#let’s make those tags shall we | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pedrospatch · 5 months

Text

a safe haven l ten

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist

summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.

word count: 5k

a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33 this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?

“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”

Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.

“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”

“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”

He shakes his head in utter exasperation.

“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”

Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.

Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.

Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”

He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.

Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.

Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.

Exactly how far had Luke taken it?

Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?

Until you almost lost complete consciousness?

Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?

Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?

Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.

This shouldn’t have happened.

He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.

This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.

“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.

His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.

Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.

But can you honestly fault him for that?

How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?

Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.

And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.

He should have done something.

Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.

“Joel—”

“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.

Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.

“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”

With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”

“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.

“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”

“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.

Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.

His brother wouldn’t believe it.

“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”

“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.

Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.

Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”

“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.

“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”

Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.

“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”

Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”

He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”

She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”

“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”

He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.

“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”

He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”

“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”

“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”

Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”

“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”

“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”

“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”

Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”

Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.

“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”

He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”

She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”

Maria gives his arm another squeeze.

“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”

“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.

“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”

She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”

Moments later, you both hear the shower going.

“Little shit,” he grumbles.

You exhale an amused huff through your nose.

Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”

Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”

“Runnin’ you a bath.”

You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”

“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”

You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m capable of washing myself—”

“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”

That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.

“But your hand—”

“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”

Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.

“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.

Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.

Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.

Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”

You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.

“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”

You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.

He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.

As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.

“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?

The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.

Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.

“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”

“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”

He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.

You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.

“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”

A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”

He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”

Home.

You’re home.

He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.

It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.

He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.

“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.

“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”

“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”

You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”

“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”

“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”

Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”

Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.

“I—I’m not too sure.”

“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”

Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”

“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”

“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”

“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”

“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her.

“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”

“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”

“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”

Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.

“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”

“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”

“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”

Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.

“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”

Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.

“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.

He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.

Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”

Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.

You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Joel? What’s the matter?”

“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.

“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.

Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”

“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”

Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.

You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.

Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.

Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”

“You’re going to build the crib?”

He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”

“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”

You fall silent.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”

His declaration comes with natural ease.

And so does yours.

“I love you too, Joel.”

#fic: a safe haven #fic: ash #tw dv #tw domestic violence #tw pregnancy #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller angst #the last of us fanfiction

742 notes · View notes

aethelwyneleigh27 · 10 months

Text

Dad!Simon "Ghost" Riley w/ a sick baby Headcanons and Imagines list

Am I back with the Dad!Ghost content? You know damn well I am, also yes the render I used is courtesy of our beloved @ave661 who's most definitely annoyed by my existence by now for constantly tagging her.

Will I ever stop writing Dad!Ghost? Fuck no, why? Daddy issues and baby fever, if you want anyone to blame, it's those two. And yes, I will be upset if this doesn't do well. (AHEM, MY SOAP POST)

Taglist of who I this would enjoy this and requested: @puff0o0, @blingblong55, @cutenote, @wise-owl and @connorsui. This last creator by far has given me the best fucking commentary on my work and I have more works on and coming about Dad!Ghost, genuinely thank you so freaking much, you made me cry 😭.

I'M BACK! Let's start, shall we?

❥ Dad!Simon who's a very nervous first time father, well there's a first for everything and so is the first time your guys' baby got sick.

❥ Dad!Simon who immediately got them a check up, it was a common flu. Naturally medication and antibiotics were prescripted.

❥ Dad!Simon whose heart melts once he hears the soft whimpers of discomfort of the little on as they stir in the crib. The soft raspy cries and flushed chubby cheeks and warm, almost burning temperature.

❥ Dad!Simon who is trying his hardest not to look back the car seat when you were on your way to the clinic, to check on the baby whose little cheeks are bouncing a bit while being entertained by their pacifier, the little cooling patch on their head making their forehead crinkle a bit.

❥ Dad!Simon who was amused by how talkative the little one still is despite being so drowsy and in pain. Babbling their little heart out while sniffling.

"Dada!" the little on calls for Simon, almost in a screaming manner if it wasn't for the poor little thing's scratchy and sore throat.

They let out incoherent babbles to Simon as if trying to tell him something, as if they're chatting like they used to, the only adjustments being the constant sniffles and coughs. Them being reduced to their clogged nose while trying so hard to communicate. (Here's your visual)

Simon took the warm baby bottle from your hands to feed the little one.

"Bee, slow down.." A new nickname picked up by Simon to give to your little one, bumblebee, trying to tell them to slow down from chugging.

❥ Dad!Simon who never thought the baby wouldn't get any more clingy, at least not until they got sick. Constantly asking for "dada" and "mama" while he goes on about his day trying to help his wife, you, to keep up with the chores around the house.

❥ Dad!Simon who feels a bit guilty because he loves the comfort he's able to provide the baby, especially that they're not comfortable and less than happy with the sickness. Having the baby on his chest, patting their fragile back gently with a hand that's almost bigger than their body as their dad's heartbeat lulls them to sleep despite being irritable the whole day.

❥ Dad!Simon who slightly chuckles when the baby's breathing starts picking up, their lips trembling into a pout, little doe eyes starting to get glassy from the tears forming with a pitched whimper, only to be silenced by a kiss from both you and Simon. The toll of the sickness only ever being reduced with yours and his affection.

❥ Dad!Simon who joins in when the baby entertains themselves while playing with the various rattles and teething toys.

Bumblebee shaking the tiny rattle, a bit in frustration, knocking their self back. Luckily Simon had intense reflexes and managed to slip his hand in time between the cushioned but still quite hard floor and the baby's tiny head.

Simon let out a breath of relief, "You sure know how to scare me, don't you bee?"

The baby let out a strained giggle as their dad guided them to sit back up by their head and back.

❥ Dad!Simon who tries his best to make the baby take the prescripted medicine, that baby did NOT like the taste of it and he had to resort to sneaking it in their food to hide the taste of the bitter syrup.

"Come on pumpkin, copy dada okay?" Simon whispers while exhaling loudly out his nose, careful with the baby's sensitive ears.

❥ Dad!Simon who makes the little one blow their tiny nose.

The sleepy eyes of the little one trailing on him, trying to observe and copy, blowing their nose on the soft wipes Simon held against their nose.

After wiping it, Simon noticed how their nose now unclogged helped they sleep far more easier and with less frustration from them.

Shout out to a very consistent person who has been liking all the things I post despite them not being actual content @poohkie90 <3

Also I had no idea @simp4konig and I were mutuals, I'M FANGIRLING SO HARD WHEN I SAW THE LIKED POST NOTIF.

Sidenote: I'm sick rn y'all, like it just kept on coming. First was my period, then next thing I knew my nose is clogged and I'm sniffling, then the next I'm coughing and sneezing. There's so much blood rn I can't even. I don't feel good at all but I'm pushing through. Apologies if this was shorter than most if you expected from me, I wanted to elaborate on this prompt however I don't have much ideas so I'm sorry to disappoint.

#cod x reader #aethelwyne lia writes #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #cod headcanons #simon ghost riley x reader #dad!ghost #dad!simon #simon riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #ghost x plus size reader #ghost x female reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n

1K notes · View notes

noimnotmae · 4 months

Text

𝐌𝐈𝐗-𝐔𝐏 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐏 — Lando Norris⁴

summary: After landing in Miami for his race, Lando carelessly places his bag next to an identical one as he rushes to the bathroom. And in a hurry, you mistakenly grab his bag, thinking it's yours. And during the next five days in Miami, everything took an unexpected turn, escalating into something far bigger than either of you had anticipated.

˚꒷︶꒷꒥꒷ lando norris x female! reader 🔸

Ｐａｒｔ２

ＰｒｅｖｉｏｕｓＰａｒｔ

— "So wait, the guy from the airport is staying at our hotel?" Lhea's eyes widened as she leaned closer, her excitement evident as she listened to your story. "Did you get his name?" she asked eagerly. You nodded, grinning. "His name is Lando Norris, I think," you replied, watching as Lhea quickly pulled out her phone to investigate. As she typed, you leaned in to peek at her screen, only to find Lando's Instagram account. "Lhea!" you exclaimed in surprise.

She glanced at you with a smirk. "What? I just want to make sure he's safe for you, and single," she teased, prompting a playful shove from you. "We only met once–" you began, but Lhea interrupted with a finger to your lips. "Twice, actually," she corrected with a grin. Before Lhea could say anything else, the taxi pulled up to your destination. "We're here," announced the driver, and you quickly paid before exiting the car.

Lhea eagerly showed you her phone. "You need to see this," she urged. "F1? Like the fast cars?" you exclaimed. Lhea nodded enthusiastically. "And there's a race today, tomorrow, and on Sunday," she informed you as you walked, her attention divided between her phone and the surroundings.

"Let's discuss this more at Liv's place, okay?" you suggested, slightly concerned about Lhea's distracted walking. She nodded in agreement, turning off her phone and tucking it away. "You're right, we can't leave Olivia out of the conversation," she acknowledged, finally focusing on the path ahead.

[Texts]

[Instagram]

lhea_theitgirl

Miami, Florida

liked by ynusername, livduh and 504 others

lhea_theitgirl reunited at last 🎉 . . . more

tagged ynusername and livduh

View all comments

ynusername took you a while to get here

lhea_theitgirl xoxo

livduh tea time 🍵

lhea_theitgirl yknow it girl 😘

ynusername whoop whoop 😋

user1 lovely 😍

user2 trios >>

user3 full fit?

[Irl]

Olivia warmly welcomed you and Lhea into her apartment, which looked much the same as your last visit, albeit with a few new additions– mainly, an abundance of cat-related items. You and Lhea settled your bags on the couch as Liv disappeared into her room briefly. "I'm raiding your fridge!" you called out from the kitchen, already opening the refrigerator door in search of a drink. "Go ahead," Liv replied casually, emerging from her room with a ginger cat nestled in her arms.

Instantly drawn to the feline, you and Lhea approached Liv, cooing at the cat, who seemed less than thrilled with the attention. "Why so grumpy?" you cooed, cautiously petting his head as he attempted to bat your hand away. "He's not a fan of meeting new people," Liv explained with a grin. "But look at those adorable white socks!"

Clearly, the three of you shared a love for cats. "Anyways, let's get to the point, shall we? We have somewhere to be in a few hours," Liv said, glancing at her watch. You and Lhea didn't press for details and followed Liv outside to her backyard, where a table and chairs were set up.

Seated comfortably, Liv placed Bib on her lap and turned to you and Lhea. "So, spill. What's the story?" Lhea wore a wide grin as the two of you sat across from her. "Let's start from the beginning, when YN found who had her bag and whose bag she mistakenly took," she began, earning a chuckle from you. "Well, that same person happens to be staying at our hotel. And when I looked him up on Instagram, turns out he's some kind of celebrity–" Lhea's explanation was cut off by Liv's question. "How did you find his Instagram?" she asked, to which Lhea replied, "He introduced himself to YN. Anyway, turns out he's actually an F1 driver."

"No way. Oh my god, talk about coincidence or fate," you and Lhea exchanged confused glances as Liv continued, "Remember when I mentioned we were going to this big event because my brother and his friends couldn't make it?" Lhea grasped your arm as if she had some sort of revelation, while you remained confused. "I can't believe it..." Liv shook her head, a grin spreading across her face. "We're going to watch the race today!" Both Lhea and Liv squealed with excitement, while you sat there, utterly baffled by what was happening.

Glancing at her watch, Liv rose to her feet. "Time to go, let's go!" she exclaimed, prompting you and Lhea to follow suit, still trying to process the whirlwind of events.

[IG Story]

viewed by livduh, lhea_theitgirl and 33 others

[Twitter]

[Texts]

[Instagram]

ynusername

Miami, Florida

liked by lhea_theitgirl, livduh and 989 others

ynusername idk how we got here. anyway, go Ferrari? . . . more

View all comments

lhea_theitgirl girl, we're here for McLaren

ynusername I retract my earlier statement, let's go McLaren

livduh unbelievable 😂

user4 you're an F1 fan??

ynusername no, lol. just had an opportunity to attend the race for today

user5 one day

user6 Forza Ferrari ❤️

[Twitter]

Ｐａｒｔ３ — Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ

A/N : Part two, whoop whoop. Idky but I feel this part is such a mess. lmao, let me know what you think :)

tagged: @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @barcelonaloverf1life

If you want to be tagged for this series, just let me know in the comments.

494 notes · View notes

pxuvalentinx · 5 months

Text

tags: aventurine x fem reader, nsfw, f!ngering, tiny degradation, fake empathy, edging, hand fetish‼️

a/n: i’m so sorry omgg, i’ve been so busy and tbh also not really motivated to finish any of my drafts. but to feed my starved children (you all) i cooked up some quick aven smut (in the span of 20 minutes). i got one more aven fic in my drafts but it’s kinda a fail ngl, it’s basically the pt2 to the aventurine gunplay thingie i wrote. so do let me know if you’d like to read that😭😭 as always, reqs are open🫶

Aventurine, one of the most talented men when it came to coin tricks. He’d always try to impress you with them, showing you how easily the coin would move from left to right and right to left, slipping so smoothly in between his gloved fingers. And you had to admit, it was indeed very impressive. You tried it once or twice, but without success. Aventurine would always just grin at you, talking about how your little hands just aren’t as talented as his. It would make you slightly pout, asking him to teach you, but he would just turn it down, saying he’d teach you another time.

You loved his hands anyway, slim and long fingers, short nails and a soft palm — whenever he wasn’t wearing those gloves at least. If he was, rings would decorate his hands even more, the gold shining and sparkling as he pushed your hips down. His fingers were hidden in your cunt, curling and thrusting. He didn’t even take off his glove before practically shoving his hand inside you, the fabric feeling rough and soft at the same time, creating a whole new sensation.

He’d always comment on how wet your pussy is, on how nicely it squeezes around his fingers, on how stupidly easy you go dumb only from his hand. Aventurine’s thumb was on your clit, pressing down on it whenever his fingers thrusted into you. The poor people in the hotel room next to you, having to hear your stupid cries and pleas for mercy all night long, all because Aventurine was just a little too talented with his hands.

He fucking loved bringing you to the edge just to deny you again, showing fake empathy. “Poor thing..Let’s try again, shall we?” His pants felt way too tight at this exact moment, watching you beg and beg and beg, while your cunt ruins his gloves and soaks even the skin underneath.

Eventually he would let you cum. Eventually he’d finally stop teasing you so much, and move his fingers in scissoring motions one last time before feeling you explode all over his hand. His other hand was intertwined with yours, his thumb rubbing circular motions over the back of your hand, while the other just abused your insides even further.

How silly that it all started with a little:”What other tricks do you have in store?”

#x reader #aventurine honkai star rail #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine x you #honkai star rail #hsr #aventurine smut #honkai x reader #hsr smut

876 notes · View notes

erideights · 1 year

Text

Little pieces here and there (1)

Pairing: Buggy x Fem!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

Chapters: two, three, four, five

Word Count: 2,6K (i was inspired by god itself)

Warnings: none, lot of context (i promise the next chapter will have way less filling), light flirting

A/N: I HAVE ALREADY THOUGHT ABOUT AT LEAST 5 CHAPTERS MORE, I HOPE SOMEONE LIKES THIS FIRST ONE BECAUSE I'M ON MY KNEES FOR THIS DAMN CLOWN. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in other parts! (Side note: i'm spanish, so if there's some mistakes, i'm trully sorry, i don't have beta readers).

It's not enough to suddenly find herself locked in a box with 3 idiots she met a matter of hours ago, no; To make it worse, as it could not be otherwise, it turns out that she is in a bloody circus, ''kidnapped'' by a band of pirates that she recognizes as soon as she sees the red and white tent over their heads, the distressed faces of the poor people that make up the audience, and the costumes of the band around them.

She sighs, and wonders what the hell she's doing there despite knowing perfectly well what kind of decisions have led her to that damned place. Wanna know what happened? Let's recap, shall we?

(Y/N) (S/N). That name doesn't sound familiar, right? Very few know it but the reputation that accompanies the person who responds to it is very famous throughout the 4 seas. She is not a bounty hunter, nor a marine, neither a pirate or a pirate hunter, like the green-haired hottie with whom she finds herself in such trouble, or a thief, like the ginger who she bet, will escape running without looking back at the slightest opportunity she finds.

No, she's a mercenary. She doesn't work solely for money, otherwise she would go against the most bloodthirsty and ruthless of each sea, and that doesn'tt interest her, because she would put herself on the radar of both the pirates and the marines.

No, she is contacted through different channels, none of them direct, and if the job interests her, amuses her, or even piques her curiosity, she accept it. She goes after all kinds of people, whether they are pirates or marines, gangsters at the top of the terror scale or criminals who, like her, tried to keep a low profile.

However, and as we were saying, despite trying to remain anonymous, she is good at her job, a born strategist with an incredible facility to adapt and blend in with her surroundings to sneak into the most remote places, so her existence inevitably began to be noticed along the seas, rumors about this young mercenary with an angelic face, who only responded to her own morals and of whom few escaped to tell the tale.

And this is how she met that group of weirdos who found each others through the power of the plot's convenience; her last assignment was to steal the map from the Grand Line. There are not many, these kept safe and protected in large fortresses throughout the globe, and among all those that she could have tried to steal, she made the horrible decision of going for the one that was closest to her, encountering those three idiots in the crossfire of the disaster that unfolded in Shells Town.

How did she end up giving up the assignment and at that precise moment there, with them? Simple: Luffy piqued her curiosity. And there are few things stronger than (Y/N)'s curiosity.

"Hey, I know you. I saw your wanted poster in Shells Town, you're the clown guy. Umm, uh… Binky, right?" Luffy exclaimed, as confident of himself as usual.

Buggy, she mentally corrected, arms crossed over her chest, rolling her eyes at the same time the clown corrected loudly and dramatically listed his many nicknames. Which she was sure, only he called himself.

''Wow, you have a lot of names. I bet everyone in the East Blue knows who you are.” The audience gasp. There's confusion in the boy's face, and an almost psychopatic tic in the clown's one. ''What did you just say?'' Buggy asks lowly. ''Just that everyone knows who you are.'' Luffy repeats.

''Nose!? Are you making fun of my nose!?’’

Then came the slap, like the one someone usually gives when a friend is trying to steal their food or touch something they definitely shouldn't. Buggy is killing the straw hat boy with his eyes but the gesture is so… innocent. She expected threats with knives, to be honest.

And because of the unexpected, she almost let a laugh escape in the form of a cough but she controlled herself fast enough to not grab unnecessary attention to her.

''What's real is...'' Buggy resumes the conversation, getting some distance with Luffy to walk around the rest too. ’’I’ve been scheming for months to steal that map from old Axe-Hand moron…’’ (Y/N) sees how he approaches her, but she didn't expect him to close the distance between each other so much, his nose almost touching her own, sharp blue eyes fixed on her from a slightly lower perspective. The truth is... that she also doesn't know how to tell if that nose is real or not, but now she really wants to touch it to find out. Dear God, what a realistic texture. It’s incredible.

Pressing her lips together in a contained expression as she shakes her head, she raises an eyebrow, letting him know that the joke wasn't as funny as he hoped, and he clucks, accepting defeat in such good humor that no one would say, that is a kidnapping and someone would end up dead by the end of the day.

She heard of him. His reward was not one of the highest but neither one of those that go unnoticed in the East Blue. He was also an eccentric, of course people talked about the blue-haired, red-nosed clown who terrified his victims in a macabre way. Those who survived ended up traumatized.

He is, or at least looks, younger than she imagined, and he fit right in with the urban legends of evil clowns kidnapping children and then dismembering them. She wonders, silently, thoughtful eyes scanning his face and body language from a distance, if this is some softie on the inside with high aspirations in life who was unfortunate enough to bump into someone who traumatized him and hence all this show and facade of the cruel and heartless clown -to protect himself as the good cliché he seems- or if, on the contrary, he is, simply and plainly, a yandere who craves attention no matter how he has to obtain it.

If she remembers correctly, there was also a rumor that he ate a devil fruit. Just like Luffy, which it doesn't take long for the clown to discover after Zoro tries to save the situation by showing off his reputation -obviously it doesn't work- and Nami does exactly what (Y/N) predicted. Not her fault, either, she doesn't owe any of them anything at all.

''Okay. Here ends the theatrics.’’ The lights go out and it’s then that everyone can small the disaster in the air. A chill runs down the back of (Y/N), who tends to infiltrate without being seen and avoids, whenever possible, a direct encounter; hand-to-hand combat is not exactly his specialty. And given the circumstances is impossible for her to know if the daggers she usually hides in the side of his combat boots -for emergencies like this one- are still there. ''I know one of you has my map, and I'm gonna get it back. What was it you said, Rubber Boy? That it was in a safe place?”

How long were they unconscious before? Enough to hijack the ship, get to land, and move 4 dead weight bodies to that circus, locking them in a box. By that point she would bet some member of the gang would have thoroughly searched the ship, and them too. Disgusting.

Buggy takes a last, attentive look at both Zoro and Nami, ruling out that one of the two has the map because when the girl tried to flee, Luffy was not shocked thinking that perhaps she would steal it from him. Which leaves the two of them, Luffy and her, alone with him.

''So, please'' the clown gestures to his subordinates with his head. ''make these two guests uncomfortable in the green room. I’m gonna have a chat with my stretchy new pal and…’’ His eyes jump to her, tilting his head to the side with genuine curiosity. ''this beauty that was incapable of taking her eyes off me.''

Fuck. Was it that obvious?

''Doll, you are the only one who hasn't opened your mouth yet and I don't think it's because you’re a shy little flower.'' He begins, circling around her like an animal hunting its prey, analyzing it, hoping to see a chink of weakness to attack. ''Are you bored?'' He asks almost in a whisper near her ear. ''Is that it? Are you so, so bored that you don't think it's worth enough interacting with the rest of us?'' Breaking away from her when he realizes she doesn't falter, he smiles a huge, threatening smile, looking her up and down in such a way that it almost makes her feel dirty. "Or maybe you're the one who has my map, and you're quiet to try not to attract /my/ attention."

She? The map? Wearing such tight pants and top? Yeah, maybe up her ass, but she's not the one who is going to tell him otherwise because if he, or one of his subordinates, comes to search her, she could take advantage of the opportunity to steal some sort of weapon from them.

In particular from Buggy; (Y/N) saw the knives he keeps in his coat and… she wouldn't mind taking a closer look at that interesting nose.

"Busted." She finally admits with a lopsided smile, raising both eyebrows when she sees the surprise on the clown's face. He didn't expect such a cocky response, did he? "I'm not the type of person who likes to attract attention, the spotlight is for others who are more... flashy." She pronounces it honeyedly, repeating the same nickname he used before, pointing at him with a gesture of her chin. "However, I'm not going to tell you where the map is. If you want to find it, come and search for it yourself."

Shrugging her shoulders, she stretches out both arms in a gesture that invites him to come closer. Bold, he thinks, more than pleased with this unexpected turn of events, taking some steps in her direction. She adds once more: "although I would be surprised if you hadn't already done it during the time we have been unconscious"

"Me?" He points at himself, stopping right in front of her. "Take advantage of a defenseless young lady?" He almost sounded offended if it wasn't for the shit eating grin and the eager way he was scanning her body now. "What kind of degenerate do you take me for?"

She scoffs, and Buggy, unsure, seems to consider -for some long seconds- whether or not to do the job himself, (Y/N) being too calm for how helpless she seems. But surely, he knows, she doesn't have any weapons on her; his subordinates were in charge, as she said, of searching all of them as soon as they were brought to the circus.

In the end he gives up, because he would be damned if he dared to refuse to thoroughly touch this mysterious woman who may, just may, have his map hidden somewhere. He strongly doubts it, tho.

Soon enough, he moves again, standing then behind her, and without asking permission, he doesn’t need it either, his hands start roaming her shoulders and sides slowly, making sure to feel anything weird between her clothes and the skin underneath. Like the fucking map, folded until it is nothing more than a small piece of paper easy to hide.

Because that is the whole point of that scene, right?

"Go on, be my guest." she says sarcastically, trying to stay calm and breathe slowly, because (Y/N) likes to pretend to be made of stone, but not /that much/. The pressure of those gloves against her already tight clothes and the hungry way she knows those -green? blue? difficult to say with those circus lights- eyes are watching her every move make her heart beat a bit faster in something she’d call /the average amount of nervousness when a known, wanted pirate search for something we wants while threatening to kill you if he doesn’t find it/.

Buggy, on the other hand, is so engrossed in his task that his usual cocky smile has disappeared a few seconds ago; he is waiting to feel a change in the girl's body language to be able to guess if she has it or if, on the contrary, this search will be saved in his memory as no more than a small pleasurable pause after all the stress that the goddamn map is putting him through. Because he can't deny it, she's actually a beauty, and in other circumstances he wouldn't mind getting to know her in a funnier way. At all.

Inhaling deeply, wetting his red lips with his tongue, he lets the air out slowly, tilting his head to the side to see her better. He should hurry up and stop making that scene as intimate as it's becoming, audience and all, but he's a thorough man. Or that’s the excuse -explanation- he will give to whoever dares to ask.

"Where the hell did you hide my map?" He asks melodiously as he finishes searching her torso, his right hand starting to go a little lower, getting dangerously close to her hipbone when (Y/N)'s right hand flies up and catches his wrist between her fingers, stopping him dead in his tracks. She couldn't help it, she acted on autopilot, she is not ready to be the main character of a porn movie with audience included letting him roaming all around as he pleases. "Not between my legs, so keep lowering your hands and I'll cut them off." she threatens, turning her face to look at him standing behind her.

Right back, as if those words were magical or something, the huge, shit eating smile of his returns to the lips of the unstable clown, and without letting go, he makes her spin, facing her with both hands on her waist, strongly keeping her in place, sharp eyes fixed on her, and without realizing it, she stops breathing for a second. "You promise?" He whispers, pleads almost, in an amused, delighted tone of voice after such a threat. She was way interesting than he expected, not as shy or scared as an unarmed girl like her should be. He likes that. A lot.

However, he has -sadly- things to do and he did in fact, already lost time with her. His eyes betraying him the moment they land on the girl's lips, Buggy winks at her with a cocky expression and pulls away suddenly, raising both arms "Another disappointment, how many more can our audience endure? You’re the only one left, Rubber Boy, don't let me down." He points him, moving closer, while (Y/N) just stays there where he left her, wondering what the fuck just happened and why does her heart run so fast now.

Adrenaline, probably.

"Take her with the others" he ends up saying to a couple of members of his gang, to which she responds by moving on her own in the direction of where they have taken Zoro and Nami before, preventing them from guiding her by force and discovering the knife she stole from Buggy when he got so damn close to her, and which she secretly hid between the waistband of her pants and her shirt.

Risky, she could cut herself with the smallest movement at the least expected moment, but it was way worse to see herself unarmed.

Buggy, infatuated, takes one last look at her and, raising one hand, waves his fingers in the air with a huge smile on his face as he says goodbye to her.

"See you later, love."

#buggy x reader #buggy the clown #buggy one piece #op buggy #one piece live action #buggy x you #buggy the clown fanfiction #one piece #one piece x reader

1K notes · View notes

lost-on-an-ocean-of-books · 5 months

Text

Calling all fanfiction Readers it's time to have your say.

Hi Fanfiction Readers

My name is Tamsin and I am a PhD student, fellow lurker and fanfiction reader. I am conducting a study into the role that fanfiction plays in the lives of those fans who read fanfiction as part of their everyday lives. Does your search history include the tags related to found family, irondad or batbad for example, then I am interested in talking to you. If you would like to take part in discussions around these tags with a fellow reader and lurkers of these tags within A03 please message me.

Taking part in this research is a chance for you to share your own experience of fanfiction and what it means to you, while also highlighting that lurkers do still have a voice and an important part to play within fandom research.

Below the cut is more information about this study and what it involves. Please read this if you would like more information before getting in touch. If you are unable to take part please can you reblog this post or share it to anyone you feel might wish to take part.

Why have I been chosen?

I have deliberately chosen lurkers within fanfiction communities as the messages they take from and their reasons for reading fanfiction are under researched. Although you may not be a lurker in all fandoms you are involved in, the fact that you are a lurker within any fanfiction spaces make you the ideal candidate from this exploration into lurkers and their relationships with fanfiction, fanfictions online spaces and fandom communities.

I would also like to emphasise that I require all participants to be over the age of 18 to take part in this study. If you are under 18 please let me know now.

What does taking part mean?

By agreeing to take part in this study you are agreeing to record a diary of your fanfiction use and reasons for this usage within a discord chat. There is no limit for entries and I ask that the minimum response is once every two weeks. However, this project is aiming to work around your life and commitments and if you do miss a couple of weeks do not panic. Just start sending entries or replying to prompts again when you are able to. If I have not heard from you in a month I will send a message which will read:

Hi. I hope you are doing well. I am just sending a message to check in and to double check if you wish to continue taking part in the study. If you are happy to still take part please send any form of response to this message.

It is important to note that this response can be as limited as simply sending an emoji. If I do not receive a response after two weeks I will stop attempting to contact you. However this is not seen as a full withdrawal from the study and you are able to return at any time. I will also still use the discussions we have already had as part of my thesis. If you would like to withdraw fully from the study please let me or my supervisors know, with the process of how to do this explained below.

These entries can take the form of voice notes, written responses and memes or tiktoks. Every two weeks I shall send a prompt to the chat that hosts the diary entries, these are intended to get you thinking about certain topics and do not have to be answered directly or even at all if the questions make you uncomfortable or touch on something you are unwilling to share. At the end of every month I will arrange a touch base interview (over google meet) which will last about an hour. This will be a chance to discuss anything that you find easier to discuss face to face, to review some of your diary entries and for me to answer any question you may have. While I will aim to have these interviews a month apart I do understand that life may get in the way. I am more than happy to be flexible and move interviews around or push them back/bring them forward depending on your schedules.

#bat family #iron dad and spider son #irondad #batdad #fan fiction #a03 fanfic #found family

381 notes · View notes

digital-domain · 7 months

Text

Written in Blood

Alastor x Reader // Word Count 2.2k

In which you’re given a lasting reminder of who should be on your mind.

tags/warnings: dark content, yandere, violence, branding, scratching, blood, alastor definitely wanting to taste said blood (but holding himself back), implied sexual content, power imbalance, abuse, absolutely fucked relationship dynamic, reader clearly has no control over what happens to her (therefore dubcon/noncon implications)

A/N: this exists because the wonderful @absolute-flaming-trash planted this idea in my head. Let us all take a moment to bow down to our queen <3

As always - 18+, read the tags, if you don’t like the tags then don’t go below the cut (or into my inbox). Thank you and enjoy.

Alastor’s hand slides gently up your back, the soft touch contrasting ominously with the brutal way he’d slapped you just moments before. Your clothes are strewn haphazardly across the floor (while his all remain on, and intact), but the shiver that runs down your spine has nothing to do with your lack of cover. His gloves, which he’s never removed before, now lay discarded along with the rest of the scraps, two fingers slick with the residue you’ve left behind.

“What’s my name, darling?”

The pet name feels underhanded, cruel as the sting of his palm that still burns on your cheek, but you don’t take the time to ponder it. This is not the time for resistance - the way his hand pressed against your bare skin, trapping you between his palm and your bedroom floor, is enough to remind you of that. “Alastor…”

“That’s correct! Very well done.” The charm lingers in his voice, barely betraying a hint of the malice underneath. “And why, pray tell, did I feel the need to ask you such a simple question?”

“Because…” Because you’d been stupid, and let your mind wander, as it often does, to the life you’d led before. The people you’d loved. The time when being… intimate felt real, when it wasn’t just another piece in some twisted game whose rules you’ve never been told. “Because you want to make sure that I remember it.”

It was in one of those warped, vulnerable moments, when you’d felt everything and he’d seemed to feel nothing at all, besides a sick sense of amusement at seeing you lose yourself. That was when you made your mistake. Let go a little too much, and sighed a name that wasn’t his. One that you missed, one that you often closed your eyes and pictured above you - you’d been too deep in your reverie to realize how deeply you’d betrayed yourself, and by the time you’d come back to your senses, it had been far too late to do anything but beg for forgiveness.

“I do want you to remember.” He sighs. “Such a shame that you would rather forget…”

You don’t protest. He’s not wrong, at all. How desperately you wish you could go back to the life you had before. At the very least, you could have chosen to go somewhere else - anywhere else - in the wake of your death. You’d give anything to rewind the clock, now, to forget him entirely and start anew, go down some other path that didn’t end with him. With this.

You’re surprised when his hand pauses on your upper back, beside your shoulder. Truly, you’d believed that he was going for your neck, that he was going to clamp his fist around your throat and cut the air off from your lungs until your vision went black. Instead, his free hand finds your own, and clasps over it, locking his fingers with yours. He gently squeezes into your palm, a gesture that would be comforting if it didn’t come from him.

“Let’s make sure you don’t forget again, shall we?” He sounds calm, almost soothing, a sudden shift from the rage you’d been subjected to just a minute before. He turns on a dime like this often, and you’re never sure which side of him to trust. Never sure what’s an act, or what’s real.

“I won’t.” You mean it, more than anything you’ve ever said to him. There’s a knot in your stomach, pulling tighter with this sudden change in demeanor, and you want desperately to unravel it. To have peace, if only for a little while. “It was just a mistake. I won’t ever do it again.”

“Of course you won’t.” His head drops, distorted static pressing into your ear. From out of the corner of your eye, you can see that familiar red glow pulsing out behind him - always a sign of worse things to come. “Not after this. ”

The hand on your back tenses, and you tense along with it. Unnaturally sharp nails dig slowly into your flesh until, with an agonizing jolt, your skin breaks beneath them. At this, three of his fingers lift, but the fourth - his index finger - burrows deeper into your flesh, and yanks down, ripping a diagonal gash inches long.

You scream. Truly scream, your mind ripping from pain and shock, just as awfully and tangibly as your skin. He’s hurt you before…but he’s never drawn blood, and certainly never sent it dripping in rivulets down your back.

He sighs, and brings his finger back up to the opening point of the fresh cut. “Oh… this is going to be a long few minutes for you, isn’t it?” Without any more preamble, he tears into you all over again, yanking out another cry of pain as he pulls away at the opposite angle, drawing out a deep scratch the same length as the first.

There are tears in your eyes. Normally, you’d try to hold them back, but this time you can’t pull yourself together, as hard as you try. You let them fall, let yourself cry out loud. Somewhere in the haze that your mind has become, it occurs to you that there’s something very deliberate about the placement of these scratches. Something methodical.

“Do you even know what I’m doing?” He cackles over you, a luminescent red glow fading into the corners of your vision. “Perhaps after this one, if you still haven’t figured it out, I’ll give you a hint…”

He delves into you once more. This slash stings most harshly at the ends, where it connects the two lines already drawn, halfway down, digging again into already-broken skin. Slowly, your mind forms an image, connecting the strokes…when the pieces fall together, a sob, loud and raw and hopeless, plummets out of your mouth.

“You understand.” He presses his thumb into the blood pouring from your back, and gently runs it over the A he’s carved into your skin. “No need to despair…that’s one letter done already.”

“I…” You squirm, shaking violently beneath him. “I can’t…”

“ Don’t be ridiculous.” He slides his hand down, already preparing for another stroke. “I’m not going to leave my art unfinished…it would be such a waste. And very confusing to anyone who happened to get a glimpse - not as if I intend to allow such a thing to happen.”

His name - it’s going to be written diagonally across your entire back. He’s left just enough room for the remaining letters, while taking up as much space as possible with each cut.

“Stop shaking, my dear. You’re going to mess this up…and I’m sure you don’t want me to have to do it over again.”

You try to figure out how many more times you’re going to have to take this, how many more scratches before you’re done. Two for the L, another three for the next A…

He slices into your back, straight down, and the numbers disappear from your head. It’s hopeless. You bite your lip, hard, but you can’t keep yourself silent.

“ Poor thing.” The condescension is palpable, dripping cruelly from his lips. “If only you’d controlled yourself to begin with. It takes just a moment to ruin everything…I do hope that you won’t do it again.”

Oh, you know that that’s a lie. He loves having a reason.

Another slash, and a hum of satisfaction from behind you when you go still, recovering just a bit quicker than the time before. “Two down.”

He says it like it’s a good thing, and not a reason for you to sob harder. Two down means five to go….means you’ve barely started.

His mouth is close enough to a fresh tear that you can feel his hot, hungry breath against your torn skin, his macabre smile burning into your spine.

And - oh god. Something wet and warm hits your back, slides down and mixes with the rivulets of blood trailing over your skin.

“So tempting …” He sighs raggedly, and slowly, oh-so-reluctantly pulls himself back. “But I know myself well enough not to go down that path with you …it would be far too hard to stop once I started.”

Even the pain of the scratch that follows isn’t enough to push away the pure horror that curls in your gut.

Neither is the next.

Or the next.

He’s dragging it out, each time insisting that you still your shaking limbs before he continues, giving your hand an awful, gentle squeeze before moving on. Your eyes are screwed shut almost the entire time - but with each stroke, there’s a moment when they flicker open, and take in a bit of that terrible red light before you manage to wrestle them close.

It doesn’t get better. If anything, you think it’s getting crueler as it goes on, but you pull yourself together enough to start apologizing again, whimpered “ I’m sorry ”s gasping almost inaudibly from your mouth.

“I’m not convinced.” The pad of his finger traces up, readies his next stroke. “You’d say anything to get out of this, my dear. It’s only when I’m done that I’ll be satisfied.”

You bite down on your lip until it breaks, scratch at the palm of your free hand, the floorboards beneath. It’s only been a few minutes, but this is beginning to feel like your entire existence - you can’t conjure memories of a time before it, and you certainly can’t imagine a time after. Least of all looking in the mirror when this all over…

He pauses for an extra moment before this next letter, as if he’s giving time to let the dread sink in. You’ve lost track of where you are - but the O is unmistakable. One long, unbroken stroke that requires him to twist his nail against your skin.

He laughs indulgently, almost sweetly, as you gasp and writhe helplessly beneath him. “Almost finished, darling…try to be patient.”

Oh, if his affection felt twisted before, it’s a thousand times worse now. And yet, he somehow manages to make it sound genuine. Like he feels bad that he has to do this to you. It would almost be easier, you think, to let yourself believe it.

His voice is soft, the static almost entirely fallen away. “Now, tell me again - what is my name?”

You choke back your tears, force what little air you can into your lungs. You’re almost done, but everything hurts so much that it barely matters. His voice sounds so far away, hovering above you, reverberating strangely in your head.

He presses his lips to your ear. “ Answer me.”

“A”-

As soon as you attempt to speak, he slashes down once more, and your voice dissolves into something between a sob and a scream.

He laughs, and doesn’t bother pausing before finishing off the R of his name,grinding his talon deep into your back, grin spreading wide in the corner of your eye as you shriek. “Not quite.”

You’re sure that there’s a pool of your tears on the floor, but you’re too out of it to see with certainty, even if you did manage to open your eyes.

“Hm.” He sighs, gently tracing the pad of his finger over the final scratch. “And…what about your name? Surely, you can at least remember that.”

His nails suddenly dig into your torn skin, sending a fresh shudder of pain curdling down your spine, leaving you gasping - not to speak, but to quell the churning in your stomach.

“Shame.” He gives your hand another squeeze. “But I’m sure it will come back to you, before long. You’re very resilient…I think that’s why I always have so much fun when we’re together.”

Your head spins. It’s been spinning for what feels like an eternity, numbed and stretched out by his torture. You want him gone. Now, and forever. But once he leaves, you’ll be just as miserable. Playing what just happened in a sickening loop in your head until the pain finally goes away. Until you wash every stain from your skin. And even then…

Oh, even long after that. Just like he said - you’re never going to forget.

He rises to his feet, collects his gloves from where they lie on the floor, and slides them into his pocket. For some time, he stands silent and still above you. Even with your face pressed to the ground, you know that he’s staring, eyes flashing bright and red as he surveys the results of his work.

“I’m sure you’ll do better next time,” he sighs. “Until then…”

His hand slides under your jaw, forcing you to look up. He bends down at an angle that truly doesn’t make sense, uses his bloodied fingers to swipe away the tears rolling down your cheeks, pushes back your hair - and kisses you oh-so-softly on the forehead.

You don’t move. Don’t speak. The tears are still coming, and you’re not even sure if they’re still from the pain.

“ Take care, my dear.”

You wait until he’s turned away before you allow yourself to react, nails digging into your palms as your face falls back to the floor. Shaking. You stay there until long after the door has shut behind you.

#tw: dark content #tw blood #tw violence #tw abuse #tw noncon #alastor x reader #yandere alastor #yandere hazbin hotel

524 notes · View notes

eraenaa · 7 months

Text

The Prince and the Poet

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: It is established that Prince Aemond hates poems and sonnets; it was just a pity that you adored them.

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Aemond Writes a Poem, Childhood Friends, Hidden Attraction, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,900

Inspired by my Original Fic on AO3, The Den of Dragons and Lions

Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as he watched you completely enthralled by the sonneteer who performed before you. It had been un-endless hours he had to suffer as the court was subjected to watching poets read their works for the day’s entertainment. It was all too boring, all too frivolous, it was an utter waste of time. Aemond could not understand why you would willingly subject yourself to these men's trite and untrue words— whose delusions and desires were projected in their works. Aemond strongly believed that those who write poems and epics are weaklings and cowards. They do not have the courage to go on great adventures and woo their loves, so they can only imagine and write them down on parchment. And you were the sweet, naive fool who brought into their words—declaring their works beautiful and unparalleled. Blinded by flowery verses and empty promises.

You sigh longingly in your seat as the sonneteer before you recited your favorite sonnet of them all. Your lips silently move unconsciously as you recite your most favored work with him. Aemond, who sat by your side, sneered at the sigh that left your pillowy lips and the enchanted look in your eyes. His gaze traveled the court; every young maiden swooned by the words and looks of the sonnet who stood in the middle, reciting the work that you clung on to. When his torment finally ended, Aemond rolled his eye once more as you quickly stood and clapped your hands, an ovation for the young man who had finished his performance. Aemond did no such thing, only staring down the sonneteer who bowed and savored the praises given.

“I hope he shall return soon— and with new material!” You exclaimed to Helaena as you two walked the halls, arms linked together, Aemond trailing behind you. It was an old scene, your actions instilled since childhood. You practically grew up in the Red Keep with the princes and princess, a lion fostered by dragons.

You hear Aemond’s third scoff of the afternoon, making you glance behind only to see the consistent look of annoyance on his face. “I would take it you did not enjoy?” You say and face onward, feeling Aemond fasten his steps and now walking beside you and Helaena. “It is an utter waste of time; why must we spend hours on this frivolity when pressing matters could be attended to?” You roll your eyes at the Prince’s complaint.

“Aemond, your attendance was not required. If you believe poetry is a waste of time, I do not understand why you came there.” You say simply, pausing in your tracks. Helaena, a silent audience as you and Aemond began your ceaseless squabbles once more. Aemond was silent for a moment; the truth of his actions may not be revealed. “We did not force you to sit there and listen to Sir Liam— if anything, I’d prefer if you did not come; your glares and scoffs were seen and heard, and are very much unappreciated,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he had no response that he’d like to share. His eye traveled to his sister, who had a knowing smirk on her lips whilst you waited for his response that would not come.“I’ll see you both at supper,” Aemond grumbled as his eye landed on you, who bit back her smirk, the prince stomping away as you finally let your smile slip your lips.

“Must you really tease him? You perfectly know why he sat through the readings,” Helaena said as you and she sat in the gardens for tea. You picking at the candied lemons that you and Aemond would usually fight over. You smile as you lick your finger clean of the sugary syrup. “Yes, I know why he suffered through the readings. However, he is not aware that I am knowledgeable of his intent,” Helaena sighed, “How long will you make him suffer?” The princess asked, already impatient for the day her closest friend and brother would finally admit their attractions.

“Suffer?” You ask in shock, “I do no such thing! He inflicts his suffering himself—“ Helaena shook her head and laughed. “You’ve known of Aemond’s attraction to you for years! Yet you still act so clueless with him!” She reasoned. “I am a lady! I am expected to act chase and reserve. I cannot just go up to Aemond and confront him with his secret attraction!” You exclaimed with a fake and exaggerated look of scandal on your face, making Helaena laugh.

“If you are waiting for my brother to acknowledge and confess his attraction towards you, then you must wait— it might take him a lifetime.” Helaena mused, a hint of frustration and pity in her voice, for Aemond had wanted you since childhood; he was just afraid to let it be known. “Then I pity him… he could have had the golden beauty of the realm, but he chose to stay silent.” You say confidently— proud with the title bestowed upon you by lords and ladies, small and noble folk men who agreed that your beauty was as valuable and desirable as the gold your family was known for. Helaena hummed quietly and quickly prayed to the gods that her brother would soon admit his attraction, for Helaena knew that your pride would not subject you to confess your feelings first.

“Just because you do not understand or care for poetry does not mean they are a waste!” You exclaimed as Aemond picked another fight with you. You were peacefully seated in Helaena’s chambers, stroking your cat's fur mindlessly as Aemond’s own pet lay beside you. You were in no mood to fight with him and battle his views of poetry. “They are! They’re pointless. If you must say something, then say it— why must they dance around the matter? Why must they go on and on about something that could be said in one sentence? Cowards, the likes of them are!” You let out an exasperated sigh, making Aemond smirk at your annoyance.

He finds you quite endearing at the state, which is why he often takes time out of his day just to annoy you. Relishing at the roll of your enchanting eyes, the sighs that leave your plump, pink lips, and the furrow between your perfectly arched brows. If he were lucky and had annoyed you to quite an extent, you’d stomp your foot like a spoiled child. Or simply wave him off with your pampered hand because you no longer had a word of defense.

“Because they are poets! They do not wish to come to the answer and their intentions all at once— they create beauty with their words. They are capable of making subjects so dire be of great interest that they, in turn, create spectacles upon it!” You defended but Aemond only rolled his eye and shook his head, the former action he had gotten from you. Ever since you two were young, you would always roll your eyes when you found something disagreeable; Aemond would mock you for it— would mimic your actions in hopes of getting more from you. However, in time, he managed to adopt the same mannerisms.

“Archmaester Sisco believed that poetry is of great danger,” he said, taking a goblet to his lips. Your eyes followed the way the ball on his throat booed as you waited for him to continue his thought. “He says they mislead and are obscure and false— that poets are seducers of the mind,” He finished, noting the way your eyes were on his throat. Guessing you’d want to strangle him out of annoyance, Aemond was amused with the thought of you thinking about strangling him.

“The Archmaester’s proclamation and thinking is old— irrelevant in our times. Even his student, Archmaester Aristedes, disagrees with his views on poetry. He reasons that it is not harmful— it is a form of expression! Cathartic to those who read and write it!”Aemond let another scoff of derision slip his lips, pushing your annoyance into frustrated anger.

“You would not understand the beauty of poetry because you keep everything you feel inside you! You do not know what great relief it is to say or even write what you desire and hope for!” You exclaimed, and Aemond tensed in his seat. Silence surrounded the room as Aemond could not work out a response. You saw him fisting the arm of his chair, the knuckles of slender fingers turning pink from his tight grip.

You sighed heavily, “What I meant is… I understand that you do not like poetry and find it pointless and a waste— but I don’t. I am not forcing poetry onto you, nor am I trying to change your views upon it. I enjoy and adore poetry— I just wish you would stop discouraging me from enjoying it.

“Why do you enjoy it?” Aemond asked after a short while. You try to hide your surprise at his question. “Because… I find it romantic. For someone to take time to depict you with such beautiful imagery and flattering words, to love and admire you enough to dedicate a work of literature to your name… for me, it is the best way to express to someone how much you truly love them.” You could not look at Aemond as you said the words. In truth, a part of you felt silly because your love for poetry was only solidified because you loved a boy who you knew would not subject himself to create such works. When you read your favorite epics and songs, you would humor yourself and imagine it was Aemond who wrote it for you, knowing he would never do such a thing.

Days passed since your and Aemond’s interaction and you noticed that you had scarcely seen his presence. You would pass by him whilst in training and join him and his kin for supper— but other than that, you could not feel a trace of his presence. He would usually join you and Helaena for tea or would suddenly appear by your side as you walked along the keep. He didn’t even pick fights or tease you anymore. Him growing more silent and reserved. Now you regret speaking— wishing you had just held your tongue and let him continue to disparage the sacred thoughts of poems and songs.

It was high night, and you sat silently in your chambers, staring at the fire, trying to find ways to approach Aemond. Already missing his teasing presence— the only presence you would muster the patience to endure.

You furrowed your brows as you heard shuffling at your door. Your eyes catch the shadow of a figure outside. You cautiously and quietly stood, going to your door only to see a piece of parchment being slipped at the slit of the wooden door. Your confession only grew. You quickly took the parchment and opened the door, revealing its sender. Three eyes went wide as you were met with Aemond, who blended in the dark. However, his silver hair shined in the light of the moon. “What are you doing?” You ask and turn to the parchment he had slipped.

“Nothing— I… this—“ Aemond fumbled for words; you had never seen him in such a state. He was usually composed and stoic. You thought seeing him bashful and embarrassed was a nice gift from the gods. “What is this?” You ask and unfold the parchment. “No! Don’t—“ Aemond bit his tongue as it was too late to hinder you. Your eyes already consuming what was written.

I’ve known you for half of my life yet; you consume the whole of it I’ve had you near and close to me yet, I only gaze from afar

I do not know how to proclaim I’m not certain how to say it without blame, but you, my beauty, are the cause of my desire and, most of the time, my ire

I know I pick countless squabbles, but I do it because I love to hear you babble about things I have no care for but you just simply adore

We disagree for many reasons, but I’d rather fight you through the seasons You, my beauty, so lovely and carefree my heart could not help but love you, most ardently

Aemond watched you bite your lip as a wide smile started to spread. Aemond felt heat all over his body— anticipation did not sit well with him. He was ready to meet your laughs at his attempt to make you a poem. Ready to face rejection, but instead of the pessimistic thoughts in his mind, he was met with your sweet, pillowy lips. You were so excited and thrilled that you could not help but kiss him. Show him how you adored him as well.

What was supposed to be a short and chaste kiss turned deep with passion. Lips dancing and refusing to part. You and Aemond stumbled to your bed, uncaring and ignorant of the teachings of the gods, for you and him had long surpassed your desires, and they could no longer be denied. They were ready to claim without thought of consequences because both of you knew that you’d happily take all punishment that would be presented if it meant neither of you had to stop your actions.

“Gods, I want you,” You uttered as his lips traveled to kiss your soft cheeks, then trailed downward to the side of your neck. His hands were on your waist and threading dangerously close to your bosom. “Say it again,” Aemond almost begged. Savoring your scent, delighting at the way you feel against him. “I want you, Aemond. I’ve wanted you for years— you, only you.” You sighed as he left marks on your necks, earning quiet moans from you at the new sensation.

Aemond let a low moan rumble as his cock painfully strained against his trousers, throbbing at your admittance of want for him. It was all he wanted. He thought his deepest desire in life was to have a dragon, but that was wrong. He desired you more than claiming a dragon— his deepest desire was to claim a lioness.

Aemond tangled his hair in your hair, finally letting his other hand move from your waist and cup your breast. Your hand, in turn, went to palm him through his trousers, watching as his jaw clenched and the ball of throat bobbed once more. “We… we must not lay until we are married,” Aemond said, voice pained and filled with impatience. Yet, he still did not move atop you; he kept his hold, but you relinquished yours. “We don’t have to,” You said, trying to push away your need for him to touch you. Aemond sighed and hurried his face in your neck, his lips and breath tickling your skin. “Then how…” Aemond trailed, and a thought passed your mind. “We must not touch each other….yet. However, I do not recall teaching forbidding us to touch ourselves,” You whisper, Aemond’s lilac eye flying to you, dark and filled with lust, mirroring yours.

Aemond moved to remove his weight from you. You keep your eyes locked as you back away to the back of your bed, resting yourself on the pillows as Aemond kneels by the edge of your feathered bed, watching each move you make with his glazed, lone eye.

You bit your lip harshly as your hand threaded a path that it threaded plenty of times, the thought you had as you did the actions now watching you. You slipped your hands, and you resisted moaning as your fingers brushed over the pearl of your cunt. Aemond admired the way your breasts peaked and traced through your silk nightgown. The way your eyes were hooded and how your plump lips finally parted and moaned his name.

Aemond could no longer resist. Slipping his hand into his trousers just like he did every night, the image of you no longer in his mind but now sitting before him, calling out his name.“A-Aemond,” You stuttered as you felt the familiar cold within you. How desperately you wanted it to be, him to make you feel such a way. Aemond groaned and tilted his head to the heavens as he felt his cock twitch; he was quick to reach his peak; just the way you called for his name was enough for him to spill so quickly.

Aemond closed the space between the two of you, each of your hands still pleasuring yourselves while lips met and wanted to be together when both of you reached your peaks. “You will be mine soon, my heart… mine to pleasure and please, all mine,” Aemond swore against your lips. You nod your head as you fasten your pace. “I’ve always been yours, Aemond.” You said truthfully, the final push for Aemond to come undone; you quickly followed as his moans spurred your peak. Aemond kissed your lips once more and boldly prayed for patience, patience, and restraint to not take you that night.

It was not enough for Aemond; pleasuring himself as he watched you pleasure yourself was not enough, but it had to be for now. Because when morning comes, he’ll demand that you shall be his, just as it ought to be.

If you enjoyed the premise of this story, you might like the inspiration for it!

441 notes · View notes

gravehags · 1 month

Text

at the altar of venus

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: EXPLICIT, MDNI

Tags: body worship babyyyy, self-consciousness, body issues, handjobs, fingering, crying, possessiveness, two fools in love and lust, two fools being gross and making each other laugh

Words: 4,251

Summary: When you watch your beloved turn and turn in front of that mirror, you know something is off. Lucky for him, you have much to say on the matter.

a/n: I JUST THINK HANDSOME OLD MAN APPRECIATION TIME with yknow. a side of total filth and desperate desire.

~~~

What a day.

You wiggle your nude body in Copia’s soft sheets, nuzzle into your pillow and look across the room. Your lover is standing before the full-length mirror next to the dresser - also nude - turning his body to consider himself at different angles in the low lamplight. You watch him for a moment, watch the way his fingers card through his graying hair, loose from the grip of the day’s pomade. He runs his hand down his chest thoughtfully and comes to rest at the slight paunch of his belly. He cups the skin and his lips tug downwards into a frown.

“Amore?” he asks quietly, “do you think I’m eh, nice looking? Handsome?”

Any other time you’d laugh out loud at such an absurd question but you can tell from his slumped posture that he’s feeling downtrodden and that simply won’t do.

“The most handsome man I’ve ever seen. And that is not hyperbole. You’re the only man to ever turn my head.”

He sighs heavily through his nose and looks back at his reflection.

“You don’t think I’m…too old for you?”

Now it’s your turn to frown.

“My love…come here.”

He turns to look at you again and you crook your finger and throw back the covers. Fidgeting awkwardly he ambles over and slides into bed and you waste no time in pressing soft kisses to his jaw.

“Shall I tell you how handsome I find you? In great detail - from tip to toe?”

He scoffs and moves to pull the covers up over his chest but you gently rest your hand on his to stop him.

“You eh…you would do that?”

Now you do laugh.

“With pleasure,” you murmur, “let me just–” you pull yourself up and swing your leg over to straddle him, “--there we go. Let’s start here.” You rake your fingernails through his soft, wavy hair and smile when he shivers.

“I love your beautiful, full head of gorgeous thick hair and I love the bits of silver threaded through it most of all. I’ve told you before I’ve always had an, ah, thing for older men and well…what sort of older gentleman aficionado would I be if I didn’t love graying hair? I love the way the light catches on the silver and how it feels between my fingers when you’re uh…busy between my legs.”

He laughs softly through his nose, which is incidentally where your journey takes you next.

“And speaking of when you’re between my legs,” you say, waggling your brows as you drag your fingertip down the slope of his nose, “when this beautiful, stately, elegant thing nudges at my clit…oh. Copia I’ve always loved your nose since day one but what this thing is capable of…”

Your eyes unfocus for a moment as you lean in to kiss it absentmindedly.

“You’re getting distracted, amore mio,” Copia murmurs, eyes glittering. Eyes. Those pretty, mismatched eyes and those long brown lashes…

“As always, you are too kind to me,” he chortles, reaching a hand up to stroke your hair. Sathanas, you didn’t even realize you had said that out loud. “I used to hate my eyes when I was a kid, you know? Always a reminder of the bloodline I was a part of but never really a part of…not according to Nihil anyway. Where others thought the white eye was ‘commanding’ on Secondo or ‘alluring’ on Terzo, it was always eh, ‘unsettling’ on me.”

“Hmm,” you say thoughtfully, “I certainly don’t think you need them but did you ever consider contact lenses?”

“Oh, sì, sì,” he nods, “tried them once too in my twenties but eh…something was just…off. Personally I thought I looked creepier with two green eyes.”

You lean back a little and raise a hand to cover his white eye, and then the green while tilting your head.

“Shoulda got a white contact for the green eye instead so you could go around looking like some sexy demonic husky.”

Copia bursts out in laughter, his chest shaking beneath your palms.

“I thought this was supposed to make me feel better?”

“It is! I made you laugh, didn’t I?” you say with a grin, leaning down to place a slow, soft kiss on his lips that has his hands settling on your hips.

“Love these too,” you breathe when you finally separate, “love how soft and plump they are and I especially love the little freckle right here–” you place the pad of your thumb on his full lower lip, “--God you have no idea how it drove me mad day in and day out whenever we’d work together. Driving me to distraction. All I’d ever want to do when you got close to me is…” You lean forward once more and catch his lip gently between your teeth, sucking on it until you feel his cock twitch against you.

“Mmm,” you pull off him with a wet noise that has him panting into the dimly lit room, “is someone starting to buy into the truth that he’s the most handsome man in the abbey? Perhaps even the world?”

“Don’t push your luck, dolcezza, I’m just eh, excited to have a beautiful, soft, young thing on top of me. One who is very good with her mouth, I might add.”

“Oh, that’s too bad you still don’t believe me when I say you’re beautiful. Try harder and maybe I’ll give you a little treat, hmm?”

He chuckles and tilts his head back.

“I’ll do my best. Done with the face, then?”

“And skip your glorious little mustache and impeccably crafted sideburns? Cardinal, you know I’m a woman who pays attention to the details. To say nothing of the freckles that are scattered over your face and down–” you trail a finger down his throat and tap on his clavicle, “--over your chest and shoulders? I’d kiss every single one if I thought I’d live to accomplish that.” You amuse yourself for a moment by playing connect the dots with the marks until your fingertip slides over and traces the lines of his tattoo.

“You never did tell me the story with this.”

He smiles, thumbs brushing soft circles on your thighs.

“Terzo did it. I had just entered the priesthood and he came to my quarters and got me drunk and convinced–”

“Wait, when you say ‘Terzo did it’ you mean Terzo gave you the tattoo?”

“Sì,” he nods, “He knew how much I loved the Omen movies and always complained that I never did anything wild so…”

You lean forward and inspect the ink.

“That looks…a lot better than anything I would have expected from Terzo.”

Copia snickers.

“His lines were surprisingly steady, but his hand not nearly strong enough. I had a professional touch it up later but that stays between us, sì?”

You give him a salute and lean back, raking your fingernails down his chest.

“Back to the topic at hand,” you murmur, “unholy fuck I love your body hair. It’s so thick and soft and I love the way it scratches just right at my nipples when you’re fucking me into the mattress.”

He sucks in a breath so fast he nearly chokes.

“You’re really not holding back, are you cara mia?”

“Nope,” you confirm, watching the way the tip of his tongue slides out to wet his lips as he eyes your breasts. Briefly, your hands abandon his torso to come up and cup them, thumbing across your hardened nipples. You pull away and grab his hands, placing them where yours once were. Greedily, he palms the flesh as your hips make little circles.

“These,” you breathe, your hands covering his, “these gorgeous, big, strong hands with these thick fingers…I can’t even count how many times I brought myself off to the thought of them.”

“O-oh?” he pants, removing one hand and bringing it up to cup your face, “with the gloves a-and everything?”

You lean into his touch.

“Especially with the gloves. Copia, the way I’d fantasize about being able to feel every stitch and groove of those things when I’d picture them inside of me…” You turn your head to place a kiss to the scar tissue at the center of his palm and his thumb strokes your cheekbone. “Mmm, you got me distracted again. Where was I?”

You look down and remember, scooting backwards down his body to settle in between his thighs. He whines now that you’re only touchable if he sits up, too tired to make an effort. Not, however, too tired for other things, you think as you look down at his hardened cock resting heavy against his belly, smearing pre on the hairs there.

“We’ll address this,” you say, gesturing to his erection, “in a bit. But for now…this.”

Your word is punctuated by the way you run your hands over his slight paunch, grinning as you knead the flesh. Copia’s shoulders twitch as if he’d like nothing more than to fold in on himself, eyes trained up somewhere over your shoulder.

“Your soft tummy is so sweet and perfect and–” you make a noise like a big cat growling, “--I just want to eat it up.”

“Clearly from its appearance I’ve eh, done enough eating for the both of us.”

You frown deeply.

“Copia,” you say, your tone deadly serious, “since when do you have problems with a belly? I hope you don’t have problems with my belly and mine is a lot bigger than yours—“

“Amore, never!” he gasps, horrified, “You…you are perfection. You are soft and plush and-and a goddess. This–” he says, gesturing lamely to his paunch, “--is the result of old age. Old age and too much spaghetti.”

“Yeah, and that’s exactly why it’s hot,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “My love, this little belly shows that not only have you enjoyed life, reveled in it the way Sathanas intended, but that you’ve survived. Endured. I love this belly the way I love every single line on your face. You wouldn’t be my Copia without them. I didn’t fall in love with some guy in his twenties with a waxed six-pack. Quite frankly…ew. Respectfully, beloved, I fell for the kind, smart, handsome, distinguished gentleman in his almost-fifties. Who is sort of goofy and really good with his tongue. I mean…really good.”

He laughs softly through his nose, regarding you with watery eyes. His lips form the words to thank you but no voice comes out. That’s alright, though. You’re not telling him these truths for your benefit.

“Shall I continue?” you ask gently, smiling when he nods.

Your hands slide down to his thighs, where you massage the flesh.

“You know I hadn’t even seen these - like, really seen them - until our first official date? When you wore those tight, tight pants? Lord have mercy these things are thick. I’d be content to gnaw on them like a dog with a bone if you’d let me.”

“Who says I wouldn’t?” he murmurs, cocking an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” you say with a wink, “I’d compliment your juicy ass too if I could get to it so just remind me to give it a healthy smack next time you’re standing, huh? The first time I saw you in profile in your cassock I almost passed out. Goddamn.”

He laughs and tilts his head at you.

“Ti adoro follemente,” he says, “thank you for making this old man love himself, even if it’s just a tiny bit.”

“I’ll take a tiny bit for now, we’ll work on the positive reinforcement.”

“Oh? And what kind of positive reinforcement did you have in mind?”

You ghost your fingers along his half hard cock, wrapping them around the shaft and leaning forward to spit thickly, your saliva landing on the head. The act has Copia moaning and shifting his hips up into your touch as you stroke him back to full hardness.

“Ah, dolcezza,” he sighs, half-lidded eyes watching your hand slide along the shaft, “if only you had known what I fantasized about with your hands.”

“Well go on, bello mio,” you purr, swiping your thumb along the slit to gather the pre leaking from the head. “Tell me.”

He grunts and ruts up into your touch.

“W-we’d be in your office…working on some…some administrative thing. And I’d watch the way those clever little fingers would fly across your keyboard–ah, fuck–and I’d imagine you leaving your desk a-and settling on your knees between my legs. Lifting my cassock up and palming me through m-my trousers. S-sometimes you’d use your mouth too but…always your hands. Always those s-soft fingers wrapped around me j-just like this. I–oh, cazzo–”

His voice cuts off with a moan as you spit on him once again, the wet slide of your pumping hand and his harsh breathing the only sound in the room. With your other hand you reach down to cup his balls, gently caressing them as you continue to stroke the length of him.

“I-I’m not going to last, amore,” he rasps out, thrusting into your grip, “just like that bellezza mia.”

“You’re beautiful,” you murmur, “you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, you’re beautiful, and I love you just as you are.”

You know the last handful of words will send him over the edge and send him they do, until he’s coming in spurts over your knuckles and gasping your name. You continue to stroke him until he has nothing left to give and when he’s spent, you raise your hand to your face and fastidiously lick every drop of his spend from your fingers as he watches with his mouth hung open. When your tongue passes over your middle finger for the final time he grabs at you, eagerly hauling you up his body and slotting his lips over your mouth in a slow, decadent kiss. When you finally pull away, it’s with a smile and you nudge his nose with yours. Gently, you roll off of him and nuzzle into his side, lazily kissing his shoulder. When he rolls onto his side to face you, you move to do the same but he presses you back down into the mattress.

“Copia, your stamina is impressive but you literally just came I don’t expect–”

He chuckles, gently dragging the bedsheets down to expose your body.

“Your turn, dolcezza.”

“My turn–oh.”

The realization hits you as the fingers of his right hand tease at the underside of your breasts and against your belly, dipping further down to cup at the wet heat of you, driving a gasp from your lips. He leans towards you to inhale deep along your neck, lips ghosting over your hair.

“I wouldn’t even know where to start in praising you, bellezza mia. Sweet - in both disposition and taste, tender in body and heart, beautiful in all ways. Tongue and mind as sharp as a tack and ridiculously amusing. Perfetto–” two of his fingers dip down into your labia majora and you see him smile out of the corner of your eye at how slick you are for him. “My perfect girl. Kind. Perhaps too kind and indulgent to this old man but…” his fingertips circle your clit and your hips spasm, “he will show you just how thankful he is nonetheless, sì?”

You whimper as his fingers tease at your entrance before sliding inside you knuckle deep, palm pressed flush against your clit. An echo of how you would touch yourself to the thought of him not that long ago.

“I’m not wearing my gloves but eh, I hope this will suffice for now?”

Your laugh comes out breathy as he begins to fuck into you at a decadent, leisurely pace, pressing open mouthed kisses to your shoulder.

“I never dreamed at my age I’d find someone like you,” he confesses, “Like you were–like we were made for each other. Every morning and every night I thank Sathanas for bringing you to me, thank you for allowing me to worship you. Anima mia, I adore you so much I wish to devour you. To join our bodies and minds and souls together for eternity and further. I told you before that I love you so much I fear driving you off but…I think we are equally matched in our passions, sì?”

You let out a delighted sigh, spreading your legs further to better accommodate him. It’s nice like this - lazy, unhurried - and he smiles as you clench around him.

“Perfectly matched,” you breathe, meeting the languid thrust of his fingers with the tight circling of your hips, “Copia I am yours in every way - yours to use and fuck and–ah–consume as you please. All yours. Always yours–oh fuck.”

The fervor of your words makes his breathing and his fingers quicken, pumping in and out of you with greater force.

“I would have you all night if you let me,” he growls, his breath hot in your ear, “Say you’ll let me, per favore. Please give me this gift. On my fingers, tongue, cock, it doesn’t matter I need you amore, need to watch you come undone and help mend you back together. Please, I–”

He’s crooked his fingers inside you, pressing against that sweet little spot that makes you whine and cant your hips eagerly. You can feel the tears prick the corners of your eyes and you’re breathless as you nod.

“Copia, please, please, please, need you, need all of you–oh, fuck baby that’s it, don’t stop, don’t–ah!”

Your moan is pitchy and borderline desperate as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm.

“Mine,” he growls, “Solo mio come sono tuo. La mia bellissima ragazza perfetta. Il mio cuore e la mia anima. Il mio riflesso. La mia luce e il mio buio. Per sempre. Mia scellerata benedizione, non ti merito. I love you more than anything. Anything.”

Panting, you blindly reach down to still his hand between your legs and he sobs into your shoulder. Gently, you extricate his fingers from you and bring his hand up to your face, tongue darting out to taste yourself. Tears slide down his cheeks as he watches, entranced, as you suck each finger into your mouth before dragging the muscle up the center of his palm. His eyes are wet and bright, pupils blown as you lean up and place a soft kiss to his lips. When you pull apart, you thumb away the tears remaining on his cheeks and smile softly at him.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, sniffling, “I don’t know what got into me, amore, I–”

“This was a lot,” you murmur, reaching up to push the loose strands of hair off his forehead, “but I hope you know how loved you are by me - everything about you, all of it - and that there is no one more beautiful on this planet to me than the man I see before me right now. And I’ll remind you of this again and again and again until the end of days and even further. You are so special to me, Copia. I hope that even for a little bit tonight you got to see yourself through my eyes.”

When he leans forward to place a kiss to your forehead, he’s trembling.

“C’mere,” you say, drawing him into your arms as he drapes his body over you, arm around your waist. The weight of him is solid and comforting as you press kisses to his hair, enveloping yourself in the orange blossom scent of what little remains of his pomade.

“I promised to ravish you all night,” Copia murmurs, his voice comically muffled by his lips squished against your breast. You snort inelegantly.

“We’ve got many nights ahead of us for that, my love,” you say with a smile, hand stroking along his freckled shoulders, “I’m not going anywhere and neither are you. But more importantly - are you alright?”

He pulls away slightly to rest his chin on you.

“I don’t think I have been for a long time,” he says quietly, “Not really, anyway. But ever since you arrived…columba mia, it’s like I have a purpose again.”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to get watery.

“I know exactly what you mean. Exactly. I…I really need to thank Sister Imperator someday for bringing me here, in the end. I mean yeah she had nefarious intentions but…in a roundabout way she kinda helped save my life.”

“Amore, I don’t mean to sound like some kind of eh, Christian but…Sathanas has a plan for us. And it doesn’t involve any of that child bearing bullshit that was being spewed at you…no. He brought us together for a reason and for that I am thankful every day. Thankful every day you did not run screaming from Imperator’s office the day of your interview. Thankful you saw this…peculiar, awkward, old Cardinal…and saw not only a friend but a-a soulmate. I thank Sathanas but like I said earlier - I thank you more. I would forsake my Unholy Father in a heartbeat for you, amore. You are my true religion now. Know that.”

The noise that comes out of you is wet and embarrassing as you cup Copia’s cheek and rest your forehead against his. After a moment of shared breath, you pull away.

“My love, I’m so sorry to ruin the moment but I desperately need to blow my nose.”

He laughs - one of his weird little “ehehe” numbers - and the sound makes your heart swell in your chest.

“Anything for the woman I love,” he announces grandly, leaning over you to grab the box of tissues on the nightstand and present them to you. You pluck one out and hold it to your face while Copia watches fondly from a very close distance.

“Uh, hon?”

“Mmhmm?”

“You might want to back up a little? I don’t trust the integrity of these things and you do not want to be in the splash zone.”

Copia rolls off you making the most revolted noise as you laugh and struggle to breathe through your congested nose. Sitting up, you blow into the tissue while he watches looking supremely disgusted.

“‘Splash zone’,” he grumbles, shaking his head, “Amore, you are not well.”

“Yeah, I think that’s been established in our year of knowing one another. And, I’m sorry I didn’t realize I was speaking to the pinnacle of mental health over here.”

He pinches the meat of your thigh mid-blow and it makes you choke. In retaliation, you throw one of your crumpled, used tissues at him and it bounces off his chest.

“Augh, it’s wet!”

“Duh, that’s my snot,” you chirp pleasantly. “What you don’t like it? What was all that before about how I’m ‘your beautiful, perfect girl’, and ‘your reflection’, and ‘your heart and soul’ and–”

“...You understood all of that?”

You smile.

“Not all of it, but most. I’ve got a pretty impressive Duolingo streak going from all those nights you have confession duty, you know.”

He props himself up on his side and stares at you with a goofy smile.

“Amore mio, I take back my disgust. You could use me as a tissue and I would say thank you.”

That makes a horrible noise come out of you.

“Copia, I’d call you a simp but I think there would be some pot calling the kettle black action going on there so I’ll refrain. Ugh, what a fucking day.”

You gather up your used tissues with the intent of heading to the bathroom with them but Copia turns to you with his hands cupped expectantly. Gently, you smile before depositing them and watching him get up and pad over to the garbage in the other room. When he comes back after washing his hands and climbs into bed, making his delightful old man noises, you grin.

“Thank you for indulging me tonight,” you murmur as you nestle into his side.

“Indulging you? As if I wasn’t the one getting showered with compliments by a beautiful, nude, young woman?”

“You know what I mean,” you say, trying your best to stifle a yawn. “For hearing me out, for letting me show you how perfect you are to me…all of it. And thank you for the very kind things you said about me in turn. I…will not easily forget that.”

“I certainly hope not but like you, I am prepared to remind you over and over and over of how precious and perfect you are.”

“With fingers, tongue, and cock?” you ask innocently, parroting Copia’s earlier promise. He snorts.

“Dolcezza mia, however you want it.”

“Mmm,” your eyelids are getting heavy as you listen to Copia’s steady breathing, “I’ll hold you to that.”

“I would expect nothing less from such a demanding mistress.”

“Oh you haven’t even seen my demanding mistress side yet, beloved.”

He’s got his eyes closed but makes the dirtiest, most intrigued noise you’ve ever heard and it makes butterflies ricochet around in your stomach. His hand trails teasingly up your arm, causing a shiver to roll through you.

“Well, Padrona,” he murmurs, low and enticing, “I’m not entirely sure I’m ready for bed just yet.”

You’re already sitting up with a sigh and straddling his hips for the second time that evening as you say: “Insatiable as always, Your Eminence. Hmm, do I get to wear your grucifix and biretta? Perhaps I’ll get that pretty red rope out too?”

“Oh amore…I insist.”

#curator reader series #cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x female reader #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

203 notes · View notes

novaursa · 23 days

Note

okk hear me out!

gwayne x daemon daughter // kink repro

We all remember the tournament in s1, just imagine viserys decide that his niece (who is younger than nyra maybe 16) should marry sir gwayne to make more strength between their houses.

time pass they fell in love in oldtown and they raided Daeron as their own. They all come back when Luke was name heir of drifmark (during the audience). Daemon is furious to see her with gwayne.

But their chamber is right next to daemon and nyra, and at night gwayne is way more than ready to make understand that she is his 😏🔥

In Defiance of the Dragon

- Summary: When your uncle, King Viserys, promised your hand to Gwayne, your father was least pleased about it.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @holdingforgeneralhugs

The air in the tournament grounds is drenched with the scent of crushed flowers and churned earth, the banners of noble houses fluttering like the wings of restless dragons. The sun casts a golden shine over the scene, making the polished armor of the knights gleam like fire. You stand at the edge of the royal pavilion, a place of honor, though it feels more like a cage at this moment. Your heart pounds in your chest as the king—your uncle, Viserys—raises his hand to command silence.

The crowd hushes, anticipation hanging in the air. You can feel the weight of a thousand eyes upon you, but none as heavy as the gaze of Ser Gwayne Hightower. His presence is unmistakable even among the throng of knights, his armor adorned with the sigil of his house, the beacon of the Hightower shining bright against the steel. Your breath catches as you meet his gaze, a fleeting moment that seems to stretch into eternity. There is something in his eyes—an unspoken promise, a plea for understanding.

Viserys’ voice booms across the grounds, his words carrying the weight of royal decree. "Today, before the tilts commence, let it be known that my beloved niece, the daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen, shall be wed to Ser Gwayne Hightower. This union shall strengthen the bond between our noble houses, binding the blood of Old Valyria to the steadfast walls of Oldtown."

A murmur ripples through the crowd. Otto Hightower, standing beside the king, allows himself a thin, satisfied smile. The whisper of steel, the low hum of murmurs, and the occasional startled cry from the gathered lords and ladies mingle with the pounding in your ears. Beside you, Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent Hightower exchange a glance, though their expressions reveal little. You know Rhaenyra's thoughts well enough; her small hand squeezes yours briefly, a silent assurance.

Your eyes dart to the stands where your father, Prince Daemon, lounges. His posture is deceptively relaxed, but you can see the tension in his jaw, the way his fingers drum against the arm of his seat. His eyes—those unmistakable violet eyes—burn with an intensity that sets your nerves on edge. When he rises from his seat, you feel a tremor of fear run through you, though you fight to keep your face composed.

Daemon’s voice, sharp and cutting, pierces the air. "I would face Ser Gwayne in the first tilt. Let us see if this union has the favor of the gods."

The crowd roars in approval, eager for the bloodshed and spectacle that is sure to follow. Gwayne’s gaze shifts, now locked onto Daemon’s. You see the flicker of concern in his eyes, quickly masked by the steel of resolve. He inclines his head, accepting the challenge with a courtly grace that belies the danger he now faces.

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. The fear gnaws at you, a beast with claws that rake against your insides. You force yourself to remain still, even as every instinct screams at you to intervene, to do something—anything—to protect Gwayne from your father’s wrath.

Alicent notices your distress, her voice a gentle whisper in your ear. "Do not fear, my lady. Ser Gwayne is a skilled knight. He will honor you in this contest."

Her words are meant to comfort, but they do little to soothe the storm raging within you. Your eyes dart between the two men who now occupy your every thought—the father who has always shielded you with his fierce love, and the knight who has stolen your heart with his quiet strength. What would your father say if he knew how often Gwayne had filled your thoughts, how often you had dreamed of a future together, away from the politics and dangers of the court?

As the knights prepare for the tilt, you can barely breathe. The cheers of the crowd fade into a dull roar in your ears, and all you can focus on is the two figures facing each other across the field. Daemon’s black armor, dark as night and adorned with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen, stands in stark contrast to Gwayne’s silvered plate. The dragon against the tower—a battle that feels all too symbolic.

Rhaenyra leans in close, her voice urgent and low. "You know your father, sister. He won’t hold back. You must steel yourself."

"I know," you whisper, though your voice trembles with the effort of holding back the fear that threatens to overwhelm you. You cannot let anyone see how deeply this affects you—not Rhaenyra, not Alicent, and certainly not your father.

The trumpets blare, signaling the beginning of the tilt. The horses rear, their hooves pounding the earth as Daemon and Gwayne charge at each other. Time slows to a crawl, and you can only watch, helpless, as the gap between them closes.

The impact is thunderous, the sound of steel against steel ringing out across the field. The force of the blow unseats Gwayne, and he crashes to the ground in a heap of armor and dust. Your heart lurches in your chest, and you rise to your feet, barely aware of the gasps and cries around you.

"Gwayne!" you hear yourself cry out, the name escaping your lips before you can stop it.

The crowd is on its feet, roaring with excitement, but all you can see is Gwayne, motionless on the ground. The world blurs as tears well in your eyes, but you blink them away, refusing to show any weakness.

Daemon circles back, his expression inscrutable behind his helm, but you can feel his eyes on you. This was no accident; he wanted to make a point, to remind everyone that no one—Hightower or otherwise—would take what belonged to a dragon without consequence.

But then, Gwayne stirs. He rises slowly, his movements pained but determined. Relief floods through you, but it is quickly replaced by a renewed sense of dread. Daemon is not done—not yet.

Before you can react, Gwayne is back on his feet, his eyes locked onto Daemon's. The defiance in his stance is clear—he will not yield, not even to a prince of the blood. You feel a swell of pride for him, despite the fear gnawing at your insides.

Daemon, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, raises his lance once more, ready for another pass. But this time, something in Gwayne’s demeanor gives you hope. His gaze flickers to you for the briefest of moments, and you see the silent vow in his eyes—a promise to fight for you, no matter the odds.

The horses charge again, and this time, Gwayne meets Daemon’s strike with a fierce determination. The impact is brutal, but Gwayne holds his ground, refusing to be unseated. The crowd roars its approval, the tension in the air is felt.

When the dust settles, both knights remain in their saddles, battered but unbroken. It is Daemon who finally raises his hand, signaling the end of the tilt. There is no victor, no vanquished—only two men who have tested each other’s mettle and found themselves equally matched.

The relief that washes over you is overwhelming, and you sink back into your seat, your hands trembling in your lap. You dare a glance at Gwayne, who inclines his head to you with a slight, weary smile. It is a small gesture, but it fills your heart with warmth.

As Daemon dismounts, he casts a long, lingering look in your direction. There is something unspoken in his gaze, a challenge, perhaps—or a warning. But for now, you do not care. You have seen Gwayne survive your father’s wrath, and that is enough for you.

For the first time since this day began, you allow yourself a small, secret smile. The road ahead may be fraught with danger and intrigue, but you will face it with the courage of a dragon—and with Gwayne by your side.

You stand at the window of the Hightower, looking out over the sprawling city of Oldtown, where the cobbled streets wind like serpents beneath the autumn sun. The air is cool, tinged with the salt of the Whispering Sound, carrying with it the scent of the sea that you’ve come to know so well. The bells from the Starry Sept toll the hour, their sound reverberating through the stone walls of your home.

Your home. It’s a thought that still brings a small smile to your lips, even after all these years. The Hightower is vast, imposing, and ancient, its walls steeped in the history of Oldtown and the Hightowers themselves. Yet within these walls, you have found something unexpected—peace, and more than that, love.

Gwayne is beside you, his hand resting on the small of your back, a comforting weight. His touch is gentle, yet there’s a strength in it that you’ve come to depend on. He’s watching you with that soft expression that always melts the last of your worries away, the lines of his face relaxed, his grey eyes bright with the warmth of the afternoon light.

“He’s arrived,” Gwayne says, his voice low and calm, a grounding presence. You turn your head slightly to meet his gaze, the unspoken question in your eyes.

“Prince Daeron,” he clarifies, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Alicent’s letter arrived this morning, and they’ll be here within the hour.”

You nod, the familiar flutter of anticipation and duty stirring in your chest. Prince Daeron, the youngest son of Queen Alicent, sent to Oldtown to be raised and educated under the care of your husband’s family. It’s a great honor, of course, but more than that, it feels like a trust, a bond that ties your houses closer together.

Gwayne’s hand moves from your back to your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “He’s young, but from what we’ve heard, he’s bright and eager to learn. He’ll thrive here, I’m sure of it.”

You smile at his optimism, leaning into him slightly. “We’ll make sure of it,” you reply, your voice carrying the quiet determination that has grown within you over the years. Oldtown has become a sanctuary of sorts, a place where you and Gwayne have built a life together, despite the stormy beginnings of your union.

You can still remember the day of the tourney, the way your heart had pounded with fear as your father had chosen Gwayne as his opponent. The memory lingers like a shadow, but it’s one you’ve learned to live with, just as you’ve learned to live with the man who became your husband.

Gwayne, sensing the shift in your mood, squeezes your hand gently. “He’ll have the best tutors, the finest training. And he’ll have us.”

“Yes,” you agree, turning your gaze back to the city below. “He’ll have us.”

The grand hall of the Hightower is filled with the warmth of a roaring fire, the stone hearth dominating the room. The thick tapestries that line the walls soften the sound of footsteps on the stone floor, and the smell of spiced wine and roasted meat fills the air.

Daeron is smaller than you expected, a boy of perhaps seven years, with a mop of silver hair that falls into his eyes. Those eyes, so much like his mother’s, are wide with curiosity and just a hint of nervousness as he stands before you and Gwayne.

“Welcome to Oldtown, Prince Daeron,” Gwayne says, his voice kind but formal, as befits the occasion. He kneels slightly, bringing himself closer to the boy’s level, a gesture of respect and warmth that seems to put Daeron at ease.

The boy glances up at you, his lips parting in a small, shy smile. “Thank you, Ser Gwayne,” he replies, his voice small but clear. Then, turning to you, he adds, “My lady.”

You kneel beside Gwayne, reaching out to take Daeron’s hand in yours. His fingers are cold, and you can feel the slight tremor in them. “You’ll be safe here, Prince Daeron,” you assure him softly. “This is your home now.”

Daeron looks up at you, his young face a mix of emotions—fear, uncertainty, but also trust. It’s a look that tugs at your heart, and you find yourself wanting to protect this boy, to give him the guidance and care that only family can provide.

“We’ll take good care of you,” you promise, your voice gentle but firm. “Just as we would our own.”

The boy nods, and you can see the tension in his small shoulders begin to ease. He looks around the hall, taking in the grandeur of the Hightower, the vastness of the space that is now his home. There’s still fear in his eyes, but there’s also a glimmer of something else—hope.

Gwayne rises to his feet, offering his hand to you. “Come,” he says to Daeron, “let’s show you the rest of the Hightower. There’s much to see, and I believe the maester has prepared something special for your arrival.”

Daeron hesitates for just a moment before he takes Gwayne’s offered hand, his small fingers gripping tightly as though seeking reassurance. You stand beside them, a silent guardian of this new bond that is being forged.

As you walk through the halls, Gwayne points out various tapestries, statues, and paintings, telling stories of the history of the Hightowers and Oldtown. Daeron listens intently, his earlier nervousness slowly melting away under the gentle guidance of your husband.

When you reach the maester’s chambers, you’re greeted by the sight of a table laden with books, scrolls, and an array of strange instruments that immediately capture Daeron’s interest. The maester, a kindly old man with a beard as white as snow, greets Daeron with a deep bow.

“Prince Daeron,” the maester says warmly, “I’ve prepared a special lesson for you, one that I think you’ll find quite interesting.”

Daeron’s eyes light up with curiosity, and for the first time since his arrival, you see a genuine smile on his face. He looks up at you and Gwayne, his eyes shining with excitement. “Thank you,” he says, his voice more confident now.

Gwayne squeezes your hand, and you can’t help but return the smile. This, you realize, is what it means to be a family—not just by blood, but by the bonds you choose to create. In this moment, with the warmth of the fire and the promise of a new beginning, you feel something settle in your heart, a sense of fulfillment that you hadn’t known you were missing.

As Daeron sits down with the maester, already engrossed in the lesson that has been prepared for him, you and Gwayne share a look, a silent understanding passing between you.

And in this moment, as you both watch Daeron eagerly absorb the knowledge being offered to him, you know that you wouldn’t have your life being lived in any other way.

The halls of the Red Keep are as imposing as ever as you and Gwayne make your way through the corridors. It's been years since you last walked these halls, and yet they feel as familiar as ever—haunted by memories both bitter and sweet.

Gwayne’s hand rests on your elbow, guiding you through the maze of the castle with practiced ease. He’s dressed in the colors of his house, the green and silver of the Hightowers, his expression calm and composed as always. But you know him well enough to sense the tension beneath the surface, the way his gaze sharpens when he hears a distant sound, always vigilant, always protective.

You both turn a corner and nearly collide with a small entourage, led by none other than Rhaenyra herself. She’s flanked by her husband—your father, Daemon—and their children, their steps purposeful, their expressions tense. Rhaenyra’s silver hair gleams under the flickering torchlight, her violet eyes widening slightly in surprise as she sees you.

“Rhaenyra,” you greet her, your voice soft but steady, betraying none of the uncertainty you feel. So much has changed, yet seeing her here, a part of you yearns for the easy camaraderie you once shared as children.

“Cousin,” Rhaenyra replies, her voice warm despite the strain visible on her face. She glances at Gwayne and then back at you, her gaze searching, perhaps for some sign of how the years have treated you. “It’s been too long.”

“Far too long,” you agree, your eyes flicking to Daemon, who stands slightly behind Rhaenyra, his gaze locked on Gwayne. There’s a tension in his stance, a stiffness that wasn’t there before, and you know immediately that your father is displeased.

Daemon’s eyes are dark, and though he remains silent, the disapproval is clear. His gaze travels from Gwayne to you, then back again, lingering on the clasped hands between you and your husband. A muscle ticks in his jaw, and for a moment, the air seems to thicken with unspoken words and unresolved history.

“You’re back in the capital for the petitions, I presume?” Rhaenyra asks, breaking the silence, her tone carefully neutral. The mention of the petitions brings you back to the grim reality of why you’re all here—the matter of Driftmark, and the question of succession that has thrown the court into turmoil.

“Yes,” Gwayne answers before you can, his voice firm. “We came as soon as we heard.” He glances at Daemon, his expression respectful but guarded. “It seems the crown’s decision is in favor of your son.”

Rhaenyra’s face softens at the mention of Lucerys, but before she can respond, a voice from behind her interrupts. It’s Jacaerys, his young face set in determination. “The matter should have never been in question. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark.”

You see the fire in his eyes, the same fire that once burned in Rhaenyra at that age. It’s both heartening and concerning, especially now, in these treacherous waters.

“That he is,” you say gently, offering a smile to Jacaerys. “And it’s clear to anyone with eyes that he’ll make a fine lord.”

Before Jacaerys can respond, Daemon steps forward, his presence commanding attention. His eyes are locked onto yours now, and there’s a storm brewing behind them, a mix of emotions you can’t fully decipher. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, carrying the weight of a warning.

“You’ve found happiness in Oldtown, I see.” The words are directed at you, but his gaze shifts to Gwayne as he says it, his tone laced with something darker. “Though I wonder if the cost was worth it.”

You feel Gwayne’s hand tighten around yours, a subtle gesture of support. “Happiness is not something to be questioned, Father,” you reply calmly, meeting Daemon’s gaze without flinching. “Nor is the loyalty I hold to both my families.”

Daemon’s lips twitch, almost as if he’s about to say something more, but Rhaenyra places a gentle hand on his arm, silently urging him to hold his tongue. There’s a brief moment where it seems he might ignore her, but then he lets out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.

“We’re here to support our family,” Gwayne adds, his voice measured, addressing Daemon directly now. “In whatever way is needed.”

Daemon studies Gwayne for a long moment, the silence between them stretching thin. Finally, he gives a curt nod, though the hardness in his gaze doesn’t entirely soften. “As you should,” he says, the words clipped, before turning back to Rhaenyra.

“Come, we have business with the king,” he says to her, his voice brooking no argument.

Rhaenyra hesitates, her gaze lingering on you for a moment longer. “We’ll speak later,” she promises, offering a small, genuine smile before following after Daemon, their children trailing behind her.

As they walk away, the tension slowly dissipates, leaving you standing beside Gwayne in the dimly lit corridor. You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, leaning slightly into your husband’s side. Gwayne wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer, his warmth a comfort against the chill that lingers in the air.

“That went… better than I expected,” Gwayne murmurs, a touch of wry humor in his voice, though you can hear the relief beneath it.

“He’s never going to fully approve,” you say quietly, your eyes fixed on the spot where your father had stood. “But he’ll have to accept it.”

Gwayne turns to you, his expression softening as he looks down into your eyes. “I don’t need his approval,” he says, his voice firm. “I have you, and that’s all that matters.”

You smile at that, a genuine smile that reaches your eyes, banishing the last of the unease. “And I have you,” you reply, your voice filled with the love and certainty that have grown between you over the years.

The heavy oak door of your chambers shuts behind you, a soft thud echoing through the room. The warmth of the fire flickers across the stone walls that dance in tandem with your heightened pulse. Gwayne stands before you, his emerald eyes sharp and intense, still simmering with the tension of your earlier encounter in the halls. He says nothing as he approaches, but the way his hand reaches for your waist and pulls you flush against him speaks volumes.

You’ve grown accustomed to the feel of him—the strength in his embrace, the heat of his breath against your skin—but tonight there is something different, something more urgent. The lingering traces of your father’s displeasure hang between you, and you know, without words, that it fuels Gwayne’s every movement.

His lips descend upon yours, fierce and claiming, tasting of the wine shared at the evening’s feast. You respond in kind, your hands weaving through the thick strands of his hair, pulling him closer, as though you could erase the earlier tension through sheer proximity.

His hands roam across your body with practiced familiarity, fingers curling around the ties of your gown, loosening the laces with deliberate slowness. Gwayne leans in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice low and rough. “I will make you scream for me tonight,” he promises, and the unspoken words hang heavy in the air—Let him hear.

Your heart flutters in response, not with fear, but with anticipation. The thought of your father just beyond the walls, likely brooding over his anger, stirs something within you. How often had Daemon whispered venom into your ear about the Hightowers, about how they were a poison slowly strangling your family? And yet here you are, wrapped in the arms of one who bears that very name, bound to him not only by vows but by something far deeper, something that even your father’s fury cannot tarnish.

Gwayne’s touch turns rougher, more insistent, and your breath catches in your throat as he lifts you with ease, laying you down onto the bed. The covers crumple beneath your weight, the mattress giving way as he settles over you, his eyes burning with a hunger that matches your own. “I want him to know,” he murmurs against your neck, his lips trailing fire down your throat, “that you belong to me.”

Your back arches involuntarily, and you bite down on your lip, the need to hold back your cries warring with the knowledge of who might hear. Gwayne’s hands grasp your hips, his grip possessive as he moves against you with a rhythm that leaves you breathless. Each movement, each deliberate thrust, is a challenge—a challenge to the walls that separate your chambers from those of your father and his wife.

The pressure builds inside you, the familiar heat coiling in your belly, and you grasp at Gwayne’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as you fight against the wave of pleasure threatening to drown you. His mouth hovers over yours, demanding, coaxing you to give in, to let go.

And then you remember—Daemon’s chambers are just beyond. The thought of his reaction, of his barely concealed rage at the idea of you finding joy with a Hightower, sends a thrill through you. You gasp aloud as Gwayne drives into you harder, his breath ragged in your ear, “Louder,” he commands, his voice a mix of authority and need.

You close your eyes, letting the sensation wash over you, letting the sound of his name tear from your lips, louder than before, louder than you ever have. You imagine the look on your father’s face, his fists clenched in helpless fury, and the thought sends you spiraling into a pleasure so intense it nearly blinds you.

Gwayne’s name tumbles from your lips again and again, each cry more fervent than the last, as he brings you to the edge and beyond. You feel his satisfaction in the way he groans your name in return, his hold on you unyielding, as though he could anchor himself to you through sheer force of will.

When it’s over, when the last echoes of your cries have faded into the night, you lay beside him, your body spent and trembling, but your mind still racing. Gwayne’s hand rests possessively on your hip, his chest rising and falling with the remnants of exertion. “He heard you,” he says, his voice tinged with satisfaction.

You can only nod, the thought of what tomorrow might bring swirling in your mind. But for now, there is only this—only you and Gwayne, and the knowledge that whatever storm your father’s ire might bring, you would weather it together.

In the silence that follows, you curl closer to Gwayne, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his chest. “Tomorrow…” you begin, but your voice trails off.

“Tomorrow,” Gwayne echoes, his tone firm, reassuring, “we will face whatever comes. But tonight, you are mine, and that is all that matters.”

You smile softly at his words, closing your eyes as sleep finally begins to claim you.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd gwayne #hotd x female reader #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd x reader #gwayne x you #gwayne x reader #gwayne x y/n #gwayne hightower #ser gwayne

380 notes · View notes

leafostuff · 4 months

Text

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?

================================================

“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.

youtube

“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.

================================================

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~

#kpop fanfic #kpop #kpop fluff #kpop smut #nana wooah #nana smut #wooah #wooah smut

382 notes · View notes