#the humble outsider who came in and nailed it

[elsie-talisman]

she’s going to be in the movie… im taking this as confirmation

[homosexualmorelikehomiesexual]

god i fucking love venetia and i wish ppl would talk abt her more

like. the way her response to everything is to watch and laugh. everything her utterly ridiculous family does. because she *sees* it. watching oliver listen in on elspeth gossiping about him, *laughing* as he tries to find an in, laughing because hes doing exactly what she does: *observe*. walking in just as elpseth starts talking about pamelas husband bc she knows her mother thinks shes a whore and doesnt want her to hear about available older men. the box blonde hair with the roots showing and still-dark eyebrows, unlike elspeths perfect dye job. the lived in black nail polish. a discarded toy with chipped paint, a shiny thing. the sequins and glitter on every outfit, looking more like Poor Dear Pamela than a catton. the way she sees pamela be humiliated for not knowing who shelley is, so she tells her a little bit about him. except its fake. a ghost story. but felix and elspeth get chills bc they think its real. the way she may notve felt threatened by oliver from the start, because she wasnt in danger yet, but she was figuring it out. when he came outside in less clothes than her and then made a show of offering her a blanket, playing humble, then making a performance of being cold, playing foolish and charming. the air quotes in her voice when she calls oliver "real" because she can see that hes not. hes faking the way rich people fake being real and down to earth, just like she does. except he does it better than her and better than last years one. a seethrough night dress, knowing oliver would see, but genuinely blindsided by the presumptuous attempt at domination. because suddenly the tactic has switched. hes not weak pretending to be powerful pretending to be weak. now hes powerful, pretending to be weak, pretending to be powerful. playing along to see where he'll go with it, and laughing when he switches tactics again. youve got a little something there. playing humbe again. i see. so you didnt really notice, someone mustve told you. playing along with it again at the table, laughing bc shes just toying with him. glancing at farleigh when she talks about the henries, bc she knows he knows. discarding oliver then immediately sitting in felix's lap. lying on a beach towel with the lesbian flag colors. at the party dressed in sequins talking to an older man. pouring an entire wine bottle out at the table. watching oliver at the funeral and it finally clicking, not for the first time, just everything slotting into place. stranger fucking danger.

the girl who was never trying to seduce oliver, just watching. watching him realize how the family works. watching the moon, because we're all about to lose our minds. the girl who knows her families game, and choses to just watch, her very presence showing their hand at every turn.

the girl who just went to have a look at the moon.

[outofangband]

Another Morwen ramble…more in my houseless for exiles tag

I just wanted to say I think so much about Morwen’s bitterness and grief with regards to her finally leaving Hithlum.

She’s not prospering in Hithlum obviously. She’s been persecuted as a witch when she’s never felt more powerless. She is forced to receive food from sources originally stolen from her and her husband’s people by her friend who is beaten for helping her. She and her daughter are often starving and, even though she works tirelessly, we know the house itself is falling apart

But it’s also her home, she doesn’t want to be driven out and more than that, it’s the home she’s fought tooth and nail to make for herself since she came to Hithlum as a refugee. I do not think that settling there was easy for her. At the time of Húrin leaving for the Nírnaeth, she has worked over a decade to make this her home in whatever ways she can (and I think it never on all levels feels like her true home not least because she is always always acutely aware of how quickly things can change)

And of course she doesn’t want to accept Melian and Thingol’s help more than she has. We know it was already difficult for her to ask for protection for her son from them. She did not wish to be the guest of anyone, especially when being a guest meant being completely reliant on her hosts for food, clothing and other goods and needs as well as nearly shelter

I know I’ve rambled about this a lot but this enmeshing of Morwen’s pride and trauma is just so so fascinating to me especially with how it connects with her sense of culture and belonging and how it makes her both never feel completely at home in Hithlum or among Húrin’s people but also unwilling to leave. Morwen’s pride is so much more than how she appears to others or speaks to them or doesn’t though again it is also that. It’s interwoven with her knowledge that she is among the last of her people and all of her grief and exile

Morwen is never explicitly described as self-sufficient, but I think it can be inferred from how she works tirelessly to keep the house in order after Húrin leaves and how she survives for so long in the wild after the attack by Glaurung. She does not like to be reliant on others. I always read this as something very visceral. It’s not only that it nettles her pride, though it very much does do that, but it evokes a profound sense of unease and discomfort.

Moreover, so she was willing that her son should be fostered in the holes of another after the manner of a time she would not humble her pride to be an alms guest, not even of a king

This echoes the words of the previous page; alms were bitter to Morwen but she took this aid for the sake of Túrin and her unborn child, and because as she said it came of her own 

Morwen is willing, though displeased, to accept help for the sake of her children but not strictly herself.

I imagine that when Morwen first came to Hithlum she was indeed treated as an alms guest, for better and for worse. Perhaps even now she is viewed that way by those who still see her as an outsider and she is acutely aware of this.

(I know I’ve mentioned this on previous posts and got into my reasoning then, but I do not think that she felt accepted when she stayed in Brethil as a child and this weaves another thread, in tangling, her pride and grief, and trauma all relating to her feelings about being a guest and an outsider in places )

Anyways. I just love Morwen so much. I have a follow up to this about how textual descriptions of her pride mirror textual descriptions of her grief.

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

September 4th

Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked in on him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to be. He was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of his capture by making nail-marks on the edge of the door between the ridges of padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his bad conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back to his own room and to have his note-book again. I thought it well to humour him: so he is back in his room with the window open. He has the sugar of his tea spread out on the window-sill, and is reaping quite a harvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting them into a box, as of old, and is already examining the corners of his room to find a spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past few days, for any clue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me; but he would not rise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and said in a sort of far-away voice, as though saying it rather to himself than to me:—

"All over! all over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now unless I do it for myself!" Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, he said: "Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let me have a little more sugar? I think it would be good for me."

"And the flies?" I said.

"Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies; therefore I like it." And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen do not argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy a man as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom his mind.

Have I mentioned I love Renfield.

It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all.

This sounds a lot like what Jonathan would say about Castle Dracula… Someone is about to get trapped in their own prison aren’t they…

I reached him just as the sun was going down, and from his window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he became less and less frenzied; and just as it dipped he slid from the hands that held him, an inert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful, however, what intellectual recuperative power lunatics have, for within a few minutes he stood up quite calmly and looked around him. I signalled to the attendants not to hold him, for I was anxious to see what he would do. He went straight over to the window and brushed out the crumbs of sugar; then he took his fly-box, and emptied it outside, and threw away the box; then he shut the window, and crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised me, so I asked him: "Are you not going to keep flies any more?"

"No," said he; "I am sick of all that rubbish!"

HAVE I MENTIONED I FUCKING LOVE RENFIELD

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[yeahimwiththeband]

—> with the band chapter 22

i want it back

warning: fighting! nostalgia! trying to keep plants alive in winter!

A/N: closer and closer?

word count: 2.8k (why are all my chapters 2.8k now??)

Izzy slipped into her bedroom, leaving Olivia try to salvage her track from their disastrous afternoon at Ryan’s studio.

Izzy opened her laptop, and knowing it was a bad idea, typed Harry’s name into her search bar. Videos of that thing with the ambulance came up: the night he left Izzy in the arena, Harry had evidently gotten into some sort of fight and was hauled away, one eye swollen shut, his phone flying into the air.

Izzy scrolled and scrolled, feeling her anxiety rising. Related videos showed Lydia and George fighting on a sidewalk outside a restaurant at night, lit up by flashbulbs, Dave Nolsevic behind them, barely able to stand, fan videos of Harry from the beginning of the tour, footage of Jess digging her nails into Harry’s arms on red carpets. Izzy slowed to a stop at a new channel, titled simply HS, with only a few thousand followers. It was brand new, created two weeks ago, and had just one video: a single shot of Harry singing from what looked like an apartment, brick wall background, Untitled.

It seemed to Izzy as if it were uploaded without his permission (and definitely without Ryan’s)—or maybe it was just really old. But it looked sharp. She hit play, and it couldn’t have been more than a few days old. Outside a window in the corner of the shot, Izzy spotted a palm tree and what looked like LA. The frame jiggled a bit, and then Harry shuffled into it and sat down on a stool in its centre, like he had set up the video himself. He wore only a t-shirt an jeans, same old leather jacket.

“Taking myself back to music school,” he said, eyes flicking briefly to the camera. The audio had a bit of static; it was genuinely shot on his phone, not the “shot on a phone look” Ryan had tried to conjure up a few times unsuccessfully. Who was this humble person on camera, without his stage makeup? Izzy had met him only once or twice on tour.

Izzy leaned in and turned the music up.

“Learning some classics. So maybe I can start writing again.”

He strummed, hitting an off note.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. His cheeks flushed a bit.

Harry started again, and Izzy recognized the chords right away. F, A minor, G, D minor. Harry started singing softly, voice cracking a bit. That voice.

Kiss me hard before you go, summertime sadness.

Izzy inhaled sharply.

I thought you weren’t a cover band, Harry.

...

Lydia felt like she could breathe.

It was a SUnday morning in January, a Sunday morning without a Saturday night hangover. George was not crumpled in a corner of their place mourning bad lyrics or marooned in bed groaning about a headache, or still out. He was in the kitchen with her, making a cup of coffee. At 11 AM. AM!

He, Jess, Tara, and Lisa had stayed late at Jess’s apartment the night before, smoking until late - but he hadn’t gone out afterwards, he came home with her. Lydia feel asleep quickly, instead of waiting up while pretending she was too cool to wait up, listening for footsteps. The band had written two new songs they didn’t despise, and George seemed relaxed, far from a breakdown about how he felt like a fraud, or chafing at the domesticity of the scene and reaching out to Dave wondering if he wanted to meet up and was he holding.

Her veil still hung by the door, and when the light shone through it through their balcony, it looked almost untragic. A breeze flew in from the ocean and lifted its edges off the floor, floating above their shoes like a cloud. 

Dave was gone, and everything was better. Ryan was absorbed in Harry’s “comeback” plan—flying him to ever ghastly  morning talk show and available stage for concerts of his juvenile hits. 

Lydia didn’t feel bad about Harry’s plan: Eddie could withstand Dave in ways George just couldn’t—Harry knew that. He had pitched Lydia the idea to have them work on an album together the week before, and it initially panicked Lydia: what if George just went after Dave? But he had stayed behind. Lydia wondered if George knew that sending Dave away to Eddie was Harry’s plan. No one in the band suspected anything, even though Harry’s next step would affect them all.

Lydia and George walked out to the balcony. George put Lydia’s coffee down in front of her and took a giant gulp from his own, looking only a little restless.

“I thought we could just hang out today,” George offered. Lydia nodded, smiling. That was as close to an apology as she was going to get for the first week of their marriage. 

Olivia rebuffed Ryan’s pleading requests to return to the studio and ignored his calls, feeling a pit in her stomach every time she did it: she was turning down a record deal. She was turning down the opportunity for someone else to pay for studio time, so she could have clean, beautiful, headphones-worthy tracks. But she felt resolved, drawing from a deep reserve that Izzy often envied. She felt like she did when she left California, and the Jess Harper band, with Izzy: that she was doing the right thing, not the easy thing. 

Olivia spent her evenings after the session trying to do something with her clean vocal tracks, but to Izzy, she looked worried. She listened back to the (slightly stolen) track that he had helped put down, but it left a metallic taste in her mouth every time. She couldn’t release something that sounded so fake, tinny and dishonest, like it was recorded from the inside of a Stanley cup. 

When Izzy got home after a long shift at the nursery, she found Olivia hunched in front of her laptop, the only light on in the apartment, headphones screwed tight, brow creased. Izzy kicked her shoes off and dropped her backpack on the floor, but Olivia still didn’t look up. She flicked on the lights and Olivia startled.

“What time is it?” Olivia seemed surprised by the darkness outside their windows.

“10:30!” Olivia’s face fell.

“I don’t know if I can fix this myself,” she sighed. She had made so little progress over the course of the week, spending time burrowing into YouTube tutorials, trying to make her free software ingest the guitar melody she had recorded on her phone. The free software wasn’t having it. 

“Why don’t you take a break? You’ve been living in your laptop every night for the last week.” 

“Take a break, with what?”

“Gardening?” Izzy said, trying for a joke. She checked the soil in the potted plants by the kitchen windows for dryness, pulling their leaves back from the cold glass.

“You’ve got the plants under control.” 

“Maybe you could get some gigs?” Izzy paused, correcting herself, stepping away from fix it mode. “What do you feel like doing?”

“I’m pretty sure the label I just jilted has told every venue on the eastern seaboard not to hire me.” 

“Busking?” Izzy tried. She clipped off a few brown leaves with her nails, and discarded them in the kitchen compost.

Olivia pondered the suggestion seriously. She had done that before, with Jess—they had played cafe’s, brunch places. Jess had always hated that the venues offered so little opportunity for belting and screaming. 

“What else?”

“An open mic?” Olivia answered. She hadn’t done one of those before. 

…

Eddie didn’t want to—and couldn’t—just rely on Dave. He needed to build a slate of projects, a roster, to keep the lights on (and maybe hire someone to clean all the grime they showed) when Dave’s new album was out.

Plus, Eddie knew musicians and Dave was the most motivated by jealousy—the spectre of other musicians kept him on time for their sessions, and almost sober. 

Eddie had been to the punk dive bar nearby, the pub that Dave frequented (that really scared him), and a nearby German bierhouse that featured a lot of Romanian groups—accordions, electronica. But the place he was going that night—Monday night in a small town—was new to him. It was a pub on the lower level of a little brick building on Main Street, with barely three patrons and a stage made of a solitary wooden pallet with a carpet thrown over top. The sign on the sidewalk promised an open mic, but the place didn’t even have a mic. 

Still, Eddie went ahead with his routine. He ordered half a pint and sat at the back where he could hear, but not see the stage.

Izzy had found the open mic online—there wasn’t anything else on for that Monday—at a bar so unpopular it had 0 Instagram mentions and no account. She and Olivia lugged two acoustic guitars down the steps to a back entrance so dimly lit they nearly missed it. They were greeted by a bartender bubbling over with excitement to see them: the first musicians who ahd come in months. He grabbed the cases out of their hands and carried them to the stage for them. Olivia, feeling less confident since the label debacle, had come to the open mic with the requirement that Izzy played backup. Izzy was sure this would only damage her friend’s confidence more, but Olivia insisted. 

So, Izzy arranged a second chair behind Olivia’s, teetering off the edge of the pallet. She was disappointed for Olivia that there were so few people—maybe four and a half if you included the bartender, and a man sitting around a corner, as far away from them as he could get, so Izzy could only see one shoe. She gave Olivia an encouraging smile and they tuned their guitars.

…

The first chord was not promising.

The guitarist had actually flubbed it, and had to restart not once, but three times. Eddie drained his pint, but didn’t move. He started to question his life choices; picking the cheapest studio space he could find had stranded him in an area with this kind of talent to choose from. As his life flashed before his eyes, Eddie heard a promising ascent on the third try from B to F minor—the progression felt fresh. The guitar was joined by a second far more competent, and the two sort of undulated, playing together and then against each other in echoing melodies that changed slightly each time. Eddie closed his eyes and listened. It felt little new. 

And that’s what he needed: new. 

Goosebumps sprang up on his fingers, then the backs of his hands, then climbed his forearms and rippled across his chest. A little new was the best he had hoped for. 

Then, he heard her voice. His eyes snapped open: he knew that voice. Verse verse hook chorus, then a bridge that took her up an octave, where the rest of the song would stay. It was fresh folk. Eddie rolled the phrase around in his mind: fresh folk, fresh folk. Was he a folk producer? A fingerpicking folk producer? He imagined himself in his dark jeans and usual dark sweater in a cottagecore field of flowers.

The second song wasn’t as good as the first, but it had a great hook he could reuse. The second guitarist continued to struggle at points, but generally kept up. Eddie hoped the voice belonged to the other one. 

At the end of their third song, greeted by enthusiastic applause from the bartender only (he desperately called for an encore), Eddie creaked off his stool and walked around the corner to see Olivia, who ahd been the best part of the Jess Harper band, and Izzy, who had driven his former headliner to madness. 

“Eddie?” Izzy gasped. Olivia’s mouth dropped open, and they both broke into huge smiles. Ryan had not, in fact, had Eddie killed—and he had survived quitting the label in defiance, though they had heard he was sort of pushed out.

“Nice set,” Eddie said, giving Olivia a hug hello. They had spent six months on tour together when Jess had opened for Harry.

“This is where you’ve been hiding?” Olivia said, incredulous.

“I could say the same for you.”

“Our apartment is, like, 20 minutes from here.”

“My studio is just in the next town over.” Eddie knew then that he badly wanted Olivia to join his label: he was lying to her. The studio wasn’t in a town so much as it was near a bar and a post-office with a couple of houses clumped around it.

“Your own studio,” Izzy said, thrilled. She started to put her guitar away, wanting to avoid any additional requests from the bartender for more of her shaky playing. 

“And you two are a little and now?” Eddie held his breath. Everything was fine on the tour until Izzy got there. Her sudden departure blew up Harry’s life and then his own, when Ryan used Harry’s fight/breakdown as leverage to sign him to a new contract that didn’t include Eddie. 

Izzy quickly corrected him: she was just playing back up. Olivia was the musician. She tried not to feel disappointed when Eddie seemed noticeably relieved.

Olivia and Eddie chatted about her new songs, and Izzy watched her friend straighten her shoulders back. Eddie’s interest reinflated her. Izzy played roadie and packed up Olivia’s guitar too, then ordered the three of them drinks.

…

Lydia heard through Jess that her plan was falling apart, but she tried hard not to notice or care. Jess said Olivia had walked from her deal with Ryan, Harry’s next tour was in doubt, and Izzy would have no opportunity to follow Olivia onto said tour with Harry and fall back in love. Maybe, Lydia thought to herself, the best way forward couldn’t be planned. It was something she knew before, but had forgotten somehow when her life went off the rails—then, she had just wanted to fix everything. She understood her cousin more and more, and she felt herself relaxing more and more back into her old self, before she had even met George, before the accident.

She sat beside George in the band’s studio sessions all that week, just like she used to, eyes closed, listening to him tune his guitar and telling him when he was flat or sharp. They had been in the studio off and on, and now they had a week of solid recording time the last week of January. 

On the last day of their recording time, her calm was broken by the total chaos—yelling, stomping, possible furniture breaking—thundering down from the floor above.

Harry was in the building.

…

Ryan wanted two simple things:

1. To make music

2. To make money

To do the first, he had to do the second. But, no matter how he explained it to the talent, they didn’t understand that they couldn’t have the first one without the second. Harry Styles the least of all. 

“Over my dead body,” Harry said, waving his phone at Ryan. They stood around a shellacked conference table, Harry madly pacing along one side of it. “Kiss Me By the Lockers?”

“One of your greats! The fans love it!”

“That’s What Makes You Beautiful.” “A classic. And as a duet with Jess? They’ll go crazy—“

“And just two new songs.” 

An assistant sat between them at the table, typing furiously.

“A drip roll out of singles will help your customers acclimatize—“

“Two? In the entire set?”

Ryan pinched the bridge of his nose. He might shatter his phone in his other hand, he was gripping it so tightly. Why didn’t Harry recognize the two for the generous gift that they were?

“Harry. Gently. Without a tour, and without a label, you’re going to be Britney Spears, dancing with knives on Instagram in your underwear. I know you.” Harry scowled. “You need to play big arenas and you need to make music.”

“I don’t need you to make music.”

“Oh, really?”

“Musicians make you, Ryan, not the other way around.” 

“You signed a contract, Harry.” Harry winced. He had signed a contract. And now the label owned his masters of all his old tracks—not his last record, but everything before it. Ryan had him for a new album full of garbage, another long tour with Jess as his opener, and Insta girlfriend for the publicity, plus six weeks of awful appearance slots. The path of least resistance was giving in. Harry was nearly at a point of just dating Jess to avoid all the staging and setups, just laying flat and letting Ryan roll out the life he had planned for Harry at that same conference table the morning after he abandoned Izzy. 

The assistant’s typing slowed to a stop. 

Harry shook his head and paused. He tilted his chin upward, and looked Ryan in the eye.

“Maybe I’ll walk,” he said. 

[inkinthequill]

An Ant at the End of the Universe

A short-story done for a weekly Reedsy contest, for the prompt "Write a story where a character must continue to tell their tale to a listener to avoid unsavory consequences".

The universe was ending.

In truth, that phrasing may be a bit over dramatic– it wasn’t so much coming to an end in an explosive, bombastic fashion (though the supernova from the few stars left certainly made for a beautiful light show), as it was with a slow, sputtering gasp.

More aptly, it was dying.

In a fruitless pursuit to reverse the inevitable heat death of the universe, or really just anything in such a hopeless situation, a lone arthropod had fashioned a humble little spacecraft. Out of scraps of metal and splintered wood it was crafted, rusty nails and wood glue keeping the rattling junk heap fastened together. All signs of life in the universe his species could pick up were fizzling out into radio silence. There was one lone thing that his little radio was receiving now. The only thing left to receive. A ghastly howling of wind, and the quiet dripping of water at the very center of the whole, ever expanding expanse.

His crooked antennae twitched with grief as he witnessed the light of his own exploding star across the massive stretch of space behind him, the encouraging chatter from his in-ship radio descending into deafening silence.

They had been the closest sentient species to the center of the universe, but no one had ever dared to travel this far. Now, at the center of it all, he was the single living creature in the entirety of space and time to witness it in its full glory. A swirling, brilliant white vortex; shimmering, golden fractal patterns swirling out the center, spreading further and further into deep space with every passing second.

Its sheer size and magnificence was mystifying; the view of his planet behind him paled in comparison. Colors he had never seen rippled out in magnificent, concentric ribbons as he approached; all the while, the few stars he could see left blinked out into the all-consuming darkness around him.

This was it.

The last bastion left in space.

And there was no one left to tell how beautiful it was.

With a little chatter of his chitinous jaws, he pushed forward on the throttle, easing himself in slowly. Advancing further and further, the blinding white glow consumed everything he could see, bathing the interior of his ship in alabaster light.

Then, nothing.

He was still conscious– or at least, he could assume as much. He smelled… nothing. He couldn’t feel his mandibles nervously chattering, and neither of his compound eyes could make out anything but a massive, spinning shape shadowed in the blinding light. He could make out the shadow of multiple concentric rings, all whirling in different directions at a sickeningly rapid velocity.

“AND HOW HAVE YOU FOUND YOURSELF HERE, LITTLE INSECT?”

A voice, a voice! A sound! His exoskeleton trembled from the overwhelming bass the voice output– he imagined this must’ve been what it felt like being next to the tectonic plates on his home grinding across each other. He was surprised he could understand it… all his people were dead now.

All people were dead now.

Was he dead? Was this what was awaiting everyone else? A comforting thought, that he might not be alone here– if that was the case. His mandibles chattered with a bewildered mix of both dread and excitement, desperate to have a chat with this new entity.

[I came here on a ship! The universe is in quite a mess right now– and you seem to be all that’s left! Am I dead? Are we dead?]

There was a rumbling, and a violent wind so fierce it was as if a hundred dervishes were colliding into each other.

“YOU ARE IN A SPACE WHERE DEATH HAS NO HOLD. THE CONCEPT IS UNFATHOMABLE TO THOSE WHO DWELL HERE, AS ONLY THOSE WHO LIVE ON THE OUTSIDE WILL EXPERIENCE IT.”

The ant thought for a moment, shuffling his body to become as comfortable as he could make it. After all, what else was there to do?

[So, this is…. a heaven, of sorts?]

“A HEAVEN? NO. A HAVEN, YES. A PLACE BEYOND SPACE AND TIME– WHERE THE UNTHINKABLE IS THOUGHT, AND THE IMPOSSIBLE GIVEN SHAPE. THIS PLACE HAS EXISTED FAR BEFORE THE BIRTH OF YOUR UNIVERSE, AND WILL LIVE PAST ITS DEATH.”

[Ah, yes. That death part is happening currently, I believe. Or, I suppose, it has happened, hasn’t it?]

“IT HAS.”

[That’s a shame. I quite liked what I got to see of it.]

There was a pause. He could feel a hundred, titanic eyes staring at him– he couldn’t see it, but he could feel the gaze of this lone being casting a million curious glances down at him.

“THERE WERE EONS FOR ONE OF YOU TRANSITORY SENTIENTS TO FIND THIS PLACE. HOW ARE YOU THE ONLY ONE WHO MADE IT HERE?”

The ant thought for a moment.

[Well, I don’t know. I’m surprised I was the only one. I sort of assumed you were all knowing to some degree, can’t you tell me the answer?]

The fathomless being paused as well.

“WE ARE AT A CROSSROADS AT THE MOMENT. EVERYTHING THAT EVER WAS, IS SHUFFLING INTO EVERYTHING THAT WILL EVER BE. UNTIL WE SHAPE THE NEXT UNIVERSE, WE ARE NOT PERMITTED THE KNOWLEDGE OF WHAT HAS BEEN AND WHAT WILL COME OUTSIDE OF THIS HAVEN.”

[That seems so sad.]

“IT IS A FUNCTION. CONCEPTS OF EMOTION ARE MEANINGLESS FOR OUR ROLE IN THE UNIVERSAL CYCLE. WHAT WORTH WILL SUCH FLEETING CHEMICAL REACTIONS SERVE HERE, AT THE END OF EVERYTHING?”

[I happen to like them, thank you. Chemical as they are, they do have their worth and purpose!]

“IRRELEVANT. IT IS TIME FOR YOU TO CEASE TO BE, AND FREE YOUR ATOMS FOR USE IN THE NEXT UNIVERSE.”

The ant assumed a defensive pose with its six legs, shaking one of them toward the being.

[Now, just a moment! I came all this way, so I think I’ve at least earned the chance to say my piece! If you’re as old as you say you are, and I am but a momentary blink in this universe, it certainly wouldn’t hurt the schedule to let me speak, would it?]

There was another fierce gust, another terrible rumble.

“IT SERVES NO PURPOSE.”

[Ah, but knowledge always serves a purpose! Do you at least remember what happens in this little period between universes, so to speak?]

“WE DO.”

[Goody! Well, I’d like to talk about my race for just a moment, if it’s all the same to you. If everything that came before is going to go ‘poof’, it would be nice to talk about it all before I go. Do you mind postponing my nonexistence until I finish?]

“I MAKE NO PROMISES.”

The ant smoothed over his bent antennae, taking a moment to collect himself and gather his thoughts.

[Well, you see, my people haven’t been around for very long. In the grand scheme of things, we’re very young. That’s what all our scientists said, at least. In truth, we barely just learned space travel, and the ship I came here on was pretty slap-dash.]

“WE WITNESSED THE CRAFT, YES.”

[Yes, it’s a bit of a mess. The scientists among my people found out that all the stars were beginning to die, including our own– way ahead of what they initially envisioned. So, as the best space pilot we had, they sent me out to the signal in the center of the universe with the best thing we could put together. We put all our hopes in that little tin can.]

“YOUR UNIVERSE IS DEAD. YOUR PEOPLE ARE DEAD. WHAT USE DID SUCH AN ACT SERVE?”

[A mix of things. There were some that hoped whatever I found could save all of them. Some felt it was the only thing left to do, so why not give it a shot? For me, it was curiosity. If we had nothing to lose, why not go out with one last great discovery?]

“AND WHAT HAVE YOU DISCOVERED?”

The ant tilted his head.

[That space is as scary as it is beautiful. That the unknown is as terrifying as it is exciting. I saw a thousand colors of stars I could never imagine in my compound eyes. I saw swirling gas giants of every size, and moons carved with the most gorgeous patterns. More than that, I found you at the end of all things. On top of it all, I get to be there right before it all begins again!]

“YOU WON’T LIVE TO BE IN THE NEXT ONE. WHAT PURPOSE DOES KNOWING SUCH THINGS SERVE?”

[It makes me happy.]

“A PITTANCE. A FEELING AS FLEETING AS THE UNIVERSE ITSELF.”

[Perhaps, but what a wonderful pittance it is! I can find comfort in it– alongside one other thing, of course.]

“AND WHAT WOULD THAT BE, LITTLE CREATURE?”

[That you’ll remember our little talk. You’ll remember me, and you’ll remember my people. Can anything really be so fleeting, when we’ll exist in your thoughts and memories forever?]

There was a long silence. The rumbling quieted, and so did the wind. For a moment, it was peaceful.

“HOW DID YOUR SPECIES LIVE, LITTLE INSECT?”

[We built sprawling, complex colonies from dirt and sand. Every waking moment we helped each other, even if we had our spats and fights on occasion. We worked together to build wonders out of nothing, all the way until we could come here, to the great black sea– and found out the majesty we got to see on our own world was a drop of sand in the infinite beauty of this cosmos. Oh, the things I wish I could’ve seen! The things I could’ve shown you, friend. It was such a good life.]

There was another long silence, the air starting to ripple and shake. The ant could feel his existence falling apart like sands through an hourglass, relaxing as he began to drift away into nothingness.

“INSECT. THE TIME HAS COME. WE CAN PROLONG THIS NO LONGER.”

[I can feel that, yes.]

“IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING LEFT TO SAY– ANY REGRETS TO AIR, NOW IS THE TIME.”

The ant pondered one last time, as his physical form began to collapse to dust and wash away into nothing.

[No regrets… but…] he chattered, lifting his head and clicking his mandibles happily. [I hope there are lots of eager little explorers in the next one!]

With those final words, he was no more. His atoms scattered like ash in the wind. There was no living creature left. Just the massive being swirling above where the ant stood— alongside more coming to join them in the coming turn of the cosmic wheel.

The universe was entirely dead.

And an untold amount of time later— it burst forth from the smallest particle, spreading gorgeous stars and nebulae of every color across the canvas of the cosmos once more.

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

A little girl dashed and rolled around a grassy field, her hair swaying around with every excited step she took. Her older brother chased close behind her, coming to a careening halt as the girl suddenly squatted down next to a muddy puddle.

“Oh no!” she said, “Look at all the ants that drowned…”

Her brother walked behind her, taking a look for himself.

“They are soaked…” he said, leaning down to take a closer look. “But they aren’t dead. Watch this.”

The young man reached down and scooped a bunch of them in his hands, pouring them onto a patch of dry dirt under the shade of a tree. “Take a close look, now….”

The girl walked over and got as close as she could, innocent eyes wide with amazement at what she saw. She watched an ant with bent antennae start to wriggle and move again with the rest of their fellows, flipping back onto its legs and scouting out his new location.

“I didn’t know they could survive in water!”

“Yeah, they’re sturdy little things.”

“Wow….” the girl said, looking up at her brother and beaming. “You think an ant could survive in space, too?”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” her brother said, “I think he’d need a little suit and rocket ship to go out there.”

“True…”

“C’mon, we gotta get back now, Sara. Mom’ll get worried if we’re not back before it’s dark.”

“Fine…” she grumbled, taking the open hand that was offered to her and walking alongside him.

“Maybe I’ll go to space, one day. And I’ll take all the ants with me, in their own tiny suits.”

“I bet you could,” her brother said. “You always were an explorer.”

[writeblrfantasy]

JACK OF FOOLS: PROLOGUE

He did not start out starbright.

He got his origins here, in this very bloody alleyway—though it’s not so bloody now. Everything’s been cleaned, washed away. This alleyway, for all appearances, is like any other in this city at night. Dark, cloaked in shadow where monsters of endless kinds lurk, dangerous to the wrong folk who get lost wandering. The ones who should never have been allowed to wander so freely in the first place. He was one of those, once. That night that led him here.

This alleyway fades and yet he has never forgotten its location, even after the buildings on either side changed and burned and built back up again, replaced with new owners and new memories. Only he remembers the old days, undoubtedly.

If he closes his eyes, he can breathe in the long ago bloodsoaked stench on his hands, his nails, the cobblestones, the glinting knife in his shaking grip. His blue coat. That blue coat got sliced to shreds quickly, the last of its kind.

It was here in these shadows, here that he said, I will never be powerless again. Here that he said, not another living soul will go a day without recognizing my name, even after I am cold and gone. Here where he grew his famous smile.

Here that his faded old name became lost to time, banished to the darkest hallways of his mind, and he became starbright instead. Glittering. Effervescent. Unforgettable.

Eternal.

Many in his position would say they do not remember the before times, the era where they scrounged for scraps of bread and groveled in the filth for a copper. They claim they were born draped in silks and velvets, never bathed in anything cold and dirty. They laugh. They sparkle with their eyes, their jewels, their coin, just as he does every night.

They all lie.

The memories so crystal clear grip Jacke with a cold hand, a tight hold around the throat that chokes and cloys even after all this time. He does not need to stand in this alley to summon the fear, bitter and sour. It has not forgotten him.

Footsteps make his eyes fly open, an instinct born from these before times. What worry, after all, would someone of his status and wealth have for his own safety when he could hire out a whole battalion of the city’s most talented protectors? He should sleep like a baby each night in his plush mattress and satin sheets, unwitting to the assassins lurking outside, forever waiting for their moment. Instead, he lies wide eyed most nights, frozen stiff with anticipation of attacks that he has not suffered since this alleyway.

The footsteps are not coming his way, a drunken stumbling he is well familiar with hearing. However, they are a stark reminder that he is not at home, and he’d best get going. He has indulged himself in humbling memories long enough. No matter where he goes, it seems he’s never alone for long, even if the passersby don’t know who he is standing in the shadows, his hat tipped low to hide his eyes. He doesn’t need to see much here, not that the dark would be agreeable. His feet know the way.

Without a further sound, he creeps back down the shadows the way he came, leaving any who might’ve seen a red coated figure scratching their heads as to his whereabouts.

general taglist (if you'd like to be on a taglist for jack of fools let me know) @magic-is-something-we-create @muddshadow @47crayons @worldbuildng @nicola-writes @twoseeds

[capribornio]

Oops, it seems Matt DraculaDaily missed quite a bit from today's mail. Here's the rest (extracted from last year's archive).

Later.—Another change in my patient. At five o'clock I looked in on him, and found him seemingly as happy and contented as he used to be. He was catching flies and eating them, and was keeping note of his capture by making nail-marks on the edge of the door between the ridges of padding. When he saw me, he came over and apologised for his bad conduct, and asked me in a very humble, cringing way to be led back to his own room and to have his note-book again. I thought it well to humour him: so he is back in his room with the window open. He has the sugar of his tea spread out on the window-sill, and is reaping quite a harvest of flies. He is not now eating them, but putting them into a box, as of old, and is already examining the corners of his room to find a spider. I tried to get him to talk about the past few days, for any clue to his thoughts would be of immense help to me; but he would not rise. For a moment or two he looked very sad, and said in a sort of far-away voice, as though saying it rather to himself than to me:—

"All over! all over! He has deserted me. No hope for me now unless I do it for myself!" Then suddenly turning to me in a resolute way, he said: "Doctor, won't you be very good to me and let me have a little more sugar? I think it would be good for me."

"And the flies?" I said.

"Yes! The flies like it, too, and I like the flies; therefore I like it." And there are people who know so little as to think that madmen do not argue. I procured him a double supply, and left him as happy a man as, I suppose, any in the world. I wish I could fathom his mind.

Midnight.—Another change in him. I had been to see Miss Westenra, whom I found much better, and had just returned, and was standing at our own gate looking at the sunset, when once more I heard him yelling. As his room is on this side of the house, I could hear it better than in the morning. It was a shock to me to turn from the wonderful smoky beauty of a sunset over London, with its lurid lights and inky shadows and all the marvellous tints that come on foul clouds even as on foul water, and to realise all the grim sternness of my own cold stone building, with its wealth of breathing misery, and my own desolate heart to endure it all. I reached him just as the sun was going down, and from his window saw the red disc sink. As it sank he became less and less frenzied; and just as it dipped he slid from the hands that held him, an inert mass, on the floor. It is wonderful, however, what intellectual recuperative power lunatics have, for within a few minutes he stood up quite calmly and looked around him. I signalled to the attendants not to hold him, for I was anxious to see what he would do. He went straight over to the window and brushed out the crumbs of sugar; then he took his fly-box, and emptied it outside, and threw away the box; then he shut the window, and crossing over, sat down on his bed. All this surprised me, so I asked him: "Are you not going to keep flies any more?"

"No," said he; "I am sick of all that rubbish!" He certainly is a wonderfully interesting study. I wish I could get some glimpse of his mind or of the cause of his sudden passion. Stop; there may be a clue after all, if we can find why to-day his paroxysms came on at high noon and at sunset. Can it be that there is a malign influence of the sun at periods which affects certain natures—as at times the moon does others? We shall see.

Telegram, Seward, London, to Van Helsing, Amsterdam.

4 September.—Patient still better to-day.

[sailforvalinor]

9 and 25 for ALL OF YOUR OCS!!!! >:D

EEEEEEP

9. Do you have a specific lyric or quote which you associate with an OC?

DO I EVER

Gerda:

From “Barefoot Kid” by The Arcadian Wild:

“She came from a distant land where/

Spring rose, summer never fell/

And that barefoot kid’s been calling you/

She ran into the woods and saved him too”

Alternately, just the entirety of “All I Wanted” by Paramore.

Kay:

I honestly have so much I associate with him, but from “Second Child, Restless Child” by the Oh Hellos:

“See, I was born a restless child

And I could hear the world outside calling me

And heaven knows how hard I tried

But that devil whispered lies I believed”

Just that whole song, honestly

Estella:

“I just want such a humble, murderously simple thing: that a person be glad when I walk into a room.” —Marina Tsveraeva

Gael:

Agape by Bear’s Den:

“I’m so scared of losing you/

and I don’t know what I can do about it, about it/

So how long, love, before you go/

And leave me here on my own, I know it/

I don’t wanna know who I am without you”

Or, though I don’t know where this quote comes from:

“Here you come with a shield for a heart and a sword for a tongue.”

Kyelle:

Warriors by Imagine Dragons:

“As a child you would wait/

And watch from far away/

Cause you always knew you’d be the one/

To work while they all play”

Sage:

Miles (whoops, forgot him on the last one):

25. What is your favorite thing about your OC?

Oooooooh this is a fun question…

Gerda: Gerda is a character I’m still kind of trying to get a feel for, but with her I’m loving learning how to write an extrovert who isn’t necessarily loud. She wasn’t even meant to be an extrovert—she just ended up that way!

Kay: As a character he is a DELIGHT to write—his dialogue can be so unhinged yet earnest, which simultaneously make it a bit of a challenge to nail down that balance.

Estella: She! Is! So! Kind! And! I! Love! Writing! Kind! Characters!

Gael: I don’t know what it is but overprotective characters are like crack to me, and Gael fits that description to a T (though not in an annoying clingy way). He is also generally just one of my favorites, other than Estella he’s the character who’s been with me the longest and possibly one of the most complex characters I’ve ever written.

Kyelle: She fits the tough-girl archetype in some ways but also doesn’t reject her femininity at all.

Sage: He is so much like me, and I didn’t even do that intentionally—I just love him very much.

Miles: He has the ability to help people lighten up in tough times, and while he gives the impression he can’t be serious about anything, this is very much not the case.

Thanks for the ask!!

[norfaith]

ASLI, LANDSCAPE ARCHITECT: the world is in upheaval, and everyone's dying. the world is in chaos.

in affiliation with @preytale, when the apocalypse hit, the world was in upheaval. as expected, nobody knew what to do, where to turn, who to trust. any touch of humanity was grazed from the very souls of humans and self-preservation was all that remained, but not to be mistaken with the new primal age that emerged in the wake of chaos. there were no people left, there was no empathy, there was no humanity. but before chaos struck,  asli soyder was a landscape architect for the local zoo. as most children of renowned wealthy families, she broke away from familial expectation to create a name and life for herself — from her own efforts and hard-work. her ever strategic and sharp mind allowed her to map and memorize the zoo from corner to corner, from top to bottom. the future of the zoo’s architecture laid in her palms, within her full control, before the apocalypse. 

with the end of the world comes an ever pressing thought, what next? after the first wave of chaos, once the dead and undead are forced into coexistence — the zoo remains.

alongside vincent mancini, and various other staff from the zoo pre-chaos, the zoo provides a sanctuary for survivors of the apocalypse. some of these survivors already have personal and career ties to this place, but some don’t. when the chaos first began, it was unmistakable that luck was on their side. they lost many, humans and animals alike, but after the chaos came the mirage of serenity. the eye of a hurricane, forever chased by a world outside of iron cages and stone walls beckoning them to meet their end.

additional personal information and statistics

moral alignment: lawful good

personality traits: admirable, agreeable, alert, amiable, appreciative, benevolent, caring, charming, compassionate, clever-headed, conscientious, considerate, creative, dedicated, earnest, firm, genuine, helpful, honest, humble, innovative, methodical, neat, perfectionist, resourceful, sensitive, timidity 

dislikes ( post-apocalypse ): being in enclosed spaces, public transportation, being outside of the zoo, public markets, being in situations with no escape or difficult escape, tunnels

habits: picking at cuticles, nail biting, scratching at her forearms and neck when anxious or fearful, tight lipped smiles, avoiding eye contact

psychological: generalized anxiety disorder, agoraphobia, claustrophobia

dossier and statistics

birth name: asli soyder

legal name used: asli

sexual orientation: pansexual

current age: thirty-four

place of birth: istanbul, turkey

ethnicity: turkish

current residence: usa / affiliated location, verse dependent

universe: earth

education: bachelor of science in landscape architecture

languages: english, turkish

former occupation: librarian, barista

current occupation: landscape architect for the zoo

main verse occupation: landscape architect, no job post-apocalypse

body build: lean and slender

hair color: brown

usual hair length: mid-back

eye color: green

height: 5’7”

birth father / alive: kerem soyder

birth mother / alive: aiyla soyder

bodily scars and notable injuries

scar behind left ear

stab wound scar along left bicep

scar running along right elbow from breaking her arm when she was a teenager

tattoos

lily flower running up the side of left wrist

motifs to ward off evil eye behind left shoulder

cypress tree with a tiger on her ankle

[societiesdelimma]

Hi my name is Angelina I am a Asian American woman that was born into the lower class. I’ve grown up living in a house with 20+ people. I never had an extravagant birthday party like my classmates, lunches, clothes, school materials, and more. Since I am Asian American I’ve always been discriminated against. I remember we had a fundraiser event during school and they would have raffles and I won one of them. I was called up to the office and they had already let a white girl pick out her prize first before I had even got there and she got the grand prize. I was often bullied a lot and did not have a lot of friends to hang out with who are not the same as me. I remember getting pushed around by white classmates at school, them getting the privilege to go first for lunch or recess. How they would mock me for my eyes when they pulled their eyes back.

Eventually I had moved out of my grandma’s first before any of my cousins and relatives. I found it really fortunate that we were able to move out first. It made me think that my family had money. We had enough to survive. Then eventually my cousin’s family moved out down the street from us. At first I was like they copied us. Then I realized how much different we are in wealth. They had renovated their house nicer, new cars, new phones and devices, and more. While I had the same house when my family first got it. It was a humbling experience that even though I did move out first it did not define me and my family having more money. My cousin did.. How? I knew how but how much more when our moms were nail technicians and our dads were mechanics? My dad is a car mechanic and my cousin’s dad was an aerospace engineer. How is it that my dad has to work everyday enough for his family to survive but my cousin’s dad only has to work 4 days in a week to make so much more than us? Although we came from the same place, they were able to climb the wealth ladder higher than us.

As a woman, the constructed stereotypes and expectations for women were deeply embedded in our family. Being told that we were dramatic or crazy when we got emotional. To cross our legs like a lady. In my family, my older brothers were usually defended by my mom because they are “boys” and did not know any better. As the youngest in my family, I experienced a lot of unfairness and control I could not have because of my brothers. Because I am a girl I could not play games, I could not own my own Nintendo console without my brother having his pin in it to keep me from accessing certain things. My mom had allowed that to happen because I was younger and did not know any better. Because I was a girl I had to focus on cleaning, and other constructed chores made by society for women. But today I was able to switch that around, by being loud, being comfortable with who I am and regaining control of my own life and things.

As an Asian American, there are a lot of times where White privilege is present in front of my eyes. I work in a place where there are dominantly White people and coincidentally it is in a part of my town where it is wealthy. I could definitely see the privilege of living in such a nice area where they have access to their own private beaches and resorts that they can only access because it is such a drive to get to where they are. It is visible that in this rich neighborhood you have to be white and wealthy to be able to afford a home. As an Asian American I feel terribly foreign. A part of me is afraid I will be discriminated against, judged, and racially excluded. Even though I just work in that environment, it is scary how much entitlement I experience everyday from white people and I am scared it will happen to me outside of work.

In a professional behavioral health field, I think it is really important to consider all clients regardless of their class, gender, and race. My social justice practice would be to keep in mind each client. Where they are wealth wise, how they may identify themselves, their cultures, their sexuality, their values, and more. I’d advocate for my clients, promoting themselves to themselves. Showing that in the healthcare system that they do matter, and that we will find resources that help fit their needs. It does not matter what class they are in, I’d have resources for each class that they are in that can help them within their budget and needs. In terms of gender, I’d ask them for their pronouns and however they identify as. It is important that your client knows that you care about them from the basics to the deep parts of themselves. And I think how they want to identify themselves in society is important as a professional to recognize that in them. I’d accept all members of the LGBTQ+ community, it is important not only to learn cultural diversity, but also identity diversity, sexuality diversity and more. Especially for women and trans women who struggle with gender inequality. In terms of racial oppression, it is important to study the area that they reside in and its statistics. Research is one of the important tasks for a professional to understand why certain things happen to clients. But in our office, I’d constantly reassure them that they will never be excluded or discriminated against and I’d do anything in my power to help them get the resources they need because the higher class limits them and excludes them.

I hope to live in a world where we all accept each other for who we are and what we want to be for ourselves. We are only human and the best thing we can do for each other is to have kindness and consideration for others. I hope everyone receives resources they need easily and that there is no inequality. Less generational trauma, cultural trauma, racial trauma, and more. For me personally, I’d like to be more educated about our constantly changing society and how I can keep up with it over the years.

[i-did-not-mean-to]

Of needles and thread

Happy Birthday @linasofia 🎂

Here's the winner of the pick-a-fic...

Words: 4,3 k

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, unprotected intercourse, oral sex

You were about to close shop – the elderly dwarrow who was your colleague and boss having left almost an hour ago already – when the door swung open in a gust of cold wind that sent the swatches you had left on the counter flying into different directions.

“Mahal have mercy,” you muttered under your breath and came up from behind said counter to check who dared bother you this late.

“My king,” you gasped upon seeing Thorin II, standing tall and slightly sheepish on the threshold, tugging at his coat that had caught on a beam just outside the door where you usually hung freshly washed linens to dry.

Ah, the life of a draper, you thought, even though you liked to think of yourself as a designer and excellent seamstress beyond the mundane task of providing the dwarves of Erebor with their sturdy but boring tunics.

“Mistress…Dori said I could come anytime I cared to, but I see now that he has retreated to his own chambers already. I shall disturb you no further, please forgive me for the intrusion," the king spoke in a calm, perfectly paced flow of carefully articulated words.

Even his speech was regal, you realised with a hint of envy; from his deportment to the tips of his boots, he radiated self-possessed elegance while – by this time – there was more of your hair out of its bun than in it which made you look like a demented bird with part of its nest carried on its head.

“No,” you exclaimed hastily, “no, come in, your Highness. What can our humble shop do for you?”

“Well,” the king started, audibly scratching his beard with the short the nails of his index and middle finger pensively, “Nori told Dwalin – you know Dwalin? Big fellow, taciturn, and quite annoying if truth be told – during one of their…meetings that his brother, Nori’s brother not Dwalin’s, made much more interesting tunics than any we owned…”

Thorin fell silent as if he had exhausted himself by giving you this very detailed but utterly confusing explanation.

“Either way, Dwalin has decided to order some and my sister – Dís, do you know her? – thought I should have new tunics as well.”

You didn’t have it in you to tell your king that you had no idea who he was talking about as you had only just started working in this shop over a year ago and had not yet had the opportunity to meet many high dignitaries.

“Come through, Your Majesty,” you bid him humbly.

“Thorin will do, just Thorin, I am not a number!” he smiled smoothly and walked towards the back of the shop with careless grace.

With a small shake of the head, you locked the door, drew the blinds, and turned off the main lights before following him; it felt illicit and exciting to be alone in this small space with the most handsome male dwarf you could even think of.

Trying hard not to fall over your own feet, you unrolled the measuring tape and – holding one end in your fingers – wrapped that hand around his sturdy wrist while letting the other slide along the thick sleeve of the coat he was wearing.

“I am ever so sorry my…Thorin,” you could have kicked yourself for the way your mind and mouth derailed in his presence, “but if you could please take off the coat…”

With an easy shrug of his shoulders, Thorin discarded the said garment and threw it over a low chair on which more swatches were piled high.

A knowing half-smile blossomed on his features as he saw you bite your lip upon repeating the measuring-procedure with meticulous care.

“Hmmm,” you hummed and made a show of jotting down the numbers on a little notepad as if you would not remember them by heart from this day forward.

Measuring out the width of his shoulders was a forbidden pleasure, your fingertips grazing along the strong muscles rolling like waves under his thin – and honestly indeed rather worn – light blue tunic.

“Hold still,” you grunted out of habit, distracted by your work.

“Sorry, Milady,” he chuckled, and you groaned under your breath. Of course, he was not a random customer, how could you dare chide him like that?

“How long do you want this tunic to be?” you asked politely as you walked around the little pedestal on which he was standing, surrounded by a three-sided mirror that you polished every morning and every evening devotedly.

“I think…here,” his broad but surprisingly elegant hand – priceless rings glistening in the overhead light – came to rest, palm up, on his thigh, his fingers pointing right at his crotch.

Oh Mahal, you did not really think that, did you?

“Alright,” you tried to sound cheery and light-hearted as you measured the distance between the centre of his shoulder and that tantalising point where the edge of his hand met his strong thigh.

“Curse the waters that made all the others grow,” you muttered under your breath as you realised that you’d have to practically hug him diagonally to get the measurement.

“I can hold this for you, Mistress,” Thorin chuckled and – before you could refuse or accept – his other hand slid over yours and clasped the measuring tape in place on his shoulder.

“Thank you, Your…Thorin,” you babbled and frowned when he laughed mirthfully.

“No, Mistress, I have no problem with being your Thorin, but I am most certainly not mine,” he mocked you gently, tilting his head the fraction of an inch to make sure that you realised that he had not meant it in an offensive way.

“Don’t shift, please,” you immediately reproved him, and his head snapped up with military precision. Staring straight ahead and looking dignified was a skill he had acquired early in his life it seemed and perfected since.

Bending over to read the tiny numbers on your tape just inches away from those enticing fingertips pointing at his loins shamelessly, you tried hard to ignore the indecent position in which you found yourself and to disregard what the two of you might have looked like to anyone who happened to enter.

No, the door was locked, and it felt as if you were alone in the world.

“Quite enthralling…do you ever stand here, Mistress, and admire yourself in the mirrors?”

For a moment, you were not sure if you had merely imagined his words, but when you rolled the tape up again, his eyes twinkled mischievously as he nodded at the mirror right in front of him.

“No, Thorin, I have too much work and too little vanity for such things,” you spoke decisively; in your mind, you were already drawing up patterns and decorations for the deep, dark blue tunic you had in mind.

A garment fit for a king.

“Humour me,” he murmured seductively, pulling you by the hand up on the pedestal while he stepped down from it and making you swirl slowly.

You felt silly; you knew that the lights and the angling of the mirrors were carefully arranged so as to maximise the beautifying effect on your customers, but you had not been lying when you had said that you’d never tried it yourself.

A gasp escaped you as his hands undid the disintegrating bun and let your long, stubborn hair cascade around your aching shoulders.

“You’re quite a sight, Mistress,” he praised you in a low, velvety tone that caressed your senses like the fabric made your fingers tingle whenever you worked with it.

“Oh, stop it,” you tried to deflect, but his fingers had slid inside your collar, rubbing the thin linen slowly as if to test the thread-count.

As your gaze flew back to your reflection, you discovered that your eyes seemed darker and somehow more intense as the nightly darkness pressed in – only kept at bay by the pale cone of flatteringly soft light raining down on you from above.

“Are ladies’ garments much more complex than men’s?” he asked, still pretending that this was a normal business interaction even while his fingers skimmed down your spine.

From your vantage point, you could only see his broad shoulders peeking out on either side of your back while his amused voice seemed to float – disembodied – around you until it filled the whole room as well as every nook and cranny of your befuddled mind.

His presence was like the incense your grandmother had used on special days, intoxicating and dizzying in its intensity that made your thoughts blur and drift.

Heat swirled in heavy, snaking tendrils through your body as his hands slipped around your waist and started tracing the gentle slope ever so slowly.

“Did you make this bodice?” he asked in a low, guttural voice while your whole conscience seemed to be drawn to the areas where his palms seemed to singe the fabric covering your smouldering skin.

“I did,” you stammered, your own voice a mere breathy whisper suspended in the semi-darkness of the workshop.

“I might have to inspect that garment…just to get a feeling for your talent and craftsmanship,” he chuckled, one finger slipping easily under the strings of said bodice and undoing the tight knots with dizzying rapidity and ease.

As it fell – as if undone by mischievous ghosts – at your feet, you could see the outline of your bare breasts through the worn tunic; you had neither the time, the money, nor the inclination to fashion clothes for your own enjoyment.

There was something strangely arousing about seeing yourself exposed in this way though and as his hands appeared again from behind, cupping those barely clothed mounds of flesh teasingly, your head dropped back to rest on his shoulder.

“No, Mistress,” he hummed, “lift your head and look at yourself! See how beautiful you are!”

Oh, but it was so heavy, filled with indecent thoughts while your body was abuzz with the tingling sensation of his broad thumbs being dragged across the oversensitive buds pressing eagerly against the thin fabric.

Within a second or two, your heavy skirt was undone as well and pooled like a lake of wool around your ankles.

You had strong legs that shone white in the soft light wavering and flickering, or maybe it was just your own mind that was vibrating and vacillating with illicit desire and the light was as constant as the moon itself.

“You are beautiful,” he repeated as his hand slipped underneath the tunic, rubbing the fabric for a moment as if he really was inspecting its quality before his palm came – burning as hot iron – to rest against your somersaulting stomach.

“Look at yourself,” he repeated authoritatively as he pushed the flimsy garment up and tugged it over your head, laying your upper body bare.

“My king,” you sighed, half-frightened and half-frantic with lust already.

“No doubt, you want to keep yourself pure for your husband,” he hummed, “but there are things we can do in the meantime.”

Your body was burning for him and – of that much you were sure – nobody could have faulted you for giving in to your king; it was your duty as a good subject, was it not?

“Let me touch you, Mistress…Will you?” he asked, his breath hot and humid against your upper back which made you jerk forward, pressing your breasts eagerly into his questing palms.

“Whatever you want, my king,” you replied breathlessly.

“Call me Thorin,” he whispered, “and tell me that you want this!”

So honourable, you thought with a pang of bad conscience, for this meant that you would have to give voice to your most indecent needs and desires.

“I want this, I want you,” you moaned, arching into his seeking, almost tender touch, your eyes riveted on his massive hands curled around those virginal breasts no man had ever touched before.

“Will you look at yourself for me?” he inquired on, his thumbs now hooked into the waistband of your drawers, tugging at them playfully.

“I shall do whatever you want me to do,” you answered in a shivering sigh.

“I am not your king now,” Thorin growled, “and I am as much at your mercy than the other way around.”

He gave your undergarment another tentative tug, “May I?”

You merely nodded, making the haze in your mind swirl and billow like silk in the wind, eager to see where he would lead you.

Naked and trembling with anticipation, you stared at your own reflection just a heartbeat later.

Had you ever looked quite as beautiful in the pale, grey morning light or in the golden rays of the midday sun? You could not remember but you surely could perceive it now – late at night in a closed room – as his hands slid over your skin like Dori’s caressed the expensive silk brought in from faraway lands.

Appreciative and careful, Thorin seemed to map out every dip and curve of your silhouette with his fingers and – from time to time – you caught a flash of his bright blue eyes in the mirror as he peeked over your shoulder to watch himself explore your body and tease shivering sighs and surprised moans out of you.

It was a strange game that made your knees quiver: those seemingly disembodied hands were coaxing the most outlandish sensations out of your body and soul while you could but watch and react.

You almost forgot that it was the king himself who was playing you as if you were that mystical harp people said he owned and mastered.

Tension rose inside of you until you felt like a piece of cloth yourself, torn and tattered, knotted and twisted to the point of tearing, and your jaw clenched around all the pleas you knew to be indecent to even voice in private.

“Say it!” he demanded as your thighs clenched helplessly around that ball of fire that had been hitherto so utterly unknown to you; it was as if he could read your need in the undulations of your tortured flesh.

“I want you to touch me,” you assured him in a single gust of hot breath that almost sounded like a sob.

His hand plunged between your legs and – automatically – you spread your thighs wider to accommodate the sheer width of it as his fingers ghosted ever so lightly over that fleshy seam that covered the hot, humid pocket of your core.

With a whine, you tilted your hips, urging him on, demanding more of something you didn’t even understand while never taking your eyes off the mirror in front of you.

You looked positively feral; your eyes were ablaze with a fire you had never known yourself to possess, and your skin seemed to glow golden with the beating, thrumming urgency that drowned out every sensible thought in your mind.

“Oh, Mistress,” he muttered, low in his chest, turning you around suddenly and pressing his hot lips onto yours.

His hands clamped around your waist again as his breath gusted into your mouth, making you dizzy with a need you could not fully understand.

“I need…” you whimpered, your thighs clenching and unclenching rhythmically as if to demand that his warm, teasing fingers return to that secret garden of yours.

With a slightly blurry smile, Thorin divested himself of his own tunic and slipped out of his trousers as if they were poison ivy.

“Oh Mahal,” you sighed upon discovering the bulge extending his undergarments almost grotesquely.

Before you could say anything more, he had stepped out of those as well and turned you back to the mirror, pressing his heat against you as his fingers slid through the damp curls of your mound.

A tiny cry fell from your lips like dew from a rose petal as he parted your flesh and lightly grazed the tip of his index over the pearl hidden within a shell that had been unbreeched before this day.

“More,” you demanded, twitching and jerking like a puppet on a string as his caresses became increasingly insistent, drumming up a storm within your skin.

Blinding light burst into flames behind your lids, and you felt as if you were pulled taut like a thread after the final stitch and melted like sealing wax over a candle at the same time.

“Look at yourself,” Thorin demanded again, and you lifted your head to stare blindly at the wild-eyed creature that wore your skin but looked nothing like you with its glowing halo of pure bliss and its feline grin.

You no longer wanted to see your own fall from grace and so, you moved to turn but his hands kept you in place; you knew what he’d ask of you.

Your lips felt numb and swollen from his kisses as you parted them slowly to moan his name, begging him to let you see him instead of that stranger in the mirror.

Mahal, he was glorious; whoever had fashioned that suit he had been born with was a dress maker whose talent and vision far surpassed your own: every rope of muscle, every stitch of hair, every embroidery of veins and tendons was utter perfection.

“You look weak, Mistress,” that voice – a blend of smooth silk and raspy velvet – purred into your ear, “why don’t you sit down?”

Vaguely nodding, you let him guide you down until the backsides of your legs touched the cold wood of the small dais.

For a moment, you thought that you could ground yourself but – as he knelt between your open thighs – the king started peppering nipping kisses along the curve of your hip, and your mind went blank.

What fabrics you had felt run like rivers between your fingertips and along your bare skin and yet, none compared to the feeling of his beard against the most delicate parts of your flesh as his tongue dove – pointed as a needle – into you, piercing your flesh without ever breaking your skin.

“My king,” you panted, the fire within you blazing with a ferocity that positively turned you into a hazard in a place such as this.

Colours and textures exploded behind your heavy lids, the wood supporting you melting like chocolate, until his hands on your waist were the only anchor tethering you to the real world.

“I am sorry,” he chuckled darkly against your skin, “but you looked so beautiful.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you sighed. This was a lie for Thorin II had ruined your marital prospects in ways he could not even fathom; you would never forget or be content with anything less than the level of devotion and passion he had just lavished on you.

“Well, did you get the measurements?” he asked while rising, a bit awkwardly, and scanning the room for his tunic that had been so cavalierly discarded before.

“Not yet,” you smiled, a surge of confidence driving you ever on.

Pushing yourself up quickly, you forced him down in the very spot you had been sitting in only a moment prior – as a treacherous wet mark on the worn wood betrayed – and got your measuring tape back out.

“Mistress?” Thorin asked breathlessly as you sank onto your own knees before him, “This seems hardly necessary for a tunic.”

When you dropped the tape and clawed your fingers into his thighs though, the soft joking tone drained out of his voice as rapidly as the iridescent water from the dying tubs.

“Oh,” he moaned, his hips bucking towards you, desperate for a relief his pride wouldn’t let him beg for.

Thankfully for him, you were a much less cruel and masterful person than him, so you bent your neck – a movement and position well known to you as you had spent many an hour hunched over finest needlework – and lapped up the single drop of clear fluid beading at the top of his cock like a pearl of dew clinging to a blossom.

His strangled, throaty cry was all the encouragement you needed to plunge forward and – while your fingers caressed him in carding, threading, teasing motions – you lapped and sucked at the engorged, angrily throbbing member in front of you shamelessly.

He was beautiful in ways that defied your very understanding of what the world was made of; you - who had thought that it was a badly stitched together construct of discarded linen - came to discover the finest materials imaginable as you tightened your grip ever further around his strong thighs.

His breathing became more laboured by the second, gusting like the bellows of the great forges down your neck as he bent over you to caress your back tenderly.

These fingers of yours that threaded needles as fine as hairs through the most delicate of fabrics were now in constant movement as you endeavoured to give your king as much pleasure as you could.

You had ever believed him to be a passionate man, but the way his thighs quivered and his teeth clamped around curses and words of endearment showed you that you didn’t even begin to fathom the depths of either the meaning of the word or the sensations themselves that swirled through Thorin like fire and smoke.

Nobody would ever compare to him, you thought once more - almost disgusted by that discovery - as his fingers dug deep into your hair to find purchase while the world around you fell away.

“Do you…” he moaned, “do you want me to finish like this?”

You were not entirely sure what he was talking about, but - just for good measure - you redoubled your efforts, hollowing your cheeks further to create even more suction which made his words melt into a groan that could have expressed either deep delight or torturous pain.

“I guess,” he panted, “this would be better; you’d want to be married one day and that gift I’ve but tasted is your husband’s to win.”

He would not claim your virginity, but he had taken your innocence from you; the veil had lifted, and you could see the world as it was - in its monstruous, terrible glory - and nobody would ever manage to turn back time.

Suddenly, he arched – like the string of a bow being pulled back – and whatever intimate arrow had been nocked deep within him was let loose and hit the back of your throat in a stream of salty warmth.

The low, long-drawn, hoarse cry that seemed to both announce and applaud said explosion made your skin thrum with exaltation; you had done well and the prostrate body of your ruler - spread out like a sheet of the most exquisite satin - gave you a pleasure exceeding even the one you felt when looking upon a job well-finished.

“Oh Mistress,” he sighed before pressing a warm, affectionate kiss onto the crown of your head.

Somehow, that gesture of profound tenderness hit you harder than all the illicit, forbidden things you had shared in this forlorn room just moments ago; being the unwitting plaything of a royal was a fate that befell many a maiden all over the world, but to be treated lovingly came with risks of the heart and the soul far more dangerous for they could have much more grievous consequences.

“I shall have your tunic ready for a first fitting in a fortnight’s time,” you whispered, picking up your measuring tape to busy your hands lest they return to his warm skin like a dog ran back to its master.

“Shall I see you for the fitting?” the king asked in a slightly mischievous tone, “Royal business keeps me relatively busy, and I’d be ever so thankful if you could see me after hours?”

You understood only too well what he was saying - barely hidden beneath his seemingly nonchalant question - and you blushed; the fire between your legs had not simmered down yet and you knew that - had he asked you in this very second - you would have agreed to give him what he would not demand of you.

Maybe, you would never marry, and that sacrifice would be brought willingly if only you could have him; you desired him like a person underwater yearned for air, or like a starving wretch longed for a single morsel of breath.

He drove you not only to distraction but to despair; there was nary a thing you would not have forsaken in this very second to keep him by your side, to feel his massive weight pin you to the dais like an insect onto a piece of cork, and to have him conquer your body with that tempestuous ardour that would fan the embers into roaring flames.

“I’ll be here,” you whispered, “and I’ll be waiting for you.”

His index and thumb closed gently around your chin as he purred warningly: “This is dangerous, Mistress, and you stand to lose more than you realise now.”

“It won’t matter,” you replied calmly, “it will be worth it, Your Majesty.”

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly, but his eyes were alight in the shadow of the overhead light source as he shook his head darkly; he wanted you as well, you could smell it, you could taste it still on your tongue, and you could feel it in the way his fingers quirked on your skin even now.

“In a fortnight,” he repeated ominously before collecting and redonning his discarded clothes and leaving the shop without turning around.

“In a fortnight,” you sighed and started cleaning away every treacherous proof of what had transpired between you and your late-time customer.

The days couldn’t fly by fast enough, you thought, as you watched him go.

So, this was the smutty short :D

I hope you all enjoyed this, if so, do not hesitate to leave me a small comment :D

Thank you ❤️

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@middleearthpixie

[noritoshiikamo]

i woke up and decided to actually think today, and so i thought about naoya!😩

like we all know he’s a totally misogynistic freak who treats women like property💀 and we’re also like 99.99% sure he has a breeding kink.💀 and i was just like ‘what if after like a week or so of breeding (not having sex, literally breeding bc it’s naoya💀) he finds out his precious little wife is pregnant and now he’s a total simp bc pregnant women need to be cautiously taken care of. he doesn’t want anyone else around his wife but she needs constant care so he has to learn to actually appreciate women!

bonus point: she gets to treat him like shit but is gaslighting him by just blaming it on pregnancy symptoms.😭

now i wanna be naoya’s pregnant wifey,, uwu <3

naoya zenin x fem!reader continuation from this // *screams internally* not a fic just word vomits idky the idea of soft naoya is in my head but it is tagging: @booksweet @fushigurocockslut @lazy10ieiri @sassyeahhhh @cotton-curse @thevoidwriting @dukina @miss-ryomen @megumifushi @duskamethyst @sookyshima @t-tatsumaki - befora yall come to me with the slander, i was drunk

- no question asked

your marriage to naoya was handled quick and immediately after your defeat; after all he knew you're such a flight risk.

you both were named the successor of the head of clan after your father stepped down and being beaten and humiliated by you multiple of time hadn't humbled the crap out of him; only fuel him to break you into his submissive little breeding bunny. you both hadn't left your side of the wing of the estate after the ceremony. it has been weeks since you stepped outside. naoya had stripped you off your privilege of being clothed. food and fresh water were constantly supplied to your door. you didn't know what fueled him, not that anything wasn't fully consented but you were always reminded of where you truly belonged; underneath him.

"st-stop! no more, no more!"

you were clawing on his wrist, sweat dripping down your face as your cunt welcomed his mean, rapid thrusts. you were shaking, legs folded on the ledge of the bed, his hand around your throat with his teeth clamped on your neck leaving more trail of bruises. "i'll said when it's done," naoya hissed, tightening the grip to your waist, "all you need to be is my good wife and take it all in." his threats went straight to you cunt and he no longer muffled your scream as you felt your umpteenth orgasm came crashing in.

"naoya!" you cried, digging your nail further into his skin.

you could hear his chuckle right by your ears, his nose nuzzled into your locks as his hips continued to thrust forward. "what's it, bunny?" he cooed, you could feel his hand along the valley of your breasts, along your belly and down to your throbbing clit. you threw your head back, tears streaming down your face as you felt his finger torturously circling on it. you could barely string up your words, your choked up moans were melodious to him.

"you don't look so cocky now huh?" he tightened his grip to your neck, "all you need is some good fucking and you're reduced back to nothing but a cum dump. my little cum dump." you want to protest, grunting as you could feel how sloppier his thrusts were. naoya was close and the closer he is, the more degrading he is. it didn't take long until he started filling you up, spurts of his warm cum feeling your inside but you were drifting out of your mind to even care.

you woke up the next day completely drowsy and confused.

you felt suffocated and it wasn't because of the thick, fluffy comforter draped over your body; it was naoya's limbs wrapped around you.

"get off me," you grumbled, fingers peeling the tight grip around your waist only for him to pull you closer. "shut up," he mumbled, eyes close as he nuzzled deeper in the crook of your neck, "shut up or i'll find something to keep your mouth busy." you rolled your eyes and accepted your defeat. it was odd to wake up in his arms, naoya isn't a cuddling type of husband. he's strict, he enjoys his personal space not that he cared about yours and he was never a warm, morning kiss, pleaser kind of man.

of course it was all short lived as you felt his finger trailing down your belly.

you were still soaked from last night, he knew it as he dipped his fingers in. his fingers found your clit and you drew in a long breath as he started circled slowly. you started to remember slowly what had happened yesterday; how overstimulating had knocked yourself down, fainting just as he filled you up. you could feel your face burning up but naoya wasn't gonna notice it when he busy buried in your neck lapping gently on your skin.

you could hear the frantic beating of his chest against your back. a long deep sigh escaped your lips as he continued his touches. his fingers prodded your lips, prompting you to suck it. the pressure around his finger from your mouth had him breathing hard. with your saliva coating his finger, it found your breast, the coldness of the fluid had your nipple hardened instantly.

"does that feel good, bunny?" he whispered in your ear.

"y-yes."

"good," he tilted your head for a kiss. you were startled, he never kissed you with such passionate but you basked it all in. he swallowed each one of your moans, with every mewls and pleases had your husband teasing you for more. you could feel his sly smile against your lips as he quickened his motion. you could feel the knot threatened to snap in your belly and as his lips latched on your nipples, you couldn't hold it much longer. you thrashed against his body as you screamed, his fingers didn't stop immediately milking you out of your orgasm. he pressed a kiss on your marked breast, his face hovered above yours as he slipped his slick coated fingers between his lips, slurping up all your arousal clean.

"good morning, my wife," his deep raspy voice greeted you with such excitement. the sunlight peaked through the curtain, illuminating his body, you couldn't help but to grunt annoyingly over how beautiful the man looked like. "morning," you grumbled, hand reaching forward to push the strays of his forehead, "you're too chirpy for my liking. can you go back to being asshole?" you let his lips showered your arms in kisses, from your wrist to your knuckles, to the tip of your fingers. your forehead scrunched in confusion as he rested your palm on his cheek.

"they told me i can't be mean to an expecting mother."

your face fell, shoving him off you as you sat up, "that's not funny, zenin." he lolled his head to side, cocking his head to the table on your side. your blood ran cold as you saw a letter folded neatly with your name on it. "naoya, it's not funny!" your voice cracked as you grabbed the letter. he was right.

your hcg level is high; you are pregnant.

"get out," you yelled, tossing the pillow straight to his face, "get out get out get out!"

it was rough couple of days. you kicked naoya out of your room. locking yourself in as you tried to comprehend the fact that you're carrying a child. he came by every hours or so, bringing you meal as you locked yourself in the bathroom out of spite. you don't want to see him but most of the time it was just your morning sickness. the twisting of the bathroom knob startled you, you forgot to lock it this time but you were emptying your stomach to even care at this moment.

"if you could've just eaten, this would be easier."

you hurled over the bowl, "shut up, it was your stupid cock that got me here."

of course, naoya laughed. you feel his kiss on your shoulder but you were too lazy to fight him. he took of your clothes, lifting you up to the shower where he sat you between his laps, gently running the water along your body. he took his time to lather soap all over your body, ignoring your protests as he gently massaged your legs and shoulders. you sescretly enjoyed his pampering. "you'll get wet," you grumbled, eyes closing as he slowly massaged your scalp. by this time you were sure he was as wet as you are.

"i don't mind," he said, nonchalantly, "my wife needs me."

my wife needs me, the words lingered in your brain as he rested you on the sink, gently patting your damp body with a warm towel. his silence were overwhelming, naoya has always been full of snide remarks. you clenched on the towel tightly, watching his back as he slowly shed off his wet clothes, wrapping a towel around his waist. you haven't see him naked in a while, in fact you haven't see him in awhile. he caught you staring, you didn't try to hide it. in fact, you missed him a lot.

"are you crying?" he teased as he tilted your chin up.

"fuck off."

"aww, does my wife missed me?" he cooed, lips ghosting just above your lips as his eyes bore deeply into yours. his eyes widened in excitement when you let of a yes, a chuckle escaped his lips as he hoisted you up from the sink to the bed, gently placing you on the newly made bed. he must've sent in a servant to replace the sheet while they were in the bathroom. naoya had planned it all from start. he fed you, clothed you before handling you the daily vitamins.

you stared down on colourful pills on your palm.

"it's good for the baby," he brushed a stray hair off your face, holding up a glass of water.

"what is it then? i'll eat it if you can tell me what it is," you asked, brows up in defiance. you know naoya zenin well, you fought him, you challenged him, you married and bed this man- he could never be a good husband, let along a father. this baby was a disaster waiting to happen. you wanted to be a mother, when time is right but you weren't sure if naoya is the best person to have one with. but what you were sure of was that he would not know what pills you were holding.

but you were wrong.

"that's folic acid and that one is iron supplement. you don't need much, that's what the doctor said for now, but we'll get you checked later if you need more. " naoya couldn't hold back the smile he had as he enjoyed the shock look on your face. sure, you were just someone he married out of spite, out of proving to his family that he's capable of ruling the zenin clan one day, but he had grown to love the baby he made in you and you; oh you were pain to tame but you're his pain, his pride and his joy.

"don't act so shock, you get 9 months to fuck me over with the baby. i don't know why you're so stubborn. i told you," he ran his fingers along your cheek and jaw, hooking it under your chin as he tilted your head up, "all you need to do is be my pretty little wife and i'll give you everything you want."

you cocked your brows up, clutching on his wrist, "everything? no limits? no question asked?"

"no question asked," he promised.

"i want natto, i want it so badly," you cooed, lips jutted forwards as you looked up to him pleading. he laughed, surprised that of all thing you would've asked, you asked for some stinky beans. you tugged on his collar, pulling him closer with a smile, "and then maybe," you bit your bottom lips, face warming up as you pull him closer, "maybe a kiss."

"huh, a kiss?"

you grinned, "maybe a lot of them."

"then, your wish is my command."

© all content belongs to noritoshiikamo. do not modify or repost.

[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​

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[saturnsstufff]

Epolouge: The Empress

Warnings: slight NSFW

"Thena, sweetie, you can't play with that-" Techno warned to his child, moving the wrapped sword away from her tiny hands.

"But Daddy- you said you'd teach me!"

As Athena got older it was obvious she shown sides of taking after her father. Her curiosity in weaponry, speech, and body language told you that much. But, to be honest, you didn't mind.

You would admit, after being away from the toxicity of the empire, and the people it entailed, life was much simpler, and way more humble. It was homey, something far more than the large palace was. Instead of large marble floors, tall lengthy walls, and perfect matching fabrics, the cozy cottage home Techno and you built was made of warm, strong logs, wooden floors that gave off a warm glow, mismatched blankets and curtains that hung with care, showing they were frequently opened and closed. It was perfect for your small family. You adored it.

After the fall of your kingdom and the near escape you all had, life was hard to adjust to. Techno was distant, scared he would lash out at you again like he did in the library. You wanted to tell him it was ok, that it was a terrible misunderstanding between the communication, and the people holding the letters. Yet, the way he grabbed you still had you hesitant. You could still remember the first few months within the tundra.

Your eyes watched the brute cut more logs. The way he moved the axe, you wouldn't have expected him to be a once prestigious emperor. Instead he looked like a boy far past his years- someone overly exhausted.

The baby in your arms was easily fast asleep. Warm and cozy from the near fireplace, and if that wasn't enough, her mothers arms and chest opted as a warm cushioned resting place.

The past month was hard, both mentally and physically. Between the tension techno and you had, and the fear of Athena getting too cold from no true shelter, you both were at your wit's end. Thankfully Techno and Phil worked to built a small shelter. Something you could rest Thena in, well the three of you worked to build a more suitable home for a family.

The rocking chair you were seated in offered a soothing place to think back on it, of course your thought's were disrupted when Tech walked back inside the home. Logs over his shoulder for the fire, not wanting it to die out and bring the tundra chill into the home.

"Did she fall asleep finally?..." he asked softly, setting the logs down. Although he walked over to the two of you, he didn't rub his finger on her cheek like he normally would, he probably had sap on his hands from the wood. Something that was now normal.

Your smile came easy to his tone "yeah, she zoned out pretty quickly after she ate. You were right about rice cereal, she's not as hungry anymore" your eyes went up to meet with his. His smile was just as gentle as yours. "Where did you even hear about it?"

"I was curious if it would... I was trading in the village and I herd it from a elderly woman" he explained, moving to the sink to wash his hands off.

Your curiosity perked at this.

"You did?"

He hummed and wondered back, sitting on the couch, still respecting the space you wished. Just because you two were married didn't mean it was all sunshine and rainbows. Things were still healing, you still got weary around his touch after the library incident, and he was still blaming himself for the years you were alone. He didn't feel like you could forgive him so easily- he knew you shouldn't.

"Mhm. She saw me looking at a small plush and rattle. She asked if I had any children or if they were for a friend... I explained I had a fussy infant... she kind of laughed and told me a few ways to avoid it..." his cheeks went pink as he glanced away.

It was easy to believe Sarah tampered with the letters, the tech in the letters was cold and distant about children. Where the one you laid with every night cooed, and played with his daughter, eager to show her the world. One thing he did for her almost made you break down in tears.

Due to fleeing for your lives, Athena no longer had toys, blankets, or anything she needed. She even lost her plush, the one she slept with every night. When she was particularly fussy one night, you explained to techno why. Of course he was saddened too, he didn't wanna hear his little girl cry, no parent did. So the next day he found some scrap fabric and sewed together a small Pig for her. You would always remember how eagerly she pulled it into her arms.

In the end. It was easy to see Technoblade was a family man.

When night time rolled around, you were thinking back on all the nights techno held you close. After his return you both slept with a bit of distance between you. The first night you both were tightly within each other's arms, too scared to loose each other again. But after that something about laying tightly like everything was ok didn't feel right. So the two of you kept a bit of distance, easily a hands reach away if needed.

Tonight however, you wanted tech to hold you. You wanted old times back, the endless giggles, the warm arms, slight smirks, his nose in your neck content with life. You missed it so much.

So when Techno crawled into bed, you fallowed in suit, but instead of crossing over him for your place by the wall, you sat atop straddling his waist. The action alone was enough to make him pink, and curious. His hands didn't rest on your hips, rather you guided them to rest there yourself, showing it was ok for him to touch you.

You could feel how hesitant he was. He didn't want to scare you, drive you away farther than you already were.

"Princess... what are you doing?" He asked softly, admiring your form above him, dearly missing the sight deep down.

"Tech I miss you... I miss you holding me, making love to me, whispering how much you love me... I miss how close we were..." you said slightly pained.

He drew a slight breath, the air coming out shaky. "Darlin'- Princess... look... I miss it too... But I hurt you... I accused you of sleeping with Orion, i also assumed you hated me... It made me draw my sword to you... it made me Grab you-" he was cut off by you.

"And I forgive you... it's in the past... we can move forward... I mean... I'm assuming you wouldn't do it again..." you said slowly, watching him discard your hips for your hands.

"Ill never raise a hand, or blade to you again... never again... God's I love you too much to even think of hurting you like I could have... Your all I have..." he said softly, tearing up slowly. Thinking back on it, he hated how he acted, he was hurt and took it out in rage, he took it out on the one person who endlessly loved him.

After talking out how you two truly felt, you tried to make love again, the action felt odd, yet long awaited, Both of you desperate to feel one another after so long without each other, but sadly when Tech moved you under him, you watched his eyes well with tears before he fully broke down in tears.

Their may have not been physical intimacy shared, yet the wounds of words, and actions began to slowly heal, and it all started with techno burring his face into your chest, his sobs drowned out by the wild wind outside the cabin.

Your thoughts were shaken from your mind as you watched your daughter try to charm tech into teaching her sword play.

"You promised!" She said, hoping it would budge the stubborn Brute.

"Yeah, well I promised your mother a new ring too and all she got was another one of you-" he said scooping Thena up into his arms, holding her upside down to get her to laugh.

"Yeah well she can take Ares back! I don't want a brother!" Thena said, sounding like she meant it. "He’s annoying and he always cries at night" she explained, finding her reasoning good enough.

"It sounds like you when you were his size" you said with a smile, stepping up beside your husband, almost eye level with your child. "Ares is young, he'll grow up and get quite darling. Crying is his only way of communicating he needs something" you explained, moving your head so you were somewhat looking her in the eyes.

When tech started to tickle her, it brought smiles to you both. Over the years her giggle, and laugh had become your shared favorite sound. Athena was so innocent and pure, she was the only hope that had survived the darkness of the empire. Luckily out of that darkness came a stronger relationship between you and Tech, even if it took time to develop again.

Without the empire down his throat, he had become much more relaxed. Even his voices seemed to dull down quite a bit. Not only that, but with his son born he felt more at home than he ever had.

This was, and always will be better than what you suffered. This was the life you and Technoblade deserved, after every tooth and nail fought for normality, this was rewarding. This was home.

[kevinvoncrastenburg]

Uberhood Round 1 - The Burb Family

Next family in line: The Burbs. The Burbs moved to Pleasantview in the past fall. I thought 225 Main Street would be fitting for them. (Do you get the ballon wallpaper reference?) Here's a little summary of what happened so far:

John always wanted to move back to the suburbs. His bio states that he fondly remembers his childhood and the hours he spent helping out in his parents' garden and hopes to continue this tradition. I think he'd also want to have some more children to pass this tradition to.

Lucy was very happy she's finally living in an environment where she could spend much time outside playing with other kids. Or the fact that her two cousins, Angela and Lilith Pleasant, live just a stone's throw away from her.

Jennifer on the other hand wasn't all too excited to move back to the suburbs. She actually enjoyed the fast-paced life the big city. Besides she wants to establish her own magazine one day and the city had the perfect places and opportunities for this to happen. Now she has a long drive to work and feels disconnected.

It wasn't long after they moved in when Jennifer realized she's pregnant again. Of course John was thrilled. Jennifer by contrast feared this would be the final nail to the coffin of her career. Eventually she came to terms and was looking forward to their bundle of joy.

This said bundle of joy would later be known as Benjamin Burb. He's a toddler by now. John agreed to be a stay at home dad while Jennifer earns the money. She is currently working as a Fact Checker in the Journalism career.

Everything adjusted after a while and the family is living their humble life. But now it's John who's feeling disconnected. He's done with the housework by 12 and spends the rest of the day lying on the sofa, waiting for something to happen finally. Where is this going...? That's it for now. I know the beginning might be a bit dry but I promise it will get better as soon as we play in the present. ☺