hard but your body needs energy to run). We realized that I was planning on talking about my recent SA and it was completely understandable for me to frantically clean my apartment beforehand as I had associated my surroundings with how I felt during the attack. It was understandable that I wasn’t sleeping or eating because nothing felt “just right” as my body was in fight or flight all day. My brain didn’t feel safe as I was going to be recounting severe trauma from the attack. We did some grounding and comforting techniques to calm myself down and by the end of the session I was down from a 10/10 discomfort level to a 2/10! Now I’m going to eat some dinner, shower, and probably crash for the night. I’m very glad we managed to turn this from an undesirable situation to one I could handle :)

To recap what I found to help me:

Be prepared to have big emotions when you’re talking about your trauma. It’s ok to feel overwhelmed, you didn’t like what was happening to you and it affected you in a lot of ways. Know that you will probably shed some tears and possibly be on high alert all day.

Grounding techniques. Feel the textures on your skin, is it good or bad? If it’s bad, go change it! No reason to be more uncomfy when you’re already dissociated. Changing my socks really helped me calm down as I was focused on how much better these ones felt rather than the ones I had on, plus I was distracted with having to put on a new pair of socks. Yoga also really helps with this as it makes you to focus on how you’re feeling and your breathing.

Understand that when things don’t “feel right” enough for you to take care of your basic needs it probably means that you are overstimulated, uncomfortable, or maybe triggered. Try to calm yourself with grounding techniques, there’s many more out there that you can try!

If you are trying to clean frantically, stop and think of what could be causing it. Do I feel dirty? Is the area I’m in comfortable for me? Is there anything that I’m anxious about?

Stay safe and I love you all. I hope these tips can help some of you as they have for me!

[ateezmakemeweep]

playing with fire (part 1)

word count: 23k

fluff, smut (warning: age gap, infidelity, roommate’s father)

(series masterlist)

“is there any other way you could pay?” the woman behind the desk asked, stout and soft spoken with sympathy in her eyes.

she probably has to have this conversation with students a lot, tell them that their tuition payment didn’t go through or that they’re not eligible for government support.

or that the athletics department needed more scholarship money, successfully rendering you, one of the many photography majors on campus, unable to pay for your last semester of college.

“a loan of some sort or another scholarship, maybe?” she tried to help, “i could send over an e-mail of ones you might be eligible for.”

you swallow the lump forming in your throat, attempting to calm all the anxiety and stress violently making its way through your body.

“y-yes, that would be great, thank you,” you barely manage to get out, hoping and praying to some unknown force above that you don’t burst into tears.

you were nearing the end of the fall semester, the last fall semester you ever anticipated of having, when you found out just last week that you were no longer eligible for your scholarship.

in a short, curt e-mail explaining that, while you kept up your gpa and never strayed from the requirements, they’ve maxed out their amount of funding and are looking to use that money elsewhere.

“can they do that!?” your best friend and roommate of four years yelps, gucci sunglasses atop her head as she stomps around your shared, off-campus apartment.

“they can’t seriously do that! you’ve been a straight a student since you started and now they wanna take it away?! before your last semester of senior year?!”

“eunbi, it’s not ideal but i’ve already come to terms with it,” you explain gently, leaving out the part where you did, in fact, have a break down right outside the bursar office only an hour ago. “i’ll just save up money and come back in the fall to finish.”

“that’s so not right or fair though!” she whines, something about the concept of not getting what she wants unfamiliar to your roommate.

you first met park eunbi during freshmen move in day, your two raggedy luggages and beat up backpacks an embarrassing contrast to the multiple louis vuitton travel bags she lunged in.

you were intimidated for all of three seconds, before she looked at you with a smile and threw her arms around you like a long lost best friend.

it was obvious she came from money, the way she spoke and carried herself so confidently before her parents came in and introduced themselves.

they were both gorgeous and tall and looked far too young to have an 18-year-old daughter, covered in fancy jewelry and expensive looking clothing.

her dad, who introduced himself as mr. park seonghwa, didn’t seem to bat an eye at your more humble appearance. he reminded you a lot of eunbi, honest and genuine in the way he was kind and nonjudgemental.

mrs. park seemed nice enough, too, though you could see the judgement behind her pretty eyes.

the way she sneered at your bags and looked down at your hands, so different from her and her daughter’s not covered in diamond bracelets or acrylic nails.

“did we just miss your parents?” she asked, her voice just as pretty and rich sounding as she appeared; you bet if she laughed, she’d had have that melodic, care-free laugh all rich women seem to have.

“oh, uh, yeah, i’m sorry,” you apologized, lying through your teeth with a shy smile and averting gaze - you had to move in by yourself, the same way you traveled here all alone with no one to send you off.

“it’s okay, we just thought it’d be nice to meet them,” eunbi’s father interjects, the smile on his handsome face causing your stomach to swoop - how is he a dad?

“we were gonna take eunbi to an early dinner before we left. do you wanna join us?”

“oh no, it’s okay, i’d hate to intru-”

“no, you’re coming, c’mon!” your new roommate whined, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the door. “we’ll be able to get a lot of dessert out of them. probably the whole menu if we wanted.”

and you saw that over the years, eunbi knew she could, in fact, get whatever she wanted from her parents. they had the money and the means and the fondness in their hearts for their only daughter.

but it never seemed to get to your friend.

she was always kind and thoughtful of others and never said or did anything to suggest she was just a brainless, spoiled rich kid.

even in your guy’s second year when she found out you were going to school on an academic scholarship, she didn’t care. she didn’t turn her nose up or think you were lesser than her for not having the funds; if anything, it only made her praise you more.

that you were smart and ambitious enough to work under the strict guidelines of a prestigious scholarship.

“i know it’s not fair,” you mumble, not wanting to cry or have another anxiety attack over this matter. “but it is what it is. i’ll figure it out.”

she lets out a dejected, defeated sigh so uncharacteristic of the girl, plopping down on her pink, fluffy bed and bringing you down with her.

“we’ll sell feet pics over winter break,” she concludes after a few minutes of silence, wrapping her arm around yours and curling her body into yours. “you know how much money we can get from that? and we have pretty feet,” she says, sticking her leg up and wiggling her red, painted toes.

there’s a little less tightness in your chest and a little heaviness lifted in your stomach as you let out a giggle, looking over at your best friend who truly got you through the last four years of school.

you really don’t know how you’d still be functioning if it weren’t for her.

“you’re sick.”

“i’m serious,” she giggles out, flipping on her side and causing the bed to bounce under you. “you’re still good with coming tomorrow, right? i told my parents you were.”

she had invited you to her house for the winter break this year, the girl not wanting you to spend a month alone in the apartment.

you’ve shared with her how strained your relationship with your parents has been, really, since birth. never seeing eye to eye to them and feeling as if they never had your best interests at heart.

when most kids get full ride scholarships, their parents are immensely proud. bragging about how smart they are and telling them how proud they were.

but your parents were the opposite.

they didn’t want you to up and leave them to pursue an education. they thought you were gonna stay with them forever, not go to college like them and help run the family business back home in your tiny little hometown.

it was your dream to go to college and get a degree, though, so that’s exactly what you did for yourself; but they saw it as a giant fuck you.

saw it as you thinking you were better than them and basically told you to never come back if you thought you were so much smarter and better off without them.

so you’d spent every winter or summer vacation in the dorms, this year finally being the time you accepted eunbi’s invitation to stay over - reluctantly.

“i packed all my stuff, yeah,” you mumble, hands twisted into one another nervously. “but... are you sure they’re okay with it? i don’t wanna intrude or be there if i’m not wanted.”

“y/n, please,” she whines, “my mom may be a raging bitch but you know i make the rules in that house.”

“that’s not what i meant,” you mutter immediately, looking to the girl with a small frown on your lips.

although it was no secret eunbi’s mom didn’t ever seem too fond of you, always sneering at your off-brand items or questioning the logistics of why exactly you needed a scholarship to afford college, you always tried to remain polite.

smile at her and greet her happily even though there was always a thick, palpable tension between you two.

“oh but it is,” she chuckles out, the girl far too aware of what a materialistic snob her mother is. “it’s fine, i know she’s a bitch. my dad’s just coming tomorrow anyway. i told him to bring one of the bigger cars so we can lay out in the back.”

you have to bite back a snarky comment about the fact there are multiple cars in question, though the look in your eye certainly gives it away. she can only giggle and shrug her shoulders, flopping onto her back as she tells you about how excited she is to be reunited with her boyfriend.

eunbi and jiwoon have been dating since their second year of high school, going to colleges only an hour away from each other; he was just as handsome as he was kind and good to her, leaving you with no other option but to love and support the both of them.

and you try to listen to her rambling that ensues, you really do, but your mind is swirling with some slight anxiety about staying with her family for a month.

you don’t wanna make her mom even more irritated, deal with the side eyes and passive aggressive comments and overall feeling of just not being wanted.

you don’t want eunbi to feel obligated to be with you 24/7, act as a cock block to her and her boyfriend who haven’t seen each other in almost six weeks.

and maybe, you don’t want your tiny, small, miniscule crush on mr. park to make you feel any more awkward than it does, wondering how a married man who has a daughter in college is still so handsome and alluring.

it also doesn’t help that he’s just so incredibly kind, always making everyone feel so comfortable and welcomed, it’d be hard not to just develop a little, secret crush on him.

“eunbi, who is that sexy ass man who just dropped you off?” one of your suite mates asks your roommate, everyone gathering back in front of the dorm building after winter break.

it was sophomore year and you spent a month in the quiet, almost eerie college dorms alone (apart from the ra down the hall). you were grateful for everyone to return, no matter how loud or catty things were about to become.

“yeah, for real. is that your new boyfriend? he’s hotter than the last one and i didn’t even think that was possible.”

“uhhh.. no,” eunbi says, shooting the crowd of girls with lustful eyes and curious glances a look of distaste. “that’s my dad.”

and that’s when a chorus of disbelief and inappropriate comments erupted from the group of college girls.

asking how a dad could look like that while hoping and praying he’s single.

inquiring about just how much her dad’s on campus and when’s the next time he’s gonna pick her up.

about how he’s definitely hotter than her boyfriend, with a more mature and sophisticated look than these college boys.

“are they fucking serious! like how disgusting? he’s my literal father!” eunbi rages once in the dorm room, sharing a few curse words and vulgar phrases at the girl’s before stomping away from them.

“and for them to say that shit in front of me? did they think i want to hear that?”

“i know, that was so sick,” you agree, because even though you, too, think he’s attractive, it’s not something you would ever verbalize to your friend.

“like... i know he’s younger than most dads, my parents had me when they were teenagers, but shit! how sick,” she rants, throwing down her heavy designer bags and flopping on her bed.

you can tell by the look on her face how much it truly bothers her, everyone always noticing her dad and making comments like that. she handles it well, she’s always able to handle herself well, but it doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s something that worries her.

people getting close to her to get to her dad, even if it was teachers or other moms in elementary school or her friends when she got to college.

it’s one of the many reasons you would never give away your little crush on him - because it’s not only inappropriate and uncomfortable for her to know but there’s also no need to tell her.

because it’s not like it would go anywhere.

he’s a married man and your roommate’s father, a twisted, dark, forbidden fantasy that will stay in the walls of your head and never see the light of day - no matter how thrilling and fulfilling being with him would be.

“eunbi, your dad’s gonna be here soon,” you yell into your roommate’s doorway, met with the sound of her groaned “five more minutes!” that you’ve been hearing for the past twenty.

she was on facetime with jiwoon when you went to bed around one, briefly waking to the sound of her girlish screams or high-pitched giggles three hours later; you wouldn’t be surprised if she only went to bed a few hours ago.

“you said five more minutes thirty minutes ago,” you say, stomping your way over before smacking her over the head with a pillow. she lets out a loud sigh before swatting you away, your surprisingly fast reflexes grabbing her wrist.

she peeks one eye open as a smirk covers her morning face, looking from you all dressed up and ready in your pink pleated skirt and white thigh high stockings, down to her wrist in your hold.

“that was kinda hot. and you look good. i don’t know how to act right now.”

“shut up and get your ass out of bed,” you demand, biting back a smile as you storm out of her room.

you’d been pacing around the apartment ever since you woke up at seven a.m., more and more unsettled about staying over her house as the time drew closer.

you checked to make sure you had enough clothes and chargers and skincare products for nearly an hour, finally settling the same purple suitcase you moved in with freshmen year near the door.

you hope mrs. park doesn’t notice, remembering the way she sneered at the wonky zipper and slightly stained bottom.

you also hope you can keep yourself in check, not get too nervous or flustered by eunbi’s exorbitant wealth or a new setting you don’t feel welcomed in or her hot ass father whose bones you wanna jump.

the knock at the door completely sobers you, jumping in your spot just in time to see eunbi fly across the living room to get to the door. there’s a big, happy smile on her face, ripping open the door and greeting her father in typical eunbi fashion.

“are those for me?” she asks, snatching the red box from his hands.

excitement bubbles inside the girl as she unveils twelve chocolate covered strawberries, a speciality at one of the local dessert shops just a few miles from her home.

“you shouldn’t have, dad, really. i’m much too tired to appreciate this.”

the man can only look at his daughter with a look of disdain and affection, waking up to an extremely passive aggressive text that she’d really appreciate an early morning treat from her favorite place ever and that it’d really inspire her to be ready.

but as he can currently see, given the state of her hair and pajamas pants, it didn’t at all act as a motivator.

“then maybe i should just-” but upon her father’s hand reaching out to grab the box of strawberries, the girl brings it to her body and runs away, yelling that her bags are packed and she’s just gonna wash her face.

he looks to you with a mock annoyed expression, your heart jumping in your chest as you send him a small, polite smile.

“how do you deal with her, y/n?” he asks, a smirk on his face rising as you let out a soft, slightly forced giggle - this man looks too good for his own good at ten o’clock in the morning.

“don’t talk shit about me!” she yelps before you can even think to say something, a smile lighting up his face again before he nods his head down the hall.

“i’ll bring down your girl’s bags,” he says, his tall, large frame coming toward you making your knees feel slightly wobbly.

you swear you see his eyes roam over you for the shortest of seconds, down to your shirt and exposed legs before back to your face, until he’s looking into your eyes questioningly.

totally not like someone who just checked out their daughter’s roommate - this is what you feared, your own delusionals and attraction making your crazy little brain see something that’s not there.

“her bedroom’s down that hall?”

you resist the urge to swallow nervously, begging yourself to snap out of it and remind yourself you have to deal with the man for a month. a month of his dark, piercing eyes and bright, white smile and skin so smooth and clear, it’s far too easy to forget he’s almost forty years old.

“yeah,” you barely manage to get out. “i-i can help and bring down mine.”

“no, it’s okay,” he insists, “help in getting eunbi ready. you know she’ll delay us thirty more minutes.”

you let out another strained chuckle as you nod your head, finally letting out the breath you’ve been holding when you hear his footsteps disappear down the hall and into her room.

as long as you distance yourself from him, not look him in the eye or let any sort of idea get in your head that an older, married man could want you back, this will be fine.

it’ll be a nice, calm, relaxed break actually full of interaction and socialization opposed to your usual lonely bubble of solitude.

eunbi’s not making that very easy though, when twenty minutes later, she’s opening the back door of her father’s black g-wagen and sprawling out on the black leather seats.

“where’s y/n supposed to go, eunbi?” seonghwa asked, the fatherly tone is his voice causing eunbi to let out a huff; the only time you see eunbi’s spoiled tendencies come out is around her father, the girl knowing he’ll do anything and everything for her.

and apparently, so will you.

sitting in the front seat of her car, next to her extremely hot father you’re trying to stay calm around, while she sleeps soundly in the backseat - if she didn’t invite to stay at her home, meals and bed and transportation free, you’d say she has to owe you.

“was she up all night talking to jiwoon?” mr. park asked, the past few moments of silence just as comforting as they were terrifying. it felt awkward to you, extremely tense and full of suspense, but you knew it was completely normal.

you bite down on your lip, looking back at eunbi sleeping soundly on the seat, even prepared with a fuzzy white blanket. you let out a soft giggle when you see her mouth open, the slightest bit of drool hanging from her mouth and threatening to spill on the dark leather.

“she might’ve been,” you mutter, a breathy laugh leaving her father that causes you to sneak a glance at him.

there’s not a hint of a wrinkle or imperfection on his glowing skin, black hair hanging in his face and red lips quirked into a content smile. that’s something you always noticed about him, despite his dark appearance and looming figure, he always appears to be happy.

smiles and laughs and never gives anyone without his same wealth a dirty glance - he treats everyone the same and that’s another reason you’ve taking a liking to him, not just because he’s the hottest man you’ve ever seen in your life.

“y/n?” he asks, your intrusive thoughts being ripped away at the sound of his voice calling your name.

your eyes move to his and he’s watching you in slight amusement, a rampant blush creeping up on your cheeks at the way you’ve been caught. you’re quick to look away, shake your head and let out an awkward chuckle and apology.

you miss the way his eyes roam your side profile, a delightful smirk and feeling in his chest blooming before he speaks again.

“how was your semester?”

“it was good,” you say, hands placed nervously in your lap. “a lot of work on top of an internship but it was good.”

“and you girls are almost done,” he hums lowly, one hand atop the steering wheel while his eyes focus on the highway in front of him. “eunbi’s been talking about a combined graduation party since the moment you guys met.”

you let out a small laugh as you remember eunbi’s plan since your second semester of freshmen year, ignoring the twinge of sadness in your stomach.

you could’ve never anticipated delaying your college career when you first received your scholarship, happy and proud and eternally grateful for the opportunity.

but you suppose you’re lucky enough to have gotten this far, and delaying one last semester is nothing compared to people who never get to go to college - but it still makes you feel upset.

you think you have the right to feel disappointed and sad, the lingering sick feeling in your stomach making you feel nauseous.

“is it okay if i open the window for a second?” you mumble to mr. park, the man looking over your face.

he presses down on the passenger window button immediately, your face met with cold air as relief floods through your body.

“are you okay? do you get car sick?” he asks, remembering how much eunbi used to get car sick (on the rare occasion she wasn’t passed out during a road trip).

“not usually,” you mumble, resting your head on the side of the door.

then again, i’m not usually freaking out about making tuition money or repressing my violent attraction to my roommate’s father.

seonghwa watches as you close your eyes for a few moment, allowing the cold, windy air to hit your face. he couldn’t help but notice the pinkish tint to your cheeks, suppressing the urge for his eyes and thoughts to wander.

you’re a college girl in the prime of her life and his daughter’s best friend, he’d be a fool to think you were blushing and nervous because of him - but he also doesn’t remember you looking like.... this.

so pretty and dressed up and pink in the face as you check him out with a soft and curious look in your eye.

“maybe try to take a nap,” he suggests, his gaze lingering back onto the road so he doesn’t look at your exposed legs. “i’ll pull off at a rest stop to get you ginger ale.”

“that’s not necessary, mr. park,” your sweet voice says, something about it causing his insides to jump - he definitely doesn’t remember you sounding like that. “i’ll be okay. just need the window open for a little longer.”

you spend the next few minutes with the cold, december wind blowing through the car, your back pressed against the comfortable seat behind you. a chill runs through your body, goosebumps rising on your exposed thighs, but it feels better than the alternative.

potentially panicking or vomiting due to current stress of your life.

your gaze shifts to the man beside you, whether it be to check him out or ask if he’s cold unknown to you.

“are you okay with the-”

the words are stuck in your throat when you see his eyes aren’t on the road but your exposed, goose-bumpy thighs, the white lace of your thigh high stockings and pink skirt leaving little to the imagination.

you wish you could see the look in his eye, if it’s judgemental and shameful or full of lust and curiosity. if he’s wondering what you have on just a few inches under your skirt and if that’s something he even thinks about.

or maybe he’s just looking because it’s there - your skirt blowing in the wind and him caught off guard by the sight right there in his passenger seat.

“um, i think i’m good now,” you mumble, watching from your peripheral as he shifts in his seat and tightens his hold on the steering wheel.

“alright, let me know if you wanna stop.”

you bite down on your lip as you nod your head, keeping your eyes on the view in front of you.

the faint sounds of eunbi snoring behind you act as a way to ground you, remind you that these thoughts and feelings you’re having can’t stay.

maybe you have to get it our of your system now, take all the looks you can and feel all the hopefulness your delusional brain needs until you act as if eunbi’s father is a mean, disgusting, grotesque man.

not someone who gets your heart and body pounding.

you’re not sure how many songs play on the radio until you both are talking again, seonghwa looking in the rearview mirror to see his daughter still passed out on the seats.

“do you think she’ll sleep the whole time?”

he hope for his sake, she doesn’t.

you look back at eunbi sleeping soundly, the drool previously trickling down her mouth successfully making a pool on the black leather.

“probably,” you chuckle out lightly. “i have a feeling she went to bed around six.”

“shit,” he laughs out, remembering the days he used to be able to pull all nighters in college or dreaded the idea of waking up in the morning. “i can’t remember the last time i was able to stay up past one.”

“you’re not even that old, mr. park,” you tease, not sure where you got the balls to say that and feeling, at least for a few seconds, that you overstepped; but then he lets out a deep, amused chuckle and it causes butterflies to erupt in your stomach.

“not that old, huh?” he quips, your tooth sinking into your lip at the tone of his voice. “you know i’m turning 40 in a few months, right?”

you crane your neck to look at the man in the driver’s seat, swallowing thickly when you see his eyes are already on you. there’s a certain type of lightness and teasing in them that you’ve never seen before, the man always happy and jovial but never like this.

never looking so... teasing and playful.

“yeah,” you say with a growing smirk, not being able to help your own nervous excitement. “that doesn’t seem too bad.”

the deep, low chuckle that leaves him causes your stomach to swoop, eyes wide and the small smile on your face causing him to look over you once more.

it’s shameless and bold but neither of you seem to care in that moment.

“i’ll keep that in mind,” he says, deep brown eyes piercing through yours before his face turns teasing and.. appropriate.. “the next time eunbi tries to call me an old man or something.”

“right,” you chuckle out, cheeks burning and heart pounding as you allow yourself to break eye contact.

the ride to eunbi’s house is just over two hours, hoping and praying that it goes by quickly - because you’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to be alone, or mostly alone, with him.

you’re thinking too much into his words and his gaze and the way he makes you feel, making you silly enough to believe that, maybe, a part of him wants you too.

the second you arrived at eunbi’s, you had already felt unwelcomed.

not only because of mrs. park, who just about sneered at your presence in her exquisite home, but because of the dozens of other socialites in the immaculately white living room.

it looked and felt almost like a hospital. a white color scheme with black accents, extremely cold and spotless - the only bit of color was in eunbi’s room where it felt like you could actually breathe.

“i’m sorry, i told her not to throw her fucking gathering today,” eunbi complained, grumpy from her nap but still happy to finally be home.

“a bunch of stuck up snobs, i swear to god. they either have to get the stick lodged so far up their asshole removed or get dicked down by their lousy excuses of-”

“eunbi,” you hear her father’s deep voice reprimand, the girl not even feeling the slightest bit of shame or embarrassment for talking that way in front of her father.

“oh, c’mon, dad, you know it’s true!” she whines in a whispered tone. “they’re the worst! and she knew me and y/n were coming today, do you really think that wasn’t a coincidence?”

because, as far as eunbi thinks, she has sinking suspicions that her mom did this solely to make you uncomfortable.

she had already been hesitant to let you stay in the first place, had eunbi not gone full on bitch mode and stubbornly proclaimed she’d spend the break with you at the apartment.

but you didn’t have to know that.

“i don’t care, it’ll just be my first christmas without my family, mom, who cares about that,” she had said, all types of manipulative and toxic behavior that she learned from the best.

she’s sure her mother was sweet and good at one point in her life, she wouldn’t have ended up with her father in the first place if she wasn’t, but money changes people.

wealth and greed and having the power to get anything you want because you flash a stack of money around or write out a check.

“i told her to have them out by dinner,” he said, his eyes moving from eunbi to you, standing there with tense shoulders and a shy, uncomfortable look on your face.

“you’re more than welcomed here, y/n,” he said, his voice low and full of kindness as he stands in eunbi’s doorway. “don’t worry about it, okay?”

you resist the urge to pout at the touched feeling in your chest, looking from the man to eunbi who’s nodding at her dad’s words.

“thank you, mr. park,” you say, a phrase he swears has never effected him this deeply.

and because of that, he’s quick to haul ass out of there. tells you guys that dinner will be ready around seven and to come down whenever.

you and eunbi spend that time in her room to unpack both of your things and watch movies, her king sized bed nearly lulling you to sleep until her loud squeal and bounce of the bed causes you to jump in shock.

“y/n, don’t be mad at me please,” she whines directly in your face, all wide-eyed and cutesy as she looks at you with mock innocence.

“what did you do?” you mumble tiredly, pushing her away with the smallest of sneers.

“i’ll be back for dinner, i promise, but... is it okay if i go to jiwoon’s for a little?” she asks, cocking her head to the side before shimming closer to you. “i have to get railed so bad.”

“jesus christ, eunbi,” you snort, pushing her away again and burying your face in the pillow - you’ve never met someone who overshares as much as she does.

she plops down on her back with an unabashed giggle, popping right back up like an annoying little dog and looking at you with a smile.

“of course you can go, i’m not gonna hold you hostage here,” you say when she pulls your face away, looking at you so expectantly and sweetly, you couldn’t say no if you wanted.

“okay, but i don’t want you thinking that i’m gonna ditch you this whole time. i’m really not, y/n,” she pouts, knowing that was one of the reasons you were apprehensive about coming - that and her bitch of a mother. “i just miss him.”

a pout falls on your face as you look at eunbi and the genuine look on her face.

“bi, i’m serious, go. i want you to,” you insist, moving a piece of her tangled hair away from her face. “we were just gonna be up here anyway. i’ll probably take a nap, i was about to fall asleep before your loud ass-”

“thank you, thank you, thank you,” she says, pulling you into a tight hug before jumping off her bed and rushing toward her door. “i’ll be back a lot more calm and happy. oh, why, you ask? because i’m about to get my back blown the fuck ou-”

you thank god for your impeccable aim, promptly whacking eunbi in the face with one of her pillows.

“get out of here,” you groan, eunbi throwing the pillow back with a smile on her face.

“sweet dreams, y/n!”

you let out a sigh when she closes her door, falling back onto her bed with a soft plop.

you were definitely tired from your anxious pacing this morning but aren’t sure how much sleep you’re gonna get right now, tonight or for the rest of the month.

knowing that you’re unwelcomed by one person, extremely attracted to another and silently betraying the person you should be most loyal too - but as long as it just stays in your head, and you remind yourself that there’s no way mr. park could feel anything back to you, it’ll be fine.

you’ll just get by quietly and smoothly at dinners or in passing through the hallways, enjoy eunbi’s comfortable king-sized bed and the fact that you don’t have to spend yet another holiday alone.

reruns of drake and josh play in the background, keeping your giggles quiet as drake soaks his feet in lizard pee. you feel your eyes grow heavy the more episodes you watch, the shitty laugh track and loud, bickering brothers eventually lulling you to sleep.

it takes about five knocks on the door to eventually stir you, your eyes fluttering open to see mr park’s figure in the doorway. you can only stare at the man as you adjust to him, taking in his tall, slim figure just a few feet away from you.

taking in the way his white shirt clings to his body, broad shoulders and slim torso on display in a way that makes you wish you could see, just for a second, what he looks like underneath that a-

“sorry if i woke you,” his deep voice hums, the slightest bit of amusement in his voice that causes your cheeks to warm. “i didn’t think you’d be sleeping at seven p.m.”

“no, it’s okay,” you stammer out, sitting up in eunbi’s bed. “i... i don’t even know when i fell asleep, to be honest.”

he looks at the screen to see drake and josh playing, a smirk pulling at his lips as his gaze shifts back to you.

“it’s funny,” you defend with a mumble, a deep chuckle leaving his mouth that causes butterflies to erupt in your stomach - he’s far too handsome, everything about him is just far too attractive, even in his laugh.

“that’s what eunbi claims,” he says, remembering all the years of his daughter forcing him to watch ridiculous shows.

despite his daughter’s outgoing nature, she never had a lot of friends growing up.

there was once a small group of girls she hung out but they quickly drifted apart throughout high school, leaving eunbi really only with him and her boyfriend.

the boyfriend who seonghwa really didn’t wanna like out of principal but seeing that the kid really does love his daughter quickly coming around.

“speaking of, where is she? jiwoon’s?”

“yeah,” you tell him, settling back into the pillows and stretching your arms out in front of you. “she said she’d be back for dinner.”

“well she’s wrong, as usual, because dinner’s ready,” he quips playfully, the smirk pulling at his lips causing you to smile back at him. you swallow nervously when his eyes roam over your face, your own gaze trained on him before you see his mouth start to move again.

“do you want me to bring some up for you? or you’ll come down?”

he can see the apprehension on your face immediately, fear crossing your eyes and your arms folding into each other uncomfortably. he tries to ignores the way your soft white sweater dips by your chest, a hint of perky cleavage just barely showing that causes his dick to twitch in his pants.

he doesn’t know when this happened.

he didn’t know when he became a pervy old man who checked out college girls with his wife just downstairs and the knowledge that you’re his daughter’s friend.

“i’ll come down,” you say, surprising him just as he was about to insist he brings some up for you. “she’ll probably be back soon anyway.”

but five minutes pass by, then ten, then twenty and eunbi’s still not home - it’s just you, seonghwa and mrs. park at the long, glass dining room table.

white chairs with high backs and comfortable cushions to match the immaculate, hospital-like color scheme and environment; truthfully, you’ve never been more terrified to eat a plate of chicken parmesan in your life.

the sound of utensils scraping on the china and the crackling of the fireplace a room over are the only noises heard throughout the home, mrs. park taking a swig of wine and gently placing it on the table with a light clack.

“so, y/n,” she finally says, breaking the tension with her rich-sounding, nasally voice. “how has school been, dear? you’re an... art major, am i remembering that correctly?”

“uh, photography, yeah,” you smile tensely, trying to ignore the judgment in her voice.

“ah, so you never switched over to business then,” she hums, her wine glass back in hand as her dark, gorgeous eyes look you over.

you bite the inside of your cheek as you feel a pink flush cover your face, faintly remembering your roommate saving you a few semesters ago when her mom was grilling you about picking a more practical and useful major.

“she can do whatever she wants, mom,” eunbi eventually snapped, “whether she does business or photography or even liberal arts is none of your business.”

“no,” you mutter out, dropping your gaze to look over the intricate pattern on the table. “i thought about it but it wasn’t something i wanted.”

“so you didn’t want something practical? or useful?” she asks, using those two words yet again while cocking her head to the side with a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“a business degree would’ve been great, y/n. everyone always has connections to somewhere, you could’ve found a job right out of college.”

you bite back the urge to tell her no. that not everyone has connections to multi billion dollar companies or numbers of ceos in their phones or the ceo of a tech company as their next door neighbors.

but instead, the same way eunbi defended you against her mother, seonghwa does against his wife. gives you a soft, sympathetic side eye before placing his larger hand on his wife’s.

“there are tons of jobs in photography too, honey,” seonghwa says, his voice so warm and soft and welcoming compared to hers even despite the slight edge in it.

“and she can travel to build her portfolio. it’s a fantastic opportunity to explore the world and make money. is there a particular type of photography you’d wanna do?”

you feel yourself relax slightly, a small smile on your face as you nod your head toward the striking couple.

“i would love to be a wedding photographer actually,” you mumble, a romantic at heart who’s read and watched far too many novels and romcoms.

“taking pictures of all those moments would be really fun, i think. like when the groom sees the bride for the first time or just everyone dancing and having fun. weddings are usually happy and i like to photography happy things.”

“that sounds perfect for you then,” seonghwa smiles, his brown eyes lighting up and making you feel even more at ease.

“i think you’ll do great, y/n. and you only have a semester left, right? maybe you and eunbi you could travel for the summer before you start your jobs.”

you ignore the swish of dread and anxiety in your stomach at the mention of next semester, instead choosing to smile softly and nod your head at the man.

“i think she’d love that,” you giggle out, knowing damn well your roommate already has an extensive list of cities she wants to visit before ‘real life begins.’

“and how do your parents feel about everything?” mrs. park asks, making your stomach twist with even more dread and discomfort. “are they proud?”

you wish you could fold in on yourself right now, swallowing the growing, nervous lump in your throat.

because not only is she making you incredibly uncomfortable right now, with her harsh looks and topic of conversation and snide little tone, she just mentioned the people you haven’t spoken to since you left home at eighteen.

you don’t know what to say, you have the slightest bit of concern you might throw up on her, when the loud, chipper voice of your roommate floats through the cold, silent house.

“i’m back!” her chipper voice yelps, sock-clad feet running through the house and sliding on the marble floor. “what’d you guys make?”

“you’re late, eunbi,” seonghwa mumbles warningly, an innocent smile on her face as she picks up her plate of food and plops down next to you.

“am i? or are you girls just early?”

“i’m not a girl.”

“it’s a figure of speech, father,” eunbi says, smiling playfully at her father before turning to you.

she’s able to tell the second she sees your face that you’re uncomfortable, the pink flush still lingering on your face and the tenseness of your shoulders making her frown.

“i’m sorry you were alone with them,” she whispers, genuine sorrow in her wide, mock-innocent eyes. “i got held up. or... down, rather, but i tried to leave on time. i promise.”

“uh huh, i bet,” you mumble back, fighting back a smile despite your discomfort.

because eunbi has always had something about her that made it impossible to stay mad at her, her carefree, unfiltered way of communicating that made being her friend so easy.

even if, sometimes, you wanted to kill her.

“so mom,” eunbi quips, turning her soft gaze to you before looking over her mother.

“what was with your little group of bitchy housewives today? you couldn’t have had them over any other day? what kind of christmas disgrace is that?”

“eunbi...” seonghwa chastises lowly, the girl with her brow already quirked and eyes narrowed.

“i can do whatever i want in my home, eunbi. are you forgetting how things work around here?”

“how could i, when i’m met with thirty middle-aged women with botox out the ass in my home the second i get back from school?” she asks, “you didn’t think me and y/n would wanna spend the break, like, resting?”

“you ran off to your boyfriend’s the second you got here,” mrs. park bites back, her glass of wine empty as she pinches the bridge of her nose. “left your friend all alone in your room. what did i tell you about leaving... guests unattended in the house?”

the accusation and direction of conversation is quickly making you feel uncomfortable, your head turned down in your lap and leaving your cheeks aflame.

she’s making it sound like you would steal something in her home for christ’s sake, like you’re not a guest who’s dreaded coming here due to this very reason.

you block out the back and forth between eunbi and her mom, a few more seconds of yappy feminine voices before a deeply spoken “enough,” echoes through the dining room.

you even look up at the sound, watching as mr. park’s eyes rest on you. his eyes narrow as he takes in the sight of your red cheeks, his gaze shifting from you to his daughter to his wife beside him.

“y/n’s here for a month and we’re gonna make her feel welcomed the entire time. if you two are gonna fight, don’t do it at the dinner table.”

“but dad, she totally-”

“maybe you should’ve taught your daughter-”

“no more,” seonghwa growls, a sense of finality in his tone that causes the room to go silent.

you can tell your friend is unbothered by the reprimanding, shoveling food into her mouth and sipping from her wine glass completely unbothered.

sometimes you wish you could be more like her, so unfazed by conflict or loud voices or the strained relationship with a parent.

eunbi was always open with you about the rocky relationship with her mother, saying more than once to you that if it weren’t for her father, she would’ve long cut off any contact with her.

she had never really been there for eunbi growing up, having nannies and chefs take care of her for most of her life - it was her nanny of fifteen years who taught her how to walk and talk, was there with her for all the milestones she met through infancy, childhood and even adolescence.

but even then, eunbi was nonchalant and carefree about it.

saying that she’s not gonna waste her time being upset over it when she knows her mom doesn’t think about her at all. it makes your heart hurt for eunbi, grateful that the girl at least has a good relationship with her father and boyfriend.

and you, of course. you consider her your best friend and you know she does the same - even if sometimes, you wanna pull her hair out.

“i’m gonna go the food store tomorrow, eunbi, so if you and y/n want anything, just text it to me.”

“oooh can we come!” she squeals, knocking her arm into yours like an excited kid in a candy store. “we wanna try making our cookies again.”

“you’re gonna bake?” the girl’s father asks, a look of doubt on his face that causes you to bite back a smile.

“no, we’re gonna bake,” she corrects with snark, “y/n measures the ingredients and stirs, i put it in the oven and watch.”

“right, silly me,” the man hums, a smirk pulling at his lips the more he sees his daughter get irritated. “but of course you girls can come,” he says, his eyes flicking to you for just a few seconds too long.

you can only look back with a small smile, a quiet “thank you,” leaving your mouth that you’re positive he doesn’t catch.

(he did).

you help clean your plate off before you and eunbi go up to her room later that night, once her door’s closed and she’s sitting down shooting her a look of disdain.

“i know you’re mad, okay, i’m sorry, i really am!” she whines, holding her arms out for you to come over. “i tried to leave but he wouldn’t let me. he just kept wanting to-”

“i don’t need the details you sick freak!” you yelp, going over and plopping down on her bed. “ugh, it was just... so awkward. your mom hates me. she was utterly perturbed that i didn’t switch my major to business.”

“ugh, she’s a crotchety bitch i swear,” eunbi says, falling onto her back and looking at you with sorrow in her eyes. “i’m sorry, i really am. i won’t leave you alone with her again, i promise.”

you quirk an unconvinced eyebrow her way, eyes full of doubt and distrust before she throws herself on you and squeals that, at least, now you can have a scary movie marathon without any interruptions.

it seems you also probably should’ve made her promise last night that you’d never be alone with her father either; it didn’t even occur to you at the time, not thinking that she’d really ditch you two days in a row.

but alas, jiwoon’s car pulled up when all three of you were walking out of the house to the g-wagon for the trip to the food store, her shooting you an apologetic look and whispered condolences in your ear.

“i’m technically not breaking my promise because my dad’s nice,” she mumbled, the feeling in your body more nervous and aroused than it is angry and upset.

but she could’t know that.

“and when i break your head? then what, eunbi?”

“i love you,” she giggles in your ear, the playful tone of your voice letting her know she got off the hook again. “it’ll be fine. my dad’s a good man. he wouldn’t ever talk shit to you the way my mom does.”

little does she know how much you want her dad to talk shit to you.

talk to you in a way that’s casual and playful and teasing, like the hints of it you’ve seen in the car or in eunbi’s room when you were alone last night. you just want him to look at you with the slightest bit of something, even though it’s wrong.

not only because of his wife, no matter how big a bitch she is, but because of-

“do you still wanna come with me?”

seonghwa’s voice pulls you away from your thoughts, looking to the man dressed in a long, black jacket and expensive loafers. he looks far too fancy and delectable for a trip to the grocery store.

eunbi is long gone by now, her giggles and carefree run down the driveway and into her boyfriend’s car leaving you and mr. park alone, with only the blue sky and crisp air as your witness.

him looking you over hopefully, with a twinge of teasing and longing in his gaze.

you looking at him full of nerves and excitement, biting down on your lip as you nod your head timidly.

“s-sure, if that’s okay,” you say, looking from him to his car just a few feet away. “it’d be better than sitting in eunbi’s room again.”

a handsome smile crosses his face as he nods his head, heart pounding and throat constricting as you watch him walk toward the car.

he walks around the front of a smaller, sleek suv, your own eyes watching in confusion until he opens the passenger side door.

you can only stare blankly, head cocked to the side as you really start to wonder if this man is about to make you drive his car costing more than your life.

“are you getting in, y/n?” he asks, an amused smile pulling at his lips - almost like he’s making fun of your nervous, intimidated disposition.

you shake your head of the confusion, cheeks flushing in the cold december air as you do an awkward jog toward the car. you dip in beside him as your body hits the cool leather, craning your neck to shoot him a small, grateful smile.

your faces are closer than you anticipated, breath catching in your throat as his gaze watches you closely.

he doesn’t say a word or move a muscle, taking a few moments for his eyes to roam your face and body before mumbling to buckle up.

you wish you knew how long the drive to the store would be, as it would slightly settle you and the thick, awkward tension in the air. it appears to be enough time for the heat to go on, warm air blowing from the vents before he asks if you want your seat heater on.

“oh, sure, thank you,” you mumble, a smile quirking on his lips as he presses down on the small circular button.

more silence lingers in the air as the trees outside you pass by, the bright winter sun and blue sky not making it feel like christmas is only a few days away.

you can’t remember the last time the holidays have actually felt like it, though,  all the lonely days blending into one and feeling as if they were the same.

maybe this year, because you’re surrounded by eunbi and her family, it’ll feel less lonely. maybe you’ll actually enjoy yourself and find that you’ve missed out when you denied her invitation each and every-

“i’m sorry about my wife last night.”

those are words you don’t expect so they shock you even more, looking at the older man beside you with a wide-eyed, confused gaze. his dark eyes are expressionless and casual on the road, one hand on the wheel while the other rests beside him.

“i... what do you mean?” you ask, knowing damn well you understand his apology - and given the unamused look he throws you, he knows you’re full of shit too.

“i don’t think she means to judge you so harshly,” he begins, his deep, smooth voice full of sympathy and softness. “it’s not her place to question your education or major, so i just want to apologize for her.”

“that’s not necessary, mr. park,” you insist, shaking your head as a small, breathy chuckle leaves you. “and it’s not like i haven’t heard it before.”

because no one is ever too confident in any of the arts being your main source of income or profession; even your own parents, although it really wouldn’t matter what you would have chosen, haven’t been supportive.

and you especially haven’t missed the looks of pity or distaste when you tell people on campus or at parties in the frat house, future business leaders or stem majors looking at you like just said the sky is hot pink.  

“well that’s just ridiculous,” seonghwa says, ripping you from your thoughts so you can roam over his strong, handsome face. “it’s a great field to work in and something you’re passionate about. that’s what matters most.”

he can tell by the way your cheeks flush that you’re slightly embarrassed and he can’t help but find it endearing, licking over his lips as his mind begins to wander.

wonder about what other parts of you could flush so easily or what else he could say to really make the pinkness deepen.

“i guess,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders as you look at the passing oak trees and mansions.

“and... what you said last night about traveling to build my portfolio,” you begin, shocked by the words continuing to leave your mouth. “that’s something i’ve thought about doing. i think it’d be really fun, regardless if i did wedding photographer or not.”

“yeah?” he asks, the smile on his face causing your head to jump. “i think that’d be good, too. where would you wanna go first?”

your lips purse to the side as you think it over, a love for traveling anywhere you could but having an especially strong pull toward the tropics.

“cancun or the maldives,” you answer, the financial aspect of the trip leaving it most likely impossible for you. “it’ll probably never happen, because i’d have to sell my first born, but i’ve always wanted to go somewhere like that. somewhere tropical and fun.”

seonghwa bites his tongue about his multiple trips there, instead letting out a chuckle that causes butterflies to erupt. his eyes are too drawn to your body in the front seat, legs crossed and arms over your lap politely.

“you never know,” he hums, ripping his gaze away before you catch his gawking. “you might get there one day, after being the best wedding photographer the city has to offer.”

���oh, please,” you glggle out, cheeks flushing despite the absurdity of the comment.

you catch the smile that creeps on his face, the same handsome, carefree smile you saw in the car last time.

you try not to let it get to you, let your brain convince you that maybe he likes hanging out with you alone as much as you like it too.

“i’m serious,” he says, the earnest tone of his voice slipping into dad mode in a way he doesn’t even realize. “your parents must be proud.”

you bite down on your lip as you let out a soft, almost scornful, chuckle, a quietly mumbled “yeah,” leaving your mouth that causes his eyebrows to pull together.

he always thought it was a little suspicious that in the four years eunbi has known you, she’s never told him about your parents; as far as he knows, she’s never even seen them.

“she has her scholarship and stuff so she doesn’t really need them,” his daughter said one day, the two of them discussing why you were spending yet another break alone in the apartment.

“but they don’t want her home for the holidays? you told her she was welcomed, right?”

“ugh, about a thousand times,” his daughter groans in the seat, throwing herself against the window dramatically. “i basically begged her, dad, but she said she didn’t wanna intrude. i’m telling you it’s because mom is the biggest fucking-”

“eunbi...”

“you know it’s true!” she squeals, seonghwa biting his tongue in an effort to be the bigger and better parent. “i don’t even know why you guys got married.”

but that’s what happens with teen pregnancies and rich families. how they were destined to marry anyway, due to their parents companies and stupid business politics.

it was one drunken night at his dad’s company party and a broken condom that sealed his fate with finality - made him go from a single, carefree high school student to a married businessman with a child just two short years later.

his wife was good at one point he likes to think, remembering she was gorgeous and sassy and not like the other girls who would drop to their knees for him.

but marriage and a child and just life quickly caught up with them, already trapped in a loveless, pointless marriage by the time he hit 25.

he’d be lying if he said he didn’t stay for eunbi, that they both didn’t stay for eunbi throughout her childhood and now just grew too used to being an unhappy married couple who live separate lives.  

there was never any reason for them to divorce though, no one serious in his or his wife’s lives and the hassle of money and disputing houses and cars and assets far too draining.

“i don’t believe i’ve ever met them,” seonghwa says, pulling into the store parking lot to see it’s less crowded than he suspected it’d be. “what do they do?”

you couldn’t imagine anything more unbearable than disclosing to your friend’s hot dad who you may or may not have feelings for about the messed up relationship with your parents.

it just screams daddy issues, which might say a lot about your very attraction to him in the first place.

“they run a little restaurant back in my home town. it’s about three hours from campus, which is why i don’t really go home for breaks.”

seonghwa hums lowly, nodding his head as he looks at you at a stop sign.

you’re unnerved by the way his eyes roam you, like he can see signs of you being uncomfortable about your parents and wants to know why - but why would he care? you’re only his daughter’s roommate.

“do you miss seeing them?”

you lick over your lips nervously, watching as his eyes darken every so slightly.

he watches each and every of your movements carefully, so in tune with your reactions and breaths you can just feel yourself getting more and more worked up.

not in the slightest, you wanna say. i’ll probably never see them again and have no qualms about it, mr. park.

“i suppose,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders as you apprehensively meet his gaze.

“you suppose?” he asks, concern etched on his face. “when was the time you’ve seen them? since your freshmen year?”

you avert your gaze as your teeth sink into your bottom lip, in no way wanting to have this discussion at ten a.m. when, much to your pleasure, an impatient car behind beeps at seonghwa’s mercedes.

his dark eyes move to the rearview mirror, narrowed and irritated in a way you can’t help but think is sexy, before he puts his foot off the break and turns into the parking lot.

“i think this person’s leaving,” you mutter when you notice another car go in reverse, seonghwa snatching the spot before the impatient, crotchety lady behind him could steal it.

you can’t help but smirk as seonghwa eyes her when you get out of the car, giving him a look that’s half judgmental and half amused.

“what? she beeped at me.”

“aren’t you supposed to be, like, an adult?”

he rolls his eyes as he takes a cart from the pile, nodding his head for you to go in front and “stop talking back to an elder.”

you can’t help but smirk at his playfulness, taking your spot in the front and pretending as if you always move your hips this much when you walk casually; you would’ve felt embarrassed, had you not turned around a few moments later to see his eyes already on you.

“where to first, mr. park?”

he has to bite back the groan threatening to leave his mouth, reminding himself to keep himself in check this month - starting tomorrow.

“depends, y/n,” he hums, voice far too deep and sultry to be surrounded by innocent bystanders in the grocery store. “what do you want?”

words are caught in your throat and you can only stare dumbly, your plan quickly back firing as he appears to do the same - but it’s gotta be in your head, right?

regardless, it quickly humbles you in the form of a small, unsure shrug.

it’s how you two start walking up and down the aisles, seonghwa putting in what he remembers and items on his mental list while also insisting you put in anything you want.

your arms bump ever so often, softly apologizing and acknowledging it the first few times before you both realize it may be happening on purpose.

you stick close to him when the aisles get tight and crowded, his deep voice telling you to “go ahead,” causing you to swallow shakily. you feel the presence of his hand just a few inches from your hips, lingering and hovering but never fully touching.

it’s finally when you’re in the bread aisle, seonghwa a few feet away talking to the man at the bakery counter, that you decide to put something in the cart.

you would usually never accept someone’s offer to buy you something, already feeling bad about staying with them rent free and eating their meals without compensating.

but the brioche loaf brand is one of your favorites, only sold on occasion at the corner store near campus.

you press up on your tippy toes to grab the bag of bread, stretching your arm up with all your might. the plastic slips through your fingers just as you’re about to snatch it down, letting out an annoyed huff as you pulled down your sweater dress.

you mumble your annoyances before trying again, back on the tips of your toes with your arm raising when you feel a hand on the small of your back.

it’s large and warm and seeping through the thin material of your burgundy dress, a snappy protest about to leave your mouth when you catch mr. park’s face in your peripheral.

there’s a content look on his face as he takes the bag with ease, holding it above your head as his hand moves from your back to your waist with a gentle touch.

you look at him with wide eyes and a pounding heart, his hand on your waist so foreign and strange but... good. something you didn’t even realize you’d been craving until it happened.

the strength and warmth of his hand, though if you think about it just enough, you can feel the weight of his wedding band through the fabric.

“is this what you wanted?”

his voice is deep and low as he speaks to you and you alone, your eyes raising to see him staring down at you. you can’t make out the expression in them, just the darkness in his eyes and the frantic beating of your heart.

you can’t even being to understand the context of his words right now because, yes, this is exactly what you’ve wanted - but he doesn’t know that, right?

“w-what?”

he can’t help the smirk that crosses his face, all sorts of pride and satisfaction and arousal coursing through his veins at your current disposition.

“the bread,” he says, stepping back and holding it out to you. “is this the one you wanted?”

your eyes narrow as you look at him, the smirk on his face, the amusement in his gaze, the playfulness that’s radiating off him - is he fucking with you?

“oh... i... yes,” you finally say, coming to your senses and not allowing yourself to think this way anymore. “that’s the one. i hope it’s okay.”

“of course,” he hums, placing the bread in the cart before going back to the front handles. “you can get anything you want, i already told you that.”

you nod dumbly as you follow beside him, seonghwa picking more things off the shelves and muttering the list to himself as you try to get your shit together.

because yes, you’re attracted to him and yes, you’ve found yourself alone with him for more than two days in a row and yes, there’s been some lingering looks and touches but that doesn’t mean anything.

you can’t let your own deluded thoughts and desires get in the way of reality.

the reality that he’s your friend and roommate’s married father and you’re a college student. he doesn’t want you just as much as you shouldn’t want him so what’s the problem here?

maybe it’s that you’re a 22-year-old woman who’s only been on a handful of dates.

that the last time you made out with someone was when you were drunk and dared to kiss the first guy that walked through the bar (luckily, somewhat attractive and surprisingly polite).

that, maybe, you’re so horribly touch-starved and aching for affection, you’re trying to find it in a hot father figure who’s just as kind as he sexy - and that, you think, is the second most tragic thing here.

because the first would absolutely be thinking that any of this, any of these stares or touches or coincidences of eunbi leaving you two alone, means something.

means that maybe this break is for you two is create an attraction and build some sort of bond and-

“y/n.”

you’re barely able to register seonghwa’s voice before his arm is wrapped around your waist, pulling your body into his taller one and having you pressed up right against him.

you were so lost in thought of him that you didn’t see the older women skirting her cart around the aisle quickly, phone pressed to her ear as she yells to her husband about the christmas ham.

you’re not even sure if she shoots you a look of sorrow or utters any apology, too consumed and distracted by the feeling and proximity of mr. park.

his arm wrapped around you, your body pressed flush up against him, his neck craned down to look at you with a building... something in his eyes. playfulness and teasing but also something darker, something that makes your stomach swoop and renders you unable to move.

“are you always so clumsy and distracted?” he mumbles lowly, his deep voice quiet for only you two to hear - like he knows even in a sea of strangers, he has to keep these interactions quiet.

“what would you do if i wasn’t here to help you, y/n?”

i wouldn’t have been distracted in the first place, you’re tempted to say - but you certainly don’t wanna open that can of worms, especially not in the middle of this grocery store with the way your heart is pounding.

“i... i’m sorry, i was distracted,” you mutter, playing up the damsel in distress just a little bit. “my mistake, mr. park.”

he licks over his lips, swearing his name just being spoken has never effected him like this. he doesn’t even know where this attraction came from, seeing you leave the dorm building yesterday morning and something in his body jumping at the sight of you.

maybe it’s just showing how unhappy he really is with his life, living day to day to just work. hang out with his friends and go to sleep alone - he doesn’t remember the last time his wife touched him, looked at him like she wanted him or made any move to be with him.

he just knows that you showed up, looking so pretty and wide-eyed and coy, and is now about to lose his mind.

“it’s alright,” he says, hoping you don’t hear the thick tension he hears in his own voice, like he’s some idiotic, hormonal young boy. “i think we only have a few more aisles left, anyway.”

he plucks the remaining items off the shelves before you both make your way to the self check-out, him scanning and you bagging because “eunbi says if my career as a photographer fails, i could be the best grocery bagger ever.”

“that’s just because she puts the bread on the bottom,” seonghwa mutters, a smile on your face as you nod your head - she squished one too many of your brioche loafs before you realized bagging just wasn’t for her.

your fingers graze ever so often, the coldness of his tips a stark contrast to your warmer ones.

a particularly big, bulk bag of vegetables proves to be a challenge for you, working through the packed bag with some difficulty. you let out an annoyed groan as you play a dangerous game of tetris, trying not to rip open the brown paper bag.

you finally get the box inside, a little bit prouder than you care to admit, when your precious brioche loaf is dropped right atop. you look up at seonghwa to see him already apologizing, your brow raised as you look at the older man in confusion.

did he think your hand was out? why would he just throw the food at you?

but it’s only when you feel a little more air than normal on your chest that you see what could’ve possibly caused the distraction, the white lace from your bra sticking out.

your cleavage in this dress was hidden for the most part, only becoming a little more obvious when you moved around or packed a shitload of groceries. it makes you bite back a smirk as you put two and two together, looking up to see his eyes still lingering over you.

two can play at this game mr. park.

“mr. park,” you begin, feigning a certain kind of innocence as you place your bread atop the other groceries and finally look up at him. “are you always so clumsy?”

it takes a few seconds for a smile to pull at his lips, the tick in his jaw not going unnoticed to you - so maybe this wasn’t all in your head. maybe he wants you too... possibly.

“you’re funny, y/n,” he mumbles, a smile pulling at your lips as he takes out his black card. “i guess i was distracted, too.”

you swallow the lump in your throat as you feel the slightest hint of arousal run through you, shaking it off and letting out a forced, girlish chuckle.

you pack the car a few minutes later without any lingering eyes or touches, seonghwa telling you about the meals they plan on cooking for christmas.

they usually don’t make their own food for holidays but decided to have a more traditional set up for you and eunbi’s arrival - he also hasn’t cooked a meal for his family in god knows how long.

“that’ll be great, thank you,” you tell him, clicking your seatbelt in as he backs out the spot. “i’m kind of a picky eater but i’ll eat anything you guys provide me.”

“and you have the whole brioche loaf,” seonghwa says, a giggle leaving your mouth as you nod your head.

“true. it’s really good.”

“i’ve never tried, perhaps you’d be willing to-”

his wife’s name popping up on his car dashboard acts as a way to bring you back to reality, brings a certain kind of silence over the both of you for a few seconds.

like he wasn’t just rubbing his body against yours and you weren’t just flirting with him in the form of smirking lips and snarky comments.

you watch a twinge of annoyance behind seonghwa’s eyes, gaze roaming over the screen as if he’s in contemplation before muttering “one second.”

“hello?”

“where are you?” her voice snaps in annoyance, “i told you we had that board meeting at one.”

“and it’s only noon,” his deep voice mumbles, not matching her level of irritation but sounding a whole lot different than a few seconds ago. “me and y/n are coming back now.”

“y/n?” she spats, like it’s a disgusting piece of food she wouldn’t dare put in her mouth. “what about eunbi?”

“she went off with jiwoon before i could get her in the car.”

“so it was only you two?” she asks, the snide judgment and underlying tone in her voice causing your stomach to churn. “did she ask you to buy a bunch of-”

“i’ll be home in twenty and then be on my way over,” he says, cutting her off and hanging up before she can even get another word you.

your stomach churns and a sick feeling comes over you, her utter dislike and disdain for you causing you to bite your lip.

because not only does she not like you to be with her daughter, she doesn’t want you with her husband (although, you suppose, you can’t really blame her for that one).

“i’m sorry about that,” seonghwa winces, the silence lingering between you two heavy. “you could’ve gotten anything you wanted, y/n. this is your christmas too. don’t feel bad about anything, okay?”

you swallow the lump in your throat, your gaze moving to his as he stops at the red light.

your eyes lingering over his and his doing the very same, hand twitching to reach out and move the piece of hair from your slightly flushed face.

and there was something about the way you were both looking at each other, eyes so focused and unwavering and honest, that had you thinking maybe all of this wasn’t in your heads.

but it didn’t mean either of you could act on it - they were just... feelings of lust and wonder and all things forbidden, not seriously believing that a relationship like this could unfold right under the nose of his wife, his daughter and your roommate.

unless the pull was so desperate.

so overwhelming and all-consuming and present between the both of you, little moments couldn’t help but happen.

strike one:

with none other than eunbi as a distraction, the girl promising she wasn’t gonna leave you alone anymore, you were able to take your mind off everything.

the tension-filled, heart pounding moments with mr. park that felt just as wrong as they did right.

you spent a few nights going out with her, jiwoon and all of their high school friends, a surprisingly nice group of young adults who you got along well with.

they were loud and crazy and did far too many shots but they also seemed to be genuinely kind. even the boy who was flirting with you all night, handsome and tall with pretty dark eyes, acted as a good distraction.

grinding up against him as the music pounded throughout the bar, alcohol coursing through your veins allowing you to forget about the older man who’s been living in your head for almost a week now.

“how have i never met you before, y/n?” the boy mumbled lowly in your ear, your head against his shoulder carelessly.

but it was right there in that moment, him saying your name, that the moment was over.

because it just didn’t sound like seonghwa, as delusional as that was.

it didn’t get your heart racing or lips quirking the same way it did when you heard the older man say it. the smile attached to his handsome, mature face and the deep, lowly spoken tone that always held a hint of teasing and sincerity.

“but danny really is so freakin’ nice!” eunbi squeals to you on christmas eve, the two of you in her immaculately white and modern kitchen prepping the chocolate chip cookie cough for tomorrow.

“and you two seemed to be getting along, i saw your ass all up on him.”

“eunbi, that wasn’t me. that was the vodka. i don’t know who that girl was.”

she throws her head back as a loud chuckle leaves her, telling you again that she warned you her snobby, rich little friends have been able to handle their liquor since middle school.

it’s how they cope, she had said, unloved kids with more money than god learning to deal with the world of limitless funds and minimal parental supervision.

“well he hasn’t stopped asking me about you, you know,” she hums, her eyebrows quirked suggestively as she mixes the bowl of ingredients lazily.

“and not just because of your newfound grinding skills, which by the way, are usually learned by the tenth grade.”

your eyes narrow at her comment, throwing a small ball of dough at her that she, impressively, catches in her mouth.

“he really is just, like, so taken by you, y/n. seriously. i told him that you’re graduating this year with a degree in photography and he nearly came in his pants. he loves the artsy girls.”

“you are so vile,” you snort out, shaking your head at the girl sitting criss-crossed on the counter. “and stop saying that. we both know i’m not graduating this year,” you mumble, her face falling pathetically.

“i told you we’re gonna find a way,” she whines lowly, looking at you with all kinds of sympathy and sadness in her eyes - she would offer to pay for you, if she didn’t think you would smack her upside the head.

“oh and what? is my new boyfriend danny gonna do that for me?”

“in exchange for more grinding and a photoshoot, i think. do you want me to try?”

she lets out another giggle despite the way you pinch her leg, peeking inside the bowl with a surprising amount of pride.

"this looks good,” you mumble, swiping your finger to collect some of the chocolate dough.

“hey!” she whines brattily, thrusting a spoon toward your hand just a second too late.  

“why are you whining in here like a child, eunbi?” seonghwa asks, walking through the entryway and the large, white island in the center. “what are you making? please don’t burn the house down.”

“haha dad, you’re so funny,” she mocks sarcastically, jumping down from the counter with her hands on her hips. “where are the baking sheets?”

a simple shrug from her father causes her to roll her eyes, grumbling about how she was really trying to avoid her bitch of a mother today. he holds back his smirk, about to reprimand her before she’s out the kitchen and shouting for her mother upstairs.

it’s only you and seonghwa in the kitchen now, a heavy silence in the air as you stand there dumbly - bowl beside you, cookie dough adorning the top of your finger.

“what are you girls making?” he finally asks, his body moving closer and closer causing you to swallow.

“i... uh, cookie dough. for tomorrow,” you say, lifting your finger and wiggling the tip full of batter. “chocolate chip.”

his eyes move to your finger before grazing over your mouth, his tongue peeking out ever so slightly as he reminds himself to act right.

he hasn’t been alone with you since that day at the food store, just seeing you in passing in the hallways or outside the house as you and eunbi went to and fro.

he hears your giggles at night and tired groans in the morning, quietly yelling at his daughter to wake up and get her ass out of bed.

and he knows it’s probably for the better, that you two don’t find yourselves alone with each other, but he can’t help but feel a rush of excitement right now.

you watch as he moves closer, with the same wide-eyed look you’ve been giving him since he first saw you in your apartment weeks ago.

“ahh, you’re making it from scratch? that’s ambitious.”

“yeah, we googled a recipe,” you tell him, finger still beside you in the air.

you don’t know what causes you to be so bold, maybe him attempting to carry out a normal conversation even though he’s looking at you with so much lust and desire, but you can’t stop once you start.

“how’s it taste?” he asks, his voice deep and slightly strained as he nods his head toward your finger.

you don’t even bat an eye as you slip the tip of your finger in your mouth slowly, swirling your tongue around as you take up all the dough on your skin.

it’s sweeter than you originally thought it’d be but it tastes good nonetheless, keeping your eyes on him as you reamin as innocent and unassuming as possible.

“it’s good,” you say, dropping your finger like you didn’t just make a show of licking and sucking it. “i like it better raw.”

you don’t even realize your words until you see the fleeting look on his face, tongue swiping across his lip and eyes hardening. they roam you so slowly and darkly, you can’t control the growing butterflies and swooping in your lower stomach.

“mm, me too,” he hums lowly, the hardening of his cock in his pants something he hasn’t felt in forever. it’s taking everything in him to control himself, from his eyes popping out of his head to letting out the deepest of growls in the back of his throat.

“do you want some?” you ask, cocking your head to the side questioningly.

he has to desperately hold on to his composure, not think about how easy it’d be to pin you against the cabinet right behind you. take just a few steps closer, have your back against the cold granite and let you feel just how much he wants some.

but he has to play it cool, push down these building desires and ignore your teasing because he’s almost fucking positive that’s what’s happening here.

“want some what?” he asks, his voice lowering just a tad.

he hasn’t played a game like this since college, watching as your eyes widen and brow quirks up.

but he sees that’s exactly what it is when you turn around and face the bowl of cookie dough to him, a smile just as sweet as the cookies on your face.

“cookie dough. before we put them in the oven and possibly burn them.”

the breathy chuckle he lets out leaves your stomach in shambles, his tongue peeking out and poking the inside of his cheek causing a swooping sensation to flood through you.

but before he can even think to say anything, before your eyes can look over his body and make you feel even more warm and bothered, eunbi floats back in and fiddles in the cabinets for the baking sheets.

“that woman is too much, i swear,” she grunts, whipping out the materials quickly before her head snaps to her father. “why are you still here?”

“i wanted some cookies. and to ensure y/n won’t allow you do burn down the kitchen.”

“it was one time, dad, and an accident. how many times do i have to defend myself in this house?”

you let out a giggle as you look from eunbi to seonghwa, your roommate turning her back to set up the practice baking session.

“let’s go bitch! i hope we didn’t fuck this up.”

seonghwa’s eyes roam over you for a few more moments, his tongue swiping across his lips before, finally, leaving the kitchen with his dick hard as a rock.

strike two:

christmas consisted of successful cookies per your and eunbi’s homemade batch, passive aggressive comments from mrs. park about your degree and a whole fuck ton of sexual energy between you and seonghwa.

you could almost always feel when his gaze was boring into you, when you got up to take more mashed potatoes or kept your attention on eunbi as she told her parents about what job she wants to start at next semester.  

it’s also when eunbi almost let it slip about your scholarships, had you not viciously pinched her arm and caused a pained cry to leave her mouth - if you ever thought jiwoon was gonna verbally assault you, it was certainly in that moment.

“why did you pinch me so hard?” she whined later that night, jiwoon passed out on the couch after five too many homemade cookies. “look at my bruise.”

a genuine frown crosses your lips as you look at her arm, rubbing her skin gently as you mumble your soft spoken apologies.

“i’m sorry but i just... i didn’t want your mom to know that,” you say back just as whiney and pathetic. “she already thinks i’m an incompetent idiot. knowing i have to wait a whole year because i’m broke is just too embarrassing.”

it’s an admission that, while eunbi already suspected that, still makes her feel bad - it nearly makes her wanna cry, that you don’t feel welcomed and loved in her home because her mom has to be a judgmental bitch.

“y/n...”

“bi, it’s fine, oh, my god do not cry right now,” you grumble, flicking her in the head lightly.

“i just feel bad,” she cries lowly, moving hrself closer to you and away from her boyfried. “it’s not fair, y/n. you worked so hard and now you have to wait. how could they do this to you?”

a small, touched smile crosses your face at eunbi as you shake your head, dabbing at her watery eyes.

if jiwoon wakes up, he’s literally gonna beat my ass,” you say, smiling when a wet giggle leaves eunbi; you don’t want this time to be sad or upsetting. “i thought he was gonna hit me at dinner.”

“okay if he’s hitting anything, it’s gonna be my-”

“no. no, no, no.”

the snort that leaves her mouth doesn’t help the sinking feeling in her stomach, looking at you with a frown still adorning her face.

“i’m sorry if my mom’s making you feel uncomfortable. she does it to every single person ever and i don’t-”

“it’s fine, please stop apologizing for her,” you say, the sinking reminder in the back of your mind that seonghwa had been doing the very same thing - apologizing for that woman.

“i know she’s stressing you out, too. we’re in it together.”

“that’s true,” she sighs, letting out a long, dramatic groan before resting her head on your shoulder. “i’m so bloated, i don’t think i’m ever gonna be able to eat again.”

and it was funny that, days after the holiday, eunbi was still convinced that she was bloated from christmas dinner.

“babe, i don’t even think that’s possible,” jiwoon consoled her, you and him sitting in her room as she gets ready to go down to the pool.

because, naturally, like everyone in this godforsaken rich town, they get ready to go to the pool that’s inside of their homes; when eunbi told you to pack a bathing suit back at your apartment, you looked at her like she was insane.

until she clarified that her pool is heated and, conveniently, indoors.

“just through the backyard,” she had said - and she truly meant it.

just a few yards away from the main deck area, with floor to ceiling glass windows that showcase the extravagant landscaping and, of course, the outdoor pool and jacuzzi just a few feet away.

“eunbi, this is insane,” you say, marveling at the sight before you.

“don’t you wish you came sooner?” she asks with a wink, your eyes rolling as you place down your towel.

you had the option to bring two bathing suits - a skimpy black one you don’t remember being so scandalous or a red one you remember eunbi insisting you buy last summer.

and you just knew it was because danny was coming, currently showcasing his impressive eight pack that, truly, just doesn’t do it for you - maybe if he was twenty years older, apparently, and somebody’s father and husband.

you shake the thoughts out of your head, walking a few steps toward the pool before eunbi tackles you from behind. you both land with a loud splash, followed by the excited shouts and loud splashes of her other friends.

you’d be lying if you said you could remember the last time you had this much fun, splashing and giggling and acting so carefree despite the many challenges you’ll have to face soon.

but that’s not any of your concern right now, currently sitting atop danny’s shoulders and trying to knock down eunbi in a game of chicken.

“you little bitch! get your nails out of me!”

“coming from the girl who literally just tried to choke me two seconds ago!”

“like it’s your first time being choked!”

and you don’t know whether jiwoon was shocked by you saying that statement or the fact that his girlfriend exposes all of her sexual kinks to you but alas, it did the trick in sealing you a victory.

a smug smile on your face as danny jumps up and down in excitement, your body bouncing and nearly falling over him had you not gripped onto his shoulders.

it’s at that time eunbi pops up from the water, hair a soaking mess and mascara running down her face. she’s about to open her mouth, probably to yell at you, before a volleyball is thrown through the air and just misses her face.

instead, it hits danny square in the head. the boy letting out a yelp before you promptly fall backwards in the water, hearing eunbi’s shrill squeal and giggle on your way down.

you pop up and throw her a dirty look, danny rubbing at the back of his side before apologizing profusely.

“it’s okay,” you giggle out, about to say you shouldn’t have been up there for so long before eunbi’s squealing in the air.

“dad, what the hell kind of aim was that!”

you feel your body stiffen before you quickly shoot around, none another than mr. park standing there looking as handsome as ever.

he puts the young men around you to shame, good-looking, muscular college boys who anyone in their right mind would find attractive - but they just don’t beat him.

his striking eyes or tall, lean stature or the fact that he’s just so fucking-

“got worse with age, bi, what can i say?” he chuckles, extra white fluffy towels in his hold that he places on the chair. “sorry, danny.”

seonghwa’s known danny for a few years now, one of jiwoon’s friends who seems... alright. not a bad guy but also not a good guy - just kind of there; but it didn’t occur to the man just how much he was bothered by him until he saw you on his shoulders.

because he could’ve put you in danger, of course. put you in danger at his house where if things got bad, he’d be responsible; as for the ball, it merely slipped from his finger tips.

“no problem mr. park,” the kid smiles, the other friends gathering around and looking at him expectantly. “we’re gonna play a round of volleyball. you in?”

“no. no dads allowed,” eunbi whines, seonghwa rolling his eyes at his bratty adult daughter.

“why not? because i’m better than all of you, eunbi?”

“oh please,” she grumbles lowly, rolling her eyes and grabbing you to lead you toward the stairs. “you know what, we’re going in the hot tub anyway. since she decided to rock my shit in chicken. enjoy my father traitors,” eunbi grumbles to jiwoon and his friends.

“i did not,” you protest weakly, feeling two pairs of eyes on you as you make your way out of the pool with your friend.

the first thing that strikes seonghwa, apart from the major twitch in his pants, is how skimpy your bikini is.

red bottoms with thin straps holding it up, a matching red top showcasing cleavage and beauty marks on your chest and all the things that are proving to drive him fucking crazy upon seeing you every day.

it’s taking everything in him to control the growing ache in his shorts, your eyes looking at him so coyly and attentively that you’re ignoring the college boy gawking at you right in front of him.

there’s a certain sort of twisted pride in his chest, you giving him attention and seemingly reciprocating his interest, when there’s someone younger right there for you.

younger and unmarried and more suitable for you. someone you can actually be with where it wouldn’t be considered dirty or wrong or secretive; but maybe that’s why you’re both drawn to it in the first place.

that, and because you’re both really hot.

“he’s literally hot, y/n! why don’t you like him?” eunbi whines to you, the two of you sitting across from one another in the hot tub outside.

the december air is crisp but feels nice comapred to the steaming water you’re gratefully submerged in. anything to take you away from mr. park shirtless and wet in the pool right now.

“i do like him, bi,” you mutter, trying your best to convince her and now seem suspicious.

“okay, yeah, as a person but who cares about that!” she whines, flopping her hands dramatically in the water. “you don’t want him to rail you.”

“eunbi!” you squeak, splashing in her direction as a warm, embarrassed blush rises to your cheeks.

“i’m serious y/n. you’ve never been railed before and danny’s such a good option. he’s hot and he’s sweet and he’s so pathetically into you, it’s a little sick.”

you don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, shooting her a look that screams can we please not talk about this because you don’t know how much i actually wanna be railed by your father so let’s stop this discussion.

but she only rolls her eyes, moving herself closer to you so she can tug at your arm annoyingly.

“is he just not your type?” she questions, her eyebrows pulling together in confusion for a few moments before utter shock crosses her face.

“wait, what is your type? it’s... men, right? have i been hooking you up with the wrong gender this whole time?” she asks in disbelief, “could we have been hooking up this whole time?”

you press your lips together so you don’t burst out laughing, dryly replying “yes, eunbi, i’m into men.”

but the more you think about it, the more you think maybe you don’t have a type.

“and i’ve... never really thought about it before, to be honest. i just know i’m not into like... frat guys or whatever.”

because any party you’d been to, any douchey college guy wearing a backwards hat or cut off shirt, you had never been more disinterested. you couldn’t ever picture yourself falling for someone like that, romantically or sexually.

the one time you remember thinking someone was hot was when you took film and lit with your 31-year-old professor.

“so older guys?” eunbi concludes after hearing that, a smirk on her face as she raises her eyebrows playfully. “we gotta scope out some golf courses or retirement homes?”

“please,” you scoff, a giggle leaving her mouth as she throws her head back gleefully.

“okay, really though, i’ll tell danny you’re not interested and to stop trying so hard if you’re really not interested.”

but maybe danny as a distraction will be good.

will make you see that, perhaps, someone single and your own age and not your best friend’s father will be good thing for you to explore.

so you shrug lightheartedly, the smirk on your face causing eunbi to let out a low “oooh shit.”

you look over at her and your smile only widens when she knocks your shoulder, saying that you’re looking to be a play girl and drain a rich, lovesick man of some christmas presents.

“yeah, right! why drain a rich man when i can drain my best friend,” you tease, looking around her yard and still in astonishment that this is really her life. “i mean, two pools? is that really necessary?”

“three actually. there’s one behind the guest house on the other side. a small one. very humble.”

“oh, a small one, okay. great.”

she lets out another giggle, the two of you talking over plans for new years eve.

you might go up to jiwoon’s parents house in the mountains for the weekend, spend the time drinking with the small group of friends you’ve come to genuinely like over these past few weeks.

“it’s only two hours away so it won’t be that bad either,” she says, getting up to shake the hot water off her arms. “i’ll be right back, i have to pee.”

you nod your head, grateful she didn’t piss in the pool and allowing yourself to sit there, eyes closed, body relaxed, in the silence.

you can hear the faint screams of the boys from the indoor pool area and the swish of the hot tub filter, peeking open your eyes when, suddenly, you think you hear a boom of thunder in the distance.

you watch the sky darkening and clouds coming in, signaling a storm is coming in soon and quick. a sigh leaves your mouth, enjoying your last few moments of peace before finally standing in the hot tub.

the crisp winter air blows and sends goosebumps up your arms, a shiver running through your body as you attempt to splash some hot water on your upper body.

you don’t know how you know someone’s watching you but you do, some sort of strange intuition within you looking up to see none other than mr. park standing a few feet away from the hot tub.

his dark hair is wet and hanging in his face, swimming trunks soaked and his exposed chest still dripping chlorine water.

you press your lips together as your eyes roam his chest, a hint of abs on his lean stomach that causes a small, strangled groan to leave your mouth - you will never understand how this man is pushing 40.

but the same way you’re looking at him, he’s looking at you.

water covering your body, currently hunched over trying to warm the rest of your body; but it’s when you stand he really starts to gawk, your figure standing full and tall and giving him a perfect view of your hardening nipples from the cold crisp air.

you can see the lust in his eyes the same way you know he can and you’re about to do something to just make him crack. mistakingly untie your bottoms, catching them at the last second so he thinks he’s about to get a peak.

or undo the back of your top and pout at him, ask him to please tie it back for you because it’s way too hard to reach behind and do it yourself.

or maybe you’ll just drop to your knees right there, try to see if there’s any hint of a bulge in his swimming trunk bottoms and-

his body is gone just as fast as he arrived, confusion covering your face before you shake your head of your perverted thoughts - dropping to your knees when his daughter and wife are right here, what the fuck is wrong with you today?

you blame eunbi, all her talk about getting railed when you’ve been wanting to jump her father’s bones.

you carefully make your way out of the hot tub, not wanting to eat shit and scarp your leg on the concrete.

it feels like you’re about to freeze in the cold, another shiver wracking your body before you turn to stick your cold, goosebump-ridden arms back in the hot tub. it warms you for just a few seconds, a low, satisfied hum leaving your mouth before you hear footsteps coming up from behind you.

something in you tells you it’s him again.

whether it be the way your body heats up and feels prickly, the obvious feeling of eyes burning into your exposed back causing you to remain still and oblivious.

but you can longer remain oblivious a few seconds later, when a tall body is just a few inches away from completely pressing against you.

“you forgot a towel,” is all he says, placing it on the wet rim of the hot tub.

when he leans forward to place the white towel down, he’s careful and meticulous with his movements. brushing up against you every so slightly and carefully that you can feel his hard bulge on your ass for a few seconds too long.

at first you think you’re crazy, feeling what you were trying to envision in your head, but then you absolutely know it there’s.

you can feel the wetness from his bathing suit on your legs, his cock right there resting on the thin, red fabric of your bikini bottoms and if you were as weak as you felt inside, if he stayed there just a little bit longer, a moan would’ve absolutely left your mouth.

if you pushed back just a little to feel more of his cock on you, grind your ass his hardness just enough to hear him let out a low groan or maybe curse a little.

but he moves away, almost like he knew the perfect amount of time before that happened and almost like he did it by accident - but when you turn around and see the look in his eyes, you know it wasn’t.

the same way he can see a palpable desire and surprise and tension in your gaze, causing him to suppress a growing smirk. it makes you wanna tease him back in whatever way you can but you know that eunbi’s due back from the bathroom at any moment.

so you only cock your head to the side, lick over your lower lip carefully as you grasp the towel in your hands gently.

“thank you, mr. park,” you say, your voice as airy and sweet as you can possibly make it without sounding like an idiot.

“you’re welcome, y/n,” he says, taking a few steps back as his eyes lock on you. he stays there for a few moments until he hears the door to the pool house open.

you watch his lustful, dark expression change right then and there, a towel wrapping around his lower body and his face stretching into a happy, father-approved look.

“so you’re good with anything for dinner, y/n?” he asks, his voice loud and clear enough for his approaching daughter to hear. “i know you mentioned you were picky.”

“let’s get pizza!” eunbi screeches through the air, telling seonghwa that everyone’s staying over and they’ll need at least four boxes.

but you can’t even think about pizza right now, not when this moment right here is solidifying the crazy thought in your head that your best friend’s dad wants you just as much as you want him.

you called him out later that night around one a.m., after eunbi and jiwoon were the last to pass out to your scary movie marathon.

the others were sprawled out on the basement floor, an intricate array of blankets and pillows on the floor that you attempted to weave through, both, skillfully and quietly.

there was a dryness in your throat that could only be settled by a cold glass of water, making your way through the house quietly and praying you don’t run into mrs. park.

she’s been just as passive aggressive as she usually is in front of people so you could never imagine being alone with her. wondering what the hell she’d say to you without seonghwa and eunbi as buffers.

you were relieved when the lights were off in the kitchen, padding your way to the fridge to take out a bottle of water. you twist and turn the cap off to gulp down the cold liquid in the refrigerator light, a quiet gasp leaving you as your thirst is quenched.

you briefly consider going up to eunbi’s room to sleep tonight, not sure how you feel about being squished in with eunbi and jiwoon cuddling on the couch, when the light suddenly flicks off.

it causes you to freeze and halt all thoughts, fear running through you for all three seconds before you see seonghwa’s tall, familiar figure pass you. you watch him carefully in the dim light of the fridge, his shirtless chest yet again right in front of your face.

leaned back against the counter across from you, giving you a perfect view of his toned chest and gray sweatpants.

“midnight snack?” he asks, the smirk on his face almost causing you to roll your eyes.

instead, your lips quirk into a small smile. raising your water bottle by your head and shaking it, the water swishing in your pounding ears.

“just water,” you respond quietly, matching his low tone. “i hope that’s okay.”

“that you took water? of course, y/n,” he says, amusement in his gaze as he looks you over.

you’re freshly showered and in a pair of pajamas, matching pink sets that eunbi got you for christmas one year - he remembers because he was with her when she bought it.

a soft smile crosses your face, your back getting cold from the open fridge but not daring to move a muscle. not with him looking at you the way he is and with his body just a few feet away from you.

a silence lingers in the kitchen, you not sure why he’s looking at you and him waiting to see if you say something, before he bites the inside of his cheek.

“i wanted to say sorry about before.”

your eyebrow quirks up, interest so clearly peaked as you cock your head to the side.

“what do you mean?”

a smirk crosses his face as he watches you play dumb, head cocked and eyes wide and everything about you with such mock innocence, he thinks that’s what’s driving him the most crazy.

that you do this shit and say certain things with almost complete unawareness and innocence, if it weren’t for the hidden look of desire and teasing in your eyes.

“you know,” is all he says, his voice dipping and eyes twinging darker, it makes your lower stomach swoop.

a part of is positive, even if you ask, he’s not gonna say it aloud.

he’s not gonna say or acknowledge any of this aloud and make you guys play this game until you leave in a few weeks.

and then when you leave, unsure about your next prospects of college or education or even living arrangements, who knows if you’re ever gonna see him again.

so you only hum lowly, closing the fridge behind you and leaving you both in darkness. the only source of light is from the moon outside, lighting up half the kitchen from the large bay window.

it leaves you both incredibly exposed, anyone from the outside able to see the two seemingly innocent bodies standing toe to toe with each other; but they don’t see the lustful looks and eyes full of desire, both of you so entrapped by the other, it’s obvious with the tension in the air.

“oh, well, then... it’s okay, mr. park,” you say with a smile, taking a step back as your eyes roam his chest one last time. “i didn’t mind.”

you’re about to say goodnight when you see his arm reach out, shocked but oh, so ready ready to give into your desire and feel your body crash against his or your lips connect finally.

moan into his mouth and feel more of his hardness against you - but he only takes the water from your hand, presses his mouth against the plastic rim and swigs down a big gulp.

you watch with wide eyes as his adam’s apple bobs in the moonlight, head tipped back and body perched calmly on the counter as he takes a swig of your water bottle, spit exchanged and his mouth right where yours was.

he pulls back with an unreadable expression, licking the excess water from his lips before simply closing the cap, holding out the bottle and smiling at you with the most wise-ass smirk you’ve ever seen, you’re not sure how you’re ever gonna one up this man.

"sweet dreams, y/n.”

strike 3:

your new years weekend get away turned into an extended stay that consisted of sleeping on a lumpy air mattress, five extra guests and so much alcohol, you’re positive you’re still hungover three days later.

“it wasn’t that... we only did a... i mean it wasn’t like we were....” eunbi says, the two of you laying on her bed nursing headaches and body aches to the severest degree.

“okay, it was pretty bad. we were kind of rowdy and out of control.”

“you don’t say?” you grumble, never one to black out and get that shit faced and then doing it nearly every night - maybe to deal with danny’s pathetic soft looks or whispered sweet nothings to you.

“nothing is working either. not advil or water or greasy food. we might’ve fucked ourselves for life, bi.”

but if there’s one thing that always helped for eunbi, it was a nice, long bath. steaming hot water that burned her skin and the prettiest bath bombs to make the entire bathroom smell of strawberries and cream.

so even though you didn’t want to, nothing more comfortable than eunbi’s king size bed and warm, fluffy comforter, you allowed the girl to drag you to the bathroom down the hall to set up ‘your last resort, hangover paradise.’

it consisted of every type of bath bomb and lotion and bubble bath the luxurious could dream of, sending her out immediately when you saw her sneaking in with a glass of champagne.

“are you crazy?” you ask, dipping your toe in the water to test the temperature. “that’s what started this disaster.”

“fine, more for me!” she squeals happily, turning down the lights and pressing the bluetooth button for your phone’s music. “enjoy. i’ll see you in an hour, completely hangover free.”

“we’ll see about that,” you grumble, your words falling on deaf ears as she locks and closes the door to makes her way back to her ensuite.

and as much as you wanna give eunbi shit for her pompous tactics and techniques for everything in life, you have to say that this is certainly helping.

soaking in the steaming hot water, with cucumbers on your eyes and quiet music playing through the ceiling speakers. the jets in the tub also added another layer of relaxation to it, healing your sore muscles from days of waking up on a hard, wooden floor.

the mirrors were steamed and the room was boiling by the time you got out, stepping on the fuzzy bath mat and drying yourself off with a towel. you had tried not to get your hair wet but it proved useless, your relaxed body sinking further and further down until nearly your whole head was wet.

you stretch your arms above your head as you let out a content groan, feeling the best you’ve felt in three days and ready to take a nap.

but it’s at that moment, looking around the large steaming bathroom, that you realized you didn’t bring a change of clothes in. meaning you’ll know have to walk done the hall and into eunbi’s room in just a towel.

it’s fairly late, almost 11:30, so you’re hoping that her parents are in their rooms and fast asleep by now.

you peak your head out, feeling like a spy in a cheesy action movie as you look up and down the hall. you turn off the light once the coast is clear, walking quietly but quickly down to eunbi’s room - or wing, as it could be considered

you’re almost out of the gate, just a few more steps until you round the corner down eunbi’s hallway, when seonghwa’s tall figure is coming right up the stairs.

his head is down as he looks at his phone, still in his dress shirt and tie from his long day at work. you noticed that after the holidays, he’s been around the house less - working from home when he can but also needing to go into the office more often than not.

he’s at the top of the stairs when he finally notices your figure watching him, wrapped in a towel with a flush on your cheeks and your wet hair dripping on the floor.

it seems to be the thing to break him right now, not able to tear his eyes away or think of any fun, flirty comments to keep you from suppressing the need to roll your eyes.

because his days have been long and stressful and the only thing he needs right now is to just get off - and then there you are like something his prayers have answered, standing there quiet and awestruck at the sight of his loose tie and messy black hair he’s been running his hands through all day.

“h-hi, mr. park,” your quiet voice says, sweet and soft-spoken and utterly apologetic, like you’re embarrassed to be caught in just your towel - and he supposes that would make sense, to feel embarrassed about getting caught like this your friend’s father.

but he can’t find it in himself to care right now, two seconds away from dragging you down to his office so he can finally fuck you over his desk - but he knows that would be the worst decision in the world, for countless reasons.

“hi, y/n,” he grumbles back just as low, leant against the railing with a voice that sounds defeated and gruff.

“are you okay?” you ask, something about his voice and demeanor off.

he has to hold back a strangled laugh, his lips quirking up before he bites down on his lip.

“i’m... i’m fine, thanks. work’s just busy,” he says, a certain part of his chest warming at the fact you even asked - he knows his wife won’t when he walks in their bedroom in a few minutes.

“oh, okay,” you respond, twirling with the end of your towel nervously. “well... i’m sorry to hear that.”

he allows himself to let out a chuckle this time, shaking his head as he looks over your bare, wet face; you’re too pretty for your own good, he’s not even sure you realize just how pretty you are.

just how much he really wants you and just how much he’s coming to like seeing you in his house everyday.

“it’s alright, that’s why you gotta do something you love, right?” he quips, his long fingers up to recreate a camera, pressing down as if to snap a photo.

it cause you to let out a soft, genuine giggle, nodding your head and easing the slight embarrassment of him catching you in a towel.

“right,” you say with a smile, shy smiles and gazes shared until you finally look away in fear of your cheeks warming again.

but it doesn’t stop him from admiring the view of you, your bare face and exposed chest before the towel covers up all the parts he wants to so desperately explore.

he pictures dropping your towel and hearing it fall to the floor with a plop, take in the sight of your perky boobs and hard nipples in the air.

drop his mouth just a little bit to your neck, pressing small kisses against your skin as his fingers knead your nipples, all the quiet moans and breaths to make sure you two don’t get caught shooting right to his cock.

he probably wouldn’t be able to control himself, sliding a finger into you right then and there in the middle of the hallway, pressing your back against the wall to have you trapped against his larger body.

he’d pump his finger in and out of you slowly and tauntingly, hearing how wet you are and feeling how tight you are. it’d be similiar to how this past month has just been both of you taunting and teasing and beating around the bush, occasionally letting his fingers curl to his your g-spot or graze your sensitive clit.

and then he’d drop to his knees to taste you. make sure he sucks and licks and takes your clit in his warm mouth that you’re-

“i should get back to eunbi,” you finally say, breaking the silence and ripping him from his dirty, hidden fantasies. you can’t take the lust and desire in his eyes that you see when he looks at you, an painful ache building between your legs more and more.

“goodnight, mr. park.”

you nearly run into eunbi’s room and slam the door had you not seen her sleeping form, passed out right there in the middle of her bed wearing a baby pink robe.

you look beside her to see an extra one laid out, a silky lilac one that causes a small smile to cross your face.

you’ve never felt material like this on your skin, basking in the feeling of the smooth, silky material as you clean up her room quietly - both to tidy up and distract you from the ache in your legs and last encounter with her father.

for eunbi growing up with housekeepers and nannies her whole life, it always surprised you how clean and tidy your roommate was; the sink was never full of dishes and you alternated vacuuming the living room carpet.

but it’s obvious all of that is a facade because since the moment she got home, her messy ways have shown through - you find it endearing, though, and it’s all very eunbi: a homey, lived in mess of luxurious items and articles of clothing worth more than your childhood home.

the girl in question had moved to the right side in her sleep as you cleaned, a quiet chuckle leaving your mouth. you look to see both your water bottles are empty, deciding on the brave decision to go downstairs to grab two new ones.

the last time you’d done that, you thought for sure mr. park was gonna jump your bones - and you know you were gonna let him.

your mind is littered with memories of that night as you make your way through the dark house of twists and turns, carefully going down the stairs as you walk toward the kitchen.

there’s a room with beautiful double doors on your left, a room you’ve walked past hundreds of times throughout your stay here. eunbi told you it was her dad’s first floor office, where he usually worked and had his meetings from home.

the first thing you notice from down the hall is that the door is slightly cracked open, a peak in from the dimly lit kitchen showcasing some fancy decor of a globe.

as you make your way closer and closer, your ears are met with a quiet, strangled groan that causes you to stop in your tracks; your mind begins to race with a million different scenarios of what you could be walking past right now.

your first thought is that you’re about to see mr. and mrs. park in a very compromising position over his desk - and, as sick as it sounds, as delusional and crazy and absurd as it sounds, that prospect makes your stomach sink and twist painfully.

but that would be normal, you suppose; they’re a fucking married couple after all and seonghwa had seemed stressed from work. obviously he was gonna ask his wife to help calm him down and relax him.

get all of his stress out in the form of-

you shake your head before you can even think about it, forcing your feet to move past the office doors.

and it’s like you can’t even stop yourself from peeking in, confirming to see if your thoughts are correct and you’re about to be gutted, when you take in the sight before you.

seonghwa still in his loose tie and white dress shirt, pants around his ankles and his head thrown back in his office chair as his own hand jerks his cock off.

everything about it is dirty and wrong and you know you shouldn’t be looking in but you can’t stop.

you can’t stop watching the way his hand works around his cock expertly, long and thick and so fucking nice it nearly makes you drool. the thought of you on your knees before him, taking him in your mouth and licking and sucking around the tip, making you bite back a moan.

you can’t stop your eyes from looking at his face, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut with his neck on display - perfect for you to bite and give hickies, if you were on top straddling him.

you can’t stop the painful ache and wetness seeping in your thong as you watch him get off, his groans and grunts and heavy breaths making you wanna whine out in arousal.

and it’s that suppression right there, getting so worked up and horny over the sight of your peeping tina activities, that cause you to pull yourself away.

because as much as you don’t want to and as much as you wanna help him, you can’t.

you can only scramble into the kitchen and get water as fast and quiet as humanly possible, scurrying past the office and up the stairs with the stealthiness of a lion.

you can only lay in bed with the thoughts of your roommate’s father and the noises he makes, the sight of his cock and the hand movements replaying over and over in your mind.

and you realize that night, with only a few more days until you both have to leave for the spring semester, you can only hope to never see mr. park again.

let this flirtation and fascination and utterly screwed up infatuation with your roommate’s dad be nothing but a dirty memory you’ll keep to yourself for the rest of your life.

because if it’s not, if you have to see him again and have him in your daily life again, you won’t be able to hold yourself back.

your lust will turn deeper and you’ll find yourself in a much bigger issue than damp underwear and secret, forbidden moments with mr. park seonghwa.

you should’ve known with only two days left of your stay that eunbi was gonna let the news slip.

you were at least grateful for the fact that mrs. park had a charity ball with her clan of “botox getting, bitchy sounding gold diggers who need to desperately get laid,” successfully riding her of your last friday night dinner.

“so you girls don’t want a new apartment then?” seonghwa asked, glass of wine in his hand as he looks at the two of you questioningly. “that building’s looking for a new owner, eunbi, i think it’d be perfect for you both.”

“dad don’t be ridiculous, we can’t own the building!” eunbi says, swatting her dad playfully as she shovels a piece of food in her mouth. she’s casual and comfortable without her mom’s prying eyes and biting tone, her foot resting on the white fabric beneath her.

“and besides, i might be alone in there soon. we still don’t know if y/n is gonna be starting her-”

you kick the girl under the table roughly, her face pulling into a wince as a cry leaves her mouth.

“ow, y/n! what the he-”

but it’s upon seeing your white face and annoyed expression that she realizes what she said, her mouth falling open and silent as she looks at you apologetically.

“oh shit...”

you can only shoot her a pained, sarcastic smile, daringly looking at seonghwa who’s watching the two of you with a curious expression.

“what do you mean?”

silence hangs in the air, you and eunbi sharing side eyes and dejected looks with her dad before he cocks an eyebrow at the both of you.

“girls... what do you mean?” he asks, his voice deeper and more serious, taking on a dad-like tone eunbi isn’t used to hearing from her relaxed, playful father.

and that’s when, before eunbi can open her big mouth any further, you calmly and regretfully explain the situation with your scholarship.

how you got an e-mail a few months ago about alternate funding for the art department and that you were one of the many students who, while keeping up your end of requirements, could not be awarded money.

“it’s awful that they can do that,” seonghwa says, his eyes full of the same sympathy and outrage eunbi’s held - except he knows that this happens all the time. that it’s unfair and sick and a big ploy in the education system that needs incredible reform.

especially when it hurts students like you.

“yeah but it is what it is,” you say, trying your hardest to steer the conversation to literally anything but this (in fear that you’ll scream or start crying or have yet another anxiety attack).

“i can just finish up in the fall, it’s no big deal,” you lie through our teeth, a sad smile on your face as you look at eunbi. “i’m just sorry it messes up our combined graduation party.”

a frown crosses eunbi’s face as she smacks you in the arm, pulling you closer to her just so she could cuddle herself into your arm.

“i will wait for you,” she proclaims dramatically, a pout on her lips and starry-eyed look in her gaze. “i will wait as long as i have to. if they delay it any further, father, you will simply have to sue the school.”

“father, huh?” seonghwa hums lowly, his lips quirking into a smirk.

father is the term eunbi uses when she wants to use him and his money, whether it be blackmailing unfair teachers or shitty students or calling for him when her and her mom are fighting.

“yes, father,” she says, looking to you with a sweet, apologetic smile on her face.

“i’m serious, y/n. we got your back,” she quips with a wink, a pained smile on your face that she knows means you can’t wait to let her have it when you two are alone.

“you had one job, eunbi, and you were doing so good,” you say in her room later that night, pacing back and forth as she sits on her bed like a scolded child. “literally two nights left and you let it slip out!”

“i’m sorry, okay!” she whines for the ninth time, a pout on her face as she plays with fingers; you wanna roll your eyes seeing it, knowing for a fact that’s something she does when she’s in trouble with jiwoon.

“i didn’t mean to, it just slipped out!” she begins to defend, “and it was only my dad! he wouldn’t dare say a bad word about you, y/n, he loves you.”

you ignore the twinge in your chest when you hear her say those words, feeling a tad guilty at the bodily reaction you have about her own father. how much you’re hiding from her and that you have these suppressed feelings and secret moments in the first place.

“loves me or not, bad word or not, it’s still embarrassing, eunbi,” you say, a frown on your lips as you start to hear the situation aloud. 

“i still can’t pay for my tuition and have to wait almost a whole year to take a degree in fucking photography. like how embarrassing is that, all of this just for me never find a job and live in a box.”

you’ve only seen a flash of anger on eunbi’s face a few times in your life, the incident with the dorm girls and her dad and when a sorority girl tried to kiss jiwoon at the bar.

and you see it right now, her small but mighty frame jumping off the bed and lunging toward you quickly.

“are you kidding me!” she squeals, smacking you in the arm and pushing you down on the bed.

“what the hell do you mean a degree in fucking photography? or living in a box? you’re gonna be the best photographer in the world and shoot every event in my life and charge me quadruple the amount!”

a smile pulls at your lips as you hear her go on and on, hype you up and build up your confidence and tell you to never talk that way about yourself again. how there’s nothing embarrassing about not being able to afford thousands of dollars when you were alerted about the expense on such short notice.

“okay, okay, i know that,” you eventually give in, letting out a sigh as you flop down on her bed. “it’s just.... stressful. i can’t move back home but i also need to get like, a real job. a job that’s gonna pay well so i can save up as much as possible.”

“and we’ll find you that when we get back,” she says, assuring with a confident look in her eye and her hands in yours. “i can promise you, with or without my father’s connections, we’re getting you a job.”

her words prove to reassure you for the remainder of the night, when, after she kisses your ass a little more, asks if she can go to jiwoon’s for a little.

you spent that time in her room looking at nearby job offerings and building up your resume and cover letters, working well into the night hours with a text from jiwoon that she fell asleep and will be back in the morning.

you stretch your arms above your head with a quiet groan, noting it’s almost one o’clock and you’re fucking parched yet again.

it’s no surprise to you when the lights in the kitchen are on, dimly light and no noise around as you pad your way to the fridge.

you almost expect the footsteps that come in a few moments later, when you take a sip from your water and close the fridge without hesitation.

“have you told your parents about tuition?”

you’re confused by the statement that leaves seonghwa’s mouth, brows pulled together and a sinking feeling in your stomach at this conversation again - because as if tuition wasn’t enough, he just had to bring up your parents.

but you don’t wanna beat around the bush any longer; you two seem to do that enough.

“me and my parents don’t talk,” you say, straight forward and quiet as you look right at him.

it’s the first time he sees you look a little broken and defeated, a certain kind of sadness shining behind your eyes that makes him wanna pull him into you. it feels like a protective instinct he’s used to, caring for the people in his life and not wanting to see them struggle.

“they wouldn’t help me anyway.”

this protective instinct feels a little different in this moment, something else tugging in his chest that he hasn’t felt in a very long time - not until he started seeing you more.

“but it’d be a shame if you didn’t finish, y/n. you got so far and you’ve done so well for yourself.”

you smile a little at the praise, tongue rolling over your lips in a way he certainly doesn’t miss - but this moment isn’t about that. it’s not something he cares even a little bit about right now.

“thank you, mr. park, but i am gonna finish,” you say with finality, the confident and sure tone making a strange sort of pride swell inside of him.

“i just have to save up money and i’ll start in the fall. it’s really not that big of a deal,” you tell him with a smile, taking a few steps back so you don’t feel too crowded by him.

“eunbi’s gonna help me look for jobs when i get back,” you say, a teasing smile pulling at your lips as you look at him. “a big girl job. something real and hard, that’s gonna make me super stressed and agitated.”

so much so that i have to get off at the thought of you.

a deep chuckle bubbles out of him that you match with ease, the two of you sharing small smiles and quiet giggles in the middle of this spotless, white kitchen.

“can’t do what you love quite yet, i guess,” seonghwa says, his eyes roaming your face so slowly and carefully, it makes you a tad bit nervous.

you hadn’t realized how natural and easy this conversation was between you two, like you were talking to someone you’d known your whole life opposed to someone you’ve barely known for four years.

his hand itches to reach up and touch your hair, tuck the soft, silky looking strand behind your ear and watch your cheeks heat up when your skin touches; but instead, he smiles down at you, inching closer until he’s just looming over you and staring down at you with a soft, undetectable look in his eye.

“but it’ll be worth it in the end, i think. it’s just gonna... take some time.”

you lick over our lips, throat and mouth suddenly so incredibly dry, as you nod your head.

“yeah, i think so, too,” you say, your lips smushing together nervously before you open your mouth to speak again - this could be one of the last times you’re alone with him.

“thank you for letting me stay with you guys, mr. park. it’s been... really nice spending time with people for the holidays.”

he feels his heart twinge in his chest again, his eyes falling down to your lips and swearing he’s never wanted to kiss someone so bad in his life.  

“of course, y/n, it’s been a pleasure,” he says, a smile quirking at his lips with a hint of something you just can’t quite make out. “maybe we’ll see each other again soon.”

it was five days before classes started that you got the confirmation e-mail - a message confirming your tuition for the spring semester was paid in full and your current balance was $0.

you had to look over the message for three whole hours making sure you had read the e-mail correctly, even going as far to call the bursar office to make sure they had the correct address.

but they had confirmed with surety that your balance was paid off, urging you to quickly sign up for the classes you need before the day was over.

“okay, you will never believe what interview i was able to score for you,” eunbi says the moment she walks in the apartment, shopping bags up her arm and gucci sunglasses perched atop her head.

“i’ll admit, the vibe was a little off with the coworkers but i think it’d be a great opportunity to-” her eyes catch your laptop screen on the school website, a list of classes and times on your screen that causes her eyes to widen.

“oh?” she squeals, running over and throwing herself down on the couch beside you. “what the heck are you doing? are you... did you...?”

the lie came way too quick and easy to you, excitedly blabbering out that there was a change in the system and your scholarship was approved - “i think they felt bad that i was a graduating senior,” you said, eunbi’s face pulled into the happiest smile you’ve ever seen.

she clapped and danced and bounced around in excitement, proclaiming you guys just had to go out and get drinks to celebrate the fact that your surprise party was back on.

but you could only sit there with your thoughts and suspicions and this overwhelming feeling deep within your stomach that, while eunbi definitely doesn’t know, her father might’ve just paid your college tuition in full.

(part 2)

tag list: @mochibabycakes @atinyarmyx1 @middle-of-a-wonshua-sandwich @baekhvuns @marksflvr @bunbaebae @markleeyeosang @inkigayeo @nlost21 @hyunjeansuniverse @cherryeonii @songsoomin @reeateez @biaswreckingfics @yunhoiseyecandy @sophrosyneeeee @uglychildd @happycandynoelle @seolarjk @liqhtiny @maedesculpaeusoubi @revehosh @svt-mangos @hcwurld @ateezappreciation @sanisms​ @khjssss​ @yixing-jaehyun​ @yeosangs-left-ass-cheek​

couldn’t tag: @ateez-after-dark @arkive78 

[favoniuscodex]

scaramouche + body swap soulmate au

prompt: soulmate au where when the reader turns twenty, she swaps bodies with her soulmate. rather than returning to their original bodies at the end of the day, the two soulmates can only return to their original bodies upon sharing a kiss.

pairing: scaramouche x fem!reader

rating: sfw

warnings: foul language, scaramouche’s existence, no beta reader (oops)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: this was the most requested au for me to write for, but i’m posting this one separately because i a) got carried away writing it and b) altered the prompt a bit. hopefully it still remains good enough that the anon who requested it is happy with the results! i love writing for scaramouche, although my interpretation of him will likely end up being super ooc. this is a part of my 50 follower celebration! i apologize to anyone who expected me to write scaramouche in a respectful way

when scaramouche first awakes, he realizes he had finally swapped bodies with his soulmate.

how utterly inconvenient. he thinks. despite the change in body, scaramouche is filled yet again with the rage that fuels him normally.

god has let him live another day and he plans to make it everyone’s problem.

but, before he can wear his rbf again and plan his holy re-conquest of the inazuman throne while doing whatever it is harbingers do, he needs to figure out where he is and get out of this body.

this means he has to find you. great. another incompentent buffoon i have to rely on. he thinks, followed by a steady stream of internalized expletives as he curses the world for placing him within your body.

he stands up and notices a shift in his typical perception of the world. you’re taller than him. he serves the goddess of love and the world made his soulmate taller than him. for a brief moment, scaramouche considers atheism.

as if this godawful, horrid situation couldn’t get any worse for poor, innocent scaramouche, a glance to his side reveals a shield, a sword, and, worst of all, a knights-of-favonious-insignia emblazoned uniform.

scaramouche then decides to rifle through your belongings. he’s not actively trying to invade your privacy, he’s just trying to find where you hide your vision. the world is cruel for tying him to a “perfidious, repugnant excuse of a government puppet”, but certainly isn’t cruel enough to tie him to a visionless plebeian? right?! right!??!?!?!

after nearly an hour of searching and the near destruction of any storage container that may exist in your house, scaramouche is bent over on his knees on your floor, slamming his fist against the creaking floorboards. no, he’s not crying! harbingers don’t cry! don’t look at him! he just spilt some seawater on his eyes! it doesn’t matter that the ocean isn’t nearby!

a knock on your front door disrupts scaramouche’s pity party and he shoots up, furiously wiping at his face to remove the “definitely-not-tear”stains.

“hold on!” scaramouche calls, surprised at the feminine voice that exits his body. he hadn’t even analyzed what you looked like yet. he had had more important things to do.

no, scaramouche isn’t struggling to put your undergarments on! he doesn’t struggle to do anything! he’s a harbinger!

after an unknown, embarrassingly long amount of time elapses, scaramouche manages to swing open the door, now dressed in your typical uniform, sword in his hand and at the ready.

“woah there, sweetheart. didn’t think our relationship had soured that quickly,” the blue-haired man at the door hums, a mischievous smirk spreading across his face.

SWEETHEART?! scaramouche screeches internally. you might be a visionless, uncultured peasant that is a part of one of the worst governments in teyvat, but you’re his visionless, uncultured peasant. scaramouche will be damned before he lets this flamboyant pirate steal you away from what fate decided belonged to scaramouche and scaramouche alone.

“call me your sweetheart again and i’ll rip that filthy eyepatch off your face and shove it up your-” scaramouche hisses, causing kaeya to interrupt him with a laugh.

a laugh? the man who looks like he just got out of a tea party with a three-year-old girl is laughing at me? ME?! scaramouche briefly considers capital murder. mondstadt is known for freedom after all. they could possibly turn the other cheek at this blue-haired menace getting murdered.

“happy twentieth birthday,” the man speaks, his revealed eye sparkling with mirth. “your name is (y/n) and i’m kaeya.”

“i didn’t ask for your name,” scaramouche responds, causing kaeya to let out another laugh.

normally, scaramouche would plead to anyone that he is simply a commoner from inazuma and needs a horse to go rescue his lover, now trapped within his body, and return her to mondstadt. however, his immediate hatred for kaeya had taken abrupt control of his body and eliminated any conniving strategy he may have had in order to steal mondstadtian resources to return home.

“well, kaeya,” scaramouche begins, mustering the most vitriol he can accrue from your voice into his words. “i need a horse if i plan to rescue my damsel in distress.”

kaeya raises an eyebrow, intrigued by scaramouche’s words. “i wouldn’t call her much of a damsel.”

“compared to me, everyone is a damsel. unfortunately, i am contractually obligated by fate to give a shit about this one,” scaramouche responds blankly, causing kaeya to stifle another laugh. “what poor gentleman do i need to seduce in order to obtain a horse with the minimal funding i found inside of this woman’s house?”

kaeya smiles. “i’m the knights of favonius calvary captain so… me. but don’t worry, babe, you already have my heart.”

scaramouche might not be able to commit capital murder without consequence, but he does receive joy from being able to ram his knee into kaeya’s family jewels and watch him double over in pain.

------

scaramouche’s journey to sneznhaya is a long and arduous one, but he much prefers the company of the horse rather than the company of kaeya and friends, whom scaramouche was introduced to at the knights of favonius headquarters.

(however, if scaramouche is being honest, he enjoyed the company of jean. she was dutiful and strong-willed. scaramouche would die before admitting he was impartial towards the acting grand master.)

his journey to find you comes to a halt before he enters the sneznhayan border, however. from a distance, he spots 2 (two? scaramouche queries) horses galloping in the distance and a familiar silhouette on each horse.

scaramouche recognizes his body upon one of the horses first. he doesn’t spend all that time admiring himself in the mirror for nothing!

however, he only pays attention to the person on the horse next to you until he sees their arm raise up, eagerly waving in scaramouche’s direction. a pit of dread settles in scaramouche’s stomach. of everyone in sneznhaya, you accompanied yourself with- ?

“HEY!” the person accompanying you yells, his russet-colored hair ruffling in the breeze. “SCARAMOUCHE!”

before scaramouche can turn the horse around and go resign to his fate of being stuck in your body in mondstadt in order to avoid interaction with him, the two of your horses approach scaramouche’s, coming to a halt a few feet in front of him.

scaramouche looks you, in his own body, up and down and lets out a noise of discontent as he hops off the horse and approaches you.

“you’re not wearing the hat,” scaramouche complains in an even voice, staring you down. much to his surprise, you stare right back at him, taking on the subtle challenge scaramouche has proposed to you through posture.

“i don’t desire to,” you respond, folding your arms. “if we’re going off appearances, you’re wearing that shirt backwards.”

scaramouche’s provoking staredown with you is disrupted as he glances downwards, off put by your statement.

“i don’t really care about correctly wearing the uniform of an establishment that is ultimately useless to the wellbeing of society,” scaramouche retorts.

“you’re literally a harbinger, don’t give me that sh-” you begin, but the third wheel of the conversation interrupts the two of you.

“what?” both you and scaramouche say in indignation towards the man who had the audacity to interrupt the two of you.

“jeez,” the man says, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. “that’s no way to thank me for helping you find him.”

“i literally told you i could find my own way back,” you say. “but fine, thank you, tartagle.”

the man, tartaglia, opens his mouth to correct you, but freezes upon hearing scaramouche laugh at your statement.

“you’re no longer needed, you can leave,” scaramouche states to childe, causing him to furrow his eyebrows in disbelief. tartaglia glances in your direction for assistance, but you silently shrug in response, gesturing with your head for him to leave as well.

as childe leaves, you turn your head back to scaramouche and smile. for once, scaramouche’s insistent anger is quelled, the roaring waters of the ocean within his heart settling into a calm stream. maybe, despite your overall uselessness to society, you wouldn’t be the worst soulmate ever. scaramouche tells himself, trying to ignore the increased pace of his heartbeat.

“ready to switch back?” you ask, moving closer to him, causing his gaze to flicker down to your lips. oh, right. scaramouche reminds himself. he parts his mouth to respond but, for once in his life, doesn’t know how to form the words. so, he closes his mouth, swallows down his anxiety, and nods before moving closer to you as well.

his hand bumps into yours as the two of you reach up to cup the other’s face as you lean into your first kiss. he barely has time to register the light giggle of amusement that escapes your lips as the two of your consciousnesses begin to return to their respective bodies upon your lips slotting against the other’s.

maybe, just maybe, you were made for me. scaramouche thinks.

once back in his body, he doesn’t dare utter his thoughts aloud. instead, he reserves that thought for when he gets down on one knee.

[idy-ll-ique]

Just Peachy.

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x F!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: mentions of injuries and blood, overall very fluffy and cute

Requested: nope

Summary: in which Y/N gets hurt and Ransom is the perfect fiancé.

Author's Note: hiya peeps! ok im gonna say it,,, im a hoe for soft!ransom idc idc. enjoy!

---

"If anything happens while I'm at work, if you get hurt, don't hesitate to call me, alright? I'll be home in 15 minutes. Just call." Wise words by Ransom Drysdale, her fiancé.

Was she going to do that? Nope! Y/N grumbled from her position on the ground; she was walking down the stairs when she had tripped and fallen, ending up in a heap on the floor with one ankle definitely broken and a cut on her temple. Slowly, as the pain got too much to bear, she started crawling to the best of her abilities towards the bathroom to get the first aid kit.

As she neared the bathroom her hopes went up, until she saw the cupboard above the sink on top of which the first aid kit was kept. "Who fucking keeps it so high up?" she cursed under her breath as she grabbed the sink, slowly standing up, praying the sink wouldn't break under her as she applied her full body weight on the poor thing. She was successful.

Now putting her entire weight on her good foot, she reached up and, severely underestimating the weight of the kit, yanked it up, causing the heavy box to come crashing down on her. "Damn it, fucking son of a—" she cursed loudly as the box knocked her off her already weak feet. She fell on her back with a grunt and the heavy box landed on her chest, forcing her to exhale a breath. "Fuck."

Y/N forgot to hear a painful crunch.

She started lifting her hands to push the kit away when a sharp pain shot through her left wrist, causing her to wince. "Oh, great, another broken limb? Just what I needed. Great. Fucking peachy," she muttered and shoved the box away with her right hand, moving to sit up. She tried to crawl out of the bathroom but this time, with only one hand to support her, the task was perilous.

Ransom tapped his fingers on his desk at work in the tune of his favorite song, frowning at the blank open document in front of him. He was working on his second book, but today, inspiration was nowhere to be found. No ideas were coming to his head on how to proceed with the next chapter. I wonder what Y/N is doing, he thought and smiled softly at the thought of his fiancée.

Ransom and Y/N met at a party thrown by a mutual friend. He was being his usual, bitter self in the gardens outside the lavish mansion (yes, a mansion) when Y/N had approached him first. "Hi there, I'm Y/N. I noticed you were being too quiet and you slipped out, and wondered if you wanted to talk to someone?"

He wanted to push her away for talking to him like that, especially since he left the house for a reason, but instead he just smiled at her. A genuine smile. "I'd like that a lot." And so, they talked. Ransom was proud to announce that he had first fallen for her nature, her personality and her demeanor instead of her looks, which was what made their relationship special.

At least for Ransom, given the type of man he used to be.

Y/N was extremely gorgeous in his eyes. That was simply an added bonus. By the end of the party, both of them had walked into the house again and Ransom had put on quite a show about asking her out to dinner, which she readily agreed to. She knew what kind of a man he was; spoiled, full of himself and had a big attitude problem but that one talk with him changed her perception of Ransom Drysdale.

He was truly nice to the people he cared about, one of them being her. They talked for a short while and he was nothing short of polite, sweet and funny at times. He flirted endlessly since that was part of his personality but she didn't mind, she liked it, even. Ever since that day, they were inseparable and now, 4 years later, engaged.

"Fuck shit, fuck shit, fuck shit…" Y/N chanted as she slowly crawled to the living room, the pain in her body increasing by the minute. Finally putting her pride aside, she grabbed her phone off the couch and called Ransom, falling to the floor with deep breaths. Ransom's eyes snapped away from his laptop and landed on his phone when it started ringing.

Grinning, he picked up the call when Y/N's smiling face came into view. The moment she spoke, though, his grin dropped. "Hugh…" Y/N choked out, eyes filling with tears when the pain finally caught up to her. "Y/N? Bubba, what's wrong?" he asked worriedly, immediately leaping to his feet. He shut the laptop, grabbed his coat and stormed out of his office, towards his car. Work be damned.

"It's— it's nothing. I'm sorry for calling, I know you're busy—" He nearly scoffed. "Babe, listen to me. You're more important. I'm coming home, I just left the office. Speak to me, bub, tell me," he insisted as he drove like a madman towards his house. "Just got hurt a little bit," Y/N mumbled and Ransom's heart broke. "Darling, I'll take care of it when I get home."

Thankfully, 15 minutes later, he reached home. Ransom hurriedly parked his car and threw open the front door, freezing when he saw his fiancée lying near the couch on the floor, the phone still in her hand as her eyes snapped away from the ceiling towards him. "Ransom," she stuttered and he walked towards her, kneeling next to her. His thumb swiped the blood on her temple.

God, did he want to punch her on her stupid, beautiful face for telling him she was just a little hurt. "Bub, what's this?" He picked her up and placed her on the couch, moving to take her hand but it fell limp… in a weird angle. His eyes widened. "Is your wrist broken?" he whispered and Y/N nodded, turning away from him. "And you had the fucking audacity to tell me it was nothing?!" he screamed.

She kept silent as he checked the rest of her body, finding out that her ankle was broken as well, the skin around it swollen black and blue. "You're a fucking dumbass, you know that?" he muttered as he called a doctor, sitting on the floor next to the couch. "I didn't want to disturb you." She was wheezing and he turned to her, only to see her clutching at her chest with a pained expression on her face.

"Baby?"

"Hurts." He sat up and ripped the t-shirt off her, eyes darkening when they landed on the bruise forming on her chest and between the valley of her breasts. "What the fuck happened when I was gone?" he hissed as he covered her up again. "I… I fell down the stairs first and broke my ankle," she began, fidgeting. "Well you should've called me then!" he insisted, exasperated.

"I didn't want to be a burden," she admitted in a small voice and Ransom's resolve broke. He teared up a bit and pressed his lips to hers, shaking his head. "You're not a burden, Y/N. I told you, if you're hurt at home, call me. I meant it. Even if it's a paper cut, call. Even if it's a skinned knee, call. I'm always here for you, and I always will be here." Y/N sniffled under him.

"Ransom…" He gently sat her up and sat next to her, only to pull her on his lap as he held her close. "Don't you dare think you're a burden ever again. I signed up for this. A burden is something you're not willing to carry. This? I'm willing to carry this to the end of the world," he whispered, squeezing her body as tightly as he could without crushing her. "I love you, Ran."

I love you, too.

"I know, sweetcheeks." And he grinned when her head shot up and she promptly slapped him on the cheek. "You're so full of yourself, Drysdale," she huffed. "You still love me," he hummed as she snuggled into his arms. "Fortunately for you, unfortunately for me, yeah, yes I do," she sighed.

Soon, the doctor arrived, patched her up and said the worst thing she had ever heard in her life.

"Bedrest for 2 weeks till the ankle heals."

And seeing Ransom's shit-eating grin had caused her to glare so viciously at him that even he had cowered. "Babe, doctor's orders, can't help it." After the doctor left, they were now laying side by side on their bed, staring at each other. "I can't just sit here with nothing to do!" she whined, snuggling closer to him. He put an arm around her, sighing.

"Well, face the reality, kitten. You're staying here and that's an order."

"Funny you think you can boss me around, sweetheart."

"I know I can't but this time, I will. I'll strap you down to the bed, mark my words," Ransom said with a roll of his eyes. "Kinky," Y/N snickered and Ransom kissed her nose with a smirk. "You are not getting up, Mrs Drysdale," he whispered and she pouted, jutting her lower lip out as far as she could along with giving him puppy eyes. "Please, Ran?" Ransom laughed.

"No." She groaned loudly. "Ugh, fine! I'll just get up when you go to work," she spoke smugly and Ransom turned to her, eyes wide. "Oh no you don't." He leaped up from the bed, making her whine. "Where are you going?! I need cuddles, Ran, I'm hurt!" she insisted and he got back into bed, taking out his phone. "I'm making calls to work. I'm gonna work from home now."

"You don't have to do that!" she insisted vehemently but Ransom refused to hear it. "I have to! To make sure your cute, dumb little ass stays in bed like the doctor said," he huffed. After one phone call, he sighed in relief and relaxed against the bed. "Pays to be a Thrombey, ya know," he chuckled, ruffling Y/N's hair as she snuggled into his side.

She was a mess. Her left hand was in cast, and so was her right ankle. After the doctor left she had taken off her t-shirt, leaving her in her sports bra, the wound on her chest a deep purple with flecks of red. There was also a bandaid on her temple for the small cut. "I figured." It was quiet for some time. "You never finished the story, babe. How did you get so hurt?"

"Well, first the stairs incident, I told you. After that, I was going to the bathroom to get the first aid kit but it was too heavy. I didn't know that so when I lifted it, it fell on me. I broke my wrist from hitting it on the floor too hard and the first aid kit fell on my chest," she huffed, "The pain was too much so I called you." Ransom frowned. "You should've called earlier."

"I know. Sorry."

"It's okay, baby, I'm here now," Ransom smiled, giving her a loving kiss on the top of her head. "I'm getting tired," she yawned as the adrenaline started wearing off. "Sleep." Ransom adjusted himself so he was now half-lying on the bed, back resting against the headrest as he gathered Y/N in his arms. She fell asleep a few minutes later.

---

"Ran…"

Y/N touched his side of the bed, only to be met with cold sheets instead of his warm body. She blinked the sleep away and sat up, rubbing her eyes and letting out a yawn. Running a hand through her messy hair, she stood up and limped towards the stairs. 2 weeks had passed and as the doctor said, her bedrest was over.

Her ankle had healed but not fully, while the wrist was still in a cast. The wound on her chest was also feeling loads better. She walked down the stairs and entered the kitchen area only to see Ransom cooking breakfast. "Ran," she whined and he turned around. "Y/N! Get your ass in bed, why are you here?"

"It got lonely." She wrapped her arms around him from behind, pressing a soft kiss to his bare back. "Alright, fine." He spun around and grabbed her waist, lifting her and placing her on the kitchen counter. "Sit here." Y/N smiled lazily as she placed her head on his shoulder, watching him cook. He was making eggs. Omelettes.

"How did you sleep?" he questioned when the silence stretched on. "I slept well. The ankle doesn't hurt as much, nor the wound on my chest. But the wrist…" She sighed and Ransom looked at her with a sad smile, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. "It'll get better, I promise. I'm not going to stop taking care of you."

"I'd like that very much," she replied shyly and he grinned. It was true, Ransom had truly taken care of her well. Breakfast, lunch and dinner in bed everyday for 2 weeks, he worked in their room and they had cuddled more in the two weeks than they had in their entire relationship. Y/N was super happy with their arrangement.

Of course, sometimes Ransom would be too busy, leaving her alone in the room while he worked downstairs or had a meeting with someone. But then he'd make it up to her by offering more snuggles and kisses. "My best girl," he murmured, placing the omelette he was making on a plate. He then carried the plate to the dining room, leaving her on the kitchen counter.

He returned just as fast, gathering her in his arms and pressing a kiss to her temple as he carried her to the dining table as well. "You're strong," she teased and he huffed. "I better be, or all that working out will be for nothing." She laughed and he placed her down on a chair. "Eat well, I'll be back." With another kiss dropped to her head, he went back to the kitchen area.

Y/N wondered how she became so lucky to have him as her fiancé. Yeah, sure, Ransom wasn't a very nice person in general but to her, he was the best. The man who once called his aunt unsavory things punched someone in the face when they had the audacity to call her the same things. "You better watch your fucking mouth or I'm gonna break all your teeth."

It hadn't affected her much anyway but seeing Ransom's reaction had sent a pleasant tingle down her spine. He was ready to do anything for her. And she had to admit, lately, he was being very soft. She had noticed the changes in him around a year ago; he'd become… domestic, almost. It was fun to see him like that.

His family, well, they were less than pleased when Ransom had first introduced her to them. They thought she wasn't good enough for him and had even tried to break them down. But that had only made them stronger. Ransom was in love with her and nothing his family said was going to change that. "Y/N?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and blinked at Ransom. "Yeah?" He laughed and sat in front of her with his own plate of food. "You were lost in thoughts; the food's getting cold, honey." She cursed softly and laughed along, finally finishing her food.

How had she gotten so lucky?

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Show some love, likes and reblogs will be appreciated <3

[shemarmooresfedora]

hi baby congratulations on 300!!!🥳 i’m so glad to be here ! 💗🤍💗🤍✨⭐️

you know i’m obsessed w ur fics so, i am gently begging you to write something w prompts “can i paint your nails” “i’m going to steal this from you” and “people don’t compliment you enough” (sorry i forgot the numbers :( ) pleeeease? 🥺🥺

(sorry if it’s too much) thanks, i love u <3

It’s a Love Story

Summary: It’s senior skip day and you’re determined to pull your best friend of 10 years (and secret crush) out of his comfort zone.

Pairing: High School Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (but imagine Spencer is 18 so he is the normal high school senior age)

Content/Warnings: fluff, swearing, bullying

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: this fic is very self-indulgent because my senior skip day was yesterday! :)

Masterlist



“Hey, Spence! Wait up,” you jogged down the hall to catch up with him.

“Hey, Y/N. How’d your math test go?” Spencer asked.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” you groaned, “Thank you for trying to tutor me last night but I think I’m a lost cause at this point. It’s too late in the school year to care.”

“Did you know that ‘senioritis’ can actually be categorized as situational depression? In 2009, 22% of colleges decided to revoke some admissions offers after students began to slack off at the end of their senior year,” Spencer stated.

“Oh, trust me, genius, I may not be as smart as you but I’m not dumb enough to lose my scholarship to UCLA. I did the math out and even if I completely bombed this unit test, I can still maintain my A average,” you replied.

“I never said you weren’t smart, I was just warning you. I don’t want you to lose your spot at your dream school,” Spencer explained, “People don’t compliment you enough for all the hard work you put in to get accepted there.”

“Well, thanks for looking out for me, Spence,” you smiled, taking a seat in the back corner of the classroom.

Spencer sat right in front of you and turned around in his seat, “Do you have any homework?”

“Nope. My study hall is wide open just as expected. The teachers are losing just as much steam as the students,” you grinned, unzipping your backpack and pulling out nail polish.

“Can I paint your nails?” you asked.

“Y/N, don’t you think I get made fun of enough?” he whispered back.

“Girls love when guys paint their nails and if any guys try to give you shit, I’ll personally kick their ass. I took a self-defense course but I’ll use those moves I learned however I see fit,” you said.

“Fine,” Spencer relented, extending his hand out to you.

Spencer was honestly sold once you said that girls love it. That must include you, right?

“It’s purple too. Your favorite color,” you smiled, shaking the bottle up and then beginning to paint his nails.

Spencer thought it was cute that you picked up on his habit of sticking your tongue out of the corner of your mouth when you were concentrating.

“Isn’t it pretty?” you beamed as you worked on the second coat of polish.

“Yeah,” Spencer replied, not looking at his nails but the girl directly in front of him.

You gently blew air on his nails to dry them, “All done!”

-

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the teacher’s pet?” Brad, the captain of the football team, smirked as Spencer passed through the hallways after his math team practice ended.

“Wow, nail polish? And to think you couldn’t become any more of a loser?” he sneered as the jocks began to encircle around Spencer.

“Spence, there you are! I’ve been looking for you all over. Let’s go, we’re going to be late,” you walked right into the crowd of boys, paying no mind to them and grabbing Spencer’s hand, pulling him towards the exit.

“Don’t look back,” you whispered.

“You know one day your little girlfriend there is going to realize what a pathetic nerd you are. I’ll be ready to show her what a real man is,” Brad called after you.

“Oh yes, Brad, a real man goes to community college to hang on to the scraps of his mediocre football career that is his only reminder of when he peaked in high school,” you laughed.

“Y/N, he’s going to kill me for that,” Spencer groaned after you exited the building.

“Relax, we have three days left and then we won’t ever have to see that dick again,” you assured him.

“We have four days left,” Spencer corrected you.

“No, three because we’re not going in tomorrow,” you walked into the diner and took your seat in your usual booth, “It’s senior skip day.”

When Spencer didn’t respond, you looked up from your menu, “Spencer Reid, please do not tell me you were going to go in on senior skip day.”

“Why would I want to miss school?”

“Because you already know everything they could possibly teach you and you can spend the whole day with your best friend instead?” you fluttered your eyelashes to persuade him.

“I don’t want to go to the beach with all the popular kids. I’ll get shoved in the sand,” Spencer grabbed some of the fries that the waitress dropped off for you and popped them into his mouth.

“That is why we are going all the way to Santa Monica. We’ll just get up a little earlier and drive a little further but then we won’t run into anyone from our school,” you proposed.

“Fine but you’re driving,” Spencer huffed.

“Well, I’m certainly not letting the guy drive who hasn’t driven since he got his license just to prove he could pass,” you giggled.

“Why do I need to drive when my next-door neighbor can be my personal chauffeur?” he grinned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7 on the dot tomorrow.”

-

You honked outside of Spencer’s house. He came scrambling out with a big canvas tote bag, a tan sweater, and lilac swim shorts that ended at his mid-thigh.

“Get in, loser. We’re going to the beach,” you rolled down the window.

Spencer furrowed his brow for a second before opening the door.

“It’s just a reference to a popular movie. I wasn’t actually calling you a loser,” you assured him.

“My mom made us blueberry muffins for the ride,” Spencer pulled a ziploc bag out of the tote.

“Oh that is so sweet of her! Please tell her I said thank you. She must have been having a good night then,” you smiled, accepting one of the muffins from Spencer.

“Yes, she has been having a good week overall,” Spencer affirmed.

“That’s so great to hear. Okay, we’re stopping for coffee but then we’ll get on the highway.”

The opening notes of Love Story by Taylor Swift began to play on the radio.

“Oh my god! Turn it up!” you screamed.

Spencer grinned and turned the volume knob up.

“Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone. I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run. You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess. It's a love story, baby, just say ‘yes’,” you sang.

-

You rolled down the windows as soon as you exited off the highway.

“Do you smell that, Spence?” you inhaled deeply, “Something about the salty air and sunshine just makes me feel alive.”

“You know it’s probably your increased exposure to the sunlight leading to an increase in vitamin D which can keep your energy levels up and enhance your mood,” Spencer stated.

“Well, whatever it is, I still love it,” you grinned.

You and Spencer made your way along the sandy coast. You parked in the beach parking lot and got out of the car, grabbing your mini cooler and chair.

Spencer grabbed the other chair and his tote and you headed down to the beach, walking a ways before settling on a spot in a less crowded area.

You took off your big t-shirt revealing your light blue bikini.

“Can we go in the water please?” you begged.

Spencer dug into his tote and tossed you a tube of sunscreen.

“Not until you put that on,” Spencer insisted.

“Fine,” you huffed.

“Sorry I don’t want you to be sunburnt for graduation,” he chuckled.

“Can you do my back?” you asked.

“I-um-yeah-yes I can do that,” Spencer scrambled to stand up from his beach chair.

His breath hitched in his throat as he applied the cool lotion to your back.

“All good,” he cleared his throat.

“Thanks, Spence! Do you need me to do your back or are you all set?” you asked.

“Nope, I’m all good. My mom did it before I left,” Spencer said.

“Can we go in the water now?” you pleaded.

Spencer gave a reluctant nod as you let out an excited squeal, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the tide.

You dove right into the cool waves, instantly relieving your body of the southern californian summer heat. Spencer was a bit more hesitant.

“It feels so good, Spence. Trust me,” you smoothed your wet hair back.

Spencer inhaled deeply and then sunk beneath the water as a wave passed by him.

“Yay! He’s actually having fun, people!” you cheered as he emerged from underneath the water.

Spencer playfully splashed water at you and you gasped.

“Oh Spencer Reid, you are so on,” you laughed, splashing water right back at him.

Spencer shielded it from his face with his hand and then started chasing after you. You shrieked in a giggle fit as he lifted you up in the water so you could no longer splash him.

“I surrender! I surrender!” you laughed along with him.

-

You and Spencer were walking on the basically deserted boardwalk by this time of night, licking your ice cream cones.

Spencer noticed you were shivering and pulled off his sweater, handing it to you.

“No, Spence. I can’t, then you’ll be cold,” you said.

“I really don’t mind,” Spencer insisted, wanting to have your scent on his sweater forever.

“Thank you,” you slipped it over your head, “I’m probably going to steal this from you because it’s super comfy.”

A reminder alert buzzed on your phone, “Oh shit. We have to sign up for tickets to go to prom by midnight,” you spoke.

Spencer shot you a guilty look.

“You’re not going?” you sighed defeatedly, trying your hardest not to tear up.

“Y/N, I don’t dance. I’ll make a fool of myself.”

“And I’ll be right by your side making a fool of myself too,” you urged, “Spence, it’s going to be no fun without you. I was going to ask you to officially be my date, you know? I had this whole complicated equation that I was going to have you solve and graph and the line spelled out ‘Prom?’. It’s stupid thinking back on it now, I won’t make you go.”

“I was going to ask you,” Spencer smiled softly, “but then I chickened out.”

“How about this? You give me one dance right now and then we’ll decide if we’re going or not,” you opened your phone and started playing Dancing by Mellow Fellow.

Spencer extended his hand and you accepted as he wrapped his other arm around your waist. You waltzed around the boardwalk in perfect sync as the neon lights from food stands and rides were shining down on you.

Spencer twirled you around and caught you in a dip. You let out a shaky exhale as you both stared into each other’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Please do. I’ve only been waiting 10 years for it since I moved in next door,” you smiled softly.

Spencer leaned down further and connected your lips. You pulled him even closer with your hands cupping his cheeks.

“I’ll go to prom with you under one condition,” he grinned, pulling away, “we go as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“Absolutely,” you beamed and stood on your tippy-toes to give him another kiss that was long overdue.

A/N: i took a note out of my dear friend @samuel-de-champagne-problems ‘s book by naming the title after a Taylor Swift song

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @rem-ariiana

[crimefightingspiderguy]

marry me

Summary: Shang-Chi and (Y/N) are best friends, but it's not enough. They want to be more, but can they be more?

Warnings: Angst? No spoilers for Shang-Chi and the Legend of the the Ten Rings, just one reference to the movie but it's not a spoiler.

Pairings: Shang-Chi x platonic!reader

Word Count: approx. 2,423

A/N: I based this off the song Marry Me by Thomas Rhett. Go give it a listen, it's a great song! I want to make more fics for Shang-Chi that aren't as angsty as this, but I wanna wait until more people have seen Shang-Chi so I can include scenes from the movie. Hope you enjoy this ❤️

“She wants to get married; she wants it perfect”

“So, when are you two getting married?” Your grandmother asked as she pointed between you and Shang-Chi.

You spit up your water, “Nana, we’ve been over this. Shaun and I are just friends.”

“Then why do you have a scrapbook in your room titled ‘My Dream Wedding’ if you don’t plan on getting married.” She sassed her granddaughter.

This isn’t the first time she had asked us if we were together. Every time (Y/N) just brushed it off as her being old and stuck in her ways. But this is the first time that I’ve heard of this scrapbook. “A scrapbook? This I have to see.” I grinned at (Y/N), her faced flushed and you could basically see the wheels in her mind working up an excuse as to why her nana had said that. But she couldn’t think of any.

“Nana, what did I tell you about snooping?” (Y/N) turned to scold her.

“What? I’m old and have nothing better to do. It has some very beautiful ideas. Have to both worked out the details or are they all your plans dear?”

(Y/N)’s face turned a deep red as I burst out in laughter. “Come on (Y/N), I have to see this” I held out her hand to bring her to her bedroom.

“Look, I’ve been planning my wedding since I was little, okay? I just want to let you know this isn’t some creepy shrine for you and me or something like that.” She said as she hesitantly took the book down from her top shelf above her bed frame.

“Oh, don’t worry, I KNOW this is a dedication to me and our love. You don’t have to hide it.” I chuckled as she punched my arm and gave me a threatening look.

“So basically, I have pictures that I’ve cut out from magazines or printed off from TV shows that I watch with my Nana that I think would go well with my overall theme.”

“She wants her granddaddy preach in the service”

“I originally was going to have my Papa do the service, but that was before he passed last year.” She looked down at the picture of him that she cut out and tapped down at the end of a poorly drawn alter. She put on a sad smile and sighed, “Hopefully by the time I do get married Nana is still around and I can get her ordained online. Then she can speak for both of them.”

“I’m sure she would love that.” I put a hand on her back to sooth her. She was the closest with her grandfather. Since her parents passed away in a car accident when she was young, they were all she had and he spoiled her rotten. Nana warned him not to let her turn too spoiled, they didn’t want her being a brat. But he assured her that he was just showering her with love. I couldn’t help but understand now why her grandfather would go through such trouble to make sure she felt loved. She is worth it.

“And she wants magnolias out in the country”

“I want to have the ceremony outside, have the alter be surrounded by magnolia trees.” She turned the page to pictures of roads and sidewalks lined with magnolia trees, beautiful shades of pink and white blooming across the page.

“Why magnolias?” I remember her telling me years ago that her favorite flower was a white rose, so I thought that she would for sure have those.

“They were my mother’s favorite.” She smiled, “If I’m going to have a ceremony where I’m bringing someone into my family, I want them all there. Even if it’s just in spirit.” She chuckled as she pointed to the single picture of her mother with a crown of magnolias on her head, spinning around in the sun. “I would always make her flower crowns of them, and I think that’s the happiest I’ve ever seen her.”

“I think that her seeing you on your wedding day would’ve made her even happier.” I say, hoping to reassure her. I never met her mother or father. They were gone before I even came to the US. But when I met her, she had this spark in her still, I imagine that it’s the spark she got from her mother. The same spark she seems to have in this photo.

“Not too many people, save her daddy some money”

“So, how are you planning on paying for all this? I mean, realistically a job valeting cars won’t get you far.” I was hoping to try to get her to change the subject so she wouldn’t get too upset looking through this book.

“My daddy left me his savings in his will. My Nana and Papa saved it for when I went to college, but I got enough scholarships I didn’t need it. So, I figured I’d save it for my wedding or buying a house.” She shrugged, “Like I said, I want all the people important to me with me that day. But I will have to have a smaller ceremony because it’s not that much money he’s left. I think I’d invite family and the few close friends that are like family.”

“She got it all planned out. I can see it all right now. I’ll wear my black suit, black tie, hide out in the back.”

“Of course, I’ve made sure you’ll be on the guestlist.” She flipped the next page and pointed to the picture of me and her on prom night our senior year. I’m in a black suit and tie, she had a soft blush pink dress that flowed down to the floor with white magnolias in her pinned-up hair. This was the first time I was able to really picture it all. Not just looking at pictures, but what it would look like as I walked around the place myself. I can see myself hiding in the back as we get ready for the ceremony to start, making some last-minute adjustments to my suit. Making sure my hair looked okay.

“I’ll do a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask. I’ll try to make it through without crying, so nobody sees.”

I’d probably have to take a shot to ease my nerves. I wonder if I’d be one of those people who would cry as soon as she walked down the aisle.

“This is the dress that I want.” Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts, she showed me a dress that would fit her perfect. It was flowing but puffy. She had a long train and lace accents all over. She would look like a princess. I can see her perfectly in the dress, and not just because she cut a photo of her head out and taped it over the model of the dress, but because I think it is exactly the type of dress, I would expect her to wear. This answers my question, I would definitely be the first one to cry as I saw her walking down the aisle.

“It’s perfect. You’ll look perfect.” I whisper to her. I could see her holding onto my every word. Like she wanted to hear nothing more than those words. I slowly moved my hand from her back up to her cheek and cupped her face. “Everything is perfect.” I tell her. Her skin lights up under my touch, as if it’s a flame setting fire to her body.

“Yeah, she wanna get married. But she don’t wanna marry me. I remember the night when I almost kissed her. I kinda freaked out, we’ve been friends for forever. And I’d always wonder if she felt the same way.”

I’ve never wanted to kiss her more than right now. I’ve thought about it before, but never needed it like I do right now. She started to lean in, eyes fluttering shut. It’s now or never. But something stopped me. I don’t know if it was my nerves, or if it was just too much all at once, imagining us get married, but I just couldn’t do it. She felt me pull away and stopped herself, she shot her eyes open and realized that she read the situation wrong. But she didn’t read it wrong, I just chickened out. I’ve wanted this since the day I met her, but it was just too scary. What if we ended up breaking up and hating each other? She was too important for me to lose.

She just cleared her throat and acted as if nothing happened, turning the next page of her scrapbook.

“When I got the invite, I knew it was too late. And I know, her daddy’s been dreadin’ this day. Although he don’t know he ain’t the only one givin’ her away.”

I woke up to the sound of my alarm, turning over to shut it off I felt the paper I had cried over last night. An invite to (Y/N)’s dream wedding. After the night when she showed me her scrapbook, she seemed to become distant. I don’t know if it’s because we almost kissed and I seemed to reject her, or if she just got too busy with her new boyfriend, but it broke my heart more and more every day until I was just numb. That was 3 years ago, now she had moved on and found someone who wasn’t afraid to grow up and commit to her.

I’d been to see her Nana a couple times after she had started dating him and she scolded me just as I had scolded myself.

“You know, I was really hoping it would’ve been you. You would’ve been perfect together.” She shook her head in disappointment as I helped her in the kitchen while (Y/N) and her boyfriend set the table in the dining room. “I don’t like him as much as I like you.” She sighed and went back to chopping her tomatoes.

“No one’s more disappointed than I am Nana.” I looked down at my hands, feeling empty without hers in them.

“I’ll wear my black suit, black tie, hide out in the back. I’ll do a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask. I’ll try to make it through without cryin’ so nobody sees. Yeah, she wanna get married, but she don’t wanna marry me.”

“Hey, did you get the invite?” (Y/N) called me shortly after I’d woken up, knowing when my alarm was set for.

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say.

“I know that we haven’t been… the closest lately… but I hope you’ll still come. Afterall you’re in the scrapbook.” She chuckled, hoping she could bring me around to the idea of going. She still didn’t know why I’d distanced myself from her all these years. I can imagine I’ve hurt her, but I only hurt myself every time I see her with him, so I had to do it. “I asked Sam if he’d be willing to make you a best man, since I can’t have you as a bridesmaid. He said of course you could be. It really would mean the world to me if you would.”

While I wanted to be nowhere near Sam, helping him celebrate his wedding day with the love of my life, I wanted nothing more than to be there for her. No matter how she wanted me there.

“Of course, I’ll be a best man. I wouldn’t miss your wedding if the world was ending.” I smiled through the phone, knowing she wouldn’t see just how broken it was.

“Ah! Yay! I was hoping you’d say yes! I can’t wait to tell him. I’ll talk to you later, love you.”

I hung up before I could say anything back.

The day of her wedding came sooner than I’d hoped. It was a beautiful spring wedding with the pink magnolias surrounding the alter in full bloom. I was in a black suit and tie with a flask of whiskey hidden in my coat pocket. I was in the back helping Sam make his last preparations when I saw her.

“But she got on her dress now, welcomin’ the guests now. I could try to find her, get it off of my chest now.”

She was stunning. The sun shining off her in the most perfect way. She was out greeting guests before the ceremony started, in her reception gown, saving the real gown for later when no one would see. Even in this substitute dress I couldn’t help dropping my jaw when she turned my way. She came over to me and threw her arms around me. “I know I’m supposed to be getting ready, but I couldn’t wait to see you.” She whispered in my ear. God did I miss her.

“(Y/N), there’s something I want to tell you.” I start to work up the courage. It was now or never.

“But I ain’t gonna mess this up, so I wish her the best now. I’m in my black suit, black tie and out in the back. Doin’ a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask. I’ll try to make it through without cryin’ so nobody sees. Yeah, she wanna get married. But she don’t wanna marry me.”

“Yeah Shang-Chi?” She looked up at me as she pulled away from me. She looked so perfect. I just wanted to tell her everything on my chest and run away from all this with her. Live happily ever after. But this is real life, this is a wedding she’s planned out since she was a kid. She wants it to be perfect. I can’t take that from her.

“Everything is perfect. You look perfect.” I force a smile as she grins and giggles at me.

“You’re so dramatic, but I love that about you.” She kissed my cheek and told me she’d save me a dance as she went back to her dressing room to finish getting ready.

I pulled the flask out of my jacket and took a strong swig. Sam was calling me over to get in line at the altar.

Bridesmaids one through four walked down the aisle carrying bouquets of pink magnolias. She followed them up in her beautiful gown, straight out of her scrapbook. A bouquet of white roses with pink magnolias blossomed out of her hands. She absolutely took my breath away, but it wasn’t me she was marching towards.

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[dracosaurusrex]

Kintsugi: Imperfectly Perfect (Draco x Reader)

“Kintsugi is the Japanese art of putting broken pottery pieces back together with gold — built on the idea that in embracing flaws and imperfections, you can create an even stronger, more beautiful piece of art.”

- Tiffany Ayuda

Summary:In which Y/N teaches a broken Draco Malfoy how to mend himself and embrace the scars that haunt him.

Wordcount: 10.3k

Genre: Angst/Fluff; Postwar AU

Warnings: Descriptions of depression; self-degredation; sexual themes but no smut

A/N: Hi! This is my first time writing a postwar AU. I was always afraid of doing so out of fear that I would mistakenly portray Draco, but I guess this can be a rite of passage in a way aha. With that being said, here’s my attempt! I hope you like it :D Feedback is very much appreciated!!

The sound of an alarm clock breaks the peace that had manifested within the darkness of the room. One eye creaks open, followed by the other, and a body raises itself to greet the day. 

The boy lifts his sheets gently, allowing the cold air to engulf his skin, to wake him, to pull him into the reality of yet another morning. 

The pads of his feet are the next to awaken as he hoists himself out of bed, meeting the frigid floor beneath him. He plods across the expanse of space, only to take notice of his reflection in the mirror.

Draco Malfoy, once boisterous, prideful, loud, and arrogant, had been reduced to a shell. One that lived by drifting through the motions of each passing day. It showed through the dark circles apparent under his eyes, the frown that resided on his lips, and his overall gaunt appearance. The thrill that was once characteristic of his youth had spilled through his cracks, leaving him empty and seemingly unrepairable; and no other perspective of his experience could convince him otherwise. 

The second wizarding war took too much from him so early on. It started with his father, the man he had ardently looked up to, who he desired so much to please. Lucius’s arrest put the young boy on the forefront of the Death Eaters’ activities, placing an unbearable weight on his shoulders. From that point on, it wasn’t long until the mischievous smile left him, only to be replaced with panicked eyes, increased stress levels, and absolutely no peace of mind. The boy had his entire life on a tightrope, constantly pulling strings to survive.

The result of such was the immense realization of guilt pooling from the sights of Hogwarts in shambles, the lifeless bodies of those he was once acquainted with, and the shame of literally walking away from it all. 

Nightmares were also frequent visitors. Besides those that embodied remnants of the war, Draco was almost always confronted by the tauntings of his wrongs: the way he poorly treated others, his stuck-up sense of superiority, the foul slur that he once used so freely--they all haunted him with no end, and all he wanted to do was take everything back. The boy has so often degraded his character since then, describing himself with words such as ‘worthless’, ‘loathsome’, ‘putrid’--the list goes on. He carried his beating heart as though it was dead weight, wanting so desperately to discard the regret that compounded on itself through the years. He was broken, and had no hope of being fixed. 

It was also needless to say that the family dynamic had changed for the Malfoy’s; especially since they often stayed within the confines of the property. Narcissa had been diligent in eradicating the place of all things that harbored any signs of Voldemort’s occupation--opening curtains, tending to her garden, changing up the plans for the interior design. Lucius, on the other hand, often occupied himself in his study, simply abiding by the plans for change that his wife had made. He still invested in his social connections, actively making donations to charities and hospitals that had been established as a result of the war. The act helped shed some light on their image, however any interaction that was to be made with the world outside was done through Draco as representative of the family name.

Fortunately, he managed to keep his mind silent in the mornings. As he walked through the vast hallways he would take note of the way light had poured into the manor, admiring the charm that it brought to its nooks and crannies. The quaint atmosphere that was characteristic of these corridors were peaceful, and managed to calm his thoughts albeit temporarily. 

As soon as he entered the dining room, Narcissa beckoned him to sit with her and his father. 

“Draco, darling, come have some breakfast.” Without much response, he obeys, taking the spot across from her. She placed his favorites on a platter, and observed him as he nibbled on the food in front of him. After several minutes of silence, she pulled an ivory-colored envelope from the pocket of her robe and slid it to him. With food still mounted on his utensils, the boy glanced at the gold details that embellished its corners.

“We’ve been invited to an art gala hosted by the Ministry. The details are inside.” She said.

“I’ll be sure to be in attendance, mother.” He confirmed before resuming his breakfast. The woman casted a worried look at him before turning to Lucius. Things could never go back to the way they once were.

--

The art gala was held on a Saturday evening, and Draco found himself standing in front of a finely decorated building. An air of aristocracy and luxury loomed within the environment--it was an energy that he had been surrounded by all his life. Large columns aligned its front. A red carpet stemming from the entrance had been rolled out, sweeping along a flight of stairs. Familiar faces of esteemed socialites were seen making their way up the steps. Banners had been hung, indicating the gala and a live auction as highlights of the day’s events. 

His only job was to engage in civilized conversation, connect with other high-standing figures, and expand the family network. Simply put, he was there to look pretty.

The feeling of dread overcame him at the thought of immersing himself in socialization. With a begrudging sigh, he straightened his back, briefly smoothened out his suit, and adjusted his cufflinks before trudging up the stairs. Eyes tracked his every step. Despite his emotional wellbeing, the boy still managed to clean up well, creating a facade to those around him. He didn’t bask in the glory, though. He knew he was handsome, he knew he was wealthy, but looks and money were no longer sufficient enough to help him tend to the emptiness he felt on the inside.

The gala itself didn’t begin until 6:00 PM, which was in an hour. Therefore, in hopes to kill time, Draco aimlessly walked through the art displayed for the auction to be held later that night. He carefully observed the numerous crafts with great scrutiny. Paintings were created with much detail--many of them embodying styles from the varying art periods. Sculptures paying great detail to the human body littered the main floor. Hand-crafted furniture were set on display as well, showcasing elaborate ornaments and designs. Mother would like these. He thought. He continued plodding across the exhibit, typically stopping for a mere minute for every submission before walking away. 

It was when he took sight of a humble set of ceramics that he actually stopped to stare. The collection consisted of bowls and pots ranging from small to medium sizes. However, what caught his attention were the traces of gold that coursed through their shapes. They took the form of cracks, which looked too beautiful, too flawless to be such--he couldn’t comprehend them ever being broken at all.

“Do you like them?” A light voice startles him from his thoughts. Standing next to him is a bright-eyed girl whose face he vaguely remembers.

“Y/N Y/L/N? What are you doing here?” He dismisses her question and looks at her with disbelief laced through his voice. The girl was in Ravenclaw when they were still in Hogwarts. Due to the difference in houses and friend groups, there was rarely any interaction between them. Nevertheless, he’s heard countless praises for her artistic talent even as a student, therefore reserved a tinge of respect for her reputation.

“Draco Malfoy! It’s been such a long time!” She beams at him. A breathy laugh escapes him as a polite smile settles on his lips.

“Definitely has been. Were you eyeing this set as well?” He glanced back at the ceramics, contemplating on bidding for them in the auction. The sight of them evoked a warm, admirable energy within him, as though they called for his presence.

“Heavens, no. I actually made them.” Y/N took notice of the way he glanced at them, and shyly rubbed the back of her neck. The boy turned to her with eyes widened in awe of her brilliance—the smile of politeness immediately transitioning to one of sincerity.

“You made these? They’re beautiful!” The comment brought heat to her cheeks. 

“Draco, please. You flatter me so.” 

“I’ll be taking these home without a doubt.” He reassures her. In the moment that he says so, he immediately takes notice of her appearance. Her hair was slicked into a low bun. Her makeup gave her a pleasant dewy look. Gold accessories accentuates her deep emerald evening gown, which only emphasizes her curves as it flows down her body. He couldn’t recall her ever being attractive when they were students—she had always been clad in blue. But, tonight proved that green was definitely her color.

“You look lovely, by the way.” He complimented as his eyes glossed over her. She bit her lip in response to the butterflies that formed in her stomach.

“You always had a way with words didn’t you, Malfoy?” The melodic laugh that she produced, in turn, caused his heart to skip a beat.

“I admit I was a prat, but I’m not joking around this time.” The girl let out another giggle before placing her hand on his shoulder and giving it a quick squeeze. 

“I think you look rather dashing yourself. Unfortunately, though, I have to get going. I’ll see you around?” 

“It would be my pleasure.” Draco watches Y/N’s figure as she walks away. Before she goes any further, she looks over her shoulder and says, “Good luck with the auction!” 

With a small wave and smile, the boy is left in a lighter state.

The gala came and went with Draco thoroughly exhausted from the copious amounts of socialization. Questions regarding connections to his father were asked, business cards were exchanged, and flattery and compliment was a common occurrence amongst these interactions. Nevertheless, the boy’s energy especially drained from the intensity of the auction that occurred towards the end of the night. All the art pieces were valuable and beautiful, however it was only then that he realized that he wasn’t the only one drawn to Y/N’s work. Competition for the highest bid was at an all-time high as number paddles were desperately raised for every price announced. His heart clambered in his chest as the thought of keeping the ceramics seemingly slipped from his grasp. 

“Highest bid for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any takers?” The auctioneer announces. Draco waits for a second to see that no one has raised their paddles. Within the next, he lifts his own confidently. 

“We have a bidder for 80,000 galleons! Do we have any more bidders? No?” At this point, adrenaline coursed through his veins, beads of sweat had formed and fell, and the grip on his paddle tightened, leaving marks on his hand.

The auctioneer proceeds to announce the final countdown, “Final bid for 80,000 galleons! 1, 2, 3, sold to Draco Malfoy!” Relief overcame him while congratulatory praises were given by those nearby. He catches Y/N’s gaze from afar, and throws her a wink, signifying the resolution for the chaotic night.

--

As attendees began to file out of the building, the boy waited in the hall to collect his reward, filling out the form that confirmed the amount he had to pay. With his attention drawn to the slip, he fails to notice Y/N’s presence beside him. She looks over his shoulder, eyes widening at the amount before looking away to suppress the smile that threatens to form on her lips. She never really gave much monetary value to her art before; each one was produced as a product of passion and love. However, the expression that it first brought to Draco’s face, in addition to the amount of effort he put in to attain them, reassures that her work will be well taken care of. She momentarily stares at his broad shoulders before gaining the courage to speak.

“Congratulations!” She says, startling him once again. He takes a second to collect his breath before looking up at her.

“Do you plan on giving me a heart attack, Y/L/N, or is it in your nature to be overly enthusiastic?” The shameless smirk she has on her face, prompts him to release a chuckle. He stands up straight as soon as he signs the piece of paper, engaging his line of vision with hers.

“The way you respond is not my fault, Malfoy.” She answers, playfully shoving her index finger towards his shoulder. He grabs her wrist, and the warmth from his hands, accompanied by the flirtatious gleam in his eyes, prompts her to cast the same expression. She shoots him a coy smile before he releases her from his grasp.

“Would you like to accompany me to the front?” He asks.

“That’d be lovely.” The pair approaches the stage where the volunteers greet them both. They present his items upon confirmation, and proceed to wrap each bowl individually. He lifts one of the unwrapped pieces to his eyes, examining the gold details.

“How’d you manage to pull this off?” He asks, impressed by her craftsmanship.

“It’s a technique called ‘kintsugi’. I learned it while living in Japan for a while after the war,” She says, reaching her hand out for it. He gives it to her.

“You know, these pieces were never supposed to be auctioned off in this gala,” She explains as she delicately traces the lines, “They were so damaged. You can even consider them to be broken beyond repair,” Draco observes as she lifts it to her eye level.

“But obviously, when pieced back together—with all their cracks emphasized by the gold—they have much more value and beauty,” Y/N gives it back to Draco, and he takes it gingerly.

“However, It took a long time for it to come out that way. When you examine the piece before its repair, the first thought in mind would be to discard it. After all, why would anyone bother mending a broken bowl?” She meets his eyes once again.

“These cracks would typically be considered flaws, but at the end of the process the piece is still whole—I’m still whole. They mean a lot to me, and helped me heal from the war and all.” Her line of sight drifts towards the end of her statement, yet the boy catches himself appalled by the passion in her voice. He didn’t expect her to speak so openly, yet the words that flowed from her mouth touch him in a way he can’t comprehend. For once he feels a glimmer of hope budding within. For once, inspiration meets him, and he doesn’t want to lose that feeling she effortlessly provided. 

“I’ll make sure to take great care of them.” He says with much sincerity.

He places the piece back onto the table, and turns back to Y/N to see a sweet smile on her lips.

“I have faith you will.” A knowing look is shared between them--one that makes both hearts flutter in longing to see each other again.

“Do you think we can keep in contact? If it’s alright with you that is. I’d like to become more familiar with this art technique.”

“The Slytherin prince wants to keep in contact with me? Consider me wooed.” Draco rolls his eyes and chuckles at the old title. Before he could respond, she speaks again with more seriousness, “I don’t usually accept visitors in my studio, but I’ll make an exception for you. You can come by sometime, if you’d like.” 

A genuine smile appears on his lips for the second time that night. Out of all the individuals he exchanged contacts with, she by far had been his favorite. He ensured to send her an owl to confirm their meeting, hoping to do so some time next week. 

As they part, she turns back one more time, and calls out to him, “Draco,” The sound of his name perks his head upward

“You should smile more. It’s a lovely sight.” Before he could see her face erupt in a blush, she apparates away. With his new belongings in hand and an obvious grin, he too returns to the manor, feeling elated for the first time in a long while.

--

It was nine o’clock by the time Draco apparated home. Narcissa immediately took notice of his change in aura much to her relief.

“How was the gala, dear?” She asks.

“Quite pleasant this time around, if I’m being honest. I won these at an auction.” Draco stated as he props the box on top of a table. His mother approaches him, attention drawn to the objects when he reveals the contents inside.

She gasps, “Oh my stars, they’re beautiful.”

She picks one up delicately. The expression she had on her face was very much identical to the one he sported when he came across them the first time.

“I knew you’d like them. The artist was a fellow classmate of mine at Hogwarts.”

“Oh? Who is it? I would like to see more from this artist.”

“Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. Quite brilliant she is.” Mother’s instinct told Narcissa that this girl had her son taken aback. She saw it through the pleasant expression that graced his facial features, which contrasted greatly to the gloomy air that usually accompanied him. Furthermore, there was a decadent tone in his voice, a sparkle in his eyes, and a slight smile present when her name rolled off his tongue. She decided to probe a little bit more.

“House?”

“Ravenclaw.” He responds.

“Very fitting. The craftsmanship in her work is amazing,” The woman’s eyes marveled at the gold.

“How is she?” She asks. The question catches the boy off guard.

“Pardon?”

“How is she doing? Has she been okay since the war?”

“We didn’t touch upon it too much. Although, she mentioned that creating these has helped her heal.” 

“You mean to say that these were broken at one point?” 

“Precisely. She mended them.” At this point, Narcissa was quite taken by the girl as well. 

“You should invite her over one of these days. I’d love to have a cup of tea with her.” Draco quirked a brow at her.

“You’re not going to ask about her blood status?” 

“I would’ve known she was a pureblood from her last name, but times are changing aren’t they not?” Narcissa flashes a tightlipped smile towards her son, to which he responds with a nod of understanding.

“I’ll be going up then. You can keep that one mother. You seem to take a liking to it.” Draco turns on his heel at the end of his statement, carrying the box of ceramic goods under his arm. He wouldn’t acknowledge that times are changing. However, tonight has been the only instance he had felt his life shifting  —from the way he reunited with Y/N, to the way his mother spoke. It was a step forward to redemption, and he felt a little more willing to see where it would go.

The boy sat on his bed, deep in thought. With moonlight shining upon him, he delicately traced the golden lines that streaked the small bowl in his hands. Then with much hesitation, he rolled up his left sleeve and began tracing the blaring curves of the mark that stained his porcelain skin. Its presence resembled shackles that have been chained to his ankles, and the weight of the memories caused him to grimace. However the budding warmth that had seeped within him soothed the negative sensations. Heart palpitations of regret transformed into those of hope. Furthermore, recollection of the girl’s words rang through his mind. It led him to wonder if piecing himself into something better would ever be a viable reality—a dream so tempting to pursue that he brought himself to his desk to start a letter addressed to her.

--

Y/N awoke to a tapping noise on her window. With heavy-lidded eyes, she peeks through her curtains only to be met by an eagle owl. Its wide orbs stared directly at her, and attached to its beak was an envelope. She recalled the conversation she had with a certain platinum-haired boy from the night before, and immediately jolted upward, pushing the window open to let the animal in.

“Do you belong to Draco, love?” It perches itself on her shoulder, and drops the envelope into her hands. A wax seal presents itself with an ‘M’, confirming her inquiry. She opens it with much carefulness, and pulls out the letter inside.

Y/L/N,

How does this Thursday sound? 5:00?

DM

The girl chuckled at how straight-to-the-point he was, while her mind flitted back to their school days. She had always felt neutral about him. In contrast to popular belief, she didn’t think he was quite bad. Despite the harshness behind his actions, his eyes always maintained an undertone of fear. Upon the revelation that the boy was indeed a death eater, the title itself wasn’t what stirred her. Rather, it was the incomprehensible experience that she could merely picture him going through. She was there when he crossed sides. She was no stranger to the distraught look on his face--fear had overtaken him even in that moment. He might’ve been flawed, but it wasn’t without reason.

A cry from the owl broke her out of thought. “Impatient are we?” It blinked in response. Not wanting to keep the bird waiting any longer, she pulls out a piece of parchment and begins to write a response to the letter. 

Y/N inserted the parchment into an envelope, sealed it, and handed it to the owl only after she gave it a treat. As she watched it take flight from her window sill, she contemplated more on the boy. ‘Kintsugi’ the art of broken pieces and precious scars. As thoughts of him lingered, she began to wonder if how he fared ever since the war had drawn to its close. Before she knew it, she carried along with her work, totally occupied with the image of him in mind.

--

Draco’s heart beat like a drum when he skimmed through the contents of Y/N’s response. The feeling of nervous excitement erupted within his stomach up until the moment he stood on her doorstep. Besides the instances in which he’d gone out for his parents, it had been a long while since he stepped foot outside for himself. He took sight of the sheet of clouds that blanketed the sky, the small plants that were scattered on her porch, and the movement of the curtain as wind blew through her open window. 

Mere seconds of waiting were filled with more self-doubt as he tugged on his left sleeve, clenching his forearm soon after. Not much could be guaranteed from this meeting. For all he knew, this might’ve been a one a time thing. However, such thoughts were casted aside once he was greeted with Y/N’s glowing smile.

“Draco! It’s so nice to see you!” She stepped aside to let him in, “Please come in.”

The boy greets her, and looks around her small space. He indulges in the glimpse of her expressive decor--somehow they represented the life that she had built and created for herself over time. 

“Darling, your jaw is going to fall off,” she chuckled, “Come, the studio is in the back.” The girl gestures at him to follow her, and is met with a small building stationed behind the main house. The image of shelves fills his view upon entering. On them were stacks of cracked ceramic—some in large pieces, others in small. Towards the far corner of the room was a pottery wheel, and opposite from it was a small gas kiln. In the middle was a table space with various tools, brushes, lacquer, and gold. The room was as neat as it could be, much to Draco’s surprise.

“This is me.” Y/N turns around with her arms spread out. She then proceeds to pull a stool out for the boy and urges him to sit. He does so, and she stands in close proximity to him, leaning on the table for support.

“I was actually working on a piece before you came.” The girl points to her current project—a vase whose cracks have already been bound.

“What’s the process like?” He asks

“It’s much longer than you think. I learned how to do it the traditional way in Japan, and I haven’t deviated from it ever since.” The boy quirks a brow.

“You mean to say that there are faster methods?”

“There are, however it’s the process I appreciate the most I suppose. Mending takes time after all.” Y/N, who had been looking down at her feet, glances up at him to see his brows furrowed inwardly. 

“Don’t you get impatient?” She nods in reminiscence.

“I used to in the past, but all things worth anything take time, right?” They stare at each other for a moment. Draco, who has longed for the feeling of redemption, looked into the pure intent within her eyes. The silence prompts her to slip a small smile at him. 

“How about you, Draco Malfoy? How have you been?” There it was: The question that he could never answer (not truthfully anyway). Despite being in the center of all his thoughts, he hadn’t developed the courage to face them properly. He was stuck in a routine of living that provided a false sense of security. However, the present brought him to the realization that he had never been secure--not with himself.

“Not as good as what people see at face value.” He said simply.

“I never would’ve thought. Although, I suppose it just shows that we can never truly judge others, huh?”

“Yes, definitely.” He allowed his view on her to linger before speaking again.

“I actually wanted to see the way you worked.” It was her turn to quirk a brow at him.

“And why’s that?”

“To see the mending process.” Y/N remained silent as she analyzed the longing look in his eyes. His silvery orbs conveyed volumes of a history that was left unspoken. 

He continued, “I want to believe that broken things can be mended.” The determination in his eyes reminded her of why she began learning kintsugi in the first place. Behind the determination was hope that longed to be born to fruition. 

“I have one condition,” she said. His eyebrows arched in response.

“You can watch me, but you have to do some mending yourself.” She stepped away at the end of her statement and reached for something on her shelves. When she came back, she grabbed the boy’s hand, and placed a small bowl in his palm. It was a simple piece--still intact--taking on a warm, grey sheen. He looked at her with confusion, only to be met with seriousness. 

“Kintsugi begins when something breaks, and it focuses more on the beauty of the process rather than the outcome. That being said, it requires a lot of patience and acceptance.”

“I’m not an artist, Y/N. It won’t be perfect.” The girl takes hold of his other hand, and cups it within hers firmly. 

“It doesn’t have to be, Draco. The process belongs to you. You just have to trust yourself.” She said earnestly with her grip on him tightening. The warmth from her hands emanated through his skin and into his chest. She stood so close now, her head tilted upward to meet the uncertainty on his face. It made him feel vulnerable, but he stared back into her eyes with much resolve. It was an answer as it is.

Y/N gave him a reassuring smile and stepped away from him.

“I want you to drop that bowl. You don’t have to smash it, just let it fall.” Draco shifted his glance and looked at the bowl hesitantly. After a couple of seconds, he releases his hold, and allows the piece to slip from his fingers. His eyes were trained on it as it fell through the air, meeting its fate with a shattering sound. The bowl that was once intact was now in pieces on the floor, eliciting a familiar ache within him. It had split into five--a large one, one medium, and three more that were much smaller that comprised the object's rim.

As he bent down to pick up the pieces, a new wave of ambition overcame him. Each chip was picked up with much mindfulness, with responsibility, with purpose. When he stood up again, he began to perceive them as a reflection of himself, and gently placed them on the workbench.

Y/N, who witnessed the entire scene, smiled when Draco turned to face her. Her lips were pulled up gently, sweetly, and it evoked rosy feelings inside him. The boy eyed her as she went back to the shelf.

“How do you feel?” She asked. Her back was turned to him as she reached for another bowl. 

“Light.” She smiled at the sound of his response. She returned with a teal-colored bowl in hand. Following his previous actions, she dropped it, allowing the sounds of shatters to fill their ears once more.

“What are you doing?” He asks. 

“You think I’m going to make you do this alone?” The girl bends down as she gingerly picks up the chips of ceramic from the floor. She proceeds to clear out the table, leaving only the utensils to be used to start the process. 

“The materials I use are already here, but we’ll be working only with the lacquer for today.” The two set off to organize their pieces, hearts becoming more aware of one another as time passes on. After everything got sorted out, she demonstrated layering a coat of lacquer to the edges. Draco examined the way the smile instantly left her face, only to be replaced with a focused expression. Her eyebrows lowered, lips in a firm line, sights fixed on the ceramic. He also noticed how languid her fingers were in handling each piece with care. 

The solemnity of the sight is broken as she parts her lips to speak again, “Did you know that the lacquer is toxic?” He shakes his head when she spares him a glance momentarily before setting her gaze back onto the chips. “It’s toxic when wet, therefore much care needs to be taken when you lay it on the edges.” She then takes the smaller pieces and proceeds to add lacquer on them as well.

“However,” She continues, “as it dries, it hardens and mends the bowl perfectly.” She attaches the pieces together, and lifts the bowl carefully to show him. The boy stares at her flawless handiwork--the cracks reveal themselves as mere lines, seemingly invisible to the naked eye. 

“Strange, right? A substance that was once toxic is used to mend. When it dries it restores the product to perfection, and loses its toxicity.” Draco simply nods. It was a hard concept for the boy to grasp, but her words tickled a corner of his heart. How could something so bad be used to restore something that was once whole into perfection? He gazes at his own project while Y/N sets hers down carefully.

She passes the materials to him, observing as he gingerly takes the brush in hand. He dips it into the pool of lacquer, raising a glob of it up from the bottle.

“You don’t need too much, just enough so that the brush is covered completely.” She reached out to grab his hand, to demonstrate what she had meant. After realizing their closeness, however, she turned a shade of pink and stepped back. Draco tried his best to hold back his smile, but failed miserably.

“I’m s-sorry.” She stammered. He chuckled at her. 

“Nonsense, I’m all for this form of instruction.” He said teasingly, eliciting a laugh from her.

“Don’t mind me, just concentrate.” She ordered. Silence loomed, but smiles remained on their faces. Draco continued his work, emulating the way she coated her edges. He gripped each chip firmly while his eyes trailed the movement of the brush. Each second spent felt like darkness was being extracted from within, leaving him light and solemn. With much caution, he then pressed them together, and watched as the product adopted its once flawless form. With an approving look, Y/N explained the proceeding steps, immediately noticing the relaxed expression that had settled on his features. Deciding to take a break, the two embark to the main house to relax.

“Since we have to wait a while, is there anything you want to do? To eat?” She asked as they entered the room. The question, however, was left unanswered due to the sighting of a familiar looking uniform. Hung on her wall was a Ravenclaw robe.  

“You still have it?” He asked, pointing to the article of clothing with his chin. She chuckled and pulled it off it’s hanger.

“Yeah. I found it a couple days ago, and thought I’d try it for old times sake.” She slipped it over her shoulders, pulling the boy through a series of flashbacks from his time in Hogwarts. He recalled passing her by the hallways, getting small glimpses of her sketches, even seeing her vibrant personality shine with her friends.

“You know, I always thought you looked better in green.” He said approaching her.

“You think so?” He nodded.

“It’s a shame that we never really talked much. I think we would’ve been good friends.” She said in response.

“You think so?” 

“Well besides the bullying, yes. I don’t think you’re as bad as people portray you to be.” 

“You give me too much credit, Y/L/N.”

“Maybe you deserve a little more credit than you were granted.” This sparked more warmth within the boy. As she ordered food for delivery, Draco took a seat at her table, his gaze locked on her with the robe still propped on her body. His thoughts drifted as he imagined what might’ve happened if he did befriend the girl. How different would he be if he had her for company? How close would he have allowed their friendship to become? His mind began to wander and he ruminated on the what-could-have-beens, most especially the effect that his receiving of the dark mark would have had on her. His fingers flitted to his arm and rubbed the portion of fabric that covered his mark.

Y/N sat across from the boy, immediately noticing his dazed look.

“What’s on your mind?” She inquires. The boy broke off from his thoughts and refocused his attention to her.

“Just thinking about the past.”

“What of it?” She asked. He looked at her with slight reservation in his eyes.

“How different things would be if we were friends.” Her thoughts lingered on the possibilities for a while before she abandoned them completely. Only one realization came into mind:

“Well, we’re friends now. Perhaps everything that happened in the past was needed for us to meet like this.” She slid off her robe and propped it back on the hanger. 

She continued, “Whatever it is, I wouldn’t have it any other way. Now belongs to us.” 

In that moment, a switch flipped in Draco’s mind, and he knew those words would stick to him for a long time. Maybe it wasn’t a chance at redemption that he yearned for--the conversation he had with her made him realize that the chance had always been presented to him--rather it was company. Genuine company. The one that opened their arms for comfort, the one that offered understanding when he couldn’t offer some to himself, the one that provided reassurance that everything was going to be okay. 

She didn’t need to elaborate. Her words conveyed her intent clearly, her eyes blazed with firmness, confidence, and faith in him. The boy closed himself off for way too long out of the fear that he’d be rejected once again. The anxieties that had resulted from the foul glances, derogatory statements, and prematurely formed accusations towards his family locked him away to the only source of comfort that was available to him--himself. How was it possible that he made it through on his own all this time? He barely held on to a thread, and as he crumbled further, so did his grip. And when the grip was no more, he fell into the hollowed body that he was. He allowed his darkness to swallow him, to control him as he mindlessly drifted with each passing day. 

Until now.

Right now, in the stillness of the room, in the comfort of her dining table, in the presence of her worn out Ravenclaw robe, the thread had reconstructed itself. It presented itself as the small smile that softly graced her lips, the scent of clay that lingered on her hands, and his bowl that sat solemnly streaked with cracks in the workshop behind the main house. 

“I suppose you’re right.” The boy showed a smile of relief, which prompted the girl to reach out for his hand, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Here’s to our friendship!”

--

There were very few things that Draco cherished in his life: his family and his solitude. As weeks flew by with Y/N’s company, however, he found that his heart was beginning to create space for her as well. It began subtly with the way he silently observed her actions. She catered to each of her pieces with the same amount of dedication--every detail incorporated with mindfulness, with care, and intention. She exerted a similar effort when it came to guiding him. Every step in the process was taught with much patience. Her soft hands would graze his own in attempts to correct his form, to stabilize his shakiness, and to relieve him of the tension that came with his perfectionistic tendencies.

-flashback-

The sound of Draco’s uneven breaths made themselves aware in Y/N’s presence. She had left him alone to tend to his project and herself to her own. Muscle memory led her to scrape off the excess traces of lacquer from the cracks, while the boy fixed his concentration on sanding the surface of his bowl smooth. Scratching noises filled the air, and only became more amplified as minutes ticked onward. It was unfamiliar to the girl--the action itself shouldn’t have required much energy. With a brow arched upward, and her gaze directed towards him, the sight of furrowed brows and tense lines fill her view, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“You’re going to break the bowl at that rate, Draco.” The boy unclenched his jaw and gave Y/N an exasperated look, increasing the volume of her laughter.

“I told you I won’t be perfect.” 

“What is it that you’re having trouble with?” Y/N asked, as she made her way to his side of the table.

“Some of the excess just won’t budge from its place.” Draco huffed in frustration. She removed the bowl from his grasp, and examined the object. On the other hand, he takes the liberty to step closer to her, his face peering over her shoulder. The heat emanating from his body distracted her, which she responded to by immediately returning her attention to the remnants that resided on its cracks.

“It helps to focus on one spot at a time,” She grabs the crumpled piece of sandpaper laying on the side, and connects its surface to the porcelain. He watches as she uses minimal yet focused motions to scrub at the excess. Slowly but surely the residue clears out, revealing a clean, crisp line. “See?” She turns her head to the side only to be met with his in such close proximity. His breath softly brushes against her skin. His silvery orbs dive deep into her y/e/c ones. The pulses of their heartbeats ring through their ears, and the concentration shifts from the demonstration to one another. 

It’s the apparent flush staining his skin that has her pulling away. 

“Why don’t you try?” She nervously asks. Y/N hands the bowl to the boy, and observes as he attempts to emulate her actions. With motions still stiff and choppy, she finally takes his hand into hers.

“Relax, Draco. You need to be patient with it.” With slender fingers wrapped around the back of his palm, she guides his grip with focused and particular motions. The repetition engrains itself into his muscle memory, and he quickly gets the hang of it. He exhibits relief with every remnant removed. In return, she releases her grip and looks at him with a satisfied expression.

“Thank you.” He says, and he means it. With perfection constantly being expected of him, the feeling of humility that comes with being a beginner is foreign. He had always been pushed into the limelight--the weight of his family name designates the image of flawlessness, elegance, and poise in all that he did. No room for mistakes. He was required of only the best. So, when he looks at her and gazes at his hands, a genuine smile spreads on his lips. 

The expectation for perfection may have taunted his past, but the realization of his commitment in giving his best brought out a clear sense of victory despite the imperfect process that had been associated with it.

--

Some days are tougher than others. The nightmares make it difficult to get through the night regardless of how infrequent they became. It always resulted in him waking up, broken into a cold sweat. Goosebumps peppered his skin, the hair behind his neck stood straight, and he would gasp for air. With regret once again overcoming him, a weight forms in his throat--it’s impossible to go to sleep now. Moreover, the fear for the lack of a peaceful slumber keeps him wide awake until sunrise, and there is only one word that shouts at him in the back of his mind.

“Mudblood.”

“Mudblood.”

“You filthy mudblood!”

The sayings are coupled with the memory of his back pressed onto the cold, wet, bathroom floor. He could recall the stinging sensations that pricked his body, the sight of blood seeping through the white fabric of his uniform, and the energy that was draining from his spirit. It was the lowest he has ever been--mere moments away from what could’ve been his end. Maybe that’s what should’ve happened. There was no one for him to turn to--the warmth of his mother’s arms was so far away, the act of shedding tears was sacrificed to protect his family, and the fact that he was already repulsive in the eyes of others caused his hope to plummet. There wasn’t anyone who he could call his true friend--one he could confide in to relieve the burdens he had faced.

But there was Y/N. The erratic heartbeats that rang against his chest subside when he remembered the firmness within her voice as she cheered for their friendship. The sparkle and reassurance that was displayed within her eyes tickled his heart in a way that he hadn’t experienced before. The soft touch of her hands reminded him that he wasn’t alone. The patience in her voice reminded him that despite all of his shortcomings, there was always hope for change. 

It was then that he’d pluck himself out of bed, and take hold of the ceramic piece that laid prettily on his desk. With deep breaths, he ran his fingers through its golden streaks, allowing the chilled sensation to calm him down. His eyelids would flutter close, and he’d envision her soft smiles, her chipper personality, and the passion that was expressed through her eyes whenever she worked. He’d recall the worn-out Ravenclaw robe hanging on the wall of her dining room, and remember that she was there. She believed in him. She had given him a chance. With his mind set to ease and the morning sun illuminating through the fabric of his curtains, Draco picked up his own broken pieces, and binded himself with the faith she had as the lacquer to keep him together. 

Narcissa and Lucius had noticed subtle changes in the boy. A peaceful light had returned to his silvery eyes, the frown that graced his lips began to fade with time, and the tension that he held in his joints loosened. He treaded the halls with his back upright, his vision trained straight ahead--each step filled with more purpose than the last. They didn’t make it known to him, but the sight brought them much joy.

--

It was a cloudy day when Draco returned to Y/N’s workshop. This time around, however, there’s much more uncertainty and nervousness within him as he stands in the midst of her working. 

Earlier that morning, Narcissa mentioned hosting a ball within the manor (something that hasn’t been done in forever). Invitations were sent out already, the RSVP list continues to grow, and the property itself has been decorated to exhibit its new grandeur. Of course, he agreed to it--slightly concerned about how they’d be perceived--but he was more thrown off by his mother’s only request:

“Please bring Y/N with you, Draco. I’d like to commission her for a piece.” In his mind that translated into, “I want to meet the girl you’ve been constantly visiting.” He knew his mother wasn’t against her. He was more worried about how Y/N, herself, would respond.

The familiarity of her focused expression surfaces, and it attracts him much more than it has before. Her hands are nimble, and she moves fluently. Her hair was tied into a low and messy bun with loose strands framing her face. Her appearance now was much different than their first meeting at the gala, yet his mind went back to that night--picturing her beauty in her deep emerald green dress. With his feelings for her more clarified, he feels his heart beat at the thought of her touch, moreover the thought of his touch on her. Would she even return his feelings? 

“Draco, are you alright? You’ve been staring this way for a while now.” He takes the opportunity to test the waters.

“I needed to ask you something actually.” He goes around and pulls a stool to sit on, meeting the level of her gaze.

“And that is?”

“My mother asked for you,” He said, fumbling with his fingers, “My family is hosting a ball, and she wants you to come--she wants to meet you.” He notices the way her eyes widen at the sound of his announcement. 

“I’m sorry. Come again?” Draco released a soft chuckle before reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a decorated envelope with her name printed on the front.

“This is yours.” She takes it from his grasp gingerly and brushes her fingers on the fine embellishments. Realization hits her when she skims across the familiar letters of her name.

“I’ve imagined many things in my life, but they certainly don’t come close to this. Wow, imagine being invited to a Malfoy ball.” Her words flowed out with awe, softening his heart. He reaches out, and tucks one of the loose strands behind her ear. The action forces her to look into his eyes.

“She’s taken quite a liking to your work.” His smile brings out one of her own.

“I’m honored.” She starts to beam, “I should go dress shopping soon.” Her eyes remain transfixed on the information given on the actual invite itself.

“I think you’d look beautiful in anything you decide to wear.” It was meant to be a thought--meant to stay in his head--but it came out, and now the girl felt her face get hot. She covered it with her hands, while the boy just looked up at the ceiling to avoid her gaze.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.” He says.

“It’s fine.” 

“If it’s fine then why are your hands still covering your face?”

“Why are you still looking up?” Draco, lowers his chin and pulls her wrists away.

“I’m not anymore.” When the words leave his lips, and his eyes meet hers, he becomes aware of the amount of peace that he attained since meeting her again. In some way, the silence that fills them is overtaken by the messages that their gazes send to one another, both containing gratitude and affection. 

“So will you come with me?” He asks.

“Definitely.”

--

 Y/N paced back and forth while many aristocrats stepped into the manor with much poise in their step. She didn’t mind formal events when it came to art, however, this case felt entirely foreign to her realm of comfort. She wasn’t from a wealthy family nor was she pureblooded either. Surely the end of the war had initiated a shift in change, but the significance of blood status still persisted in some even after. Nevertheless, she made herself present. With much resolve and a false sense of confidence, she stepped into the entrance of the building.

The foyer was bustling with chatter--many attendees stood with glasses of champagne in hand. Still in an awkward stature, the girl takes a look around. The ceilings were decorated with crystal chandeliers. Velvet curtains were pulled to the side, exposing massive windows. Arches, columns, even the walls were covered with ornamental carvings. Every single aspect portrayed luxury. Whenever Draco visited the girl, she discarded his association to wealth and solely focused on him as a person. Because of this, the realization that the boy actually had some coin in his pockets hit her like bricks. 

Draco, who had kept his eyes locked on the girl, chuckled to himself. She stuck out from the crowd with her eyes widened in awe. Not to mention her attire. Her hair was kept straight down with golden clips holding it tucked behind her ear. Furthermore, she was dressed in a champagne mermaid gown speckled with beads and embroidery, which flourished outwards and into a sheer fabric decorated with similar details. Her neckline plunged into the middle of her abdomen, yet her shoulders remained covered with long sleeves that wrapped themselves fittingly around her wrists. She truly had the tastes of an artist.

He quietly made his way to her as she continued to gawk at the room. “Your jaw is going to drop, darling.” He whispered in her ear. The feeling of large hands planting themselves on her waist caused her to let out a small yelp, pulling her out of her daze. She let out a breath of relief when she turned to see Draco’s face. 

“You scared me.”

“You were gawking at the walls.” Y/N rolled her eyes, and briefly skimmed him from head to toe. Heart skipping at the way his suit had admiringly framed his shape well. She giggled at the sight of the snake brooch that embellished the collar of his jacket.

“Always a Slytherin, aren’t you Malfoy?” As she brushed her fingers along the details of its design, Draco reached for her hand, and held it by her fingers. She could only stare as he lifted it higher to press his lips on it. Butterflies were felt everywhere.

“And a charmer.” She added. They shared a quick laugh before being interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat. Standing before them was Narcissa, who beamed at the sight of her son with the girl beside him.

“You must be Y/N Y/L/N. I admire your work, dear.” The older woman stuck her hand out, which the girl shook firmly.

“Thank you so much. It’s a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Malfoy.”

“Please, call me Narcissa.” The delight in her voice emitted a welcoming energy, loosening the nerves that Y/N felt early on.

“Thank you so much for inviting me, Narcissa.” 

“It was no problem at all, dear. I’d actually like to speak to you regarding a commission later on tonight. Would that be alright with you?”

“Of course! I’m honored you’d even considered me.”

“Very well, I’ll leave you two alone now. I hope you enjoy yourselves.” Sweet smiles and gazes were exchanged between the two women. After casting a knowing look to her son, she departs from the pair, disappearing into the crowd. 

“Draco, I’ll have you know that I can’t dance to save my life.” He snickered at her confession, already letting the comfort between them settle in.

“It’s alright. Let’s walk instead.” With arms hooked, Draco begins leading her away from the bustling room and into a secluded hall. Mounted on the walls were paintings of his predecessors. He introduced each patriarchal figure to her, starting with Septimus. Her vision plastered itself to their features, mentally discerning the traits that Draco inherited. After a while of walking and conversation, they finally got to a family portrait. Depicted on it was a younger-looking Lucius and Narcissa, and seated on his mother’s lap was a young Draco himself. Y/N unhooked her arm from his, and approached the painting. She concentrated on the little boy. He had bright eyes, a toothy grin, and flowing platinum locks. His hand gripped firmly on Narcissa’s, and his small legs dangled over her dress. He was the only one smiling in the painting, and it warmed your heart knowing that the artist decided to keep that detail in.

“What’s going on in that mind of yours?” He asks, stepping close. He hesitantly snaked his arm around her waist, hoping that she didn’t mind. She looked up to him and smiled, stepping even closer to him. 

“You were so small.” Draco scowled slightly. However, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the way she looked at the portrait with adoration, allowing his foul expression to fade.

“Well that was painted when I was seven, so it’s no wonder I was small.” His sarcastic remark caused her to roll her eyes again, softly slapping the hand that was planted on her. He glanced at her and squeezed her side tighter, pulling Y/N even closer to his body--his warmth increasing the amount of butterflies that rose in her stomach.

“When I walked in earlier, it completely slipped my mind that this was your house. That you grew up here.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, genuinely interested in her response.

“Everytime you came over, I only saw you as Draco. Not as Draco Malfoy, only son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, and heir to the Malfoy family name.” 

“Please elaborate.” He commands, his heart now racing.

“You’re more than the expectations held for you. You came with commitment to learn about a process that you were genuinely interested in. You grew with your mistakes and your frustrations. That experience was you, and you alone.” She couldn’t help but reveal that admiration she had for him through her voice. 

“I thought it was amazing.” She whispered, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. He did, however. In turn, he grabbed her hand and led her further down the hallway and into his room. Y/N stood there confused at his sudden action. Her eyes then begin to widen at the sight of him removing his suit jacket with her mind drifting to rather dirty thoughts. 

“Draco, what are you-” 

“I didn’t think it was possible.” Y/N furrowed her brows.

“What do you mean?” Draco looked into her eyes, before shifting his gaze to his left sleeve. Her line of sight follows him as he unbuttons his cuff, and rolls the fabric up, revealing his dark mark. She gasps.

“I didn’t think it was possible to mend myself.” It didn’t take him to say much for her to finally understand that he didn’t intend to do anything dirty. It was the opposite of that. He was making himself vulnerable to her.

“But you showed me how.” He said, completing his statement. Tears brimmed her eyes upon the realization of the reality he had to live. The blaring mark that took away his innocence screamed against his pale skin. It screamed of the pain, of loneliness, and the many many long sleeved shirts he must’ve worn to keep it hidden away. 

“If there’s anyone amazing, it’s you, Y/N.” The tears that had built up fell as she furiously shook her head.

“No, Draco. It’s you. It’s all you.” She took his arm delicately into her hands and pressed her lips on his dark mark. Draco felt his eyes well up in tears, while her own spilled onto his skin. Every kiss that she peppered seemed to paint over his scars, his cracks with gold. The feeling of emptiness dissipated in her presence, only surrounding him with warmth that he had yearned to keep.

“I’m thankful for you.” He whispers. Y/N couldn’t hold herself back at that point anymore. She released his arm from her grip, and held his cheeks within her fingertips, wiping the moisture that managed to fall from his silvery orbs. She, then, slowly lifts herself using her tiptoes, and scans his face for a moment before pressing a sweet, short kiss on his lips. It was gentle, much like her. It was patient, much like her. It was filled with faith, hope, and concern--things that she hadn’t been able to express to him in words, yet was felt through her kiss. Draco closed his eyes at the sensation. When she parted from him, he cupped her face with his hands, and drew her close once more. A sigh escaped her as she felt all the emotions he managed to keep in. Each press conveyed a level of appreciation that the boy had never thought he was capable of showing. 

In that moment a memory of a shrill shout fills her mind, and she stops so suddenly.

“Weren’t you struck with sectumsempra?” She asks with her brows furrowed towards him. His lack of response confirms her curiosity. 

“May I?” Her fingers trail to the top of his shirt as she makes her request. Knowing what it is she wants to see, he nods, prompting her to carefully undo the buttons. Her hands tremble as she makes her way down, revealing the scars that resided on his body. She pushes the fabric over his shoulders, and begins tracing each one--much similar to the way he has done with the golden cracks on her bowl. She slowly lowers herself and starts placing kisses where he has been struck. With her hands gently fastened to his sides, her lips linger in one area before transferring to another. He finds comfort in them--it was as if each sensation reassured that he was loved. As she travels upward, she plants a kiss on his jaw, and a final one on his own. With it she expresses a message dedicated only to him: I believe in you.

They separate and bask in the moment by holding each other’s gaze. After a while, Draco wraps his arms around her waist, and pulls her into a tight embrace. He nuzzles his nose on the crook of her neck and kisses it, while she runs her hands up and down his bare sides. His left hand then finds its way to her jaw, tilting her face upwards. He proceeds to nip the expanse of her neck, making her head fall back to grant him more access. The hand that was wrapped around her waist travels downwards to her hip, grips it, and presses her body against his. 

“Draco,” she moans.

“Hm?” She doesn’t respond. She finds herself completely intoxicated by his lips as he moves from her neck, her sternum, and to her exposed abdomen. Instead, she laced her fingers into his hair and pushed him closer to her skin. 

The pair was interrupted by the sound of a knock on the door. 

“Young master! Are you in there?” It was a houself. Draco presses a finger to his lips, signalling to remain quiet.

“I don’t think he’s there, we should check elsewhere.” Light footsteps were heard fading into the distance, eliciting a light laugh between the two. Y/N looks into his eyes once more, and kisses him one last time.

“Should we go?” He responds with a small ‘yes’ and kisses her forehead. As he buttons his shirt, the girl plods across his room, fascinated with its luxuriousness as she takes in the details. One of them causes her to gasp, however. She walks with her throat choking up at sight of the familiar bowl that was placed on his desk. It was hers. She lifts it gently, recalling their first conversation at the gala. The golden scars remind her heavily of the boy behind her. As she traces them, warm hands rub against her sides before snaking around her waist once more. 

“Does this mean you’re my girlfriend now?” Y/N laughs at his question.

“I suppose it does.” She says as she weaves her fingers into his. The boy takes a moment to stare at the bowl ahead.

“When you said that Kintsugi helped you heal, I wasn’t quite sure to believe you or not. But, going through the process was more than enough to make me understand why.”

“You truly are amazing Draco Malfoy. I won’t let anyone tell me you aren’t.”

“Even if my past is completely flawed?”

“Your past made you into who you are right now. What we have is ‘now’, and ‘now’,” she sets the bowl down and faces him, while her hand caresses his cheek. “...‘now’ belongs to us. Now you are amazingly, wonderfully, imperfectly perfect.”

Epilogue:

The sound of Y/N’s words rung in his mind as Draco found himself standing in the middle of her workspace. With a firm grasp on the brush handle, he dips the bristles into the gold liquid, allowing the excess to drip back.

He takes a deep breath, and allows the solemnity of the room to fill him. Many thoughts overtake him in the moment, but only one makes itself prominent to him, resilience. After going through the binding process himself, he pridefully lays down the gold over the cracks on his bowl--each one portraying the imperfections of his past.

A/N: Hi! If you made it this far, I want to thank you so much for reading! There’s a bit of inaccuracy in the last bit, but besides that I hope I brought much light to the technique in general. I hope you enjoyed!! Feedback is very much appreciated :D

Tagging:

@beiahadid @hahee154hq @mushi98 @stretchyice @dracosathenaeum @dreaming-about-fanfictions @saby06143 @rottenhexrt @littlethie @amithatemo

Link to the taglist is on my masterlist :D

[andwereallmadhere]

You’re Not Alone | Jean x Reader

Paring: Jean x f!reader (slight Eren x reader mentioned)

Genre: FLUFF!, song fic

Word Count: 4.5k 

Warnings/ Triggers: Alcohol, underage drinking 

A/N: I was inspired by the Big Time Rush song You’re Not Alone (Link below). This is not the first thing I have written, but it is the first I am posting. Characters might be OOC but I feel like the overall feeling is there. I hope you enjoy!

Link to song: https://youtu.be/tbS5JF32szE

I bet you didn't notice First time your heart was broken You called me up and we talked til the morning

Jean is woken from his sleep by the harsh ringing of his phone. He fumbles for a minute trying to slide the little green button to answer the call. He puts the device up to his ear before stuffing his face back into the pillow, “Why are you call me it’s the middle of the night?” Sleep heavy in his gruff voice. He is quickly answered by your voice sobbing on the other end of the receiver. This immediately broke him out of his sleep-filled mind. He should have known when he saw your picture flash on the screen that you would only be calling if it was important. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” He says wiping a guilty hand over his face. You didn’t respond. Still unable to form proper words through all the tears. He continues to quietly talk to you in an attempt to calm you down. Once the sobbing ebbs he finally asks, “Y/N, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

He only hears you choke out a single word, “Eren.”

Jean and Eren never did get along, in however long you and Jaeger had been dating. But, as your best friend, Jean tried his best to accept him since that would make you happy. So hearing that HE is the reason you are crying at 2 A.M. enrages Jean. 

“What did that bastard do? Did he try something you didn’t want? Do I need to beat him up? Y/N, I swear to god if he hurt you I will-“

“No Jean. It’s not like that.” “Then what is it like?”

“He dumped me.”

“Y/N…”

“He just came by my house and told me that “I’m just over it I guess”. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“He’s a dick, I’ve told you that from the beginning.”

You only respond by sobbing more.

Eren had been your first real boyfriend. And as much as Jean didn’t want it to be true, you were head over heels. Everyone knew this would happen eventually, he just hoped there would be a little more warning. Maybe a fight or something but just cutting it off without a real reason? Jean had theories that he was probably hooking up with someone else and didn’t want the guilt of being a cheater, but you didn’t need to hear that right now. You didn’t need overprotective Jean hating on Eren. You needed best friend Jean to comfort you and assure you that you are worthy of love and everything is going to be okay.

“Hey, you can do better than him. He’s the real loser here. Any guy would be lucky to have you and the next one has to go through me first.” Jean says half meaning it, half attempting to make you laugh.

“Stop it, Jean, You know you’d lose every fight.” He can almost hear the smile in your voice, despite the tears that are certainly still running down your face. 

“Why don’t I come get you? We can go for a drive or something.”

“Okay.” Your soft voice is followed by a sniffle.

“I’m on my way.”

Jean gets out of the warmth of his bed and finds his sweatpants. He throws on a hoodie and grabs an extra in case you forget to bring your own. It's pretty chilly out tonight. He grabs his keys and begins the drive to your house. Once he arrives he sees your form sitting on your porch. Always the gentleman, he walks over to you and offers to help you up. You grab his hand and he can still see the tear stains on your cheeks. Once you are on your feet he pulls you into a hug. “Hey,” Jean says returning your tight squeeze. “Let’s go get you some food.” 

You don’t respond, but your grip around his waist losses and you begin making your way to the car. He opens the door for you and watches as you immediately grab the spare hoodie and slide it over your head. It’s obviously too big for you, but you are grateful for the extra fabric to bury your sad face in. 

The ride is mostly silent, Jean wanted to give you room to talk if you wanted. After a bit of having his hoodie pulled up to your nose, it was clear that you were too caught up in your own drowning thoughts to say anything so he turned on a very soft playlist from his phone in hopes of providing you some distraction.

Jean stops the car and you see he has brought you to a Waffle House. He knows it your favorite. Sure the food isn’t great but there is something about the mediocracy of the establishment that gets you. “Come on slowpoke, I’m buyin’,” Jean says after opening your door. You give him a thank you before following him into the restaurant. 

The two of you find a small booth, given that it was well into the night, there weren’t any people there other than the handful of employees. “You’ll have to talk to me eventually you know,” Jean says. You take a moment to look up from the menu he knows you have memorized by now. Just then a waitress comes by to take your order. 

Jean already knows exactly what you want because you always get the same thing. Just as he tells the waitress your order you finally speak, “Hey Jean.” Your voice is slightly above a whisper, “can I have chocolate milk?” You look back down at the table while Jean turns back to the waitress, “And can the lady have a chocolate milk, please and thank you.” Jean smiles at you as the waitress walks away, your silly request signaling that his best friend is slowly but surely coming out of this shell of sadness. 

Sure enough, you begin to open up. You tell him more of the details about Eren dumping you. Your food arrives and you laugh when Jean spills his glass of water on his lap. The two of you eventually move to the barstool countertops to talk to the fry cook, trying to convince him to make you a pancake instead of a waffle. Eventually Jean pays, leaving a generous tip as an apology for your late-night shenanigans. 

Walking to the car you can see the pastel colors of the impending day reaching the sky. Not ready to go home yet you lean into Jean’s body, tugging on his arm, “Let’s go watch the sunrise!” 

“You’re ridiculous.” He says shaking his head, “get in the car.” He smiles and opens your car door. Of course he was going to let you watch the sunrise. He is going to drive you to the park and find a place high up and the two of you will talk about nothing at all until you fall asleep in the passenger seat of his car. He is really just happy that the outing has worked. No, 4 A.M. waffles cannot cure your broken heart but it at least made you smile. 

And the time that you were stranded I was there before you landed He was a no show, I made sure you got home

High school seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. Graduation came and went and your family decided that you should spend the summer at your aunt’s house on the other side of the country. Of course, you loved your aunt and her kids, but spending your last real summer break away from your friends wasn’t a huge selling point. Ultimately, your mom said you had to go because the trip was already paid for and your aunt was expecting you. The only reason you eventually agreed was that the majority of your little group were all attending the same college, so at least it wasn’t goodbye.

The day before Freshman move-in everyone decided to throw a party at Eren and Mikasa’s house. Eren’s parents were out of town a lot so that is usually where the gang got together. Jean and Eren still don’t along great, but Jean was close to Sasha and Connie who happened to be okay friends with Armin and Mikasa, and thus your little group was formed for better or for worse. After the night Eren dumped you out of the blue, Jean was furious with him, only for you to accept Jaeger’s lame-ass apology and take him back a week later. Luckily there hadn’t been any more repeats of that night. Maybe Eren was telling the truth and did actually like you, so Jean played nice even if he didn’t fully forgive the brunette. 

And now he was here, with you on FaceTime while you wait for your flight at the airport and Jean is getting ready for Eren’s dumb party that you won’t even make it to. 

“So when does your flight get in?” Jean asks folding the remains of the load of laundry his mom did this morning. 

“I think about 11 if it’s not delayed again. I’m super bummed that I won’t make it in time for the party.”

“It’s at Jaeger’s house, can’t he just bring you by after he picks you up?” 

“I guess so, but he also said something about taking me home because it’ll be late and we have move in tomorrow.”

Jean hums in response. It is a valid argument logically, but none of them have seen you all summer except for the occasional FaceTime. The only real reason Jean was going to this stupid party was that you were supposed to be back in time. Jean can hear a voice come over the intercom in the airport. “Hey, Jean, that’s my flight. I gotta go.”

“Alright, Y/N, let me know when you land. See you soon.”

With that, the call ended. Your face replaced by a photo of you and Jean at prom making silly faces. Yeah, Eren was your date and Jean took Mikasa, but you all took photos together and his mom insisted on getting one of the two of you. It was obvious that the picture pissed Eren off, and that made it even more special to Jean. 

Eventually, Jean finished the laundry and headed over to Eren’s. At least everyone else will be there and he can kick Connie’s ass at beer pong. Jean purposefully arrived a little late, so he knew everyone else would already be there, and sure enough, Eren had the white folding table already set up in the garage and Armin had started a little bonfire in the backyard. “Horseface You made it!” Connie says throwing an arm around Jean. 

“I told you not to call me that.”

“What are you going to do send Y/N after me? Oh wait…She’s not here!”

“We both know Y/N could easily kick your ass so shut up.”

Jean went around greeting everyone else and made good on his promise to dominate at beer pong. A while later he takes a seat next to Armin, who was currently roasting a marshmallow. “Ever put peanut butter on a s’more? Whole new experience.”

Armin looks over at Jean, “Y/N show you that?”

“Oh no, secret’s out,” Jean says taking a drink of water. After the game of beer pong, which was a little closer in score than Jean would have enjoyed, he decided to take it easy on the booze so he could actually drive home.

“When does her flight get in anyway?” Armin asks removing his marshmallow from the flame. 

“She told me about 11 when we talked earlier. Said Eren was going to pick her up.” 

At the mention of his name the two look over to see Eren taking a shot with Sasha and Connie. “Did anyone tell him that?” Armin says with a small chuckle. 

Jean looked at his watch, it was only 9, if the bastard stop drinking now he might be sober enough to come get you. So Jean let it slide. 

But Eren didn’t stop drinking. It was now 10:30 and Eren was plastered. Jean watches as Eren and Connie arm wrestle and sighs. What would Y/N think if she saw her boyfriend like this? “Shit,” Jean says standing from his chair around the fire. This gets the attention of Armin and Mikasa who were also over Eren’s drunk bullshit, “What is it?” Armin questions. “Y/N. Eren is supposed to pick her up from the airport in 30 minutes.”

“Well, that’s not happening!” Sasha laughs, also drunk. 

Jean stood up and finished his soda before pulling his car keys from his pocket. 

“And where are you going Horseface? Afraid you’ll lose in arm wrestling?” Eren suddenly joins the conversation. Jean cannot believe this asshole, he doesn’t even realize! Jean contemplates throwing a punch, but that will inevitably start a fight and the airport is almost 40 minutes away so he’ll already be late. So instead, Jean crushes the soda can in his hand and walks away. “Ha! Horseface is a scary cat!” Eren yells at his back before Mikasa smacks Eren on the head. 

Jean’s anger melts through the drive. As upset as he is that Jaeger forgot, Jean is excited to see you. He’s not sure how he’s going to explain this one to you though. He parks his car and glances at the time, 11:15. At least you haven’t been waiting too long. 

Luckily the airport is pretty small and there are only a few incoming flights so it’s not hard to figure out which gate your flight should have landed at. He thinks it's a little odd you haven’t texted him that you landed safely but he dismissed it as he made his way to the gate. Jean is surprised to find the gate empty. No hugging families or people searching for their luggage. There are a few scattered people here and there, also apparently picking up various passengers. After talking with another guy, Jean finds out that the flight had been delayed before take off so it is running late. You were not stranded at the airport, you hadn’t even landed. 

Jean found a seat and began scrolling on his phone. He didn’t expect to have so much time so he didn’t really bring anything with him, not even headphones to listen to music. He sat waiting for what must have been a solid 30 minutes before he started to fall asleep in the chair. 

“Jean!” He hears your voice call, this rouses him from the light sleep. Once he sees your face he can’t help but smile. He stands to walk over to you but is practically knocked over when you throw yourself into his arms. “Hey, stranger.” He says wrapping his arms around you. 

“It feels like it has been forever!” You pull away from him and reach for your suitcase, but Jean beats you to it, grabbing the handle before you can. “I can carry it you know.” But you know it’s useless arguing. Mama Kirstein raised a gentleman, that’s for sure. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?” You ask, giving him a side-eye as you follow him to his car. “Yeah…about that…” Jean still hasn’t figured out exactly what to say about why Eren ditched you. 

“Eren drunk himself stupid, didn’t he?” You say, almost casually. Like you expected it all along. 

“Yeah, but lucky for you I know a guy with a soft spot for you.” Jean places your things in the trunk before opening your car door.

“My shining stallion, always coming to my rescue.”

“Yeah, yeah, get in the car Princess.” He says. Eren’s stupid horse jokes have started rubbing off on you.

You spent the whole drive telling Jean about your trip, even though you talked with him almost every day you were gone. Jean in turn told you all the ridiculous things Sasha and Connie did while you were away. They still had group game night, which surprisingly Eren and Jean only tried to kill each other a handful of times. You laugh when Jean tells you the full story about Connie smashing Sasha’s face into a cake she brought one night, claiming “There is never a bad time for cake.” Sure they all sent you the pictures but you still loved hearing the story. And before you know it Jean pulled up in front of your house. 

He carried your suitcase to the door and turned to you, “I’ll pick you up at 6 alright?” Right, Jean offered to drive you to orientation tomorrow and it was a four-hour drive to the University. With all the excitement of seeing your best friend, you forgot about college tomorrow. “Ugh so early? That’s like 4 hours from now” 

“Unfortunately. Even then we’ll be cutting it close.”

“Fine. I’ll see you at 6.” You say giving him a final hug.

“Jean," you say into his chest, “I’m kind of glad it was you and not Eren that picked me up. I missed you. Thanks for always being there for me.”

“For you. Always.” Jean returns your hug before walking back to his car.

All the days that you were stressed out Feeling like pulling your hair out They were all missing but I was here listening

Freshman year came and went and now you were currently crying over your trigonometry textbook before your final tomorrow. Your other finals had gone pretty well and other than this stupid test you were finished with your first full year of university. Surprisingly Jean and Eren didn’t kill each other despite being suite mates. Originally the two were supposed to be roommates, but Armin quickly volunteered to switch with Jean, the blond being a little more equipped to handle Eren. You on the other hand shared a dorm with Sasha and Mikasa. Since it was the three of you you managed to snag a bigger room and didn’t have to share a bathroom with anyone else. When the gang got together for movie night it was usually in your room since the boys lived just down the hall. Overall it had been a pretty good year. 

Everyone else had already finished their finals, the majority of your group moving back home on Wednesday, except Jean who had his last final today. Jean also offered to stay an extra day so you could drive home together, but he would never say that out loud. “I’m gonna use the extra time to relax since Jaeger is gone. Living with him for a year almost killed me!” He would claim, ever the dramatic. But you knew he was also staying for you since you didn’t have a car and he did a similar thing for winter break. 

Trig had been your worst class all semester. No matter how many times you worked through the problems you were always getting a different answer, usually the wrong one. Armin helped you study for your midterm, but since he was already gone you were left alone. While your overall grade wasn’t bad considering you did all of the extra credit options your professor offered, this test could make or break your final GPA. If you could get at least an 85% it would bump your grade from a high C to a low B. So you have been doing nothing but math since your other finals finished this morning. And you were about to cry. Again. After completing the study guide and taking half a dozen practice tests you aren’t anywhere close to what you needed. After grading your last practice test, you barely managed an 80% and that was being nice to yourself. 

“I’m never going to get this.” You sob, ink running from the tears now spilling onto your paper. Then there is a knock on the door.

“Who’s there?”

“The pizza guy?” Jean says from the other side of your door. At the mention of food, you realize you hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning, which wasn’t saying much since you had a muffin and cup of coffee after Mikasa yelled at you for forgetting to eat earlier in the week. But you didn’t want Jean to see you struggling this much. Yeah, you could talk to him about anything but he was always so gifted when it came to school, even graduated top of the class in high school. So the idea of him seeing you brought to tears by something he saw as easy made your heartache. You were afraid he would accidentally make fun of you in that cocky way he does, or he would offer to help but realize you were a lost cause before ditching you altogether.

“Go away, Jean. I’m studying,” You yell back, attempting to hide the overwhelming stress from your voice.

“Well take a break, I wasn’t joking about the pizza. Mikasa told me you haven’t been eating so you better open this door, Y/N, before I resort to drastic measures.”

You give up getting him to go away, plus that pizza sounds so good. You get up and open the door, “And what would these ‘drastic measures’ be?” 

“Sasha left her keys in our dorm, so I probably would have just walked in.” Jean finally takes a look at your face, and despite your efforts to wipe away your tears, Jean knows you’ve been crying.

“Y/N what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure? You-‘ You cut him off before he can finish. “What kind of pizza did you bring?” 

“Your favorite, of course.” Jean sets the pizza on your bed while you grab some drinks out of the little micro-fridge. Jean glances at your desk and quickly takes in the scattered notes and tear-stained papers. Suddenly it makes sense. Your lack of eating, how you haven’t been responding to texts, and the tears when you opened the door. “I can help you you know? I took Trig last semester.” 

“I told you not to worry about it.” You say attempting to be mad at him for snooping but it’s pointless. You take a seat on the bed and open the pizza box, “Horseface.” You add almost in a whisper. 

Jean visibly shrivels at the name, “No. Not you. Not allowed.”

This small comment was enough to change the subject, and his mild anger at such a stupid name pulls an amused smile out of you. The two of you eat and converse as usual. He tells you about his last final and how Eren left their shared bathroom a mess that he needs to take care of before you leave tomorrow. You talk about how one of your professors just showed a movie during the final period since they are required to hold class despite not actually giving a test. And you feel the stress leave your body, even if just for a moment. 

After a while, Jean looks back over at your desk before grabbing your textbook and the last practice test you took. “This isn’t bad, Y/N, looks like some simple mistakes that you keep making, fix those and you’ll be fine.”

“How can I fix something I don’t know I’m doing wrong?” You ask.

“Because I’m going to help you, idiot.”

Jean proceeds to walk you through your last practice test and showing you the mistakes he was talking about. After helping you do a few more problems, Mr. Kirstein makes you do another practice test that he’s going to grade. While you take the test Jean lays on your bed, scrolling through his phone. He’s trying not to look at you, not wanting to add more pressure to you by feeling watched. 

After you are finished you pass him the paper and watch as he marks up the pages with a red pen. Eventually, he turns to you and gives you back the test, a solid 83%. Not as good as you hoped but you don’t want to discredit Jean’s tutoring. After walking through the test you look at the clock, it's currently 1 A.M. 

“Well Y/N, your test is first thing in the morning and I don’t think stressing yourself out more is going to help you at all.”

“But what am I supposed to do? I need an 85!”

“You need sleep,” Jean says, packing up your study materials.

“One more practice test, then I sleep, I swear.’

“Sleep now. Maybe you can do another in the morning.”

There is no use in arguing with Jean, he always gets his way. Once the study materials were all put away Jean takes your laptop and opens up Netflix, knowing you won’t be able to sleep if you were still worked up. The two of you sit side by side on your bed watching some stupid movie until Jean notices your eyes have closed and your breathing has evened out. As quietly as possible Jean closes the laptop and climbs out of the bed. He puts a blanket over your sleeping form and turns off the light before closing the door to your room. 

The next morning you wake up with a text from Jean. Opening your door you find a fresh coffee and a doughnut waiting on your doorstep. “That idiot.” You mumble to no one, but gratefully pick up the small meal he left for you. After eating you get ready to go and resign to looking over some notes before the exam. Once in the classroom, all the stress from last night comes crashing back. You just have to keep reminding yourself that a C in trig isn’t bad. Your GPA will still be above a 3.0, barely but still. And before you know it your teacher has told you to begin your exam so you log on to your computer and start your test. 

The good thing about the test being on the computer is that you’ll know your results immediately. After going over the answers a second time you finally hit the submit button. You stare at the little blinking cursor as it checks through all your answers, holding your breath. Suddenly your final grade pops up on the screen and you can’t stop the tears that slip from your eyes. You gather your things and head back to your dorm. But you find Jean waiting outside the building, leaning against the car without a care in the world. “JEAN!” You practically scream upon seeing him. He can see the tears on your face, “It’s okay, Y/N. Trig is pointless anyway. You still did great even if you got a C.”

“I did it! Jean, I got a 90%!”

“That’s my girl!” Jean says giving you a high five.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, teach.” You say giving him a big grin.

“Come on, Y/N. I say we get you a celebratory milkshake before we drive home. Jean says opening the door for you. Your eyes follow him as he walks around the car to the driver’s side. You are lucky to have him in your life. Yeah, he can be kind of an ass from time to time, but his heart is always in the right place. 

'Cause I'll be right there (right there) For every minute This time, it's no different Whatever happens you should know 'Cause you're not alone, girl Look over your shoulder You don't have to wonder 'Cause you know, you know, you know You're not alone, girl

[jaskiersvalley]

I've been doing nothing but read your fics for three days straight and I am in LOVE with your wolf pack fics. I love me some happy witchers and their bard.

I’m always so humbled when people read my stuff :) Thank you for coming along on this odd ride of who the heck knows what’s going to come next. But I am right there with you on happy witchers and their bard. So have some more :D

To say Jaskier was pissed off was an understatement. Nobody sent him packing with such cruel words. He would prove to Geralt that he was better than that. In fact, he would prove to the whole world! Revenge was a dish best served with a delicious side of “I told you so” and what was the point Jaskier had been trying to prove over the last 22 decades? It was that witchers weren’t the terrible, heartless creatures that the world liked to demonise them into. Well, maybe Geralt was but the others didn’t have to suffer because of his buffoonery. That left Jaskier with only one choice. He returned home to lick his wounds and prove his very own point.

It started, like many things, as an uphill struggle. Gone was Jaskier the bard and his place was taken by Julian Alfred Pankratz Viscount de Lettenhove. His parents had wanted him to take a more active role in ruling the lands and that was exactly what he was going to do. But on his own terms. The decree went out that no witcher was to be turned away. Payment was to be prompt and fair and, of course, it would be subsidised by the Pakratz treasury. If word got out that a witcher was shunned or shortchanged, that particular village or town would be paid a personal visit and not a good one either.

Word started trickling back. Witchers were suspicious at first. Some outright refused the offer of a decent bed and a meal, opting to kill the creature in the area and flee with a bigger than expected pouch of coin. However, it seemed that a few more intrepid witchers sniffed out the area and deemed it ripe for the plucking. One corner of the Lettenhove lands even seemed to get a resident witcher. At first, the locals were wary but, it turned out, they could only see a witcher a handful of times doing very human things like fumbling a pouch or staggering back injured before they bonded. And suddenly, a cat witcher found himself a home. Not only that, allegedly he had a friend in the shadows, elusive and rarely seen. A rare sighting or two could confirm he was grumpy, suspicious and more likely to pick a fight than accept any kindness. Jaskier would put money on the fact that it was a wolf.

The fortune of one cat meant another was bound to turn up to try and get in on the good fortune. It was just as well Lettenhove was big enough and this cat took the southernmost corner which also happened to be the warmest. Surely nothing to do with the viper witcher that scouted the area before settling in too. So now Lettenhove had three, possibly four witchers who didn’t seem inclined to move on to other contracts. In fact, the settlements nearest to them seemed to be doing a great job of finding contracts for them - not all monsters but a witcher’s might was definitely needed in the fields when the ox were being stubborn and rumour had it, the wolf was quite impressive if let loose in a forge.

A messenger came pleading for help on a sunny afternoon. The wolf witcher had dragged another one into the village but seemed aggressive to any who came near and tried to help. Even the cat was no use, seemingly preoccupied with tracking down a human companion of the injured wolf. Without hesitation Jaskier jumped onto a horse and rode hard and fast, heart breaking already. Surely Geralt hadn’t found another human companion so quickly. Even worse, he hoped that the companion wasn’t dead, he didn’t want Geralt on his own again.

It was an odd relief to see a mop of dark hair than white. Not that Jaskier ever wanted anyone to be hurting but he still did hold a torch for Geralt despite his cruelty. While he wasn’t allowed near the injured witcher, Jaskier could make an educated guess that they were Lambert and Eskel which earned him a sliver of trust. He was allowed to get things from the local healer and apothecary to help Lambert care for Eskel. Even better, Lambert finally accepted a room at an inn that he could carry Eskel to. If only that had been all the drama. Jaskier didn’t expect the cat to come into the village at a pull gallop, a body slung across the horse’s back. Thankfully the healer got there before Lambert and the human got carted off with worried cat in tow.

Jaskier only left when he was confident everyone was healing and was staying put for the foreseeable future. The little he gleaned of the unusual group had his heart warming up though, glad that even out on the harsh Path, they had each other.

Of course, Jaskier’s act of generosity had consequences. Two more vipers, another cat and allegedly a griffin also took up residence throughout the lands. Which meant that contracts around the continent were being left unfilled. Witchers had plenty of work throughout Lettenhove and were well compensated for it, they had no reason or need to go further afield into harsher conditions. However, it gave Jaskier a business opportunity he just couldn’t resist. Especially when the messengers started trickling in, begging to borrow a witcher. There was no obligation for any of the witchers he considered ‘his’ to step in. But Jaskier made his home the middleman for contracts. He could negotiate pay, accommodation and other sundries for his witchers before they were offered a contract. Funnily enough, cats were the most likely to venture out, needing the change of scenery. While reclusive and prickly, it seemed that Lambert had found himself a new stomping ground he was reluctant to leave. Sometimes Eskel headed out, feeling the need to do good but never again was he chased from a village without pay, food and rest. The one time a viper was run out, Jaskier blacklisted the whole region for contracts until the king himself came to ask for forgiveness. Watching someone regal apologise to a bewildered witcher may have been the inspiration for Jaskier’s next ditty.

A grizzled wolf turned up on Jaskier’s doorstep, assessing and shrewd. He never did leave as Vesemir’s talents were put to good use with negotiations and also information gathering. Overall, Lettenhove was becoming a force to be reckoned with. Crime was at an all time low, the people were happy and witchers were beginning to be treated better throughout the continent. Yet there was no sign of Geralt. Slowly, Jaskier stopped hoping.

“He’s a stubborn ass. Should have started a new school just for him,” Vesemir grumbled one evening. “School of the Mule.”

It had Jaskier snorting a halfhearted laugh but his still pined. Months went by and other regions began to take inspiration from Lettenhove, offering their own versions of protection for resident witchers. It both filled Jaskier with pride and dread because now Geralt could settle somewhere else. The continent was vast and the safe havens were cropping up thick and fast.

Whispers started up. An elusive witcher had been spotted to the north. Nobody quite knew what he looked like, yellow eyes flashed from below the deep hood of a cloak. That was ruined by reports of Lambert tackling the mysterious witcher and Eskel piling in. Vesemir only smiled as he listened to the messenger relay the happenings while Jaskier’s heart thumped hard in his chest.

“Stubborn idiot. But also a loyal wolf.”

There were only four wolves in existence and Jaskier already housed three. Which meant the fourth could only be Geralt. His hopes and dreams were brought to life by the thumping knock on the door. Opening it, Jaskier regarded Geralt coldly.

“I have come to apologise,” he said as a blonde head poked out from behind him curiously.

“Only six years late.”

“My head was stuck so far up my ass, it took this long to get free.”

As much as Jaskier wanted to hold a grudge, he was also relieved Geralt was alive and well. Even better, he had his child surprise in tow.

“You have a lot to be making up for. But come on in.”

The rest, they say, is history.

[i-was-raised-by-a-polyglot]

Chapter I – “My Horrific Darling”

I was raised by a polyglot. This gives me an imprimatur from the universe to shit-talk anyone in a language they don't understand. This habit of mine is often juxtaposed by my peers, who figured out my trick quite quickly, with my overall friendly personality. For this, they have always considered me a simulacrum of a good person. Hard as I try, all look askance at me when I pass them by. Never deeming me worthy of their care. So hoary this treatment, it has ceased to have an effect on me. To still give them much thought after all this time would be a waste, as the effort is much better spent tending to my minions.

Since my childhood, I have been fascinated with the cerebral task of creating life from the ether. My first experiment was putting salt junk, blood, hair and baking powder in the oven. I was flummoxed when it not only didn't work, but I almost burned my house. My parents misjudged my actions as both intentional and nefarious, and disowned me. This mistake weighs heavy on my conscience, an emotional leviathan I fear I will never conquer.

In the streets, I piggybacked off of a homeless shelter while I perfected my formula for minions. I schmoozed a grocery store clerk to get the ingredients. After I mixed the mushrooms, pineapple and beef in a blender, chanted some magical-sounding words at it, nothing happened, though I did wait a few hours, in case the new life was just in abeyance.

The solution to the fractious subject of life creation continued to allude me until last year. I was able to mollify my concerns that I would never get it right with the help of The Book of Alzoreth. Written by the sagacious Abraham Lincoln, this book tells many great secrets about the universe.

My first minion, my horrific darling was a creature half frog, half fog. I gave him 10,000 newspapers so that he could orientate himself on how the world works, and even allowed him to choose his own name. He chose the name "Cave" and I hated it so much I had a conclave with my colleagues to decide what to do with my creation.

I argued that he clearly had a ramshackle brain, but the others didn't couldn't understand my point of view at all. One of them, Mark, even bloviated about the "deep meaning" and "stunning poetic nature" of the name for ten hours straight. The moral turpitude of them to expect me to allow my legacy to be tarnished by some half-wit's idea to name himself after a type of hole. I had to picture the verdant fields of New Zealand just to not immediately banish them from my home.

I couldn't stand to hear about how "the simple beauty of it is unmatched" and "it harks back to humanity's humble beginnings as cave-dwellers". I called all of my "friends" every epithet in the book, and promptly left the room.

My rage was nonpareil as I went to Cave and slapped him in the face. That was the start of the long and arduous process of indoctrinating my minion into my way of thinking, as to prevent further errors in his judgment. I eventually put the kibosh on his original personality when I made him do nothing but read my autobiography repeatedly for a month.

My ad hoc thinking truly payed off, and the time to ask the question once more had finally come. When I asked about his new name, he told me, his voice trembling a bit, he wanted to be called "Paradox".

I galumphed backwards into my couch. My feelings were mercurial even to me. However, soon my emotions crystallized and I became sure that this new name had only dandered me up more.

I couldn't believe this, and after how benevolent I was.

I immediately banished "Paradox" to the dungeon, shackling his legs with fetters. But then, the most uncanny thing happened, he fought back. He sneezed inside my mouth and germs began propagating within my body. They went on a junket inside me.

Paradox commemorated by doing forty back-flips, fully utilizing the incredible genetics I had given him. His joy turned out ephemeral when I stabbed him with a pocketknife.

At the behest of his tiny mind, he stabbed me back with a knife of his own. Anger and despair melded in my brain as the fight went on. The feeling was so overwhelming that I felt as though I was outside myself and the act of blinding Paradox in self-defense seemed almost perfunctory. He decried my actions, cursing my name and biting my arm.

Now, what I am about to describe may not have a lot of fidelity to the real event, but I believe in this account whole heartily. Paradox reached into my pocket and pulled out my sumptuous, diamond-encrusted phone. He called someone and talked extensively about his vocations.

He dreamed to of becoming a government official who would have the opportunity to arrogate the power to enact Martial Law. His biggest aspiration was to acquire the scientific knowledge to create a pill that would make all feelings evanescent.

I felt like a lout listening to him. I fully understood how headlong my efforts to discipline Paradox had been. The way to do it wasn't to wound his body, but to burglarize his mind.

My panacea was now within my grasp. The walls of my Mind Palace were festooned with daydreams of the brighter days ahead. Credulous about their plausibility, I set out to make them a reality.

I started out with fake adulation. I told Paradox how obliged I felt to tell him how magnificent his knifes skills were. I spoke extensively about the way his redolent body filled my heart with joy. I promised to emancipate him from my control as soon as he turned 47. I was being quite garrulous, and was certain Paradox could tell, so I stopped abruptly.

My prescience told me Paradox was falling right into my trap. However, as soon as it became his turn to talk, he immediately started quibbling about everything in my speech. I expected him to be ingenuous towards my affection, but I couldn't have been more wrong.

He returned to chatting with his confidant on the phone. I felt as though my very soul was noisome.

All my efforts to create life, and this was what they had all culminated into? I would have been better off if I had just gotten into jingoism like my grandfather had wanted me to.

My fulsome behavior haunted me for months. My spirit was in constant duress. I thought of making amends to Paradox by scintillating him with jokes about boats and canoes, but I saw the man little during these times. He had gotten a job at NASA, and so was too busy debunking moon landing conspiracies. Apposite fate for both of us, I suppose.

One day, I spotted Paradox at the dinner hall, his belly teeming with pasta. He was truly a Yankee at heart. He seemed happy until he saw me standing across the room, he was still a cantankerous fella when it came to me.

My recidivism started to act up again, and I felt the urge to stab him with one of my 17 pocket-knifes. He must have thought me inscrutable, because he asked me: "What are you doing?".

I panicked and postulated that I was simply imagining ways in which humanity could harness the power of the Sun to create a defense system against alien threats again. "That sky behemoth is such a layabout, it's about time we made it earn its keep around here!".

Paradox changed the subject to that night's gibbous Moon. He carped about how the fact that our perception of the Moon's shape was under constant change made a lot of people think it was a hologram. What an eccentric mind he had.

Our back-and-fourth complaints about celestial bodies evolved from a duology to a trilogy, and then a saga. We validated each other's grievances with the cosmos for hours.

After a while, a comfortable silence fell, and I simply stood there, arms akimbo, enjoying the company of my creation. Undoubtedly, he still hated me, but some friendly nuance had been introduced to our relationship, and that was a start.

[heejinnien]

bts | roses chapter one

word count: 3.9k words

pairing: bts x reader

synopsis: y/n is a member of the seoul behavioral analysis unit. usually, she’s the cat in the typical game of cat and mouse played with the criminals they catch, but when a mysterious string of murders has her on edge, she discovers she’s caught the attention of one of a dangerous criminal — and he’s determined to make her pay for it.

or, not all attention is the good kind.

genre: horror, angst

warnings: yandere themes, descriptions of gore, descriptions of violence, murder, the reader carries a gun because they need to defend themself against bad guys, guns, manipulation, victim blaming, this is overall just a very dark fic

author’s note: this chapter takes place one month before the events of the prologue, and the prologue isn’t necessary to understand it. this chapter was originally 2k words before i did a deep edit. the “terms used throughout this fic” section of the masterlist was updated to include terms in this chapter. if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to shoot me an ask or dm, or just let me know your thoughts! i would be happy to explain things to you, and i would also love to hear your feedback or who you think is suspicious. as always, adhere to the warnings and do not read if any of those things trigger you.

roses masterlist

“Y/N! How have you been?”

The elevator doors open with a ding, revealing your best friend and coworker, Jungkook. He gives you a hug, squeezing you tightly. “I missed you so much, how was Busan?”

“It was great, Kook, thanks for asking.” Your lips quirk upwards as you smile at your best friend. “I’m ready to be back, though.”

“I’m ready for you to be back, too, Jimin has been insufferable with you gone. He keeps stealing my banana milk,” Jungkook whines, and you laugh, ruffling his hair playfully.

“Well, did you steal his jam? Again?”

Jungkook coughs, suddenly taking interest in the floor’s pattern, and you laugh. “I haven’t been gone that long and you’ve already managed to get yourself into trouble.”

“He started it — ”

“Y/N, Jungkook.”

Jungkook immediately ceases his accusation, and you both turn at the familiar sound of your team’s leader’s voice. Namjoon walks down the hallway towards you, air full of authority and pristine shoes echoing against the tile floor, giving you a nod in recognition. You recognize the grim set of his mouth and already know what he’s going to say.

“I’m sorry to cut the reunion short, but we have a case,” he says.

Silently, you and Jungkook follow your team’s leader to the briefing room. The rest of your team is already there — Hoseok gives you a friendly wave, Seokjin blows you a kiss, Jimin nods in your direction, Taehyung smiles, and Yoongi grunts, leaning back in his chair and looking as if he’ll fall asleep at any moment. As you and Jungkook take your seats, Namjoon turns and powers on the TV screen mounted in the room, pulling up an array of photographs. Three unfamiliar faces are positioned at the top of the screen, and photographs of the crime scene and what you assume are their bodies are displayed below.

“This is Soojin, Miyeon, and Soodam. Over the past month, Incheon police have been finding their bodies scattered in alleys cutting through the city. Soodam is the most recent victim and was found this morning, and that’s when the police contacted us. Yoongi has sent further details about the crime scenes to your tablets.”

You reach down for your bag, pulling out a thin, black device. Around you, your teammates do the same, and you power the device on, quickly bypassing the standard security protocol and pulling up the recent photographs. Instantly, the photographs of the crime scene make you reel back in a mixture of surprise and disgust. Although you are by now a decorated agent, the sheer brutality of each murder catches you off guard.

Stab wounds and lacerations cover each victim. Blood mats each victim’s skin, making their features almost unrecognizable, and a jagged, gaping incision at the neck immediately draws your attention. Each victim’s skin is ashy and waxen, and copious amounts of blood are spattered throughout each crime scene. Beside you, Yoongi, never one for gore, looks as sick as you feel.

“The coroner said that the cause of death for each victim was exsanguination,” Jimin says, reading the forensic report off his tablet. You quickly switch to that file, scanning through the official document.

“This definitely looks like overkill,” Jungkook adds, and his face is so calm and composed it is as if you are discussing the appearance of a floral arrangement. Looking around the table, the rest of your teammates’ faces are also indifferent. You suppose that’s what happens when you’ve seen as much as you have, but the sheer brutality of this crime still makes you uneasy.

“It says the unsub has been leaving behind white roses at each crime site,” Jin, passively swiping through the crime scene photographs. “They look staged, each victim was posed so that they’re holding the rose.”

“White roses typically symbolize innocence and purity, while red ones symbolize love.” Taehyung ruminates. “Maybe the killer is trying to make some sort of point about his victims?”

“Like they’re cheaters?” You suggest. “This could have a double meaning, maybe he sees them as tainted or impure.”

“Whatever it is, it’s clear he has a preference.” Hoseok waves his hand idly. “Each of the victims had black hair and brown eyes.”

Namjoon nods at each member’s point, face thoughtful. “When we get there, we should break up into smaller units and examine each part of the profile. Y/N and Jungkook, head to the crime scene. The leading detective on the case will meet you there, see if he can tell you anything else. Taehyung, begin a geological profile, Hoseok and Jimin begin the unsub’s profile, and Jin and I will begin victimology. Yoongi, start checking into each victim’s lives, we need to see if they had any overlap or somehow knew each other at all.”

You and your teammates nod at your assignments, standing and gathering your things. Yoongi gives everyone a lazy smile before slipping out the door, heading back to his computer lab.

Namjoon continues. “The unsub will strike again soon so the Incheon police need us down there now. It’s a half-hour drive down there, so wheels up in twenty minutes.”

“Detective Jaehyun.”

You and Jungkook slam the doors of your car shut, gravel crunching underfoot as you greet the Incheon police’s head detective. You give him a courteous smile, you and Jungkook both giving his hand a quick, firm handshake.

“Pleasure to meet you, although I wish I could say it was under better circumstances.” You jerk your head in the direction of the alley. “What can you tell us about this victim?”

“Agent Y/N, Agent Jungkook.” Jaehyun nods at both of you before waving an arm in the direction of the crime scene. “A random passerby stumbled upon the body this morning.”

“What were they doing in this alley? It’s pretty remote,” Jungkook asks, boredly appraising the empty lot around you that the alley leads from. “You said they were coming from this direction, too, right?”

“The other end opens up along a busy shopping street, and if traffic is busy sometimes people will park here and use the alley to get there.”

“Are there any cameras?”

“Here? Unfortunately not.” Jaehyun’s face is grim. “We’ve been asking the city for months to get them repaired, but with everything happening an old parking lot isn’t on their priority list. They would rather keep making the main city look more modern and impressive because that’s where all the tourists go.”

You hum, noncommittal. You step in the direction of the alley, soaking in every detail of the scene. Although you saw photographs of it, you still don’t ever think you could ever be truly ready for the gravity of it to sink upon you.

Blood coats the walls like a mural, pools on the ground like a shimmering mirror. The blood staining the concrete and brick is dark, while the liquid pooled on the ground still appears bright, fresh.

“This is a lot of blood.” You observe dryly.

“Yes, well,” Jaehyun purses his lips. “Recent lab results show that most of the blood doesn’t actually belong to the victim.”

You pause, head snapping up to look at the detective. “That wasn’t in the report.”

Jaehyun swallows dryly. “We didn’t think to check for it in our first few victims.”

“Did you not run toxicology on them?” Jungkook asks, voice hard, and if possible Jaehyun looks nervous.

“We didn’t think to; the cause of death was obvious.”

Jungkook exhales, closing his eyes for one beat, two, and then opens them, fixing Jaehyun with a look that could send him two feet under. “The report you gave us said that there was a one week window between when each of the victim’s was reported missing and when they were found. That means they were most likely kidnapped and subdued during that time. There are abrasion marks on their wrists and ankles from when they were held captive, but no blunt force trauma to the head, which rules out the unsub launching a surprise attack on them when capturing them. Did you not think to investigate how they were taken?”

Jaehyun stutters, unintelligible, and Jungkook scoffs. Glancing at Jungkook, you speak to the detective, voice soft.

“It doesn’t matter now. What kind of additional blood was found?”

Jaehyun’s eyes flicker between you and Jungkook, and he swallows hard. “We aren't sure, but the coroner narrowed it down to animal’s blood. He thinks it might be lambs.”

You silently exchange glances with Jungkook, recognizing the familiar furrow of his brows that signals he’s deep in thought. “What are you thinking?”

“Well, the killer definitely knew their way around the streets here,” Jungkook theorizes. “The use of lamb’s blood was probably to add to the terror of whoever finds the body.”

You nod in agreement. “This is a city, so there aren’t many farms or areas to house animals here. So if the animals aren’t alive, then they’re probably dead and the next likely answer would be a butcher. We should ask Yoongi to see if any butchers or any businesses who deal with animals, alive or dead, reported anything suspicious.”

Jungkook nods and steps out of the alley, pulling out his phone. You watch him go for a moment before refocusing your attention on the alley.

“Um, Agent Y/N.”

Jaehyun shifts from foot to foot beside you, looking as though he’ll vomit. When he speaks again, it’s as if the words pain him. “There’s something else we didn’t mention.”

You allow a beat of silence to pass before raising an eyebrow, waiting for Jaehyun to continue. He clears his throat, once, twice, before continuing.

“We found a note next to the latest victim, along with the rose.” Jaehyun wordlessly pulls out his phone, seeming to struggle under your scrutinizing gaze as he searches for something before he holds the device out to you.

Displayed on it is a picture of the bloody rose that you had seen in official crime scene photos, a pair of hands wrapped around the stem. You recognize the photograph from the report sent to you, and you open your mouth to ask Jaehyun about it when you spot a small piece of cream-coloured stock, poking out of the hand.

Your eyes flicker up to Jaehyun. “Why didn’t you include this?”

Jaehyun shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know if you know much about us, but we’re a small force policing a huge city. If word of this got out, there would be panic — much more than there already is.”

“Lives are at stake here, Detective,” you say, voice firm but not unkindly. “You can’t play around with that.”

“I know,” Jaehyun says quickly, before sighing. “Listen, Agent. Both of our jobs are to keep the people safe. You may not agree with me or my decision, but this was the right call.”

You stare at Jaehyun wordlessly, scanning Jaehyun’s face to see if you can detect anything that will tell you what to say next when you hear a crunch of gravel and look to see your best friend approach. He scarcely saves Jaehyun a glance, focusing instead on you.

“Namjoon wants us back at the station,” he says. “The rest of the team is going to share their profiles with us.”

You nod, glancing at Jaehyun briefly before heading in the direction of your car. As you turn, you spot Jungkook staring at Jaehyun, expression unreadable, and then they are both out of your sight. You open the car door, sliding into the SUV’s passenger seat and waiting as Jungkook walks around the front of the vehicle, slipping into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t trust him,” he says simply, staring out the dash as you fasten your seatbelt and he starts the car.

“Jaehyun?”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything else, humming as he pulls out of the parking lot. The tune is eerily beautiful, and it sends chills down your spine as Jungkook pulls onto the main avenue.

“That tune is beautiful,” you confess.

From his profile, you see Jungkook smile boyishly. “Thanks, I picked it up from Jimin while you were gone.”

“What song is it?”

Jungkook’s smile vanishes. “I don’t know, he never told me.”

For some reason, an uneasy air settles over the car. You wrack your brain, trying to figure out if it’s something you said, when Jungkook laughs and the tension dissipates.

“Do you remember that time you got a pair of chopsticks stuck up your nose?”

You let out a string of expletives as Jungkook laughs, the sound light and cheery, and Jungkook’s suspicious behavior is pushed to the back of your mind, already forgotten, as you two trade sarcastic comments.

With the conversation flowing smoothly, it doesn’t take long for you to arrive at the Incheon police station. You quickly hop out of the car, a sharp wind that wasn’t present earlier biting at your exposed flesh. A shiver wracks its way down your spine as you hurry to the station’s entrance, pushing open the doors, Jungkook close behind you.

Inside, Taehyung is the first to greet you, standing near a desk and flashing you a smile as he jerks his head in the direction of the back of the station. “Namjoon and the rest are in the back, I’m just picking up some files from the detectives here.”

Jungkook nods, heading in the direction Taehyung indicated and you move to follow him when Taehyung’s hand shoots out and grabs your wrist, grip gentle but firm.

“I need to talk to you.”

He glances over his shoulder and then tugs you after him, scarcely giving you time to follow his words and react.

“What is it, Taehyung?” You ask as he drags you down an empty hallway. He stays quiet, stopping outside of a door labelled “break room” and pushing it open. It’s deserted, the door swinging shut with a soft click behind you, and Taehyung turns to you, expression is inscrutable.

He opens his mouth, speaking so quickly in a low, furtive tone you strain to follow along with what he says. “I was doing some research into each of the victims. Before she went missing, Soojin had red hair, and Miyeon had brown. I couldn’t find anything on Soodam, but…”

“You’re assuming her hair was dyed, too?” You presume.

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t you telling the rest of the team this?” You grab Taehyung’s wrist gently. “And I thought you were doing the geological profile.”

“Why are you telling me this now?” You ask gently, recognizing the fervent, determined glint in Taehyung’s eyes.

“I am, I mean, I was. I was going to, I just…” Taehyung groans and runs a hand through his hair. “I was, but something about the victims was nagging me so I called Yoongi to see what he had.”

Taehyung fixes you with an unimpressed look. “You know why, Y/N. Don’t tell me you didn’t think about it earlier.”

You swallow, remaining pointedly silent. You had thought about the similarities between you and the victims earlier, but had pushed it aside as your paranoia, a hazard of your occupation.

“Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?” Taehyung pleads, voice soft.

“I will be,” you promise. “We’ll catch this guy, don’t worry.”

Taehyung smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you can’t erase the sinking feeling in your gut.

“Detective Jaehyun, I just saw you a few hours ago.”

You release a pair of gloves, feeling the latex snap against your skin and give the Incheon detective a wry smile, flashes of blue and red lights illuminating his face. You and Jimin stand at the entrance of another alley, the lights of the police cars responding to the scene and flashlights from the other officers providing you your only source of luminance. “Who’s the latest victim?”

“Kim Jisoo,” Jaehyun says, holding up the police tape for you to enter the crime scene. You do so, Jimin following close behind you. “She was found by Kim Jennie, her roommate. She said she had just seen Jisoo this morning, and they often cut through this alley to get back to their apartment.”

You crouch by Jisoo’s body, nose wrinkling at the combination of death and copper that pervades your nostrils. Out of the corner of your eye you see Jimin cringe at the sight, and you can’t help but agree. Somehow, it looks more visceral, more horrifying in person.

Like the other victims, multiple stab wounds litter Jisoo’s body. Blood matts her hair and clothing, and a gaping, visceral hole is torn in her neck. Her hands are positioned so that they are resting on her stomach, a single rose clutched in between them. Your eyes seek out any hints of cream, but you find none and your eyes flicker up to Jaehyun.

He opens his mouth, hesitating. Ultimately he decides against whatever he was going to say next, staring at you wide eyed, and you gather the meaning perfectly well. There was also another note. You purse your lips, annoyance rippling through you.

Jimin reaches for the flower, gently tugging it from Jisoo’s grasp. “The flower is freshly cut,” he says, prodding carefully at one of the petals. “I’ll have the lab run the blood who or what it belongs to.”

“Most of the wounds on her body aren’t as deep as the previous victim’s.” You gesture to the victims’ body. “Maybe because she wasn’t kept as long as the others and the unsub couldn’t take his time.”

“That means the unsub is speeding up his attacks and most likely devolving,” Jimin says grimly.

“I’m willing to bet the victim was killed in this alley, the time frame was too short for the unsub to abduct her, transport her to wherever he kept the other victims, and dump the body.” You chew on your lip in thought. “Detective, are there any cameras nearby?”

“There are cameras positioned on the main street, but with the way they’re positioned none of them capture the alley’s entrance,” Jaehyun responds, grimacing.

“How many alleys aren’t covered by camera surveillance?” Jimin asks, handing the rose to a nearby officer to place in an evidence bag and standing, peeling off his gloves.

“I don’t know for sure, but I would say about fifty or so.”

Jimin swears, and Jaehyun flinches at the sound. “That’s fifty places the unsub could be heading next. This city is ripe with potential victims, too.”

“We should head back and let the rest of the team know,” you suggest to Jimin. He nods, and together you walk out of the alley. You pause by the entrance. “I’m going to get a ride back with Detective Jaehyun, there’s something I need to talk to him about.”

Jimin nods, unquestioning, and slips silently into the car. You stand, watching him drive away before turning to the detective. His appearance is ashen in the light, and you give him a dry smile.

“Well, Detective? Shall we?”

He nods stiffly, slipping into the police cruiser. You slide into the passenger seat as Jaehyun turns the key in the ignition, the car rumbling to life beneath you.

You waste no time, and as Jaehyun backs the car out you ask, “What did the notes say?”

“Agent Y/N — ”

“Listen,” you say forcefully, cutting the Incheon detective off. “I don’t agree with your reasoning, but I’m not going to fight you on it. But I need to know what those notes say.”

Jaehyun is silent. Finally, he sighs, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and, briefly pressing his finger against it, tossing you his phone with the other. “It’s in the gallery.”

You pull up the app, ready to chastise Jaehyun about why he has official evidence from a crime scene on his personal phone when you spot them.

It’s a basic photo, the cream paper the focus of the frame and resting on a desk, words typed on it in black ink. You swipe through them, quickly scanning the paper’s contents until you reach the most recent one. This photograph is different, blurry and dark, and you can tell it was taken at the crime scene you left moments ago.

“Do you see why I kept them hidden?” Jaehyun asks when you wordlessly hand his phone back to him.

“Let’s just say,” you begin, pausing to consider your words. “For your sake, I hope that your actions aren’t to blame for anymore deaths, Detective.”

You sit cross-legged on your hotel bed, idly scanning through case files and eating a carton of take-out jjangmyeon. Even though Incheon is not far from your residence in Seoul, Namjoon had still decided that the team would stay in a local hotel; in case anything happens, you can respond quickly.

Taehyung had shared his discovery about the victim’s hair with the team earlier, and you would have been blind to notice the glances that flickered between your teammates and the photographs of the victims and yourself. Luckily, Namjoon had chosen not to comment on it, instead instructing you all to focus on the results of your team’s earlier profiling.

Hoseok and Jimin reported their profile of the unsub (“upper twenties to early thirties, male”). Jin reported that he hadn’t found any overlap between the victims’ lives, and you and Jungkook reported what Jaehyun had told you about the animal blood. You had chewed on your lip earlier, unsure whether or not to tell your leader about the notes. Fortunately or unfortunately for you, that’s when Namjoon had received the call about the latest body, sending you and Jimin to check out the crime scene before you could say anything.

You pick up a photograph of Kim Jisoo, your latest victim. It is a recent picture of her and a group of her friends, given to the police by her roommate to help with the positive ID. In the picture, both are wearing a pleated uniform and holding up diplomas. Your heart wrenches as you realize that she was a recent college graduate and now will never have a chance to pursue her dreams. Another life cut short, just like that.

A heavy knock on your hotel room door causes you to jump, your hand knocking your noodle container aside. You curse, quickly scrambling for the napkins on the bedside table.

“One moment!” You say loudly, hoping whoever is knocking can hear you. You swear under your breath as you throw the napkins on your bedspread, moving aside the case files that were luckily spared and pressing down on them, hoping that can remove the dark stain that formed from the oily noodles. After a few frantic presses and a few noodles thrown off the bed, you rush to the door, hurrying to unlock it.

“Who is it?” You ask, sliding the lock open and pulling open the heavy door.

You are greeted with silence. The hallway is empty.

You frown, scanning the empty corridors for any sign of life but tacky, floral wallpaper is the only thing that greets you.

You glance down at the disjointed striped carpet and see a blank white envelope. Glancing down the hallway once more, you pick it up, retreating into your room and shutting the door behind you. You reach for your phone, tempted to text Jungkook about it, but you stop before you can press the call button, assuring yourself it is nothing. You plop in your desk chair, tearing the side and running your finger along the top of the envelope.

Peering inside, you are greeted with a plain piece of cream colored cardstock. Realization dawns on you and the stench of copper and rose wafts out of the letter as an image of Jaehyun’s phone flashes in front of your eyes.

You scream.

send me an or dm if you would like to be added or removed from the taglist!

taglist: @kassrole ​, @hoebii ​, @biaswreckme ​, @taegularities ​, @moccahobi ​, @scarlet2007 ​, @deepdarkdelights ​, @birbdae , @mieohmy ​, @samros95 ​

[luxekook]

chapter two.

⇥ pairing: namjoon x reader; eventual bts/ot7 x reader

⇥ genre: college au with fluff, smut & angst

⇥ summary: a series in which the reader meets (and falls for) seven members of the Beta Tau Sigma (BTS) fraternity

⇥ word count: 2.3k

⇥ warnings: 18+, cursing, chaotic namjoon, power tools, hints of poly relationships, overall pretty smut free (who AM i???)

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

characters | prologue | one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine

Chapter Two

Habitat for Humanity Worksite – 9:26am

When I signed up to volunteer Saturday morning of syllabus week, I should have known I would end up regretting it. I almost punted my alarm clock out of the apartment window this morning, but instead settled a slightly more civil action – punching the shit out of the ‘off’ button.

Don’t get me wrong: I love volunteering. It’s been part of my routine since sophomore year when I was recruited for the all-women’s service society on campus – the Alphites. As a society, us Alphites volunteer around campus and in our local community each week. There’s something about doing service together that really creates bonds, and the girls in the society have quickly become some of my closest friends.

We sign up to volunteer for a variety of different service projects each week, and Habitat is my current favorite project to sign up for. As a nonprofit organization, Habitat for Humanity helps families build and improve places to call home. Currently, our regional Habitat is working on building a house from the ground up for a local family in need.

Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form a very ‘handy’ person. Luckily for me, there are always a couple volunteers with construction or engineering backgrounds who are willing to teach other volunteers with less experience – or none, like me.

Since beginning to volunteer at the site last year, I have learned how to use a power saw, how to fasten siding, and how to mix, pour and level cement. It’s definitely empowering to learn new skills and also to see how my handiwork contributes to someone’s future home. I also feel lowkey badass when I get to use the power drill for anything.

Pulling up to the worksite, I clutch my cherished 24oz. Wawa coffee. I finally feel somewhat human as I park my beat-up Jeep Wrangler and hop out to meet the other volunteers for our task assignments.

The site leader Eddie – a burly retiree with a background in construction management – greets me with a huge grin, “(y/n)-doll, we missed you this summer! I can’t believe you abandoned us during the hottest months of the year.”

I roll my eyes, smiling at his teasing. Eddie’s like a teddy bear disguised as a grizzly – all rough edges and a heart of gold. “Missed you, too, Eddie.”

“Look at our progress now,” he continues, “Pretty impressive, yeah?” Nodding, I greet some regular volunteers I recognize as Eddie leads me around the house. He proceeds to show me what they had done over the summer in my absence – and they had done a lot. The house now had its full foundation and wooden framing with most of the doors and windows installed.

As we walk back to the front of the house to the main area, I sip my coffee and turn to Eddie, “So, what can I work on today, fearless leader?”

Letting out a patented ‘Eddie belly-laugh’, he replies, “I know you worked on the siding at our last site so I'm gonna have you work on where we started the siding on the right side of the house.”

Sweet, I could work with that. “Aye, aye, captain,” I respond with a lazy salute of my coffee cup. Before I can turn to start towards the scaffolding to begin, Eddie stops me.

“Oh, one more thing. I’m gonna need you to orient our new volunteer and let him shadow you today. Kid’s from the same school as you, I think… Mandatory service. Anyway, he should be here any minute.”

Shit, I know what ‘mandatory service’ means. It’s the first form of disciplinary action that the college issues and is usually the only form of disciplinary action for our athletes or for Greek life – a fact I actively resent. During my time in the Alphites, I have had to deal with some of these ‘mandatory service’ characters and they’ve never been much fun to be around.

“Ah, that’s probably him now,” Eddie startles me out of my thoughts of dread and doom as a black gleaming Tesla practically purrs down the block, swinging into the spot next to my Wrangler. Scowling, I cross my arms as I survey the stark contrast between this person’s shiny-ass luxury car and my dirty-ass well-loved Jeep.

The Tesla door opens. A Timberland booted foot emerges followed by a thick leg encased in light jeans, a tanned well-muscled arm…

No. Nope, it couldn’t be— Please, not today, Satan.

He stands with his back to us now, stretching out his large body. In only a cutoff t-shirt, his rippling back muscles might be enough to send me into an early grave.

I sigh in bitter defeat of the inevitable. Seriously, the fucking universe must have it out for me because I can’t seem to shake this stupid fucking fraternity.

As if the boy feels my eyes on him, he turns. His eyes immediately clash with mine as he slams his car door, clicking the lock over his shoulder. Those eyes – golden brown beneath dark brows and a wave of bleached blonde hair. Their focus is absolute – hard – as he strolls towards us. It’s almost as if he knows the maddening effect that he has on me.

I think Eddie is speaking, but my senses are on lockdown, his words muted. My thighs tighten as my pulse picks up. Get a fucking grip, (y/n). I can’t let him know that just one look from him has me thirsty and oxygen-deprived. I can’t look away – that would be succumbing to weakness.

Instead, I hold his heated gaze as best I can as his confident gait brings him closer. God, he’s got to be at least 6 foot...

The goddamn president of BTS Kim Namjoon is getting closer and I can’t help running my eyes over him.

His thighs flex and shift beneath his jeans with every calculated step. His abs are apparent under his tight cutoff shirt emblazoned with his fraternity letters.

Namjoon stops in front of us, hands stuffed into his back pockets, biceps flexing. “Nice to finally meet you, Eddie,” Namjoon takes his eyes off me long enough to greet Eddie and shake his hand, but then they’re right back on me, “Hi, (y/n).”

He drags out my name in a such a sinful way that even old Eddie does a slight doubletake. Clearing his throat unnecessarily loudly, Eddie booms, “You two know each other?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Our differing replies sound at the same time.

“Yes,” Namjoon repeats, lips turning up in an infuriating smile, “We have several mutual friends that she’s met a couple times now. Want me to jog your memory? I’d be more than happy to do so.”

Eddie takes one look at my face and hustles off, mumbling something about support beams. I guess my inner thoughts of ‘kill, maim, slaughter’ could easily be read from my facial expression.

Namjoon opens his mouth to speak again, but I’m faster, “Listen, Kim, I don’t know who you think you are, and, quite frankly, I don’t care. What I do care about is this house and these people working on it. Don’t fuck this up for me, okay? Let’s just get through today and then you can go back to ordering around your brothers and causing general mayhem.”

I’m feeling pretty proud of my little soliloquy until I realize he’s still smiling with those blasted dimples out in full display. No, his smile has grown even wider now as he simply answers, “The semester.”

My nose crinkles in confusion, “What?”

“The semester,” he repeats, “I’m assigned here every Saturday for the rest of the semester.”

I stare at him.

He smirks back.

I stare.

His smirk begins to fade, “Uh, did you hear me?”

I stare.

“Okay, you’re creeping me out now, (y/n),” Namjoon waves his giant paw of a hand in front of my face, “How many fingers?”

I break out of my trance of denial and hiss, “What did you do? Double homicide? Serial arson? Oh my god, you were the one who blew up the science lab!”

His hand covers my mouth – it’s rough and warm and entirely disarming.

“You have quite the imagination, jagi. I’ll keep that in mind,” Namjoon chuckles, “To answer your question, I did none of the above. Now, answer a couple questions of mine: what did you do to get here and – more importantly – why did you distract Jungkook from doing his fucking job on Monday?”

I glare in response, waiting for him to remove his hand from my mouth. He takes too long, and I lick his palm. It works. He removes his hand, but from the look on his face it seems like he liked my tongue on his skin entirely too much.

Thankfully, Eddie chooses the perfect moment to yell across the site, “What are you doing just standing there, (y/n)-doll? I don’t pay you to just loiter around all day!”

“You don’t pay me at all!” I yell back, already moving towards the trailer with all the supplies to get started. Namjoon follows.

“(y/n)-doll?” his eyebrows are raised as I hand him a pair of the biggest gloves I could find, “What’s up with that?”

Taking a pair of smaller gloves for myself, I turn to look for some hammers and nails as I respond, “I’ve been here a while. He’s like my honorary grandfather at this point.”

I spot the hammers and nails tucked away on the highest corner shelf and I huff. Namjoon follows my gaze, “Need a strong, intelligent, tall young man to grab those for you?”

He’s impossible, but for some reason it draws a small smile to my face, “Yes, that’d be great.”

The smile I receive in response is so bright I wonder if it could make flowers grow, “Okay, but only if answer my questions, (y/n).”

I shrug, trying not to notice how his cutoff shirt rises as he stretches to reach the upper shelf. I catch a sudden glimpse of his abs, and I praise every god out there that hot weather can be blamed for my sudden onset of sweat. 

Clearing my throat, I laugh lightly, “Fine, first of all, I didn’t ‘distract’ Jeon. I just had a temporary lapse in judgement. Besides, he came to me all on his own.” His back muscles tense up at my words, but I continue, “And second of all, there’s no juicy story of how I got here. I just volunteer here every Saturday for the Alphites.”

The sound of a hammer hitting the floor startles me as he whirls around, “You’re an Alphite?”

Namjoon’s tone is one of disbelief and it’s a tone I do not appreciate, “Yes, why is that so hard to believe?” My arms cross defensively, “I’ve been a sister since my sophomore year...”

I trail off. He’s still gawking at me ridiculously. Narrowing my eyes, I stride across the trailer and grab his chin, closing his mouth for him, “Watch out, Kim, you’re gonna catch flies.”

Spinning on my heels, I sashay out of the trailer, nose held high in the air and satisfaction held even higher. He’ll catch up. After all, he’s basically supposed to be my bitch today.

I climb up the scaffolding next to the house’s right side and assess the siding work that has already been started. It looks pretty solid and level. I should have no issue with continuing without having to make any initial corrections.

The sound of a bucket of nails hitting the top platform I’m sitting on alerts me of Namjoon’s impending presence. Saving the bucket from teetering over the edge – a safety hazard for sure – I watch amusedly as Namjoon struggles stay upright and climb up to where I am on the scaffolding. Finally, he plops down next to me – entirely too close. I can feel his stare on my skin as I steadfastly ignore him.

“Hey, jagi,” he pokes my arm, “(y/n), listen, you just caught me off guard. I mean, you don’t seem like the type to be an Alphite – that’s all.”

Fury curls up inside me for the umpteenth time that morning, as I turn to face Namjoon with a sickly-sweet smile that has him flinching back, “Then do tell, Namjoon, what type I seem to be?”

I pick up the hammer closest to me and dip a hand into the nail bucket. The sooner this siding got done, the sooner I could haul ass out of here.

“I feel like that’s a trick question,” Namjoon sighs, rubbing a hand over his chin, “I didn’t mean anything bad by it, okay? I guess I just have always thought that your society was a bunch of mom-types—”

I cut him off with a swing of my hammer in the air, “What’s wrong with mom-types, you uncultured swine? And is serving your community really such a ‘mom’ thing to do? I’m sorry. I must have missed that memo. Here I was thinking that it was public service but go off I guess.”

He blinks, “Did you just call me an ‘uncultured swine’?”

I sniff in indignation, “Get with the times, Kim. I just roasted your ass. Now hand me that piece of siding and make yourself useful.”

“You’re so weird,” Namjoon mutters, sliding my request over to me.

“So what?” I shrug, “All the best people are weird. Now, do me a solid and explain to me why you and your ‘brothers’ keep suspiciously popping up everywhere I go.”

“Haven’t you figured it out yet?” he grins, “We’re interested.”

“What does that even mean? That you’re interested?” I wrack my brain, “As in all seven of you fuckers?”

“It means, jagi,” Namjoon pauses, leaning closer, “It means that we’re going to date the shit out of you.”

a/n: i love namjoon. that is all. 

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