#three is the luckiest number

[quillsareswords]

A little blurb for me 👉👈 QFWW

What if the boys (Jon & Dami) wanted to make Valentine's day super special but the chaotic duo just make a mess of things but it ends up being even more endearing. Like wanting to bring reader flowers but something comes up and the bouquet never makes it home fully intact. Or breakfast in bed but the kitchen looks like a disaster and one of the boys ends up with Distract Reader But Don't Make It Suspicious Duty™ so that they don't see the mess. Something super cute and chaotic :))

WARNINGS: language, talk of food, mentions of bike crash, 2,000 words of poly garble just for you 😘

See Three is the Luckiest Number master list for more poly fics!

MASTER LIST in BIO

   "She knows something is up." Jon whispers, eyes cutting toward you nervously.

   "Of course she does. You're whispering and looking at her every seven seconds like you're trying to hide something."

   "I am hiding something!"

   "Shh!"

   You look up from your book through your eyelashes. They're right where they were the last time Jon got a little too loud: standing in the kitchen, pretending to make dinner. Pretending, because there's been an empty pot sitting on the stove for ten minutes.

   They've been acting strangely the last few days. Jon more so than Damian. You really hope it's something to do with the upcoming holiday and not something serious that they're trying to keep from you.

   "Everything okay in there?" you call, skimming the page in your lap for the line you left off of.

   "Fine," they respond in unison.

   It's probably fine.

   "This is the exact opposite of fine," Jon hisses. "It was supposed to be here days ago."

   "I've reported it missing and a replacement won't be here for two weeks at best. There isn't anything else we can do about it now." Damian drums his fingers against the counter. "We have to come up with something else."

   Jon bites down on the nail of his thumb. "V-Day is in three days. We have no time."

   "We've overcome worse." Damian assures. Armageddon, alien apocalypse, city-wide bomb threats. Surely they can handle a last-minute Valentine's Day gift, right? "We just need to…get creative."

   Jon's shoulders cave toward his chest anxiously. "Okay, well, I know what she got you, and a macaroni necklace is not comparable."

   Damian, out of the kindness of his own heart, resists every urge not to roll his eyes at his darling boyfriend. "Not that kind of creative," he corrects. "Perhaps instead of a gift, we do something for her."

   Jon's eyebrows raise. Damian senses his skewed thought process like waves in a pool.

   "Food, Jon. We should make her food."

•••

   Damian keeps forgetting to fix his ringtone. It always slips his mind until he’s somewhere in public, like walking to his next lecture, trying to seem imposing in front of his peers with his nice sweater and his heavy peacoat, and his phone starts screaming Lady Gaga’s poker face.

   “...and Baby, when it’s love if it’s not rough it isn’t fun~!”

   He almost rips his pocket open trying to get a hold of the fucking thing.

   “Jon, if you ever touch my phone again-”

   “You’ll torture me and all that extra fun stuff, I know, I know. You have my full consent.”

  Damian rolls his eyes with a huff and ducks away from the main walkway. “I take it this isn’t an emergency, then?” Because, in typical Wayne fashion, it’s always his gut reaction.

   “No…well, I mean, not really.”

   He jerks to a halt. “What? Are you alright?”

   “Yeah! Yeah, sorry, I’m fine, everybody’s fine. But, um…Did you order the chocolates?”

   He shoves out a breath and continues on his way. “Yes, of course. Have they arrived?”

   “Yeah…except, uh, I think you ordered the wrong ones.”

   He stops again. “...What?”

   “These aren’t right. I am, like, ninety percent sure these are not her favorites. Actually, I think she avoids these?”

   “Look at– Was there a packing slip? An order sheet of some kind?” Damian asks, eyebrows pinched.

   He hears shuffling, crinkling. “Uh, yeah, here is it.”

   As Jon rattles off the assortment, Damian’s heart starts sinking. He pinches the bridge of his nose like it might relieve the pressure building behind his eyes. “Yes. That’s…She hates those.”

   How. On this good green earth. Did he mess that one up?

   Sleep deprivation. It must have been. He ordered it the night Ivy defaced the Wayne Tower by using vines to form a heart and shape I + H through the middle. At least she’d apologized. At least Harley liked it.

   Shit. He’d better check Jon’s too. Milk chocolate, coconut, caramel, right? That’s what Jon’s was supposed to be. Maybe he should have you check it.

   “Is the name on it right?” he sighs.

   More rustling. “Oh. No. It’s addressed to a…Walt Morgan.”

   Thank. Fuck. He's not the third worst boyfriend in the building.

   “Okay. Okay. That’s easy to fix, then. I’ll call them and sort the whole thing out. With any luck, a new one will be delivered the day before.” He’s thinking out loud, already scheming out how to sneak a three foot tall heart-shaped box of chocolates into the apartment and past you. “This is fine.”

   Jon laughs into the phone. “What, like the meme? Are you sitting in a burning room right now?”

•••

   The moment Damian gets home, lecture notes fresh in his mind, Jon meets him at the door.

   "Problem," he blurts. He's holding something behind his back.

   Damian squeezes the strap of his bag. "With?" The League? The Titans? The city?  The world? His family? Jon's family? God forbid, you?

   "The flowers," he answers. His hands move, and suddenly Damian is staring down at the squished, crumpled remnants of a flower bouquet with all your favorites.

  He sighs in relief. "What happened?" He rubs his palm across his forehead and tries to resettle his nerves.

   "I rode my bike home. I hit that stupid bump in the parking garage and it was either the flowers or the groceries, so…” He squeezes a limp petal between his thumb and his pointer, eyebrows furrowed glumly.

   Damian plucks the best looking one of the whole cluster and looks it over. “It’s alright. I’ll call in the morning and order another. You should hide these, though.”

   Jon shrugs. “Yeah. I think the old lady across the hall would like some. I’ll pick out the ones that survived.”

   Damian’s lips curl up at the edges. It's just like Jon to find some act of kindness in a cluster of crushed flowers. “I think that’s a great idea.” He jams the flower back into the middle. His hand comes up to cup Jon’s cheek instead. He presses his lips to his temple. “Well done, saving the groceries. She’ll like the food better anyway.”

•••

   “Jon,” Damian hisses.

   Jon turns around very slowly, eyes wide. His clothes seem to have survived unscathed, but there are speckles of batter across his face. He’s still holding a spatula in one hand.

   He takes a deep breath. “I was gone for two minutes. What happened?”

   Jon smiles sheepishly. “See, I wanted to flip pancakes like you do. Like, without the spatula? You just, like, throw it with the pan?”

   “Right.”

   “Well, I tried it because it looks easy when you do it, but, I…I kind of miscalculated how hard I was supposed to jerk the pan. So it kind of…” he trails off, gesturing confusingly with his hands. Damian quirks an eyebrow, so he points toward the ceiling to clarify.

   Twelve feet above him, Damian finds the pale wet splatter of batter on the ceiling. And on the floor below it, the dry, cooked side of an unfinished pancake.

   “You launched a pancake so high it hit the ceiling?”

   “It stuck for a few seconds. I mean, see, if you think about it; it’s really a testament to your cooking skills. Right? The batter was just…that good.” He grins convincingly. Dirty little suck up. Those puppy dog eyes may work on you, but they rarely do on Damian.

   Rarely.

   Damian stares down at the ruined pancake still leaking uncooked batter, grossly lumpy with chocolate chips. It’ll be a pain to clean later, so he may as well get it done with. He might as well wipe down the counters, too…

   He looks to the rest of the kitchen while Jon starts unraveling some paper towels. “Jon.”

   The man in question glances at him as he crouches to start scooping up his failure. “Hmm?”

   “What have we done to the kitchen?”

   “What do you mean?” Jon mumbles, turning toward the counters, “I was kind of cleaning as I went…oh.”

   They may have had a little too much fun making breakfast. Chocolate chips spilled across the counter where Jon was measuring with his heart. Dishes nobody thought to do after the movie last night piled in the sink beneath all the bowls and measuring cups from this morning. Half of the pancake ingredients are still sitting on the counter because Jon got handsy when Damian finally made it to the stove top. Flour is dusted around the area where Jon had been mixing everything in the bowl. There’s also batter slopped over a corner of the counter from when he got handsy the second time.

   It’s fine. It’s looked worse. The time you tried to make sushi rolls. The time Jon tried to make pudding-filled cupcakes. The time Jason realized this apartment was a lot closer than the Cave and would mop up better than his safehouse once he was done bleeding all over the place. That time Titus switched foods too fast.

   "She can't see this," Jon whispers. He projects his hearing back out past the living room, listening for any sign you've woken up. "She cleaned Saturday. She will kill us."

   "Agreed. We take this to our graves."

   "Agreed."

   Damian takes a deep breath. Scans the room again. Pulls together a plan. "Can you finish the pancakes?"

   "I'll burn them. Don't look in the microwave. I'll start cleaning." As if to cement this, he ducks around Damian to get under the sink for the cleaning supplies.

   Damian glances warily toward the microwave. He decides his mental health is more important than seeing what's inside.

•••

   For the first time in a long time, you wake up to an unexpectedly cold bed.

   You stretch out, sleepily thinking you must be mistaken. Maybe you just aren't quite used to the California King upgrade. You roll onto your back and sacrifice your remaining body heat to search for a new source to leech from. You're surprised to find the end of the mattress on one side and the edge of the comforter on your other.

   Odd, considering everyone took Valentine's Day off from everything, and they'd begged you to sleep in the middle last night so they could both reach you. There weren't any agreed upon plans this morning, and none of you bother to crawl out of bed if you don't have to. Lazy mornings always find at least two of you in bed, staring at screens or book pages, waiting on the last to wake up. Some mornings, you don't even get up then.

   Which means there must be a good reason they're out of bed and not training to be professional bed warmers.

   You dart upright. You squint against any light struggling through the blinds. The room is just as it was when you went to bed last night; yours and Jon's clothes spotting the floor, Damian's laptop is closed on the nightstand by the door, Jon's phone is still charging next to yours on the other nightstand, the blinds are still half closed.

   More importantly, the locked drawer in the bottom of the dresser is still closed. Which means there wasn't any super-sneaking. 

   "Boys?" you call.

   "Stay there!" Jon's voice rings through the door from down the hall.

   "We're coming to you!" Damian adds.

   You rub a knuckle into your eye. "What're you doing?"

   "You'll see," Damian answers, closer now. Then he's whispering, "Jon, get the–"

   "I can't, I'm carrying two–"

   "Okay, fine, just put your hand here– no, there. And I'll–"

   The door creaks open, and there they stand, your heroes: both wide-eyed, Damian with a long white tray, and Jon with three mugs and a bottle of syrup balanced in two hands.

   Damian smiles widely. "Happy Valentine's Day, Beloved."

   Jon grins and practically skips into the room. "We made your favorite," he sings.

   You scoot closer to the headboard to make room. You laugh breathlessly. "What?"

   Jon sets two of the mugs alongside the phones, and pushes the other into your hands as he climbs into bed beside you. "We got you something really good, but there were some, uh…complications." He glances at your other sweetheart for confirmation.

   The man in question plants his knee on the bed before he leans over to pop the legs out to set the tray over your lap while you hold your mug out of the way. "It's delayed. You'll have it soon, but we thought we should make it up to you." Once the tray is sturdy, he climbs in on your other side.

   "Are you telling me I get breakfast in bed and a gift?" your smile turns suspicious. "Sounds an awful lot like I'm getting buttered up for something,"  You glance down at the spread that's been placed before you, "...just like these perfect fucking pancakes, good god!"

   Damian chuckles, leaning back into the pillows so he can stretch out a little. His arm reaches past you, resting against your back while his hand finds a spot on Jon's shoulder. "Perfect sounds dramatic, but thank you. I did have a lovely assistant."

  "Is that right?" you shift your attention to Jon.

   He smiles sheepishly. "I mean, I didn't much–" He stops short when he blinks and suddenly your nose is a few inches from his ear.

   "Shut up and take some credit, baby." You clip your bottom lip between your teeth as his cheeks bloom pink. You release it, only to press a kiss to his cheek. "Thank you."

   You give him a breather so you can lean the other way and bestow the same thanks to Damian. "And you, deary."

   You melt a little at the way he smiles up at you. It's all warm and tender; a side of him only these four walls and two sets of eyes get to see. "You're very welcome, Love."

   Jon's head meets your shoulder as he reaches for an orange wedge from Damian's end of the tray. Well, the end closest to him. It's arranged more like a buffet than a set table.

   "You tired, honey?" you chuckle, setting your hand on the side of his head, smoothing your thumb over the beginning of his ear.

   "Mhmm. Worth it, though."

   "How early did you get up?" Your smile fades a little. "How long have you been unsupervised in the kitchen?"

   He stiffens against you. "Huh? I dunno what you mean. What are you talking about?" He jumps when Damian pinches his arm."

   You turn slowly toward the other one. "Damian. Is my kitchen a mess?"

   He stares up at you, suave as ever laying among these pillows, one arm tucked behind his head and the other laid out behind you. "Would I ever allow such a thing to happen? On a day of love, no less?"

   "That's not an answer and you know it."

   His eyes cut beyond you, to something Jon does, or maybe to encourage him to do something.

   Your eyes narrow on him. He's guilty, you know that much. He's bad at hiding it from you, or Jon, because he doesn't like hiding things from either of you. Which means the kitchen is probably a complete wreck…but fuck it; it's Valentine's Day, and the loves of your life have made an amazing breakfast in bed to share. You'll fix the kitchen tomorrow. Or the next day. Maybe the next.

   You pretend to think about a little longer than you really do. He watches your face all the same, even if he knows you're making a show. Finally, you take a sip of your coffee. "I suppose that you can be forgiven. For the sake of the holiday. And because you made me chocolate chip pancakes, but I'm considering that cheating, so…"

   Jon's head is back on your shoulder. "So?" You can see the puppy dog eyes in your peripheral. You can feel them heating up the side of your face—so much so that you wonder if he's utilizing a tiny fraction of his laser-heat-whatever vision. Not today, Satan.

   "So, let's eat this food while it's warm and pretend the kitchen doesn't exist."

[theandrosaur]

Isiah and Irving have a secret 'bullying Palermo' club

[retroaria]

ੈ♡˳ boyfriend Isagi ｡.｡:∞♡

summary: cutsey headcanons for everyones favorite egoist Isagi Yoichi (HIMsagi GOATichi) a bit of a school AU but you can add your own nuances to it ofc I just tried to be general

warnings: purest of fluff (your heart might explode)

BLUE LOCK M.LIST | enjoy 🤍 - aria

pre!boyfriend isagi who shows his feelings through sweet acts of service before he’s ready to tell you head on. Need a partner for that project? He’s already slipping into the desk beside you, a smile on his face. Left your pencil case in homeroom? He’ll run however many miles to ensure it gets back to you. (could’ve texted you but he wants to hand it to you like Prince Charming). Forgot your lunch that day? he’s already splitting half his bento to give to you.

pre!boyfriend isagi who may be afraid to confront you about his feelings off the bat but will go so far out of his way to form a friendship with you first. Immediately introduces himself as soon as you catch his eye. You guys exchange numbers and socials and the rest is history: late night phone calls, weekend hangouts, walking you to school every morning. This boy wants to be your bestie before he swoops in for the goal (and steals your heart!)

pre!boyfriend isagi who wants to immerse himself in your interests and vise versa. No matter what it is you’re into he knows that understanding your passions will help him further understand you. Loves seeing you in the stands during his practice or games. Will literally melt at the sight of you cheering for him. “Clean up on left field, this boy just turned into a puddle of mush!”

pre!boyfriend isagi who can’t help but brush his hand and arm against yours when you walk together. Can’t help but press his leg to yours when sitting together. Can’t help but offer to carry your bags or books. Can’t help but pick that “lint” out of your hair or that “eyelash” on your face (totally not an excuse to touch you). Can’t help but tug you closer to him in crowded spaces. Can’t help but stare endlessly into your eyes everytime you speak (the BEST listener ever btw)

pre!boyfriend isagi who realizes he doesn’t want to waste another second of his life not being able to call you his. Uses the first moment he gets alone with you to take your hands in his and give you the most honest and heartfelt confession. He’s blushing lightly but confident in the connection he’s worked hard to build with you.

boyfriend!isagi who cant wait to be able to hold your hand in public, pull you in for quick kisses, wrap his arm around you whenever he wants, hold you close to him on the couch or in bed, tell you how perfect you are everyday, and never let you forget that he feels like the luckiest boy in the world when he’s with you.

boyfriend!isagi who can’t wait to introduce you to all his friends. You meet Bachira first (obvi) and the three of you become an unstoppable trio. Loves having you at post game celebrations and having you as his personal cheerleader (this boy would do anything to win the game and make you proud)

boyfriend!isagi who dies at the thought of you referring to him as “your boyfriend” and getting to say “my girlfriend/boyfriend/partner. he loves talking about you to his parents! They’re so happy to meet you and so glad that he has someone who cares for him. His mom def shows you all his baby photos (babysagi!)

boyfriend!isagi who takes you on the cutest dates and loves when you take him on dates too (makes him feel like a special boy). He always tries to do something where the two of you can spend a lot of time talking or have a nice experience together. He’s so open and willing to try new things with you, having you in his life has opened him up as a person. He’s also never not happy to just spend the night in snuggled up watching a movie/tv show/anime. (Aside: I have an isagi x reader one shot idea where they go on a date to a butterfly garden that I may potentially post Idk yet)

boyfriend!isagi who is constantly worrying about your health and wellbeing. You can’t tell me he isn’t the kind of guy to constantly check up on you, making sure you’re ok physically and mentally as often as he can. If ever you’re feeling upset or in pain/sick he goes into doctor mode and will do everything in his power to help. If all else fails he will just hold you and promise that his love will make it all better (he’s a loving optimist what can I say)

boyfriend!isagi who is the first to admit that he is absolutely smitten and totally wrapped around your finger because he will forever be in awe that he had the chance to share his love and be loved by someone so special <3

I’d love to do some more specific headcanons on him but I kept these as generic as possible and tried my best to capture just how sweetboy coded he is lol.

[minarisplaything]

Blackpink In Your Area (part three)

pairing: Kim Jisoo x M!Reader/M!OC, Rose x M!Reader/M!OC rating: Explicit wordcount: 4.6k notes: part three of the bpiya series. Rose/Chaeyoung/Rosie are all used interchangeably. this has been in the drafts forever so glad it actually got done lol. tags: doggy style, blackmail, oral sex

To say that things had changed after your rendezvous backstage would be an understatement.

You were still the luckiest person in the world, able to call Jennie Kim your girlfriend, but now the number of Kims you were involved with had doubled.

At first, you had assumed it would simply be a one-off. That from Jennie to Jisoo to yourself, you had all gotten carried away in the heat of the moment and let your primal urges get the best of you. On top of that, you didn't think it was something Jennie would want to do again, though the whole experience had shown you a new side of her that you weren't utterly opposed to.

Therefore, one could imagine your surprise when you returned home one evening to find Jennie and Jisoo waiting at your apartment for you.

As it would turn out, Jisoo was too shy to reach out to you on her own, or at least with you present, but she had been hoping that you could have another experience together. And contrary to your previous belief, Jennie approved of it. Encouraged it even, much to your surprise. Though when those two women were looking back at you, proposing a dynamic between the three of you, it was damn near impossible to find a complaint.

From that point on, it was like a new beginning for the three of you, but little did you know, your journey wasn't at its fairy tale ending just yet.

A loud, guttural moan echoed in the residence of South Korean superstars Blackpink. The source of the sound was none other than the visual of the group Kim Jisoo.   

During your first encounter backstage, she had been trying her best to muffle her sounds and minimize the risk of discovery. It didn't take long for you to realize that when that risk was removed Jisoo was quite the vocal lover. And in a completely different manner than her bandmate.  

Jennie was vulgar, expletive, and above all else a master at the art of talking dirty. Jisoo on the other hand was loud in the sense that you would know when she was enjoying herself. Moans, whimpers, gasps, pleas for more; what she lacked in vulgar vocabulary she more than made up for in all the sounds she made. 

As evidenced now as she cried out when you began to fuck her with a more rapid pace.  

She had started on her hands and knees but as the session progressed her posture steadily changed to the point where her head was now buried against the mattress; her ass poised in the air and ripe for the taking. It was the perfect position for you to pound into her, your cock spreading her open each time you re-entered her. 

Normally Jennie would be here with you but seeing as she had a scheduled photoshoot to attend and no one else was around you had decided to entertain yourselves. It had taken some trust building to get to this point, where you could be on your own or Jennie could be with her, and you didn't have to worry about anyone getting jealous. But now that you had there was no turning back.  

"You're so fucking tight" you grunted, sweat glistening off of both of your bodies, proof to how long you had been at it. "Are you close? Are you going to cum on my cock, Jisoo?" 

Needless to say, Jennie's vulgar habits had been rubbing off on you in recent weeks. 

She opened her mouth to respond but words failed her.  In the end it didn't matter as her body spoke for her. You felt the familiar sensation of her walls tightening around your length, her body trembling as her orgasm washed over her like a tidal wave.  It was both a feeling and sight you didn't think you'd ever get tired of. 

It didn't take much longer after that for you to reach your own peak; hips rocking against hers and fingers digging into her waist. Obscenities left you as you leaned into her, emptying yourself into her womb. It may not have come with the filthy encouragement of your girlfriend, but it was no less satisfying. 

You had found that one of the handful of differences between Jennie and Jisoo was in the aftermath of sex. Jennie preferred to bask in the afterglow, more often than not leading to a second or even third round of action. Jisoo on the other hand was much more subdued. She preferred to unwind and partake in aftercare. Not surprising considering how rough she liked things to be during sex.  

"You know when Jennie finds out about this, she's going to demand we treat her" you commented as a slipped out of Jisoo, pressing a kiss to her back before falling onto the bed beside her.  

"Is that a bad thing?" she questioned, brow raised as she lowered herself onto the bed, turning her head to look over at you with the hint of a grin on her features.  

“Not exactly.” you couldn't help but chuckle because she was right. If anything, it just meant the night would be a busy one.  

Before you could continue the conversation any further, the sound of the front door opening and closing echoed throughout the house.

"Speak of the devil,” you remarked.

"She's finished early," Jisoo noted, slightly confused.

"Maybe her sixth sense was tingling," you joked.

While there was a grin on your face at the prospect of Jennie being home, Jisoo didn't share your same amusement. Instead her head rose slightly as curiosity and concern marred her features. It turned out that her instincts were right as a voice soon rang out.

"Unnie? Are you home?"

"Shi — "

The immediate reaction was nearly comical. You jumped out of bed, searching for your clothes as Jisoo scrambled as well. Though you hadn't had many interactions with Chaeyoung, better known as Rose, due to trying to keep things a secret, you had heard her voice enough times to recognize it as hers.

In the end, you only managed to gather your clothes in your arms before Jisoo shoved you into the closet. She herself had only managed to slip on a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting T-shirt. To any trained eye, the post-sex hair and aroma would be apparent, but there was no time to consider that as there was a knock on the door.

"Unnie?"

The question came before the door was opened, and a blonde head poked its way into her room. "Oh! I wasn't sure if you were home or not."

"Ah, y-yes. Yes, I'm here. I had an empty schedule today," Jisoo replied nervously, brushing sweat-ridden bangs from her forehead. "I, uh, I actually just got back from the gym."

Internally, you groaned. She didn't remain quite as composed as her counterpart would in this situation. You just hoped she'd be able to get rid of Rose soon, lest you be stuck in here all day. It was a hope that was slightly dashed as she opened the door further and allowed herself into the room. Before you could come up with any further complaints, however, your thoughts were quickly silenced by Rose coming into picture. You found yourself leaning forward to get a better view through the slants in the closet door.

She wore a black crop top complemented by form-fitting track pants. When she laid herself on the bed, you weren’t concerned with whether she would get a scent of sex that had recently stained the sheets but instead thinking how perfect her ass looked as it was unknowingly pointed in your direction. 

You became less interested in the idle conversation that she and Jisoo began to have and more lost in the fantasies that began to plague your mind. The things you would do to her if given the opportunity. How she'd scream your name as you drove her to orgasm. It was clear to you then that your greed knew no bounds. But despite your cock reacting to the thoughts running through your head, you knew they were just that, thoughts that would never come to fruition.

Fortunately, you had enough self-restraint not to begin jerking off right there in the closet, and after what seemed like a lifetime, Jisoo finally managed to get her to leave with the excuse that she needed to use the shower having been to the gym.

The door closed as she saw Rose off, and there was a pause before you heard footsteps walking towards the closet. Jisoo opened the closet and immediately looked at you with a bewildered expression.

"You're still naked?!"

"...Yes?" you answered sheepishly.

"Get dressed please! This might be your only chance to leave without running into her," Jisoo exclaimed.

Deciding this wasn't the time for jokes, you obeyed her request. Had you been with Jennie, the situation might have been different; you could imagine her coming up with some kind of plot. But Jisoo wasn't so bold. Not yet, at least.

"I'm going to go take a shower, so she doesn't get suspicious. Let yourself out quietly."

You nodded affirmatively, but not before sneaking a kiss that drew a slight smile from the Blackpink visual. With no further instruction, she pushed you on your way, heading down the opposite end of the hallway towards the bathroom. Now that you were seemingly out of the woods, you could reflect on the situation with a bit of amusement. It seemed with each meeting, Jisoo was getting more and more comfortable with her sexuality and your relationship. On top of that, you had gotten a peek at some eye candy when Chaeyoung came to visit her.

You were grateful that she hadn't caught you in the act, but there was no denying that the idea of going to town on that petite body was a tantalizing one. Unfortunately for you, you'd have to content yourself with your fantasies for now.

You slipped out of the house without further incident, unaware of the watchful gaze of a certain petite blonde.

Due to their busy schedules, it was a while before you were able to catch up with Jennie or Jisoo in person again. And while sexting and Facetimes were great, they could never compete with the physical thing.

So, when you finally did get an invitation from Jennie to come over, needless to say, you dropped everything to make yourself available for her. Maybe if you were lucky, you'd even be rewarded after a long wait with a threesome.

"Jennie? Jisoo?" you called out when you arrived at the house. In her message, she was clear that no one else would be around, so you didn't feel shy about making yourself known, especially if Lisa and Rose weren't around.

Instead of a response, though, you got silence. Was she waiting in the bedroom for you? Maybe with a special surprise.

"They're not here."

To say the voice that came from behind you made you jump out of your skin would be an understatement. You nearly jumped through the damn roof! You turned around, heart beating a million miles an hour, to see one of the two people you had been told wouldn't be there. Uh-oh.

Chaeyoung, or Rose or Rosie, depending on who you were, was standing on the other side of the living room, looking decidedly unsurprised and nonplussed about a strange man being in her home. In fact, if anything, she looked like she had been expecting you.

"Uh, hi. I can explain. I don't think we've met — "

"I know who you are," Rosie cut you off.

Oh, no.

With Jennie, you could often read her as being in control or mischievous. Jisoo was often meek and eager. But looking at Rosie, you didn't know what to think. Was she angry and about to out your whole relationship to the public? No, surely, she'd never do that to her bandmates. Maybe she was just going to ban you from ever seeing them again. Whatever the case, she seemed content to let you squirm, her arms crossed over her small chest.

"And I know what you've been doing. Did you really think Jisoo would be able to keep a secret like that?"

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You guessed it had been rather naïve to think that one of you wouldn't eventually slip up, and that Jisoo was the weakest link. Then again, you weren't exactly innocent with your impromptu encounters while other members were still in the house. You justified it by saying the risk made it that much more exciting, but this was the downside: when you got caught.

"If it makes you feel better, she didn't crack right away when I asked her if you two were fucking. But she has these certain tells when she's lying — they give her away every time" Rose explained. "She told me about you and Jennie which — wow I didn't even know that part." 

As she continued to talk, your immediate fear began to subside. It didn't seem like Rosie was here to expose you. In fact, the more she talked the less angry she seemed and more like she was criticizing your tactics. Which still left you questioning what exactly her goal was.  

Now that your mind wasn't racing, it also gave you a chance to look the idol over. She was wearing another one of her sports bras, and you could already feel a tingling in your loins just at the sight of it. This time instead of wearing track pants, she was wearing running shorts. The kind that came up right to her ass, in fact, you were pretty sure if she turned around you'd see some cheek. It was a lazy, around-the-house type of outfit and yet it showed off her body and slim waist perfectly.

Christ, every girl in this group was a killer.

Honestly, it made you wonder if the reason Jennie was often so willing to share was because she recognized how hot her own roommates were. When you had that first run-in with Jisoo, she had alluded to a past with her that piqued your interest.

You couldn't help but wonder if she had a similar history with Rose, but from the way she was rambling on, it didn't seem like it.

"Take off your pants."

"Uh, excuse me?"

Her sudden demand was enough to break you from your thoughts and look at her in utter confusion. Rosie, however, didn't share your confusion and was looking at you with an expectant gaze, one hand on her hip.

"Were you listening to anything I said? Take off your pants."

You were a little afraid to admit that you hadn't, in fact, been listening to anything she had said and were instead admiring her body the whole time. Rosie seemed like she wanted to be in control, and if you didn't listen, you couldn't help but feel like some sort of punishment was coming. "Alright, alright."

You followed her orders, taking off your pants as she instructed. It was somewhat surreal. Between Jisoo and even Jennie, who could be quite demanding when she got in the mood, you had never been ordered around in this way. And the fact that it was Rosie who was the one doing it was even more surreal. You never would have guessed. Maybe that was why you found yourself getting aroused despite her harsh words.

"Those too," Rosie gestured dismissively at the striped boxers you stood in.

You would have questioned if she was serious, but the expectant look on her face was all the answer you needed to make short work of your last piece of clothing. You couldn't remember the last time you were self-conscious while nude, and yet you were anxiously awaiting Rose's judgment as you stood before her.

"She wasn't lying..." Rose muttered under her breath.

Her voice had lost the commanding edge it had up to this point, almost sounding somewhat shocked.

"What was that?" you asked.

"W-what?" Rose blinked as if shaken from a trance. "N-nothing! Shut up! Or else!"

"Alright, alright, sorry! I was just asking."

You shifted your stance slightly, trying to get comfortable. It was a new sensation. Standing there, now fully nude, and under Rosie's scrutinizing gaze. It didn't help that she seemed particularly transfixed on your cock as she contemplated her words. Part of you was wondering if she had thought this all the way through. She certainly didn't take charge the way Jennie did, but in fear of her lashing out again, you kept any further questions to yourself.

"Here's what's going to happen," Rose started. Her voice still lacked a certain confidence, but you were curious where she was going with this. "You're going to get on your knees. If you can satisfy me, then I'll keep the secret you have with Jennie and Jisoo."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I'll tell everyone."

You swallowed hard at that threat. A part of you wanted to call her on her bluff. You still doubted she'd publicly tarnish her friend's careers. But there were other steps she could take just short of that. Still, there was another motivating factor that was stronger than Chaeyoung's threat: you wanted to succeed. You wanted to feel Chaeyoung’s thighs clenching around your head as she came. Most importantly, you wanted to show her that she didn’t have to be jealous of Jennie and Jisoo.

"Well, when you say it like that, it doesn't sound like I have much of a choice..." you said.

"You don't," she emphasized.

From the curt way she snapped a response, you could tell that Rose was regaining her previous composure and feeling more confident about her position. Good. That worked perfectly for your plan and would make her eventual downfall even sweeter. For now, you'd continue to play the role she expected of you.

"A-alright. Just, you promise not to tell anyone about any of this?" you questioned one last time.

"Really?" Chaeyoung blinked at first, as if not expecting you to submit. She quickly recovered. "I mean, that depends on how well you perform."

"Okay..." You continued to play the role of someone who was defeated despite internally brimming with confidence. "So, where do you want to do this?"

"The living room."

"Out in the open?" Your voice held a surprised tone.

"Yes, out in the open. Right where one of your girlfriends might catch you," Rosie replied.

You didn't know for sure, but you could have sworn there was a hint of jealousy in her voice when she said that.

"Alright," you conceded, not putting up a fight again. "If that's what you want. Though you'll have to get out of those."

You gestured to the clothes she was still wearing. She still had on her sports bra and running shorts. And while you could still work with the sports bra, you'd have to get rid of those shorts to do what she wanted you to do. Pointing it out also made you acutely aware of your own nudity which you now realized must have been purely for her own curiosity or some kind of domination play by her.

Chaeyoung gave you an annoyed look, displeased that you had pointed out something she had forgotten. This time, though, she didn't chastise you, instead merely hooking her fingers into the waistband of the shorts and pulling them down her long legs. The reveal showed that she wasn't wearing any panties underneath. You smirked, wondering just how long she had planned for this moment to happen.

"What's that look for?" Chaeyoung snapped.

"Oh, nothing."

"You probably think this will be easy because you already seduced Jisoo and Jennie, don't you?" she taunted.

"Well, I haven’t heard any complaints so far. I think I’m more than capable," you admitted.

Your smug response seemed to work as intended. Chaeyoung’s pretty face scrunched up in irritation. Without further comment, Chaeyoung moved to the sofa, seating herself in it and reclining back. As she did so, she spread her legs, exposing her pussy to your sight for the first time. Your heart skipped a beat, cock instinctively stirring to life in response. The singer didn't have to tell you to get on your knees as you did so of your own volition, if only to get closer to paradise.

"You're already wet for me," you noted, almost in a trance.

"S-shut up!" Chaeyoung snapped again, a hint of embarrassment in her tone as her cheeks turned crimson. Still, she didn't deny it. Instead, she tried to regain her position of power in the situation, "I suggest you get to work if you want to finish before the others get back."

You briefly wondered if she had considered the outcome where you wanted Jennie and Jisoo to discover you. While she might be initially annoyed at Chaeyoung's antics of going behind her back, you could see Jennie ultimately finding joy in this new discovery. She might even take it upon herself to initiate her bandmate into your little relationship. Jisoo might be the only one who wouldn't want this to be discovered. Or at least, not her part in being the one to spill the beans to Rosie in the first place. That would undoubtedly earn her another punishment from Jennie.

Stowing that thought aside for the moment, you returned to the task at hand. You would have Chaeyoung spraying on your tongue, and then there would be a world of potential.

You leaned closer to her sex, swallowing a comment asking if she had shaved just for you. That was likely to rile her up even more than she already was. Instead, you ran your tongue along her outer folds. Her scent was strong, the taste of her juices already beginning to fill your senses. A moan left the blonde, one hand moving to press against the back of your head.

You continued to tease her, tongue tracing around her inner walls, occasionally prodding deeper inside of her. She let out a sharp gasp each time, her body arching. Her hips rolled towards you, seeking out more.

"S-stop teasing..." she groaned.

You grinned, "I'm just doing what you asked."

"D-Don't be a smartass!" Rosie snapped.

She pushed your head back into her crotch, and you returned to the task with an air of smugness. It was really too easy to rile her up. You sucked at her clit, intent on giving Chaeyoung your full attention now. If she wanted you to stop teasing, then you'd give her the best orgasm she'd ever experienced.

You felt her nails digging into your scalp, a moan leaving her. The hand pressing against your head pushed and pulled, her hips rocking in sync with the actions. She was moaning openly now, no attempt at hiding what was occurring. Given she was the one who wanted this to be in the living room, you shouldn't have been too surprised. Though you did wonder if Chaeyoung had an exhibitionist streak to her.

As you continued to eat her out, her hand moved under her top, squeezing her breast. "That's right. T-this is all you're good for. You're just h-here for us to use -- fuck -- use you as we want, you understand?"

"Mmhm," you moaned against her pussy, the vibrations making her gasp.

She didn't quite have the same amount of conviction that Jennie had when it came to such derogatory bedroom talk, but there was potential there. Besides, you were already horny enough to humor her without calling out the stutters she made.

You were starting to realize that there was a bit of an underlying fantasy at play here. Chaeyoung was enjoying the domination aspect of this, but there was another part that was playing in her mind. One you would have no qualms playing along with. Usually so sweet and friendly, she was finally getting to live out her sexual fantasies as her fingers gripped your head tightly.

"I-I guess I see why Jennie likes you so much now," Chaeyoung moaned. "With that kind of tongue... And Jisoo too. I bet y-you're just their obedient pet."

If only she knew the truth, you thought.

You didn't respond verbally but instead redoubled your efforts, your tongue working at her clit with a new vigor. Your fingers joined in the orchestra, slipping two digits inside of her to further push her towards that precipice. You could hear her breathing becoming shallower, the telltale signs that she was getting closer. Rosie seemed to realize it as well as you felt her fingers claw against your skull, almost trying to push your mouth off of her sex.

"N-no, wait, it's too soon," she moaned, despite her hips bucking into your mouth.

But it was too late. You had the advantage and you weren't going to let it go. Not until every muscle in her tight, lithe body went limp from a mind-numbing orgasm.

"Fuck," Chaeyoung stuttered, "fuck you. Cheating...bastard..."

You had never heard the singer be quite that vulgar before and took it as a small victory. You were just giving her what she wanted. It just so happened it had been more than what she could take and as her body shuddered she knew she was losing control of the situation.

As far as you were concerned, you had played this fair and square.

"Oh god!" she gasped, thighs locking around your head as her hips bucked, riding your face.

Her juices flooded your mouth as she rode out the wave of pleasure brought on by her orgasm. Her body quaked on the sofa, her nails digging into your skull as she held your hair tighter than before. Had you not been lapping at her juices, you might've savored the sight. You stayed locked in that position for several moments, letting her ride out the aftershocks. It was only when you felt her body go limp that you finally pulled your head back.

The look on your face was nothing short of shit-eating smugness. Who could blame you? The arrogant woman who had threatened to expose your relationship to the world sat utterly spent and dazed. Her thighs glistened with her release, her hand still shoved under her top lazily. Her head reclined against the cushions, a glazed over haze in her eyes as her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths.

Looking at her like this, you couldn't help but feel proud and accomplished. Especially considering how haughty Rosie had been trying to act leading up to this.

"You know, if you needed an orgasm so bad, all you had to do was ask," you teased. "I'm sure Jennie would be willing to share."

Chaeyoung only nodded dumbly, unable to maintain her bristling act that she had before nor comment in agreement. Your cock was aching between your legs, and the idea of splitting her in two until she screamed your name was enticing. However, that would have to wait.

"You should probably get dressed before they come back. Unless you want them to find out," you teased her before moving to gather your own clothing, your mission seemingly accomplished.

What followed next played out almost as you imagined. Naturally, you didn't keep the rendezvous a secret, informing Jennie of what had taken place during a long bath. After a punishment which involved a few ropes and a vibrator, she gave her consent to have Chaeyoung join your relationship. Jisoo, notably, remained silent during the whole ordeal. You'd make sure to tease her later and get something out of it, knowing that she was the one who had spilled the beans.

For now, though, life was good.

"You know," you said, as you lay in bed, your head resting on Jennie's lap as Jisoo and Rosie slept soundly on either side of you, "It might get a little awkward the three of you being involved in this with one excluded."

Jennie hummed in response, her fingers stroking through your hair, "Maybe you're right. We might have to change that."

[leafostuff]

One Heck of a Joyride[Ft. WooAh's Nana]

Word Count: 14-15K~ words

Collab with @octoberautumnbox

My Author's Notes: we are so excited to finally release this fic for yall, me and box have been working on this fic since the end of FEBRUARY (almost 3 months) and we have been working on it so hard to make it the best it can be so I really hope you will enjoy this fic

@octoberautumnbox's author notes: there u have it! took the better part of three months, but it was really fun to work on :DDDD Thanks to leafo for making sure i didn't slack LMAO

No tags since it is too long but this is fluff and smut

Thanks: of course @octoberautumnbox for working with me on this amazing collab. @4m1rz for being my lovely beta reader and @libraryoferos for being my motivation to not be lazy on this fic

And so without any further preface, let's get started, shall we?

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“And I expect you all to get along this year. Leave the past behind you as you all face a new future together.” Sporadic applause rises slowly from the crowd and dies down twice as quickly. The dean sighs away from the mic and drifts offstage, leaving everyone disinterested in the rest of the program. It all goes by in a blur, and finally ends right as the air conditioners start to fail against the heat of a summer not-yet-ended. 

Your attention is drawn away from the droning on and on from the stage and towards the many characters that populate the theater with you. You catch glimpses of people talking with their friends, a few crazy hair colours, and the occasional sleeping student who’s no doubt already saving up hours for the all-nighters to come. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice someone in the front row with both people sitting next to her conspicuously leaning away. They seem to want to get up and leave her there by herself, but the way she gives no reaction despite the jeering tone coming from her seatmates leads you to think that she’s asleep herself. 

~~~

“So yeah, That's the tour, bucko. Check the map if you’re ever lost.” Your student tour guide points at the multi-colored document on your phone. Vaguely you recall the various little symbols: which classrooms you can sleep in, which bathrooms are haunted, which shortcuts are best, all of the must-know basics of college life. 

As you continue scanning around the campus, the girl from the assembly catches your attention again. She has her hood up this time, but you can tell it’s her; her quick pacing and how she is not looking around at anyone making you believe that she’s trying her best to hide.

“What about that one? Do we not talk about her?” you ask, pointing at the oblivious figure walking past, drawing eyes and whispers much like your own. 

Your guide scoffs at the absurd idea. “That’s Nayeon. And no, we don’t. She fucked up last year, big time. Got a bunch of us in trouble. So stay away from her, she has those goody-two-shoes germs.” he says, walking away as while signaling you to follow him.

You wonder what she could have done to gain such a reputation. She was adorable earlier with her hood off, but the way people talk about her makes you want to steer clear against your own will. 

~-~-~-~

Curiosity ends up killing the cat, and you manage to gather bits and pieces of the incident from last year from gossip, class lore, and even the way some professors acted:

“She’s the luckiest bitch in the world with not a single shred of common sense. Seriously, who goes and rats on a hundred other students like that?”

“The test incident shows she only looks out for herself, even if it means bringing down the entire class.”

“There’s really no excuse for it. You have the answer key in your hand, of course you take a picture! You don’t just leave it where it’ll incriminate some other innocent loser and say you’re only trying to do the right fucking thing.”

The sheer number of factoids you gather from the wild bunch of sources only slightly make sense. Unfortunately, trying to piece them together only took up more space and brainpower which you should have used to study for your midterms coming up. Keep to yourself and you can just barely pass and move on; there is no time for college drama.

After the exam, you approach the professor to ask about possibly bumping up your grade. You decided to maybe half-ass an extra credit assignment and get the lowest passing score, but you resolve to just see where it goes. While lost in thought, you nearly bump into the small girl in front of you. already talking to the teacher, and by the way they’re whispering, it seems like it’s something serious. 

“I’m not sure what you’re trying to do here anymore, Miss Kwon,” the professor admits as he takes off his glasses and rubs his nose bridge. “None of this was necessary. I thought we wanted to leave all this behind us.”

Nayeon looks down to her toes in defeat. “I’m sorry, Sir. I was just thinking, maybe I’d get sent out of class this time.” Her voice cracks, giving away her vulnerable state: she’s near tears but trying to fight everything back to look tough. Sadly for her, you think, none of it is working.

“Look, just try to lay low. It’s your last year before all of this starts to not matter anymore.” Your professor finally puts his glasses back on and looks Nayeon straight in the eye. “Trust me, you’re better off keeping your head down. You’ll be fine.”

She walks despondently off to the right and out the door. Your feet choose to follow her, but a sudden jolt restores your common sense. “And you, Mister New Guy, what seems to be the problem? Beside your dismal score, that is.”

You have a slight feeling you are not getting a higher score.

~-~-~

After talking it out fruitlessly with the professor, he releases you from his classroom and you make your way out. The conversation with him didn’t take long, and so you arrive to a few jeers and muffled laughter once you step outside.

“Serves her right. Trying all this bullshit isn’t gonna change anything.” 

“Seriously, cheating on a test she obviously studied for? How dense could she be?”

“I bet she just wants to show us up. She’ll study and then cheat, then she gets perfect marks on the test and she’ll show us she’s untouchable again.” 

You find it hard to believe that Nayeon would resort to something as convoluted and pointless as that, but then again, you really don’t know her to make a judgment. Whatever she was thinking, you agree that it was idiotic to pull that sort of thing, even if you didn’t see any of it.

The weather on campus is the right mix of cloudy and sunny, with rays of light shining respectfully on the grass and pavement of your college courtyard. Something tells you that people-watching by the gym feels like the perfect lunchtime activity for a day like this, so you find your way to the properly noisy setting and look for a spot out of the way. 

You settle on a spot by the side of the gym with the perfect amount of shade and wind, but you’re instead drawn further back to the rear by strange and irregular noises. Turning the last corner, you’re met with a surprising figure.

It was Nayeon, sitting with her back against one of the walls, her entire body curled up like a ball. You slowly inch closer and closer to her, and you realize the strange noises that you heard before were instead sniffles and cries coming from the lonely girl. Finally as you get close enough, Nayeon feels your presence and raises her head.

Her eyes were full of tears, who knows for how long she had been crying, and you could feel the sadness coming from her eyes; they were trying to tell you something, however, it's hard to figure out what. Her expression of sadness didn't stay for long though as soon enough her expression turns angry when you get closer to her, squatting down to look at the girl from a closer angle.

“Please, go away. Leave me alone.” The small girl pushes you away, but with her hand preoccupied wiping away her tears, she can’t do much to get rid of you. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you? You have the nerve to do what you did last year and still show your face?” The anger in your voice catches you off guard. Since when did you take it personally when it came to her?

“Oh fuck off, new guy,” she taunts. “So I’m fucking hiding here, what more do you want?” She tries to act tough again, but it’s painfully apparent to both of you that it isn’t working. At this point, you really do just want to leave her alone. And just like every other time, nothing’s stopping you. So why are you staying?

You breathe a sigh of defeat at the situation you find yourself in. “Look, I don’t have any sort of beef with you personally, but come on. This is pathetic. You’re only embarrassing yourself by doing all this bullshit that isn’t like you at all.”

“And what if it’s not like me?!” Her shout sends a few birds hiding in nearby bushes to take off. This sort of language takes you aback from her; Little Miss Perfect Kwon Nayeon, top honour student, teacher’s favourite pet, hating herself? 

“I… I don’t like being me, and I don’t like what I am.” She wipes her tears again and tries (and fails) to look you in the eyes once more. “So if you’re another member of the ‘I hate Nayeon’ club, well… Better show the club president some respect.”

She sits back down with her back against the wall. Nayeon's eyes are wet for the last time before she wipes them off and faces her lack of tears.

Normally in situations like those you would just walk away and ignore people like those for the rest of the school year, but for some reason with Nayeon in front of you, showing herself being weak, fragile, and sad, something about her makes it so you can't leave the situation alone. Curiosity gets the best of you, and you have to know why.

“No,” you turn back to her as a determined expression is painted on your face.

“What?”

“I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me.” You stand your ground, arms crossed, and Nayeon can't seem to be any more pissed than before. “What is going on? What do you mean you don't like yourself?” you ask.

For a while, no one dares to speak another word, and you wonder if what you have here is an argument. For a good few seconds, she stares at you intently as silence hangs heavy in the air. 

“You think,” she says defeatedly between sniffles, “that I'm Little Miss Perfect, right? Like everyone calls me ‘the straight-A girl?’ Well I’m not, and I’m tired of everyone saying so.” She fishes out a very used handkerchief from her pocket and wipes her eyes of tears, only for them to be replaced by more. 

“It can’t be that bad, Nayeon. People look up to you, I’m sure.” You finally notice your alarms are blaring and you’re put on high alert. What you just said was the exact wrong thing to say, and you’re at critical risk of involving yourself in her messy situation more than you should.

She side-eyes you, calculating if you’re being sincere or not. She stuffs her handkerchief back into her pocket carelessly as if knowing that she’ll only pull it back out again soon. She looks down at her hands, deep in thought, looking like she’s trying to grapple with something she might regret. 

Once she’s done, she fumbles around in her backpack. She fishes out a tiny black notebook she seems to keep so well hidden, on the cover of the notebook the words ‘Nana’s Bucket List’ are scrawled in big, bold, immature-looking letters.

“Throughout all of my life, I always wanted to be the top student, the best of the best like no one ever was, and I succeeded, you know…” she scoffs. “Top marks in Elementary, Middle school, and Valedictorian in high school.” She sighs and tries to fight back more tears, though you notice she’s a bit more successful this time, with a bit of hope and yearning in her eyes.

"But on the other side… The other side seems so great. I mean, I see all these movies and books about college life," she says in between residual sobs and hiccups. She opens the notebook, showing you a not-so-long list, and even though it's hard to see the text from the small size of the writing, you can make out a little bit of what’s written on the paper.

Cheat on a test 

Get drunk

Party all night

Dye my hair

Sing in an Open stage show

Sneak into a Public pool

Shoplifting

You know...

Most of what you read makes zero sense, and you’re half-convinced this girl is just crazy. You stare at the scribbled letters, hoping to draw more meaning from them, but Nayeon shuts the little notebook in your face and starts putting it back away. 

"I want to do them all. Drinking, breaking glass bottles, partying, all that stuff," she explains dreamily. She zips up her bag and pats it down, making sure it’s secure beside her, and turns her attention back to you, “I want to live like a normal girl, you know what I mean?” she asks, you are not sure if its because of the tears, but her eyes seem to glitter.

"That's very cliche, Nana," you jab at her, making fun of the nickname she gave herself.

"That's all I know, though. Please." She takes your hand in between hers and looks up at you, teary-eyed and seemingly begging for her life.”This wouldn’t kill you, all I’m asking for is some help crossing stuff off of the list.”

You hate how well it works on you: her big, round eyes, her adorable little pout, her cute pleading voice. It goes against everything you know, and even now you’re sure you don’t want to get involved in whatever this would turn out to be. And yet, despite even the most deeply ingrained lessons you’ve learned for yourself, all it takes is a brief moment for it to come crashing down.

With a disbelieving sigh and a sense of regret creeping in, you ask: “What’s in it for me?”

~-~-~-~

You take a bite of your burger and breathe out. Cheap bun, dubious patty, artificial cheese, it all takes you back to a past life. You're left to momentarily wonder how you ended up where you are now, and slowly it comes back to you. You messed up.

"So, about the list." Nayeon sets down her cup, ice cubes clinking against each other as they swirl around her soda. "I already did one. So that’s one less thing for us to do”.

"I can do that much math, Nayeon. What do you take me for?" You chomp down on a few fries grumpily. 

"I didn't mean it like that. All I'm saying is there are just a few more months left until graduation, so we'll need to be quick. We can’t be lazy about this." She pulls out the little black notebook and flips to an unfamiliar page. The words "cheat on a test" has doodles of a devil's horns and wings and tail around it, with lots of eyes and ears decorating the rest of the ruled paper. Above it, the poster you recognize from the movie "Bad Genius" is copied, albeit crudely, in a thought bubble.

"I did this one last year, don't ask. Anyway, this next one should be easy enough." She flips to the next page, showing a couple pictures of beer cups and wine bottles, surrounding the words “Get Drunk.”

“Wait, is this the ‘incident’ people hate you for? What even happened there?” You eat more of your fries, trying to hide your curiosity. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work and she nips the conversation in the bud.

“That’s not anything you need to know. What matters is now and the future. Now are you with me or not?” She snaps the notebook closed and yanks it away from your sight, back into the pocket she keeps it in. 

“I can’t help if I don’t know what exactly your deal is,” you say disappointedly. You pick up your own drink and take a sip, and the cool soda washes over your tongue and throat on the way down. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be with everything that’s going on.”

For a moment, you catch Nayeon’s gaze on you, dumbfounded. You could almost hear the gears in her head turning as she tries to process your logic, but it takes a while. As she thinks, though, you take a particular interest in how she handles it: her mouth is hanging slightly ajar and her eyes are only half-focused on wherever they’re pointed. You notice how delicately her bangs fall on her forehead, how her eyebrows furrow and crease, how she tries finding the right words yet can’t find the message she wants to send. Odd things to notice, surely, and yet here you are. You messed up.

It starts coming back to you. The jeers from your classmates as you walk down the hall grow louder in your ears, and you fight against your hands trying to cover them with the knowledge that none of it is real anymore. The tears you fight back all the time surface for another rematch, but with your current state, you may be at a disadvantage. 

Fortunately, she shocks you back into reality. “Hey, are you listening? I’m feeding you, so the least you could do is pay attention.” She bites a small chunk of her burger and chews, and you notice how her cheeks puff slightly and the corner of her mouth is decorated with a dollop of mustard. 

Cute.

1 + 2. Get drunk + Party All Night

“God, this is stupid,” you think to yourself, exiting the convenience store. With a plastic bag in your right hand and your phone in your left hand, checking the time and the address Nayeon sent you earlier today. Finding it was easier than you expected, and you tried not to let the walk to her dorm set any expectations for you.

You bring your knuckles to the wooden door and make three quick raps. It swings open very quickly and you’re dragged into the cozy space without even the slightest chance to take off your shoes. 

“You took forever! Did you bring the stuff?” She looks all over you and pats you down, looking for what you brought her. 

“Get off, will you? I put them all in my bag like a normal person.” You swing your backpack off your shoulder and carefully place it onto a nearby table. Nayeon takes a seat and waits excitedly for what you brought for the two of you. From your bag, you produce three bottles of soju, three five-packs of Yakult, six cans of beer, and four bags of chips. She eyes each item with absolute interest as they leave your backpack, and she hardly contains herself once you finish and zip up your bag once more. 

“Okay, so how does this work?” Her eyes sparkle with wonder, and while waiting for your instructions, it was clear that as much as she was excited, she was also inexperienced.

“First off, get us some shot glasses and a pitcher. Oh, and a can opener.” Nayeon bolts off to the cooking area, and you can hear drawers opening and shutting loudly. You start getting concerned when you hear plates start to clatter against each other, but thankfully it dies down quickly and she returns with two small glasses, a decently sized pitcher, and a can opener. 

“Shit. I meant bottle. Bottle opener.” Without even a hint of annoyance, she rushes back off into the kitchen and, after a few more rummaging sounds, she returns with the correct item. She really must not know what she’s doing.

“Come on, show me!” She shoves the bottle opener into your hand, and you’re left with no choice. 

“Don’t you have a roommate we have to worry about?” You pop the cap off one of the soju bottles and then tear the aluminum top off two bottles of Yakult. “She’s out with her own friends. Hurry!” Despite her starting to get on your nerves, you pour all three into the pitcher and swirl them around together. Once you’re done, you pour the mixture into each of the glasses until they’re full. 

“Bottoms up, Nayeon.” 

“Bottoms up!”

The both of you down your drinks: yours slowly crawls down your throat, but hers disappears straight into her stomach. She reels at the burning lines left by the alcohol all over her esophagus and takes a bit of time to recover. 

“Whoa, that was,” she says, and a burp erupts from her mouth, “intense.” She sways a little bit to the left before righting herself, and then overcompensates to lean to the left again. 

“Easy there, champ. We’ve got two more bottles to go through.” You pour another shot for each of you, hers first and then yours, and raise your glass once more.

“Open the chips now,” you tell her. “This’ll be less dreadful with food.” 

Both of you down your shots at the same time, and Nayeon reels at the sensation once more. 

“Does that get easier?” Her speech is slowly starting to slur, the poor thing. “I’m kinda feeling a little something right now, too…”

“Yes, but only if you keep going at it, idiot. Don’t down everything so quickly.” Grab one of the bags of chips yourself, open and present it to Nayeon on the center of the table.

“Eat. You’ll hate this less.” You take a handful of chips and bring all of them into your mouth. Once you do, you raise your eyebrow at her to tell her to do the same.

“Isn’t… *hic* being hungry the thing for… faster drunk?” 

“Apparently so, Nayeon. I don’t even know what I expected from you.” You take another shot, alone this time. She tries to pour her own shot, but fails miserably at getting the liquid anywhere near the inside of her shot glass. It’s adorable how she tries, though.

You pour her another shot despite a small voice telling you maybe she isn’t cut out for this much in such a short time. You shove the voice aside in favor of Nayeon’s own words: “We pregame, drink a little, and then we go. Party starts at 7:30, so we leave here by 7 o’clock.” Her shot glass fills with the drink, and you place it in front of her, making sure at least to keep an eye out for what might happen next. 

She successfully picks up the glass and, sans the spills she made on the glass's way from the table to her mouth, drinks everything she could. She slams the glass onto the table in no light movement and you have a slight inkling of regret at letting her do that to herself. 

“You… We have to… Fuck.” Nayeon’s head droops and she catches her face with her hands. She may have underestimated how strong soju is, or maybe what being drunk actually does to a person. A groan emanates from behind her palms, and you notice she’s having trouble holding herself up. 

“Aren’t we going out after this? You might wanna slow down, idiot.” You pour yourself another shot and drink it leisurely. Nayeon tries leaning back onto the chair, and she finally pries her hands away from her eyes. She does a few quick blinks, and she tries to focus her sight on you. Her head sways a little bit, and it dawns on you that you may have overestimated her. 

“I’m okay… just… we have to go.” She tries to stand up, but she wobbles dangerously and you have to catch her. Dive under her and take on her weight, thankfully not too heavy, and keep her from hitting the floor. She mumbles a bit about something you can only kind of understand, but it's enough to guide your next decision.

“Forget it,” you grunt as you plop her back into her chair, “we're not going anywhere.” An exasperated sigh leaves your lungs, and you head off to the kitchen to return with a large bottle of cold water.

“No… we have to go. We'll be late.” Nayeon tries to get up again, but there's no strength left in her body. She sits motionlessly, probably thinking that she's already stood up, and it gives way to a confused look on her face as to why she's still in the same place.

You fill a proper-sized glass with water and hand it to her, which she drinks obediently. You fill her palm with potato chips which she also eats without objection. The way her jaw moves, clumsy and slow, signals a threat that she might just fall over any minute.

You move your chair to her side and sit there, allowing Nayeon to lean her head on you. Her hair covers her reddening face, and her hiccups arrive in growing force.

“If you're still in there, Nayeon,” you say quietly, “we're not going out. I can't look after you this closely at a party.” All she does to respond is nod. Her hiccups are punctuated intermittently with sniffles, which you take as a sign that she knows she has no power left to object. 

Still, you feel bad for her as her plans fall through. Despite the responsible thing to do, put her to bed and leave, you kick yourself mentally before deciding to stay anyway.

“Movies and snacks?”

~-~-~-~

Before you know it, the night goes by just as quick. You go through the list of movies she’d always wanted to watch: The Truman Show, The Great Gatsby, Mean Girls, and even then there’s still a few left on her list. You could tell she was watching properly halfway through the first, and that was the telltale sign that she’d sobered up. 

You drink a bit more with her in between movies, and she would frequently pause to get up and put on a song to dance to. “It keeps me awake,” she said, “I can’t fall asleep before the good part happens.” The songs she put on are generic pop and the kinds you skip whenever they come up, but you let it pass for tonight.

At some point, she pulls out an old Wii and challenges you to Mario Kart. “I am undefeated in this game. I’m not even that good, everyone else that challenged me just sucked.” You take her up on her offer, and the match begins. You try and almost get ahead of her in a few of the turns, but she would always take back her lead at the slightest opportunity of you hitting a wall or missing an item. And the way she glows with pride every single time she crosses the finish line before you do, the sudden brightness that fills her face when she wins race after race, the confidence it gives her that she isn’t actually the worst person in the world, all of it is a sight to behold. People may see Kwon Nayeon as an arrogant goody-two-shoes traitor, but the way you see her now is different: just someone with a past to outgrow. 

Right as the last movie’s credits start rolling, mischievous thin rays of dawn sunlight slip past the tiny gaps in the curtains. Both you and Nayeon have little energy left for anything else, and you maybe think it’s time to call it a night and go home.

“Let me walk you out,” she says while trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes for a little bit longer. You both get up and walk to the door, and as it opens your faces are flooded with a world right before it wakes. Dewdrops sit respectfully on leaves and blades of grass, birds are only starting to stretch their wings, and the crisp morning air fills your lungs with a calm grace. 

You turn back to Nayeon, who you find is still admiring the dawn, and grasp her elbow. “Sit with me.” 

You both squat down and take your seats again on her doorstep. Clouds roll in and dot the sky, wandering on the blank canvas of today, eagerly waiting for sunlight to block out. The sun peeks over the horizon and the first proper rays start to arrive, spreading warmth where they land. Nayeon meets your eyes one last time, and the pair of you find a sleepy and still a bit drunk person when you look at each other.

“Well,” you say as if it was a farewell, “good night, Nayeon. And good morning.”

“Good night,” she giggles back, “and good morning to you too.”

3. Sneak into a Public Pool

“Are you sure about this?” Nana’s tone is subdued by fear. Her voice shakes and struggles to be as quiet as possible, but at the same time you get the feeling that if you didn’t need to be quiet, she’d be yelling right now and trying to get the both of you to leave.

“Can you please shut up? I’m trying to focus!” You find the first of the pins and push it out of the way. For a moment, you lament how restricted you are: this could have been such a simple lock to break, replace even, but the girl dragging you around was deathly insistent on leaving as little damage and evidence as possible. 

“You shut up! I'm whispering here!” Anger rises in her voice, and you almost feel anger in yours too. You're able to stop it though, and you remind yourself that if ever a guard was on watch that actually cared about this place, they'd be easily outrun.

The lock presents more of a challenge than you thought; despite the agonizingly simple solution of snapping its shackle, its inner mechanisms are harder to crack for whatever reason. Taking it pin by pin is supposed to be an easy task, but the warm and humid air and the incessant nagging seem to debilitate you. It’s such a nice night out for a swim, why make this any harder than it needs to be?

After what seemed like eternity you finally manage to pick the lock, sighing in relief as the both of you head forward quietly, but cautiously looking side to side just in case. The metal-grate door swings open slowly, avoiding any creaking sounds it may make otherwise, and the both of you enter the pool area.

“I gotta say Nayeon, this went better than I thought it would,” you say, both of you looking at the rectangular box of water which unlike during the day, was completely still, no waves, no splashes, just the water. It glistened and reflected all manner of light: the pool lights above and below the water, the yellow street lamps far off on the sidewalk, and the moon overhead, singing tones of wonder and mystery to those touched by its borrowed glow.

Off to the side, you find Nayeon fiddling with the hem of her shirt. Her head whips round incessantly as she tries to keep a lookout of the surroundings rather poorly. Sigh a deep one, and finally go over and take your seat next to her. 

“Thanks… gimme a sec.” She finally grabs the hem decisively. The fabric crumples a bit under her grip and folds as it's pulled up.

You can’t help but watch as the shirt starts to leave her body, revealing a slim and toned tummy underneath. Your breath hitches as it crawls higher, reaching her face and obscuring her sight, and she inadvertently shows off a dark purple sports bra that’s… a size too small. Your gaze lingers on her cleavage and the flesh of her boobs lightly spilling out of the garment.

Nana turns around and you’re treated with the view of a beautiful back and shoulders to die for. The way her body twists and turns in the slightest ways to negotiate the shirt off of her form is the most sensual dance you’ve ever seen.

And you realize you’re staring. Fortunately for you, she doesn’t seem to notice, and she continues on to fold the shirt properly before setting it next to her sports bag. You opt not to risk staring any longer, and you decide to get rid of your own shirt. You strip quickly, and your shirt flies off approximately near Nayeon’s things in a messy pile by itself.

Sit on the edge of the pool, dip your feet into the water. There’s absolutely no reason for it to be this warm, you think, but whatever the case may be, it feels like a tea that’s just about to go cold. This, coupled with the humid air and quiet atmosphere, makes for a perfect night to spend on whatever this is with her. 

She joins you and takes her seat at the edge of the pool, and in every other situation, you’d ask her to back off a bit. Instead, as she lays her head on your shoulder and takes your hand in between hers, you lose your steel in the most important of times. 

“I’m scared.” Her eyes never leave the water, taking in the light dancing on its surface. Her face is fraught with worry, and while you know it’s for no good reason, you nevertheless try to reassure her.

“Yeah, someone might jump out of the bushes and arrest us for swimming in a swimming pool,” you say mockingly. “They’re gonna take us to court on the charges of ‘using something the way it was meant to be used’ and we’re gonna get life sentences. When we’re all old and wrinkly they’re gonna sit us in the electric chair.”

“Okay, I get your point. But still, though, I’m scared.” She grips your hand tighter, and for some reason you can’t resist her. Place your other hand over hers and try to calm her down. Nana takes a deep breath with her eyes closed, and finally looks at you with a reserved grin.

“Alright, I’m good. Let’s go.” 

You feel her hand on your back, and warmth spreads from her palm. Her smile grows just a bit wider and her eyes follow suit. Her teeth show themselves from between her lips, and you’re almost tempted to dive right in. 

Lucky for you, she helps. The hand on her back suddenly applies more pressure, pushing you to the pool and causing a splash going all directions. Collect your thoughts and raise your head above the water to see Nana, face full of laughter, right before she dives in the water with you.

It takes a second, but her head resurfaces and you find yourself relieved. She catches her breath once more, and before you know it, you're met with a faceful of chlorinated water. “What are you staring at?” She says between hearty laughs. 

Wipe the water from your face, find the humor. Laugh with her, and face her properly.

Another shade of Kwon Nayeon. Granted, it's one with no makeup and way less clothes than usual, but none of that takes away from her natural, elegant beauty. It's captivating, the way her figure glides around the water, the way the cool night air wisps around the pair of you, the way the moon throws its rays around the world, your world, so haphazardly. 

Another faceful of water, and you snap out of your daze. “Creepy ass,” she snorts happily. She splashes you again, and this time you fight back. 

“Race you around the pool.” You start paddling, and the water grows loud against your ears. She says something back to you and starts paddling herself to catch up.

“Yeah,” you think to yourself, “whatever this is with her.”

4. Sing in an Open Mic

“Another night, another goal,” you muse, sitting in your car with Nayeon in the passenger seat. It has become quite a routine that every time she wants to do something on her bucket list she asks you to pick her up. You don’t mind too much — she pays for gas after all. 

“Where do we go this time?” Nayeon just shoves her phone in your face, showing a map with directions to some bar out of town. She looks at you expectantly, but without any more information than what you’re currently getting, you’re at a loss for what she’s trying to make you see.

“A club.”

“Exactly.”

“We already did ‘get drunk.’”

“I know. This is different.”

“How so?”

“Take me here. Make me sing. Take me home.”

The pieces connect in her head and she pulls out the notebook again. She flips to a page you again haven’t seen, and when she shows it to you you’re treated to the sight of “Open Mic Stage” in graffiti-style letters and the poster of “Wedding Singer” scrawled in the bottom right corner of the page. 

“If you have the map, why not just do this yourself? You didn’t need to wait for me. If anything, I’d only laugh at how bad you might be.” You push away her phone and notebook, choosing to return your attention to the sidewalk instead. The boba tea place you keep hearing about is nearby. 

“That’s the thing,” Nayeon interjects again, “I have been there before. I listened to all the people singing, and they’re… some are good. I don’t know if I am, but I got shy at the last minute and I never even got near the stage.” She grabs your sleeve and your attention. “I need you to make me sing. Don’t let me chicken out.”

You shrug, “Sure, let's do it.”

~-~-~-~

Taking up two seats at the bar, you try and seem to fail at helping Nayeon calm down. Her guitar rests against the bartop beside her while she fans herself hurriedly with her hand. “It’s so nerve-racking… I knew this was a mistake,” she adds before turning back and trying to leave the place, however, you stop her in her tracks

“Come on, you worked so hard for this,” you say, recalling the number of recordings she sent you: one for each take she was doing. “You can do this,” you continue reassuring her, knowing she’s more ready than ever. At the same time, you could see your friend get more nervous by the second, now taking more sips of her water bottle.

“But what if I miss a chord, or I sing badly? Everyone will laugh at my mist–'' You know at this point she’ll only spiral to worse and worse thoughts, so you nip it in the bud and stop her right there. You take both her shoulders in your hands, making Nayeon stop her nervous rambling, and her cheeks turn a shade of pink.

“I believe in you, Nana. just take a deep breath.” You stop to let her do as you say, taking a deep breath in and slowly breathing it out. The tension leaves her with each breath she takes, and you find a moment to keep her stable. “Good, I am sitting right here, not leaving for any reason, so if you feel nervous, just find me. Look at me.” Her gaze softens at your promise, and her lips form a tiny smile in response to your words. 

Hearing the current open mic singer finishing up his song, you send her off with some final words. “Your turn now, Nana. Break a fucking leg.” You leave her shoulders as her smile slowly starts to grow.

You watch her heading toward the stage, taking her guitar out of the cover, and taking her seat on the chair in front of the mic. “Hey,” she starts, “I am Nayeon… and I’m gonna sing Spring Day by BTS… I, uhh, hope you enjoy.”

She takes one last deep breath as you find her gaze on you. You return a reassuring smile, and Nayeon’s eyes fly back to her guitar. She strums her first chord, and the crowd’s welcoming applause rises.

“I’m missing you, when I say that I miss you more, I’m missing you…” Nayeon’s fingers strum the strings delicately, and it enchants you how graceful and in control she is of her instrument. The wood and metal of her guitar work together under her guidance to produce a beautiful sound, one you feel deep inside you'd never have heard the beauty of if not here, not now.

The way her lips move to articulate her words is heavenly, like she has you under a benevolent spell to bring you a rare sort of peace. It captivates you how she carries herself; behind her tough outer shell is a scared and confused layer, which hides a soft and optimistic core and wants to chase a brighter, happier future by cherishing the present. You marvel at your luck, that you were permitted to see so much of her, and how openly she welcomed you in when all she knew was aloneness and to shut people out. 

“Snowflakes falling from the sky, are drifting further by and by…” Her heavenly voice draws you in, and it commands your attention like it speaks directly to your soul. The sound of Nayeon tugs on your heartstrings, pulling you closer to its source, and you let yourself get whisked away.

And to its source you look; find a girl with courage like you’d never seen. See Kwon Nayeon in a different light than the harsh monotones of the classroom fluorescents, but in a spotlight that she takes up with everything in her soul. It’s a different shade of her: a shade of Nayeon that only you could comprehend, a part of her that only you had the privilege to understand.

“I breathe you out there somewhere, like smoke in the air…” The space grows warmer, like a hearth welcoming you home. Your surroundings quiet down as Nayeon pulls them deeper and deeper with her subconscious command: rest, lay down your worries and fly for the moment towards your peace. You look around, and every fellow face in the crowd you see has their eyes fixed on Nayeon’s performance; they’d never know it, but it’s the debut of a person coming into a whole new life free of regret and cowardice. It’s Nayeon building herself up from the rubble of a past that she aims to forget. 

“Flowers blooming towards the sky, has winter finally passed by?” The noise of the world seems to die down, as if just you and Nayeon are the only two things in existence. The pace of her strumming slows, as do the lyrics that escape her mouth. Every note she produces is deliberate, gentle, comforting, and for once you feel like you’re able to imagine a brighter tomorrow like her. 

With her. 

The song draws to a close, and she looks all over the crowd as they start to clap. You can't help but join in. Nayeon just bows lightly, and you can feel how happy she is that everything went well in her song. As she steps off the stage, you leave your spot and head toward her.

With both of you only a couple of steps apart, you chuckle lightly, “Well it wasn't so bad was—” You were stopped, caught off guard by your friend, dashing to you with open arms and crashing into your chest, wrapping her arms around you, and pulling you into an embrace. 

No words are spoken; both of you just stand there, hugging each other, her face nuzzling your chest as you could faintly feel her heartbeat. You were quite surprised with Nayeon being so open with you, since it was just a short time ago you made your promise to help. 

“Thank you…” she says, now releasing you from her embrace, noticing how her eyes shed small tears, that you couldn't figure out if they are tears of sadness, or happiness.

“... Always here for you Nayeon.”

“Please… call me Nana,” she says. She takes her notebook and crosses off another line from her bucket list, and as she walks toward the exit, you make way for the people coming by to greet her for the performance.

You can't help but wonder… has something changed after that performance?

5. Shoplifting

“Pick something already, it's not that hard,'' you remark impatiently while tapping your feet. Both of you are staring at the snack section of the local convenience store near your college, and Nana hovers her hand over the selection of snacks to look for the perfect one.

“Stop rushing me, I'm trying to choose which one will not get me caught,” she replies, still focused. The veteran petty thief in you groans, recalling your highschool days where nicking a cigarette or two (or ten) every once in a while gave you back huge chunks of your monthly budget. You miss the simplicity of it, and you once again find the restriction of being so careful more annoying than anything else. How come for Nayeon it is such a big struggle to steal one snack? You shoot the question up to whichever god might be listening, and you even half-expect an answer back. 

“You are thinking about it too much, the cashier is probably not gonna notice even if you stole something that made noise,” you add, tapping your foot rapidly, like you were some parent spending too long in the toy section.

“Well, please forgive me, oh thug master, it’s my fault that I never did that shit before!” Her whispers are loud enough for you to hear clearly, your less-than-welcoming attitude leading her to take a deep sigh.

“Fine, if you want to make it easier, do the buy one steal one method,” you explain. 

“The what?”

“Well to make it simpler than it already is, you dolt, you take two things, one you buy normally, and the other one you don't pay for,” you added as it seems to all make sense in Nayeon’s head. “Defeats the fucking purpose why we’re here, but really, the longer we spend here to leave with just four things, the more anyone will suspect us.”

Despite your best efforts to hurry her, they all seem to only make her take even longer. Her brow furrows deeper, as if trying to form lasers in her eyes to burn holes through the plastic wrappers. 

Your patience wears thinner by the moment, and you resolve to isolate before you lose it completely. “So if you’ll excuse me, I will get my shit and meet you outside,” you say, leaving her alone in the aisle.

As a promise to yourself not to shoplift anymore, you decide to buy just one pack of cigarettes. You light one of them as you lean against one of the store’s walls, watching the sun start to set. Find yourself sitting down, admiring the beauty of a day near its end, taking in the world around you.

Two cigarettes and fifteen minutes later, a small ding sounds from somewhere in the front of the store. It’s Nayeon, half-running out of the building, her face painted with worry as she finds and walks towards you.

“So, you did it?” A smile forms on Nayeon’s face as she takes her right hand to her jean’s pocket, revealing a small candy bar. She brandishes the candy around like a magic wand, as if trying to charm you into being proud of her. 

“Well… it's something,” you nod, while the two of you start towards her dormitory.

“Oh don’t say ‘it’s something’ when you didn't steal anything,” she exclaims. She holds the candy bar up against the setting sun, examining its entire wrapper. Now that you’re a considerable distance from the store, the worry on her face has been replaced completely by pride and excitement.

“Well I don’t shoplift anymore, the only reason I'm letting you do it is because you wanted the experience, which by the way,” you scoff, plucking the snack out of her hands, “all of that was for a chocolate bar.” This earns you a pretty strong punch on the shoulder, and the force loosens your grip on the snack enough for Nayeon to steal it back.

“Shut up,” she says, her cheeks seeming to grow a small shade of pink. She walks faster, leaving you no choice but to speed up as well.

6. Dye my Hair

“Do you think blonde hair will suit me?” Nana asks, holding the color card next to her face. You come in for a closer look, but as you stare you stop and wonder why you even did so in the first place. 

“Yeah… uhh yeah, I think it can suit you well.” You weren't an expert in hair styles and colors, so honestly unless it was a color that was actually hideous, everything was fair game.

Nana smiles at your response and picks out a box of blonde hair dye to add to her basket. You’re a bit nervous that she wants to dye it at home with you, but any attempts you made to convince her to see an actual stylist have been dismissed. “It’s easy,” she said, “there’s instructions on the box.”

“So, how was it?” You’re half-convinced that the bleach is eating through your rubber gloves, but you soldier on.

“Was what?” Nayeon checks herself out in the mini-vanity mirror in front of her. You have to swat her hands away from her head with your elbows, but apart from that she stays on her best behavior.

“You know,” you shrug, “this whole thing. The stealing, the swimming, the dyeing your hair.” You try to keep the bleach from dripping onto your arms, mostly aiming for the scattered sheets of newspaper the two of you prepared on the floor, but there’s only so much you can do. You just resolve to wash off any drops as quickly as possible. 

You get the feeling that she hoped you wouldn’t notice, but you did. The smile on her face dimmed the slightest it could before she could fix it. “It was… great! Stuff I’ll remember for the rest of my life, for sure.” 

Like some form of cosmic karma, she spots your involuntary grin in the mirror. “Good. That’s good.”

The color drains from her hair bit by bit as you apply the bleach carefully. You’re not sure how quickly you have to finish, but Nana seems not to mind. You gently stroke and rub the product through her hair, taking special care not to come into contact with her scalp too often, all the while she turns her head from side to side to admire the look she’s going to have soon. 

“You know…” she says suddenly, avoiding your eyes in the mirror, “this was really fun. I’m so happy I got to do all that stuff on my list.” Her smile changes: what was once a cheerful and optimistic smile just a few moments ago is now a wizened and melancholic one. “I mean it. Thank you for helping me.” 

She makes eye contact with you again in the mirror, and she flashes that smile to you once more. Her hair grows lighter with each passing second, and as her back relaxes and straightens, it seems that the weight of the world leaves her shoulders as well. She breathes more easily now, and despite the fumes the box says you should do your best not to inhale, you breathe easier too.

~-~-~-~ 

You’re sat back again on her sofa, and Nana tries her best not to mess with her hair that’s still soaking. She looks kind of silly, what with her old towel around her shoulders faded to near oblivion, her hair in sections making her look like a half-done scarecrow, her hands going up halfway to her head only to be forced back down by the other. 

And yet, you admire another shade of Nayeon. This time, it’s a girl who’s scared of the future, of changes she might regret later on. It’s something deep in her character, even central maybe, to be afraid of things she can’t take back. Even then, she takes her leaps and bounds to try and outrun her past, and finally, you see the razor edge that keeps everything in balance: Nayeon’s fear which dictates her present, and Nana’s strength which leads her to her future. 

“Hey,” you say abruptly, surprising even yourself, “you good?” 

“I think so. My head’s itchy. Is that supposed to happen? Should we wash it off?”

“No, jackass, it’ll look even worse if you quit halfway.” 

Your words set in and she realizes you’re right. Worry seeps into her face and you notice tears start to well up in her eyes.

“Look, this might not be comfy right now, but I promise it’ll be worth it later on.”

“Really? You promise it’ll look good?” She looks over to you with pleading, shiny eyes, and it almost hurts to tell her no.

“I said I promise it’ll be worth it. Not that it’ll look good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

You chuckle at the sudden rise in her voice. After all this time, she’s still Nayeon, still Nana. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It means… if you stick with it, there’s no way you’ll regret what we just did.”

7. You know…

The end of your senior year of college rolls around, and the graduation ceremony is still fresh in everyone’s minds. Photos of friends together and square caps thrown into the air decorate your social media feeds for a good few days, and you can’t deny the whole thing was something you wouldn’t forget for the rest of your life.

And finally, Nana’s bucket list has been finished. To think that all of it was done in the span of a college year is quite impressive to say the least, as before you started she was lost in her own goals and left sitting for a good three years. Now, looking at your diploma, it was not only a sign of your successful studies at college, for you it was also the sign of helping your dear friend get to where she wanted to be. 

Speaking of the devil, now sending you a message

On the way, you see various people from her dorm building heaving away bags and suitcases, undoubtedly taking advantage of the nice weather to move out. You see people hugging each other, taking selfies, exchanging numbers, and all the while you think of each of them with their own stories to tell when they get home, but none so interesting as the one you and Nana built together. 

The walk up the stairs was more of the same, people saying goodbye, and you can’t help but feel a bit of nostalgia. It was by no means a short year, but for everything you did, the feeling of wanting just a bit more time never seems to leave you. You recall the first time you saw her, that quiet girl in the front of the auditorium with four seats of clearance around her, and how you slowly watched her grow into the fine and confident woman she is now. Part of you is unbelievably proud of what she’s achieved, but another part of you knows it’s all her doing and you were only along for the ride. 

You reach Nana’s room just as her roommate was leaving, and you exchange pleasantries with her before she goes off. “Hey, just so you know, Nayeon’s a really nice girl,” she says in whispers to you, “I’m glad she found you before she left.” She pats you on the back before going off to the stairs herself. Something deep inside you glows in agreement, and you think to yourself how lucky you were to be able to meet and spend time with a person like her.

“Hey, come in!” Nana pushes you into her now half-empty room. “Yuri just left, so we have the place all to ourselves!” You take a seat on her easy chair while she plops herself down onto her bed. The half that still has stuff in it is simple and unassuming, and the realization dawns on you that this is the first time you’ve been in Nana’s room. Despite this, the space is warm and cozy, like it was filled with a good sort of energy for a long time. 

“Cheers” you both say at the same time, each with a can of beer that you both drink fairly quickly. You recall the first time of her drinking with you, how easily she felt her stomach hurting but this time she quickly shrugs off the bitter taste.

“You know,” Nana says, her eyes shining and her smile flashing itself directly at you, “I am really happy that you helped me with the bucket list, I couldn't do it without you.”

You simply laugh casually and say “Come on Nana, all you needed was confidence.”

“And who do you think gave me that confidence? I really mean it…thank you,” she says, and you can't help but smile at her back.

“Let me get some snacks, okay? Don’t move a muscle.” As she stands and heads toward the kitchen, you go to check up your phone to see what the time is. However, just as you are about to go into your Instagram, you notice something on the table: a little black notebook that’s only all too familiar. 

When you think about it, She has never shown you the actual list besides that one time when you two first talked. “A peek won't hurt right?” you say, the alcohol definitely makes the choice for you. Your sober self would never invade someone's privacy, especially not some as close as Nana’s, but regardless, you open it and…

You flip through the pages, and the notebook reveals so much more. The few pages you’ve been shown were just decorated pages, and each mission was a chapter, filled with dozens of writings, pictures, scribbles, each for its own topic. You find yourself smiling, muttering quietly to yourself: “You really worked hard on it… didn't you?” 

Your attention is snatched to Nana across the room, looking at you with cheeks fully red. You can't help but curse quietly, and you try to come up with something of an apology. However before you can finish your first word she says…

“Hey, come on, put that down!” Nana rushes toward you, nearly tossing the snacks off to some random part of the room, and snatches away the little black notebook from your hands. She hugs it close to her chest as she turns away, and she looks over her shoulder to peek if you might still be thinking about snatching the notebook back.

Instead, you raise your hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Sorry. But what's there to hide? Aren't we done?” You take another sip of your drink before picking up one of the snacks. You open the bag of chips and place it on the table for the both of you. 

“Well… I had one other thing. I gave up on it a long time ago, just never ripped out the page.” Nana turns back toward you and fiddles with a leaf of the notebook. Her steps are careful when she gets nearer to you, as if cautious to scare you away. 

“What?!” You bolt to your feet in surprise, your drunkenness taking a backseat at the sudden exposition. “Shit, we gotta go now! What is it?”

“Calm down,” Nana mutters, her feet rubbing against the carpet, “it isn't something we can do anywhere else anyway. Or, I mean, it’s done? I don’t know…”

Your nerves are still flaring, but you get the feeling that whatever it is, there's nowhere else but where you are now that Nana could do the last bucket list thing. Your gaze steadies on her, and she looks like she wouldn't budge for the world. Her eyes never leave the floor, her hands stay guarded on the notebook, and for some reason, she's also able to keep you just where you are. 

“So… what is it, then?” 

“Promise me you won't get mad?”

“... Promise.”

Once she hears you say it, her eyes shut tight. As if gathering courage, she takes a deep breath before taking deliberate steps to where you're standing. You never see it coming, but the next thing you know, Nana's soft lips are on yours, her delicate fingers keep you steady in place, and her vanilla scent fills your nose and overwhelms your senses that you can't think of anything at all but her.

It takes only half a second, but you melt into the kiss yourself. Your eyes flutter closed and start to forget the world around you in favor of the girl who stayed by your side. The space between the two of you grows smaller, your hands make their way to her waist, and you let your selfishness take over and keep her for yourself as well. 

The kiss breaks just as you hold her, and both your eyes shoot open to find hers just as wide as yours. 

“I-I, umm… I’m sorry, it was too sudden, and uhh…” It wasn't too hard to see how much she was stuttering, and if you weren't so surprised yourself you would've also joined her like the blushing mess she is right now.

The alcohol was starting to hit you again, and your better judgment slowly left you as you took her lips once more. You have no time to be surprised at how willing she is, and you resolve to just enjoy the kiss with her. You lead her to the edge of the bed and sit her down; and the first chance she gets, she lies back onto the mattress and pulls you with her. 

“If you really wanna know…” She flips to the last page of the notebook and shows you. It’s a simple picture, just two stick figures in a heart, holding hands. You don’t recognize the poster, but the quote is unmistakable: “You should be kissed, and often, by someone who knows how.”

“I’m glad we got to spend all this time together, and I know I keep thanking you, but I really am so happy…” Nana pulls you back in, and with your own sweet defiance, you trace kisses across her cheek and onto her neck. The whimpers that escape her are adorable, but at the same time they also confirm thoughts you’ve only ever tried to suppress: she likes you too. 

You go lower and lower, tracing kisses from her neck to nibbling her collarbone, and you settle right before you reach her chest. Her breath hitches when she figures out what you want to do, but ultimately her fingers rake comfortingly through your hair.

“So tonight… let me show you… let me thank you… properly.” Her eyes may look pure when she says those words, but with how you are inches away from her lips, with how you have been kissing her now, it's anything but.

She slowly pulls off her jacket, her eyes never leaving you. The fabric slides off of her arms, revealing the smooth skin of her slender arms. The next to go is her tank top; her fingers grip the hem lightly, tugging slowly upwards, showing you her toned tummy and milky skin. The hem rises higher and higher, until she stops right under her chest. 

“Are you sure?” Your question is breathless, not in the slightest bit annoyed, but your tone full of concern reaches her. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know,” she says, the sound of her voice betraying a dry throat, “I love you.” She pulls the rest of her top off, and her boobs bounce freely in front of you. Nana takes your hands and places them on each, and asks you playfully, “Come on, you think I never caught you staring?”

She pulls you back in for a kiss, a proper one this time, the kind that quenches your thirst for her. She tries her best to wrap her tongue around yours, all the while you take your fill of her soft tits. Pinch and tweak her nipples, feel them stiffen as her tiny whimpers grow into careless moans. You never let up, delivering constant pleasure to her chest, and your surprise when you feel her palming your growing bulge is quickly replaced with anticipation. 

Her hand slips under your waistband and her moan fills your mouth when she feels how hot and hard your cock is for her. She wraps her fingers around your shaft and gives long, slow strokes, nothing that would make you cum on the spot, but just about enough to make you leak precum onto her palm. She relishes the feeling of your arousal on her skin, and as she picks up her pace, seemingly trying to entice you to do more, you’re left with no choice but to give her exactly what she wants. 

You work on unzipping your jeans and taking them off, and with Nana’s help, it feels like the second easiest job in the world. They fall to your ankles and you kick them away, and all of a sudden your cock rests on the skin of her luscious thigh. The heat and the precum that leaks onto her flesh surprises her, but her senses come back to her and she asks for a time out. 

“Gimme a sec, I have to breathe,” she gasps unsteadily. You get off her, wondering what you might have done wrong. Her breathing is ragged and she seems to not be able to focus on much else, but a reassuring look in her eyes lets you know she’s alright. 

“I just– I needed to see it.” Her gaze falls on your cock, and once she reaches and wraps her fingers around your shaft again, it throbs in her hand. A groan of pleasure escapes you, and she figures out that she’s doing something right. Her pumps start slow, gradually building up speed, all the while she brings her face closer and closer, and you don’t even notice it, but finally her lips meet the tip of your dick. Nana rubs your precum all over her lips like lipstick, and she takes your head in her mouth. 

Small groans come from your mouth feeling her soft lips, you enjoy much more than you thought, especially knowing how inexperienced you thought she was. Your hands meanwhile grab a part of hair, pulling it lightly, causing Nana to moan into your cock.

“Don't get mad if I do this wrong–” she says, her eyes fraught with worry. Despite this, she makes careful moves to give you the best possible experience. She seals her lips around your head, and she gives slow but deep sucks as she tries her hardest. 

“You’re– nngh– doing great,” you moan, the pleasure overtaking you. The eye contact you two share is enchanting; she’s undoubtedly a very pretty girl, and despite the amateur blowjob, she more than makes up for it with her enthusiasm. Her head bobs slightly, trying to take more of your length in, but her worry of choking keeps her from giving any more. 

On the other hand, she has no idea of the effect she has on you, and the sight of the gorgeous woman’s plump lips on your cock coupled with her eager attempts at making you feel good nearly sends you over the edge early. In an effort to stave off your orgasm for even just a little while longer, you regrettably pull her off of you. 

“What– what’s wrong? Wasn’t it good?” Again her words are coated with worry of disappointing you, but the way you look tenderly to her reassures her. 

“You are perfect, Nana,” you whisper into her ear. You lay her back onto the bed gently, and you let show your eagerness to please her too. You venture down until you’re level with her crotch, and you work slowly to peel off her thin shorts. As they leave her legs, you’re presented with a pastel blue pair of panties, though you can’t help but notice the growing wet spot right in the center and the scent of her arousal seeping through. It must be uncomfy, you think, and you strip it off of her as well. 

The garment leaves her and you look to Nana for approval: her finger between her teeth and her face red as a tomato, she looks at you with a loving gaze. Only then do you realize that Nana is now fully naked, everything bare for you and you alone, and the way her thighs rub together needily sends the message you’ve been dying to get. 

Part her legs, meeting little resistance as you do. Travel up from her knees to her thighs, planting kisses and light nibbles on the soft flesh of her legs. Hearing how she whimpers beneath your lips: “That feels really good… I want more…” 

Your lips finally meet her pussy, and the initial contact draws out a sultry moan from her. Each swipe of your tongue on her cunt causes more and more of her love juices to leak out, sending waves of ecstasy up her spine. She tries locking your head in place as she runs her fingers through your hair, all the while she grinds her crotch on your face as she chases her pleasure. 

“Yes, yes, yes! Fuck, you feel so good! I love you~!” Nana humps your face more and more roughly, and you take it as a sign that she’s close. Good thing as well, as you’re running out of air, but on the other hand you feel as though this wouldn't be the worst way to go. You run your tongue over her soaked pussy, taking slow, deep licks. 

She’s inching closer to her orgasm, her hips are bucking onto your mouth, your tongue meets her clit, she squeezes your head between her thighs, your lips seal around her swollen nub, she grabs your hair and pulls hard, and with a scream ripping through her throat, Nana squirts her love juices straight into your waiting mouth as you drink her essence up. Her scream turns into a drawn-out moan as she continues to grind on your face, making sure to pleasure herself enough to give you everything you’ve been working so hard for, and you lap every single drop of it up like it was the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted. 

She releases her grip on your hair and head, and as she relaxes onto the bed her arms fall to the sides and her legs spread open. She lazily brings a hand to her pussy and rubs it, showing you just how good you made her feel, and she smiles up at you. 

“That was fucking amazing.” It couldn’t have sounded any sweeter, and the fact that it came from Nana, lying on her bed wearing nothing but a smile that you gave her, fills you with a sort of pride that you doubt you’d ever get again anywhere else in your life. But as she starts to get up, and she places her lips on yours, you feel another weight lifted off your chest. It’s another shade of her, one that shows you how she is when she’s content. It’s her way of telling you that among the hundreds of firsts she’s had in her life, she’s grateful that you were this one too. And as you kiss back, your hands finding their way to her hips, you connect with her again on a level that you never put into words before. “I love you too, Nana.”

Upon hearing, her kiss deepens and her tongue works harder to play with yours. She leans on you more, until finally you let yourself fall backwards, and Nana is right there, straddling you, with an innocent yet horny look in her eyes again.

“Your turn. Relax, okay?” She caresses your cheek, and suddenly you’re made conscious of how bad you’re probably blushing right now. Despite this, her smile never leaves her face as she continues to reassure you. She giggles at whatever expression it is that you’re showing her, and she gets to work. 

Nana reaches to her bedside table and opens a drawer, and from it she produces a peculiar box. “Remember when I ‘stole’ that candy bar?” She tears off the sticker on the edge of the box to open it, pulls out a little plastic square pouch, and tears it open with her teeth. “I… bought… the candy bar. This was what I stole.” She tugs on the contents of the pouch, and reveals a condom. 

“What the–” you start, but you soon stop in favor of moans caused by Nana’s handjob. “Don’t ever belittle me like that again, okay?” Her smile is again just as sweet and innocent as the first time you saw it, but now is completely different. It never leaves her face as she pulls the rubber over your cock, but not before giving it a few more cursory licks.

“Ready?” she asks, and you nod furiously. Finally, she aims the tip of your cock at her entrance and slowly sinks down onto you. “Oh, fuck, it’s so big,” she gasps. She takes her time taking in your length, feeling every vein against her pussy walls as you enter her tight pussy. She sucks air in through her teeth, her eyes shut tight, her fingernails leaving imprints on your chest as more and more of you slides into her unbelievably tight cunt. As she does, you feel her wet velvet walls rub your cock inside her, her slick spreading all over you and coating you with a warm you can’t describe. After what seemed like an eternity of bliss, she finally hilts, having taken everything inside her, and she sits on your crotch without moving, still trying to get used to the feeling of her pussy being so full. 

“You good?” you ask, genuinely concerned if she’s okay or not. Place a hand on her waist, pat to comfort her. Her eyes open slowly, almost releasing a tear, and panic rises in your chest. 

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, do you need to get off? I–” you start, but she shuts you up with another kiss. It’s slow and gentle as it starts, just simple pecks, as she reassures you once again that she’s alright. Once she pulls away, she flashes you another smile, and you swear she gets more and more beautiful with each and every one. 

“I’m okay. Are you okay?” She traces circles on your cheek and neck, and all you could do is nod. She comes back in for another kiss, and this time it’s much deeper. She opens her mouth to moan, and you jump at the opportunity to swipe at her tongue too. She loves it, and once she’s comfy enough, she starts to hump against you as well.

“It’s really really good. Do you feel good?” Her question snaps you out of your daze, but you only nod as you fight off cumming too early. Not long after that, you note she’s had her fill as she pulls away from you. Her posture straightens and she sits on you properly again, this time determined to return the favor and blow your mind. She takes in a deep breath, braces herself, and lifts herself up carefully. Your breath hitches, watching her naked figure on top of you, and you admire the way her sweat collects in drops before they slide down between her breasts. She notices you staring again, and she brings your hands up to her chest, moaning at the first moment of contact. Your instincts overtake you; you push yourself off the bed to her boobs and start to suck. Your lips seal around her nipples and she runs her fingers through your hair as she tries to push you deeper into her delicious breast. 

“Shit, don’t stop,” Nana pleads, and you continue kneading the flesh of her boobs more, sucking when and where you can. At that moment, she forces herself back down onto your dick, taking in everything again all at once. Her walls part suddenly, and once she settles her warm pussy walls squeeze your cock as tight as she can. She begins bouncing, her moans never stopping, and you find a rhythm: each time Nana brings herself down, you thrust up to meet her halfway. The first time you do, you reach a depth to her that neither of you thought was possible, and the heat from her sex with her slick drive the pair of you insane with pleasure. 

She keeps bouncing on your cock as her lewd moans gradually grow louder and louder with each of your thrusts into her needy core. Her eyes roll to the back of her head, her pussy tightens again, and just as you deliver a perfectly-timed bite to her nipple, another scream rakes out of her throat as her second orgasm overtakes her. Her pussy convulses as her hips buck again and again on your cock, her thighs and tits jiggle seductively, and her tightness reaches new heights as if she wants to keep your cock inside her forever. Despite this, you never stop thrusting her, never stop making love to her, and you cover her chest in kisses while you lick up all her sweat. 

You never give her a chance to catch her breath, and soon enough, an unknowable number of seconds or minutes past, you feel your own orgasm coming. You take one last look at her godly figure and divine visuals, and you finally succumb.

Hold her close, hold her tight. She’s made it clear that she doesn’t want you getting away, so you only return the desire. Keep thrusting into her, forget about how she’s losing her mind. She’s gone, lost in her own pleasure, and there’s no point in bringing her back yourself. Instead, follow her. Send yourself over the edge and join her in her ecstasy.

You momentarily lose your flow of consciousness as flashes of white fill your eyes, but you’re snapped back to reality with Nana pulling at your hair. Only then do you realize; you’re actually cumming inside her. With each spurt, you thrust into her as your cock twitches against her slick walls. The cumulative heat from your cum sends just the right signals to Nana’s body, and it sends back the equivalent of screams of desperation at the illusion of breeding. Your pumps are harsh and careless – thank the stars you’re wearing a condom – but Nana is too far lost to care past the unholy pleasure you deliver to her. 

“Fuck, fuck! Aaaahhh!!!!” You feel her tighter, as if clamping down on your cock, her cunt pulsating and the connection between the two of you growing wetter, slicker. Despite this, you never let up, hell-bent on giving her everything you have. One spurt turns into two, then four, then six. It didn’t matter, none of it did. It could have been the end of the world and you wouldn’t have minded. All that was important was the girl sitting on your lap, losing her mind.

As both of your orgasms die down, the pair of you fall to the mattress. You stare at each other, wide-eyed and out of breath, and all you can do is smile and giggle at each other. As each of you catch your breath, the world quiets down, and all that’s left in existence is just you and Nana. 

“Wow,” she sighs, “nice.” Her smile grows wide again, and her hand once more finds your cheek to caress.

“Yeah, nice.” You laugh back at her, the adrenaline fading quickly. “Does that check the thing off your list?”

“Oh, yeah!” Nana jolts up and off the bed, or at least attempts to. Instead, she falls back next to you, and only then do you realize the fatigue rendering your bodies useless. 

“So… we good?” There’s nowhere else to look but right to her. Nana’s beautiful, round, just a bit teary eyes gaze back at you with adoration and love, something you never thought you’d have for yourself in this magnitude. And yet, here you are, and here she is, as if nothing else mattered. 

“Shit. That was crazy. Anyway, yeah. Thanks.” With her last ounce of strength, she comes in for one more kiss. She collapses in your arms, cuddled right up to your chest, and you can imagine she could hear how loud your heart was thumping, just like hers. 

Catch her snoring an adorable snore, wrap her in an embrace that would protect her from the worst the world could throw at her. A small thought in your head says you want to keep her safe forever like this, but you know better: she’s a strong woman who can take care of herself. Think back to how lucky you are, and how you walked this journey with her. Recall how she was just a fearful nobody when you first met, remember how you watched her grow into the amazing person she is now. 

Your eyelids grow heavy, and you realize your waking seconds left are numbered. Right before you drift off to sleep yourself, you hear her, in the tiniest voice ever, mumbling her confession: “Stay with me.”

“Go to sleep, Nana.” You smile and turn your head toward hers, arms wrapped around her waist. 

“Not without a promise.” Her own eyes are half-lidded, and you can tell she’s fighting back her drowsiness as hard as she can. She tries blinking the sleep away, but it only works marginally.

You could say anything to her at all right now, anything in the world, but there’s really only two things that need to be put into words. Your mind rushes at a snail’s pace, and you reach for faraway ideas when the right one is just in front of you. In your mind only one question appears: “So is this like…a one time thing?” 

In response Nana just leans in and kisses your cheek, then giggles. “Would me saying ‘I love you’ outside of sex prove it?” she asks playfully, her tone betraying her desire for rest.

“Touché.” One hand goes to her soft blonde hair, brushing it to the side. “But in my defence, suddenly kissing me and then getting me naked was not the first thing I expected when you said there was ‘one last thing’ in your bucket list,” you state matter-of-factly.

You share a bout of tired laughter for a moment, and then you both look at each other with pure eyes, as if you two compete to see who can make the other blush first. Decidedly, Nana loses while she confesses. “I used to think that college was supposed to be all rose-colored, that it was to be the peak of my life. But spending it with you, I learned that it doesn’t have to be all grand milestones to live through.” The air in the room swirls differently, replacing stale breaths with new ones from the open window. 

“That time you cheered me on during the open mic, how you looked at me… It made me realise that after everything’s said and done, I wanted peace. And I can feel peace with you, without all the guilt of past mistakes, nor ghosts of regret that would’ve haunted me for the rest of my life,” she says, now leaning toward your ear muttering, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back, smiling from ear to ear. Eventually you both released the hug. Look around her room for your clothes, which was surprisingly hard for how your sex wasn't too feral, and in turns take showers to clean yourselves up.

As you get out of the shower, fully cleaned and with some good-enough-for-sleep clothes, you find Nana on her bed fully knocked out. You simply laugh and join her, and her instinct leads her to wrap her arms around your waist while her head leans into your chest.

“Goodnight, Nana,” you whisper with finality, as if ending the night on a perfect note. Peck her forehead and close your own eyes, and fall into slumber just as deep as hers.

Bucket List Completed

“Argh, I’m so excited!” She grips you by your collar and shakes you as she screams, jolting away any sleep you wished to get. 

Two months have come and gone, and while you know it hasn’t been long, things have changed so much. Despite you trying to get just a bit more sleep in the backseat of the taxi, Nana right next to you can’t stop bouncing in hers as the sights outside the window pass her by.

“Okay, okay. Just get all this energy out before we get on the plane, please?”

She returns her attention to the window just as the taxi slows to a halt. Your new girlfriend practically throws open the door and leaps out, heading straight for the trunk to retrieve your luggage. 

“Hurry up! We might miss our flight!” She struggles lifting her comically large suitcase before you hear it hits the concrete pavement followed by its handle extending with its clack-clack-clack. 

“Hawaii isn’t going anywhere, Nana, please,” you mutter as you lazily exit the cab. You hand the driver your fare, and he reaches out to accept. As he does, he gives you a knowing smirk and tips his hat to you, as if saying “good luck.”

Turning around, you find Nana with all of your luggage too, eagerly awaiting your arm for her to cling to before you make your way inside. The hustle and bustle of Incheon International Airport fills her with a deep sense of excitement, and honestly, who could blame her? Your girlfriend is in the midst of all these other people — travelers, tourists, adventurers — and she fits right in. It’s the most natural thing for her now, to find herself in new situations that broaden her horizons and make her feel alive. 

She yanks you to her side in line for the desk, holding her brand-new polaroid camera at a high angle. “Cheese!” she screams, not far enough from your ear, but with how happy she is, you can’t help but smile her smile too. “Our first overseas trip! This is the first time I’m leaving Seoul, let alone Korea!” 

“Okay, Nana, calm down,” you chuckle, but you know she won’t. Divert her attention instead, put her energy to good use. “Do you have your passport? Carry on? Pink notebook?”

Though you both are sure she hasn’t missed anything, Nana rummages through her bag again anyway. “Check, check, and check! How could I forget?” She takes each item to show to you, and she flips through the pink notebook once it’s in her hand.

One thing about Nana, she never lets the moment escape her anymore. Once she sets out to do something, she’ll do everything in her power to accomplish that goal. This is no different, and you love her so much for it.

After looking through the notebook, she claps it shut. She flashes you the drawing of a gray bucket on its front cover before it disappears back into her carry on, and you both are reminded that a part of who you are as a couple is just that: a notebook that predicts the future by rooting itself in the present. Sadly, a weeklong trip won’t be enough for everything on her list this time, but who’s to say you’re not coming back eventually? 

And at the end of the trip, you have it ready, the best gift you could give her: a little green notebook, every left-side page filled with things you want to do, and the corresponding right side page blank, all for her. And on the very last leaf, where the cardboard of the back cover accompanies it, is a drawing of a ring, with the words: “I’ll be taking my time, spending my life, falling deeper in love with you.”

“Come on, hurry!” She yanks again, snapping you out of your wistful thoughts. “We’re gonna miss the plane!” Nana pulls you to the gate just as the intercom announces your flight has begun boarding. “Alright, alright! Easy,” you chuckle again, and you can’t believe this is the same girl behind the gym crying her eyes out alone just last year. Funny how people change like that, but at the same time, it’s impossible to think that Nana would ever stay the same.

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Thank you all for watching, it has been a long time working on it and we are really happy it is finally out, hope yall had a good read with this one,

i will see you all next time leafies~

[novy2sirius]

Heyy! Can you do a post about calculating your address numerology?

THE NUMEROLOGY OF YOUR HOME 🏠

༄ your address in numerology can tell about the main themes you may experience in that specific residence. you must reduce the number to find out! the date in which you move into the house and purchase it is also very important, but that’s not what this post will be about

༄ to calculate it’s very simple. just add together and reduce like your life path. example: if your address number is 123 add 1+2+3

༄ it sounds silly, but if your address isn’t a good number to live in you can literally just write a number next to it in sharpie to make the reduced number a more beneficial one

© novy2sirius

🏘️ one address: although it would be good to move in a 1 universal or personal year as it’s the number of new beginnings, i don’t recommend 1 addresses because it’s the number of conflict and aggression. could cause you to attract conflict such as angry neighbors that are lame

🏘️ two address: this is a great number although uncommon to find in addresses. it’s the number of peace and calm energy, so this shouldn’t bring lots of conflict

🏘️ three address: this is the second best number for your address to reduce to. it can create healthy communication and be a good home to raise a child in as well. 3 is also the number of good luck

🏘️ four address: not recommended because as we know 4 is the number of hard work. could cause the home to need lots of maintenance similar to 7

🏘️ five address: although this isn’t a good number to live at long term it can be good for a short term apartment because it’s the number associated with fun. it’s also the second luckiest number. the only reason i don’t recommend it long term is because with it being the number of travel it could create an energy wanting you to leave the house or residence all the time

🏘️ six address: the best number to live under. 6 is the number of home and family, so this creates a comfortable and safe home environment

🏘️ seven address: this is one of the worst numbers to have your address reduce to since 7 is the number of accidents and injuries. your house is more likely to get damaged and have lots of problems that you’ll have to pay for all the time

🏘️ eight address: you can attract money when your home address adds to 8, so this can be good if you don’t have a lot of negative karma attached to you. if you do have lots of negative karma it may indicate lots of ups and downs occurring when living here

🏘️ nine address: with 9 being an upside down 6 and 6 being the number of homes, 9 isn’t good for home addresses. 9 is the number of endings and death, so this is one i don’t recommend

🏘️ eleven address: this is one of my least favorite numbers for addresses because it creates lots of emotional energy. this includes both sadness and anger

🏘️ twenty-two address: not recommended in my opinion. 22 in numerology is the number of master destruction, so this could end bad

🏘️ thirty-three address: this can create a very high vibrational home and is very good for raising a family

[regencyrosalie]

biblically accurate modern!husband!anthony hc’s 🤍

first post here ! <3 i hope u love it <3

- anthony “i love my wife” bridgerton trying to go about his daily life when he quite literally wants to stay in bed all day with you.

- anthony is THE lightest sleeper on earth. if you get up at night, you’ll come back to the bedroom and hes just sitting up in bed half asleep like 🧍🏻‍♂️

- speaking of, if you even want to get up, you’ll have to wriggle out of his death grip. he will hold onto you throughout the entire night, and if it’s hot, he’ll make sure to have a hand sprawled across the bed onto you.

- sometimes you have to remind him to back off a little because he genuinely acts like you might die every time you leave the house

- insists you call/text him (preferably call) when you arrive at at wherever you’re going so he know you didn’t get hit by a car or something on the way there

- speaking of, Anthony texts like he he does not understand what a phone is.

- quite literally really only uses his dad’s old desk phone and emails. he owns an iphone 7 that is usually sitting in the back of his bedside drawer for days at a time.

- he loves all of his siblings equally, but Hyacinth has him wrapped around her finger at all times.

- will do pretty much anything for his wife, but is much more firm with his siblings.

- which is why every time they need something and you aren’t around, Hyacinth is sent to give him her best puppy eyes. he folds almost instantly every time without fail.

- genuinely does not really have many “friends” that aren’t also family. he used to in college, but he just doesn’t find it necessary anymore, and also doesn’t have the time.

- he has reading glasses. enough said.

- scared of bugs.

- talks about pretty much everything with Benedict, who he’s probably closest with in his family besides his mother.

- used to play with/take care of Hyacinth as a baby when Violet was grieving.

- sometimes struggles to pronounce big words when he’s arguing and it pisses him off so much he has to leave the room.

- likely has most of his siblings set up with a therapist, but doesn’t get one for himself until his wife tells him to.

- all of his spaces are organized meticulously, usually by color or number order.

- will check to make sure every door to the house is locked at least three times before going to bed.

- which can take up to an hour when staying at Aubrey Hall.

- we all see how he softened in season 3. his siblings tease him about it sometimes, but they’re all delighted. and he couldn’t care less. he thinks he is the luckiest man on earth and rolls his eyes every time he thinks of how angsty he was.

- if you have children, he’s the most loving father in the world. will wear a tutu if the need arises.

- he can’t have you in his office for more than thirty minutes or he gets distracted.

- he didn’t cry for years after his dad died, and now he cries about once a month.

- most animals love him for some reason.

- has nightmares relatively frequently after edmund dies, but they die down as he gets older.

- favorite color is navy blue. changes to light blue once he’s married.

- good with babies and toddlers from when hyacinth was little.

- you make him take breaks while he works everyday, and they become his favorite parts of the day. you bring him tea and sit in his lap and pet his hair, sometimes he falls asleep. he tells you to wake him up but you never do.

- still uses an alarm clock.

- refuses to leave bed until ten am every day.

- smells like sandalwood and cinnamon.

- idk why but i feel like he fucking LOVES sudoku puzzles.

- but dont ever ask him to do a real puzzle thats more than 50 pieces or he may start crying.

- type of mf to read actual newspapers.

- no one in the family has serious allergies, but he still keeps an epi pen everywhere just in case.

[deargojou]

Thank u for accepting the request! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡ G.satoru & fluff (suggestive maybe). He gives u kisses on different parts of ur body. the kisses number is the same as your birthday. You can set the age whatever you like. I don't have much idea ㅠ﹏ㅠ I think there's a film like this..not sure, just goggled it now.

【 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 】

You wake slowly, gradually becoming aware of the warm sunlight filtering through the curtains. As you blink open your eyes, the first thing you see is Gojo’s face just inches from yours. His eyes are soft and full of love as he gazes down at you.

“Happy birthday, cutie,” he murmurs, a smile spreading across his handsome features. He leans in and presses his lips to yours in a sweet, lingering kiss.

As you stretch and let out a small yawn, Gojo begins showering your face with little kisses. His lips graze your forehead, both cheeks, the tip of your nose, and finally land on your lips for a deeper, more passionate kiss. You can’t help but grin against his lips, feeling like the luckiest person in the world.

“Well, good morning to you too, Mr. Smooches,” you giggle as you reach out to caress his cheek.

He only grins before saying, “I wanted to be the first one to wish you a happy birthday.” His eyes shine with adoration as he gazes down at you, “and the first one to give you birthday appreciation.”

Your heart swells with affection. Gojo has always made you feel so cherished. Even on regular days, he is constantly showing you how much he cares through small affectionate gestures. But on your birthday, he is going above and beyond to make you feel extra special.

“Just bear with me for a moment, sweetheart. Stay still,” he says before positioning himself hovering over you.

“When have I not?” you lightheartedly said, which was returned by his feigned offended face, “Excuse me? I’m trying to be sweet for your sweet sixteen here,” he huffs.

“Alright, alright, you’re excused,” you run your fingers over his hair with a chuckle.

“Thank you,” he rolls his eyes playfully.

Gojo leans down and places a gentle kiss on your forehead, “one,” he counts. He moves to both of your cheeks, pecking each one softly, “two.” 

You realize Gojo is counting each kiss, starting from one, to represent each year you are turning today. The significance and thought he put into this melts your heart.

Your nose is next, he nuzzles against yours before leaving a tiny kiss, “three.” You giggle as he tilts your chin up to reach it, “four,” he whispered, placing a dramatic smooch there.

Shivering, you feel his lips press behind each of your ears, “six.” Gojo nuzzled against your neck, kissing down with another count, “seven.” He moves down to kiss your collarbones, “eight.”

He slides his lips to your shoulder, “nine.” His fingers trail down to lift each of your wrists to his lips, “ten.” He lingers on your palms, “eleven.”

You inhale sharply as Gojo moves lower, pushing up your pajama pants to access your bare thighs and calves. He kisses each one gently. “Twelve… thirteen.”

Working back up your body, he lifts your shirt to place a lingering kiss on your stomach, “fourteen.” His fingers dance along your sides, making you squirm. Leaning down over your chest, he kisses between your breasts. “fifteen.”

Finally, Gojo cups your face, gazing into your eyes. “Sixteen,” he whispers. He presses his lips to yours in a slow, passionate kiss that makes your heart race. You melt into his embrace, feeling adored.

As you break apart, giggling, you cheekily say, “Wasn’t that twenty-three kisses total?”

Gojo shakes his head, insisting “Nope! It was sixteen―one for each of your sweet sixteen years!” You roll your eyes but can’t keep the delighted grin off your face.

“Aren’t you so sweet?” you pull him down for another kiss to express your gratitude.

“Not as sweet as you are right now,” he continues to pamper your face in kisses. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to stop any time soon.

I don’t know what movie would that be but hope you like this, annonie 🥹🥹

[scarfacemarston]

Could you maybe probably sort of kind of pretty please with a cherry on top write a Natasha x reader? Wlw preferred but nbreader is cool too. Maybe like a prank fic? I love pranks so much they bring so much serotonin into my veins 💋💋💋

Natasha x F! Reader prank people

Warnings: LOTS of cussing from Rumlow because that's just the type of guy he is. Takes place before the Hydra reveal. You loved a lot of things about Natasha. Who wouldn’t love the woman? You were the luckiest gal in the world to call her your partner. You loved how many layers she had to her and felt honored to see the softer, more playful side of her. Not many people knew that she had a penchant for pranks. It was quite simple for her to play pranks on people and let chaos reign because no one ever suspected it was the severe and stoic Black Widow.

Sometimes, she would prank people and give the most mischievous and playful smile -reserved only for you.

Well, there came a time when you wanted to join in. After all, it was a fun new way for you two to bond as a couple. Natasha quirked an eyebrow at your request but accepted it anyway.

Some of her favorite targets included Isaac Murphy, Brock Rumlow, and the IT guy from the 7th floor of the Shield Headquarters.

“You remember that I like to play the long game here, right? No salt in the sugar container or pie in the face antics. That’s child’s play. No, I want them to be either very confused, suffering or both. You can handle that, can’t you?” Natasha said with a quick of her lips. You scoffed.

“Of course I can! I have some ideas of my own, you know.” You defended yourself. Natasha crossed her arms. “Well this I have to hear.” “Well, I hate Brock Rumlow, too. I have a simple, but obnoxious prank on him, but he might tear up the room.” You warned.

“Hm, if it’s too awful, I’ll have to hear his loud mouth whining about it. Save your best idea for him to make it worth it.” Natasha thought aloud.

“Okay, will do. This Murphy guy, you have his email and number, right? Why not sign him up for the most famous mega church we can find? Joel Olsteen or Kenneth Copland, like that!.”

“He’s suspicious. I’m not sure what is off about him, but I will find out. But, not a bad idea, but I think we can do worse.”

“I’m getting there! What about various political campaigners? We could do Obama, Romney, Kennedy and even more local politicians. I receive those emails and texts daily despite donating to a Green Party campaign six years ago. That’s just one! Imagine how horrible three or more would be!” You enthused.

Natasha grinned. “Not bad, but I really want him to suffer.” “I was thinking we could give his name to various military recruiters? ” You suggested. “I’ll suggest his name to a multi-level marketing group so they can try to recruit him, too. Not bad for your first prank.” Nat said, hugging you from behind. “I think we can do even better.” Nat muttered in your ear.

“Okay, for Rumlow - I was thinking we trick him into thinking there’s somebody who takes his desk during the night shift. Uses his chair, desk, everything.” You said, a grin curling on your features. “Hm, sounds promising. Go on” She murmured. “Well, I was thinking we move his stuff around every day before he comes in. Maybe lay a crossword puzzle or newspapers scattered in the morning that look read? Move his pens, and everything else!” You laughed. Natasha nodded in approval. I think we should leave half-eaten bags of chips, half-drunk water bottles, and candy wrappers so he thinks someone has been eating there. That will get him. He’s quite possessive with his stuff.” Nat suggested. You gasped. “Oh, he’s going to hate that.” “Yep. And to end it up, we can have multiple files on his computer that look like they’re from Murphy, Jack Rollins and Sitwell. All of them sometimes work the night shifts.” Nat laughed as she turned to face you. ‘Imagine the fights!”

“I’ll be sure to tape them, don’t you worry, love,” Natasha said, tapping your nose.

It wasn’t long until Natasha invited you to have lunch with her at a SHIELD gathering. It was a relaxed affair where nothing intelligence-related was discussed. A few other SHIELD members invited their partners or children as well.

Natasha smirked as she took her seat next to you and placed a plate of sandwiches and milkshakes on the table for you to share.

“Might as well have something to eat while we enjoy the show. Murphy looks like he’s going to have a mental breakdown. His phone has been going off all day to the point that Rumlow threatened to break it, and Maria Hill threatened to take disciplinary action."

At that moment, you heard the buzz of a cellphone receiving a notification…and another…and another.

“They won’t leave me alone!” Murphy whined.

“Shut that damn phone up, or I’m smashing it. I don’t give a fuck about any “disciplinary action.”

“It’s the number, you idiot. Not the phone!” Murphy said, raising his voice.

“Then change the fucking number!” Rumlow raised his voice.

“I can’t! I have too many accounts associated with it! I’d have to start all over!” Murphy whined.

Rollins tromped over, glaring at Murphy. “

All of us are plotting your death, Murphy.” Rollins snapped as he pulled Rumlow by the shoulder away.

“Come on, let’s get you a beer.” Rollins muttered.

“I need more than a damn beer,” Rumlow muttered, stomping off. Soon, the noise was annoying, even the two of you.

Finally, Maria Hill herself made her way over, snatching the phone from Murphy’s hand. “You’re on thin ice, kid,” Hill said, pointing at his face.

Murphy sat, slumping into his chair. “It’s not my fault!” he whined.

You and Natasha exchanged looks as you slipped on your milkshake, stealing one of Natasha’s fries.

“I have to admit, I was close to breaking his phone myself.” Nat admitted.

“Yeah, this might have backfired on us.”

“But it is great to see them at each other’s throats. It distracts them from bothering Steve and I,” Natasha said, stopping your hand from stealing another fry.

“I could have bought you fries, you know.” Nat laughed.

“But I so enjoy stealing yours!” You smiled.

~~~~~ A week later, you received a text from Natasha. “Calling you in a second. Need you to hear this. Need to be silent, though.” “Ok” And with that, your phone began to ring. You picked up immediately only to hear shouting and cursing in the background…from a very familiar voice. It was most certainly Rumlow who had become fed up with the idea of someone “stealing his shit in his space.”

“If I find out which piece of shit is using my desk, I’m going to dismember them! Slowly!” Rumlow bellowed.

You heard a second voice. “No one sits there! Calm down there, alpha male. It’s your space.” Rollins snarked.

“Then where the fuck is this shit coming from? You work the night shift! Why are there files from you, Murphy and Sitwell? “ he shouted.

“Yeah, Over there. That’s how I know no one sits there. I don't know how they got that, Rumlow. I didn't do it." Rollins defended.

“Where did this come from? Or this?” - the sound of objects being thrown came through the phone.”

“Fine, ask Murphy!”

You hear another voice in the background.

“That asshole is on thin ice. If it’s him, good luck finding the body.” Rumlow growled.

“It wasn’t me! I quit working nights last month!” Murphy squeaked.

“That leaves Sitwell, then.” You heard Rollins speak up.

You heard Rumlow growl. “Damn it. That nerd is higher on the ladder than we are…but how about we pay the dweeb a visit anyway?” You heard Rumlow’s voice fade in the background.

You heard Natasha’s voice. “I hope you’re proud of yourself and the chaos you caused,” Nat said, snickering.

“Oh, so proud! I’m sorry you’re having to deal with this, though.” You apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. I can handle a few mens’ fragile egos and I can drown them out pretty well. I have to say, you impressed me with your pranks. I might need to watch out…but just know that any pranks you play on me, I’ll get you back with a vengence.” Nat warned.

“….. okay, then it will only be fun ones then! A surprise room of puppies, or baklava randomly appearing in places.” You appeased. Nat gave one of her rare laughs.

“I can live with that. Let’s give the boys a break for now, but we are definitely going to prank them again. Maybe we’ll go after new targets. I have to go. Dinner at Demo’s tonight, same time as usual?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Love you, Tasha.”

“Love you, Y/N”.

[avastrasposts]

A Baker's Dozen - Three

Twelve Pedro boys, twelve stand alone short stories, all set in the same bakery.

Hi!

Look at all the love you guys gave Din last week! I'm completely overwhelmed and flustered and I'm so happy you guys love this little series of Pedro boys and, apparently, the luckiest woman in the world. I love exploring their voices and aaaaall the fluff and sweetness I want to cram into these stories. But before we meet Pedro boy number three I have to give a few shout outs: First to @maggiemayhemnj because of certain fashion choices in this story... Secondly to @trulybetty and @for-a-longlongtime who actually made Dieter's Millionaire's Shortbread from the first part! Dieter would be very proud of you both and then steal half the pan.

Series Master List

Now, enter Pedro boy number three, and look who it is...

You almost drop Mrs. Levinson’s bag of cardamom rolls when you see him stepping through the door with a hesitant look on his face. The tool belt sits low on his narrow hips, the faded denim shirt stretches tight over his shoulders and he’s looking around the bakery with a cautious frown. It’s like he’s stepped out of the pages of a calendar of sexy construction workers, and you mentally pick your jaw off the floor as he looks over at you.  

“Here you go Mrs. Levinson,” you say, adding the last cardamom roll to her bag and forcing your eyes away from the man. 

“Thank you dear,” she replies, giving you a sweet smile as she puts her hand on top of yours, “Have you seen Mrs Morales lately?” 

“No, Mrs Levinson, I haven’t.”

“Ask her about her son the next time she comes in, he’s such a sweetheart,” she pats your hand a few times, taking her bag. 

“Thank you, Mrs Levinson, see you next week,” you wave as she makes her way to the front door, the man with the construction belt holding it open for her with a polite, “Ma’am.” 

As he closes the door, you take a few steadying breaths, and smile as he comes over to the counter. 

“How can I help you?” you ask, trying to keep your eyes on his face and not let them stray to the freckles that disappear under the V of his shirt. 

He rubs his hands together, wiping at a stain that won’t budge, and gives you a small smile. 

“I’m wonderin’ if you offer baking lessons here? 

His Texas drawl is smooth and low, a pleasant lilt to his baritone voice and it just adds to his attraction. You wonder if he’s aware of how good looking he is, he doesn’t have that air or attitude. Instead he shrugs his shoulders and puts one hand into his pocket, the other one twitching nervously at his side as he waits for your answer. 

“I don’t do regular baking lessons but I’m sure I can arrange something,” you reply, “what did you have in mind?” 

“Well, my daughter, her birthday’s comin’ up and I’d like to make her a cake or a pie or…or somethin’ that’s not just a supermarket cake,” he says, “But I don’t know the first thing about baking and I reckon I might need a bit of help or I’ll burn the kitchen down.” He furrows his brow as he talks, looking up at you with chocolate brown eyes, his hand still twitching by his side. 

“That sounds like a very good reason to learn some baking, I'd be more than happy to help,” you smile at him and his forehead smooths out as he smiles back at you. 

“Really? That’d be great, I really appreciate it.” 

“No problem, and I’ll only charge you for the ingredients, not the lesson,” you say as you bend down and get your calendar out from under the counter.

“No, I can’t let you do that,” the man protests, “I have to pay you for your time.” 

“How about you pay me with time?” you ask, looking at the tool belt around his waist, “I have a couple of small jobs around the place that are probably pretty easy, but I don’t have the right tools, maybe you can help me with that?” 

“Yeah, sure, I'd be more than happy to help you out with that,” he nods and sticks out his hand, “I’m Joel, Joel Miller.” 

“Nice to meet you, Joel Miller,” you smile back at him as you shake his hand, “How about next Monday? I’m closed on Mondays so I can give you the lesson then.” 

“Umm….” he squints his eyes as if he’s thinking hard, “I think that works, afternoon alright for you?” 

“Yeah, whenever,” you reply, “come by at one and I’ll be here.” 

“Thanks, really ‘preciate it,” he grins at you, running his hand through his hair, making the dark curls stand on end as you resist the urge to reach up and touch them. 

“Do you have a preference for what to bake? Or does your daughter have a preference?” 

“As long as it’s easy and contains chocolate, we’re both happy,” he says, “It’s got to be easy, I’ve never done any baking in my life.” 

“Easy, gotcha, I’ll make sure it’s fool proof,” you laugh, “I think I have some ideas already, I’ll make sure you don’t burn down the house.” 

“Thanks,” he chuckles, “I’ll see you on Monday then.” 

He gives you a wave and a smile as he leaves. 

…

You can’t help but spend some extra time on your hair on Monday morning, picking out your cutest apron as you get to the shop and telling your reflection to get a grip as you apply some make up. But the man is just…you shake your head, focus now!

You’re putting the ingredients out on the workbench in the kitchen as you hear a knock on the front door. Joel is right on time and as you walk across the front of the shop he gives you a wave through the window. He’s got his tool belt slung over his shoulder and a toolbox in one hand. 

“Afternoon,“ he smiles and you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your eyes from drifting over his wide shoulders, the green plaid flannel shirt he’s wearing hugging them tight. It looks as if he’s just showered, his dark curls are damp and brushed away from his face and his scruffy beard looks a little bit neater today. 

“Afternoon, you’re right on time,” you smile at him, leading him back into the kitchen where he puts his tools down in a corner. 

“Nice kitchen you’ve got,” Joel says, looking around the utilitarian workspace, “I never knew baking included so much equipment though.” He’s looking into your large dough mixer on the floor, the one used for big batches of bread. 

“Baking is a very equipment heavy sport,” you laugh, “I’ve got so many gadgets with only one use, it’s ridiculous. But don’t worry, you’ll only need three things.” 

“Sounds good,” Joel smiles at you and comes over to the counter where all the ingredients are laid out, “What are we making?” 

“Texas Trash Pie,” you say, looking at him for his reaction and it doesn’t disappoint, he furrows his brow and looks thoroughly confused. 

“Did you say ‘Trash Pie’?” 

“Yep, a Texas Trash Pie,” you laugh, “Don’t worry, it tastes a lot better than it sounds. And it’s one of those ‘use whatever you feel like’ pies so you can adjust it to your own taste.” 

“Ok, I see pretzels and pecans and chocolate, all things I like, so I’d say I’m good with that.”  He smiles at you, “What’s first?” 

“First we wash our hands,” you wave him over to your sink and let him clean up.

“So I’ve got two options for you, I’m going to teach you how to make the pie crust now, but you can buy a ready-made one too if you’re worried about making it from scratch,” you say as you point him to the recipe sheet you’ve printed for him, “Go on, follow that and I’ll help you out if you need it.” 

“Ok, throwing me in the deep end, huh?” he chuckles and starts rolling up the sleeves of the flannel shirt. 

“It’s sink or swim, Joel”, you grin, leaning next to him by the workbench, glancing down at how the sleeves of the shirt hug around his forearms when he’s got them folded up, you swear he’s flexing them on purpose, but he just leans down on the bench and picks up the paper.

He carefully reads the recipe in silence for a few minutes before he grabs the flour and gets to work. He doesn’t need any help from you in the first few steps, putting all the ingredients in the bowl and working them all together as you add cubes of cold butter. You don’t want to distract him so you stand next to him in comfortable silence while he consults the recipe every other minute to make sure he’s got all the steps. 

“Alright, I think that’s holding its shape right?” he asks you after working the ingredients together into a dough ball. 

“Looks very good to me,” you say, “Now, flatten it into a disc and wrap it in plastic, we’re going to let it chill for a bit.” 

“Right, boss,” Joel replies, and it makes your cheeks heat up, as you try to suppress a giggle.

“We can get the filling done now but then we have to wait for a bit,” you explain as he puts the dough in the fridge. 

“Ok, let’s do that and then I’ll see what you need help with around here.” Joel replies, double checking on his dough before closing the door, “Didn’t think pie dough was that easy, people make it sound real complicated.” 

“No, once you’ve got a good recipe it’s easy. And this next part is foolproof.” You hoist yourself up to sit on the workbench. 

“Don’t tempt me, I could still burn down your kitchen,” he chuckles, coming to stand next to you and you catch a whiff of his warm cologne. His eyes are level with yours now and you can’t help but reflect on how much like chocolate they are as he smiles at you. 

“Lucky thing I know a contractor who can rebuild it then,” you smile back at him and he gives you a wink. 

“Lucky you indeed. Do I know him? I could tell you if he’s any good,” he replies, picking up the recipe card. 

“You might know him, he’s tall, dark hair, cute smile, built like a barn door,” you smirk, feeling your butterflies erupt up as his own smile widens. 

“Cute smile huh? Must be from out of town, I don’t know any contractors with cute smiles in this place.” 

“He’s really bad at baking, but he’s got potential, might be an alternative career path if his construction thing doesn’t pan out.” 

Joel’s grins and glances down at his hands holding the recipe, a pink shade creeping up his neck under the shirt. 

“Yeah, I might know him,” he chuckles, looking up at you again, “Is he getting lessons from a real pretty baker girl, kinda makes her customers nervous with her own cute smile?” 

“Yeah,” you giggle, “that’s the one.” 

“Alright, good to know,” he smiles and your eyes are still locked together, both of you trying to contain your grins. 

Finally Joel breaks, clearing his throat and tapping his finger on the recipe card. 

“So, this is foolproof, even for me?” he asks, bending down to read the recipe as you nod.

The kitchen is quiet for a few minutes as Joel checks that he has everything he needs and then he looks up at you again. 

“Really?” he asks, his eyebrows shooting up into his hairline, “That’s it? Dump all the stuff in a bowl and mix?” 

“Told you it was foolproof,” you reply, “and you can mix in other things if you prefer.” 

“Ok, but I’ll follow your recipe for now,” he says, “ ‘one cup semi sweet chocolate chips’.” He  grabs the measuring cup and the chocolate chips. 

You watch him as he carefully measures out the ingredients in the bowl and then mixes it all together. 

“That’s it?” he asks and you nod. 

“Yup, that’s it, now grab the dough from the fridge and roll it out to fit that pie form,” you point him to the form you’ve placed on the bench for him. 

“Alright, never used a rolling pin, but I guess there’s a first time for everything,” Joel grins as he unwraps the dough. You watch him weigh the rolling pin in his hand as he cocks his head and looks at the dough, as if he’s sizing it up, figuring out how he’s going to tackle it.

“Any special tricks I need to know?” he asks, looking over at you. 

“No, just keep even pressure and try to roll it out into a circle but don’t stress too much, it doesn’t have to be perfect.” 

“Ok, here goes then,” he laughs and starts rolling. He’s tentative at first, squinting at the dough every other time he rolls over it. 

“Put your weight behind it, Joel,” you smile at him, “it won’t break.” 

“If you say so, you’re the master baker,” he replies, adjusting his stance and putting more force into it. The green plaid of his flannel stretches across his back as he starts rolling in earnest across the dough, and you can’t help your eyes flitting between the way his hands grip the rolling pin and the tight seams of his shirt. 

Far too soon Joel’s got the dough nice and smooth, rolled out into a neat circle. 

“You’re a natural at that, Joel,” you laugh and give him a quick pat on the back that makes him puff up a little. 

“Tell my daughter, she’s never going to believe me when she sees her old man with a rolling pin in hand.” 

“I’m sure she’ll be very impressed,” you say, handing him the pie form, “So next step is to roll the pie dough onto the rolling pin and drape it over the form, then we bake it.” 

You tell him how to move the dough into the pie form and he gives you a proud smile as it settles neatly. 

“Now cut away the overhang and we’ll get it in the oven.” 

While the pie crust bakes you make Joel a coffee and treat him to some of your leftovers. 

“It’s not fresh but they’re still good,” you say, handing him a pain au chocolat, his large hands dwarfing the pastry. 

“I’m really not complaining,” he chuckles, biting down into the flaky dough, “I’ll bring my daughter next time I come, she's got an even bigger sweet tooth than me, but not until after her birthday, or she’ll catch on to my surprise.” 

“If you find out her favorite I can teach you how to make that next time,” you say, leaning against the counter with your coffee while Joel smiles at you. 

“You’re being far too nice, you’re gonna ruin your business if you keep giving away baking lessons.”

“Who said I’m giving them away, I’m charging you next time,” you laugh, “this first time freebie was just to get you suckered in, now I’ve got you hooked.” 

“You’ve sure got me hooked, darlin’,” Joel drawls, winking at you, and heat rushes to your cheeks. 

“You’re a real flirt, Joel,” you giggle, trying to contain the butterflies that have erupted in your stomach again as he keeps his eyes on yours, looking up through his dark eyelashes as he smiles at you. 

“Just being honest, honey,” he says, taking another sip of his coffee and finally taking his eyes off you. You feel like you can breathe normal again, resisting the urge to fan yourself with your hand as you sip your from your own mug. 

In the kitchen you hear the oven ping and you set your mug down as Joel looks up, “The crust is ready, time for the last step.” 

“I feel like you’re going easy on me,” he chuckles, “shouldn’t baking be harder than this?” He follows you into the kitchen as you smile at his comment. 

“You’re on beginner level, Miller. You’re not gonna let me build a house the first time I use a hammer right?” 

He laughs at that, his eyes squinting as his shoulders jump. 

“Alright, point taken, darlin’,” he chuckles, taking the oven mitts from you, “I’ll stay on the easy stuff for now.” 

“And I’m actually giving you a challenge,” you point out as he carefully lifts the pie crust from the oven and sets it down on the workbench, “I could’ve given you a recipe that required no oven.” 

“Wait, you’re telling me I could’ve done this lesson with no oven?” 

“Sure, but here we are, and your pie is ready to be baked,” you smile, “Just dump the mixture into the crust and smooth it out as best you can, it’s going to even itself out in the oven anyway.”

Joel does as you say, dolloping the sticky mixture into the pie crust and pressing it down lightly. 

“All done, but, there’s one extra addition I like to do that’s not in the recipe,” you say, nodding as he puts the final touch to the pie. “You can sprinkle just a little bit of sea salt over the top, it’s a nice contrast to the sweetness of the pie, especially with the caramel and the condensed milk.” 

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Joel says, “if you say it’s good, I’ll trust that.” 

You hand him the container and he grabs a pinch, “Just a sprinkle?” 

“Just a sprinkle, try to get it evenly over the top.” 

“And now in the oven?”

“Yep, just in the oven and then we wait.” 

As you watch, Joel carefully slides the pie form back into the oven and closes the door and you set a timer. 

“Alright, let me clean up and you can show me what needs fixin’, I’ve already seen that shelf in the corner,” he says, nodding over to your bookshelf that doubles as an office, holding all the paperwork for the bakery. 

“What’s wrong with it?” you ask and Joel walks over to it and gives the corner of it a gentle kick, making the whole thing sway. 

“Oh, ok,” you say as Joel grabs the shelf to steady it, “please fix that.” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it stable, but you might want to consider replacing it, that cheap Ikea stuff will always start to wobble after a while,” he says, washing off and moving his tool box in front of the bookshelf as you start to remove some of the contents. 

“Actually,” Joel says, looking around the bakery’s kitchen, “You don’t have an office, do you? Where do you do the paperwork for the business?” 

“On the workbench,” you say, pointing to where Joel’s bowl still is, “or I just take it home with me.” 

“You know, I did a job a few months ago, built a small fold away office set for a bedroom,” he says, giving the kitchen an appraising look, “If you get rid of the bookshelf, I could build you a new one and include a desk that you can fold away, it basically works as a door for the shelf when you put it up, and a desk when it’s down. Here, let me show you.” 

He pulls out his phone and shows you a picture of what he means, the office set up is a sleek custom build in a small bedroom. 

“Wow, you built this?” you ask, “It’s beautiful, but I could never afford something custom built like that, I’m sorry.” 

Joel gives you a warm smile, putting his phone back, “I’ve got plenty of material left over from that job, and my time is free for you, I’d be happy to build it for you,” he says but you shake your head. 

“Really, Joel, that’s too much, you’ve already offered to fix things around the kitchen, I can’t let you build that too.” 

“Please, stop being so infuriating and just accept the damn thing,” Joel chuckles, bending to pick up a screwdriver from the toolbox, “Plus, it gives me an excuse to come back here after we’re done with this pie.” 

“You don’t need an excuse to come back, Joel,” you smile as you watch him begin tightening the screws holding the old bookshelf together. 

“I don’t?” he asks, still focused on the screws but you see him glance over as you pull out what you need to make the foundations for a wedding cake for next weekend. 

“Of course not,” you smile, “you’re welcome anytime, baking lessons or not.” 

“I might take you up on that then,” he says with a grin, giving the bookshelf a shake. “Ok, it’s sturdy now but I’m going to take some measurements for your new one.” 

“Thanks Joel, I really appreciate it,” you reply as you begin measuring the ingredients. 

“You’re welcome, and it’s no bother, really,” he smiles as he comes over to you and looks over your shoulder, his arm touching yours as you move back, but he doesn’t back up, the warmth from him seeping through the layers of clothes. 

“What are you making?” he asks and you tilt the bowl towards him. 

“Sponge cakes, they’re the bases for a wedding cake I’m delivering on Saturday.” 

“That must be the master level of baking,” he says, looking at the sketch of the cake you’ve made alongside the recipe, “It looks complicated.” The cake has four layers, each layer decorated with different coloured macarons and intricate flowers made from sugar and Joel traces his finger over the pattern, “Incredibly beautiful, I’d love to see it when it’s done.” 

“I’ve got pictures of a similar one on the bakery’s Instagram page,” you say but Joel shakes his head. 

“I don’t have Instagram, but my daughter keeps buggin’ me about it, says it’d be good for business if I had pictures of the stuff I make on it. But I don’t know…” he shrugs as if the very idea of social media is beyond him and it makes you laugh. 

“She’s right though, it would be good for business,” you say and he shrugs again. 

“I might get an account just so I can see your cakes though,” he grins and you smile up at him. He’s still standing very close, leaning his hip against the bench, his eyes flitting down to your lips and back up. Your head fills with the image of him leaning closer, soft looking lips parted as his hand finds your waist. 

But he bites down on his plush bottom lip instead, the faintest shade of pink tinging his cheeks, turning to face the kitchen, “I’d better get a start on paying you back,” he says, grabbing hold of his tool belt. 

“Ok,” you breathe out, momentarily flustered as you turn back to the cake batter, pulling your eyes away from the way he tightens the belt around his waist, hanging low on his hips. 

Joel quickly spots a few other things that need fixing around the kitchen, things you hadn’t even noticed, and gets them sorted in quick succession, a wonky wall shelf, an exposed wire, the squeak on your back door and the glitchy handle on the inside of the fridge. 

“Alright, no more getting locked into the fridge,” he says, testing the handle while you dust off your hands. 

“Thanks, Joel, really, that one’s been giving me trouble for a while,” you say and he gives you another warm smile. 

“Anything else you need help with?” he asks, “Maybe the AC? It’s boiling in here now.” He unbuttons his green plaid flannel and shrugs out of it, the gray t-shirt below is showing sweat stains as he hangs the shirt on your coat hanger. 

“Uhm…” your brain stalls as he turns around and looks at you with a hand on his hip, “No, no, the AC works fine, it’s not on though, makes the kitchen too cold.” 

“Alright, you’ll just have to put up with my sweat stink then,” he says, “Should we get back to the pie or does it need more time?” His cheeks are pink and he absentmindedly rubs his hand over his scruffy beard as he waits for your answer, his lips curving up in a smile as he catches your eyes drifting over his shoulders, the t-shirt pulled tight over the width of them. 

“Ah..umm…no, I don’t think so,” you stutter, attempting to slap your brain back into shape. As a means to distract yourself you walk over to the tall shelving system that holds all your bigger equipment, reaching up to lift down your biggest cake container, “It probably needs about twenty more minutes, I set a timer.” 

The container catches on something out of sight up on the shelf and you tug at it but it’s still stuck. 

“Oh c’mon, don’t make me get the ladder,” you grumble, tugging at it again. 

“Hang on, let me help you,” you hear Joel behind you just as you give the container another pull, and the whole shelf creaks, starting to tilt towards you, a metal bowl clanking onto the floor, hitting your shoulder on the way down. 

“Oh!” you gasp, putting up your hands to stop the whole thing from falling on top of you, the heavy Husqvarna shifting and sliding above your head. Suddenly Joel is right behind you, his chest pressed up against your back as he grabs the shelf on either side, pushing it back up against the wall, making the equipment rattle. 

“You ok, honey?” he asks, still pressing the shelf back, trapping you between his arms as you exhale. 

“Yeah, thanks, I’m good,” you huff, “Fuck, that scared me,” you give a shaky laugh as Joel carefully releases his grip on the shelf and takes a step back, letting you turn towards him, “Thanks for catching it, that could’ve been bad.” 

“That could’ve been really bad,” he nods, looking at you with concern, “If that thing hit you, you wouldn’t be walking away. I’ll get it secured to the wall for you right now.” 

“It was attached to the wall, at least the guys who remodeled this space said they attached it,” you say as Joel steps to the side of the shelf and looks up at the brackets attached to the wall. 

“Yeah, they might’ve, but the screws are coming out of the wall now. Do you have a ladder?” he asks, turning back to you but he frowns as he sees you. “Darlin’, you’re looking a bit pale,” he puts his hand on your cheek, his warm palm making nerves of another kind shiver inside you. 

“C’mon,” he says, gently leading you back to the workbench, helping you hoist yourself up to sit on it, “looks like you had a bit of a shock, can I get you somethin’, water maybe?” 

“No, I’m good, thanks,” you say, giving him a small smile. The shelf tipping had scared you but now it’s his closeness that’s making you jittery. He smells so good, even with his sweaty t-shirt you can smell his cologne, and when he smiles in return, your stomach clenches and you glance down at his lips. 

“Darlin’,” Joel says, his voice low as he sees your eyes move back up to his, “if you don’t stop looking at my lips, I’m going to have to kiss you.” 

You almost lose your words as his hand finds its way to your cheek again, the thumb caressing across your heated skin.

“Please,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

His eyes are dark as he leans in, searching yours, and when you put your hand on his arm, his skin is warm, flexing under your fingertips. The scruff on his chin tickles your lips as he brushes his nose over your cheek, prolonging the moment before his eyes slip closed, and he takes a shallow breath. 

You don’t know what to expect, a soft peck maybe, a careful first kiss, but not this. His lips finally land on yours with a gentle press, warm and plush. But his hand on your cheek holds you close as he slowly parts his lips and you feel the hot tip of his tongue lick across your bottom lip, begging you to open up. You let him in with a low moan, your hand slipping up his arm, over his shoulder, and you tangle your fingers in his hair. His tongue is gentle but insistent, letting you open up for him, but he doesn’t hold back when you do, every bit of space you give him, he claims. One hand lands on your hip, pulling you closer before he slides it up to your back and you mimic him, feeling his muscles move under the thin cotton of his t-shirt as you run your hand over his shoulder blades. When he steps in between your legs, the full length of his warm chest pressed up against yours, you’re almost embarrassed by how loud your moan is in the quiet kitchen. But Joel licks into your mouth, pulling you closer as if he wants to pull another one from you, letting you swallow down his own groans. 

Minutes pass, your face feels hot, flustered, your body weightless as your lips tingle under his. You can hear his heavy breaths into your mouth, his pulse thrumming under your fingertips as you caress his neck, rake through his soft curls. And you can feel his excitement in the way he’s pressed himself against you, you’re just one bold move from hooking your legs around his waist and pulling him back onto the workbench with you. 

You don’t know who pulls back first, maybe it’s the sheer lack of oxygen that makes you both separate just a little, foreheads leaning together, your eyes still closed as he runs his fingers across your cheek, tracing your lips.

“Darlin’...” he whispers, his voice low and breathless, “Open your eyes.” 

You look up at him, he’s smiling softly, almost in stunned wonder, and you know he’s mirroring the look on your face. 

“Will you let me take you out for dinner some time?” he asks, still letting his thumb trace the outlines of your face, “I would very much like to do this again.” 

“Any day, Joel,” you reply, leaning into the warmth of his hand as he cups your cheek again. 

“Alright, darlin’, then let me get that shelf secure so that you don’t end up killing yourself before I get a chance to do more of this.” He bends to your mouth again, and you part your lips in anticipation, his tongue slipping eagerly into you with a low groan. 

Your head spins when he pulls back with a sigh after too short of a time pressed against you. 

“You’ve got a pie to take care of too I guess,” you smile at him and he chuckles. 

“I’d all but forgotten ‘bout the pie, honey.” 

Right on cue the timer goes off and Joel reluctantly pulls away, grabbing the oven mitts from the counter. 

“Let’s see this masterpiece then,” he grins, stepping over to open the oven door and pulling out the pie. He puts it down on the counter and gives a low whistle.  “That’s a mighty nice pie, if I do say so myself,” he chuckles, looking very proud of himself. 

“It’s a fantastic looking pie, Joel, you did great,” you smile and he grins at you. 

“Couldn’t have done it without you, darlin’. And I’m really looking forward to trying it but I should get that shelf attached to the wall first.” 

He smiles at you again, giving your thigh a quick squeeze before he turns and crouches down over his tool box, digging through it. 

“You said you have a ladder?” he asks, looking back at you over his shoulder.  “Yeah, out in the back room, I’ll grab it for you;” you reply and jump off the workbench. The ladder is tucked away in a corner and as you pull it out you hear Joel start up his power drill. 

“Here you go,” you say, putting the ladder next to the shelf and Joel gives it a shake, testing the stability. 

“Might wanna invest in a new ladder too, honey,” he says, “these cheap ones are not too stable. I’ll pick you up a new one at the hardware store, I get a good professional discount there, save you some money.” 

“You’re coming in here and just fixing everything, Joel,” you smile and he gives a little chuckle, shrugging as he gets up on the ladder. 

“I just like to make sure everything’s working, don’t wanna see you get hurt over something I could easily fix,” he says. 

“I really appreciate it, Joel,” you say and he winks down at you. 

“Now, cover your ears, darlin’, this is gonna get noisy.” 

You do as he says and he gets to work. It doesn’t take him many minutes to make new holes in the wall, fill up the old ones and make sure the shelf is securely screwed to the wall again. When he gets back down onto the floor he gives the structure a hefty shake and it doesn’t budge. 

“Alright, there you go, no more death traps in your kitchen, honey.” 

“Thanks Joel, really,” you say, “I feel like you’ve done way much more than I could ask of you, just for teaching you one pie.” 

“Make it up to me then,” he smiles, “I’ll get a babysitter and you let me take you out for that dinner on Saturday.” 

“How is that me repaying you?” you laugh as Joel steps closer, capturing your chin between his thumb and finger. 

“Because it gives me the chance to kiss you some more,” he smiles, bending to find your lips again. 

“You’re a very cheap contractor, Joel,” you mumble into his mouth as he brushes his nose against yours while he teases your lips. 

“Your kisses are worth a lot more than you think, darlin'.” 

Part Four

If you want to try out Joel's Texas Trash Pie, here you go!

Tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn

[assortedseaglass]

🌟Wintering | Yuletide🌟

Tom Bennett x fem!Reader

Summary: The war is over and Tom Bennett returns home, seeking comfort in a friend from his past.

Content Warnings: Drabble, Language, Smut (p in v, oral!f receiving).

Yuletide Masterlist

Wintering, verb. To hide, hibernate, seek comfort or rest, especially after turbulent times (in humans).

“Fuck,”

Your back was beginning to ache. You hadn’t given a moment’s thought as to where you were when you’d burst through the door. Just being at home, away from prying eyes, was enough. Now, the dado rail was bruising the base of your spine with every harsh thrust.

“Fuck,” he hissed again in your ear, immediately silencing himself by covering your mouth with his own. The warmth, the wetness, was delicious.

“Tom, please,” you whined into his mouth. Even through the dull pain in your back, your legs hooked around his waist ever tighter. At your plea he looked down at you, his hips still rolling lazily. When he saw the scrunch of your eyebrows, the sheen of sweat above them, and the way your lower lip pillowed as you bit down on it, Tom Bennett grinned.

He continued grinning as his hips began pistoning at an unholy pace into your wet heat. That wolfish smile was the last thing you saw as your eyes finally closed, too overwhelmed by pleasure to stay open, as you threw your head back against the wall. Bastard. He knew he was good.

You’d heard at the dancehall last night that the final battleship into port, the HMS Valiant, was due to arrive the following day at around 3 o’clock. You also knew, from working with Lois on the ambulances, that this was Tom’s ship. When Mrs Beatty and a few other ladies from your mother’s Women's Institute suggested meeting the last of the lads to come home at the dock, the idea spread through your Manchester suburb like wildfire.

No sooner had your mother come home with the news were you being bustled onto the number 54 bus with a hamper laden with fresh clothes, bottles of beer, spam sandwiches and the little change that each family could spare. Old men, and women of all ages, piled into the buses and made their way to the docks. A few families still had bunting from the King’s jubilee and strung it from dockyard cranes.

The furore was extraordinary. The battleship was already looming large on the horizon when you all emptied from the bus, and young and old cheered themselves hoarse until the ship made its way into port. Sailors, forgetting regulations, leant over the ships’ railings and waved to family and friends. When the battleship finally docked, it let out a long blast of its horn and the crowed roared with glee. Mothers and sweethearts were already crying when the gangway was let down, and you saw that even some fathers were wiping their eyes.

You watched with relief as faces you recognised filed off the boat. Mr Martin’s only surviving son, thirty-eight and with three children who each ran into his arms. Frank Smith, the school bully’s rat-faced sidekick. The lad that worked at the corner shop, nineteen now, having received his papers the day he turned eighteen. Each was greeted by their family members and someone with a ‘welcome home’ hamper.

All, except one. Tom Bennett, one of the tallest lads on the boat, walked down the gangway in a few elegant strides and stopped on the dock with a sigh as he hitched his kitbag over his shoulder. He lifted his eyes to the sky, the October afternoon already darkening to a mournful blue.

As with the rest of the young men, the war had not been kind to him. Shadows haunted his slim face, prematurely aged from the horrors of a war none of them should have fought. At home, he was the stuff of legend. Survived the battle of River Plate, Dunkirk and went on the run in Europe, only to be sent back to war the moment he returned. More lives than the luckiest of cats, your mother said. The worst, of course, was the loss of his father and his home. The grief hit the Bennett children hard. Tom Bennett jumped onto the first battleship in dock, and Lois left baby Vera in England to go nursing in Africa. Now, Tom Bennett stood on the dock with no-one to welcome him home after six long years.

You hurried forward.

“Tom-” As though he knew you were there before you even spoke, he looked down from the sky to your flushed face.

Though he said your name quietly, a smile flashed across his boyish face. Your stomach somersaulted. He’d always been the handsomest rogue in Longsight, and still was with his blue eyes and sandy hair. At least there was one thing the war hadn’t taken away from him.

You held out the hamper. “Welcome home, Tom,” and with a sincere smile you stood on tiptoe to kiss his sallow cheek. A faint lipstick smudge lingered there and you smiled all the more.

“I’d be flattered,” Tom teased, gesturing to the hamper. “If every other Tom, Dick and Harry didn’t have one too.” He laughed as he took the hamper from you. His large palm covered your own and you shivered.

There was history there. Only a few pages, but history nonetheless. At once, you were transported back to the parish dance of 1935. Both seventeen, you as green as the grass, he already-world weary and wandering. He danced with no-one the entire night, though many a girl looked hopeful, yet took your hand for the last dance. When you thought about those innocent years before the war, in the darkest hours of the night or after a few too many sherries, you swore you could feel Tom’s hands burning against your waist, and at your neck as he kissed you. Your first.

Tom too, was remembering the first moment you touched him. A maths lesson with Miss Greene. He’d been caught flicking pencil sharpenings into girls’ hair and was sent to sit in the corner at the back of the class. You, as much a sweetheart then as you were now, were tasked with handing out textbooks. Unfortunately for you and luckily for Tom, they were on the shelf above where he sat. A cocky grin on his face, Tom didn’t move. He loved winding the girls up, and you were something different. At sixteen, you were curvier than the rest, and watching you flush pink was his favourite hobby. And so, he didn’t move. With pride, he chortled as you blushed and reached for the textbooks above him. His smug smile faltered however when, in order to reach the books, your legs came to rest on each side of his spread ones. With one of your thighs either side of his, he swallowed. He could feel the heat coming from the apex between them, smell your perfume and feel the way the soft flesh pressed against his. When you finally retrieved the books, it was your turn to smirk at the red flush peppering his cheekbones.

“Where are you staying, Tom, now you're back?” You asked, voice low. Your mother was not far away.

“Bench in the pub, presumably. Most of the lads are heading that way for a party. Then I’ll find meself lodgings above some dodgy back-alley business.” He huffed a humourless laugh. You looked him directly in the eye.

“Stay out ours tonight.”

Tom leant close to you, wetting his lips. “What would mother say?”

“Don’t know, she’ll be down pub with the rest of them. Loves a sherry and a sailor.”

Half an hour later, you were pressed against the wall of your mother’s hallway, Tom Bennett lapping hungrily at your slick centre. Beneath your skirt and petticoat, the lewd sounds of his tongue against your wet sex filled the quiet evening.

Now, buried to the hilt within you, his swollen head bullying your core, Tom forgot the last seven months he’d spent living on the Valiant. Forgot the suffering of the last six years entirely. For between the softness of your thighs, the scent of your neck as he tucked his face against it tenderly, he’d found, if for a moment, the thing he’d been fighting for. Warmth, kindness, rest­. A place to winter.

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

[literaila]

the luckiest 

part one. 

summary:  you consider yourself a generally unlucky person, but when you meet peter parker it becomes even more apparent that the universe hates you.

warnings: past trauma, death, grief, self-conciousness, there’s a fire, and spider-man, fluff, angst, all that 

a/n: so technically i lied because it’s 3 in the morning. but here you go. disreguard all of the bad parts until i have a chance to go throw and fix it tomorrow. love ya 

*

the weekend after peter came over to your apartment, you were filled with the overwhelming realization that he was your friend. 

that he wasn't going to put a label on it, and neither were you, but he still meant a lot more than you'd intended. more than you could've expected. 

and he had your number now, so he was texting you. 

he was asking you how long you'd be able to survive on the leftovers he'd forced you to keep. telling you that he could feel you falling out of bed from his house. 

he was there, even when he wasn't. 

and you loved it. you laughed at every message he sent you, felt your chest ache every time his name appeared at the top of your screen. when he asked you what you were doing for the rest of the weekend... 

you wanted to respond seconds after every message. you wanted to eagerly joke with him, scold him for thinking so little of you. 

you really wanted to be peter's friend. 

but the past had a hold on your heart, and it tightened every time you felt any sort of admiration for him. any desire. 

so you couldn't be. and you ignored his texts. 

*

it wasn't often that you really thought about it. 

you tried to keep the memories out of your mouth, the guilt out of your chest, and the words away from your head. 

you tried so hard to just forget everything that had happened. everything that you'd done. 

but the images flooded your mouth like water. 

they took up any capacity to breathe, any sense of control you might have had. 

and you knew, you knew that it wasn't fair for you to try and forget. that there were people--so many other families--that could never forget. that would live with your mistake, your happenstance for the rest of their lives. 

and you tried not to think about it. 

not to count the days since all of it had happened. not to track the years since it'd started. 

but it was three years since you'd mistakenly walked into that building. 

three years since you'd allowed yourself to sit comfortably within the public eye and not watch everyone else. 

two years since you'd had a friend. 

it was easy to push people away. when you were so angry at yourself that you couldn't stand to be talked to, that you had no more idea how to laugh, or want to care about the people you loved. when you started pushing people away, they let you. 

and if they pulled at all, they'd come to learn that you were a lot stronger. 

so, now, three years later and almost a year into your tragic decision-making, you hadn't wanted to think about how much you'd been craving. 

intimacy, in any capacity. someone to laugh with besides yourself. 

someone to look at and understand. 

to watch the flicker of someone's eyes and be allowed to ask about it, to know what they were thinking about. 

you hadn't had a real friend in three years. 

there were your old neighbors that invited you to parties, brought you leftover desserts, and flowers when they'd heard what happened. 

the girls that had offered themselves up willingly, just if you needed anything. 

and then you moved. 

in the last year, you'd spoken to hundreds of people. you'd thanked every person that held a door open for you, said excuse me every time you walked by someone just a bit too close. you laughed at strangers' jokes while waiting in line for lunch. you'd said happy birthday to your coworkers. 

but you hadn't said a thing to any one of these people. 

you hadn't reached out and stuck yourself to them, like some type of syrup, wanting to seep into their pores and discover the very being behind all of these words. you hadn't latched your claws onto anyone, hadn't wanted to. 

but peter. 

peter was just an accident. he was a man who hated you, and that was okay. but as soon as that shifted into something else--like tolerance--you'd crossed the line. 

you probably should have quit as soon as jameson called the two of you partners. you should have left then, but selfishly, you liked this job too much and were too comfortable to even think about walking out the door. 

just another mistake you'd wound up making. 

and now you were stuck; because peter was something else. he wasn't just a partner, or an acquaintance at work, or a boy that made you laugh sometimes, and texted you about the people at work when you weren't around. 

he was hard and strong, bitter and bold, but so incredibly soft. 

and you wanted to push him. you wanted to poke and prod at him until you left bruises. 

it was your own fault for letting this need, this sort of desperation build for so long. 

you'd like to believe that peter is just a coincidence. that you couldn't control who you got along with, and it wasn't your fault that he was funny or intimidating, or incredibly beautiful. you couldn't control that. 

and you tried not to think about it. 

but like every other time, every other mistake you consistently made--it was your fault. 

you knew that. 

*

there was a day when you stayed late in the office. 

overtime wasn't a thing at the bugle, but being reprimanded for turning something in late definitely was. and you'd been... slightly distracted the past couple of weeks. 

so you're sitting in the dark--with only the flashlight on the phone to find a spare pencil--typing to yourself, and humming. 

you'd moved from the cave, as wonderful as it was, to sit in a comfy chair that one of your coworkers had spent way too much money on. 

but no one else was there, so you don't think they’re going to mind.

you're going over your own writing, trying to answer emails, and fix any mistakes you'd left behind all at once. you don't want to head home, with all of those people as collateral damage, so sitting here with your computer in your lap wasn't a bad way to spend the night. 

it was almost calming. if the building sunk into the ground, you’d be the only one there:

but about forty-five minutes into this, the elevator chimed. 

and you knew enough about this building--about the stabilizing structures, the pillars, and columns that kept the walls standing, the schedule of every person that worked here--to know that it wasn't just a janitor coming to clean. you’d studied the floor plan in many reckless hours, and gotten a copy of the building records. you could trust yourself on this.

and besides, jameson believed in taking responsibility for your own messes, which means avoiding the bathroom at all costs. 

so, you look up, dimming the light on your computer. it was stupid of you to move from your desk into the open office space, but the back support was a little too good to pass up. 

you bite your lip while you wait for someone to walk around the corner. 

luckily, you're met with hanging limbs, a t-shirt and jeans, and completely messed up hair. 

peter, with all of his casual walking and leaning against walls and coming into the office at six. 

he doesn't seem to notice you there, even though you're right in his eye line. he's groaning to himself, bending down to stretch his back, and trying to fix a shoe that slipped off. 

he was completely oblivious. but you sort of appreciated the moment you’re allowed to stare. 

a moment to notice how disheveled your usually calm, usually controlled coworker was. 

you squint at him, testing to see if you're just hallucinating. 

but peter is moving around in the dark. he's grabbing something off of his desk--you hope--and being almost perfectly silent as he does it. 

and then, as soon as he finally slips his shoe back on, he looks over to you. 

"mother hubb--" he gasps while holding a hand to his heart. "why are you sitting in the dark!?" 

you lean back in the chair, crossing your arms. "why are you jumping around the office like a college student waking up at someone else's house?" 

"first of all--" 

you smirk at him. 

"i don't like that comparison. second of all, i forgot something here, and i need it." 

"what'd you forget?" 

peter's face falls--or at least, that's what you think you see in the dark. and then he looks over to his desk, mouth opening, and closing as he reaches for something. "my--my water bottle." 

you blink at him. "you needed to come back for your water bottle? it was that important?" 

"it's an emotional support thing," peter shakes his head, frowning and scratching at his neck. "i don't need to explain this to you. what're you doing here?" 

"working." 

"it's 6:11." 

"some of us have actual deadlines." 

peter scoffs, grabbing his water bottle off of the desk, and walking over to you. "this isn't your chair." 

"i'm borrowing it. this is good representation of teamwork." 

peter sits down in a chair next to you, getting far too close for comfort. "what are you working on?" 

he turns your computer towards himself, scrolling with his ring finger and thumb. 

"it's just some mistakes i need to correct." 

peter frowns. "this is the article for the bakery on 51st." 

you nod. 

"this isn't due for at least another week. jameson hasn't even asked me or any of the other photographers to get a cover image." 

"well, i like to be on top of things, peter," you say, stealing your computer back. "i'm sure that's very unfamiliar to you." 

"why are you here, kid? you don't need to be working on this." 

and his words are soft and considerate, but all the same, they feel like ridicule. the judgment coming out of peter's eyes reminds you of a particular day from months ago.

"why are you here, peter?" you ask, frowning. "you could've gotten that tomorrow. you hate this place, why would you bother coming here when you don't have to?" 

peter clears his throat, pushing his chair away from you, and tapping his feet against the floor. 

you recognize this move now--now that you've known him for months and actually heard the thoughts coming from his head. he's stalling. or trying to come up with something to say. 

doesn't matter. you just know that he's hiding something. 

"it's not that bad. i just... needed to get out of the house, i guess. needed to get out of my head." 

and even though you're almost sure he's lying, you nod. if anything, you can completely understand that. even his presence here, you know, is a bit nerve-wracking. 

"so you came here?" 

at that peter hits your foot with his. he's smiling that half-smile. "well you're here, aren't you?" 

you almost have to close your eyes. 

"you didn't know i would be here." 

peter tilts his head. "maybe i was hoping." 

and then he stands up, closing your computer for you. "c'mon," he whispers to you, breath just inches away from yours. "you can work on this tomorrow. i'll even help if you want." 

you laugh at the idea. 

but peter ignores it. "let's go get something to eat. if you're gonna work on anything tonight let it be your eating habits." 

"i don't appreciate that," you tell him, but stand up anyway. 

and when peter walks out, so do you. 

*

monday morning, you wake up to your first alarm. 

your eyes open and you stare at the ceiling, wondering when this had happened. 

when you'd stolen your own control right out of desperate hands. 

and you wait in bed, for an hour, as each alarm chimes; loud and broken. you stare at the ceiling and allowed yourself to feel bitter. 

and then you got up out of bed and left the house thirty minutes early. 

it was completely unnecessary to be at work before the sun could, but you couldn't sit at home and wait. 

so you sit at your desk, watching the water leak from the ceiling. 

you know that this isn't just a strange morning, and you hadn't just felt like getting to work early. what you really wanted--want--was to avoid peter. to not have to walk past his desk and whisper good morning to him. 

you want to act as if you'd never done any of that in the first place. 

but you can't make peter feel the same, and you don't want to. 

so when he comes up to your desk around eleven, smiling and tapping on the back of your computer, you have to look up. 

you meet amorous brown eyes, honeysuckle, and driftwood. 

peter tilts his head at you, asking you a question without asking. 

last week you would've been overjoyed. 

but today, your eyes sting. 

"peter," you say, "hey." 

you watch his face twitch, and he almost frowns but seems to catch himself before he can. 

"what are you working on?" he asks, coming to lean over you so he can stare at your computer. 

and so he can make you feel even more claustrophobic than you already had. 

"i'm covering for lindsay and finishing an article for her." 

"does jameson know that?" 

"yes, peter, i don't offer my talents for free," you say softly, trying not to feel his breath on your neck or his eyes on the side of your face. 

he chuckles in your ear, almost inaudibly. "have you eaten lunch yet?" 

you turn towards him--mostly to get away from his proximity and to force him to stand up--and shake your head. "no. no, i haven't had time." 

peter's eyes are bright and foreign. "do you want to come with me to get some coffee at smooth brew? i didn't sleep great last night, and the mediocre company-supplied coffee isn't cutting it." 

you take a deep breath in. you're looking at him because you can't look away. and you can see the circles under his eyes, the slight yellowing of his skin in certain spots. the scar he has under his chin. 

you're trying not to frown. 

peter is smiling at you. he's smiling that smile that you can't actually believe exists, that feels simultaneously wrong and right on his face. 

the smile you've only seen him give you. 

and then you sigh. "can i--" you stop, swallow, tell yourself that this isn't worth it. "can i take a rain check? i'm supposed to finish this by the end of the day, and jameson keeps nonchalantly walking by my desk." 

"was he whistling?" 

"twinkle twinkle little star." 

peter's smile falls just enough for you to notice. "ouch, " he says, leaning back and walking around your desk. "that's okay, some other time." 

"sorry," you add, like a squeak. and then you mentally berate yourself. 

"don't worry about it," he whispers. then tilts his head, still observing you. "do you want me to bring you something back? a latte?" 

his hand is out and reaching toward you, he's trying to climb his way back in. 

but you'll be damned if you lose peter just out of desire. 

"no, that's--" you smile at him, fake and wide. "thank you, peter, but no. i'm okay." 

"okay, well..." he blows a breath out, taking a few steps back. "don't work too hard. and don't let jameson see your candy stash." 

"never." 

peter grins at you for just a moment, and then he walks away. 

*

on tuesday, your chest hurts so bad that you can't take a deep breath. 

your limbs laugh and laugh, and your head pounds to the rhythm of someone else's heartbeat. 

you call in sick, deciding to give up.

*

on wednesday, when you wake up you have an email from jameson, notifying you that you'll be taking over an interview for cathy--who apparently, has hay fever--and going to the art museum. 

he tells you not to bother to come into the office, and that he'll lighten the article load for the rest of the week so you can get everything done. 

he's not asking. 

so, you're interviewing with the director of the art museum about a new monet exhibit, and you're going to be accompanied by everyone's favorite photographer. 

peter parker. 

*

"hey, kid," peter says, as you fiddle with the visitor badge you're supposed to be wearing. 

you don't typically handle giant, public places well. 

"hi," you mutter, trying not to look around. 

but the museum is huge. it's long and wide and there are so many walls, so many different pillars that could fall on you any moment. 

you try not to let it show on your face, how nervous this is making you. you wonder if you could ask the lady at the front desk for a building layout.

wonder if jameson has teamed up with the world to ruin your life. 

"you okay?" peter asks, nudging you with his arm. 

"what?" 

"where'd you go?" he says, amused. 

"oh, i'm--just, i didn't get a lot of sleep last night. sorry." 

peter laughs and begins to walk up some stairs--stairs. "don't apologize to me. you going to be okay during the interview?" 

"yeah, cathy already had a list of questions prepared, so..." 

peter shakes his head, looking back at you. "no, i meant, are you feeling alright?" he stops, studying your face and your eyes and every inch of your skin. he's practically burning you. "you were gone yesterday." 

"i didn't feel very good. i'm better today." 

"you sure?" 

you nod, looking away from him, and then you step past him and begin walking up the stairs. 

he can take pictures and you can take notes. 

it doesn't have to be anything more. 

*

peter waits for you to pack up so you can both walk out together. he's smiling when you look towards him, gesturing towards the hallway you might've come from. 

you're hoping that he knows the way out of this maze because you definitely don't. 

"how'd it go?" he asks you after you've been walking for a minute or two. 

"oh, um, okay, i think. cathy's questions were a bit unorthodox--" 

"'do you think monet would appreciate his art being displayed in your museum?'" peter mocks, recalling one of many slip-ups you'd made earlier. 

"yeah," you snort. "so i had to improvise. but i don't think they'll be calling jameson about any problems." 

"except for when you almost ripped that painting in two." 

you scowl, not appreciating his reminder. "i tripped." 

"into something that costs over a million dollars. probably more." 

"it didn't break," you excuse, glaring at him and walking in front.

but peter catches up because his legs are abnormally long, and he's bumping into you every couple of steps, his hand brushing your arm, his shoulder grazing yours. 

he's so close, but you couldn't feel any farther away. 

and you know that you shouldn't, but you can't really stop yourself from asking, "get any good pics?" 

peter raises a brow at you--which you are definitely not looking at. "nothing new, obviously, but some of them will work. i have to go and edit out all the people walking by." 

"even the man with the parrot on his shoulder?" 

peter stops walking, turning towards you. "wait. that was an actual person? not just another display?" 

you laugh and peter smiles and everything feels fine. 

and so ridiculously wrong. 

you're quiet for a bit, trying not to think about the ceiling collapsing on you both, or the bridge you're walking on beginning to crack. you're keeping track of the nearest fire exits, and looking for rooms you could hide in if anything happens. 

because it might. 

you try to keep this indiscreet, only looking behind you every few minutes or so.

peter clears his throat. "do you want to go get something for lunch? there's a good diner just around the block." 

you squeeze your eyes shut. this is another hand held out, another thing peter wants you to grab onto. 

but there's that pounding in your ears, that heartbeat that you can't let fade. 

and you'd like to explain to peter that he should keep his distance. that you can't do this with him, and that it's all of your fault. you want to apologize for letting it get this far. 

instead, you say, "i have to go edit an article that i was supposed to be doing today." 

"oh, okay." peter nods his head and doesn't say anything else. 

you let him walk ahead of you, praying that nothing will happen as long as he gets out first. 

and then you leave him behind. 

*

that night, you finish editing the article that you and peter are supposed to work on that week. 

you write descriptions and attach them to the file peter sent you with his pictures. 

and then you email jameson, telling him that you can't make it to work for the rest of the week. 

your hands are shaking and your apartment suddenly feels much too large for you to be in. 

suddenly unsafe for every other person that lives here. 

you close your computer and crawl under your covers. 

and you try to sleep but you keep hearing them scream in your ear, blaming you. 

*

your eyes are stuck in one place when you hear the knock on the door. 

they are picturing a girl falling from a cliff, a boy riding his bike, a mother screaming, and a child crying. 

you keep hearing someone whisper in your ear, someone begging for your help. 

but all of this is interrupted when someone pounds on your front door, shaking the walls and causing you to really open your eyes. 

you're thinking to yourself that they'll probably leave if you don't answer--that they'll walk away and you'll be alone again--but then you're thinking about falling down the stairs, about having no one to help. 

and so you get out of bed, feeling yourself shake with the effort it takes. 

you answer the door, uncertain of what you're expecting. 

but it's definitely not brown eyes, not a frown that you've come to covet in more than just dreams. 

you suck in a lazy breath, feeling your lungs freeze. "peter. what are you doing here?" 

even you can hear how labored your voice is. how damaged and rotten it's become in its misuse. 

peter is wincing, and you don't know what else you're supposed to say. maybe neither does he, because instead of answering your question or greeting you with a casual smile he's become more comfortable with, he just walks right past you. 

into your apartment--the one place you're supposed to be safe. 

even just being in the same room with you, breathing the same air, and seeing the same images feels dangerous. 

peter is scanning the area. he's looking around like he can't stand to look at you. 

but then he does. "what's going on?" 

his voice is rough and his words are fast. 

you can't let yourself meet his eyes. "what?" you whisper, looking back to the door. 

you could just leave. you could walk out and keep him away forever. 

"what is going on?" he repeats, but sternly. like a parent lecturing a child. 

you bite the inside of your cheek. "peter, i don't..." you shake your head, eluding the idea of anything being wrong. there's nothing wrong except for the fact that he's in your apartment. staring at you. 

seriously staring, because his brown eyes are burning a hole in your smile. they are ruining every ounce of control you still have. "what happened?"

these words are softer. a parent concerned. 

you shake your head, brows furrowed. "nothing happened, i'm just--" 

"what did i do?" 

you swallow, confused and broken and terrified of his voice. 

peter is in your apartment. he just won't let go. 

"i've been--" he runs a hand through his hair. "i've been trying to remember. trying to think of what happened last week, or the week before, but i can't--" 

he looks at you. 

his eyes are haunted by something that you put there. a ghost that you've given him. 

"i can't think of anything. we were--just, just fine. we were laughing and teasing each other and i thought that." peter stops, closing his eyes. he licks his lips and looks at the ceiling. "i don't know what i did. but whatever it is, i need you to tell me." 

"peter..." 

his face is concerned and his shoulders are tense as he looks at you. "i need you to tell me so i can fix it." 

and all you can think about is whiplash as a car hits a sign. the feeling of snow covering your lungs. all you can see is a woman with tears running down her face, and a hand that can't move. a building that can't stay up. 

you're not sure what to do. how to get him away from all of this before it goes too far. 

you can't talk to him, and you can't be around him, and you can't keep looking at his lips like they're something you deserve-- 

"there's nothing to fix, peter," you whisper, repeating the words to yourself. "you didn't do anything." 

i did. 

"then why are you avoiding me?" peter says, shaking his head. "why aren't you coming to work?" 

you look at the ground, thinking about it falling while you're both standing there. you scratch your neck, rub your eyes. "i'm not avoiding you. i just haven't been feeling well, and i, well, i'm not sure what's wrong. but it's probably contagious so--" 

"then why haven't you called me back?" he whispers, but bitterly. "why didn't you come to smooth brew yesterday? why didn't you let me know that you were going to be gone?" 

you sigh. "i forgot, peter, i'm sorry.”

"you didn't forget," he argues, and his breath matches yours. his sighs sound so familiar. "you're still avoiding me. you won't even look at me. so, just tell me what's going on. whatever it is--" 

"there's nothing, peter, just..." you stop, staring at the ceiling in hopes that it might disappear. "just nothing." 

you think about swallowing your lies until they suffocate you. 

there's just so much. 

peter is staring at you. he is waiting for something more. 

"thank you for checking on me," you whisper, after a moment. "i appreciate it. but honestly, i just need some sleep, so you should probably go." 

"are you serious?" peter asks, and it doesn't even sound mean. it doesn't sound like any voice you've ever heard from him. something desperate. "have you looked in the mirror at all? have you seen yourself?" 

"of course, i've--" 

"because you look like a ghost. you look like half a person. your eyes are glazed over, and i'm not sure that you're even listening to me. you look like a statue." 

beautiful and wrong. 

"peter, i don't know what you want from me." 

he clenches his jaw. "i want you to talk to me, y/n. i want you to tell me what's going on, and stop pretending like i don't know you, or i don't care about what you're going through. you think it's easy to watch this? to know that something is going on but that you can't trust me enough to tell me?" 

"i trust you." 

"then tell me how to help," he pleads. "tell me what i can do." 

"nothing, peter," you finally crack, eyes meeting his, heart clenching around something that has never been yours. "i can't do this. i can't--i can't, peter." 

he's frowning. he's the same man you met nine months ago. "you can't what?" 

"i can't do this. whatever this is, whatever we--" you gesture between the two of you with a hand that isn't yours. "i can't do it. i won't." 

"you can't do us?" peter repeats, his voice almost stagnant. 

the air has stopped moving, and it's your fault. it's all your fault that he's here, that he's looking at you like you've just stolen something important from him. 

"i can't do this with you. i can't be your friend or anything else, and i can't have you here right now. i can't let you be here." 

you can hear a little girl screaming. you can see a woman you don't know falling. 

"why not?" peter asks, no fight left. "what can't you do?" 

"i can't let you get hurt because of me." 

peter's face goes blank. his eyes stop. "what?" 

"peter, if something happened to you, if anything happened--" you stop, shaking your head. "i can't watch that. i can't be there." 

he takes a step toward you, hand reaching out like it always does. "what do you mean?" 

you take a step back. this dance is one you're familiar with. you trip over your own feet. 

"remember what you said about me, that day at the coffee shop?" 

peter blinks at you, shaking his head. 

"you said that danger was attracted to me. that i was reckless," you swallow, looking at the door like it might call to you. "you're always saying that i'm reckless. 

"what does that have to do--" 

"you're right, peter. being around me is reckless. being around me is dangerous." 

he's frowning. he waits a couple of seconds like the words might start to make sense. "no, it's not." 

"really?" you laugh, throat raw and hurting. "how about you talk to any one of the people that i've killed, then? you might want to ask them if you're so sure." 

peter stops. 

"when i was five," you continue, walking towards him, "me and a girl from my neighborhood were playing tag. we were running around a glass table, and she slipped and cut her arm open, shattered her elbow." 

you take a breath in, listening to the voice in your head begging you to keep going. 

"and then when i was eight, a classmate got a concussion while we were sledding. i was in the front, but he hit his head. 

"when i was ten a friend's parents were driving me home from a sleepover and we hit a sign. all of them--my friend, her mom, her dad--had to go to the hospital. her dad, who'd been driving, was in the icu for three weeks. but i was fine." 

peter's mouth opens, but you stop him before he can interrupt. 

"ithe older i got, the worse it was. my mom died when i was thirteen. she had appendicitis. she was so busy taking care of me, making sure that i was fine, that she ignored the stabbing pain in her abdomen. she thought it was just indigestion. her appendix burst on the way to the hospital." 

you stop, looking around your apartment, at bare walls and ghosts of people that still follow you. "my dad died a couple of years ago in an oil rig accident. i'd gone to see him that day." 

peter is staring at you. he is breathing. and he doesn't say anything, because maybe he doesn't need to. maybe he already understands what you're trying to say. 

maybe he should run out the door right now. 

"you called me clumsy. and i am, but i'm also incredibly unlucky. it rains when i go outside, the power goes out when i walk into the building. i get the worst desk in the office, with a leaky ceiling. i get sent the wrong email about a meeting and walk in late." 

"none of that--" 

"all of these things, peter, they're not coincidences. eventually, when so many bad things happen to the people you love and not you, you have to look for a common factor." 

"and you think it's you," peter finishes. "you think it's your fault." 

you shake your head, and there are tears in your eyes. "i know it is. because it's not just the people i know and care about. three years ago, i went to see a movie. and in the middle of it, i decided that i wanted to leave. that it wasn't good enough to stay for. it was april, one of the days that electro attacked the city. i left the building right before he could do anything. i was standing there while everyone still in that movie got electrocuted." 

you can't look at peter, but you can feel him there. you can feel his presence like a knife in your back. 

"i need you to go, peter. because whatever sort of bad fortune i am, i won't let it happen to you too."

peter makes a noise. "it's not your fault that any of that happened," he says, "you couldn't control any of that--" 

"exactly. i can't control it. that's why i stay away from everyone in the office, why i show up late, and why i've been staying away from you. if i'm around, and something bad happens..." 

peter is right in front of you, he is taking your hand, leaning down, and cradling your cheek. "nothing bad is going to happen," he promises. "i would rather have you and the risk of breaking a few bones than not have you at all. anything else." 

but just like you can't trust yourself, you can't trust peter to understand. 

so you push him away, feeling barren and cold inside. the voice in your head is gone. the images have faded away. "i'm not going to let you do that. i won't." 

"i'm stronger than you think--" 

"peter, i appreciate you caring so much. and listening. and just... being here. but i couldn't mean it anymore when i say that i need you to go." 

you meet his eyes, poison trickling down your face. "please."

and then you walk away, back to your cave, and leave peter standing in your apartment, all alone. 

it's for the best. 

*

you have to go to work on monday. 

if there's one thing you want, it's this job that you like. that you're good that. that you can do without worrying about it. 

and you can't lose another thing right now. 

you can't. 

so you go to work on monday, wearing clothes that scratch your skin, watching people with a bitter feeling in your chest. 

any one of them, you think, all of them get to make friends and be around boys they like and... 

all of them. 

but you sigh anyway, go back to your desk, and sit there. you don't think about peter. 

you don't deserve that. 

*

"oh thank god," is the first thing you hear when you walk into the breakroom. 

you've been staring at your feet all the way here. you've been trying not to look at peter's desk. trying not to find his eyes and accidentally smile like you would’ve last week.

the floor needs to be vacuumed.

but now you look up, frown on your face. there are three women there, all older than you, all mostly nice. 

beth, jade, and rita. 

and they're all staring at you. 

you clear your throat. "sorry?" 

one of them laughs. jade. "we were just talking about you and that young man. we're just glad you're back, finally." 

"oh. thank you?" 

"honey, he's intolerable as it is, but when you're gone he's a nightmare." 

you frown, blinking at all of them. but the other two are nodding. "peter?" 

"who else? on friday he almost broke the fridge trying to get his lunch." 

beth chimes in. "on thursday he kept slamming the drawers at his desk. i could feel it from my desk. all day, just opening and closing. i genuinely thought he was going insane." 

"yeah, he was at the copier while i was picking up a fax from an office downtown, and gave me the nastiest glare i've ever seen. and i don't even think he noticed that he was doing it." 

jade laughs again, looking back to you. "that boy is polite enough, but we all know to avoid him whenever he's around." 

you swallow, stumbling over some words. "that--that doesn't sound like peter." 

all three of them laugh, creating their own chorus. 

"well, of course, you would say that." 

"yeah, he adores you!" 

"you're the only person i've ever seen him smile at."

you take a step back, suddenly not hungry, suddenly not wanting to be at work at all. "what?" 

and then they laugh again. 

*

you're rushing out of the building at one. 

jameson called you into his office--and by that, of course, he emailed you to come in. and then he asked you why the hell you were still there, and not at the exploration building, interviewing the president of the experimental medicine about the new nerve generator. 

which, obviously, you didn't know about. 

but jameson says peter is waiting, and you're out the door. 

you're walking to the building, only a couple blocks away from the office, and thinking about how you're not supposed to be doing this. 

you can't believe that you're covering for another coworker. 

but you go anyway because you don't want to leave peter hanging. because you can't not go.

and when you walk into the building, you can see him there, waiting with his camera in hand, tapping his foot anxiously. 

his backpack looks out of place between all of the briefcases. 

he sees you too, but he doesn't wave. 

"hey," you say, walking up to him. your voice is an out-of-body experience. "sorry i'm late." 

"we're supposed to be on floor fifteen in two minutes." 

and then peter walks away, leaving you to stand there, watching him go. 

*

you and peter aren't making eye contact. 

you're standing right across from each other, listening to this very smart, very nice man explain to you how all of the testing works in the building, and something about dna that you don't understand. but you're looking at peter. 

and you're not really listening. your hand is writing down his words, but your mind is on brown eyes and flickering glances. 

this isn't fair, you're thinking. there's a sting in your stomach, the punishment of double standards. 

"wanna see the lab?" dr. hazzen asks, and you smile and nod. 

peter is taking pictures of the wall. 

you follow this man and your instincts, and you're standing right next to him. you can feel his body warmth, you can feel his aggravation from two inches away. 

peter smells sweet. like some sort of candle you'd light in your house to get rid of everything else. 

he's not smiling today. you're not missing it.  

it's only a couple of minutes later when he finally looks at you, his eyes wide, his hands immediately falling inches above your waist. 

the fire alarm has gone off. the sprinklers in the building are drenching you, and making peter's hands feel like an itch you can't scratch. 

"what?" you look up, then down, then towards the door. "dr. hazzen, is that normal?" 

"i'm sorry to both of you," he answers, looking towards the door. "my assistant will show you the way to the emergency exit. i have some things i need to attend to." 

and then he's gone and this woman is ushering both of you out of the room, apologizing for the inconvenience. 

you'd like to tell her that her mascara is running from the water. you'd like to ask her how to get the hell out of here before-- 

"you okay?" peter whispers in your ear, his hand keeping you next to him, covering your shoulder. 

"do you think it's this floor?" 

peter's face is still. "probably not. i didn't see any chemical testing in the lab." 

"could someone have set a fire?" 

"i don't know." peter looks around, at the people crowding around the door to the staircase, to the concerned look on dozens of faces. 

but you're looking at him. 

"peter?" 

"i have to--" he looks at you, letting you go. "i left something in that room. i have to go get it." 

"what?" 

"i'll be right behind you," he promises, and then he's walking through the crowd, ignoring your calls after him. 

"peter! c'mon, we can't stay here!" 

but even you can't hear your voice amongst the others. against the siren that's flashing in your eyes, blaring in your ears. 

and within ten seconds, peter has disappeared from your sight. 

you try to push through the crowd, crawl your way back to him, but you can't get through all of the people giving you glares, all of them forcing you along. 

and you know it then. 

it's all happening again. 

*

you manage to push yourself so close to the wall that you can't breathe. 

you've managed to make every single person in this building angry at you, but you'll be damned if you make it out of this--like you always do--and peter doesn't. 

you're not going to let him stay behind while you go down, escaping with everyone else. 

and you can't believe that he was stupid enough to turn back around. 

but now you're doing the same, walking back up the stairs and calling his name. 

you're thanking dr. hazzen for not being on the thirtieth floor. 

by the time you make it back up, you're out of breath and shaking from the water. but you don't hesitate to burst through the doors of the lab, searching for anything that looks like an idiot of a man. 

brown hair, brown eyes, and an absolutely brilliant smile. 

an attitude, and a sincerity you can't believe you've been allowed to feel. 

"peter?" you call out, walking through another door. looking for a backpack, a water bottle, a camera on the ground. 

but you don't see anything. 

and you don't know where else he would've gone, why he would have gone anywhere but here, in this room, where he'd recklessly run back to. 

"peter?" you say again, pushing a door that refuses to open, looking at the floor for any spare keys around. for any single thing to help you find peter parker. 

you push even harder, muscles aching. 

and then the door opens all on its own, and you're slipping, bumping into the chest of the person who's opened it. 

you're being blinded by bright colors you've never seen in person before. 

a strange voice says "what are you doing up here?" there’s a sigh, a groan, or something else. “don’t you know that you’re supposed to follow the crowd of people running out of the building panicked?” but you're barely listening

"spider-man?" you say, muffled and shaking, pushing your hair out of your eyes so you can look at him properly.

but even this surreal moment--where you meet the guy that's supposed to be saving everyone in this building--does nothing to deter you from getting back to peter. 

"i have to--" you gasp out, pushing behind him. "my friend is still up here. he came looking for something. i have to find him." 

"whoa," spider-man pushes you back, needing nothing more than a hand to do so, he grips around your arm so you can't squirm away. "there's no one back there, i already checked." 

you shake your head. "i don't know where else he would be. he promised he'd be right behind me." 

spider-man seems to be looking right at you. he seems to be grumbling to himself. "we have to get you out of here," he says, looking around for a door he can push you through. 

"i'm not leaving without peter." 

you're staring at him with a glare in your eyes, with a finality in your voice. spider-man could glue you to the ceiling and you'd still find a way to get out, to find the one person you care about in this entire place. 

"i'll look for him, i promise," spider-man is saying, voice muffled in your ear. "but you've got to leave the building, sweetheart." 

"not until he does." 

the superhero sighs, putting an arm around your waist so he can push you out of the doorway. "let's go--" 

but you don't hear the rest of the sentence. you don't hear anything more. 

you can only feel a ringing in your ears. a sort of silence that stops everything, leaving the world to be nothing a mere figment of your imagination. 

you can only see spider-man as he leaps towards you. 

and when your head falls back, your eyes close in succession. 

*

you wake up to banging in your kitchen. 

you're laying on your couch, shoes off, head carefully rested on a throw pillow. 

and your neck hurts. your body aches, like you've forgotten just how much physical strain you've been putting on it. 

you wonder if it was all just a dream. if you imagined seeing peter again if you imagined meeting spider-man. 

or maybe you died, and this is the only home you have left to return to. 

either way, you're not sure what that sound is. 

but something falls on the floor, followed by an angry noise, and then you hear the faucet running. 

there is someone else in your house. and you have absolutely no idea who it is. 

if this isn't a dream, then you shouldn't be at home right now. you shouldn't even be alive after what happened in that building. you shouldn't be thinking of anything else but-- 

"peter," you say, just remembering, just realizing what the whole point of all of this was. 

you don't know if you ever found him. you have no idea if he's alright. 

so you're sitting up, looking around your apartment, and moving to follow the sound of whoever's in the kitchen. 

but a hand stops you, cautious, keeping you from running into the counter. "you shouldn't be standing up," a voice says, and then gently--or maybe not--leads you back to the couch. 

you're not sure that you can believe what you're seeing. 

spider-man, in your apartment, absolutely drenched, holding a bowl and a cloth. 

spider-man, standing right in front of you. 

"i'm dead." 

you hear a sharp intake of breath. spider-man makes you lay back down, setting his bowl and cloth down on the coffee table beside your couch. 

he leans down, and he must be looking into your eyes. 

"you're okay," he says. "not dead. you're going to be fine." 

"how did i get here?" you ask him, not bothering to process anything he said. "why are you here? what happened? did peter--" 

"slow down. you just woke up." his voice is soft and chiding, and he hands you a glass of water, tipping it toward your mouth so that you'll drink some of it. "good. now, let me make sure you're--" 

it's then that you almost fall off of the couch, vision blurred, equilibrium completely removed. 

"jeez," spider-man is saying, keeping your shoulder up, making you lean back. "could you be any more out of it?" 

"probably. where's peter?" 

he sighs, taking the towel he brought over and dipping it in the water. "lay back," he tells you.

"this is crazy," you say, instead of listening. "i don't even know who you are." 

"really?" the man asks, voice somewhat amused. "because you had a little starstruck moment back at the lab." 

you blink. "that actually happened?" 

the man chuckles instead of answering, and he wipes your face with the cloth. you can hear him breathing in and out, you can feel your own heart rate rise. 

spider-man freezes, tilting his head toward you. "what?" 

"did--" you pause, the answer already coming to your lips. you already know, but you have to ask anyway. "is everyone okay? is--" 

is peter alright? 

he stares at you for a moment, thumb rubbing over the skin of your neck, drawing circles over your pulse. 

and then his warmth is gone, and spider-man is leaning back on his heels, raising a hand up to his face, pulling at--

oh. 

as soon as the mask moves above his nose you already know what you're about to find. you already know what's happened. 

you don't need an answer, or a superhero, or a goddamned article to tell you what happened. 

you're looking at this man, at this--brown eyes and full lips and a tight expression on a sinisterly structured face. 

a bruise on his cheek. 

you reach out to graze your finger over it. 

and you can't think of anything to say. 

peter swallows. "i was going to leave before you woke up." his voice is raw, and you can't believe you hadn't recognized it fifteen seconds ago. "but i--i just wanted to make sure that you were alright. that you would..." 

there's a moment. a silence so loud it bursts your eardrums. 

"you hit your head pretty hard. i'm not sure what caused both of us to--anyway, i was worried that you got a concussion. or something else. but i wasn't, uh, i couldn't bring you down to an ambulance without carrying you through the crowd. so i just came here." 

your mouth opens. "peter?" 

his eyes close, and you finally notice how tired he looks. how worn his skin is under the mask. 

peter parker is sitting right in front of you, in your apartment. 

peter parker is spider-man. 

"i don't expect you to..." peter laughs. "well, any reaction really. i know we've talked about, um, me, before, but this is--it's just different. and i don't have to stay for much longer, i just want you to drink some more water and stay awake for longer than ten minutes." 

"i've woken up before?" you ask. 

peter's lip twitches and that's answer enough. 

"...how?" you whisper, looking up and down his face, watching his eyes follow your every movement. "why?" 

peter breathes in, standing up and lifting your legs from the couch so that he can sit next to you. "it's a long story. probably one you shouldn't hear with a concussion." 

"my head feels fine. i'm just confused." 

peter nods, and he's not looking at you anymore. 

but you can't look away from him. you can't help but notice the similarities between his suit and his face, the mask he's left on the floor, and the voice that you've heard on video so many times, the laughter in your ear, and-- 

you never even realized. it seems ridiculous now. 

you clear your throat. "i'm sorry for following you. i didn't know--" you rub a hand over your eyes. "i didn't realize it would cause you more trouble." 

and peter smiles. it's that same one he gave you when he apologized the first time. the same sort of olive branch you refused to see. 

"it's okay," he says. "i would've come back for you, too." 

*

the two of you sit for a while. peter doesn't speak, and neither do you. 

instead, you listen to the way he breathes. you watch his face as he thinks, noting the little wrinkle between his brows, and the slight twitch of his lips every couple of seconds. 

you've seen his dimples before, but somehow, you've never had the chance to look at them. 

you feel ridiculous. you feel absolutely stupid for ever following him up there, for not realizing weeks ago, for letting yourself get so close to him that-- 

the guilt swirls in your chest. you shouldn't have gone to that interview. you shouldn't have gone to work at all. 

"hey," peter interrupts your train of thought, tapping on your calf. "don't worry about it. everything is fine. no one was hurt, and the police are already dealing with the damages to the building." 

you bite your lip. 

peter blinks at you, moving a little closer so he can properly observe your eyes. "it's not your fault," he tells you, slowly. 

the words are like a hammer pounding on the nails in your chest. 

"i know you think this is just another example of you radiating danger--" peter says the words like they're ridiculous, like they're just some idea from a story a kid has written. "but it's not. it was an accident. and everything is fine." 

"you can't know that--" 

"i can," his voice is a bit louder than yours. "because i know you. and i know that bad things happen, and sometimes it's no one's fault." 

you swallow and look away from him. from the eyes that are trying to convince you. plead with you. "peter, i don't think--" 

"are you feeling alright?" 

your brows furrow. "what?" 

"are you feeling alright? because i want to talk to you, i want to explain some things to you, but i need to be sure that you're going to hear it. that you can listen." 

you look back to him, confused. 

"do you feel okay? is your head hurting?" 

"i--no. no, it's fine, i told you." 

peter nods, and he runs a finger over the exposed skin of your leg. "okay. are you ready to listen?" 

you're not. you're not really ready for anything. 

but you'd give anything to listen to peter's voice for just a little bit longer. 

"yes, yeah. i'm listening." 

peter almost smiles. 

"i want to give you an explanation," he begins. "a real reason for why i was so... mean to you, before. and it's just an excuse, really, but i think--" he runs a hand through his hair. "i think you should know." 

you nod. peter can't meet your eyes. 

"i was terrified of you," he says, "for a long time." 

"what?" 

his nose scrunches. "you're undeniably beautiful. and intimidating. and something about the way you moved around all of the people in the office, just observing, not needing to join in on any conversation to understand what was happening... i don't know; there's just something about the way you react to things." 

you frown, not sure what he's meaning to say. 

"yeah, like that. i tried to ignore it for a long time. to push away that pull i felt towards you. but as soon as jameson paired us up, and as soon as you started actually smiling at me, telling me jokes that weren't funny--" 

"hey--" 

"--but were awkward, and overbearing, and reckless... well. i couldn't just ice you out anymore, not like i did with everyone else. and i was so scared of that--of you--that i took it out on you." 

his voice is soothing, and his fingers are still grazing over your skin. and you're partially sure that you've gone insane. 

"peter, you've already apologized for that. it's okay. i'm not mad." 

peter laughs, a bit stiffly. "that's not all," he whispers, swallowing. 

you nod, waiting for him. 

you don't know what you're supposed to be doing. 

"i know you believe that all of the terrible things that have happened to you are your fault." he meets your eyes, pursing his lips. "and i know that you think that bad things happen when you're around." 

there's a second. one moment where your thoughts are echoed against the wall, and you know that peter can hear them all. 

"but i've seen more of those bad things than you can imagine. and i know--i know that there's no reason to any of them. there's no reason for people to do bad things, or hurt other people. but they do them. 

"and there's no reason for the world to put so much pressure on someone so kind, and so selfless, and listens wholeheartedly to every person she meets." 

peter is leaning towards you. he is breathing your air, sharing your secrets. "i've never met someone i love to talk to more. i've never met anyone that i love so easily." 

you stop breathing. there is not a single thing, a single pin-prick of your lungs that might get your heart to stop beating again. 

"you're not going to change your mind about all of this just because i disagree with you, i know," peter is laughing, he's laughing at you and with you and. "but i'm not afraid of getting hurt. i'm not scared to be close to you. not anymore." 

"peter, you don't--" 

he leans closer. he says more with his eyes than you have heard from him in the last three months. "i believe that the world is a terrifying place. and i've gotten bitter about it over the past couple of years. i couldn't--i can't understand how great people can be treated so badly, and cruel people can have everything they want. i don't know why, and i don't want to. but you are a person that i know i can trust, without even knowing you. you're someone that i can laugh with, and someone that has turned the world back into something i can believe in." 

peter pauses, you pause. and everything stops. "i believe in you," he says, "even if you don't believe in yourself." 

his eyes are unbelievable. his voice is overwhelming, and you don't know how, you're not sure how any of the things he's saying can tune out the cruel words you can hear yourself whisper. 

but he does. easily. 

and this smile that he has on his face, it's one that you've been craving for weeks. one that you've so desperately tried to hold onto, even when you were pushing him away. 

"you believe in me?" you repeat, voice breaking. 

peter's smile widens. "i do," he says. and he's an inch away. "sweetheart?" he asks. 

and you nod. 

"can i kiss you?" 

peter is close enough that his words are attacking you. his words are terrifying. 

but looking at him, listening to him, and feeling the way he's staring at you. 

you know that peter has more than enough courage for both of you. you know that he's strong enough to take whatever you can't control. 

when you lean in, lips meeting his, you feel luckier than every other person. 

peter is there. he is smiling against you. 

you're awake, finally. 

*

i’m thinking one more, very shorter, part. maybe peter pov? 

let me know what you thought of it! thanks for reading. 

my masterlist here.

tags:@moonlarking-blog @v1ci0us @preciousbabypeter @alexxavicry @directioner5life @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @localrockstargf  @thestudiouswanderer @take-my-hand-time-boy @thoughtsofagodlovingsunflower @nyomjoon  @moo-b1tch​ @raindropstearsandtea @rqmanoff​ @hollandweather​ @wetcoldnoodle @urlocalavenderhazestan​ @valvlry​ @imthatcoolmom​ @spideysimpossiblegirl​    invisibletrolleyson-jeremy  @sharkswaters  @petersirius​ 

[jungleclan]

Three misses I cannot BELIEVE IT… this is the luckiest Nightpaw’s ever been… lucky and final number 2

This has been so fun… might do this with Cinnamon at 300 follows if there’s any interest 👀

[happygirl2oo2]

Queer Sports Romance Books Recs For Pride Month 🌈 (all are books I've either read or currently have on my own tbr list)

Hockey

Rookie Recovery (Bobcat Boys #1) by Jemma Croft and Lex Veia [mlm]

Vancouver Orcas interconnected series by Amy Aislin [mlm]

Hometown Hero (Whistleport Hockey #1) by Declan Rhodes [mlm]

Hockey Guys interconnected series by Sarina Bowen [mlm]

Prove It by Stephanie Hoyt [mlm]

Fake Boyfriend interconnected series by Eden Finley [mlm]

Caught off Guard by Catherine Cloud [mlm]

Chicago Thunder interconnected series by Jodi Oliver [mlm]

Don't Look Down (Best Laid Plans #1) by Jessica Ann [mlm]

Hockey Ever After interconnected series by Ashlyn Kane and Morgan James [mlm]

Love & Other Inconveniences by Catherine Cloud [mlm]

Time to Shine by Rachel Reid [mlm]

Relationship Goals interconnected series by Brigham Vaughn [mlm]

Light Up the Lamp by Kit Oliver [mlm]

Puckboys interconnected series by Eden Finley and Saxon James [mlm]

Hot Shot (Orlando Storm #1) by Marissa James [mlm]

Breakaway partially-interconnected series by E.L. Massey [mlm]

Delay of Game interconnected series by Hannah Henry [mlm]

Offsides interconnected series by J.J. Mulder [mlm]

Roughing (Portland Seabirds #1) by Michaela Grey [mlm]

Stick Side interconnected series by Amy Aislin [mlm]

Let's Do This (IFU Hockey #1) by Loren Leigh [mlm]

CU Hockey interconnected series by Eden Finley and Saxon James [mlm]

Back to Center (Mohegan U Hockey #2) by Ryan Taylor and Joshua Harwood [mlm]

Penalty Box interconnected series by Ari Baran [mlm]

Shenanigans (Brooklyn Hockey #6) by Sarina Bowen [m/f with a bi mc]

The Inside Edge by Ashlyn Kane [mlm]

Icebreaker by A. L. Graziadei [mlm]

Hockey Bois by A.L. Heard [mlm]

Three Is The Luckiest Number by Catherine Cloud [mlm]

Not Over You by Samantha Wayland [mlm]

Wake Up, Nat & Darcy by Kate Cochrane [wlw]

It's a Love/Skate Relationship by Carli J. Corson [wlw]

Off the Bench Duet Series by Kimberly Knight [mlm]

Twincerely Yours by Eden Finley [mlm]

Car Racing

Pole Position by Rebecca J. Caffery [mlm]

Lights Out Series interconnected series by various authors [mlm]

Fast Love (Fast Love #1) by Kerry Lockhart [wlw]

Driven By Passion (Gamble Racing #2) by Renee Dahlia [mlm]

Redline (Redline #1) by Emma Barlowe [mlm]

Furious by Jamie Pacton and Rebecca Podos [wlw]

Bowling

The 7-10 Split by Karmen Lee [wlw]

Baseball 

The Prospects by KT Hoffman [mlm]

Batting Style by Louisa Masters [mlm]

You Should Be So Lucky by Cat Sebastian [mlm]

The Smile Has Left Your Eyes by Danielle Dawsen [mlm]

Volleyball 

We Got the Beat by Jenna Miller [wlw]

Always More (Sports #1) by Nicole Pyland [wlw]

Roller derby

Mighty Millie Novak by Elizabeth Holden [wlw]

False Start by Santana Knox [wlw]

Basketball 

How You Get the Girl by Anita Kelly [wlw]

Love and Sportsball (Atlanta Cannons #1) by Meka James [wlw]

Zone Defense interconnected series by Becca Seymour [mlm]

Fencing

Fence comic series by C.S. Pacat and Joanna the Mad [mlm]

Football

One Last Play by E.B. Neal [mlm]

Coming Out on the Sidelines by Dev Hahn [wlw]

Forward Entry (Sydney Swallows #1) by Aurora Crane [mlm]

The Game (Charleston Condors #2) by Beth Bolden

Atlanta Lightning interconnected series by Riley Hart [mlm]

Fumbled Past (San Diego Seals #2) by Cecelia Storm [mlm]

Onside Kiss (Domingo #1) by Octavia Jensen [mlm]

You Started It (Fan Service Series #3) by Hinsel Meyer [mlm]

Tigers and Devils (Tigers and Devils #1) by Sean Kennedy [mlm]

Roosevelt College interconnected series by Christina Lee [mlm]

You & Me by Tal Bauer [mlm]

Crushing on the Quarterback by Baylin Crow [mlm]

Tennis

Deuce (Tennyson Bend #2) by P.T. Ambler [mlm]

Soccer

You Don't Have a Shot by Racquel Marie [wlw]

Everything for You (Bergman Brothers #5) by Chloe Liese [mlm]

Cleat Cute by Meryl Wilsner [wlw]

Pull Me Under by Zarah Detand [mlm]

The Game Changer (Denver Defiant, #1) by Finley Chuva [wlw]

I Like Me Better by Robby Weber [mlm]

Finding a Keeper (Sports #4) by Nicole Pyland [wlw]

Don't Hate the Player by Shelby Elizabeth [mlm]

Endgame by Zoe Reed [wlw]

Hotshot by Clare Lydon [wlw]

Rugby

Attractive Forces by Jax Calder [mlm]

The Tighthead (Lincoln Knights #1) by Charlie Novak [mlm]

Softball

The Unexpected Dream (Sports #3) by Nicole Pyland [wlw]

Chess

Always the Almost by Edward Underhill [trans boy x boy]

Wrestling 

Alondra by Gina Femia [bisexual girl mc]

Lacrosse 

Catch and Cradle by Katia Rose [wlw]

Swimming

Tears in the Water Margherita Scialla [LGBTQ+]

Badminton

Shy by Ashish Rastogi [mlm]

[dapper-lil-arts]

So, what are your favorite MLP ships? I don't know if you've already been asked this before, but meh

less about being asked, more about me posting them nonstop lmao;

#1 Sunlight - (Sunset Shimmer and Twilight Sparkle) Number one and two are interchangable due to my mood, because theyre both incredible, and easily fit on a "favorite ships of all time" list i could make for myself. Sunset and Twilight shipping is to me in general all about potential. And if im talking endgame, the show would have ended so, so much better, if there were two lesbians inheriting the night and day. These two are it, with flying colors. Going from rivals to friends to close friends to lovers that would do anything for eachother, to ruling the world in a golden age together, my goodness, this ship is like the chef's choice at a menu. I also may have written a large fanfic of how i would write an entire season of the show with Sunset on it, heheheheheh. Also worth stating, i concider Sunset x Scitwi To be on the same level, if not being the same ship, even if Scitwi is a diffrent character, if someone loves Twilight Sparkle, they would love her in all her versions. #2 Rarijack - (Rarity and Applejack) Did i say sunlight is the chef's choice at a menu? Rarijack is the whole fucking menu. What more can be said about the legend of how the most beautiful Unicorn and the strongest Earth Pony fell in love? The City girl x Country girl vibes are incredibly strong, the opposites attract is at it's PEAK, and both of these girls can easily concider themselves the luckiest women in the world for having the other. It was the first couple i shipped on the show when i watched passively, 'cause i instantly noticed their potential, and c'mon how couldn't anybody. They're the hydrogen bomb of mlp ships, and they could easily sustain an entire season on their back if it was about their love story, which is, painfully, not canon, like any of these ships. Also i'm literaly writing a fic that takes Shrek 1 and makes it about Rarijack and it's as dumbly amazing as it sounds #3 Startrix - (Starlight Glimmer and Trixie Lulamoon) Honestly this one is easy to ship because it's just endlessly funny. The biggest fail girl that almost destroyed the world falls for the only girl thats a bigger loser than her, and that is endlessly entertaining; specialy because compared to trixie, Starlight is the baddest bitch lmao, and they would hype eachother so much. (insert that post of loser ass gf being hyped up by other cool gf) And there's just an appeal to two unhinged women finding eachother and making eachother... better? worse? I think theyre both at their best when traveling together. #4 Flutterdash - (Fluttershy and Rainbow dash) Fun fact, i didn't ship this until i wrote "the return of midnight sparkle" i just had to write scenes with certain themes, and i realised it would be helpful to further the themes and plot and character development of the protagonist if Rainbow and Fluttershy were macking on eachother. And it grew on me! Daredevil girl and shy girl lift eachother up and improve eachother. Honorable mention: That one ship with with Cadance, Shining armor, and Chrysalis; because it is honestly funny as fuck; no matter how you spin it, be it cadance and chrysalis mack on eachother and shining tolerates it, or the Princess and the Queen have a silent rivalry as they try to be with their himbo, or even if the three of them gross together. it's always funny. (queue chrysalis with the "im not the stepdad im the dad that stepped up" shirt while playing with flurryheart)

[dancinglikebutterflywings]

Valentine's Surprise | Jung Wooyoung

Pairing: Jung Wooyoung x Fem!Reader

Request: No.

Synopsis: Wooyoung surprises his girlfriend for Valentine's Day, which also just so happens to be their anniversary.

Warnings: None. This is probably terrible. This is a repost from my now deactivated blog. More of an explanation in my pinned post.

Word Count: 783

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“Why don’t you join us?” Y/N’s best friend offers, not wanting to see her alone for her first valentine’s day with her boyfriend, who is out of the country, until tomorrow.  

“I don’t want to intrude on your plans,” Y/N politely declines her friends offer. She'd been third-wheeling her and her boyfriend quite a bit since Wooyoung went on tour. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got ice cream and plenty of ATEEZ content to binge, so It’ll be like Woo is here. He did message me earlier saying he’s going to call me again soon.” 

“If you change your mind, call me.” 

“Enjoy your night,” she tells her friend and ends the call before she can say anything more.  

Pulling up YouTube on her tv, she finds the WANTEEZ playlist that’s saved to her favourite and presses play.  

Y/N and Wooyoung had met three years. A mutual friend of theirs was hosting a gathering. Wooyoung being the social butterfly that he is, introduced himself first. By the end of the night, after he’d walked her home, they swapped numbers and made plans to go out for dinner the following night. Their relationship has been going strong and steady (with a few minor hiccups) since then. 

Three episodes in, her phone starts ringing. She checks it, sees that it’s Wooyoung and pauses the video before answering her phone. 

“Hi baby, how’s your night going?” she asks him. 

“Can you open the door?” he asks, greeting her, sounding out of breath and as if he’s wrestling with something. 

“What door?” she asks, confused and wondering if he’s hidden something in one of the bedrooms or somewhere else. It doesn’t explain the breathlessness though. “Did you run somewhere? Are you okay?” she asks sounding concerned. 

“The apartment door,” he tells her, confusing her even more. “Your anniversary and Valentine’s Day gift has arrived.” 

Standing up from where she’s sitting, she makes her way to the apartment door, looks through the peep hole and finds someone standing there, holding a bouquet of her favourite flowers and a giant stuffed black cat that’s almost as big as the person and hiding who the person is. Unlocking and opening the door, with the phone still to her ear, “What are-” 

She’s cut off when the person moves the stuffed animal away from him, revealing it’s none other than Wooyoung. “Happy anniversary, Jagiya! Oh and Happy Valentine’s Day too!”  

He moves them into her apartment, closing the door behind him and hands her the flowers and leans in to give her a kiss, bringing you out of your stunned state. 

“How did you... I thought you were coming home tomorrow night?” She says, still a little surprised to see him.  

“I talked the managers into letting me fly home early,” he says smiling widely. “Did I surprise you?”  

Y/N nods her head, causing his smile to widen as he leans in for another kiss. He lets go of the giant black cat to wraps his arms around her waist and bring her closer. She quickly wraps her arms around him, returning the kiss with equal passion. The surprise and thoughtfulness of his gesture leaves her feeling like the luckiest woman in the world.  

As they part, she looks into his beautiful deep brown eyes, "I can't believe you did this for me," she whispers, her voice filled with love. 

Last year he paid for her to be flown to Japan where they had a few shows and schedules, knowing he wouldn’t be home. She was grateful that she had a few days off at the time. This time she didn’t get any time off and Wooyoung was due home the day after, so they planned something for then. 

Wooyoung smiles, his eyes sparkling with love and adoration for his woman. "We’ve been together three years. This is our fourth Valentine’s together. We haven’t spent an anniversary or Valentine’s Day alone since we met. I wasn’t going to let you be alone this time."  

Last year he paid for her to be flown to Japan where they had a few shows and schedules, knowing he wouldn’t be home. She was grateful that she had a few days off at the time. This time she didn’t get any time off and Wooyoung was due home the day after, so they planned something for then. 

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," she says, her voice filled with sincerity.  

Wooyoung brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle and comforting. "I ask myself that every day."  

After placing the flowers on the counter, Y/N pulls him in for another kiss.

Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcomed and appreciated. 

TAGGED: @staytiny2000 - @dancelikebutterflywings - @kpopmenace143

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