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christinamadsen · 2 days ago

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His Valentine—Hwang In-Ho/Front Man x Fem!Reader

summary— As Valentine’s day approaches, the man who saved you from the Squid Game and your debts once again proves he’d do anything to make you feel adored and cherished.

warnings— mention of dead parents, praise kink, fluff, slight sugar baby undertones, dry humping, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie.

a/n— Man, fuck Valentine’s day🙏🏽

Your life had always been a struggle, one that built up until you found yourself participating in the Squid Game. The debt left by your deceased parents was overwhelming, and with no other options available, you had no choice but to participate in the game that would either kill you or change your life forever.

But then came him. Hwang In-ho, someone who had been watching from behind the scenes, someone you hadn’t known was there, someone who made sure you survived, even when you didn’t know you had an angel watching over you. He saw you. He admired you. And when the final game ended and you were left standing, he didn’t let you walk away alone. He pulled you from that world and offered you a chance at life, a life away from the games, away from the debts that had once nearly swallowed you whole.

He paid for everything, your bills, your rent, the necessities of life that you’d never been able to afford. Everything was taken care of. He made sure you had everything you needed. No more worrying about where the next meal was coming from, no more fearing that the debt collectors would come knocking again. You were safe and free.

But freedom came with a price. He was the front man, the person behind the games, the one who controlled everything. The one who allowed people to die for entertainment. The morality of his life was a complicated thing, but with you, he was gentle. He was kind. He was the best boyfriend you could have ever asked for, always caring for you in ways you didn’t know you deserved.

As Valentine’s Day approached, you knew he would do something grand. He always did. But still, you had never been in a relationship like this before, never had a boyfriend who took care of you in such luxurious ways. You’d never had anyone to spoil you like he did. You’d always been on your own, scraping by, but with him, it was different. So when Valentine’s morning arrived, you hadn’t even realized it. The bed beside you was empty, but you didn’t think much of it. He had work to do, important things. You got ready, figuring it would be like any other day.

Then you walked into the kitchen, and your breath caught in your throat.

There, on the counter, sat an enormous bouquet of roses. You stood frozen, staring at the card in your hands.

Will you be my Valentine?

Your heart raced. You couldn’t believe it. You had never had someone give you something so extravagant, so perfect.

Before you could fully take it all in, you felt a presence behind you. Strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into a warm embrace.

“You really are the sweetest,” you whispered.

In-ho chuckled softly, his breath tickling against your ear. “I’m glad you like it,” he murmured. “I’ve got some business to take care of today, but tonight, I’m all yours.”

You smiled as you kissed him on the cheek, knowing that despite his dangerous responsibilities, he always made you feel safe. He was always there, always thoughtful.

“I can’t wait,” you said softly.

Later, when you went downstairs, a car was waiting for you, and when you got inside, In-ho was there with a smile that made your heart flutter. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” he said as he opened the door for you.

He’d thought of everything, always one step ahead. The restaurant was chic, upscale, everything you’d never imagined for yourself. When you arrived at the table, there were bags waiting for you, each one filled with extravagant gifts. Designer jewelry, Birkins you’d only dreamed of, expensive shoes you would have never been able to afford and yet another bouquet of roses that made you feel like you were the center of the universe. It was all so over the top, but it wasn’t the gifts that made it special, it was the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel.

He complimented you all night, making you laugh, telling you how much you meant to him. He made sure to remind you that you were more than just someone he took care of, you were someone he truly cherished. The night was perfect in a way you never thought possible. You were with him, the man who saved you, the man who had given you everything you could ever need.

By the time you got home, you were exhausted, but your heart was full. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as you both lay on the couch, the soft sound of your breathing mingling in the quiet room.

“I told you,” he whispered softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Tonight, I’m all yours.”

And as you rested in his arms, you felt for the first time in your life, you had something that was perfect.

Now, seated on his lap in the bedroom with rose petals and candles around you, you traced your fingers over his jaw, pressing gentle kisses along his cheek, his temple, down to his neck. “Thank you,” you whispered. “For everything, In-ho.”

His hands rested firmly on your waist, holding you close. “You don’t have to thank me, love,” he murmured, brushing a hand down to your ass, squeezing gently. “You deserve this. All of it.”

“Still, I want to,” you whispered, lips inches away from his.

His grip on you tightened ever so slightly as you shifted in his lap. He let out a soft moan when you began moving on his hard, clothed cock, his hand smoothing down your back. “My pretty girl,” he murmured. “Always so ready for me.”

Your forehead was pressed against his, breath mingling as his hands traced comforting circles against your hips. You moved back and forth, pressing your pussy on his bulge, the friction against your clit sending pleasure jolting through you. “I love you,” you murmured, fingers going into his dark hair as you gripped to steady yourself.

His lips met yours in a slow, lingering kiss, fingers going to your ass as he guided you to grind. “I love you too,” he whispered, tilting his head to deepen it, savoring you. “More than you know.”

You couldn’t respond, your pussy was already quivering as his large hands cupped your ass, squeezing and coaxing you to grind faster. Small whimpers escaped your lips and you gripped his shoulder, throwing your head back.

“That’s it. Feels so good, doesn’t it love?” he said, gaze locked with yours.

“Wanna c-cum,” you moaned, grinding your hips even faster now.

“Do it sweetheart, cum for me. You’ve been such a good girl, my good girl.” His words sent you over the edge and your entire body convulsed, your release washing over you like a tidal wave.

He didn’t give you a moment to catch you breath, instead, he lifted you from his lap and placed you on the bed. He left small kisses on your inner thigh, sending shivers through you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. His hands smoothed over your thighs, slowly taking off your panties then running his hands over you again, savoring every inch of you like you were something precious—because to him, you were.

“In-ho,” you moaned, his name leaving your lips in a breathless sigh, and he responded with a quiet hum, pressing a lingering kiss to your clit before glancing up at you.

“My perfect girl,” he murmured. “You deserve to be worshiped.”

Your fingers ran through his dark hair as he took his time, his tongue moving with a patience that had your heart pounding. Every touch of his hands, every press of his lips against your pussy sent warmth rushing through you. You never knew a man eating your pussy could be so intimate.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he murmured between sucking, his hands gripping your hips gently. “All mine.”

Your back arched slightly, a whimper slipping past your lips as his tongue lapped at your juices faster. Your head tilted back, overwhelmed by the way he made you feel, your legs now shaking.

He looked up at you, dark eyes filled with something deeper than lust, affection and love. “I fucking love you,” he murmured into your pussy.

Your breath caught as your grip in his hair tightened slightly. “I love you too, fuck,” you whimpered, feeling yourself completely unravel under his touch.

He didn’t stop ravishing you until you were trembling beneath him with your pussy juices squirted all over his mouth and his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

After he was finished, lips and chin glistening, he hovered above you, his eyes lust blown. “Can I fuck you, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and husky.

You wrapped your arms around him, heart thundering from how much you needed him. “Please, In-ho,” you breathed, eyes equally as lust blown as him.

He slipped off his boxers, hard cock springing free and slapping against his abdomen. You never got tired of seeing it. The tip was leaking with pre cum and he rubbed it along your folds.

“No teasing,” you whined, “I need your cock so bad.”

He smirked, lining the heavy tip with your leaking entrance. Your foreheads pressed together, jaws falling agape as his cock slowly inched inside you. He stretched your walls, your pussy making way for his sheer size.

“Fucking hell, you feel like Heaven, love,” he groaned.

He gave you a minute to adjust before slamming into you with every inch. Your nails immediately went to his back leaving a trail of fire in its wake as he thrusted into you steadily. Each time he went in, you could feel him in your cervix and you clenched around him tightly. Only he could make you feel so loved and cherished whenever he had you at his mercy.

“You’re so pretty under me like this,” he praised, eyes going from his cock moving inside you to your face.

You reached between your bodies, rubbing your clit, pleasure surging through your body and making you arch into him.

“Aww, feels good doesn’t it? Take this cock, sweetheart, take this cock and rub your clit.”

You spread your legs even wider and captured his lips into a desperate kiss.

“God, I’m gonna cum,” you said, breath strangled and tipping your head back.

His hand snaking around your throat snapped you back to reality. “Eyes on me, keep rubbing that clit and cum on this dick.”

The dominance he had always did it for you. Your fingers went to your bundle of nerves, rubbing at the same fast pace he was pounding into you. His hand around your throat tightened and he took your breath away in a deep kiss, as you felt an intense orgasm take ahold of you. Your legs shook, and you cried out but he still continued pounding into you, your pussy squirting on his cock, soaking him and the sheets below.

“Holy shit. My good girl. My perfect angel,” he muttered. “It’s my turn to cum now and I’m doing it inside you.”

You wrapped your legs around him and with a few more deep strokes, he emptied his load inside your pussy with a deep guttural moan. You trembled in his arms, holding on to him to ground yourself.

As you both came down from cloud nine, In-ho pressed a kiss to your forehead, his fingers gently brushing over your cheek. His dark eyes, still clouded with adoration, softened as he cupped your face.

“You took me so well,” he murmured. “So good for me. My sweet girl, my beautiful girl.”

His hands never left you as he helped you sit up. You barely registered when he scooped you into his arms, carrying you through the dimly lit hall.

The moment he stepped into the bathroom, your eyes lit up. A warm bath was already drawn, the water laced with the soft pink color of your favorite strawberry bath bomb. Candles flickered along the edge of the tub, their golden glow reflecting off rose petals floating on the surface.

“You planned all this?” you whispered, turning to him in awe.

“Of course I did. You deserve it.”

Gently, he lowered you into the warm water, his strong hands supporting you before he slipped in behind you. His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you against his chest, his lips finding your neck.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love,” he murmured.

You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect night.

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christinamadsen · 3 days ago

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Boiling Point

Pairing: Dave York x f!reader

Summary: Dave rescues you.

Warnings: language, physical violence, murder, blood, vomit, degrading terms used towards reader, torture (nothing too crazy but reader gets beat up a lot), SA only mentioned as a question, none occur nor is implied, graphic descriptions of injuries, Dave softens up

WC: 5K

part one for context found here

Collection Masterlist

The first night Dave came to your apartment to find it empty, jealousy twisted in his gut, which bubbled up into white hot anger.

You must have stayed the night with Michael.

The thought ate him alive the entire next day. He took out his frustrations on a boxing training dummy, nearly splitting the thing in two, then went to the shooting range. His aim was all over the place; it was the absolute worst he shot in a long time.

Did he not make himself clear on Friday? Should he had spoken the words out loud? Did bending you over his desk not get his message across?

Dave shrugged it off. He decided to go back to your apartment that night and make sure there was no confusion that time: he wanted you, and he wasn't willing to share.

But when he broke into your apartment for the second night in a row only to find it completely dark and untouched, jealousy didn't burn in his veins. Something else simmered below the surface and his intuition began to kick in.

Something was wrong.

You had told him you hadn't slept with Michael yet. If you did decide to take that next step, you certainly wouldn't be gone the entire weekend. Nobody does that.

Dave closed your door behind him and he began to flick on some lights. He checked your bathroom first, confirming your toothbrush, hair brush, and other essential toiletries were still there. A spark of fear shot down his spine and he swallowed.

Your bedroom looked exactly as he found it yesterday. The same dishes remained in your sink. Dave closed his eyes, wrapped his fingers tightly around the edge of your counter, and focused.

What were you wearing last? A skirt. It sat just above your knee and the material was loose, easy to bunch up-

He rushed back into your bedroom and searched your hamper, growling and slamming the lid shut when your work clothes weren't in there.

Something happened. It was the only logical explaination. His worst fear had come true and his stupidity, his selfishness, was to blame.

Dave took a deep breath. He closed his eyes again, curled his fingers into fists at his side and slowly rolled his neck, back and forth, back and forth, only stopping when the tiny cracks in his joints ceased.

It had been two days. You could be anywhere in two days. But he needed to start somewhere, and that would have to be the place you were last seen.

The office was quiet, as it should be for a Sunday night. He knew from experience the security system in the building was in desperate need of updating that the owners were too cheap to pay for, so breaking inside was simple.

He should have just made his way to the IT department, tapped into what he needed, and left. Instead, he found his feet carrying him to your desk.

Dave stood there for a moment, taking in every little detail. He never allowed himself to do that before. His eyes raked over your potted plant, the black cardigan that hung on the flimsy cubical wall, the coffee mug with a lipstick stain on the rim, a pad of legal paper with your handwriting sloppily scrawled all over... these things were all part of you. As foolish as it seemed, given they were all just things, he couldn't tear himself away. Even though he had been inside your apartment countless times and been inside you just as much, it felt strangely intimate to be in your space. Next to your computer monitor, he saw some framed pictures. You with another girl your age, you with a black dog, you with an older couple; your parents, he assumed. One gloved finger traced slowly over the glass of one of the pictures and he felt the corner of his mouth twitch at your wide smile.

He was about to turn away when he spotted it. A square of hot pink stuck to your desk with blocky handwriting that clearly wasn't yours: meet you in the parking ramp.

Dave's eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared.

He raced across the floor, towards the other end of the building where he vaguely recalled the seating plan. He hurried down the aisles, eyes scanning the nameplates as he went until he slid to a stop in front of Michael's cube.

Dave's jaw tensed as he tried to focus. He was struggling to keep emotion out of what he was doing. He needed to rely on his instincts and push down that sick feeling in his stomach that had the back of his mind wandering, wondering what could be happening to you right at that very moment.

Taking a deep breath in, he shook his head and rolled his shoulders, centering himself. He looked at Michael's cube differently, then. What stood out?

Well, it was strangely bare, for starters. Not very common for someone who had worked there as long as he had. All that hung on the wall was a calendar; a free one that probably came in the mail or he found abandoned by the water cooler. Nothing was written on any of the dates. Dave kept scanning.

A pen and pencil sat perfectly aligned on a blank pad of yellow paper. His keyboard and monitor looked dust free, not a smudge to be found. No pictures. No trinkets. No mugs or plants or notes.

He began to check his cubical drawers. Just extra office supplies filled the top drawer, the second one sat empty, and the third one was... locked.

Quickly, Dave pulled out his tools from his back pocket and in less than a minute, had the drawer open. Unfortunately, what he found made his stomach drop and his blood run cold.

One singular file folder sat inside. Dave flicked it open and his mouth went dry when he saw a picture of you, clearly taken with a telephoto lens, outside of your apartment. He pushed the photo aside and a low sound came from the back of his throat when the second photo was one of a shadowy figure walking up to your apartment building in the middle of the night.

It was a picture of him.

Underneath the file was a pistol with a silencer attached. At that point, Dave wasn't surprised, but it still made his heart thump erratically in his chest at the thought of this motherfucker pressing a gun to the side of your head.

Dave took it, shoved the drawer closed, and began to move.

He didn't need to check the security cameras. He knew what he had to do now. Michael and whoever else he was working with didn't take you far. They didn't want you... they wanted him.

And he was going to give them exactly what they wished for.

You had no idea where you were or how long you had been there. It was dark, cold, and damp. Most of the time, you were alone, strapped to a hard, wooden chair with your wrists bound behind your back by cable ties so tight, it broke your skin already several times over. Each ankle was tied to a leg of the chair with the same restraints. Spiders crawled across your bare legs from time to time but you stopped caring about that a while ago. You were only in the clothes you were wearing when you left work: a skirt and a thin blouse. You were fucking freezing, sometimes shaking so bad your teeth rattled behind the duct tape pressed across your mouth.

Based on how long they had left you alone, the worst happened already. Or at least, you hoped.

After you initially woke up, confused, groggy, and vision swimming from the hit to your head, Michael and two other men you didn't recognize interrogated you. It didn't take long for you to figure out what they wanted. All their questions pertained to Dave. What did he tell you about Akron? Where does he live? What is his schedule? Does he know he's being followed?

He began to hit you after your third I don't know.

You sobbed. You begged. You insisted over and over and over again that Dave never spoke to you about any of the things he did under the cover of night. Yet, they continued to ask.

"What did he tell you about Akron?" Michael's dark voice echoed in your head. It was the fourth time he asked you that question. You squeezed your eyes shut, lower lip trembling. Snot and blood trickled past your lips, bracing for the inevitable.

"I... don't... know... anything about Akron," you whimpered. "I p-promise. We don't t-talk about that... that stuff."

Michael cracked his knuckles before cocking his fist and punching you hard across the cheekbone. Stars burst behind your eyelids and you screamed. You screamed and screamed and screamed for help until you lost your voice.

"You really expect us to believe you've been fucking him this long and you never learned anything about him?" Michael scoffed. You hung your head low, and blood trailed down your tear soaked cheek. "You can't be that pathetic, Jesus Christ. I hope he's at least paying you to ride his dick."

"Is he?" another man asked. You shook your head and kept your eyes squeezed shut. "Is he paying you? Or do you just whore yourself out to anyone for the fun of it?"

"N-no," you stammered softly. "He's not paying me."

It went on like that for the first day. They let you rest, gave you time to think. Maybe they expected you to come to your senses and tell them something you didn't know. Then they came back, interrogated you again, hit you, spit on you, kicked you and called you every name in the book.

By the end of the first day, you hardly felt a thing. Their words no longer stung and your body was too worked over to feel much more pain.

Your jaw ached, one eye was swollen, and your head fucking pounded so hard, it was making you sick. At least they allowed you to throw up before taping your mouth shut.

They hadn't come back in a while. You drifted in and out of sleep, body jolting awake when you heard the floorboards creak above your head. A basement. You must be in a basement.

It was hard to stay awake, but you did the best you could. At first, you tried to focus your eyes on the darkness around you. You wished you had been more coherent when they had the light on, but you were panicking. You could only fixate on their faces, on their fists, and you blocked everything else out.

Fuck it, you thought. It was impossible to see shit. Instead, you tested your restraints. You whimpered in pain the second you tugged on your wrists, but thankfully the sound was muffled by the duct tape. The hard plastic dug into the cuts in your skin, and the pain burned so badly it brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Okay. Arms were out of the question.

Your ankles didn't hurt as bad, so you strained against the cable ties with all your might, but they simply wouldn't budge. Taking a second to catch your breath and let the new pain in your ankles ease, you considered your options, which were... sparse.

The one and only thing that might have been in your favor was the chair: it was wooden, and by the creaky sounds it made when you moved, you had a feeling it was old. Maybe you could break it, break the legs free so you could run. You began to test your theory, tilting back and forth in the seat as you listened to the groan of the wood underneath you. The seat itself felt thin, as well. If you had enough strength, you believed you could lean forward and bring yourself back down as hard as you could on the concrete, smashing the legs of the chair and freeing your lower half to run.

You wouldn't be very fast, though. You were weak and you were fairly certain you had a few broken ribs, at least. But maybe if you had an adrenaline boost and the timing was right...

Shit. It was your only option.

You weren't sure when your best chance for escape would present itself, so in an effort to kill some time and give yourself a little bit of hope, you practiced. You knew you had to slam the chair down as hard as possible when the time came, so you took a few deep breaths before leaning forward in your chair a few inches, testing your broken body. You did that over and over again in between breaks, and each time you bent forward further.

Eventually, you got too tired and gave up. But before you did, you made pretty good progress. Despite the pain in your side, you could lean forward about halfway to the ground.

It would do. It would have to.

Something woke you, and it wasn't the squeaky floorboards above your head. It was something louder, more urgent. So you sat there in the darkness, waiting, listening, the only sound filling the room was the quick exhale through your nose.

Then, you heard it again. A gun shot, then a loud thud.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your heart rate spiked and your breath grew uneven. Instinctually, you tugged again on your wrists, only to be met with a searing pain deep in your flesh from the ties.

Another gun shot. Another thud. Now - shouting.

You closed your eyes and swallowed, throat dry and rough from screaming and lack of food or water. Focus. Use the burst of adrenaline in your veins and do what you planned to do.

You leaned forward, whining a little at the pain in your side, and clenched your aching jaw.

One, two...

You slammed the chair down as hard as you could, but it remained intact. Fuck.

Footsteps ran across the floorboards above you and you expected the worst, but nobody swung open the door. They were running in a different direction.

You grit your teeth and tried again.

Bend forward, steady, and... slam.

A crack of wood, finally. But it wasn't enough.

More shouting above you and more gunfire, only this time, it sounded closer.

Panic seized your chest but you had a job to do. You had to try to fucking live.

One more time, you gathered everything you had, brought yourself forward and then practically threw yourself backwards with all your weight.

The chair splintered beneath you, legs shattering just as you wanted. You fell onto your side, the side that was injured, and you cried out from behind the tape.

You allowed yourself one or two moments to gather yourself. Whatever was happening above you was the distraction you needed to make your escape. Nobody was coming down the stairs, nobody was listening to you.

This was your only chance.

You stumbled to your feet, gasping and panting from the searing pain. You needed more air, the duct tape needed to come off. In a state of panic, you started to rub your cheek against your shoulder, trying to roll the duct tape off your skin. Above you, the shouting got louder and the gunshots got closer. You kept hearing heavy thuds hitting the floorboards and you realized it sounded like bodies.

The duct tape was almost rolled to the corner of your mouth but you paused, confused. What was happening up there?

Another gunshot now, and it sounded directly fucking above you. It snapped you out of your stupor and you started working twice as hard to get the duct tape off. You managed to get it halfway peeled off your lips, finally allowing you to take deeper breaths.

Your eyes closed in relief at the oxygen filling your lungs. But they snapped back open again when you heard someone fiddling with the lock at the top of the stairs.

You still couldn't see, you had nowhere to hide. They would come downstairs and find you in the middle of escaping and they would fucking kill you.

So you took a risk. You moved as fast as you could while stifling your cries of pain. Turning around, you used your fingers, which were still tied behind your back, to search the area, hoping to find a wall or a table or fucking anything you could hide behind.

The door opened above you. A beam of light broke through the darkness, illuminating the stairs.

The stairs.

You hurried as quietly as possible and crouched underneath the stairs, holding your breath while whoever it was carefully yet purposefully descended. Your heart galloped wildly behind your ribs as you watched a narrow beam of light sweep the open area. It didn't reach you, though. They couldn't see you from the bottom of the steps.

What the hell were you going to do? Run? Attack? Scream?

All three sounded like you'd end up right back where you started.

However, you refused to go down without a fight. The chair had sharp edges where the legs broke off. When your captor got close, you would turn around and race forward, hopefully stabbing them with the wood.

It was risky but it was your only plan.

Then, the person called your name. It was indescribable, really, the feeling you had when you heard his voice. Relief, happiness, hope... every word felt so small to the way you felt when you heard Dave's voice.

You were safe. You weren't going to die. He found you and he saved you.

A broken sob bubbled up from your throat and the narrow beam of light whipped in your direction.

Dave hurried over and gathered you up in his arms. He repeatedly told you that you were going to be alright, then begrudgingly let go. You couldn't see his face and the way it twisted with anguish when he saw your state because he held his flashlight between his teeth. The brightness made you wince. You hadn't seen light in over a day and it really fucking hurt, but you just kept your eyes closed while he cut away the cable ties. The rest of the chair fell to the floor unceremoniously, freeing you.

"Can you walk?" you remembered him asking. You nodded, keeping your eyes closed. Your head still pounded and everything hurt, but it was over now.

One of his gloved hands tucked itself into your armpit, holding you upright and helping you climb the stairs. By the time you reached the top, you could tolerate squinting.

You didn't recognize the house you were in, but it appeared abandoned. It was in ruins, completely run down, and the windows were broken, but you couldn't be sure if they always had been broken or if that happened once Dave arrived.

"Don't look," his steady voice came from beside you. He lead you through the dilapidated living room, where bodies littered the floor, covered in blood, brain matter, and bone shards. You closed your eyes again, trusting Dave to get you out of there, and he did.

Only once you heard and felt gravel crunching under your shoes did you open your eyes. It was still dark outside, but it was boarding on dawn. The sky was a dark blue and birds were beginning to wake.

"My car's too far," he murmured, "and we gotta move fast before anyone sees us. Can I carry you?"

You nodded and bit back a sob. Nothing on earth sounded better in that moment.

Everything after that was hazy. You must have fallen asleep once the adrenaline wore off because when you awoke, you were tucked into a huge bed you didn't recognize. The comforter was pitch black, the sheets stark white. Were you in a hotel?

Then you let your eyes roam. Expensive looking art adorned the walls, mostly modern looking pieces. Splashes of bright colors and harsh angles filled the canvases, the images depicting a mixture of chaos and peace.

A flat screen television was mounted on the wall across from you, and right below it was a long, sleek dresser. If you turned your head, you would have noticed the end tables matched. A large looking bathroom was attached to the bedroom, and a walk-in closet next to it.

You weren't in a hotel room. You were in someone's home.

Outside, you could hear a school bus screeching to a stop, the exhaust puffing out air before the doors squeaked open. Children laughed and mothers called out their farewells before the engine roared to life and the bus chugged on down the street.

Once the outside noise disappeared, you could hear two voices talking softly below you. A man and a woman. Dave, you confirmed with relief when the voices grew closer as they climbed the stairs. Your eyes locked onto the door, watching silently as the doorknob turned.

Dave entered first. You saw the relief in his face when he noticed you were awake, then worry. You must have looked horrible because he rushed forward, looking helpless. It was a new look for him.

"Hey," he breathed, kneeling down on the floor next to the bed. His eyes scanned your face, the only part of you that was exposed by the comforter. He swallowed tightly. "I got a doctor here, someone I trust," he looked over his shoulder and your eyes followed. A middle aged woman with dark hair lingered in the doorway. When your gaze met, she gave you a warm, reassuring smile. Then Dave turned back to you. "Are you okay with her examining you?"

Slowly, you nodded. Dave exhaled through his nose and pressed his lips together tightly before pushing himself up to stand. "I'll be just outside-"

You made a little noise and he stopped dead in his tracks. He studied your face for a second before asking, "Do you want me to stay?"

When you nodded, he took a step back and leaned against the wall between the bathroom and closet, allowing the doctor to enter. She introduced herself while she opened up a big case of supplies on the floor next to the bed. Doctor Larson, but you can call me Marcia, she had said while she snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

With your permission, she peeled back your covers. At some point, Dave must have gotten rid of your dirty, torn up clothes. You were just in your bra and underwear, which made it a lot easier for Marcia to assess your injuries. She asked if you had any allergies, asked where it hurt the most, and when she realized you had just been communicating with shakes of your head and pointing, asked if you could speak.

You parted your cracked, dry lips and you managed a garbled not really. You touched your throat and Marcia had you open your mouth as wide as you could to peer inside with a little flashlight pen. Across the room, Dave's shoulders sagged when Marcia announced, "She's got some damage to her vocal cords, I don't see any bruising from strangulation. Most likely a side effect from yelling."

Dave closed his eyes tight, dropped his chin to his chest, and crossed his arms without saying a word.

Marcia tried to stick to yes and no questions for the rest of the exam while calling out your injuries as she found them. The good news was your ribs were bruised, not broken. The bad news was it would hurt like a motherfucker for a few weeks. Your teeth were all in tact but you had some lacerations on the inside of your cheeks, tongue and lips, likely from your teeth tearing the soft flesh every time you took a hit.

Marcia bandaged everything she could, wrapped your ribs tight to help with the bruising, and worked on your wrists and ankles last. Overall, she told you that you were very lucky, that most of your injuries would heal on their own over the next several weeks. When she was done tending to the obvious wounds, she sat back on her heels and gave you a solemn look before asking, "Was there any sexual assault?"

Dave stopped breathing from his place against the wall, and when you firmly shook your head no, he allowed himself a deep, shaky breath.

Marcia asked if there was anything else you wanted her to take a look at and again, you shook your head no. She covered you back up and left you with a few orange bottles of pills next to the bed after scribbling down some instructions on a piece of stationary and handing it to Dave. He folded it in half and tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans and it was around that point when you realized Dave intended on taking care of you for the foreseeable future.

He told you he would be right back, that he was going to walk Marcia out and bring you back something to eat and drink, and you just nodded. They left the bedroom, closing the door softly behind them, leaving you all alone once again.

Dave returned a while later with some water and soup on a tray. You smiled a little when you saw the plain white ceramic bowl filled with what had to have been canned soup he found somewhere in his pantry. There was something adorable about the thought of him rustling around in his kitchen, trying to find something for you to eat.

"Here," he said, setting it on the foot of the bed. He dropped a grocery bag of toiletries that he was holding in his other hand so he could reach forward and help you sit up. "You should eat. You need your strength."

You nodded and reached for the spoon with a shaky, bandaged hand. Dave clocked the tremble in your hand and he stopped you.

"I got you."

Three simple words that held so much weight it nearly had you tearing up. He sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the spoon for you. He blew on the steaming soup until he felt it was cool enough, then carefully held it to your bruised lips. You took a tentative sip and looked him in the eye with a small smile, confirming it was good. He fed you in relative silence, taking his time with each spoonful and wiping the corner of your mouth with a napkin until the bowl was empty. The warmth from the broth soothed your throat and Dave's gentleness soothed your pain.

"Think you can take some pills?" he asked after he set the bowl back onto the tray. He pulled out the instructions Marcia left him, then studied the pill bottles.

"Yes," you rasped. His eyes flickered up to you when he heard your voice crack.

"Don't strain-"

You reached an arm out to him, fingers wrapping around his wrist. He froze, staring down at your hand, at the fresh bandages around your own wrists, and swallowed thickly.

"I'm sorry," Dave whispered brokenly. The emotion flickering across his face had the breath catching in your throat. Much of your relationship with Dave was surface level. While you suspected he cared for you, whether he admitted it or not, he always hid it from view. He didn't spend the night and he always remained partially clothed, two lines he drew in the sand early on. A boundary you understood and respected, regardless of how either of you truly felt underneath. So to have him sitting next to you fighting back tears while he apologized over and over had you momentarily stunned.

Your throat, while the soup did help a little, was still raw. You wanted to assuage his guilt, tell him it wasn't his fault, that he tried to protect you and you were going to be fine, but unfortunately you couldn't say that much in your condition. Instead, you cupped his jaw, pulling his shameful gaze from his lap and onto your face. Leaning forward, you tenderly brushed your lips over his before whispering, "You saved me."

It seems like enough. At least, for now. His shoulders dropped and he pressed his forehead to yours with a sigh. His hand gently wrapped around the back of your neck, holding you there, just breathing and letting all the unspoken words be said with a touch or a kiss. It strangely felt like the most intimate thing you ever shared with Dave, and it left a warm feeling blooming in your chest.

He removed the dishes just to come back, ridding himself of his shirt and jeans, and slipping under the covers next to you. He carefully curved his body around yours, being mindful of your bruised ribs, and held you close, allowing you to soak up the heat rolling off his bare chest pressed against your back.

"There's just one thing," Dave said, sounding a little uneasy. Your eyelids flickered open, sensing an undertone of distress.

"Hm?"

Dave cleared his throat before telling you, "Michael... he got away."

Your eyes widened in fear and as if he sensed it, his arms flexed a little tighter around you.

"Don't worry. I'm taking care of it," he assured you, "but until then, you gotta stay here."

You nodded, muscles still tense with worry. Dave pressed kisses to your shoulder, doing his best to settle you down. Your fingers reached for his under the covers and you wound them together nervously, your heart stuttering violently in your chest.

"I promise, baby," he murmured into your skin, "I'm gonna find him... and I'm gonna kill him."

Please follow @punkshort-notifs and turn on notifications for fic updates ❤️

#dave york x f!reader #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dave york x you #dave york smut #dave york x reader #dave york #the equalizer 2 fanfic #the equalizer #hitman collection

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christinamadsen · 4 days ago

Text

GAME OF THRONES 5.01, The Wars to Come

#daenerys targaryen #the mother of dragons

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christinamadsen · 4 days ago

Note

hi! can I request a hwang in-ho x pregnant wife!reader? I think it would be really cute, but feel free to turn it down if you’re uncomfortable! Thank you! <3

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | hwang in-ho (the frontman) × fem!reader

summary | you, pregnant and married to in-ho, share a quiet, loving moment with him as you both feel the baby move

warnings | pregnant!reader, fluff, romance, mild emotional themes

word count | 1.9 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

In bed, you and him share a well-deserved rest after so many emotions. The sound of his calm breathing lulls you, like a whisper that connects you to him even more deeply.

You slowly open your eyes. It’s one of those nights when you wake up for no apparent reason, as if something called you. At first, you can't identify it, but when you glance to your side and see Hwang In-ho, your husband, sleeping soundly, you understand. There is nothing to fear at this moment, nothing that could break the peace surrounding you.

The pregnancy has made you more sensitive than usual, and though sometimes you feel the fatigue overwhelming you, being here, in his arms, with your baby growing inside you, makes everything else fade away.

You gaze at In-ho with a mixture of admiration and love. His face, serene and relaxed in sleep, reflects a calmness that has always given you security. The man who once was part of the dark operation of Squid Game is now the man who takes care of you, the one who has given you the life you always dreamed of.

You move carefully, trying not to wake him. Your belly, already big and round, constantly reminds you of what’s coming, of what you’ve already done: giving life to a new person who will grow alongside you, sharing the same values of love, loyalty, and peace you’ve found with him.

In-ho, sensing the movement, slowly wakes up. His expression, still sleepy, turns to concern as he sees you sitting on the bed.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, his voice rough from sleep.

"No, I just... couldn’t sleep," you reply softly, offering a small smile.

He sits up, studying you with that protective intensity he’s always had. It doesn’t matter if it’s in the middle of the night; he always worries about you, about how you feel. Since the moment you told him you were expecting a baby, he hasn’t stopped showing you his support.

"Is the baby okay?" he asks, his voice now filled with care and concern.

You nod, placing your hand gently on your belly.

"Yes, everything is perfect. It's just... sometimes it’s hard to rest."

He moves closer, placing his hand over yours, which rests on your belly, and looks at you with those eyes that always seem to shine more when he’s looking at you.

"I understand. This pregnancy has tested you, but you're not alone. I’m here, remember? I’ll always be by your side."

A wave of gratitude and love floods you as you hear his words. You know they aren’t just empty promises; he’s proven it in every little gesture, in every action. In-ho has been the pillar that has supported your life, not only in the happy moments but also in the darkest ones. And now, with the baby on the way, his support is more important than ever.

You lean closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He embraces you tightly, as if he wants to make sure nothing can harm you, that nothing can take you out of this safe place.

"I love you," you whisper, closing your eyes as you enjoy his warmth.

In-ho breathes deeply, as though by inhaling your scent, he draws strength from it. At first, he doesn’t respond, but then his voice, soft and filled with affection, breaks the silence.

"I love you too, more than words can express. Not just for what you do for me, but for everything you are."

His words are like a caress to your soul. Since you married him, your life has changed in ways you never imagined. What started as a love full of uncertainty is now the foundation of your world. He’s shown you an unconditional love, a love that transcends the past and everything both of you have gone through before finding each other.

Suddenly, a small movement inside you makes you smile. It’s the baby, reminding you that there’s a new life growing inside you, that soon it will be part of this great love you share with In-ho. You feel that he notices it too, as he looks down at your belly.

"Did you feel that?" he asks, a spark of excitement shining in his eyes.

"Yes, it just moved," you say, your voice full of tenderness, and you can’t help but stroke your belly as if doing so will transmit all the love you feel.

In-ho places his hand over yours, feeling the tiny kick of his child for the first time. He smiles with a mix of disbelief and happiness. You know the idea of being a father fills him with a deep love that he never expected.

"It’s incredible... I can’t wait to hold him in my arms," he says, his voice filled with emotion, more sincere than you ever imagined.

You smile and hug him tighter. Words aren’t needed at this moment. The connection between the two of you is deeper than any conversation. Everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve endured, now makes sense. Because the future ahead is brighter than you ever imagined.

You stay in silence for a moment, enjoying the embrace, the quiet intimacy. Time passes without you even realizing it, until the first rays of sunlight begin to filter through the window. In-ho kisses your forehead before getting up slowly, making sure not to wake you completely.

"I’m going to make breakfast," he says in a soft voice, smiling.

You stretch, feeling a bit tired but happy. The idea that he’s there for you, doing little things to make you feel good, makes you smile.

"Don’t worry, I can wait," you softly reply, settling back into the bed.

But he looks at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness he rarely shows in public, and walks over to you again, planting a kiss on your forehead.

"I promise you won’t go hungry," he says with a playful smile.

You laugh softly and watch him leave the room, his steps firm and assured. You know that In-ho will always be the man who makes you feel safe, who will never stop fighting for you, for the baby, for your family. The future with him is everything you ever wanted.

You sit there in silence, thinking about all that is to come. In-ho’s love has changed you in ways you never expected. Not only has he given you a new life, but he’s shown you a love that will always be there, even on the darkest days.

#squid game #squid game x fem!reader #squid game x reader #hwang inho #in ho #front man x fem reader #front man x you #front man x reader #the front man #front man

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christinamadsen · 5 days ago

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Loved Secrets

Summary: Jeon Jae-joon’s past resurfaces when his ex, Park Yeon-jin, tries to blackmail him. However, his fiancée, Y/N, already knows the truth and chooses to stand by him, defeating Yeon-jin’s attempt at revenge. Their bond proves stronger than any dark past.

Warnings: Emotional distress, conflict resolution through intense confrontations, strong language, intense emotions, themes of bullying & post trauma, mentions of blackmail & manipulation, etc!

Characters: Jeon Jae-joon x F! Reader *Y/N*

Now Playing… Cradles - Sub Urban

0:00 ─〇───── 15:00

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹

𖥸┈┈┈𖥸┈┈┈𖥸┈┈┈𖥸

The amber glow of the penthouse bathed Jeon Jae-joon in warm light as he poured himself a drink. The silence of the room was his only companion—until it wasn’t.

A sharp knock at the door.

Jae-joon exhaled slowly, setting his glass down. He knew who it was before even opening the door.

Park Yeon-jin.

She stood there, her expression sharp, her lips curling into a smirk that failed to reach her eyes. Dressed in an outfit too pristine for someone as rotten as her, she stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

“You’ve been playing house, Jae-joon,” she mused, eyes flickering over the sleek interior. “Got yourself a pretty little fiancée. Y/N, isn’t it?”

Jae-joon leaned against the bar, arms crossed. “Say what you came to say, Yeon-jin. I don’t have time for your games.”

Yeon-jin let out a small, breathy laugh, walking closer. “Oh, but this is no game,” she purred, pulling out her phone. “I just thought your fiancée should know who she’s really marrying.”

With a tap, the screen illuminated—videos, photos, proof of their high school sins. Images of a younger Jae-joon, laughing as Moon Dong-eun suffered, surrounded by their circle of cruelty. A past he could never erase.

“You think she’ll still love you after this?” Yeon-jin tilted her head. “She might be blind to your faults now, but once she knows—once she sees the real you—she’ll walk away.”

A voice interrupted them before Jae-joon could respond.

“She already knows.”

Yeon-jin’s spine stiffened. She turned sharply.

Y/N stood in the doorway, bathed in the dim golden light, her expression unreadable. She stepped forward with slow, deliberate grace, her gaze never wavering.

“You—” Yeon-jin started, but Y/N cut her off.

“I know everything,” Y/N said smoothly, eyes locked onto hers. “I’ve known from the beginning.”

Jae-joon exhaled, his lips twitching into something close to a smile.

Yeon-jin’s smirk faltered. “Then you’re a fool,” she snapped, recovering. “Do you even understand what kind of man you’re marrying?”

Y/N took another step forward, her presence overwhelming despite her calm demeanor. “I understand him better than you ever did.”

Yeon-jin scoffed, but there was an edge of unease in her expression. “So you’re fine with it? The things he did?”

Y/N’s gaze turned colder, sharper. “He’s not that man anymore. But even if he was, do you really think I’d be afraid of him?” She tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile curving her lips. “Neutralize every man in sight.”

Jae-joon smirked at that, amused by how effortlessly Y/N dismantled Yeon-jin’s attempt at control.

Yeon-jin clenched her jaw. “You’re delusional,” she spat, but it lacked the confidence she had walked in with.

Y/N leaned in just slightly, voice a whisper meant to unsettle. “And you’re desperate.”

Silence stretched between them.

Yeon-jin, for the first time in her life, had nothing to say.

Jae-joon picked up his drink and took a slow sip, his gaze flickering between the two women. He knew Y/N was unlike anyone else he had ever met—but seeing her reduce Yeon-jin’s pathetic attempt at revenge to nothing? That was something else entirely.

Yeon-jin turned on her heel and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

Jae-joon exhaled a laugh, setting his drink down before pulling Y/N into his arms. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Y/N smirked, tracing her fingers along the collar of his shirt. “As long as you behave.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “You really don’t care, do you?”

She met his gaze, unwavering. “I chose you, Jae-joon. All of you. Your past doesn’t scare me.”

His grip on her tightened, something dark yet devoted flickering in his eyes. He had never known a love like this—unshaken, absolute.

And as the city lights flickered outside their window, Jae-joon knew one thing for certain.

Yeon-jin had lost.

𖥸┈┈┈𖥸┈┈┈𖥸┈┈┈𖥸

After Yeon-jin stormed out, the tension in the room finally eased. The door clicked shut, and Jae-joon took a deep breath, feeling a weight lift off his chest. He turned to face Y/N, who was still standing by the window, her eyes gazing out at the city lights.

Jae-joon stepped closer, reaching for her hand. She allowed him to pull her into his arms, the cool air from the window brushing against their skin. He rested his chin on her head, breathing in the familiar scent of her hair. “You make everything feel so easy,” he murmured.

She tilted her head up, her eyes meeting his. “You make me feel like I can take on anything.”

He smiled, brushing a lock of hair from her face. Slowly, he leaned down, pressing his lips to hers. It was gentle at first, a reassurance, before growing deeper. A quiet promise of love, a bond formed not just by acceptance but by understanding.

When they pulled away, both were breathless. Y/N’s hand rested on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady beneath her touch.

“I’m with you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “All of you. Past, present, future.”

Jae-joon’s heart swelled, and he pulled her even closer. “And I’m never letting you go.. I will love your secrets.”

𖥸┈┈┈𖥸┈┈┈𖥸┈┈┈𖥸

Note: Follow my socials!

TikTok: @gnstay

𖥸┈┈┈𖥸┈┈┈𖥸┈┈┈𖥸

Tags:

#explore #fanfic #oneshot #fluff #the glory x reader #the glory #park sunghoon #jeon jae jun #jeon jae joon #viralpost #viral trends #fantasy #kdrama #love

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christinamadsen · 5 days ago

Text

Only Mine

Summary: Jeon Jae-joon’s obsessive love for his wife, Y/N, turns possessive when another man gets too close. Jealousy ignites, and he makes it clear—she belongs to him alone.

Warnings: Possessiveness/obsession, jealousy, mild threats/intimidation, heavy romantic tension, minor control themes, etc!

Characters: Jeon Jae-joon x F! Reader *Y/N*

Now Playing… older - Isabel LaRosa

0:00 ─〇───── 15:00

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹

. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

Jeon Jae-joon had never been the kind of man to fall easily. He enjoyed his life, his freedom, and the control he wielded over people with his wealth and power. But when it came to Y/N, his wife— his beautiful, perfect Y/N— he was completely undone.

She was the only person who had ever truly seen him, not as the arrogant heir to a fortune or the ruthless businessman others feared, but as a man capable of love. And he had fallen for her so deeply that there was no escape. Not that he wanted one.

Tonight, they were at an upscale charity gala, an event Jae-joon had only agreed to attend because Y/N wanted to. She had that effect on him—one word from her, and he’d move mountains.

But his mood soured when he noticed a man standing too close to Y/N. Too close for Jae-joon’s liking. The guy—some young executive from another firm—leaned in, smiling at her, his hand resting just a little too casually on the small of her back.

Jae-joon’s jaw tightened. His grip on his whiskey glass threatened to shatter it. He could handle business rivals, threats, even enemies. But another man looking at his wife like that? No. Unforgivable.

Without a second thought, he strode over, exuding dominance with every step. His arm immediately wrapped around Y/N’s waist, pulling her possessively into his side. His lips brushed her temple, his voice dangerously smooth.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

Y/N glanced up at him, sensing the tension in his hold. “Of course,” she said, but Jae-joon wasn’t convinced.

His sharp gaze flickered to the other man, who suddenly looked nervous. Good. He should be.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Jae-joon said coolly, his grip on Y/N tightening ever so slightly. “And yet, you seem awfully comfortable around my wife.”

The man chuckled awkwardly, stepping back. “Oh, I—uh, we were just talking—”

Jae-joon smirked, though his eyes were anything but friendly. “That’s funny. Because to me, it looked like you were flirting.” His voice dropped, dangerously soft. “That’s a problem.”

“Jae-joon,” Y/N murmured, resting a gentle hand on his chest. A silent plea for him to let it go.

But he couldn’t. Not when jealousy was clawing at his insides, burning hot and relentless.

The man stammered an excuse before quickly excusing himself, clearly intimidated by Jae-joon’s presence. Only when he was gone did Jae-joon turn to face Y/N fully, his hands gripping her waist as he searched her eyes.

“You let him get too close,” he murmured, his voice laced with something dark and possessive. “I don’t like that, Y/N.”

She sighed, placing a hand on his cheek. “You’re overreacting. He was just being polite.”

Jae-joon scoffed, tilting his head. “Polite men don’t touch my wife.” His fingers traced slow circles on her lower back. “I don’t like sharing, Y/N. You know that.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, cupping his face. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

His lips curved into a smirk as he leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, possessive kiss. When he pulled back, his eyes burned with an intensity that sent shivers down her spine.

“You belong to me,” he murmured. “And I’ll never let anyone forget that.”

And Y/N knew, without a doubt, that Jeon Jae-joon meant every word.. “Only Mine.”

. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

Note: Follow my socials!

TikTok: @gnstay

. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚. * 　　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

Tags:

#explore #fanfic #oneshot #fluff #park sunghoon #jeon jae joon #jeon jae jun #the glory #kdrama #the glory x reader

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christinamadsen · 5 days ago

Note

already in love w ur page! i would love to see dads bestfriend joel from you!!

hi! thank u sm!! and ofc coming right up on a very hot and steamy platter 😛

Not Your Daddy

Pairing: Pre-outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: You're back from your first year at college. You've changed and Joel is quick to notice.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT MDNI, age gap (36/19), swearing, p in v, size kink, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (fem!recieving) no Sarah, alcohol

Celia's note: Heres jus a lil something :) (not proofread sorry) also part 3 of ain't right is coming so so soon I promise!!

Joel Miller and your father were good friends.

When you and your dad moved in next door a little over three years ago, they hit it off quickly. Their tendency to take on random jobs for cash is what bonded them. Also sports.

You were shy then, never able to hold eye contact and always avoiding him whenever he was around.

But thankfully, you've grown into a woman. Your first year at college changed you.

Now, you were back for the summer, eager to sleep in your own bed and spend time with your home-town friends.

But honestly, you were most excited to see Joel.

You wanted him to see how much you've grown. See how mature you've become, how confident.

You always had a little crush on him—mostly because he was the kindest out of all your dad's friends.

You also wanted him to be the one to pop your cherry.

You were a virgin, and kinda always fantasized about Joel being the one to take it from you.

Sure, you’ve done some stuff with guys, but never gone all the way. You were saving that for him.

You knew it wouldn't take long until he made an appearance.

Your dad had offered to host a small get-together to celebrate you being back. He would barbecue in the backyard and hold bets for the basketball game.

It was really just an excuse for him to break out the grill and gamble, but you didn't care. Only because you knew Joel would be there.

You even put on your shortest white sundress and blew out your hair for the occasion.

Your body was buzzing with the idea of seeing him again.

You wondered if he had changed at all.

Your mind started spiraling at the thought.

What if he had changed? What if he was dating someone now? What if he was engaged?

You glanced in the mirror at your nearly perfect reflection and suddenly felt so silly. What if this was all for nothing?

You didn't have long to ponder that thought because the doorbell rings.

You peak out your window and see Joel's truck in the driveway.

Your dad answers the door downstairs, the faint murmur of voices distracting your ears.

The anticipation was gnawing at you like a hungry dog.

After collecting your nerves, you slowly descend the stairs to meet them in the kitchen.

The loud cussing gave away their location. "You've lost your damn mind if you think there's a chance in hell the Privateers of all fucking teams are gonna beat—oh, hey darlin'," Your dad greets you, clearing his throat like he wasn't just cussing out Joel.

His back is to you, but when he turns around, your heart fucking ignites.

He's just as handsome as the day you left. He looks momentarily stunned by you, his eyes flickering all over your figure. God—how was it possible for someone to change so much? You looked more than amazing.

He immediately feels ashamed for basically checking you out in front of your dad, his eyes snapping back up to your face.

"Christ kid, they feedin' you up there at A&M?" He teases before stepping in for a hug.

He even smells the same as he did all those months ago, pine and smoke. You feel relieved.

It seems like the only thing thats different about him is a few gray hairs.

"Hey Joel," you greet with a giddy smile, hugging him back and relishing in his warmth. "How are you?"

Joel is very surprised. He almost doesn't recognize you. You're so much more...more.

"M'alright, aside from the fact that your dad's gonna give me a fuckin' aneurysm one of these days."

You laugh and shake your head. "Fighting about the game tonight?"

"Yeah, this fuckin' asshat thinks the longhorns might lose tonight—messin' up the whole fuckin' mojo," Your dad rambles, his voice beginning to raise before the doorbell rings again. "I'll get that, need to get away from this traitor." He snorts before heading to the door and leaving you both alone.

Joel rolls his eyes before landing his gaze back onto you and your cute little sundress. He crosses his arms over his chest and turns to face you with his body.

"You behavin' up there at school?" He asks light-heartedly, though you find it excruciatingly hard not to reply in some suggestive way.

"Mhm," You hum unconvincingly with a charmingly guilty smile, holding back a laugh.

Joel cocks a brow, pretending to look at you judgmentally. "Lyin’ is a sin, y’know." He huffs, a smile creeping on his lips.

“I’ve been good, just a lotta temptations s’all..” You murmur softly, your body naturally drifting closer to Joel by swaying on your feet.

The tension in the room is palpable.

“Oh yeah?” He tilts his head the tiniest bit to the side, his voice dropping what seemed like several octaves.

In fear of your voice cracking when giving a verbal response, you opt for a nod of your head, but then shrug just to tease him.

He glares at you but then scoffs, shaking his head.

"When'd you become such a little shit-stirrer, huh?" He chides, reaching over to ruffle the top of your hair.

You laugh before pushing his hand away, your fingers lingering on his wrist for longer than it needed to.

His skin is warm, he's almost hot to the touch. You're having a very hard time tearing your eyes away from his face.

All the sudden, your father calls you into the other room.

"Get in here! Max and Ruby wanna hear about your classes." Max and Ruby being your neighbors who had undoubtedly stopped by for the party.

You peer up at Joel, your eyes almost begging him to ask you to stay. But instead, he gestures with his head for you to listen to your dad.

"Go on now," He husks out, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

Reluctantly you leave him behind in the kitchen, your body still whirring with the adrenaline high you got from just talking to him.

***

It was nice seeing everyone that stopped by for the party. You hadn't realized how much you missed your people.

But Joel was making it hard to concentrate on conversation when you guys were playing eye-tag the entire night.

He really couldn't help himself. There was just something so magnetic about you now—it was impossible to tear his eyes away.

He watched you talk to some of your high school friends, then get up to fetch something from the kitchen.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from falling to your ass once you turned around, his cock twitching in his pants because of the way your dress taunts him with its length.

He clears his throat.

Fuck was he thinking.

This was you he was ogling for christ sake. His best friends daughter.

These thoughts were not allowed. He needed to shut this down.

But the night goes on anyway, people getting more drunk and rowdy with each passing second.

Especially your father, who was currently in a screaming match with his work buddy about the game. They're all crowded around the small box tv in the kitchen, intently watching the tiny screen.

You're watching them from afar, amused by your father and the absurdity of it all.

"Ah fuck, we're outta ice," your dad groans, lifting up the empty bowl in annoyance. "Alright, one of you sons of bitches needs'ta make an ice run, m'not missing this game."

Joel groans out, dragging his hand down his jaw. "We're obviously gonna win—the team's up 46. Make the damn run yourself." He berates your father, who in turn just shakes his head and waves a dismissive hand at Joel.

"Every time I don't watch the game to completion, we fuckin' lose. M'staying riiiight here."

"Fuckin' superstitious bastard." Joel groans from under his breath, picking up his truck keys from the counter. "You want some more beer while I'm out? Maybe my liver too? God knows you need a new one, goddamn alcoholic."

You're laughing at them in the corner, finding their banter extremely amusing.

Then, you suddenly realize this might be your chance to spend more alone time with Joel.

You lurch forward, quickly blocking his path. "Can I come with?"

He looks down at you, a barely noticeable smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He's just about to reply to you before your drunk father cuts in.

"Ya, go with him, he can't carry the ice by himself or else his back’ll give out."

Joel turns his head to yell at your dad. "Shut your damn mouth," he barks, then turns back around to face you, placing his hand on your lower back. "'Course sweetheart, c'mon."

The drastic change in his voice when he talks to you versus your father makes your heart flutter.

He guides you outside to his truck, only dropping his arm from your back when he opens the passenger door for you.

Hopping inside, you settle yourself into the worn down bench seat. Your eyes follow him as he rounds the front of the vehicle, swinging open the driver side door and cranking the engine.

His old country music starts blaring from the speakers of the car, accompanied by the loud drum of his engine.

He’s quick to whip out of the driveway, steering with one muscular arm on the wheel.

You want to drool at the sight—you know your other lips most certainly are.

"So, you got a boyfriend up there at school?" He asks after clearing his throat.

He wants to subtly test the waters, whether he knows it now or not.

You smile, the thought of dating any guy besides Joel was laughable.

"Nope. They're all kinda gross."

"Gross? Yeah, well, most guys your age are." He mumbles, thinking back to his late teens, early twenties—Yikes.

"What about you? Got a woman yet?" You ask, following his line of questioning.

Joel scoffs, keeping his eyes trained on the road. “Does it look like I got a woman in my life?”

He looks down at himself for a second to get his point across, making you follow his gaze.

His wrinkly navy shirt had paint stains on it, his jeans were so old, they looked one wash away from disintegrating, and his beard needed a trim.

You try to stifle your giggle by turning your head away. “Yeah, guess not.”

Your mind starts wandering off, imagining what being Joel's woman would look like...having dinner together...sharing a bed...showering together...

God you wanted to be his girl so bad.

You hear yourself speaking before you even know what you’re saying. “Maybe I can help you—y'know, find a woman n’all.”

Joel casts you an assessing glance, cocking his eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? N’how would you do that?”

He doesn’t even mean to sound sexy but the way he talks makes you wanna melt.

“Well, for starters, a haircut might do you some good.” You tease, scooting closer to him on the bench seat to fiddle with the overgrown hair by his neck.

The way your body is turned to face him gives Joel a clear view down the front of your dress, the skin of your breasts making his cock twitch.

“What’re you talkin’ about? My hair looks great.” Joel knows he’s lying, but he just wants to see you laugh.

Which you do. “Yea, maybe to a blind chick.”

“Oh, you got jokes, huh?” Joel chides, using his free hand to come up and playfully tug at your hair.

You erupt in giggles, swatting his hand away while simultaneously trying to tug his hair back.

Eventually, you two stop messing with each other, but you reiterate that you're serious.

"I mean it—it’d be super fun giving you a make-over."

Joel pulls into the gas station and shifts his truck into park.

"You've lost your damn mind if you think I'm gonna let you get anywhere near my head with clippers."

You roll your eyes and giggle, following him out of the vehicle.

"C'monnn, it'll be fun!" You squeal, trailing behind him as he walks into the store, the bell chiming as you both enter.

He pretends to ignore you, walking along the isles to the freezer section.

"I'll be super careful," You muse, snagging a bag of skittles from off one of the shelves before he can notice.

“I promise I won’t fuck up your cut.” You joke, laughing at yourself.

“Hey—watch it.” Joel warns when hearing your profanity, snapping back to look at you, only half-joking.

You roll your eyes—it's ironic coming from him who cusses like a sailor. You brush past him as he opens the freezer, letting your back lean against one of the glass doors, facing him.

"You're not my daddy, y'know. Can't tell me what to do." You purr, a shit-eating grin beginning to form on your perfect face.

Joel feels his blood pressure spike.

You're making this impossible for him and you know it.

His body moves for him before he can stop himself.

After he grabs two ice bags, he closes the freezer and subsequently steps closer to you, popping your personal space bubble.

"You're right. M'not your daddy." He husks, looking down at you and your parted lips. Your chests are centimeters away from each other, and you find yourself holding your breath. “Consider yourself lucky.”

The way he’s looking down at you like prey yet speaking so nonchalantly has your brain spinning. There was definitely an underlying threat in his words.

Before you can respond, he’s turned around and walking up to the register, throwing down a 10 dollar bill and telling the cashier to keep the change.

Science can’t explain the drastic acceleration your heart rate just experienced—but you can.

Joel fucking Miller.

He had to be insinuating something, right?

Your face is hot and so is the rest of your body, stumbling to catch up with him as he walks out the store.

He lugs the ice into his trunk like nothing happened, the tension in his muscles catching your eyes.

Yet, he still comes around to the passenger side, opening the door for you.

Now was your chance to get him back.

You lift yourself up in the truck, purposefully climbing into the bench seat in a way that gave Joel a clear view of your ass—as well as your thong that wasn't really covering much.

His hand clamps down so hard on the car handle that it nearly crumbles under his grip.

You hear him clear his throat before the door slams shut next to you, making you jump a bit.

When he passes in the front windshield, he's shaking his head and dragging a hand down his scruffy jaw. You can't help but giggle at his exasperated expression.

His takes longer to get into the car and start things up this time, trying real hard not to meet your instense gaze.

When he refuses to make eye contact, you huff out a breath and rip open your skittles bag.

This catches Joel's attention.

"You pay for that?"

"...sure." You murmur unconvincingly with a shrug, trying not to smile. "Want some?"

He watches as you pop a few in your mouth, holding out the bag for him.

Begrungingly, he grumbles out a 'yeah' and holds out his palm.

***

The party had fizzled out when you guys returned. There were a few stranglers sitting around and chatting, but for the most part, things seemed to be dying down.

So much for the ice.

Your dad and his friends had migrated to the living room and once Joel put the bags away, he joined them.

He sat on the couch with a grunt, his legs immediately settling into the manspreading position.

You tried not to drool but your mouth was definitely salivating. To avoid moaning just at the sight of him, you head upstairs, the old wood boards creaking beneath your feet.

You don't see it, but Joel's got his eyes on you, following you with his gaze till you're out of sight.

He feels guilty thinking about how much he wants to fuck you when he's literally sitting right next to your father, but he can't help himself.

It's a while before you come back down, when you do, theres a razor in one hand, clippers in the other.

"No." Joel instantly says, shaking his head.

"Yes." You squeal, beaming down at him.

"Awh, go on Joel, you been needin' a clean up." Your dad chimes in, smacking his shoulder. His other buddies encourage it until he has no choice than to give in just so everyone would shut up.

"Fine—fine. Y'all gon' get yours, thats for damn sure." Joel grumbles, stomping up the stairs.

You're laughing all the way up, bubbling with excitement.

"Come down and give us the reveal when you're done!" Your dad screams to which you giggle.

You basically shove Joel into your bathroom, pulling in a stool for him to sit on.

"You better know what yer doin'." He grunts, sitting down on the stool and looking at you with weary eyes.

"Anything I do to you would look better than what you have now."

Joel promptly stands back up when hearing your words, trying to walk away, but you grab onto his arm. "I'm kidding, I’m kidding! I promise I'll do a good job."

You press on his shoulders to sit him down again, your throat running dry when you see the way he’s glaring up at you.

He’s not actually angry—just a bit peeved that he doesn’t have enough self control to stop thinking about fucking you against the bathroom sink.

You start working, none the wiser, bringing the electric razor to his jaw.

Your bodies are close, Joel can smell your delicious perfume and it makes him wanna eat you up.

You start to notice how sometimes his eyes will flicker to your chest, before abrupdtly looking away and clearing his throat.

Your boobs did look great in this dress, maybe you should give him a better view...

The devilish thought pops in your brain and you're acting it out before you know it.

You set the razor down and grab the clippers, stepping around to the front of his body. "May I?" You murmur, not even waiting for his answer before straddling his lap.

You sit on his thighs and Joel feels himself straighten like a board.

“Kid—what do you think yer doin’?” He immediately sputters out, his expression stern.

He’s trying so hard not to look down at where your dress had ridden up from straddling him. He can almost see your cunt, for christ sake.

“Nothin’.” You murmur, bringing your shaking hand up to trim the hair on his jaw. You curse at yourself for not even having the wits to keep calm, you just know your flushed fave is giving you away.

“Nothin’, huh?” Joel reiterates, completely unbelieving as his eyes drag down your body slowly.

Then, everything shifts.

There’s something more assertive in Joel’s demeanor that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you know it’s there.

You feel his calloused hand on your thigh, your body erupting in goosebumps when he travels it up dangerously high. Using his other hand, he grips your wrist, pulling it down and away from his face.

“Doesn’t look like nothin’ to me.” His voice is a low murmur.

You’re both locked in eye contact now, hearts beating in sync.

He hears your breath hitch and sees how your eyes are flashing between his gaze and lips. He knows what you’re after—he’s just not sure if he wants to give in yet.

You, on the other hand, are dying of anticipation. He’s not budging, so you’re left to drag your hips up his lap and press down on the bulge in his pants.

"Girl—" He growls out before his hands come up to stop your waist from moving any further. "You don't know what your doin'."

"Do I have to fucking spell it out for you, Joel?" You rush out, dropping the scissors and latching onto his shoulders. You're panting and your face is pink, a needy/irritated expression woven into your features.

He feels your nails digging into his shoulder blades and sees that desperate look in your eyes—he's done for.

"No, I won't make ya do that f'me, sweet heart." He murmurs before abruptly picking you up from under your thighs.

A squeak of surprise leaves your lips at his effortless display of strength. You swallow your nerves after he sets you down on the counter, lodging himself between your legs.

"But I am gon make you say it."

Is he teasing you?

No, his face looks too serious for him to be teasing.

Oh, maybe he just wants clear clarification.

Your heart swells at his consideration.

Sucking in a deep breath, "I want your dick in my vagina." You giggle out, knowing he was probably expecting sexier wording. Joel smirks, crashing his forehead against yours.

"Yeah? S'that what you want?"

You're nodding against him, smiling wide because you just admitted something that you never thought you would.

"N'have you done that before? Y'know, dick in vagina." He copies your candance, but you stop smiling.

Out of all the fucking questions, that was the one that you didn't want to be asked the most.

You had hoped if you came on strong and flirted like you had done it a million times, he would've just assumed you weren't a virgin.

But the bastard always had to be so careful.

You didn't want him to know because you figured it would turn him off—then all you'd become is his best friend’s daughter all over again.

You knew if you lied he would just sniff it out anyway, but you tried nonetheless.

"...Yea. Couple times."

You watch as Joel's face forms into a 'yea right' kind of expression before he sighs out.

"Why'a lyin' to me, kid?"

You groan, throwing your head back and hitting the mirror with the back of your skull.

"Thats why—I don't want you thinking I'm a kid anymore. M'not. I'm grown. I'm grown and I want..your dick in my vagina."

He scoffs, dragging a hand down in jaw in disbelief. "Lyin' ain’t a good way to show me your grown."

He was right. You hated that he was right.

Your face crumbles because you think you just ruined this whole thing. Yet, Joel's hands come up to cup your face, holding them there a moment before they drift down to rest on your neck.

"S'alright, you're alright. M'not mad at'cha." He reassures, making sure you're looking in his eyes before he continues. "M'flattered sweetheart, I really am but-"

"Please don't say some bullshit like you don't think you're the man for this job because trust me when I say this Joel, you're the only guy I've ever wanted to be with."

You gush out, your mouth a leaky faucet. But Joel still looks conflicted.

You figured now would be a good time to bring out the big guns.

"If you won't do it cus I'm a virgin, I'll just have sex with the first guy I see, how about that?"

Joel's eyes darken and his jaw clenches. Now you've just pissed him off. "Don't manipulate me like that." He says sternly, to which you immediately falter in your confidence.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I didn't mean it." You shake your head at yourself, biting down on your bottom lip. Joel sighs, leaning back but still keeping himself between your legs.

"Look," you start up again, bringing your hand down to hold his muscular bicep. "I've wanted to do this with you for so long. I really want it to be with you. Even if it's just one time, that's okay. Just need you in some way—Joel."

Your voice tapers off into a whisper because his stare intimidates you.

He exhales through his nose before running a hand through his hair and fixing his back to stand up straighter.

"Alright." He huffs, his face looking like he just surrendered in war.

"Alright?" You repeat, hopes high.

"I'll do it," He removes himself from between your legs and slides his grip down to your thighs. "But not right now."

Your heart drops.

"Why not?" You whine like a kicked puppy.

He brings one hand up to pinch your cheek. "Cus your daddy's down stairs, m'not a fuckin' monster." He grumbles before letting go and starting to walk out, but you grab him.

"Fine, but can we at least.." You hop down off the counter and pull him back, kissing him abruptly.

It starts slowly at first, you're both scoping out the scene, but then you get eager.

A tongue slips into his mouth and he returns the favor, his hands finding themselfs back on your hips.

In no time, he has your back up against the wall while he devours your mouth like a man starved. And just as his hand starts sliding up your dress and he's about to go back on his word, a voice comes from downstairs.

"C'mon down Joel, we wanna see the new cut!"

You groan as Joel slips from you, walking back downstairs while wiping his jaw and adjusting the boner in his pants. *** Now it was a waiting game.

Everyone but your dad's friends had left the party; they were just sitting around, watching TV and drinking beers.

You and Joel can't stop making eye contact from the opposite ends of the room. It was like torture not being able to fuck him immediately.

You're quick to conjure up a plan, though.

"Hey dad," you start, twirling a loose thread from your dress around your finger.

"Ya?"

"Didn't they reopen Chambers, like, two weeks ago?" You ask, trying to keep your voice as inconspicuous as possible.

Chambers was the local bar that your dad and his buddies loved to go to. You were just trying to plant a seed.

"Mm, yea, I reckon they did." He sighs out, eyes glued to the TV.

"S'been awhile since we've been there." One of his friends chime in.

"We should go grab a few drinks—I've missed picking up broads from there.." Another friend says, to which your dad promptly hits his arm because he doesn't like that kind of talk when you're present.

Nevertheless, he casts you a questioning glance. "You gon' be alright if we go?"

You try so hard to mask your instant glee. "Oh yeah, I'll be fine! Y'all go n' have fun."

"Alright punkin," They all stand, gathering up their wallets and keys—everyone except Joel. "You comin'?" Your dad asks him.

You glare at him to make sure he understands what you're trying to do.

Joel inhales through his nose before sighing out with a smile. "M'gonna call it a night, boys."

Thank god.

They all grunt and groan in protest, but eventually everyone filters out of the house.

You stand in the door jam and watch as your dad and his buddies file into the car, Joel standing on the porch to wave them off. Words are exchanged between everyone, mostly cussing, as they make their depature.

You both watch as they leave the culdesac, even waiting until you couldn't hear the car engine in the distance before looking at Joel.

Your breath catches in your throat when he turns around to look at you, folding his arms over his chest.

"Sly work." He murmurs, walking forward and forcing you to walk back into the house.

You're not sure why you're so nervous all the sudden.

Because you were pretending to be bold and experienced before, you had no choice but to mask your nerves. Now, that Joel knows the truth, you feel...vulnerable. But in the best way possible.

He backs you into the house before closing the door behind him, his head hanging to look at the ground.

"I had to get you alone somehow." You murmur with a shrug of your shoulders.

It was the truth.

You hear Joel chuckle and watch as he brings his head up to look at you. He's assessing you.

A beat of silence washes over you both.

"You said you would, Joel." You try to say sternly, although your voice wavers because you're scared he might've changed his mind.

"I know what I said." He steps closer, your torso's centimeters apart.

The eye contact is heavy—it feels like an avail against you. But you love it—love him. You're holding back from jumping his bones right by the front door.

"Good." You practically whisper, slowly taking his large hand in yours. You wait until he interwines your fingers before turning around and guiding him up the stairs.

Every creak under his and your feet sounds deafening in the silence between you both.

His hand is sweating, but so is yours.

When you make it to your bedroom, you walk inside and sit on the edge of your bed, gazing up at him.

"How many women have you slept with?" You hear yourself blurt before you can stop yourself.

His lips tighten into a line before he sits down next to you. Your sides are touching, his hands are resting on his knees.

"A few." He grunts, turning to face you. "Lot of 'em forgettable. But this," he gestures between the two of you. "ain't no comin' back from this, you hear me?"

You nod, your hand slipping over his knee. You're trying to trail it higher up his thigh, but he stops you with his hand.

"Need to make sure you know that before we do this. Don't want you regrettin' it later-"

"I won't." You say curtly, only because you know with complete certaintly that there was no way you'd ever regret this.

Everything is still for a moment, the only sound in the room is the both of your breathing. He's staring at you so hard, just waiting for even a hint of hesitation.

But it never comes.

In one swift movement, Joel's lips are on yours, pushing you back into the mattress and settling on top of you.

It makes you dizzy how effortlessly he's making out with you now.

He slots himself between your thighs and you moan at the feeling.

It's embarrassing how little he had to do in order to get you off.

But it's Joel, for christsake—he could just stand there and you'd probably find a way to orgasm at least twice.

It feels like he's engulfing you entirely; his musuclar arms wrapped around you, tongue down your throat, chests pressed together—pure bliss.

Suddenly and devastatingly, he breaks away for just a moment. "Sit up." He husks, to which you immediately oblige.

He lifts your dress up and off, momentairly stunned by the sight of your bare breasts.

"Christ, you're unreal." He groans before latching his mouth onto one of your nipples, using his hand to grope the other one.

You're a mess of moans, but you manage to speak in between. "Take your clothes off too," you whine, pawing at his shirt.

Joel grumbles, taking his time. He strips his shirt off and your hands are quick to latch onto his belt, fumbling with the leather strap but eventually yanking it out of the loops.

His hands come out to steady yours. "Slow down, no rush." He purrs in his texan drawl, making you shiver.

You groan out in frustration, letting your back fall down against the bed again. "You gonna make me wait all summer?"

"If you keep bein' a brat, then maybe." Joel huffs, yanking you back by the legs so he can pull your thong off. He dangles the stringy piece of fabric by his finger, looking at it assessingly.

"Joel!" You squeal, embarrassed. He effortessly holds you down with one hand against your stomach, not letting you swat it away from him.

"This what you go 'round wearin'?" He teases, grinning sharply.

You shrug, all squrimy, prodding him with your legs. "Would it turn you on if I said I wore them for you?"

You almost don't notice when Joel stuffs your underwear into his back pocket because of how drawn you are to his eyes. He's looking at you like a man starved—you love it.

"You been plottin' on me, is that it?" His voice makes your wet hole clench around nothing. He's teasing, but you also feel like you've just been caught.

You definitely weren't as suave as you thought you were.

"Stop makin' fun of me. " You huff with a flustered face, narrowing your eyes at him.

Joel smirks, finally prying apart your legs and taking a good, long look at your dripping cunt. "Christ almightly..." He groans at the sight of you, his cock straining hard against his jeans. "Pretty lil thing."

Your back arches off the bed when you feel Joel's thumb brush against your folds, tantilizingly slow. "Nice n' wet, atta girl." He muses, spreading your lips apart with his fingers.

You wanted to make a joke about him inspecting you like some doctor, but the words died quickly on your tongue when you felt him stroke your clit.

"Joel," You moan, hips squirming impatiently. "Fuck, I need you,"

"You got me, babygirl," Joel murmurs before lowering his head and devouring your cunt completely.

His tongue laps at you with fever, primarily focusing on your aching clit. The sensation nearly makes you pass out, especially when he pushes a finger inside of your hole.

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod," You whine, fisting the sheets so hard that your knuckles turn white.

Having someone eat you out and it being actually enjoyable is one thing, but having Joel Miller eat you out and it being amazing, was blowing your mind.

He didn't even take breathers.

Joel was consuming you like he didn't need air. Soon, you feel another finger stretch you open, then another, until Joel has three fingers smoothly pumping in and out of you.

It quickly becomes all too much for your little brain. "Hmph..fuck Joel m'gonna come," You whine, your hips staggering against his mouth.

He doesn't answer you, in fact, Joel just wraps his musclar arms tightly under your thighs, securing you in place. In this position, you were rendered completely immoveable.

He kept you right where he wanted you.

"Waitwait, shit, Joel," His tongue is relentless, drinking you up like he was dying of thirst in the desert. Tears are forming in the lining of your eyes, the stimulation overloading you.

"Fuck!" You cry, coming completely undone beneath him. Your entire body shakes with pleasure as you finish, thighs squeezing the sides of his head.

Joel laps you all the way through it, humming contentedly against your soaked cunt.

When your body goes limp against the bed, thats finally when Joel lifts his lips off you. His entire face down past his nose is drenched in your juices; the sight makes your stomach flutter.

"Holy fucking shit Joel," You whimper, out of breath, chest heaving up and down. "That was amazing."

Joel lands a couple soft warning pats against your cunt, making you flinch and squirm from overstimulation.

"You cuss like a sailor, y'know that?"

"S'hard not to when you're makin' me feel so good." You're mumbling, wiping at the tear streaks on your face with the back of your hand.

"Mm, I know," He hums in that caring tone, crawling on top of you and placing a few chaste kisses on your lips.

It doesn't take long for your libido to rise again, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and eagerly kissing him back.

You bring a hand down to palm at his boner, giggling into the kiss. He groans at the feeling, rutting his hips into your hand. "Fuck me now please," You say breathlessly into his ear, nipping and licking at his neck.

He scoffs at your enthusiasm.

Finally, Joel pulls his pants off, letting his cock spring free and slap against his stomach.

You're enamoured by the sight of it. Long in length, even bigger in girth. You practically start drooling.

"You got a starin' problem too." Joel grumbles, grabbing you by the jaw and tilting your head up so he can kiss you again.

You chuckle into his lips, breaking away for a moment to speak. "I can't help it. It's handsome..you're handsome." You muse, getting a fist around his cock, managing to stroke it a few times before Joel stops you.

You don't have time to think or argue before he turns you over onto your side, situating himself behind you.

He's spooning you, except his left arm is hooked around your chest and his right has your leg lifted up, allowing his cock to slip between your folds.

Once again, he's got you right where he wants you.

"Joel," You bring your hands up to hold onto his forearm, pushing your ass back into him. "Put it in." You all but demand, trying to desperately grind your cunt on him.

He tightens his grasp on your collarbone, pulling you tighter against his chest. "Keep your leg up baby," Joel mutters lowly in your ear, letting go of your leg to guide his cock to your entrance.

His fat tip prods against your willing hole, making you dizzy with need. He runs his fingers along your folds one last time, gathering up your slick and using it to lubricate his cock.

Your heart is beating a million miles per hour. The moment you had been dreaming of for so long was finally here.

Joel, taking your virginity—your prayers were answered.

Slowly, Joel starts inching his way inside, the stretch making you gasp.

It feels fine at first, just a dull ache, but then it hurts—bad.

You squeeze your eyes shut and grit your teeth, trying to push through the pain. However, your body clenches down on the intrusive appendage, causing Joel to groan out.

It feels good for him, but he's been around the block a few times to know what's happening.

"You okay? I need'a stop?" He asks in that raspy voice of his, to which you immediately shake your head.

"Nonono, god no, don't stop. Just—just ram it in." You say foolishly, making Joel scoff.

"No, sweetheart, as much as I want to—bad idea." He brings his hand back down between your legs, rubbing a few slow circles into your clit. "Just relax and open up for me, thaaaats it," He encourages in that tone that lights fires in your core.

The perfect stimulation on the bundle of nerves made you forget all about the pain, letting your hole ease up a bit.

He takes the oppurtunity to keep breaching you deeper, peppering kisses to your neck and back in the process. His fingers stay glued to your clit, and before you know it, he's half way inside.

Your holding onto him so hard that your nails are leaving imprints on his forearm.

But you're so full of him and it's perfect. You can feel every twitch, every notch, every vein; or maybe you're just convincing yourself you can. Either way, mewls and moans are slipping from your lips and feeding Joel's growing ego.

"You feelin' good sweetheart?" He rasps in your ear, thrusting back and forth till he reaches that half way mark. You nod frantically, craning your neck to face him, desperate for a kiss.

He satisfies your wishes, kissing you slowly and passionately, like everything you've ever wanted.

His dick in you, his tongue down your throat, his arms pinning you to him. Fuck.

But you still want more.

In a shocking move, you slam your hips back against him, burying him all the way inside.

Moans fill your little bedroom, both his and yours, and for a moment, a flash of regret hits you like a truck.

He's big, and it fucking hurts.

But once the initial pain subsides, it’s like ecstasy.

"Fuck—girl, what'd ya do that for?" Joel hisses, tensing up because he's trying not to come fast.

"Couldn't wait," you pant, tears spilling out the corners of your eyes. "Please move." You're pleading because being stationary is somehow even more painful. You squirm in Joel's strong grasp, trying to stop the ache between your legs.

He's no match for you.

In a gentle but swift motion, Joel situates himself on top of you, closing your thighs together and putting them on one side of his body—all while still inside of you.

He cages you in with his big strong arms, looking down at your needy expression as he gradually starts rocking his hips into you. You're twisting your torso to remain looking at him, clawing at his biceps with your nails.

"This how you like it?" He huffs out, the sweat evident on his brow. "Deep n' slow?"

You want to respond to him, but it's hard to because every other sound you make is a moan.

He's so deep and never fails to hit the one spot that just makes you melt.

Opting for a non-verbal response, you nod with fever, gyrating your hips to meet his thrusts.

He chuckles, the sound alone makes you wanna come.

His name slips from your lips like a prayer—Joel finds it so cute because when he hits deep, your voice raises in pitch.

But he's no better, he'd been groaning in your ear since the start of it. He really cant help it, your cunt is like a silky, wet vice molded perfectly for his cock.

Joel lifts one of your legs up to his chest, securing his muscular arm around your thigh to keep it there. He continues he's deep thrusts, only this time picking up rhythm. He also brings his other hand down to lazily rub circles in your clit.

Christ.

Your head lolls back and your eyes roll into the back of your head. The stimulation was insanely perfect and all too much at the same time.

Your body wracks with jolts and spasms—your body trying to cope with everything it's feeling. Joel takes notice, a proud and lopsided smile spreading across his face.

"M'gonna cum," You whine, your body writhing against him with each thrust.

Your pussy is clenching down on him with each piston of his hips, Joel is not far behind you.

He rubs your clit in a way that makes you come undone, your back arching up off the bed and your toes curling from pleasure.

At the same time, Joel picks up his pace, only to pull his cock from inside you and pump it a few times before unloading his seed onto your naked torso.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the heavy breathing coming from the both of you. Joel's staring down at your pussy, entraced with the way your hole is constricting around nothing.

Then, he looks at your face. Your eyes are closed, your lips are parted, your chest is heaving up and down. He's admiring you and all your fucked-out glory.

He brings a hand up to your face, wiping off the tear stains with his thumb. "You alright?" He husks out, looking down at you assessingly.

"M'perfect." You coo, slowly opening your eyes and leaning up to kiss him. Joel returns it, loving the way your mouth opens so readily for him.

He'd have to try it out with his dick next time.

"Can we go again?" You murmur into his mouth, your arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Joel scoffs because he thinks you're kidding. You're not. When he realizes this, he shakes his head in disbelief, pushing you down onto the bed by your shoulders.

"Don't worry, we got all summer."

#dbf!joel #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #tlou fanfiction #the last of us hbo #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller #tlou fic #one shot #drabble

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christinamadsen · 5 days ago

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This is so sad! 🥺

a chance encounter - a cho hyun-ju x reader (part 10)

summary: a story about how you and hyun-ju met and the following years of your relationship. masterlist cw: no use of y/n, reader is afab, violence, transphobia, homophobia if you squint, misgendering, hurt/comfort, boomers. a/n: sorry girls 😭😭 enjoy xx comments are always welcome

gongju [공주] - princess eomma [엄마] - mom appa [아빠] - dad

taglist: @strayteez3staner @dekiruxxx @jeongteen @sunnysurvives @3leni @etta-huracan @honeyhyunju @basoressia @antisocial-aina @googie-jeon @christinamadsen @deernat @vvlwvvy @psychobitchsthings

part 10. love despite everything

for 28 years of her life, cho hyun-ju had another name. she was the second child of cho tae-joo and lee mi-sun, and grew up in a respectable neighborhood in seoul. her father was a former military officer turned factory supervisor—stern, disciplined, and deeply rooted in traditional korean values. her mother was a homemaker for most of her life before taking a part-time job at a local hanbok rental shop once her children were grown.

she had an older brother, cho won-jung, five years her senior. won-jung as always the golden child—the one who followed the expected path, got good grades, served his mandatory military service without complaint, and married a woman their parents approved of. he worked as an accountant in a mid-sized firm in seoul and had two young daughters, whom hyun-ju adored from afar but rarely saw.

hyun-ju’s childhood was strict but not entirely unkind. her mother was warm in the ways she was allowed to be—tucking her into bed with gentle pats on the head, making her favorite meals when she sensed something was wrong, and smoothing her hair when she cried. but her father’s presence loomed over the household like a shadow. he was a man of discipline, a man who believed in hierarchy and respect, who saw emotions as weaknesses and deviation as a personal failure.

when hyun-ju was fourteen, she gathered the courage to talk to her school counselor about the feelings she couldn’t quite name—the unease in her body, the way she never felt quite right being called a son, the way her reflection in the mirror felt like a stranger. she didn’t know the word transgender yet, only that something about her existence felt fundamentally wrong.

but instead of support, the counselor betrayed her. she told hyun-ju’s parents.

that night, her father didn’t say a word at dinner. but after the dishes were cleared, he called her into the living room. her mother stood to the side, wringing her hands, eyes red-rimmed. ji-hoon was out with friends, unaware of what was happening.

the first slap came before she could even get a word out. the second came when she tried to explain. the third came with words that burned more than the strike itself.

"i raised a son, not a freak."

after that, the subject was never spoken of again. but something shifted in the household. her father became colder, stricter. her mother, though still kind, became more distant, as if afraid to touch something fragile. ji-hoon never knew what had happened, only that his little sibling became quieter, more withdrawn.

and so, hyun-ju buried it all. she threw herself into school, into sports, into the rigid structure of the military, hoping that if she followed the rules well enough, if she became exactly what was expected of her, the feelings would disappear.

they didn’t.

they only grew stronger, suffocating her until she had no choice but to confront them.

one day, two months into your relationship, hyun-ju had excused herself to the kitchen, leaving you momentarily alone in her living room. you leaned back against the couch, letting your eyes wander over the small but carefully arranged space. it was so distinctly her—neat, structured, but not cold. there were touches of warmth in the small things: the folded blanket draped over the armrest, the half-burned candle on the coffee table, the framed picture of the two of you from a date at the han river, tucked between books on the shelf.

then your gaze landed on another framed photo, slightly older, wedged between a row of novels and a small ceramic dish holding loose change. it was a family portrait.

you leaned forward, picking it up carefully. the frame was simple, the glass slightly smudged, as if it had been handled often. the photograph itself was well-preserved but had a noticeable crease running down the left side, where part of the image had been folded inward.

at the center sat an older man with a hardened expression, his back straight, his mouth set in a firm line. his presence in the photo was commanding, his eyes sharp even through the faded colors of the print. to his right stood another man, slightly younger, with similar features but a softer gaze—hyun-ju’s brother, you assumed. to his right, a woman with a warm, gentle smile.

your lips curled into a small smile. “that’s your mom, isn’t it?” you called over your shoulder. “you look just like her.”

from the kitchen, she let out a quiet chuckle. “yeah. i used to hear that a lot growing up.”

hyun-ju reappeared with two mugs of tea, setting them down on the coffee table before walking over. she glanced at the photo in your hands, her expression unreadable.

your fingers brushed over the folded edge of the picture. the crease was deliberate, worn from time, as if it had been pressed and re-pressed over and over again. you could still see part of a black uniform—a military one, from the looks of it—and a shoulder, but the rest of the person had been hidden away.

your brows furrowed slightly. “who’s this?” you asked, carefully tilting the frame toward her. hyun-ju hesitated. for a moment, she simply stared at it, her lips parting slightly before pressing into a thin line. she reached out, running her fingers along the edge of the fold, almost absentmindedly.

“it’s me,” she said finally, her voice quiet. “or… it used to be me.”

a strange heaviness settled between you. you looked at the photograph again, at the careful way it had been altered. it wasn’t torn, wasn’t discarded—it was still here, still kept, still important. but a part of it had been hidden, erased just enough to make it bearable to look at.

your chest tightened and you glanced up at hyun-ju. her gaze was fixed on the image, but she wasn’t really looking at it. her mind was somewhere else—somewhere far away, in another time, another place. you reached out, covering her hand with yours.she exhaled softly, but she didn’t pull away.

“i can’t face him,” she admitted after a long pause. “but the photo… i can’t let go.”

you nodded slowly, squeezing her fingers. “because it still has your mom. your brother.”

she gave a small nod. “yeah.”

you hesitated for a moment before saying, “one day, you can all recreate this picture.” your voice was gentle, but sure.

hyun-ju let out a quiet, almost bitter laugh. “that’s… optimistic.”

you tilted your head, watching her carefully. “it’s possible.”

she finally looked at you then, really looked at you. there was something in her eyes—doubt, maybe, but also something softer, something longing.

she didn’t answer right away. instead, she reached for her mug, taking a slow sip, her fingers lingering on the ceramic. then, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “i hope you’re right.”

you smiled, shifting closer until your shoulders touched. “i usually am.”

that earned you a small smirk, a tiny shake of her head, but she didn’t argue. for now, that was enough.

the familiar creak of the front gate, the scent of home—your mother’s favorite lemongrass scent—wrapped around you like a childhood memory. you grinned as you fumbled with the keys, calling out before you even stepped inside.

"eomma, appa! i'm home!"

hyun-ju chuckled beside you, shaking her head at your enthusiasm. "you're so loud," she teased.

"it builds anticipation," you shot back, nudging her playfully.

the moment you stepped inside, the warmth of the house enveloped you. it smelled like crisped fish and garlic, like the sweet tang of gochujang simmering in a pot. the wooden floors creaked under your socks as you slipped off your shoes, and before you could take another step, your mother appeared, wiping her hands on her apron.

"gongju!" she exclaimed, beaming as she cupped your face, pressing loud, exaggerated kisses all over it.

"eommaaaa! you're embarrassing me in front of hyun-ju!" you whined, though you didn’t pull away.

your mother scoffed, waving off your complaint. "nonsense." she turned to hyun-ju, who stood politely to the side, her hands neatly clasped in front of her. "this must be your friend, yes?"

hyun-ju bowed deeply. "nice to meet you, ma’am."

your mother made a dismissive sound and pulled her into a firm hug instead. "no formalities, yes?"

hyun-ju let out a small laugh, surprised but pleased, as she bent down to return the embrace. she was so much taller than your mother that it looked almost comical.

your mother pulled back, squinting up at her. "aigoo, you're tall! good, good. you can reach the top shelves."

you rolled your eyes as hyun-ju chuckled, clearly charmed.

"gongju, come," your mother said, already tugging you towards her sewing room. "i've fixed the clothes you left here last time."

you squealed in delight, grabbing hyun-ju’s wrist and dragging her along.

your childhood bedroom was gone, replaced by bolts of fabric, a sturdy wooden sewing table, and a mannequin draped in a half-finished hanbok. but in the corner, your old single bed still remained, the only relic of your past life here. you were thankful your mother had long since thrown out your cringeworthy 2pm and one direction posters—hyun-ju would never let you live them down.

after gathering your clothes, you left hyun-ju with your mother while she took her measurements for a vest she had been working on. you wandered into the kitchen, where your father was setting the table.

the man was quiet, reserved, but affectionate in his own way. he glanced up as you entered, offering a small smile before returning to his task.

"smells amazing, appa," you said, grabbing chopsticks to help set the places.

he nodded. "i made your favorite."

you beamed, nudging his shoulder lightly. "you're the best."

he hummed in response, but you caught the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

by the time your mother and hyun-ju returned, the table was set, and everyone took their seats. hyun-ju sat beside you, her posture straight, respectful but not timid. you knew she was nervous, though she hid it well. her hand was resting lightly on her lap, close enough that you could reach for it if you needed to.

dinner started off as usual—your mother chattering about the neighborhood, your father grumbling about his back pain but refusing to see a doctor, and him asking about "that silly ha-neul girl," as if she were an extension of you. the food was delicious as always, the table filled with dishes you grew up eating—grilled fish, kimchi jjigae, japchae, and perfectly steamed rice.

everything felt normal. until it wasn’t.

you cleared your throat, setting your chopsticks down carefully. hyun-ju must have sensed the shift in you because her fingers brushed against yours under the table, grounding you. you laced them together, squeezing lightly before speaking.

"appa, eomma… we have something to say."

the room stilled.

your parents exchanged a glance, your father’s grip tightening around his spoon. "go on," he said, his voice even but cautious.

you inhaled deeply. "hyun-ju and i are not just friends," you said, steadying yourself. "we're partners."

your father frowned slightly. "partners?"

"yes, appa. we're in a relationship. she's my girlfriend."

silence.

hyun-ju was the one to break it, her voice calm but unwavering. "sir, ma’am, i love and respect your daughter very much. i'm very grateful to have her in my life."

your mother exhaled sharply, shaking her head. she set her chopsticks down, rubbing her hands together as if trying to process the words.

"this is unnatural," she murmured, her voice laced with something between disbelief and distress. "you were never like this before."

"we raised you properly," your father added, his tone not angry, but weighted with something worse—disappointment.

you felt a sharp pang in your chest.

"appa, eomma, this isn't something that just happened. it's not a phase, not something i was influenced into. this is who i am."

your mother shook her head again, her hands gripping the edge of the table. "maybe… maybe we should see someone. a shaman, perhaps. there could be—"

"eomma," you interrupted, your voice firm but not unkind. "there is nothing to fix. this is not a curse. this is me."

she looked at you, truly looked at you, as if trying to find something in your face that would tell her this was a joke, a mistake. but all she found was certainty. your father sighed, rubbing his temple. he didn’t argue further, but the silence between you felt heavier than words.

the rest of the dinner was quiet, the conversation reduced to murmurs about work and tv, but it was hollow, a forced attempt at normalcy. when it was time to leave, you bowed politely, hyun-ju following suit, and stepped outside. the night air was crisp, the silence between you thick with unspoken words.

"that was… expected," you murmured, exhaling slowly.

hyun-ju’s fingers found yours again, warm and reassuring. "i'm sorry."

you shook your head. "it's okay. they’ll come around. they just need time."

she studied you for a long moment, her gaze searching. then, with a small nod, she squeezed your hand. "okay."

two weeks later when your mother called, asking you to pick up hyun-ju’s vest, you knew what it meant. she wasn’t ready to say the words, to admit outright that she was trying, but this was her way of extending a white flag. a small, hesitant step forward.

you and hyun-ju arrived after work, the house feeling as familiar as ever, but the air between you and your mother was different—less tense, less uncertain. hyun-ju changed behind the folding screen while you sat on the edge of the bed, watching your mother as she sorted through a box of fabric.

"how’s appa? still getting night shifts?" you asked, trying to fill the silence.

"stubborn as ever," she muttered, shaking her head. "his back is getting worse, but does he listen? no."

you smiled softly. some things never changed.

hyun-ju emerged from behind the screen, rolling her shoulders in the vest. it fit her perfectly, the fabric hugging her frame in just the right way. your mother stood, pins in hand, stepping forward to inspect it. she pinched the fabric at the sides, tugged lightly at the hem, then nodded in satisfaction.

"it’s perfect," hyun-ju said, admiring the fit in the mirror.

your mother sniffed, crossing her arms. "of course it is. i'm good at what i do."

you laughed, shaking your head. then, without warning, she turned to the two of you, pointing a firm finger in your direction.

"look, i don't know how you're going to do it," she started, her tone serious. "but i want grandchildren."

hyun-ju choked on air. you stared at her, wide-eyed. "eomma—"

"ahh, don't laugh, i'm serious!" she scolded, swatting your arm. "children! not cats, huh?"

you and hyun-ju exchanged a look before bursting into laughter. your mother huffed but didn’t push further. instead, she turned back to her sewing, muttering something under her breath about "at least one baby, just one."

and just like that, you knew everything would be fine.

it started with small comments.

"you know, my mom asked about you today," you’d mention over dinner. or, "i think my dad actually likes you. he said you were ‘very tall, like a volleyball player’ that’s his way of complimenting people, you know." or, "they came around, hyun-ju. i really think yours can too."

at first, she would only nod, offering a small, unreadable smile. but you could tell she wasn’t convinced. then, one night, as you lay together in bed, tangled in each other’s warmth, you tried again.

"i think you should try talking to them," you murmured, tracing soft circles on her arm.

hyun-ju sighed, her body tensing slightly. "i don’t know, aein. i don’t think it’ll be like how it was for you."

"you don’t know that," you pressed gently. "they might surprise you. my parents did."

she was silent for a long time, staring up at the ceiling. then, quietly, she said, "you don’t know what you’re asking."

you propped yourself up on your elbow. "hyun-ju, i know they’re traditional, but they’re your family. they love you."

she let out a bitter chuckle.

"love me?" she repeated. "do you want to know what happened the last time i tried to talk to them about this?"

you frowned. "what do you mean?"

she exhaled, rubbing her hands over her face, as if bracing herself. then, she told you.

"i didn’t even know what being trans was back then," she began, her voice quiet, but steady. "i just knew that something was wrong. that i didn’t feel right. that i didn’t fit."

she swallowed. "so i did what i thought i was supposed to do. i went to the school counselor."

you already knew this wasn’t going to end well.

"i told her that i felt… different. that i didn’t understand why i hated being called a boy, why i hated my name, why i felt sick every time i looked in the mirror."

her fingers tightened into fists. "she told my parents."

your breath hitched. "she what?"

"she called them in. she said i needed ‘guidance.’ that i was ‘confused.’"

she let out a shaky breath, staring at the ceiling again, as if the memory was playing out above her.

"my father didn’t say anything at first. he just listened. nodded. and then, when we got home, he beat me so badly i couldn’t go to school for a week."

you sat up fully now, staring at her in horror. "hyun-ju—"

"he told me that whatever ‘nonsense’ i was thinking, i better forget it. that i was a boy. that i would always be a boy. and if i ever embarrassed him like that again, he’d make sure i regretted it for the rest of my life."

she turned her head to look at you, her eyes unreadable. "so, i forgot it. i buried it. i didn’t speak about it again for another ten years."

tears blurred your vision as you reached for her, pulling her into your arms. "i’m so sorry, aein. i shouldn’t have pushed you. i didn’t know." she held you back just as tightly.

"it’s okay," she murmured. "you didn’t know."

you pressed a kiss to her temple, vowing silently that you would never, ever let her go through something like that alone again.

a month later, hyun-ju surprised you.

"i want to see them."

you hesitated. "are you sure?"

"no," she admitted. "but i need to do this. and i want you there."

"of course," you said immediately. "i’d never leave you alone in a moment like this."

the drive to hyun-ju’s childhood home stretched longer than it should have, the silence between you thick with unspoken fears. she had barely spoken since you left the apartment, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. the tension in her shoulders was palpable, her breath measured but too controlled, as if she was trying to stop herself from unraveling before you even got there. you could feel it radiating off her, a quiet storm she was trying to suppress.

you reached over, resting your hand on her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze. "you don’t have to do this, aein," you murmured, your thumb stroking small, soothing circles over the fabric of her jeans.

she swallowed hard, her gaze locked on the road ahead. "i do."

you nodded, though you still weren’t sure.

hyun-ju had chosen a time when she thought her father wouldn’t be home. she had calculated everything—the hour of the day, the likelihood of his errands, the small window in which she might be able to see her mother alone. but as she pulled up in front of the house, something in your gut twisted. it was bigger than you imagined, a nice two-story home with a tall iron fence, the kind of place that might have once felt warm but now seemed hollow, abandoned even with people still living inside. you glanced at hyun-ju, her face unreadable, her fingers twitching slightly against the steering wheel.

"are you ready?" you asked softly.

she didn’t answer right away. then, after a long pause, she unbuckled her seatbelt and nodded. "let’s go."

you followed her to the front door, standing just behind her as she rang the doorbell. seconds stretched into eternity. then—

the door creaked open, revealing an older woman with soft, lined features and tired eyes.

her mother.

she froze the moment she saw hyun-ju. her lips parted slightly, her brows knitting together in confusion. she whispered an unfamiliar name, sounding jarring in your ears.

hyun-ju’s body stiffened beside you, but her voice was steady. "it’s hyun-ju, eomma."

her mother’s expression faltered, her gaze flickering to you, then back to hyun-ju. "can we come in?" hyun-ju asked, her voice softer now.

there was a brief hesitation, the kind that felt like a lifetime. then, in a hurried motion, her mother stepped aside. "quickly," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid someone might hear.

she ushered you both inside, glancing over her shoulder nervously. you barely had time to process what was happening before a deep, sharp voice cut through the air.

"what the hell is going on here?"

the warmth of the kitchen vanished in an instant, replaced by something thick and suffocating. hyun-ju went rigid beside you. you turned, and there he was—her father, a tall, broad-shouldered man with graying hair and a face hardened by time and bitterness. his eyes landed on hyun-ju, and his expression twisted into something ugly.

"what is this?" he spat, his voice thick with disdain. "why are you here? dressed like—like this?!"

hyun-ju opened her mouth, but before she could speak, her mother stepped between them. "please, just—"

"no!" he barked. "i want to hear it from him. what the hell is this? some kind of joke?"

you saw it then—the way hyun-ju’s fingers curled into fists at her sides, the way her shoulders tensed as if bracing for impact. she had been here before.

"appa," she started, her voice calm but firm. "i came to talk."

"talk?" he let out a cruel laugh. "you want to talk? after embarrassing this family? after throwing away everything we gave you? you want to talk?"

hyun-ju stood her ground. "i didn’t throw anything away."

her father scoffed. "you were my son. my youngest. you had a future. a career. you thought i didn't know you left your station? and you threw it all away to—what? play dress-up?"

your blood boiled. "she’s not playing dress-up," you snapped before you could stop yourself.

his head whipped toward you, his eyes narrowing. "who the hell are you?"

"someone who loves her," you shot back. "and someone who won’t let you treat her like this."

a flicker of something dark passed over his face. then, before you could react, he shoved you—hard. you stumbled back, catching yourself against the table. hyun-ju moved instantly. she shoved him back, her voice sharp, furious. "don’t touch her."

her father laughed. "ah, there’s the son i raised."

the words landed like a slap. hyun-ju’s entire body went rigid, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. then she lunged again, shoving him harder this time and her mother wailed.

you moved quickly, stepping between them, pressing your hands to hyun-ju’s chest. "hyun-ju, stop," you whispered, your voice urgent but gentle. "this is what he wants. let’s go."

her breath was ragged, her hands trembling. but then she looked at you. and slowly, painfully, she let go. you grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the door.

"don’t you ever come back here again!" her father shouted.

hyun-ju didn’t look back.

hyun-ju was silent as she walked to the car, her hands shaking so badly she fumbled with the keys. you took them from her gently. "i’ll drive." she didn’t argue.

the car ride home was suffocating. hyun-ju stared out the window, her face blank, her hands clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone pale. you didn’t speak. not until you pulled into the driveway, parked the car, and turned to her.

she was shaking. without thinking, you reached over, unbuckled her seatbelt, then your own, and pulled her into your arms. she broke. her entire body shuddered against yours as the first sob tore through her. you held her, running your fingers through her hair, whispering, "i’ve got you. i’ve got you."

minutes passed. maybe hours. when her sobs quieted into soft whimpers, you pulled back just enough to press kisses all over her face. "i’m sorry it had to be like this, aein," you murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

she nodded, her eyes red and puffy. "let’s go inside, yes?" you said softly. "take a warm shower, drink some tea, and relax together. just you and me. sounds good?"

she sniffled and nodded. inside, she showered while you made tea. when she came out, hair damp, face exhausted, she crawled into bed beside you, resting her head on your chest. the sound of your heartbeat steadied her, grounding her in something real, something safe.

"did you ever tell your brother?" you asked softly.

she hesitated. then, "no. he doesn’t know anything."

you exhaled, running your fingers down her back. "maybe one day."

she didn’t answer.

but as she lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of your heart, she realized something—no matter how much the world tried to tear her down, no matter how many times she was told she wasn’t enough, there was one undeniable truth.

she was here. she was loved. and in the quiet, in the space between heartbeats, she knew—she belonged.

107 notes · View notes

christinamadsen · 6 days ago

Text

nail tech

dad!pedro pascal x f!reader

masterlist | join the tag list!

summary: slow mornings with the kids.

wc: 1k

genre: solely fluff

a/n: the first thing i wrote after 6 months is a pedro pascal blurb, that's incredible... oh, and @leclercsinner and @yungbludz , thank you for not being on my side while writing this... (jk)

You drop your bag on the table at the entryway and take a glance at the living room, which looks like a toy disaster from the previous day, with Barbies, Legos, and coloring books scattered all over the floor and couch. As you make your way upstairs, you take a mental note to clean up the room before it gets any worse.

Leo, who is squirming on your neck while hugging his fox plushie, is babbling about some things you don't quite understand, but his enthusiasm still makes you giggle. “I think Daddy is still sleeping, baby,” you say, softly kissing his soft, blond hair that resembles your husband's hair in his baby pictures. “Let's wake him up, yeah?”

You push open the half-closed door and are greeted by the heart-melting sight of your daughter sprawled on the queen-sized bed, surrounded by her favorite plushies, while your husband lies on his back on the right side of the bed. You can't help but smile at the scene as you walk toward Pedro's side, sitting on the bed, trying your best not to wake him up.

“You ready, baby boy?” you whisper to Leo and place him on Pedro's bare chest when he gives you a giggle. You keep your hands on his soft torso as he tries to nibble on his daddy's chest with his barely visible three teeth, leaving spittle on Pedro's skin.

Pedro slowly opens his eyes with a smile. His left hand finds your knee and gently squeezes it. “Well, what a wet way to wake up,” he groans, gently pinching Leo's chubby cheeks.

“Did you like it?” you ask, grinning teasingly as you push the messy, wavy hair off his forehead. “It would have been better if his teeth weren't as sharp,” he replies, leaning in to leave a tender kiss on your lips. “Good morning, cariño.”

“Oh, ask me about it!” you grin against his lips, pressing your lips to his. “Good morning, my love.”

“Good morning!” Olivia, your four-year-old daughter, squeaks, drawing your attention as she crawls closer to her daddy's side, resting her head on Pedro’s shoulder. You know that she misses mornings like this, just like you and Pedro, so you decide to spend the rest of the morning in bed, listening to her interesting dreams and playing a little until she groans about being hungry.

“Liv,” Pedro says, feeding Leo with some blueberry porridge, “Have you seen Mama's nails? She got them done when we were sleeping.”

Olivia shakes her head, her brown eyes shining with excitement. “Mommy,” she whines, “Can I see them?”

You smile and take a sip of your coffee, “Of course, baby.” you reply, allowing her to take your hand between her little ones. She examines each of your nails, something she likely got from her daddy. “So pretty, mommy! So shiny!” she giggles.

“You like them?” you ask, earning another giggle from her, “Yes!”

“We can paint your nails later, princess,” Pedro says, pushing another spoonful into Leo's mouth while making a silly face to get him to eat.

“Can we now? Please?” Olivia asks, her eyes darting between you and Pedro but mainly focusing on him, as it's easier to convince him. “You should finish your breakfast first, baby.” you say, but she pouts at Pedro, giving him those eyes that can melt him instantly. “Don't look at me like that, princess, you heard her.” he replies, chuckling.

After breakfast, you leave Pedro and Olivia on their own and head upstairs to tuck Leo in for a nap, staying with him for a while before returning to join them. However, when you come back, you see they have already started painting Olivia's nails and watching cartoons.

“Hello, there,” you say, walking towards them. “I see you couldn’t wait for me.” you sit next to the toddler and kiss the top of her head.

“Daddy’s doing my nails now, and I’m gonna do his later,” she replies, her eyes still fixed on the glittery nail polish that resembles the color of your nails.

“That’s wonderful, baby. I bet daddy would love that purple glittery one,” you say, smiling and gently caressing her soft hair. “Do you need my help?”

She giggles and shakes her head, “Daddy chose that one,” she says proudly.

“Did you?” you can’t help but laugh. “Yes, but how did you know that?” he asks, feigning confusion as if you haven't known him for years.

“I married you, old man.” you tease him.

“Okay, we’re done down there, Liv!” he says with a smile, proudly admiring her painted nails. “Now it’s my turn!”

She puts down the pink tube and tries to open the purple one. However, when she realizes that her still-wet nails are leaving a stain on her palm, she hands it to you. “Mommy, can you open it?” she asks with a pout, looking at her nails. “They’re ruined.”

“Of course, baby.” you reply, opening the tube and giving it back to her as Pedro tickles her side and says, “Don’t make that face; we can paint them again.”

She smiles and places his big hand on her knees, beginning to brush the purple paint on his nails, trying not to smear the paint on his fingers (well, she painted almost all of her hands while painting her own nails). After painting two of his nails, she looks at him with a grin, “Can I use pink, too?”

“Sure, princess, whatever you want,” he replies with no hesitation.

“And green? And- and blue because Mr. Fantastic loves blue!” she exclaims, filled with excitement and energy.

You encourage her before Pedro can say anything. “What about coloring daddy's nails like a rainbow, baby? Different colors for each nail? And he could even show them off to everyone during his interview tomorrow.”

Olivia first looks at you and then at Pedro, and at this point, Pedro knows that he has no chance but to let her do whatever she wants.

“You're gonna look so pretty, Daddy!” she chuckles.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal blurb #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fluff #a's fics

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christinamadsen · 6 days ago

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So excited for this!! 😍 Can i please join the taglist please? 👀

A Princess & Her Knight Masterlist

MAIN MASTERLIST / MARVEL MASTERLIST

Knight! James Logan Howlett x Princess! Female Reader

Summary: The story of Princess Y/N Xavier and her Knight.

Warnings: Every chapter will have its own warnings but here are some overall warnings: nakedness, talk of sex / sexual innuendos (no actual smut), torture, abuse, death of main character(s), serious injuries, canon-level violence.

Notes: I DO NOT DO TAGLISTS. I just encourage everyone to follow and interact! I’m excited for this series! Likes, reblogs, comments and asks are encouraged and very appreciated!

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

MORE CHAPTERS COMING SOON

Character Introduction

Playlist

MORE COMING SOON

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christinamadsen · 6 days ago

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Amorous - Final Chapter - Frontman x fem! reader.

WARNINGS: Suicide, mention of blood, death, heartbreak

NOTES: i Recommend listening to Iris by Goo Goo dolls for the extra heartbreak:)))

See other chapters here:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2, Part 1

Chapter 2, Part 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Wordcount - 1K

Tags: @cypherpt5fttaehyung @tinylawyerbluebird

youtube

“Y/N No!” In-ho’s voice is silenced by the ringing of a gun shot as you pull the trigger. He felt all of it, every bit of your pain as if he himself had taken the shot to his head. Time stands still as he watches your body fall to the floor and every cell in his body is telling him to move, to run to you…to save you but his legs wouldn’t carry him. All he could do was watch as you bled onto the floor creating the most perfect mosaic even in death, and the more you bled the more he realised what had happened. Slowly he began to walk over to you, taking caution with each step until his eyes land on your face. A small gasp escapes his lips as he falls to his knees beside you. Gently he lifts your head onto his lap, letting his back rest against the wall as he holds you. Leaning down he presses his forehead to yours and begins rocking you as tears start to fall from his eyes.

“Please come back…please come back to me…. Please…. please” he whispers as his tears fall onto your cheeks. The sound of heavy footsteps fill the air as guards begin to make their way back to headquarters, In-Ho quickly lifts his head wiping away his tears and lovingly presses a kiss to your forehead before placing you gently on the ground and getting to his feet. As he stands the guards turn the corner and freeze in their steps as they watch In-ho look down over your body.

“Do not burn her body, put her in a coffin and send her back to the mainland” The guards nod their head in understanding and walk towards your body, before ether of them could touch you In-Ho roughly grabbed them by their arms.

“If anything happens to her, I promise you will wish to be in her place” he speaks sternly, venom running through his words. They gulp and nod their heads before In-ho let them go. He watches as they take your arms and legs and places you gently into the coffin that had been brought up by the circle guards.

“Wait” In-Ho whispers as they begin to close your coffin. He walks over to you and takes your hand in his, not caring that all the guards could see and brings it to his lips.

“I promise to find you in the next lifetime sweetheart” he presses a final kiss to your cold hand and places it across your stomach before walking away, tears threatening to spill once more.

2 years later

Winter was always your favourite time of the year, you loved being able to wrap up warm in a blanket with a hot chocolate in your hands, a book on your lap and your music playing softly as the snow fell delicately outside your window. Each year your grandfather would take you to the Christmas market, until he fell ill of course. Since you passed In-Ho became close with your grandfather, taking care of him now that you couldn’t and through him, he learnt so much about you. He only found himself falling deeper and that was the thing that kept destroying him and hardening his heart. All he wanted was to have you in his arms, to kiss you again…but he couldn’t, and it was his fault. A year after you died your grandfather also lost his life. In-Ho tried with all he had to save him, paid his medical bills, ensured he was comfortable and stayed with him until the very end. He buried him next to you.

In-Ho pulled on his coat and headed out into the cold, you would’ve loved today. The snow fell so delicately it blanketed everything like a work of art, he could only imagine how you’d look with snowflakes in your hair and the tip of your nose red from the cold. His heart lurched at the thought, and he started to head down the road towards the cemetery. As he walked through the gates, he saw your gravestone in the distance beautifully decorated and resting peacefully under the willow tree and smiled to himself. Soon enough he stopped in front of your stone.

“Hi sweetheart” he whispers and gently wipes the snow away as he once did with the tears on your cheeks. “I’ve missed you…. it’s been 2 years without you…today in fact” he smiled sadly at the thought “The days just seem to be getting harder; I find myself craving your smile, your touch…your kindness and warmth” he slowly knelt in front of you “It was never supposed to be this hard” he confessed. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much; I had business to deal with…on the island” He takes a deep breath “I ended them…the games…losing you made me realise just how much I put on the line…just how much I hurt you and betrayed you…and I’m sorry” Tears begin to fall down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry sweetheart…if I could take back everything to have you back in my arms even for just a second, I wouldn’t even think twice” He looks around watching the snow fall faster now quickly covering everything on the ground, including In-ho.

“You made me feel again…feel things I never thought I could and without you I feel so empty…as if the other half of me is missing and the longer I stay here the more this feeling eats away at me…so” He takes a deep breath “I’m here to say goodbye Y/n…, if I stay I’m just waiting for the impossible…I’m waiting day and night for you to run into my arms and I know that will never happen…I have to let you go” he wipes his tears yet more quickly fill their places. ” Thank you…for everything, thank you for showing me that I can love again, thank you for loving me even when you knew you shouldn’t…thank you for letting me catch you” He whispers as he stands. He lovingly places his hand on your stone. “I love you y/n… I will always love you…I promise I will find you in every lifetime” In-Ho brings his fingers to his lips and kisses them before pressing them onto your headstone and walking away finally…letting you go.

#frontman x reader #fanfiction #inho x reader #frontman x you #squid game front man #hwang inho #hwang inho x reader #hwang inho x you #hwang inho x y/n #front man squid game #front man #young il x reader #lee byung hun x reader #Youtube

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christinamadsen · 7 days ago

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The Blind Date

Plot: Your friend Benny sets you up on a blind date with his friend.

Frankie Morales x female reader

Warnings: None what so ever, it's all fluff

Word count: 1.7k

A/N: Someone said imagine going on a blind date with Frankie, and I did! Just a little Sunday snack to serve as distraction from everything else.

“So, I’ve got this friend…” Benny snatched a beer from the fridge and handed it to you before grabbing one for himself, “and he’s single…”

“No, no blind dates, Benny, please!” you protested as you stirred the sizzling garlic, “I’ve been on your street all but five minutes, and you want to set me up? I need to find a new favorite coffee place and a new hairdresser before I can even start thinking about dating again.”

“It’s been like two months since you moved here, and you should only get your coffee from Beany’s on Maple. And this guy, I’ve been saving him for you…” Benny wiggled his eyebrows up and down as you shook your head, “I’ve got plenty of other female single friends asking for his number, but I’ve said no, I was saving him for someone special.”

“More like, you’ve slept with all your other female single friends, and you’re not about to hand him sloppy seconds,” you scoffed, “I know you, Benjamin Miller, you were a slut before you settled down.”

“Ok, we’re not discussing my former dating life here, but rather the lack of yours,” Benny retorted, pointing the neck of his beer bottle at you, “And I’ve already given him your number, so you can expect a call from a certain Francisco Morales any day now.”

“Is this the guy you call ‘Fish’?” you asked. Over the years you’ve heard a lot about ‘Fish’, ‘Pope’ and ‘Redfly’ from Benny. Mostly he told you about his brother Will though, ‘Ironhead’ to the rest of them.

“Yeah, that’s the one. And you should give him a chance, go out on one date at least, I know you guys will get along because you both enjoy ribbing me any chance you get,” he chuckled as you nodded along.

“Well, in that case, I like him already.”

Francisco Morales didn’t call you the next day, he texted, which put him back in the negatives in your book. But you’d promised Benny to go on one date with this guy, so you accepted when he asked if you’d like to meet him for dinner at a local tapas place. Now you were walking into that place, hoping the evening wouldn’t be a total bust. You’d made plans with your best friend from back home to call you in thirty minutes to give you an out if the evening went sideways. Enough time for some olives and a glass of wine and then decide if this friend of Benny’s was worth a Saturday night.

“Oh, you’re in luck!” the hostess exclaimed as you gave her Francisco’s name, “He managed to book one of our best tables, and with the weather this nice, it’s perfect. Just follow me!”

The hostess escorted you through the restaurant and out to the patio in the back, your opinion of your blind date going up as you saw the space. It was a small patio overlooking the river and surrounded by lush greenery and tropical flowers. A large tree strung with fairy lights illuminated a few tables, the breeze making them move and twinkle.

The hostess took you to a table at the edge of the patio, sheltered from the rest of the restaurant by the trunk of the tree and with a view of the river below. The man that was already seated stood up as you approached.

“Here you go, miss, your server will be with you shortly,” the hostess said and slipped away as you held out your hand to the man.

“Hi, you must be Francisco.”

“Hi, yeah, I am, but it’s usually Frankie, or Frank,” he replied, taking your hand with a shy smile, “Or maybe ‘Fish’, since you’re Benny’s friend.”

He pulled out your chair for you, and you sat down, taking a moment to look him up and down as he moved to his own chair. He was almost as tall as Benny, and almost as wide, but there was definitely more softness to him. Both in his face, his chin covered in a short trimmed patchy beard, and in the way he moved. When Benny had a confident swagger that bordered on the obnoxious if you didn’t know him, Francisco, ‘Frankie’ you corrected yourself, had a softer brand of confidence, one that was less obvious and gave him an air of shyness that came through as he sat down and glanced over at you.

“Yeah, I’ve heard of ‘Fish’,” you smiled, “but he introduced you as Francisco when he set me up for this.”

“Please, don’t believe half the stories,” Frankie returned your smile, dimples appearing in his cheeks, just as the server approached.

Once drinks and food had arrived, the rest of the evening flowed easily. Frankie wasn’t as shy as he first came across, making you almost cry with laughter as he told you stories of some of the things he and Benny had gotten up to while deployed together. You repaid him by sharing some of your favorite ‘The Miller boys get into trouble’ stories from your time growing up. Frankie told you he’d file them away for careful future use while you were silently thanking Benny for setting you up with this man, he’d been right when he said you’d get along.

Frankie offered to drive you home, apologizing for the state of his old truck as he tossed a child’s toy in the booster seat in the back. Over dinner he’d told you about his four year old daughter, confessing that it made dating complicated, but that therapy had made him realize that he needed to prioritize himself too, if he was going to be a better dad to her. The sentiment had almost made you tear up, something in the way Frankie’s face softened when he talked about his daughter.

The truck was old but cozy, rumbling to life as the radio came on to a typical ‘dad’ station with old rock. Frankie left the windows down as he drove through the almost empty streets across town. One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting either on the stick, or on the bench seat, close enough to your leg so that his pinky brushed against the fabric of your dress. You wanted to take his hand and lace your fingers through his, feel the warmth on your skin as he hummed along to Eddie Vedder.

The drive wasn’t long enough, you wish you lived further away, but it turned out you lived only a mile from his house. He pulled up to your place in the middle of an argument about Nirvana and Guns n’ Roses. Frankie’s eyes were bulging out of his head as you refused to admit that Appetite for Destruction was a better album than Nevermind, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he began to laugh when you stuck your tongue out to him like a petulant five year old.

“My daughter pulls the exact move when she runs out of excuses for why she shouldn’t be going to bed,” he chuckled as the truck went silent, “Just admit it, you’re wrong and I win.”

“Never!” you declared dramatically and began to laugh too, thumping Frankie’s shoulder as he mimicked you with a cheeky grin. You didn’t want this date to end, you couldn’t remember the last time someone made you feel this good by just hanging out with them. Frankie made you laugh, asked about your life, shared details of his own. And when he touched upon more serious subjects, the death of Redfly, his divorce, he made you want to reach out and comfort him, to soothe some of the pain that flashed across his face.

“I had a great time,” you admitted, as Frankie walked you to the door, “I’ll never hear the end of it from Benny.”

Frankie smiled and nodded, “Same, I had a great time too, and I know Ben’s gonna be obnoxious about it. But I’d love to see you again, it’ll be worth putting up with his smug face for that.”

“I’d like that,” you replied, stopping as you came to your front door, “Give me a call?”

“You can count on it,” he answered, dropping his hand that had been resting on the small of your back. He suddenly glanced down at his shoes and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, before he looked up at you again.

“Can I…kiss you goodnight?” he asked, his voice low and warm. There was a smile there, like he knew you wouldn’t say no, not after the evening you’d just shared.

“Yes, please,” you replied, resisting the urge to look at his mouth, lacing your fingers through his as he moved closer, his breath ghosting over your lips.

The warmth of his palm on your cheek was easy, natural, and then his lips found yours in a heartbeat. Heat flooded your body, your free hand finding his shoulder and holding on to the solid body under his shirt. Frankie let slip a low hum, deepening the kiss as you parted your lips to his tongue. He let go of your hand and wrapped his arm around your waist instead, pulling you closer as you took hold of his shirt, bunching it up in your fist, heart pounding in your chest.

It was over far too soon, leaving you both slightly breathless and glass eyed as Frankie loosened his hold around your waist, but still kept you close.

“Are you free tomorrow night?” he mumbled, his eyes still on your mouth.

“Yes,” you replied, transfixed by the way his plump bottom lip looked after being kissed, rosy and slick. You reached up and slid your thumb across it, making Frankie briefly close his eyes. They were a shade darker when he opened them again.

“Frankie,” you asked, “do you have plans for tomorrow morning?”

He took a couple of beats to answer, his eyes narrowing with a slight smile.

“No, I have no plans for tomorrow morning,” he finally replied and you tore your gaze from his mouth to look into his eyes.

“Do you want to have breakfast with me?”

“I would love to have breakfast with you,” he mumbled as you fumbled for your keys, pushing the door open. His lips were on yours again before you’d even grabbed him, pulling him over the threshold.

Across the street, Benny grinned and got up from his porch swing.

Endless thanks to @i-own-loki for the lovely banner as always! Despite broken wifi and too much snow! :D

#frankie morales #pedro pascal #frankie morales fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #frankie morales fluff

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christinamadsen · 7 days ago

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IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.5

Chapter Five: As If The Street Lights Pointed In An Arrowhead Leading Us Home

Summary: You find yourself sharing a hotel suite with Pedro Pascal while working on the set of Fantastic Four: First Steps. Despite your different roles—he’s the star, and you’re behind the scenes. Nothing could ever happen between you two… right?

Paring: Pedro Pascal x F!Reader

Warnings: Age-Gap Romance (Not Specified), Eventual SMUT, Crush, FLUFF, Slight Angst, Trope(s), Swearing, Anxiety, Lots of Cliches, Cheesy Dialogue, Romance, Kissing, Real People Fiction, Cameras, Paparazzi, Social Media, Swoonworthy, One-Room Trope, They were roommates, Strangers-to-Lovers, Actors, Hallmark Tropes, the reader can sing and play guitar, the reader is shorter than Pedro, the reader has hair, Alternate Universe, Awkward!Reader, Shy!Reader, Fan Girl!Reader, Cringe, Embarrassment, Starstruck,

Word Count: 6.5k

A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter! I was busy writing chapter one of my Richard Reeds fanfic, and my brain went into overdrive. Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter, and my thoughts and writing process will be in the end notes below! Take care out there.

Side note: I’m dyslexic and English isn’t my first language! So I apologize in advance for the spelling and/or grammatical errors. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated. Thank you and happy reading!

Song: Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING

It was the weekend.

A rare, golden thing in the middle of a chaotic schedule. Sometimes, productions pushed through weekends, forcing actors and crew alike to run on fumes and caffeine, but this week, you’d been given the luxury of a proper break.

So you did the only logical thing: you slept in.

No alarms. No early call times. No frantic scrambling to get out the door before the sun had even fully risen. Just the quiet hush of your hotel room, the soft cocoon of blankets, and the gentle hum of the city beyond your window.

Pedro, on the other hand, was not sleeping in.

He was downstairs earlier, enjoying breakfast with some of the crew, chatting between bites of eggs and toast. But when he realized he hadn’t seen you—not even a glimpse—something tugged at his chest.

He checked his phone. No messages from you.

Not that you had to text him, obviously. But still.

“Maybe she’s still asleep,” Vanessa mused when he brought it up, sipping her coffee.

Coco smirked. “Or avoiding you.”

Pedro shot her a look, unimpressed. “You’re hilarious.”

Joseph, ever the instigator, leaned in. “You do realize how weirdly invested you are in this, right?”

Pedro ignored them, pushing back his chair. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

“OoOoOo, someone’s worried,” Ebon teased, grinning.

Pedro just flipped them off over his shoulder as he walked away.

Your side of the room was quiet when he got there.

Pedro knocked.

Nothing.

He frowned and knocked again, a little louder this time. “Hey, you alive in there?”

Still nothing.

His concern deepened. He knew you’d been exhausted lately, emotionally drained from the whole Cecilia situation. And yeah, maybe you were just catching up on sleep, but what if you weren’t feeling well? What if—

He shook his head, pushing the thought away.

A quick check with the front desk confirmed they had given you a key for emergencies. That was all the justification he needed.

Carefully, Pedro let himself in.

The room was dim, curtains drawn just enough to let in a sliver of London’s muted morning light. And there you were, curled up under a mountain of blankets, dead to the world.

Snoring.

Pedro exhaled, the tension in his chest dissolving as a slow, amused smile tugged at his lips.

He took a step closer, just enough to take in the peaceful rise and fall of your shoulders, the way your hair was a little all over the place. A soft snore left your lips, making him chuckle under his breath.

God, you were adorable.

For a brief moment, he debated waking you. Teasing you for sleeping through breakfast, maybe even convincing you to come downstairs with him.

But then you shifted, letting out the softest sigh as you burrowed deeper into the pillows, and—yeah. No. He couldn’t wake you.

Instead, he leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, just watching for a little longer.

He’d give you another hour.

Maybe two.

And then, well—if you didn’t wake up soon, he’d have to find a way to lure you out with the promise of coffee or something just as tempting.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — LATE MORNING

The late morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Pedro had been patient—he really had—but after standing around for a while, listening to your soft snoring, he decided you needed to eat something.

So he had slipped downstairs, grabbed a plate of fresh fruit, some pastries, and a glass of juice, and set everything neatly on the kitchenette counter before making his way back to your bedside.

The problem?

You were not a morning person.

Pedro bit back a grin as you stirred, groaning into your pillow, clearly fighting consciousness with everything in you. He could already tell this wasn’t going to be an easy wake-up.

“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement. “Time to get up.”

You groaned again, pulling the blanket over your head. “No.”

Pedro chuckled. “Not even gonna think about it?”

“No.”

He exhaled, amused, and sat on the edge of the bed, nudging your shoulder lightly. “C’mon, I brought you breakfast. Fresh fruit, pastries, coffee… I even got you juice. Thought I was being nice.”

That earned him a tiny peek of an eye from beneath the blanket. “What kind of juice?”

He smirked. There we go.

“Mango,” he answered, watching as you visibly debated with yourself. “And it’s still cold.”

You groaned but finally—finally—sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you blinked blearily at him. “Fine. But if you’re lying about the juice, I’m going back to bed.”

Pedro chuckled, standing up. “Noted.”

As you shuffled out of bed and towards the kitchenette, still wrapped in your blanket like a grumpy little burrito, Pedro bit back another laugh.

You were trying so hard not to snap at him, despite your obvious morning grumpiness, and he found it strangely endearing. You cared about him—he could see that. Not just in the way a fan might, but as someone who had gotten to know him, really know him, beyond the public persona.

And for some reason, that made his chest feel warm.

By the time you took your first sip of juice, you finally looked at him, still groggy but slightly more awake. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you grumbled.

Pedro grinned. “I know.”

Pedro stayed leaning against the kitchenette counter, watching you with quiet amusement as you nibbled on a croissant, still wrapped up in your blanket like you might retreat back into it at any moment.

"You know," he said, arms crossing over his chest, "I've worked with some pretty serious divas before, but you? You might be the worst morning person I've ever met."

You narrowed your eyes at him mid-chew, unimpressed. "Bold of you to assume I’m even a person in the morning."

Pedro laughed, rich and warm, like he hadn't expected you to say that. It sent a flutter through your stomach, but you buried it beneath another bite of food.

A comfortable silence settled between you as you worked through your breakfast, the weight of last night—the teasing from your friends, the way Pedro had looked at you over dinner, the way he’d listened, really listened, when you brushed off your problems—lingering just beneath the surface.

It should’ve been awkward. But it wasn’t.

"So," he finally said, drumming his fingers against the countertop, "what’s the plan for your day off? Big, exciting plans to stay in bed all day?"

You swallowed a sip of juice, tilting your head at him. "That was the dream, yeah."

Pedro let out a soft scoff, pushing off the counter. "Nah. Not happening."

You raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You’ve been working your ass off all week, and I don’t mean just putting up with the shoot," he said, giving you a knowing look. "I mean all of it. Everything. And since you clearly weren’t gonna tell me how much it was getting to you, I figure it’s my job to make sure you actually do something for yourself today."

Your stomach twisted at that.

He had noticed.

Of course, he had.

And now, instead of letting you bury it like you had all week, he was making it a thing.

"Pedro," you sighed, setting your glass down. "I really don’t—"

"Shh," he cut in, grinning as he pressed a finger to his lips. "No arguing."

You stared at him, deadpan. "Did you just shush me?"

"Yeah." He shrugged, completely unfazed. "It’s effective."

You narrowed your eyes, trying very hard not to laugh. "You’re an idiot."

"And yet," he said, nodding toward your now-empty plate, "an idiot who got you to wake up, eat breakfast, and seriously consider leaving this hotel room."

You bit your lip, fighting back a smile.

Damn it.

"Okay, fine." You rolled your eyes. "What exactly do you have in mind?"

Pedro grinned like he’d just won something. "Get dressed, cariño. I’ll tell you on the way."

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY AFTERNOON

You didn’t know what you had expected Pedro to suggest—maybe a lazy stroll through the city, or coffee at some tucked-away café—but the moment you stepped outside, you realized you had severely underestimated him.

For one, he had somehow procured a car.

Not just any car. A sleek, inconspicuous black SUV, complete with a driver who nodded at Pedro like they had some unspoken understanding.

You frowned, pausing just before getting in. “Please tell me you didn’t hire security just to take me out for the day.”

Pedro smirked, holding the door open for you. “Relax. It’s just a favor. No secret service level drama.”

You eyed him suspiciously. “You swear?”

“Would I lie to you?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response.

With a dramatic sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, and Pedro followed suit, settling in beside you with a satisfied grin.

“See?” he said as the car pulled away from the hotel. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You shot him a flat look. “I already regret this.”

Pedro just laughed, tapping his fingers idly against his knee.

The city stretched out beyond the tinted windows, a blur of old brick buildings, cafés with tiny outdoor tables, and the occasional group of tourists wrapped up in their own adventures.

For a moment, you let yourself relax, head resting back against the seat, the steady hum of the car filling the silence.

And then—

“Are you actually going to tell me where we’re going?” you asked, side-eyeing him.

Pedro hummed, pretending to think about it. “Nah. I like watching you squirm.”

You groaned, letting your head fall back dramatically. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You turned your head, finding him already watching you, something fond and unreadable flickering behind his glasses.

Your breath caught in your throat.

The car hit a stoplight, and he looked away, tapping something into his phone.

Okay. Fine.

You could pretend that didn’t just happen.

The drive continued, weaving through the city until you eventually started to recognize where you were heading.

Your brows furrowed.

“Wait a minute—"

“Surprise,” Pedro said, grinning as the car finally rolled to a stop in front of what was, unmistakably, a bookstore.

Not just any bookstore.

One you had mentioned in passing about a few days ago, while sitting with him and a few others on set, talking about places you’d love to visit while in London.

You turned to him, mouth slightly open. “You remembered?”

Pedro gave you a look, like the idea of him not remembering was ridiculous.

“Of course I did,” he said simply, pushing open his door. “Now, are you gonna sit there looking at me like I just grew a second head, or are we actually going in?”

You scrambled out of the car before he could make another joke, ignoring the warmth spreading through your chest.

Inside, the scent of old paper and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around you like a hug. The place was small but full—every wall lined with shelves, tables stacked with books, mismatched chairs tucked into cozy corners.

It was perfect.

Pedro hovered near the entrance, watching your expression, clearly pleased with himself.

You turned, crossing your arms. “Alright, Pascal. What’s the catch?”

He smirked. “No catch.”

You narrowed your eyes.

He sighed, holding his hands up in surrender. “Fine. I might have selfish reasons for bringing you here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Which are?”

Pedro stepped closer, tilting his head. “You’re a pain in the ass when you’re stressed.”

Your jaw dropped.

“Excuse me?”

He laughed, reaching out and flicking the end of your sleeve. “You needed a break. And I—” He paused, eyes softening. “I like seeing you happy.”

The words were simple.

Too simple.

And yet, they settled deep in your chest, curling around something you weren’t ready to name.

You swallowed, looking away, focusing on the nearest bookshelf like it held all the answers.

Pedro let the silence stretch for a beat, then nudged you gently.

“Go on,” he murmured. “Pick something.”

So you did.

LONDON BOOKSHOP — EARLY AFTERNOON

You took your time browsing.

Partly because you wanted to, and partly because Pedro made himself comfortable, dropping into one of the armchairs in the corner like he had all the time in the world.

He did this thing where he pretended not to be watching you. Flipping through a book, glasses sliding down his nose, but every so often—you caught him. The flicker of his gaze, the tiny smirk when you pulled a book off the shelf and examined the cover with interest.

It made your skin warm.

It was still so bizarre—this thing between you two.

You were still wrapping your head around it, still trying to convince yourself that this wasn’t some overactive, sleep-deprived hallucination.

Because this was Pedro Pascal.

And Pedro Pascal had somehow taken it upon himself to make sure you were okay, taking you out on bookstore adventures and—

Oh god, were you on a date?

Your heart jumped at the realization, nearly making you fumble the book in your hands.

No. Not a date.

Just… Pedro being Pedro.

Right?

You exhaled slowly, trying to refocus.

The book in your hands was a worn, well-loved copy of a classic romance novel. The pages were slightly yellowed, the cover soft with age.

“That one, huh?”

You startled slightly, looking up to see Pedro watching you from his chair, one arm draped lazily over the armrest.

You shrugged, running your fingers along the spine. “I’ve been meaning to read it.”

Pedro hummed, tilting his head. “You always do that.”

You blinked. “Do what?”

He nodded toward the book in your hands. “That thing. Where you rub the cover before you decide.”

You froze, caught. “…I do not.”

Pedro’s grin was entirely too smug. “Oh, you do.”

You felt warmth creep up your neck. “You’ve been watching me pick books?”

He lifted a shoulder, like it wasn’t a big deal. “You’re cute when you’re indecisive.”

Your stomach flipped.

You opened your mouth—only to immediately close it again, because what the fuck were you supposed to say to that?

Pedro’s grin widened like he knew exactly what he was doing.

Your fingers curled around the book, gripping it like it could somehow ground you.

“I—” You cleared your throat, forcing a glare. “I hate you.”

Pedro just laughed, leaning back in his chair. “No, you don’t.”

You turned away, cheeks burning, pointedly walking toward the register before he could see how flustered you were.

The woman behind the counter smiled as she rang up your book, eyes flicking toward Pedro lounging in the corner.

“That your boyfriend?” she asked casually.

You nearly choked.

“What? No. No, no. He’s just—” You gestured vaguely. “Pedro.”

She just smiled knowingly. “Right.”

You hurriedly paid, ignoring the way Pedro was definitely smirking behind you, and grabbed the small paper bag with your book inside.

When you turned, he was already standing, adjusting his glasses. “Ready?”

You exhaled, nodding.

As the two of you stepped outside, the chilly afternoon air hit your skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the bookshop.

Pedro slipped his hands into his pockets, glancing over. “Lunch?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know… what if people see us?”

Pedro just shrugged. “So what?”

You frowned, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I just— I don’t want people to think—”

“That you’re hanging out with me?” Pedro finished, raising an eyebrow.

You let out a breath, rubbing at your temple. “I just don’t want to be weird about it.”

Pedro was quiet for a beat, then nudged your arm gently. “Hey.”

You looked up.

“Let them think whatever they want,” he said, voice softer now. “You’re allowed to exist in public with me, y’know.”

Your chest ached in a way you weren’t expecting.

He made it sound so simple.

You swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

Pedro grinned. “Good. Now let’s go find some obscenely overpriced pasta.”

You huffed a laugh, letting him lead the way.

LONDON — AFTERNOON

The restaurant Pedro picked was one of those effortlessly stylish little spots tucked away on a side street, the kind of place with warm lighting, fresh flowers on every table, and a menu written in looping script on a chalkboard.

It smelled like olive oil and fresh bread, like garlic sizzling in butter.

“Obscenely overpriced pasta,” you muttered under your breath, scanning the menu. “You weren’t kidding.”

Pedro chuckled, tilting his head toward you. “Hey, if we’re gonna be reckless, we might as well do it with carbs.”

Your lips twitched, but you didn’t argue.

The two of you had been seated near the window, the view outside hazy with the gray of the London afternoon. Pedro sat opposite you, cap low, glasses on, but even that didn’t do much to disguise him.

It was still him.

Still warm brown eyes and laughter lines, still easy charm and a quiet steadiness that made you feel safer than you probably should.

The restaurant hummed with soft conversation, the gentle clinking of glasses and silverware blending with the distant notes of some old jazz song playing overhead. The air smelled rich—garlic and butter, fresh herbs and warm bread—and for the first time in what felt like days, you felt… light.

You weren’t thinking about work. Or her.

Just Pedro. Just this.

He was leaning back in his chair now, one arm draped over the backrest, fingers idly tracing the rim of his water glass. His cap was still low over his forehead, glasses perched on his nose, but his expression was open, relaxed—like this was the most natural thing in the world. Like the two of you having lunch together was something that had always made sense.

And maybe it did.

"So," Pedro said, tearing off a piece of bread from the basket between you. "Tell me something about you that I don’t know yet."

You huffed a small laugh, stirring the ice in your drink with your straw. "That’s a pretty broad request."

He shrugged. "Alright, let’s narrow it down. What was little you like?"

You blinked at him. "Little me?"

"Yeah." He popped a piece of bread into his mouth. "Like, what were you like as a kid? Were you the quiet, shy one, or were you running around causing problems?"

You scoffed. "I am the quiet, shy one."

Pedro gave you a look. "I know you. You’ve got a little chaos in you somewhere."

You bit back a smile. "Fine. Maybe a little."

Pedro grinned, leaning in like he was settling in for a story. "Alright, spill."

You thought for a moment, fingers brushing absentmindedly over the rim of your glass. "I was kind of… scrappy, I guess? Like, I wasn’t looking for trouble, but I wouldn’t not fight a kid if they deserved it."

Pedro nearly choked on his water. "What?"

Your face heated. "Not like that! I just—I had a strong sense of justice, okay?"

Pedro wiped his mouth, eyes gleaming with amusement. "So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been ready to throw hands."

You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. "I shouldn’t have told you that."

Pedro was grinning so hard. "No, no, I love it. I love picturing little you, all tiny and righteous, just out there laying down the law."

You peeked at him through your fingers. "It wasn’t that dramatic."

"Mm-hmm," he said, clearly not convinced.

You shook your head, exhaling a laugh. "Okay, your turn, big shot. What was little Pedro like?"

His smirk softened into something more nostalgic. "Oh, I was a menace," he admitted.

You snorted. "Of course you were."

"I mean, not in a bad way," he amended, breaking off another piece of bread. "I was just… all over the place. Loud, always moving, always talking. My parents were exhausted."

You smiled. "Sounds like you were a handful."

"Oh, completely." He took a sip of his drink, glancing at you over the rim. "I grew up in a house that was always full, always noisy. Family coming in and out all the time, music playing, food cooking. I never really knew what quiet was until I got older."

There was something warm in his voice, something fond in the way he spoke about home.

"That sounds… nice," you murmured.

Pedro tilted his head slightly, studying you. "What about you? What was home like?"

You hesitated, glancing down at your plate. "Not like that."

His brows drew together, but he didn’t push.

You exhaled softly, running your finger over the condensation on your glass. "I mean, it wasn’t bad or anything. It was just… quieter. A little lonelier."

Pedro didn’t say anything, just waited.

You bit your lip, giving a small shrug. "I guess I always felt like I had to work a little harder to fit in. To matter."

Pedro’s gaze softened, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

You cleared your throat, suddenly embarrassed. "Sorry, that got depressing—"

"Hey." His voice was quiet but firm.

You glanced up.

Pedro was watching you with something steady, something real in his expression. "You don’t have to apologize for being honest."

Your stomach flipped.

You nodded, a little too quickly. "Right. Yeah."

Pedro gave you a small smile, then nudged your foot under the table. "For what it’s worth," he said lightly, "I think you’re pretty great."

Your throat felt tight. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His smile widened. "Even if you did used to fight kids."

You groaned. "Oh my god."

Pedro laughed, and the sound was so warm, so easy, that you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

And just like that, whatever tension had settled between you melted away, leaving nothing but warmth in its place.

The street was buzzing softly with life when you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun spilling golden light over everything. You hadn’t even fully processed where Pedro was leading you when he suddenly tugged on your wrist and gestured toward a tiny, vintage photo booth tucked just outside the café. Its paint was chipped, its curtain a little worn, but it had the kind of charm that begged you to step inside.

“C’mon,” Pedro said with a mischievous grin, already pulling you toward it.

“What? No!” You laughed, glancing around like someone might catch you doing something scandalous. “Pedro, this is so cheesy!”

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by your protests. “Cheesy is good. Plus, you owe me for making me think you were a goner this morning.” He gave you a dramatic, pleading look. “One strip of photos. For my emotional recovery.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Fine. One. And only because I feel bad for you.”

The booth’s tiny space forced you closer together than you expected. Pedro leaned in to fiddle with the ancient machine, his arm brushing against yours. You tried not to think too hard about how warm he was, or how his cologne smelled faintly like cedar and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“Okay, ready?” Pedro asked, his finger hovering over the button.

“Wait! What do we—what pose are we doing?”

He grinned. “You’ll figure it out.”

The camera counted down—three, two, one.

The first flash caught you both off guard, faces blank with surprise. You burst into laughter, the kind that made your shoulders shake, and Pedro quickly leaned in for another shot.

“Okay, okay, serious face,” he instructed, eyes narrowing comically.

You tried, but the second the flash went off, you broke into giggles again, and Pedro lost it right along with you.

The third shot was a blur of laughter, your head tipped back, Pedro’s grin wide and unguarded.

Then, right as the camera beeped for the final shot, Pedro turned toward you.

You barely had time to register the movement before his lips brushed your cheek, soft and quick but undeniably there.

The flash went off.

You froze, eyes wide as you turned to look at him. Pedro’s face mirrored yours for a second—caught somewhere between Did I really just do that? and Yeah, I did. But then, the corners of his mouth curled into a sheepish grin.

The photo strip slid out of the machine, and you grabbed it, holding it up between you. There it was: the first three frames filled with laughter and goofy poses, and the last… the last one where his lips were pressed against your cheek, your eyes wide, his soft and warm, both of you caught mid-smile.

Your heart fluttered—nervous, exhilarated, but… not scared. Not even a little.

“You kissed me,” you said, voice soft but teasing.

Pedro rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look thoughtful. “Hmm. Did I? Feels like that might’ve been you kissing me.”

You gasped, smacking his arm with the photo strip. “Liar!”

He chuckled, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, I’m just saying—it’s open to interpretation.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he said, tilting his head, “here you are. Stuck in a photo booth with me.”

The air between you shifted then—lighter, but also charged with something else. Something that felt like the beginning of a question neither of you was quite ready to ask.

For a beat, neither of you moved.

Then Pedro tapped the photo strip with his finger, breaking the moment. “Well, at least we’ve got proof of how good we look together.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “Shut up.”

“Never,” he replied, already holding out his phone. “Now, do we post this on the internet, or do we keep it as blackmail material for later?”

You grabbed the photo strip, slipping it into your pocket. “Neither. This one’s ours.”

Pedro raised his hands in surrender, but the smile on his face told you he didn’t mind one bit.

The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange as the sun began its slow descent. Pedro slipped his phone back into his pocket after calling the driver, glancing at you with a small smile. “We’ve got about ten minutes. Wanna walk a little?”

You nodded, grateful for the chance to stretch your legs. The streets were alive with a gentle hum—tourists taking photos, locals going about their day, the occasional street performer filling the air with music.

The city felt like a movie set, every streetlamp and cobblestone path perfectly placed. And in this fleeting moment, it felt like the world had paused just for the two of you, as if the streetlights themselves pointed in an arrowhead, leading you home.

Pedro noticed the slight chill in the air and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over your shoulders before you could protest. “Can’t have you catching a cold,” he said, his voice light but warm with care.

The jacket smelled like him—faint cologne mixed with something warm and earthy, something Pedro. You tugged it around yourself a little tighter, feeling its weight settle comfortably over your frame.

A surge of boldness swept over you, the kind you usually talked yourself out of but didn’t this time. You stepped closer, looping your arm around his. His body radiated warmth, steady and solid beneath your touch. Slowly, your fingers found his hand, intertwining with his.

Pedro didn’t hesitate. His hand squeezed yours gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soft, absentminded rhythm. It was such an easy, natural thing for him, this casual intimacy that felt so rare and comforting.

You’d learned over the past few days that touch was part of his love language. He was the kind of man who hugged with his whole body, the kind whose touch always felt intentional and grounding, never forced or fleeting.

Your heart thudded a little harder in your chest. You told yourself it was just from the walk.

You squeezed his arm lightly, smiling up at him. “Thanks for today, Pedro.”

He glanced down at you, his eyes warm and crinkling at the edges, those familiar laughter lines making an appearance. “For what?”

“For everything,” you said softly, almost shy. “For making me laugh. For breakfast. For not running away when I woke up looking like a crypt keeper.”

Pedro chuckled, his grip on your hand tightening for a brief second. “You looked adorable. Not a crypt keeper—more like… a sleepy little gremlin.”

You gasped, mock-offended, and smacked his arm with your free hand. “Gremlin? You’re lucky I don’t let go of your hand right now.”

He grinned, that mischievous spark in his eyes you were quickly becoming fond of. “You wouldn’t. You like me too much.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

The streetlamps flickered on as the daylight dimmed, casting a golden glow over the cobblestone streets. You both fell into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. The city hummed around you, but all you could focus on was the steady warmth of Pedro’s hand in yours, the easy rhythm of your steps together, the way everything felt just a little softer, a little brighter with him by your side.

“You’re really something, you know that?” Pedro said suddenly, his voice quieter now, thoughtful.

You glanced at him, your breath hitching slightly. “Something good, I hope.”

Pedro stopped walking for a second, turning toward you. His eyes searched yours, serious now. “The best kind of something.”

Your chest tightened at the weight of his words, a mix of nerves and excitement swirling in your stomach. You tried to play it cool, but the heat rising to your cheeks gave you away.

“Well,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, “right back at you, Pedro.”

He smiled, that same soft, unguarded smile that always made you feel like you were the only person in the world he was looking at.

The driver pulled up a few moments later, headlights cutting through the soft twilight. Pedro opened the door for you, his hand resting lightly on your back as you slid into the car.

As the car pulled away, you leaned back into the seat, Pedro’s jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, his warmth lingering like a secret you weren’t quite ready to give up.

And maybe, just maybe, neither was he.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The glow of golden hour had dimmed into soft dusk by the time you returned to Chiltern Firehouse. The lobby was warm and buzzing with quiet energy—guests sipping cocktails, a crackling fireplace, and staff moving seamlessly through the space. Pedro walked beside you, his hand resting gently at the small of your back like it had been there all along.

You didn’t want the day to end just yet. There was something about the way the air felt, a little lighter, like it had been charged with something electric and unspoken.

As you approached the front desk, one of the hotel managers, a polished woman in a tailored suit, stepped forward with a warm smile, followed closely by Franklin Latt—Pedro’s manager.

“Good evening,” the hotel manager greeted. “I hope you’ve been enjoying your stay. I wanted to let you know that your room is now ready, miss.”

Your breath hitched for a split second.

Right. The room.

It was easy to forget after the last few days, the way you’d fallen into such a natural rhythm with Pedro. Sharing his suite had felt so… effortless. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift.

“Oh,” you said, your voice soft, almost reluctant. “Right. That was, uh… this week.”

You glanced at Pedro, and for a fleeting moment, something passed between you—a flicker of disappointment mirrored in his eyes.

You shifted on your feet, clearing your throat. “Okay, um… I guess I need to pack, then.”

The hotel manager smiled politely. “The room is ready for you whenever you’re ready to move, miss.”

Pedro opened his mouth before you could respond, a little too quickly. “Actually, do you think she could switch tomorrow? It’s been a long day, and she still needs to pack her things. We’re both pretty wiped out.”

His voice was casual, but there was an edge of determination that made you glance up at him, your heart fluttering at how easily he’d jumped in for you.

The hotel manager hesitated but nodded. “Of course. If you’d prefer to transfer tomorrow, that can be arranged.”

Franklin, however, raised an eyebrow, his sharp gaze flickering between you and Pedro. His eyes caught on Pedro’s jacket draped around your shoulders, the sleeves too long for you, the fabric worn in all the right places.

Your face heated up as you tugged the jacket a little tighter around yourself, hoping it would hide the rush of color in your cheeks.

Franklin crossed his arms, his expression somewhere between amused and suspicious. “Tired, huh?” he said, his tone light but pointed. “You sure that’s the only reason?”

Pedro shot him a look, his brow arching in silent warning. “Relax, Frank. We’ve been out all day, walking around the city. She’s exhausted.”

Franklin chuckled, clearly not buying it but deciding to let it go—for now. “Right. Well, don’t let me keep you.”

The hotel manager nodded again. “Just let us know when you’re ready to move rooms. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

She and Franklin walked off, leaving you and Pedro standing in the middle of the lobby, the hum of quiet conversations around you. For a second, neither of you spoke.

Pedro scratched the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “So… I guess you’re stuck with me for one more night.”

You tried to laugh, but it came out softer than you intended. “Guess so.”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside together. The air between you felt charged again, like earlier, but now tinged with something deeper—something fragile and new.

Pedro leaned against the wall of the elevator, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “If I’m being honest, I’m kinda glad you’re not leaving just yet.”

Your heart skipped a beat, but you tried to play it cool. “Oh yeah? Afraid of being lonely?”

He chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve just gotten used to having you around.”

The words settled in your chest like a secret you weren’t sure you were ready to unpack. You didn’t trust yourself to say anything in return, so you just smiled, a little shy, a little flustered.

When the elevator dinged, Pedro followed you out, his hand resting lightly on your back again as you made your way to the suite. It was such a small thing, but it grounded you in ways you hadn’t expected.

Maybe you’d sort through those feelings tomorrow, when the lines between friendship and something more didn’t feel so blurred.

But tonight?

“One last movie night?” you asked softly as you swiped the keycard, pushing the door open. You glanced over your shoulder at Pedro, an almost shy smile playing on your lips.

Pedro’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, stepping in behind you. “It doesn’t have to be the last one,” he said, his voice warm and steady. “We can have as many movie nights as you want.”

His words hung in the air, carrying a weight you weren’t sure he meant to put there. Something about the way he said it made your chest tighten in the best way possible.

You kicked off your shoes, trying to shake off the flutter in your stomach, and headed for the couch. Pedro shrugged off his jacket and tossed it over a chair, moving to grab a couple of waters from the kitchenette.

“Okay,” you said, settling into the couch cushions, pulling a blanket over your lap. “But I’m picking the movie this time.”

Pedro handed you a bottle of water and plopped down beside you, close enough that his knee bumped yours. “Deal. What are we watching?”

You tapped your chin dramatically, pretending to be deep in thought. “Something light. No brooding detectives or tragic endings.”

He laughed, the sound low and easy. “Are you saying my movie choices are too intense?”

“Not too intense,” you teased, opening the streaming app. “But I’m in the mood for something that won’t make me question the meaning of life.”

Pedro leaned back, resting an arm on the back of the couch behind you. His fingers brushed your shoulder, barely there, but it sent a spark down your spine anyway. “Fair enough. Surprise me.”

You clicked on a romantic comedy and settled in, trying to focus on the movie and not the warmth of Pedro beside you. But it was hard to ignore—the way his thigh pressed gently against yours, the sound of his soft chuckle whenever something funny happened on screen, the way he stole glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

About halfway through the movie, you felt your head naturally tilt toward his shoulder. You hesitated for a second, nerves twisting in your chest. But then Pedro shifted ever so slightly, making it easier, like he was inviting you to stay.

“You comfortable?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you said softly, your cheek resting against him. “You make a pretty good pillow.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating under your ear. “I try.”

Neither of you moved after that, the movie fading into the background. The world outside the suite felt far away, like it didn’t matter. Not right now. Not with him.

Maybe you’d unpack those feelings tomorrow.

But tonight?

Tonight, you let yourself fall a little further.

End Notes:

This was one of the chapters I was dreading to write. Not cause I didn’t want to write it—

Cause I knew, from a writer’s perspective, at some point, I had to subvert the expectation of, “They’ll be roommates the entire time and fall in love.”

And yes, I did the thing where I gave you something you wanted/something good and then took it away from you LMAO ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

I mean… at least you get your own room now! So that counts for something— (please don’t show up at my house aHHHH)

Also, five chapters in, I had to give ya'll a little smooch... just a little... hehe

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta

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