#i can see it in my mind... the scenes keep playing in my head... one day. but not today unfortunately | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shy9-29 · 9 days ago

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From Dare To You ★ 심재윤

“a part two to love, lies, and sim jake” - enhypen campus series

🌿 After YN found out about the bet, Jake apologized, revealing he ended it before asking her out for real. Though hurt, she played along, but his constant effort and genuine care slowly broke through her walls, and trust began to rebuild between them.

🏷️ - @kristynaaah @firstclassjaylee @sheseung @c9b7luv @bswrldd @kiikiisblog @memyselfandkoo @k1ttyjwon @bloomiize @titttuaf @sunghoon-cam @xnatqq @azzy02 @rairaiblog @chvconn3 @wonzzziezzzz @blvengene @gvtdoll @a3r4-for3ver @luvksnn @sunarin96 @aerispark @monoidol @starnaris @pinknjm @marimariiisblog @blckorchidd @pinknjm @melodiessvy @gyulune @marimariiisblog @bgyusgf @doririsstuff @enhastolemyheart @prkhoonlvr @miamoari @dearestdreamies

wc. 9.7k · masterlist · enha campus series · part one

You didn’t plan to see him again so soon.

But there he was sitting alone on the bleachers behind the field after school, hunched forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes cast downward like the weight of the past few days was finally too heavy to carry. He looked smaller somehow. Not physically, but… quieter. Like the version of him who used to light up every room had dimmed.

You hesitated. Part of you wanted to turn back, to leave things unfinished and avoid another scene. But your feet moved anyway, slowly, carefully, until you were standing in front of him.

He looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a second, nothing was said—just the breeze brushing past and the silence between two people who didn’t know how to start again.

“I didn’t know,” you said finally, voice soft. “About the bet. That you ended it.”

Jake stared at you for a moment, jaw tense, eyes tired. “Would it have changed anything if you did?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Yeah. It would’ve.”

He gave a small, humorless laugh, then looked away. “Too late now, huh?”

“No,” you said quickly, sitting beside him before you could change your mind. “Maybe not.”

Jake didn’t say anything at first. Then: “I was an idiot, YN. For agreeing to that bet in the first place. For not telling you sooner. I thought I could control it—my feelings. Thought if I kept it casual, it wouldn’t mess everything up. But then it stopped being casual, and I didn’t know how to fix it without losing you.”

Your heart twisted. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because I thought you’d never believe me,” he admitted. “And I didn’t think I deserved a second chance. I’ve seen it happen to heeseung and it still keeps him up , I didn’t wanna take the chance with you.”

Jake stared ahead at the empty field, jaw tight, like he’d run out of words to say—or maybe like he was too afraid to say the wrong one.

You sat next to him, your voice low but sharp. “Then why did you come running back to me?”

His head turned toward you slowly. “Because I couldn’t stay away.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as a bitter laugh slipped past your lips. “Right. After everything. After the bet, after humiliating me in front of everyone, after pretending to care…”

“I wasn’t pretending,” Jake cut in, voice firmer now. “Not when I kissed you. Not when I asked you to be mine. Not when I stayed up all night hoping you’d text back.”

You looked away, jaw clenched. “You made me feel like I was something to win.”

Jake exhaled hard, like the guilt had been burning in his lungs. “I know. And if I could take it back, I would. All of it. The joke, the dare—everything that hurt you. But the way I feel about you now?” He looked at you then, eyes soft but intense. “That’s never been a lie.”

You didn’t respond right away. Your throat was tight, like the words wanted to come out but didn’t know how.

Finally, you muttered, “I don’t know if I can believe you.”

Jake nodded slowly, not pushing. “Then don’t. Not yet. Just… let me show you.”

And for once, he didn’t try to close the distance between you. He didn’t reach out. He didn’t beg.

He just sat there, quiet and waiting.

Like he finally understood that trust wasn’t something he could ask for—he had to earn it.

And so that’s what he did.

The next couple of days, Jake didn’t text you paragraphs or blow up your phone with apologies. He didn’t show up unannounced or try to corner you in the hallways. He didn’t force you to talk when you weren’t ready.

Instead… he showed up differently.

He waited outside your classroom after the bell, never too close, never pushing—just there. Quiet, patient, like a steady presence.

He started walking slower when he saw you down the hall, letting you pass instead of calling out your name.

He laughed a little softer when your friends made jokes, stealing glances your way but never trying to pull you in unless you wanted to be.

He wasn’t perfect. He still fumbled sometimes, caught himself staring too long, said your name like it was still his favorite word—but he didn’t try to take anything more than what you were willing to give.

And even if you didn’t say much, even if your heart still felt bruised and hesitant, you noticed. You noticed it all.

Because Jake Sim wasn’t trying to win a bet anymore.

He was trying to win you.

And this time, it wasn’t about pride.

It wasn’t about proving something to his friends.

It was about proving something to you.

That he was serious.

That he meant it.

That he’d stay—without the game.

It was subtle at first.

You didn’t even realize the way your walls had started to shift until you caught yourself smiling at something he said in passing. Something stupid—probably about his dog or how he nearly tripped over a soccer ball in gym. But your lips had curved before you could stop them, and when you realized he saw it, you quickly looked away.

Jake didn’t call attention to it. He just smiled too. A quiet, knowing one. And kept walking.

Later, you found a note in your locker. No big dramatic gesture—just a piece of notebook paper folded in half.

Hope today’s better than yesterday. That’s all.

— J

You stared at it longer than you’d admit. Kept it tucked into your sleeve. Didn’t text him, didn’t mention it, but the knot in your chest loosened—just a little.

At lunch, Yuna nudged you. “He’s trying,” she said gently, not with that sharp tone she’d used before. “Really trying.”

You didn’t answer. You just watched him from across the courtyard, laughing with Sunghoon and Jay—but every now and then, glancing your way.

Like he was making sure you were still there.

By Thursday, you found yourself slowing your steps so he could catch up.

By Friday, you sat next to him during study period and pretended not to notice when his hand brushed against yours on the desk.

He didn’t push. He didn’t ask. He just looked at you with those soft, unguarded eyes and smiled like that moment was enough.

And somehow…

For now, it was.

Saturday came, and with it, a text from Jake.

simjyn:

Hey. I was gonna go for a walk later. Clear my head. You don’t have to come but… if you do, I’ll bring snacks.

You stared at the message for a good ten minutes. No pressure, no “we need to talk,” no expectations—just Jake, being soft and careful. The kind of boy you weren’t sure existed weeks ago.

You didn’t reply right away. But a few hours later, there you were—hoodie on, hands in your pockets, meeting him just down the block.

He grinned when he saw you. “You came.”

You shrugged. “You said snacks.”

He held up a bag of your favorite chips with a lopsided smile. “I don’t lie about the important things.”

The two of you walked in comfortable silence for a while. The streets were quieter than usual, the air warm with the smell of spring. Every now and then your shoulders would brush, and each time, Jake would glance over, like he was still surprised you hadn’t pulled away.

“I meant what I said,” he said eventually, voice softer than usual. “About showing you. I don’t want to screw this up.”

You didn’t answer at first. The sidewalk was cracked and uneven beneath your feet, like your thoughts.

Finally, you spoke. “You already did screw it up, Jake.”

He flinched, just a little. But he nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

You turned to him then. “So don’t just tell me. Show me. Keep showing me. Not just this week. Not just while you feel bad.”

Jake stopped walking. “I will.”

You searched his face for any sign of hesitation, but there wasn’t any. Just him. Raw and real.

He took a careful step closer. “Can I—?” he started to ask, but stopped himself.

And for once, you closed the space between you.

Just a little. Just enough to let him know that maybe—maybe—this was the beginning of trust again.

Jake didn’t touch you. He didn’t try to hold your hand or pull you into some movie-perfect kiss. He just smiled, slow and genuine, like that one small step meant everything.

And honestly?

It kind of did.

The next week passed like the world had slowed down—but in a good way.

There were no dramatic declarations, no big speeches. Just�� Jake.

Sitting next to you during free period, not too close, but close enough.

Sliding you a note in class with the dumbest doodle imaginable—your name in bubble letters with a little crown on top.

Sending you a playlist that started off upbeat and chaotic, but slowly drifted into soft, late-night kind of songs you didn’t expect from him.

Smiling like he had a secret every time your eyes met in the hallway.

And you?

You found yourself waiting for it. For him.

You told yourself you were being cautious. That you hadn’t forgiven him yet. That your heart was still bruised from what he’d done.

But when he laughed? It didn’t hurt.

When he said your name? You didn’t flinch.

And when you caught yourself smiling—again—you didn’t look away this time.

It was Friday afternoon when he found you sitting alone near the back of the school garden. The spot you always went to when you needed to think.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just sat down beside you and handed you an iced drink—your favorite.

“I like this,” he said after a minute, eyes on the sky. “Just… being here. With you. No pretending. No games.”

You didn’t respond right away. The breeze was light, the sun warming your face.

“I still don’t know if I trust you,” you said quietly.

Jake didn’t flinch. “I’ll wait until you do.”

You looked over at him. Really looked. And maybe for the first time, you believed it.

Not because of his words.

But because of how he’d changed when he stopped trying to win you

And started trying to deserve you.

So you leaned back, sipped your drink, and said nothing else.

But Jake’s smile widened.

Because silence from you now?

Wasn’t rejection.

It was peace.

The next day, Jake found you by your locker before first period, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pockets and a hesitant look on his face.

You noticed right away—something was off. He wasn’t smiling like he usually did when he saw you, and the usual playful sparkle in his eyes had dimmed.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, shutting your locker slowly.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I have to go to Australia. Tonight.”

Your stomach dropped. “What? Why?”

“My aunt’s sick. It’s… not great,” he said, voice softer than usual. “My parents already left, but they want me to be there too—for a few days. Just to help out, be with the family.”

You blinked, trying to process it. “How long?”

“Just a week,” he said quickly. “I promise. I’ll be back before you even get the chance to miss me.”

You tried to smile, but your chest felt tight. “Are you okay?”

Jake nodded, stepping a little closer. “Yeah, I’m just—worried about her, that’s all. But I didn’t want to leave without telling you first.”

You looked down, chewing your lip. He reached out, gently brushing his fingers against yours.

“I’ll call every day,” he said. “Swear on it. Even if it’s just for five minutes. I don’t want to go dark on you.”

You looked up at him, finally meeting his eyes. “You better.”

He gave you a small grin, the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You know me. Annoyingly consistent.”

Then, quieter, he added, “I’ll miss you.”

And before you could even respond, he leaned in, pressing the softest kiss to your forehead.

It was gentle. Familiar. Something that said, I’ll be back.

And somehow, even with your heart tugging in your chest, you believed him.

And maybe, just maybe… it was the start of forgiveness.

By Monday, the whispers had started.

It wasn’t just glances anymore—it was full-on stares, hushed giggles, and not-so-subtle side-eyes when you walked into a room.

You were halfway to your seat in homeroom when you heard it.

“Do you think she did something to him?”

“She had to. There’s no way Jake Sim just—changes.”

“Dude hasn’t flirted with anyone in weeks. Not even once. He’s not even posting thirst traps anymore.”

“That’s, like, unheard of. What did she do? Put a spell on him?”

You rolled your eyes as you sat down, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from saying something.

Apparently, the student body couldn’t comprehend that Jake Sim—the golden boy, the walking distraction, the school’s certified heartbreaker—might’ve just… grown up. Or fallen for someone. Or both.

You heard someone mutter behind you, “Honestly? Kind of iconic if she did. Like… imagine taming Jake.”

The seat beside you stayed empty. You glanced at it without meaning to.

Jake’s chair. Still untouched. Still waiting for him to come back.

And even though you weren’t sure what this was between you and him yet—or where it was going—hearing the way people talked made you feel something you hadn’t expected:

Protective.

Because sure, maybe Jake had been a reckless flirt once. Maybe he hadn’t been the safest person to care about. But he was trying. He was changing.

And he deserved the chance to do that without being a punchline.

Even if you weren’t ready to say it out loud, you knew it deep in your gut—

Whatever you and Jake were building… it was already real enough for people to notice.

Back home, everything felt quieter without him.

You didn’t realize how much space Jake had taken up in your day until he wasn’t there to fill it. His empty seat in class, the silence where his random texts would pop up, the way your phone didn’t light up with his name the second you unlocked it—it was strange.

You hated to admit it, but… you missed him.

More than you wanted to.

You found yourself hovering over his contact a dozen times, thumb lingering on the call button. What would you even say? You still didn’t know how you felt. Still didn’t know if you were ready to let yourself fully trust him again.

But that didn’t stop your heart from aching.

So, one night—when the silence in your room felt too loud and the thoughts in your head wouldn’t shut up—you caved. You tapped call.

It rang once. Twice.

Then—“Hello?”

His voice was raspy, low. He sounded half-asleep. You glanced at the time. 4:02 AM in Australia.

“Oh my god—Jake, I’m sorry,” you blurted. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’ll call you back later, just go back to sleep—”

“No,” he said quickly, voice still heavy with sleep but suddenly more alert. “No, stay. Please. I wanna stay on the call. For you? Always.”

You went quiet, swallowing down the guilt that rose in your chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, a smile tugging into his voice. “Hearing your voice is already better than sleep.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaky and a little embarrassed. Then, without really meaning to—you started talking.

Not about anything huge. Just the little stuff. The rumors at school. How Kazuha almost knocked over a vending machine trying to get a free soda. How the cafeteria ran out of your favorite chips and it weirdly ruined your day more than it should’ve.

Jake didn’t interrupt. Didn’t talk over you. He just listened—soft, warm, awake only because you needed him.

And eventually, your words grew quieter. Slower.

“I didn’t think I’d miss you this much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s stupid. After everything, I should still be mad. And I am. But… I miss you anyway.”

There was a pause. Then his voice, low and soft through the speaker:

“I miss you too. Every second. Even the ones I’m supposed to be sleeping through.”

You smiled, curling deeper into your blanket, heart beating too fast for how calm your voice sounded.

Maybe this wasn’t forgiveness.

Maybe it was just… a step toward it.

But for now, lying in bed and hearing his sleepy breath through the phone—

It was enough.

The next day, the evening settled in quietly—soft rain pattering against your window, the smell of shampoo still lingering in the air as you curled up in bed in your oversized hoodie. Hair damp, phone warm in your hand, you finally gave in and called him again.

Jake picked up almost instantly, like he’d been waiting.

The screen lit up with his face, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. His hair was a little messy, eyes a little puffy—he looked tired, but the kind of tired that made him look softer.

Then he paused.

You tilted your head. “What?”

Jake blinked, then bit his lip, trying not to grin. “Nothing,” he said, voice all low and lazy. “You’re just… cute like that.”

You rolled your eyes, pulling your hoodie closer. “Like what?”

He laughed quietly. “Like that. All soft and cozy. I dunno. It’s just…” He shrugged. “I’d like to see you in my hoodie one day.”

Your stomach did this stupid little flip, but you masked it with a scoff. “You’d probably never get it back.”

“That’s the point,” he said, eyes shining with something gentle.

You looked away for a second, trying not to let the smile win—but it crept in anyway. You hated how easy it was to slip into this, how warm his voice made you feel even when you were still trying to protect your heart.

Still… you didn’t change the subject.

Instead, Jake shifted the camera and suddenly, a golden blur popped into view.

“Oh my god,” you said, sitting up. “Is that Layla?”

Jake beamed, gently scratching behind the ears of his border collie. “Yup. She’s been sulking without me. But she likes calls with you.”

Layla barked softly, tail wagging, and it made something in you melt.

You smiled quietly. “She’s so pretty.”

Jake looked back at the screen. “She’d love you.”

You hesitated for a beat, watching him, the way his hand rested gently on Layla’s fur, the way his face relaxed when he looked at you like that—like you were something precious.

“I’m still figuring things out,” you said softly.

Jake nodded without hesitation. “I know. And I’ll wait, remember?”

Your walls were still there. But they were softer now, worn down in places.

And maybe… just maybe… you were starting to believe he really meant it.

The next night, you weren’t sure why your fingers moved so quickly to hit call.

Maybe it was the silence of your room again.

Maybe it was the way his name lingered in your head all day.

Or maybe… you just wanted to hear his voice.

Jake answered with that same smile—bright and sleepy and just for you.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he said, voice a little hoarse, a little teasing. “You always call me right before bed. Not that I’m complaining.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe I just like seeing Layla.”

Jake laughed, turning the camera to show Layla curled up at his feet. “She missed you too.”

You hesitated for a second. Your heart picked up.

And before you could overthink it, before your brain could yell no—you said it.

“I missed you,” you said quietly, voice softer than usual.

Jake blinked. His smile didn’t falter, but you could see something shift behind his eyes—like the words landed a little deeper than either of you expected.

“You… what?”

You swallowed. “I said I missed you. Don’t make me say it again.”

His lips curled into something warm and slow, something real. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that.”

You looked away, cheeks heating. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“I won’t,” he said, still grinning. “But just so you know… I missed you more.”

And just like that, something shifted.

Not huge, not loud—but it was there.

A new softness in the way you looked at each other.

A new kind of trust threading its way through the call.

You still weren’t all the way in.

But you were no longer holding all the way back either.

“Three more days,” Jake said through the screen, stretching his arms above his head with a groggy little yawn.

It was morning there, the sunlight barely creeping in through the curtains behind him, and his voice was still heavy with sleep. His hair was messy, sticking up in every direction, and you could hear Layla snoring faintly in the background.

You smiled at the sight, tucked under your blanket, phone propped up on your pillow.

“Not that I’m counting,” he added, eyes flicking up to meet yours through the screen with a crooked grin.

You raised a brow. “You literally said that exact thing yesterday. And the day before.”

“Okay, so maybe I am counting.” He shrugged, grin widening. “What can I say? I miss you.”

You rolled your eyes, but this time, you didn’t try to hide your smile.

Jake leaned closer to the camera, as if trying to get a better look at you through the screen. “What about you?”

“What about me?” you said, playing dumb even though your heart was already speeding up.

He tilted his head, voice soft. “You still miss me yet?”

You let a pause hang in the air for just a second longer than necessary before you whispered, “Maybe.”

Jake let out a low laugh, running a hand through his messy hair. “That’s all I get? A maybe?”

You bit your lip, trying to look annoyed, but the truth was written all over your face. You missed him more than you wanted to admit, and saying it out loud felt like giving up the last bit of control you had left.

But still, you added, “Three more days.”

Jake’s gaze softened. “Yeah… three more days, and I’m yours again.”

You looked at him, really looked at him—sleepy, sincere, and a little too perfect for his own good.

And in that moment, it hit you:

Maybe this was real after all.

And maybe… you were finally letting yourself believe it.

There was a soft knock on your door—three gentle taps, familiar and unhurried.

You peeled yourself off your bed, phone still warm in your hand from just hanging up with Jake. Padding over in your hoodie and socks, you opened the door.

Yuna stood there, arms crossed, an all-too-knowing smirk already forming on her face. “You’ve been on the phone every night,” she said, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “I swear, I can hear you giggling through the wall.”

You flushed immediately. “I do not giggle.”

“Sure,” she said, plopping down dramatically onto your bed. “Just like how you’re totally not falling for him again.”

You shut the door behind her with a sigh, leaning your back against it. “He’s… different now. I don’t know, Yuna. I can’t explain it.”

Yuna looked at you for a long second, all the teasing melting into something more sincere.

“I believe he’s actually trying,” she said softly. “I do. I’ve been watching. He’s not flirting with every girl in sight. He hasn’t pulled one of his stupid ‘fuck boy’ games since the party. He’s… quieter. Focused. On you.”

You bit your lip, walking over to sit next to her on the edge of the bed.

“But I’m still pissed,” she added, voice firmer now. “What he did to you? The bet? The way he played it at first—that wasn’t okay. And I hate that you got caught up in it.”

“I know,” you said, eyes on your lap. “I hate it too. But it’s not like I didn’t see it coming. I just… didn’t expect him to change.”

Yuna was quiet for a second, then nudged your arm with hers. “You don’t have to forgive him all the way. Not yet. But you’re allowed to feel what you feel, okay? Even if it’s messy.”

You looked at her—your best friend, the one who always had your back even when you were being stubborn—and nodded.

“Thanks for not saying I told you so.”

“Oh, I totally told you so,” Yuna said with a smirk. “But I’m saying it with love.”

You laughed, and for the first time in a while, it felt real.

Later that night, after Yuna had left with a dramatic “Don’t stay up all night whispering sweet nothings,” you were back in bed, your thoughts buzzing.

You stared at your phone, thumb hovering over Jake’s name. It felt different now—not like you had to call him, but like… maybe you wanted to.

So you did.

The screen lit up, and after just one ring, his face appeared—eyes half-lidded, hoodie hood pulled halfway over his messy hair.

“Hey,” he said, voice all gravel and sleep. “Missed me already?”

You snorted, shifting under your blanket. “It’s only been a few hours.”

Jake smiled lazily. “Still counts.”

You studied him quietly for a moment—how tired he looked, how soft he sounded when he was with you. And for a second, it almost felt easy. Natural. As if things had always been like this between you.

“Yuna and I talked,” you said.

Jake blinked more awake. “Yeah? What’d she say?”

You shrugged. “She still doesn’t like what you did. But… she believes you’re trying.”

Jake leaned back against his pillows, hand dragging down his face. “I deserve that. I don’t expect anyone to forgive me right away.”

There was a pause. His eyes flicked back to the screen. “But you talked to her about me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Don’t get cocky.”

“I’m not,” he said, grinning. “Just… glad.”

You rested your cheek on your pillow, watching him through the screen. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when you come back.”

“I do,” he said. “I’m gonna see you. And I’m gonna keep proving it—every day. No games. Just me.”

Your heart did that thing again—that annoying, traitorous flutter—but you didn’t stop it this time.

“Three days,” you whispered.

Jake smiled so softly it nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. “Yeah. Three days.”

And even with all the scars and hesitation…

You couldn’t help but feel a little bit like you were finally getting your heart back.

Two more days.

That’s what you’d told yourself all morning.

Just two more days and he’d be back. Two more days and you’d see him—really see him—not just on a screen.

But that night, something felt off.

Jake hadn’t called.

Not even a text.

Not a “good morning” or a sleepy voice note. Nothing.

You tried to brush it off at first.

He’s probably tired. Maybe busy with his family.

But the longer you stared at your phone, the more uneasy you felt.

You sent a message. Then another.

And when the little “Delivered” didn’t change to “Read”… you panicked.

You tried calling. Once. Twice. Then five more times.

Your fingers moved on their own—FaceTime.

The screen rang for what felt like forever before finally—

Click.

His face appeared, flushed and damp, water still running faintly in the background. Steam curled around the edges of the screen, and his wet hair was slicked back. He was clearly still in the shower, the camera only catching his bare shoulders and face, but—

“Y/N?” Jake asked, breathless. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

Your words came out rushed. “What’s wrong with you? Why weren’t you answering? I thought— I don’t know. I thought something happened—”

Jake blinked fast, clearly still trying to process. “Shit, I’m sorry. I was in the shower. I left my phone on the counter but it wouldn’t stop buzzing—I thought someone died.”

You breathed out a shaky laugh, rubbing your eyes. “You scared me.”

He frowned, guilt all over his face. “I didn’t mean to. I swear, I just— I was in the middle of shampooing and suddenly it’s like twelve missed calls—”

“I thought something happened to you,” you admitted quietly, voice softer now.

Jake’s brows knit together. He adjusted the phone slightly—still just his face and shoulders on screen—and his voice dipped low. “Hey… I’m okay. I promise. You’re not overthinking, alright? I should’ve texted you first. That’s on me.”

You nodded, but your heart was still racing.

He gave a crooked smile. “For what it’s worth… I’m kinda glad you spammed me.”

“Why?”

“Means you care,” he said simply. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

You looked at him, steam rising around his face, eyes tired but warm.

“Next time,” you muttered, “at least answer before I have a meltdown.”

Jake chuckled. “Deal.”

And even though the call wasn’t long…

And even though he was still in Australia, two days away—

You went to bed that night with your heart just a little more at ease.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through your blinds as you sat cross-legged on your bed, phone propped up in front of you. Jake’s sleepy face filled the screen—his hair a little messy, eyes soft and hooded from just waking up. It was night over there, but he still looked wide awake for one reason only.

You.

“Okay,” you said, holding up two options. “Sweater or hoodie?”

Jake squinted, rubbing at his eye. “Wait, wait, go back to the blue one. The knit one.”

You held it up again, amused. “This?”

“Yeah,” he said, already smiling. “That. With the jean shorts. You’ll look so good, I swear.”

You gave him a look. “You didn’t even see it on.”

“Babe,” he said, voice low and teasing, “I already know. Trust me.”

You rolled your eyes but tugged the sweater on anyway. It was cozy, a little oversized, sleeves dropping slightly past your wrists. Paired with your denim shorts and a quick glance in the mirror—you had to admit, he was right.

You turned back toward the screen to find Jake watching you with this quiet, lopsided grin on his face.

“What?” you asked, reaching for your mascara.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just… you’re really pretty.”

Your hand paused mid-air. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious,” he said, his voice softer now. “Like, stupid pretty.”

You bit back a smile and kept doing your makeup, feeling his gaze linger. He didn’t say anything for a bit, just watched you brush and blend and put on lip balm.

“I don’t care how jet-lagged I am tomorrow,” he said suddenly. “I’m staying up all night with you.”

You glanced at the screen.

He looked dead serious, head resting on his pillow but eyes locked on you.

“I’m gonna hug you so tight,” he said. “Like, refuse to let go tight. And kiss you until you tell me to stop.”

You pretended to be unbothered, but your smile gave you away.

He laughed gently. “That a yes?”

You shook your head, cheeks warm. “We’ll see.”

Jake yawned and nestled deeper into his sheets. “One more day…”

“One more,” you echoed, slipping on your shoes.

And as you grabbed your bag and headed out the door, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of excitement under your skin.

Just one more.

That whole day felt… weird. Good weird. Butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of weird.

Everything you did—walking through the halls, sitting through class, zoning out during lunch—had one repeating thought in the back of your mind: Jake’s coming back today.

You weren’t texting him much. Just a few updates here and there.

He sent you a photo of the plane window, captioned: Next stop: you.

And that alone had you stuffing your phone into your locker before you completely melted in front of everyone.

By the time school ended, your legs were bouncing nonstop on the bus ride home. You told yourself you were being chill. Normal. Totally not overthinking the fact that Jake Sim, the boy who once treated girls like trophies, who once made you a bet, was now someone you were waiting for.

And maybe even falling for.

You got home, changed into something a little more comfortable, and threw yourself on your bed—phone clutched in your hand like it was your lifeline.

Then, a text buzzed through:

@simjyn: Landed. Be at yours in 20. Don’t freak out.

Your heart immediately started freaking out.

You sat up fast, checked your reflection in the mirror, and tried to tell yourself it wasn’t that deep.

But it was.

Because this wasn’t just any visit.

This was the first time you were going to see him since everything—

Since the bet, the heartbreak, the slow rebuild.

Since the quiet confessions and late night calls and the I miss yous.

This was real.

And you were about to find out just how real it truly felt… when he was standing right in front of you.

The next twenty minutes felt like an eternity. You paced around your room, picking up and putting down random things—your phone, your makeup bag, your shoes—anything to distract yourself from the nervous energy building in your chest.

You had to keep reminding yourself to breathe. It’s just Jake. It’s just Jake.

But it wasn’t just Jake, was it?

It was the Jake. The one you’d spent weeks on edge about. The one who’d broken your heart and then somehow, miraculously, started piecing it back together. The one who told you things that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to admit.

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden, making your heart jump into your throat.

You took a steadying breath and headed for the door, barely holding it together. When you opened it, Jake was standing there, grinning like he owned the world. His hair was a little messy, his eyes bright, and there was a certain softness to him that you hadn’t expected.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, a little hoarse from the travel. “Miss me?”

You just stared at him for a beat before a small laugh escaped your lips. “Are you really gonna ask that after everything?”

Jake stepped inside, closing the door behind him as he swept you into a hug. The warmth of his body was instant—familiar, comforting—and for the first time in days, you felt like maybe this was right. Like maybe it wasn’t a mistake to want him around.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice quiet now, like he was finally ready to admit it. “I know I messed up, but I really meant it when I said I wanted to try. I’m here for you. I want this… with you.”

You pulled back slightly to look him in the eye, your heart still racing from the flood of emotions crashing over you.

“You’re not just saying that because you’re back now?” you asked, unsure if you were ready to hear the answer.

Jake’s hand cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin as if he was trying to memorize the feeling of you. “No. It’s not just because I’m here. I was never going to get off the plane without making things right. I wanted to be here. For you. For us.”

You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t form the words you needed to say. Instead, you stood there, eyes locked on his, and let the silence speak for you.

Finally, Jake leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. “So, how about we just… try again? No games, no past stuff. Just us.”

You took in a shaky breath, then nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Jake smiled, that familiar cocky grin back on his face, but there was something new in his eyes—something deeper. “Good,” he murmured before gently leaning in to kiss you.

It was soft, tentative at first, like he was waiting for permission. You let him, sinking into the kiss, and for that brief moment, it felt like all the tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks just melted away.

When he pulled back, he grinned again. “Tomorrow, I’m not jet-lagged. We’re going out. I’m taking you on a real date.”

You laughed softly, still in a daze from his kiss. “What’s a ‘real date’ to you?”

“Dinner, movie, some late-night snacks, maybe another kiss or two…” Jake shrugged. “The usual, but with less games.”

You smiled, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering in response. “I think I could get used to this.”

Jake just chuckled and pulled you close again, arms wrapping around you like he wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to relax into him, knowing that whatever came next, you were finally ready to let things unfold.

Jake stood by the door, his hands casually in his pockets, looking around your room like he was trying to make himself comfortable. His eyes settled on you, and there was that same soft look he always had when he wasn’t being cocky or teasing.

“So, uh…” he started, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly a little unsure for the first time tonight. “Is Yuna here?”

You blinked, glancing toward the empty bed across the room. Yuna was out with her boyfriend, which left you alone in the apartment for the night. You’d assumed it would just be the two of you hanging out, but the way Jake asked made your heart skip a beat.

“Uh, no, she’s out with her boyfriend for the night,” you replied, biting your lip. “Why?”

Jake looked almost shy for a second, before shrugging. “Well, I was thinking… maybe I could stay here tonight?” His voice was hesitant, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if he was asking because he really wanted to, or if it was just the most natural thing for him to do. But when his eyes met yours, there was a sincerity there that made your stomach flutter.

You froze, a nervous little laugh escaping your lips. Stay the night?

You’d never had a guy stay over, especially not someone like Jake—someone who had once seemed like the kind of guy who’d never do anything that serious with someone. The idea of him being so close to you all night, even after everything, made your heart race. You couldn’t lie—it made you feel… nervous.

“Uh… yeah. Sure,” you said quietly, looking down at your feet, suddenly feeling shy.

Jake smiled, a bit relieved. “You sure? I don’t wanna make it awkward or anything, I just… I’ve missed being with you.”

Your heart melted at his words, but the nerves were still there, fluttering in your chest. “It’s not awkward,” you replied, glancing up at him. “I just… haven’t really had anyone stay over before. It’s… different.”

Jake stepped closer, his presence suddenly overwhelming in the best way. He reached for your hand and gently tugged you towards him, his smile soft and comforting. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for, okay? I just wanna spend time with you. Just you and me.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “Okay…” you whispered, not sure what to expect, but feeling strangely calm in his arms.

Jake’s lips pressed softly to your forehead, his hand still holding yours as he led you to the bed. “Then, how about we just watch a movie? You pick.”

You nodded, still feeling that little wave of nervousness, but somehow comforted by the way Jake treated you. This wasn’t a game anymore, and maybe it wasn’t the big leap you’d both once imagined. But it was a step, and that was enough.

As Jake settled next to you on the bed, you grabbed your remote and flipped through the options. He leaned against the headboard, pulling you closer, as you snuggled into his side, your heart beating just a little faster than normal.

You weren’t sure what the future held, but right now, in this quiet moment with Jake, you were willing to let the night unfold however it came.

And, even if you were nervous, you didn’t mind that he was here. With you.

The bed felt a little too big for just the two of you at first. You were trying to settle in, but your nerves kept making it awkward. You told yourself it would be fine, but the reality of him being here—so close, sharing this space with you—was a little more overwhelming than you expected.

Jake, on the other hand, was perfectly at ease. He’d clearly been in similar situations before, and the way he moved around the bed, adjusting the pillows, grabbing the blanket to throw over both of you, was effortless. He wasn’t even trying to be cautious. To him, it was just another night, another moment to relax.

You, on the other hand, lay stiff beside him, your back to him as you tried to make yourself comfortable without being too aware of his presence.

Then, you heard him yawn. “So… not bad, huh?” he said casually, turning on his side to face you, his gaze sharp and mischievous. “I mean, I know you’re probably not used to me being here, but don’t worry. I’m a great bedmate.”

You snorted, rolling your eyes even though you couldn’t hide a small smile. “Yeah, sure. No more moving around, okay? I’m trying to sleep.”

Jake grinned, clearly not even the slightest bit tired. “It’s only like 6 AM for me, babe. It’s morning in Australia, so I’m wide awake.” He paused for a second before adding, “And don’t worry. I’m not that bad. I’ll let you sleep.”

But he didn’t.

The next few minutes were a blur of shifting blankets and restless movements. Every time you thought you might finally fall asleep, Jake would adjust, making sure you felt every inch of his presence next to you. It was like he was a human radiator.

He kept moving, lightly bumping into you, his arm brushing against yours as he stretched and shifted again. You groaned, turning onto your back, trying to get some space. But Jake had other plans.

“C’mon, you can’t be mad at me forever,” he murmured, his fingers trailing over your cheek as he pinched it, all while giving you that infuriatingly sweet smile.

“Jake, I’m trying to sleep,” you snapped, your voice more irritated than you meant it to be.

“I know. You’re cute when you’re grumpy.” He grinned and leaned in to pinch your other cheek. “You’re like a little puppy when you’re all sleepy and mad.”

You huffed, swatting his hand away, but Jake only laughed softly, ignoring your protests. He pulled you in closer, wrapping his arms around you tightly, so there was no escape.

“What are you doing?” you muttered, fighting the urge to squirm out of his grip.

“I’m cuddling you. Isn’t that what you do when you’re sleeping next to someone? Come on, you can’t be mad at me. It’s cute when you’re mad.” Jake’s tone was teasing, almost too playful for how much he was invading your personal space.

You gritted your teeth, pushing at his chest weakly, but the more you tried to get away, the more he pulled you in. Eventually, you just gave up, sighing in frustration, the warmth of his embrace making you feel a little too comfortable despite your annoyance.

“Seriously, Jake, I’m not in the mood for this,” you muttered, trying to wiggle free.

But instead of letting go, Jake’s hand rested on the top of your head, gently stroking your hair, as if trying to soothe you. “Shhh. Just relax, okay? You’ve had a rough couple of days. Let me take care of you.”

His words were soft and gentle, but the way he was treating you, so carefree and natural, made everything feel more intense.

You felt your face flush. God, why was he so affectionate?

Your body was tense, but Jake didn’t seem to care. He continued his little “babying” routine, pinching your cheeks again, running his hand down your arm. “You really are cute when you’re trying to act tough.”

You shoved his hand away again. “Stop!” you groaned, your face burning now, both from being flustered and from how absolutely done you were with his teasing. But even as you spoke, you couldn’t help but feel your frustration shift into something else. The warmth of his closeness, the way he kept trying to make you laugh—despite how embarrassed you were—it was impossible to ignore the fact that a part of you was starting to soften.

Jake seemed to sense that too, because his smile softened, and for a brief second, he pulled back just enough to look at you seriously. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop… for now,” he said, but there was a playful glint in his eyes that told you he was far from done.

“Good,” you muttered, turning to face the other side of the bed.

Jake’s voice suddenly broke through the quiet, whining as he flopped onto his back. “I’m bored!” he groaned dramatically, his arms thrown wide as he stared up at the ceiling. “This is so lame. Can we do something fun?”

The frustration that had been simmering inside you all night bubbled over. You were already feeling irritable from his constant moving around and messing with you, and now this? You turned on your side, facing him, opening your mouth to let him have it.

“What do you mean, bored? You’re the one who—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Jake was already leaning in, his lips pressing urgently against yours, silencing whatever you were about to say. His kiss was sudden and intense, catching you completely off guard. The feeling of his lips on yours made everything in you freeze. You were mad, frustrated, confused—and yet your body couldn’t help but respond to him.

You pulled away, heart pounding, cheeks flushed. “What the hell, Jake?” you gasped, feeling a little more than just flustered.

Jake smirked, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Shh,” he murmured, his voice low and playful. “You were about to yell at me, weren’t you? I just had to shut you up for a second.”

Before you could even process what was happening, he kissed you again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and when he pulled away, your lips felt tingling, your mind a little hazy.

But Jake wasn’t done. His hands slid to your waist, and in one fluid movement, he was over you, his body hovering above yours. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race, and his breath was coming out in soft pants.

“Jake, wait, we can’t—” you tried to protest, but your voice faltered as his lips moved down to your neck, his body pressing closer to yours.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice thick with something you couldn’t quite place. He kissed you again, more passionately this time, as his hands moved to pull you even closer. Every touch, every kiss, only seemed to stir something deeper in you.

And even though you were still mad, flustered, and unsure, you couldn’t deny how badly your body responded to his closeness. The kiss deepened, the air between you thick with tension and the weight of everything unsaid.

It was like you couldn’t breathe without him, even as your mind screamed at you to pull away, to think clearly. But all you could focus on were his lips, his hands, and the way his body made yours burn with the kind of heat you hadn’t expected.

And in that moment, everything else just seemed to fade away.

You pulled away from Jake just enough to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. The heat between you was still lingering, and your heart was hammering in your chest.

“Jake,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “Don’t… don’t leave any marks.”

Jake paused, looking down at you with a mischievous grin. “What, are you worried someone’s gonna see? You know, it’ll just be our little secret.”

You felt the tension rise in your chest. “Jake, seriously. No marks.”

But he only smirked, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Too late,” he said softly, pressing his lips to your neck again. His kiss was soft at first, but there was a quiet intensity behind it, his lips leaving a trail of heat.

You gasped, a shiver running down your spine. “Jake…” you protested weakly, but his lips were already moving with more confidence, his hands gently pulling your body even closer to his.

“Shh,” he murmured between kisses, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re just too irresistible, you know that?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus, but the way his mouth was slowly marking the sensitive skin of your neck made it hard to think. He didn’t seem to care about your protests, and in a way, you didn’t want him to. The moment was too intense for you to pull back now.

“Jake, I said no marks,” you breathed, but your voice wavered as his lips pressed harder against the skin of your neck.

But Jake’s grin never wavered as he kissed you once more. “I’ll be gentle,” he whispered teasingly. “But you know you like it.”

And before you could say anything else, he placed another kiss on your skin, and this time, it was more than just a light touch—it was deeper, more possessive.

You couldn’t help but groan, your body reacting in ways you hadn’t expected, and all of your careful reservations melted away beneath him.

Jake pulled away for a moment, his eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite place. He gave you a slow, almost predatory grin before sitting up slightly. Without saying a word, he pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it carelessly to the side.

Your breat caught in your throat as your eyes involuntarily roamed over his toned chest. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him shirtless before, but now… this felt different. The way his body moved, the way he stared down at you with that same confident smirk—something about it was making your pulse quicken.

He watched you carefully, gauging your reaction. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

You swallowed hard, trying to collect your thoughts, but they were all scrambled. “I—yeah,” you muttered, not entirely sure if you believed it yourself. You wanted to look away, to regain some control over the situation, but your eyes kept drifting back to his chest, his body in a way you couldn’t quite pull yourself away from.

“Good,” Jake murmured, leaning back down toward you, his body pressing against yours once more. “Because I’m not done yet.”

You barely had time to process his words before his lips were on yours again, pulling you into another kiss that made it harder to think about anything else. The way his bare skin felt against yours, the warmth of his body, everything seemed to blur into a haze of desire and confusion.

Despite all the hesitation still lingering inside you, your body reacted instinctively, leaning into the kiss and feeling that undeniable pull toward him. And for a moment, everything else—your worries, your reservations, your doubts—faded into the background.

Jake’s kiss deepened, the intensity of it making your pulse race, and you could feel every inch of him pressed against you. Your heart pounded in your chest, and despite your earlier protests, you couldn’t stop yourself from responding. He was so close now, his body hovering above yours, the heat from his skin making you feel both excited and nervous.

His hands gently moved to your sides, his fingertips grazing the skin just beneath your shirt, sending a wave of electricity through your body. You wanted to pull back, to stop it before it went any further, but every part of you—every instinct—wanted to stay.

“You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for,” Jake murmured against your lips, as if sensing your hesitation. His voice was quieter now, softer, and you could feel the tenderness beneath the teasing tone.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breath. “I know,” you whispered back, your voice trembling slightly. But the tension was still there, between you both, thick and palpable.

Jake shifted slightly, lifting himself up just enough to look down at you. His hands gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheekbone. “I don’t want to rush you,” he said seriously, his eyes searching yours for some kind of reassurance. “But if you’re still unsure about anything… just say the word, and we’ll stop.”

For a brief moment, you felt the weight of your emotions, the confusion swirling inside you. You wanted to trust him. Part of you did. But then the doubt crept in—how much of this was him really caring about you? And how much was just him playing his usual game?

You tried to push those thoughts away, your hand reaching up to gently rest on his chest. “I’m just… trying to figure things out,” you confessed, your voice quiet but honest.

Jake gave you a small smile, his thumb now gently rubbing over your skin. “I get it. And I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance things could be different between you two. The trust you had been struggling to build was fragile, but it was there. And despite everything—despite how complicated things had gotten—you couldn’t ignore the warmth that spread through you when you were with him.

“Thanks,” you said softly, looking up at him. “I’m still figuring it out, but… I don’t want to let you go.”

Jake’s smile widened, his eyes softening as he leaned down to kiss you again, slower this time, as if trying to communicate everything he hadn’t said with his actions. It wasn’t perfect, and you weren’t sure where things were headed, but for once, you let yourself believe that maybe this could be something worth fighting for.

The air was heavy with the quiet aftermath, both of you lying side by side in the tangled sheets, the room still filled with the lingering warmth of the moment. You didn’t speak at first, unsure of how to break the silence. Your heart was still racing, the intensity of everything that had happened swirling in your mind, and a part of you felt vulnerable, exposed.

Jake lay on his back, one arm draped across his chest as he stared up at the ceiling, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. He seemed calm, but you could see the subtle shift in the way he was holding himself, like there was more going on behind his relaxed exterior than he was letting on.

You turned your head to look at him, your heart still pounding in your chest. “Jake…” your voice was quiet, almost hesitant, like you weren’t sure what you needed to say. You wanted to ask so many things, to know where you both stood now, but the words seemed stuck.

Jake turned his head to face you, his eyes meeting yours with a softness that you hadn’t seen before. He smiled, though it was more subdued than his usual cocky grin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and gentle, as if he was giving you space to process everything.

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to explain what you were feeling. “I think so,” you whispered, but the words still felt hollow, as if you didn’t fully believe them yourself.

Jake reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his touch surprisingly tender. “You don’t have to say anything if you’re not ready,” he murmured, his thumb lightly grazing your cheek. “But I’m here. And I meant what I said. I don’t want to rush you into anything.”

You looked up at him, feeling the warmth of his words sink in, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a little more grounded. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers, and maybe this wasn’t perfect, but you weren’t as afraid anymore.

“Thanks,” you said softly, your voice barely a whisper.

Jake’s smile grew, and he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to be happy,” he murmured.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the faint hum of the night outside. It was messy, and maybe you weren’t ready to give everything over just yet, but you knew one thing—things with Jake were no longer the same. Whether that was a good or bad thing, you weren’t entirely sure, but for now, it felt real.

And for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe that was enough.

The peaceful silence that had settled between you and Jake was abruptly shattered by the sound of a door creaking open, followed by the unmistakable click of a lock being turned. You both froze, panic and confusion flashing across your faces.

The door swung open, and to your horror, Yuna and her boyfriend, Mark, stood in the doorway, eyes wide with shock. Yuna’s face was a mix of disbelief and surprise, while Mark’s expression was one of utter confusion.

“What the hell?” Yuna’s voice was sharp, but still laced with the shock of what she was seeing. “It’s three in the morning, why the hell are you two—?”

You scrambled to sit up, suddenly feeling exposed in a way you never thought possible. Jake, always cool and collected, sat up quickly too, his face just as surprised. He looked at you, then back at Yuna and Mark, clearly trying to gauge the situation.

“Yuna,” you stammered, your voice betraying the chaos that was suddenly consuming you. “I… um, it’s not what you think.”

Mark looked between the two of you, eyebrows raised. “Y/n and Jake…such a weird combo. What’s going on?”

Yuna stood frozen for a moment, then slowly closed the door behind her, her eyes never leaving you. “This is… Wow,” she muttered under her breath. “We should’ve knocked.”

“Yuna, it’s… it’s not like that,” you said, your words coming out rushed, a little too desperate for comfort.

Jake was the first to break the tension, his usual cocky grin slipping back onto his face. “No, actually, it’s exactly like that,” he said with a shrug, leaning back against the headboard, his tone casual as though it didn’t faze him in the slightest. “But, uh, a little privacy wouldn’t hurt next time, right?”

Yuna’s gaze flickered between the two of you, her face still unreadable, but Mark’s expression turned more thoughtful. “Alright, well, we can talk about this later,” he said, stepping back toward the door. “But seriously, next time, maybe lock it, yeah?”

Before either of you could respond, they turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the room again. The door clicked shut behind them, but the silence felt deafening now, far more overwhelming than before.

You let out a breath, your heart still racing. This wasn’t how you imagined the night going, but then again, nothing about this situation had been how you expected.

Jake leaned over, a playful smirk on his lips. “Well, that was a nice surprise, huh?”

You shot him a look, still feeling a little dazed. “I think I just want to sleep now,” you muttered, pulling the covers up around you, your face flushed with embarrassment.

Jake just chuckled, his hand resting on your arm. “I don’t blame you,” he said softly. “We’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

But even as you tried to settle back into the quiet, the strange events of the evening felt like a reminder of how everything between you had shifted. Whether it was for better or worse, you didn’t know yet. But one thing was for sure: it wasn’t over.

enha campus series

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cheapshrimpysheep · 6 months ago

Text

Pocky Game

SUMMARY: How would they react if you asked them to play Pocky with you? Do they already know the game? How do they act while playing? And who is the first to finish the biscuit stick and kiss the other?

CHARACTERS: All NRC students (except Ortho)

TAGS: Fluff; GN Reader; Bullet Points; Kissing; suggestive?

WORD COUNT: An average of 310 words per character.

COMMENTS: I had this idea for some time but only now did I write it down. I don't know what else to tell to you other than: I hope you enjoy 😘

CONTEXT: The Pocky game is a party game played with Pocky, a Japanese chocolate- or candy-coated biscuit snack. Two participants place the Pocky between them “Lady and the Tramp” style, and try to be the last to hold onto the biscuit, often resulting in a kiss.

Since it's a game similar to the famous scene from "Lady and the Tramp" where they eat spaghetti, my headcanon is that this game exists in Twisted Wonderland.

How to play:

Pick a partner that you wouldn't mind kissing.

Face your partner and put a Pocky stick between you. Each partner takes an end of the Pocky stick in their mouth.

Each partner bites their end of the Pocky stick until their mouths meet in the middle. The first person to pull away loses!

Riddle has no idea what this game is, you'll have to explain it to him. “So, if I understand correctly, you lose if you pull away and you win if you keep eating the biscuit stick. Very well. It sounds simple. But is there any purpose to the game? Is it some kind of endurance test?” You say, in a way, it can be seen like that. He smiles.“I see. Are there any other rules I should be aware of before we begin?” You say no, that you already explained everything.

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and point the other side at him for him to bite. He does so and you begin the game. The closer he gets to your face the more he will blush. Until he starts having difficulty looking you in the eye and diverts his attention to the biscuit stick, which makes him make a cute face.

When there is only one bite left to finish the game, it is his turn and he pulls away. “W-wait!” The only times he gets redder than he already is is when he's angry, but of course this was not the case. “You never said there was a possibility that neither of us would pull away. If we both continue eating the biscuit stick until the end, what happens? Because if we had continued...” He looks away, embarrassed.

You apologize because you thought finding out during the game would have been a fun surprise. But you didn't know he wouldn't like the idea of... kissing you.

“What? No, no! It's not that I don't like the idea, I actually really wish I had done it... it's just that... I didn't know that it was the objective and I didn't want to, you know, be ill-mannered in case you...” Then he gets slightly upset with you. “You should have warned me! You lied to me when you said there were no more rules.” He smirks confidently. “If you were a student of Heartslabyul, it would have been off with your head for this. But I will allow you to play again and if I consider the end of the game satisfactory, you will have my forgiveness.”

In the second round, even though it's his turn, he will stop and hesitate, he wants you to be the one to consent. So you take the last bite and kiss him. You feel his lips relax. And If you deepen the kiss, he will reciprocate and hug you, pulling you towards him by the waist.

Ace knows this game so well that it's not you who invites him to play, it's he who invites you. “You also bought a box? Ha ha ha, we thought the same thing. That's a good sign.” He winks at you and smirks. “What box do we start with?”

While you play, he looks you in the eyes with a mischievous and provocative look, to see when you will chicken out and lose. The longer this takes, the more he will smile and the more smug his look will become. His face reminds you of a sly cat.

When there's only one bite left for your lips to meet, he stops, to let you choose whether to kiss him or give up and lose, while he looks you in the eyes defiantly.

If you finish the game and kiss him, his eyes will widen in surprise, but soon after that he will close his eyes and you will feel his lips form a triumphant smile. He place a hand on the back of your head to deepen the kiss.

He's the one who breaks the kiss with the most smug smile he's capable of. “Wow, chill out. We still have a lot of biscuit stick to play with.” There is a pause in which you reply. “What do you mean I was more excited than you?!” He blushes. “Lie! You were enjoying it as much as I was!... Wait! I mean...” He blushes even more. “You know what, let's play again to find out.” He smirks again.

The name of the game is not unfamiliar to Deuce, but you’ll have to remind him what kind of game it was. You explain the rules to him, that both players eat the biscuit stick from one side and the first one to pull away loses. “Okay, so whoever finishes the biscuit stick first wins?” He asks and you confirm.

“I see. So let's... wait! What happens if none of us pull away?” He asks innocently. You suggest that he finds it out while you play. And he trusts you, so he accepts the suggestion.

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and point for him to bite the other side. He does so, and as your faces get closer he begins to blush.

As the two of you take bites, it seems to bring out his competitive side, causing him to pay more attention to his bites of the cookie than to the fact that he's getting so close to you.

He's the one who takes the last bite and kisses you. But he'll quickly jump away and start apologizing. “Sorry, I didn't mean to- I mean I didn't think- expected-” He stammers, unable to finish a sentence and almost as red as when his Housewarden gets angry.

If he sees you looking sad or disappointed because it looks like he didn't want to kiss you, he'll immediately tell you that's not the case! Clumsily, and stumbling over his words.

“Wait... that... that's what you wanted? T-To kiss me?” The poor boy is a little slow. But now that he's realized this, he's going to try to muster up all the confidence he can and suggest that you try it again. And if you take out another biscuit stick to play again he'll be like: "Ah, yes! Try again the game, yes. That... that's what I meant, haha”

Cater was the one who had the idea. And it was probably trending on Magicam. He will ask you to play in the cutest way that only he knows how to ask. “Oh, you know this game too? So you can play with me right? Right, [Y/N]-chan~? You're not going to tell me that you've already played this with other people and you're not going to play it with me. You're going to make Cay-kun very sad, and a little jealy~.”

If you accept, he'll ask you if he can film you two playing. He promises not to post it on Magicam if you don't want him to, but the footage will be so cute that he'll at least want to keep it as a souvenir for himself. “Pretty please~?”

He will play like it's any other game, while looking sweetly into your eyes. Yes, he is taking the opportunity to flirt with you. If you get embarrassed, even just a little bit, he'll find it super cute.

He will let you take the last bite and decide whether to kiss him or not, while he looks at you seductively as a way to convince you to kiss him.

If you do, you'll feel his lips form a smile as he deepens the kiss. One of his hands on top of one of yours and the other on your cheek.

After the kiss, he will stay very close to you, wanting to hug you and with his forehead touching yours, laughing. Like those couples on social media.

Trey recognizes the name. “It's that game where two people eat the same biscuit stick until they meet in the middle, right?” He smiles awkwardly. “Isn't it usually played between crushes?”

If you answer yes in a way that makes him understand that that is exactly why you want to play with him, he'll give you that rare smirk of his, and chuckles. “Okay. I'll be happy to play with you.”

Even though he knows how the game works, he will let you have more control over the game. You'll take the first bite and he'll follow, as if the fun part for him was seeing you having fun and not the game itself.

He will be smiling sweetly the whole game, but when only the last bite is left, his smile turns into a smug as he looks into your eyes, and he kisses you, kindly and relaxedly. Then he'll pull away with that smug still on his face and he'll even lick his lip.

“Well, I guess we both won. That's what you wanted, right? Did I play well?” His expression is a mix of his gentle side with the rare cheeky side. “Oh,you would like I hadn't pull away so soon? Sorry, I'm still getting used to the rules of the game. I don't mind playing it again if you want. It was fun. With or without the biscuit stick.”

Yes, Leona knows what game this is, and he will tease you for wanting to play it. “Isn't that a cubs's play? How cute.” he says lying in the botanical garden, as always. “And why are you asking me to play? Do I look like someone who plays these games?”

You take that as a no (or at least as a 'try to convince me') So you say that if he doesn't want to, you'll find someone else to play with. Points if you say something like: "Maybe Tsunotarou would like to play with me."

“OI! I never said no! But if you want, you'll have to play with me lying down, because I'm not going to get up to make you that favour.”

He just straightens his head, resting it against the base of a tree before you begin. He opens his mouth for you to put the biscuit stick in his mouth. The only thing he'll do is bite that whenever it's his turn.

At first, his expression is neutral, almost bored. But every time your face gets a little closer to his, a smug smile forms on his lips. In the last bite, not only is he smiling, he's looking you in the eyes like a greedy predator.

He takes the last bite, attacking you with a kiss. He's been standing still the whole game, so when he does that you almost get a jump scare. Just like felines preparing to attack.

But he doesn't just attack you with the kiss. At the same time he puts his hands on your waist and makes you lie underneath him.

He breaks the kiss for a moment and looks at you to see your reaction with the most smug smile on his face. “As if this wasn't why you asked me to play with you. Now deal with the consequences.”

Jack doesn't know what game it is, but maybe he's heard the name somewhere. You'll have to explain it to him.

“Okay, it sounds like a simple game. And... You want to play it with me?” He says rubbing his neck. You say yes and if he wants too. “I... I think I don’t mind.” He says wagging his tail.

If you insist on knowing if he is really sure he wants to play with you, he will stop beating around the bush and tell you bluntly: “Yes. Yes, I would like to play it with you.” But blushing a liiittle bit.

You are the first one to put the biscuit stick in your mouth. He will follow you. He'll be flattered the whole game. He's never played a game so... intense for him.

Whenever your eyes meet, he looks away and his ears lower.

When there's only one bite left he'll stop and let you decide whether you want your lips to meet or not.

If you kiss him, his ears will immediately stand up straight! And if you don't pull away, he will relax, his ears will go back down, and he’ll deepen the kiss.

And you might be surprised when that shy boy a minute ago, suddenly pulls you close to him by your waist and turns the kiss into a passionate one. His tail wagging like crazy, by the way.

And as suddenly as he brought you closer to him, he will pull away, embarrassed for having let himself be carried away.

He will start apologizing and if you want to keep the flame burning, the best option is to shut him up with another kiss. He will love that.

A game that involves eating? Sign Ruggie up! A game that involves sharing food? “Hum... In that case I should have something else for the halves I let you eat.” He bargains with you.

You can try to dissuade him with something like: “But it's just a silly game. And it's just a biscuit stick.” But he will respond with: “It could even be a freshly picked dandelion, I don't play with food.” He's telling the truth, but trying to appear playful.

You suggest giving him the entire box if he plays with you once. But play the game the way it should be played, not finding a way to play around the rules just so he can keep the box. “Shye hee hee. Don't worry, I have no reason to do that.”

You're the first one to put the biscuit stick in your mouth and wait for Ruggie to start eating the other side. But he looked at you and the cookie with a mischievous look, came closer, opened his mouth and... ATE ALMOST THE ENTIRE THING IN ONE BITE! Leaving you just one bite away from placing your lips against his and ending the game. His gaze was cutely mischievous.

If you finish the game and kiss him, he will hold it for a second just to see if you don't pull away. And when he realizes that you are enjoying the kiss, he will grab you by the waist and deepen the kiss. And there is only one way to describe his kiss: Greedy

Azul doesn't recognize the name of the game, but when you explain it to him he realizes it's a land version of one that exists under the sea. And he'll ask you if he can see the box.

He glances at the front, but then turns it over to see the ingredients list on the back. He's counting the calories, isn't he? You try telling him something like, “Come on, it's just a silly game. Just a little biscuit stick.”

But to your surprise, he starts talking about how a game can be a brilliant marketing strategy, to wonder if he could incorporate those biscuit stick into a dessert on the Mostro Lounge menu and whether the students would be interested. You ask for his attention again.

“I’m deeply sorry for wandering off in thoughts while you were talking to me, but I heard everything you said, don't worry. And since you just gave me an idea for a special new item on the Mostro Lounge menu, the least I can do is accept your invitation to play. That might teach me more about this product. And... that way we’ll be even, correct?” He adjusts his glasses.

His confidence starts to slip as the game starts and he realizes how close your face is to his, and how close it will be by the end of the game. He tries his best to remain unmoved and maintain eye contact with you, but he can't stop the blush from appearing on his face.

When there's only one bite left, he stops so you can take the last one and decide whether the kiss happens or not.

If you do, you will feel the tension in his lips, but he will not break the kiss. And if you don't do it either, it will start to relax and deepen it. The tension turns into a smile and you feel his hands cupping your face.

Jade doesn't recognize the name of the game, and asks you if you could explain to him how to play and what it consists of. He recognizes the description as the land version of a game that also exists under the sea.

“Ah yes, I believe I understood how this game works.” Then he gives you that deceptive smile he does when his true intentions are suspicious but hard to tell. “And you chose me to play it with you? Well, I'm honored. I'm more than eager to partake in this land activity with you of all people.”

You are the first one to put the biscuit stick in your mouth. He follows you with a calm smile. But the eyes, they're focused on yours, intensely.

He follows the instructions you explained at the beginning, imperturbably, as if he were truly just following the rules of a simple game. But that was just what he showed. From the look in his eyes you could tell there was much more behind this behaviour.

He always shows himself so passive that it almost came as a surprise to you when he took the last bite like an attacked to kiss you. But his eyes weren't completely closed, just half closed. As if he was observing you and studying you while enjoying the kiss.

And when you start to deepen the kiss, he pulls away, with a charming and dangerous smirk on his face. “It seems that we ended the game in a draw. That is not usually a very exciting outcome, is it. Perhaps we should play another round. And perhaps... make up some new rules of our own. Wouldn't that be interesting?”

Floyd doesn't recognize the game by the name you said, but if your description makes it seem fun in some way, he'll agree to play with you. The problem is that it seems boring to him. It's just eating a cookie. What's so special about that?

You decide to reveal to him that the real reason people play it is to get a kiss from their crush at the end. This makes him smile mischievously. “Aaaah~ So that's why you want to play with me, isn't it Koebi-chan~?” The smile becomes cute. “And what is my reward if I play?”

You say if he doesn't want to kiss you he can just not play. And he sulks. “Ehh? That's not what I said. I want to know what I gain by playing.” He smirks. “Because I don't need to play to get a kiss, do I?” He pauses for a moment to appreciate your reaction. His cute smile returns. “Ah! I know, why don't you give me the box of biscuit stick as payment?” And then he says in that deep voice through the sinister smile. “You're not going to play with anyone else, are you?”

If you accept he'll be like ‘YAY. Let's play then! :3’. You are the one who puts the biscuit stick in the mouth first and he follows with a relaxed look and smile. He follows the rules like you said, but it seems like he's more focused on you than the stick, as if he was amused watching your movements and reactions.

He leaves the last bite for you, watching you with mischievous eyes and an amused smile. If you take the last bite and kiss him, he won't move, not even return the kiss, to see how long you can hold out like that.

When you break the kiss disappointed he will say with a smirk: “Aww, Why so sad? Wasn't it the win you wanted? I told you the game was boring.” He takes the box from your hand, and he wraps an arm around you to pull you close to him. “Now if you still want to make out, you should just do it you know? I'm in the mood so don't waste it.”

Kalim doesn't know what game it is but he accepts any invitation to play anything. He's like: “Of course I'll play with you! Hum... what game is that again?” And after you explain he will say with his big enthusiastic smile: “Sounds fun! I know I can't accept food from other people, but it's you, even Jamil says it's okay accepting things from you. So how do we start?”

You are the one who puts the biscuit stick in your mouth and points it to the other end for Kalim to bite. He does so with a cute, innocent smile.

He seems to be having fun playing. When there is only one bite left to finish the game, it is his turn, and he ends the game giving you an extremely loving kiss. Like a smooch.

He breaks the kiss with a huge happy smile on his face. “Ha ha! This is fun! Can we play again?”

He will make you play with him until the box is empty. And when he asks to play again and you say that the cookies are gone, he will say: “Ow, I was having so much fun. You too? That's great! We should buy more. I'll pay for all of them.”

When you go to the Mystery Shop to buy more and Kalim discovers that there are several flavours, he will buy ALL OF THEM! All of the ones that Sam has? Yes, because Sam, somehow and at that moment, has ALL OF THEM THAT EXIST!

Jamil knows the game because he's heard of it, If not from schoolmates, then from his sister or something. “Isn't that the game where two people eat a biscuit stick to kiss at the end?” He says this with a neutral face, but then he makes that smug face, with one eyebrow raised. “And you want to play it with me? *chuckle* Fine. I don't see why not. I just have one question: Will you allow me to finish the game however I want?”

You say that as long as you follow the basic rules, he can end the game however he wants. “In that case, don't forget that you were the one who allowed it.” He says.

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth, but before he bites the other side, he puts a finger on your chin to tilt it a little and only then bites the biscuit stick.

He plays the whole game with that cocky smile. This is one of those rare moments where he lets his cheeky side show.

When there's only one bite left, he lets you decide how the game ends. The moment you touch your lips to his he will grab you and pull you towards him to deepen the kiss in the blink of an eye. Like a snake biting its prey in a single moment.

And then, he breaks the kiss, licking his lips, and still with his arms around your waist. “You're the one who said I could end it however I wanted as long as I followed the rules.” He says with a smirk and brings his lips closer to your ear. “I hope you haven't regret it.”

Yes, Vil knows this game. There was a time when it became very popular and he usually keeps up with those trends. Especially because sometimes they are incorporated into teen shows. “If I ever participated in one of those scene? No. No offence to the genre but I prefer to participate in films and genres that are less... melodramatic. That and IF I were cast in one of those shows there would be little chance of me getting the love interest role. I am perfectly aware that I’m more of a ‘mean girl’ type.” He says with a certain pride in both his voice and his face.

“And you want to play it with me?” He smirks charmingly. “My dear, you and probably all my fans. I hope you know that if I accept, firstly what a privilege and honor it is, and secondly, that this must remain between us. *chuckle* Well, if you understand that, then perhaps I can give you that pleasure.”

He lets you be the first to put the biscuit stick in your mouth and extend the other side to him, inviting him to bite. He does so with elegance and as if he were following some kind of etiquette for that game that you didn't even know could exist. That and he even places his index finger and thumb on your chin to adjust your posture while playing.

When there's only one bite left, it's his turn. He closes his eyes and kisses you gently and delicately. He'll stay like that for a second before breaking the kiss, and lovely looking at you with a soft smile.

“I must admit it was more satisfying than I expected. Thank you for inviting me to play. I shall be the one inviting you next time.”

Epel's never heard of that game, mostly because he's never been interested in that kind of stuff. So you explain it to him. But he doesn't quite understand why that would be fun. “So two people eat a biscuit stick from each side until someone pull away? But what if no one pull away-... wait... Don't tell me the goal is to kiss at the end!?”

When you confirm, his surprised expression begins to turn red. “A-and you want to play it... WITH ME?! No, it's not that I don't want to. I mean...! Hum... you just caught me off guard. But... yes, I... would like to play with you too.” He ends up agreeing with a sweet smile.

He starts playing a little shyly, but as you two take bites he starts to see it as a real game and his competitive side gives him confidence. So much so that when the last bite arrives and he takes it, kissing you, he only realizes it too late.

He quickly pulls away, blushing profusely! He stumbles over his words as he apologizes, because at the same time he also remembers that that was the intention of the game.

“EH! Wait! This is what you wanted, isn't it? Why am I apologizing? Oi! Are you laughing at me? Fine! Let's play again!” He gives you that confident smirk. “And this time, I'm not pulling away! I'm warning you!”

The second time you play he is definitely more confident. And he keeps his word, as soon as you kiss again, he doesn't pull away. His lips start out tense, but they relax as he forgets about the game and enjoys the kiss.

Of course Rook knows this game! A fun excuse for two lovebirds to kiss? How would he not know something like that? “Oh, and would you like me to have the honor of being your playmate? Mais bien sûr, Trickster! It will be my greatest pleasure.” He smiles enthusiastically.

“May I have the honours?” He asks, holding out his hand for you to hand him the box. He takes one of the biscuit stick and puts it in his mouth, inviting you to bite the other side and start the game.

He plays with a big “innocent” smile on his face. But eventually, as your faces get closer, his eyes change to that hunter's gaze.

When there's only one bite left for your lips to meet, he stops and lets you decide whether to take the last bite or pull away, while he fixes his intense gaze on you, observing you. Yes, he likes to hunt, but part of hunting is also setting traps and waiting for the prey to fall into them.

If you finish the game and kiss him, you will feel the smile he already had grow and the kiss becoming sweeter and more passionate. His hands cupping your face, him bringing his body closer to yours, and then one of the hands slowly leaving your face to end at your lower back.

When he finally releases your lips, he's looking at you with desire. “Très bien Trickster. Your lips are sweeter than the chocolate in the biscuit stick.” He brings his lips closer to yours again. “And now, I so ache to taste that mixture of flavours again. Would you allow me to play this once more with you? There are some sensations I would like to introduce you to, as a token of my gratitude.”

Ooh, Idia knows very well what game you are talking about. Probably for the same reasons that you know it too. “Do you think you're in an Otome game or something?” He mocks you with that smug smile. “And even if you wanted to live that fantasy, why me?” he sulks. ”Do you think I would be the only one to fall for this ‘cause of the games I play? That's a bit mean, don't you think? Or did the association of one thing with the other make you feel pity for me? I'm sure any student with good taste would love to play this with you, you don't need to invite me just because no one would do it with me.”

You tell him, in the form of a scolding, that you want to play with HIM! Not out of pity, but because you like him. And maybe, just maybe, you expressed it quite bluntly because of the adrenaline of being upset with him at the moment.

“Y-y-you like me?! C'mon, why would you?” You two continue to argue until he says something like: “FINE! I'll play with you, but when you lose because you pull away at the first bite, don't blame me.”

He's the one who reaches into the box and takes out a biscuit stick to put in his mouth and points the other end at you with an almost annoyed look on his face. Which looks more like a pout.

You take a bite, he takes another and so on. As your faces get closer, to your surprise, he seems to become more confident. Do you really want to play? He'll show you how a game is won! The heat of competitiveness escalates because of the dangerous mix of stubbornness of the two involved.

When there's only one bite left, it's his turn, and he's already so heated up by the game that he finishes it as if he were making the final strick. Turning your kiss into a surprisingly passionate attack.

But only for a second, until he opened his eyes in disbelief and immediately pulled away with his hair bursting pink, and the paleness of his face contrasting with his blush.

“I-I-I warned you!” He sees you smiling, and his smugness strikes with full force. “Oh! So you weren't just baiting, you really wanted it. Fine then. Next round! And this time I'm not going to chicken out in victory, you hear?”

Malleus is already beaming with joy that you invited him to something. The fact that it's a game only makes him even more excited. Even though he has no idea what game that is. You just explain the rules, that two people eat the same biscuit stick until someone pulls away and that person loses.

“I see. It seems like a simple game to play. But what happens if neither player pulls away?” You decide to respond with: ‘Why don't we play to find out?’ He laughs ans smirks. “Fearless as ever, Child of Man. Are you truly not concerned about what might happen if you withhold information from me? Fu fu. Very well. We shall see how our game ends.”

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and point the other side at him for him to bite. He does it with a loving smile, and tries to take bites the same size as yours. He doesn't want to cheat without knowing it.

When there's only one bite left to finish, he stops, not knowing what to do. So you're the one who ends the game and kisses him.

He is surprised, but doesn't break the kiss, instead he maintains it and deepens it. He carefully puts his arms around you to bring you even closer to him. And then brings one of his hands to your cheek. You can feel him controlling his strength to make sure he doesn't hurt you, even though he wants to hug you tighter.

He breaks the kiss unexpectedly. “I am not hurting you, am I?” He asks slightly concerned. “I am learning to control my strength, but I am afraid I might run the risk of burning you with my breathe.” You say you weren't feeling hot at all, or at least not that kind. “That is other of my concerns. I may not hurt you at first, but if I let myself be carried away... I am not aware if the same thing happens to you, I hope so, but I feel the need to show you through actions like this how much I'm in love with you and that could be...”

You tell him that just as he learned to control his strength, he can learn to moderate other things. And perhaps the best way to do that is to continue training with you, little by little. Maybe with another round of that game?

Silver doesn't know this game, but if you’re willing to explain it to him he will be happy to play with you. You explain the rules except the part about what happens if neither player pulls away. But Silver doesn't remember to ask either and you start the game as soon as he understands the basic rules.

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and point to the other end for him to bite. He does so and plays as you had explained to him, taking a bite whenever it is his turn. His expression remains the same throughout the game... as always.

When there is only one bite left he stops, confused about what he should do and looks at you, or rather, into your eyes, looking for a hint or something like that. And you decide to be the one to end the game and kiss him.

He is surprised, but does not pull away. He just stays like that the whole time you do. Even though his lips are relaxed, it's as if he simply accepts it and does you the favor of staying there.

You're the one who has to break the kiss, probably disappointed that it seems like he didn't reciprocate.

“What's wrong?” He asks, with the same neutral face as always. “You look sad. Did I do something wrong while playing?” You explain to him, in your own way, that it seemed like the kiss was nothing to him, but he didn't pull away either, so you were confused.

“I failed to express myself again.” He says, now with a slightly disappointed expression. “I'm sorry. I... really enjoyed it.” He smiles for a second and then goes back to being disappointed with himself. “But I didn't know what to do, so I just... let you lead, I think. I understand now that I should have taken some kind of initiative. We could play again if you could give me a second chance? Would you be willing to tutor me in how to express myself to you through a kiss?” He smiles at you again. “I would be very grateful.”

Sebek doesn't even know what game you're talking about and he's already complaining about you wanting to play a silly game with him. But fine, he lets you at least explain the game and the rules.

“Just as I thought, a foolish human game. And it is not even productive as a sport to train the body or an intellectual one to train the brain. Why would I waste something as precious as time playing something like that with you? The game is simply two people eating a biscuit to see who can finish it the fastest. FOOLISH!”

You opened your mouth to correct him and say that that wasn't really the goal, but thinking about it, maybe it was a fun way to convince him to play. So you choose to insinuate that he is so slow at eating that he wouldn't be able to beat a mere human in such a competition.

“WHAT?! You believe you're up to my standards in any kind of physical competition? HA! That's what we're going to see, human.” He says smugly. “Pass me one of those biscuit stick, if you please.”

He's the first one to put the biscuit in his mouth, and he even crosses his arms looking at you with a defiant and cocky look.

You start playing, and quickly, without him noticing in time, he kisses you. But only for like half a second before pulling away in the blink of an eye. “AH! YOU DECEIVED ME!” He says with a serious and offended look but a blush on his face. “This is not a game, it's a trap! AND I FELL FOR IT!”

You ask if he didn't like it, and his blush only deepens. “Th-those weren't my words! Do not distort my speech!” So you ask, with a smirk, if he would play with you one more time. “Very well! We shall play again.” He smirks too. “ And this time I will not pull away! Be warned, human!”

As incredible as it may seem, Lilia doesn't know this game well, but he has heard of it. This is a recent thing for very young people, and as that phase of his life had already passed and Silver was never interested in those things, he ended up never having the opportunity to get to know the game.

You see his eyes light up with amusement and interest as you explain the game. “Khee hee hee, sounds like a simple but fun game.” Then, he smirk with a sly look. “I wonder what happens if neither of us pulls away. I assume you were inviting me to play because you are also interested in finding out? Fu fu. Let's play then. Will you do the honours?”

You put the biscuit stick in your mouth and Lilia bites the other side. He plays with a cute expression rather than a smug one, probably to make you more comfortable and confident playing. His red gaze can be too penetrating, at least for the first round of the game.

When there is only one bite left to finish, he stops, even if it’s his turn. He wants you to be the one to decide how the game ends.

You take the last bite and kiss him. And now you can feel from his lips that his cute expression has given way to smugness again. He cups your face and deepens the kiss. He is surprisingly (or not) very skilful, so much so that if the kiss were a dance he would certainly be the one guiding it.

And he's the one who breaks the kiss, gently, and gives you a cute smile. “I know I'm irresistible, but let us save some energy for the next rounds, shall we? How many biscuit stick are in the box?”

If you would like to read more from me, you can find it in my pinned post: INDEX

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phantomwithbreakfast · 5 months ago

Text

~ Scarred For Half A Life ~

DP Phan Fic.

[“You want to see a danger? You should see me in a crown.”]

So uh—this is a scene I have in mind for my story. Because of the song, yes!

I mean, I already wrote it down, to add later on into the story! And I was really enthusiastic about it, so I drew Danny with a crown. An ugly crown (because it’s made out of paper). [sketch lurking at the bottom]

If you want you can read and follow it! But—BEWARE!

———————

Genre: Angst / Hurt And Comfort (and a little Horror)

AU — OOC

Trigger Warning: Emotional Distress — Violence — Graphic Content

Rating: M

———————

Summary:

Danny had been captured by the GiW once again, or so he thinks. Leaving him feeling utterly helpless—vulnerable. There was nothing he could do. What will happen to him? And why again? (Summary might change as the story goes on)

———————

So, this is a piece of that potential chapter:

“Wait! Don’t move. I want to take a picture!” Jazz exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

Danny groaned, rolling his eyes. “Seriously? A picture? What are you, my dad?”

Jazz ignored his protest, already angling the camera toward him. “Come on, Danny, it’s your birthday. Let me have this.”

He sighed, slouching slightly. “Fine, but make it quick. And don’t expect me to smile like an idiot.”

Jazz smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. You’re already an idiot. The crown just completes the look.”

Danny couldn’t help the small grin tugging at his lips as she snapped the photo, capturing him sitting there with the gold paper crown tilted slightly on his head, a mixture of amusement and irritation in his glowing green eyes.

“There,” Jazz said triumphantly, glancing at the picture on her phone. “Perfect. I’m definitely keeping this one.”

———————

And a piece of the scene with the song in my head that plays in the background:

“Phantom,” she said icily, her voice like a blade. “You’re not my son. You’re a danger. I was merciful letting you stay this long.”

That was it. That was the final crack that shattered the fragile restraint Danny had been holding onto. His aura flared violently, glowing with an intense, cold light that filled the room, making the shadows dance erratically on the walls.

“You wanna see a danger?” Danny growled, his voice dropping into something almost inhuman, vibrating with power as his feet lifted off the ground. His white hair swirled beneath the gold paper crown, caught in an invisible wind as the room seemed to grow colder by the second.

Danny’s arms hung by his sides, his fists clenching tightly. A brilliant green energy began to materialize, steam curling off his fingers like fire, licking up his forearms in tendrils of raw power.

“You should see me in a crown.”

A burst of cold ectoplasmic energy erupted from Danny’s palms, shooting straight toward Maddie with icy precision. She dove to the side, flipping the table over in one swift motion to shield herself. Plates shattered, the pancakes splattered across the walls, and the dining room filled with a deafening roar of energy.

———————

As for my own commentary about my DP drawing…

I hate drawing hands, and I don’t like to draw shoes. Maybe because I just can’t!! I’m not good at drawing mouths either, or I was just having a bad day at drawing. And we are definitely not going to talk about the nose. I have zero idea what went wrong with coloring/painting, and I couldn’t fix it at that moment. Maybe I was hurrying it, don’t care. I wanted it out of my head! And I really wanted to share this, because I like it for once, something of my own. As for the style, still searching my own, trying things out, so at the moment, I have no idea what I’m doing. Might redo it later.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #danny phantom fanart #dp fanart #phandom #digital art #digital illustration #procreate #fanfic #digital drawing #crown #you should see me in a crown #fanfiction #angst #depressing shit #hurt/comfort

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comatosebunny09 · 8 months ago

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misunderstanding | sylus

summary: it was all because the shopkeep got a little handsy. a little too comfortable, purring his name like that. he shrugged her off; did you not see that part? genre(s): romance, angst warning(s): alcohol, drunk reader, self-esteem issues, insecurities, language, short and sweet notes: inspired by that one scene from fifty shades of grey.

Imagine calling Sylus while you’re drunk off your ass.

When you’ve thrown back one too many long islands, and while your friends are all inside, shacked up with their significant others and happy. You toddle outside for some fresh air and a break from your own head.

His voice breaks through the static, all heavy with sleep. But he answers so quickly because you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Been brief with your texts, ignoring his phone calls, and going out of your way to avoid running into him. He’s given you your space—minus Mephisto perched outside your window each night, watching you like a hawk.

“Hello?” Sylus husks, bed sheets rustling in the background as he maneuvers himself to sit up.

Somewhere far off, you feel bad for waking him. He already sleeps like shit. But you have liquid encouragement on your side, so you shove that guilt down, down, down in favor of poking the proverbial bear.

Your words are all blurred together, and you can barely keep your eyes open as you prop yourself up on a safety bollard, holding your phone to your ear with two hands.

“Why don’t you like me?”

“I—What?”

You swallow thick. Feel the world swirling and your body teetering, but you press on.

“Why don’t you like me, Sylus? Am I not your type? Is it ‘cause I’m not rich? Not skinny?”

He laughs, all incredulous on the other end. You imagine him pinching the bridge of his nose in the stillness of his bedroom, disbelieving of the shit spilling from your mouth. And so early in the evening, too.

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Me. I mean, am I annoying? I kinda am. I talk a lot. But that lady—the one from before. That shopkeeper chick. She was really hot. Like, supermodel hot.”

Your name comes out in an exasperated sigh. “That’s what this is about?”

You confirmed his suspicions. Why you’ve been playing keep-away. Ever since you accompanied him a few weeks back to gather some intel from a verified source, you’ve been acting distant. All because the shopkeep got a little handsy. A little too comfortable, purring his name like that. He shrugged her off. Wordlessly put her in her place. Did you not see that part?

Sylus doesn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“No, no, wait. Lemme finish. She seemed more your type. Like the kinda chick you’d be into, ya know? You two’d be like Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

He groans, and this time, you picture him hanging his head low. His long fingers splayed over his face in exhaustion.

“Where are you? Have you been drinking?”

“Mind your business,” you say around a hiccup.

And you’re catching yourself on the bollard, giggling stupidly at how pathetic you must look. Trying to catch your footing like a baby fawn.

“Only had one or two. Maybe three or six. I’m a big girl. A big, un-pretty girl, according to Mr. Sylus.”

A car honks in the distance. You barely stir from it, eyes shuttering as your head falls onto your arm roosted on the bollard.

“Where are you?” Sylus prods again.

There’s a little more urgency this time. A little more concern lurking beneath the tenor of his voice, and the sleep’s almost completely vanished from it.

“Out.”

You burn hot. Sway as the alcohol thickens in your veins. Something of a smile twitches your lips. For a second, you’re convinced he actually gives a shit about you.

“Sweetie, please. I don’t have the patience to entertain your mind games today. And stop putting words into my mouth. Not once have I ever referred to you as ‘un-pretty.’”

You snort. Stumble away from the bollard to lean against a brick wall. It’s cold and raw against your bare back. The world’s a pretty bokeh of light around. Maybe you did have a little too much to drink.

His voice drops an octave. Skates between sincerity and something dulcet; doting.

“You’re anything but. You’re gorgeous. Breathtaking. Incredibly resourceful and infuriatingly kind. You’re tough. And you don’t talk too much. In fact, I wish you would spend more time talking about yourself.”

Your lips crook with a smile. Your eyes begin to water. Your cheeks are warmer now, and you’re not sure if it’s from the alcohol or the words spuming so effortlessly from the other end of your phone.

You hear fabric rustling. Hear his mattress creaking and things being jostled about in the background. Drawers. Clothes. Shoes clicking against marbled tiles.

“Tell me where you are,” he asserts. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No, no, no!”

You wave your hand dismissively like he can see. You feel bad enough having dragged him down with you. Having dredged up your insecurities and projected them onto him like that. No reason to make him leave the sanctity of his bed to entertain your foolishness.

“It’s cool, Syl. I’ll catch a cab.”

“I’m not asking,” he clips in a tone that leaves no room for argument.

You swallow, suddenly feeling cold sobriety creep in. Metal jangles through the static. Keys. Car keys. A door shuts, followed by an engine stuttering and drawing a breath in. He taps a few buttons on his console. Releases a sigh.

“I’m on my way. Stay where you are. Don’t go running off with any strangers, alright, sweetheart?”

Something warm spills into your tummy. You slide down the wall onto your ass, holding your head in your hands with your phone propped to your ear using your shoulder.

“Sylus, really. You don’t have to do that. I’ll be good—”

“I want to,” he insists. Already peeling out of his driveway and zooming through the streets of the N109 Zone. “Stay on the line. Don’t hang up. I’ll be there soon. Promise.”

You sigh at your own stupidity. At your own pitifulness. Making him come play knight in shining armor like that. All because you couldn’t hold your liquor. Your tongue. Though, you can’t stifle the tiny ping of hope resounding in your head.

“Okay. I’ll wait. But can we get ice cream when you get here?”

He chuckles, the sound of it brassy yet comforting through the drunken slurry of your brain.

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

masterlist

#sylus x reader #sylus x you #sylus romance #sylus drabble #love and deepspace sylus #sylus #sylus qin #sylus fic #love and deepspace fic #lnds x you #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #lnds sylus #sylus fluff #sylus imagine #l&ds imagine

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harrysfolklore · 2 months ago

Note

So since the Oscars are happening next week I wanted to ask if you could please write something about charles leclerc and actress!reader where she's been nominated many many times before but never won (kind of like saoirse ronan) but this time she finally breaks the curse and win her first Oscar and Charles being just proud husband

u know you can always count on me for a charles x famous!reader fic and honestly i loved this one 🥺 i hope you like ittt

The Dolby Theatre buzzes with anticipation as you sit between Charles and your co-star. This scene is familiar - the sixth time you've been nominated, the same butterfly-inducing wait during the Best Actress category. Your first nomination came when you were just twenty-three, and now at thirty, you've earned the title of 'most nominated actress without a win.'

Charles has been there for four of those nominations, watching you smile gracefully through each loss. You remember how devastated he was last year - more than you, even - when you lost for what critics had called 'the performance of the decade.' He'd held you all night, whispering about how the Academy didn't deserve you anyway.

Tonight, though, feels different. Maybe it's the way Charles keeps pressing soft kisses to your temple, or how he hasn't stopped playing with your wedding ring - a nervous habit he picked up during particularly tense races.

"Mon coeur," he whispers as the Best Actor category wraps up, "no matter what happens, you're already the winner in my eyes. But tonight... tonight feels like magic, no?"

You're gripping Charles's hand so tightly you might be cutting off his circulation, but he doesn't seem to mind. Your heart is pounding as Emma Stone opens the envelope on stage, the same way it has during the previous ceremonies where you'd left empty-handed despite the nominations.

Charles leans closer, his lips brushing your ear. "I'm proud of you, no matter what happens," he whispers, his thumb stroking soothing circles on your hand.

"And the Academy Award for Best Actress in a Leading Role goes to..."

Charles's grip tightens imperceptibly. You feel him holding his breath alongside you.

"YN!"

For a moment, you're frozen. The applause sounds distant, like you're underwater. Then you feel Charles's hands on your face, see his beaming smile through your blur of tears.

"You did it, mon coeur!" he exclaims, his own eyes glistening as he pulls you into a kiss. "You finally did it!"

You're trembling as you stand, Charles helping you up. He's looking at you the way he does after winning a race - no, even more intensely than that. Like you've just won every championship in existence.

The walk to the stage feels surreal. You can hear the announcement echoing: "This is YN's sixth nomination and first win..." Through your tears, you see the standing ovation, catch glimpses of familiar faces who've been on this journey with you.

Your hands shake as you accept the Oscar, its weight both foreign and familiar after years of dreaming about this moment. You take a deep breath, looking out at the sea of faces until you find those green eyes that have been your anchor through every high and low.

"Wow," you begin, your voice trembling. "They say sixth time's the charm, right?" The audience laughs warmly. "I've had this speech written in my head since I was a little girl playing pretend with my mom's hairbrush, but now that I'm here, those words don't seem enough."

You pause, gathering yourself. "To the Academy - thank you for not giving up on me. To my incredible director who trusted me with this role that scared me as much as it thrilled me. To my amazing co-stars who pushed me to dig deeper, be braver."

Your eyes find Charles again, who's watching you with such pure adoration it makes your heart swell. "To my husband, who has sat through more award shows than F1 races this year so far, who runs lines with me even though he says my accent is better than his, who believes in me more than I believe in myself - ti amu. You've watched me practice acceptance speeches in our kitchen, held me through the disappointments, and somehow made me feel like a winner every single time. You told me once that in racing, it's not about how many times you don't make the podium, it's about never stopping until you do. Well, my love, we finally made it to the top step."

You can see Charles openly crying now, nodding proudly through his tears. "To my parents who let their little girl dream big, to my team who've been with me through every 'maybe next year,' to every young actor who's been told 'not yet' - keep going. Your time will come."

Looking down at the golden statue in your hands, you smile through your tears. "And finally, to every person who's ever felt like they're always the runner-up, who's heard 'better luck next time' so many times they've lost count - this is for you. Because sometimes the longest waitings lead to the sweetest victories. Thank you, thank you so much."

Later, at the Vanity Fair after-party, Charles hasn't let go of your Oscar once. He's been carrying it around, showing it off more proudly than any of his race trophies.

"My wife," he keeps saying to everyone who'll listen, his accent thick with emotion, "she's brilliant, no? I told everyone she would win. I knew it."

"Charles," you laugh, watching him polish the statue with his pocket square for the third time. "You're going to wear it out."

"Non, I'm protecting it. It's very precious." He looks at you with those soft green eyes. "Like you."

You lean into his side, feeling the familiar warmth of his arm around your waist. "You know what this means, right? Now we both have something gold to polish obsessively."

He chuckles, finally setting the Oscar down to pull you closer. "Oui, but unlike my trophies, this one was a long time coming." His expression softens. "You deserved this years ago, mon coeur."

"Well," you say, straightening his bowtie, "someone once told me that the sweetest victories are the ones you have to fight for."

"Sounds like a wise man," he grins.

"He's alright," you tease. "Bit of a show-off though. Keeps trying to steal my Oscar's spotlight."

Charles laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Never. Tonight is all yours, my love. Though..." he adds with a mischievous glint in his eye, "I might need to win another race soon. Can't have you being the only champion in the household."

You reach up to wipe a smudge of your lipstick from his cheek. "Race you to the next gold trophy?"

"Deal," he says softly, pulling you into a proper kiss. "But you've already won the most important race."

"Oh? Which one is that?"

His smile is tender as he touches his forehead to yours. "The race to my heart."

"That was terrible," you laugh, but you're already pulling him closer.

"Terrible but true," he murmurs against your lips. "Now, shall we go home? I need to practice my 'proud husband watching his wife's Oscar-winning performance' face for when we rewatch your movie for the hundredth time."

"You love that movie."

"I love you," he corrects.

And as you watch him carefully wrap your award in his suit jacket for the journey home, you think that maybe this victory is sweeter than you imagined - not because of the golden statue, but because of the golden heart beside you who never stopped believing it would happen.

#charles leclerc au #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc fake instagram #charles leclerc #charles leclerc fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula one #charles leclerc fanfiction #harrysfolklore #f1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #cl16 x reader #cl16 fanfic

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theetherealbloom · 2 months ago

Text

IT COULD HAPPEN TO YOU - CH.6

Chapter Six: I Keep These Longings Locked In Lowercase Inside A Vault

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?

Pairing: 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, On-Set Accident, Blood, Stitches, Medic

Word Count: 9.6k

A/N: GOOD MORNING CHICKENS 🙂‍↕️ Lowkey, I ran into a wall writing this chapter LOL. Anyways, almost murdered the reader cause why not HEHE. If we’re doing hallmark tropes— I’M GOING ALL THE WAY, BABY.

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: Guilty As Sin? By Taylor Swift

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist |Main Masterlist|

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EARLY MORNING

Sunlight filters softly through the windows, casting a warm, golden glow over the room. The air feels calm, almost too calm, as if it knows that something is about to shift.

“You know we’ll still see each other at work, right?” you say with a soft laugh, zipping up your suitcase and trying to keep things light.

Despite your tone, there’s a strange ache in your chest—a heaviness that lingers just beneath the surface. You keep your focus on the zipper, avoiding his gaze for a moment too long.

Pedro stands in the doorway, arms crossed, his shoulder resting casually against the frame as he watches you with that familiar ease. But there’s something different in his expression this morning, something quieter. “Doesn’t mean I’ll miss you any less,” he replies, his voice warm but tinged with a softness that makes your heart stumble.

Then his lips curl into a teasing pout. “Especially the cuddles.”

Your breath catches, heat rushing to your cheeks as flashes of last night fill your mind—the two of you curled up together on the couch, your head on his chest, his arm draped around you. You’d fallen asleep like that, wrapped in warmth and comfort, his steady heartbeat beneath your ear. Neither of you had moved until morning.

You clear your throat, trying to play it off. “I’m sure you’ll survive without a cuddle buddy for one night.”

“Survive, yes.” Pedro sighs dramatically. “But thrive? Highly questionable.”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his antics. The knot in your chest loosens just a little. Stepping closer, you reach out and gently take his hand. Your fingers brush against his palm, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

“Walk me to my new room?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost shy.

Pedro’s eyes soften as he looks down at your joined hands, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles. “Of course,” he says, his voice steady, reassuring. “Lead the way.”

The hallway is peaceful in the early morning light, the soft hum of the hotel’s quiet routine filling the air. Pedro stays close, his shoulder brushing yours with every step. It feels effortless, this closeness, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

When you reach your new room, you pause, staring at the door as your grip tightens around the keycard. Suddenly, you’re not so sure you’re ready to walk in and let the bubble of the past week burst.

Pedro notices, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “You okay?”

You nod, giving him a small smile. “Yeah. Just… feels a little weird, that’s all.”

He steps closer, his hand resting gently on your arm. “Weird how?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Like… we’ve been in this little bubble all week,” you admit, your voice barely a whisper. “And now it’s about to pop.”

Pedro’s brow furrows for a second before his expression shifts into something reassuring. His thumb traces a soothing line against your sleeve. “It doesn’t have to pop,” he says softly. “It can stretch—change shape a little. But it doesn’t have to go away.”

You blink up at him, caught off guard by how easily his words settle the swirling uncertainty inside you.

“You’re right,” you say, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re annoyingly good at this.”

Pedro grins, stepping back just enough to give you space while still keeping his hand on your arm. “It’s one of my many talents,” he teases.

You swipe the keycard and push the door open, the soft click of the lock breaking the moment. “Well, thanks for the walk,” you say softly, standing just inside the doorway.

He lingers for a moment, his eyes lingering on yours like he’s not quite ready to leave. “Anytime.”

There’s a beat of silence, charged but gentle, before he takes a step back.

“Pedro?” you call after him, your voice instinctive and soft.

He turns back, one brow raised. “Yeah?”

You hesitate for just a second, then smile. “See you tomorrow?”

His face lights up in that easy, familiar way that feels like home. “You can count on it.”

You watch him disappear down the hall, the warmth of his presence lingering in the air long after he’s gone. The ache in your chest eases, replaced by something lighter—something that feels suspiciously like hope.

With a soft sigh, you close the door behind you and lean against it for a moment, letting the quiet settle around you. It feels strange not having Pedro right there, filling the space with his warmth and playful banter. The silence feels heavier now, but you shake it off and turn toward your suitcase.

Unpacking is slow and deliberate, each item placed carefully, like it might somehow ground you in this new room. Eventually, you unzip the side pocket and spot the little polaroid photobooth strip you’d tucked away.

You pull it out, your fingers brushing gently over the glossy surface. The photo was taken just yesterday, but it feels like a lifetime ago—a perfect little slice of happiness frozen in time. Pedro’s grinning wide in the picture, his arm slung around your shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world. You’re laughing, caught mid-giggle, eyes bright and cheeks flushed from too much teasing.

Your lips curve into a small smile at the memory. That day… it’s up there in your top three moments in life, one of those days you pray you’ll never forget—if you’re lucky.

It had started with a spontaneous coffee run that turned into hours of wandering through the streets, popping into bookshops and vintage stores, taking goofy photos at every opportunity. Pedro had insisted on the photobooth, dragging you inside with that mischievous glint in his eyes.

You’d rolled your eyes but followed him in, unable to resist the way his excitement was so contagious. The tiny booth had been cramped, your shoulders pressed together as you both tried to fit into the frame. Pedro had leaned closer, his head nearly resting against yours, and flashed a ridiculous grin just as the camera clicked.

The memory warms you now, a soft glow that spreads through your chest. You can still hear his voice, still feel the weight of his arm around you, still see the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled.

You carefully set the photo on the nightstand, propping it up against the lamp. It feels like a little piece of him is here with you, anchoring you in a way that nothing else can.

The rest of your unpacking is a blur, your thoughts drifting back to him over and over. It’s ridiculous, really, how much space he takes up in your mind.

Stop it, you tell yourself. You’ll see him tomorrow. It’s no big deal.

But deep down, you know it’s a little more complicated than that. You’ve been in this bubble with him for days—wrapped up in late-night conversations, shared coffee runs, and the kind of closeness that feels far too easy. Now that you’re on the edge of something new, something that feels like it could change everything, you don’t quite know how to navigate it.

Your phone buzzes, snapping you out of your thoughts.

Pedro: Miss me yet?

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the grin that’s already forming. He’s impossible.

You: I was just starting to enjoy the peace and quiet.

There’s a pause, and then:

Pedro: Liar. You miss me.

You roll your eyes, warmth blooming in your chest.

You: Maybe a little.

Pedro: Thought so. Meet me for coffee in the morning?

Your heart flutters at the thought, the ache in your chest completely forgotten.

You: It’s a date.

You set your phone down, the smile lingering on your lips.

SOHO HOUSE – AFTERNOON

The café is buzzing with the low hum of conversation, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixing with something warm and buttery from the kitchen. You slide into a booth where Daisy and Omar are already waiting, their plates half-finished, because of course, you’re the late one.

“There she is,” Daisy grins, sipping her iced latte. “Surprised you could make time for little old us.”

Omar smirks, leaning back against the booth. “Figured you’d be too busy playing house with Pedro.”

You nearly choke on your water. “Oh my god, shut up.”

Daisy gasps dramatically. “So defensive. We’re just saying—you two have been… spending a lot of time together.”

“Yeah,” Omar adds, raising an eyebrow. “Like, a lot.”

You roll your eyes, setting your napkin in your lap. “We were literally just sharing a suite until my room was ready. That’s it.”

Daisy exchanges a knowing glance with Omar before turning back to you. “Sure. And is ‘just sharing a suite’ why you’re glowing like you’ve been in a rom-com montage?”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands. “I hate you both.”

Omar laughs. “That’s fine, but tell me I’m wrong.”

You hesitate a second too long, and that’s all Daisy needs to pounce.

“She’s not denying it.”

You huff, taking a pointed bite of your food. “Can we talk about literally anything else?”

Daisy leans in, dropping her voice. “Fine. Let’s talk about how Cecilia is a raging bitch.”

Omar sighs. “Finally.”

Your stomach twists. You’ve been dealing with it all week—Cecilia’s passive-aggressive comments, her cutting looks, the way she talks over you during meetings like you don’t even exist. You thought maybe you were imagining it at first, but then Daisy started noticing. Then Omar. And now it’s become impossible to ignore.

“She’s been awful to you,” Omar says, frowning. “Like, openly awful.”

“Yeah, I don’t get it,” Daisy adds. “It’s like she’s got some weird grudge against you. She’s only nice when Pedro’s around.”

You exhale slowly, pushing your food around with your fork. “I don’t know what her problem is.”

“She’s threatened by you,” Daisy says matter-of-factly. “You’re good at your job, and Pedro actually, you know, likes you.”

You shoot her a look. “Daisy.”

“What? I’m just saying. She’s been trying to sink her claws into him forever, and now she’s watching him give you all his attention. You think that’s a coincidence?”

Omar nods. “She’s not even subtle about it.”

You groan, rubbing your temple. “It’s just exhausting. I don’t want drama, I just want to do my job.”

Daisy softens. “I know, babe. But you should bring it up to the first AD. This isn’t just personal—it’s affecting your work.”

Omar nods. “Exactly. You shouldn’t have to deal with this shit.”

You chew on your lip, debating. The idea of escalating it makes your stomach knot, but at the same time… they’re right. You shouldn’t have to just deal with it.

“I’ll think about it,” you say finally.

Daisy raises an eyebrow. “You better.”

Omar smirks. “Now, back to Pedro—”

You groan.

Daisy grins, nudging you. “What? Just curious—how’s the cuddling?”

You hide your face in your hands again.

They’re never going to let this go.

OXFORD STREET – AFTERNOON

The city hums around you, the air thick with the scent of freshly brewed coffee from a nearby café, the distant chatter of tourists mixing with the occasional honk of a taxi. The sky is an endless stretch of soft blue, and the warmth of the sun against your skin makes the day feel lighter, easier.

Daisy swings her shopping bag dramatically as she walks beside you. “Alright, so we’ve got the essentials—skincare, snacks, some clothes. Anything else?”

“I could use some new art supplies,” you muse, adjusting your tote bag on your shoulder. “I ran out of markers.”

Omar gasps. “Tragic. We must fix this.”

Daisy nods solemnly. “Immediately.”

You laugh as they steer you toward the next store, their enthusiasm contagious. The three of you weave through shelves of neatly stacked notebooks, sketchpads, and rows upon rows of colorful markers. You let your fingers trail over the different shades, your mind already picturing what you could create.

“Should I be concerned that you look this excited over pens?” Omar teases, peering over your shoulder.

You roll your eyes, tossing a pack of markers into your shopping basket. “Not everyone can be an influencer like some people. Some of us need hobbies.”

Daisy cackles. “Wow. Drag him.”

Omar clutches his chest. “I am wounded.”

You smirk, grabbing a sketchbook before leading them back into the bustle of the street.

A few stores later, as you browse through a boutique filled with delicate jewelry, something catches your eye—a simple but elegant bracelet, a thin gold chain with a tiny, shimmering star charm. You pause, tilting your head as you trace a fingertip over it.

It’s beautiful. Understated but meaningful.

You hesitate, then shake your head, gently setting it back down. You’ve already bought enough today.

Daisy, pretending to check her phone, subtly snaps a picture of the bracelet the moment you turn away. She shares a quick glance with Omar, who smirks knowingly, before tucking her phone back into her pocket like nothing happened.

“Alright,” Omar announces. “Time for the grand finale.”

You raise a brow. “Which is?”

He gestures dramatically toward a shop just a few doors down—a musical instrument store. Through the large glass window, you can see rows of guitars hanging on the walls, keyboards set up near the back, and a few people testing out instruments.

You take a step back. “Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” Daisy says, grabbing your arm.

“I just wanted art supplies,” you protest, even as they start dragging you toward the entrance.

“And now you get music,” Omar grins. “A full creative experience.”

The bell above the door chimes as you step inside. The scent of polished wood and old sheet music fills the air, and soft acoustic strumming floats from the back where someone is testing a guitar.

Daisy and Omar immediately start messing around—Omar taps on a few piano keys while Daisy picks up a tambourine and shakes it dramatically.

You, however, find yourself drawn to the guitars.

Your fingers brush against the smooth neck of one, its warm, honey-colored wood gleaming under the soft lighting. Without thinking, you pick it up, settling it onto your lap as you sit on a nearby stool.

The weight of it is familiar, grounding.

You give the strings a tentative strum. The sound vibrates through your fingertips, sending a shiver up your spine.

Omar and Daisy go quiet, watching as you idly pluck a few chords, your fingers moving almost instinctively.

And then, without meaning to, you start playing something real.

The opening chords of Risk by Gracie Abrams fill the air, delicate and wistful.

Your voice follows, soft at first, barely above a hum.

“And I wake up

In the middle of the night

With the light on

And I feel like I could die

'Cause you're not here

And it don't feel right

'Cause you're not here”

The melody flows effortlessly from your lips, your fingers moving with muscle memory, like the song has always been resting just beneath your skin.

Daisy and Omar exchange a look, their teasing smiles replaced with something quieter, something fonder.

You don’t even notice the way the store quiets, how a few people glance in your direction.

“God, I'm actually invested

Haven't even met him

Watch this be the wrong thing, classic

God, I'm jumpin' in the deep end

It's more fun to swim in

Heard the risk is drownin', but I'm gonna take it”

Your voice is steady but gentle, carrying the weight of the lyrics, the quiet ache of them.

For a moment, it’s just you and the music.

When you finish the last chord, letting it ring softly into the still air, you finally glance up.

Omar and Daisy are staring.

“…What?” you ask, suddenly shy.

Daisy blinks. “So you’re just gonna casually have the voice of an angel and not tell us?”

You huff a laugh, setting the guitar down. “I just… like playing sometimes.”

Omar shakes his head in disbelief. “Unacceptable. We need to form a band immediately.”

You roll your eyes, standing up. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Daisy loops an arm around your shoulders, squeezing you. “No, we just love you and think you’re unfairly talented.”

Your cheeks warm, but you let yourself smile.

Maybe today really was a good day.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — EVENING

The ride back is filled with laughter, the kind that lingers even after the jokes have faded, warmth curling around the edges of your chest. The three of you are crammed into the backseat of a cab, shopping bags piled between you, the city blurring past in a wash of golden streetlights and neon signs.

“I still cannot believe you didn’t tell us you could sing like that,” Daisy says for what has to be the fifth time.

Omar sighs dramatically. “Honestly, I feel betrayed. I thought we were close.”

You groan, leaning your head back against the seat. “It wasn’t a secret—I just never thought to mention it.”

Omar clutches his chest. “Oh, so we’re just chopped liver then?”

You give him a deadpan look. “Yes. Exactly.”

Daisy cackles, and Omar glares at both of you before shaking his head with an exaggerated sigh. “This is the worst day of my life.”

The driver chuckles quietly, clearly entertained by the three of you.

The cab slows in front of the Chiltern Firehouse, the warm glow of the entrance lights spilling onto the pavement. You reach for your bags, shifting them into your arms as Daisy nudges you lightly.

“Alright, superstar. We’ll see you tomorrow?”

You nod. “Breakfast?”

“Obviously,” Omar says. “We can’t function without an unhealthy amount of caffeine and gossip.”

Daisy smirks. “And don’t think we forgot about her.”

You groan, knowing exactly who she means. “Cecilia?”

Omar scoffs. “Yeah, Cecilia.” His expression darkens slightly, annoyance flickering across his face. “You have to say something, babe. She’s been unbearable this entire week.”

Daisy nods in agreement. “Seriously. If you don’t, we will.”

You sigh, adjusting your grip on your shopping bags. It’s not that you haven’t noticed Cecilia’s behavior—how she seems to have made it her personal mission to be as dismissive, condescending, and outright rude as possible. You just…haven’t figured out how to deal with it yet.

“I’ll think about it,” you say, because that’s all you can promise right now.

Daisy eyes you like she wants to push the subject, but instead, she reaches out and squeezes your arm. “Alright. Just don’t let her get to you, okay?”

You nod, giving her a small smile. “I won’t.”

Omar tilts his head. “Liar.”

You snort. “Goodnight, Omar.”

“Goodnight, secret singer,” he teases.

Daisy gives you a quick hug before stepping back into the cab, and with one last wave, you turn and head into the hotel.

The warmth of the lobby greets you as you step inside, the scent of polished wood and fresh flowers filling the air. The quiet hum of conversation drifts from the bar, a few guests lounging in the plush chairs near the fireplace.

You shift your bags onto one arm, your fingers brushing over the handles of the shopping bags as you make your way toward the elevators. The day’s events settle over you like a soft blanket—the shopping, the music, the laughter.

You feel good.

Better than you have in days.

The elevator dings softly as the doors open, and as you step inside, you can’t help but let a small, satisfied smile slip onto your lips.

Maybe tomorrow will be even better.

You make your way to your room, tap your keycard on the lock and enter. The door clicks shut behind you, muffling the distant hum of the hallway. You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as you set your shopping bags down near the dresser. The room is quiet, save for the faint city sounds filtering in through the window—London still alive and buzzing outside, even as exhaustion begins to settle into your bones.

You flick on the bedside lamp, the soft golden glow washing over the space. Kicking off your shoes, you make your way to the vanity, catching your reflection in the mirror. There’s a tired sort of happiness in your face, a contentment that lingers in your eyes despite the long day.

You start unpacking your shopping bags, sorting through the few essentials you picked up. The art supplies make you smile—new markers, sketchbooks, things you didn’t necessarily need but wanted anyway. Your fingers brush over a particular bag, and you pause, pulling out the Polaroid photobooth strip you’d nearly forgotten about.

Pedro’s face grins up at you from the tiny squares—one shot of him making a ridiculous expression, another where you’re both mid-laugh, and the last…

The last one makes your stomach flutter.

It wasn’t planned, wasn’t posed—it was just the two of you, caught in a quiet moment, his face turned toward you, his expression soft in a way that makes something in your chest tighten.

You let out a breath, carefully tucking the photo into your nightstand drawer before shaking your head at yourself.

It’s fine. It’s just Pedro.

You brush your fingers over the bracelet you liked—the one you didn’t buy. For some reason, it lingers in your mind longer than it should, but you push the thought aside and continue getting ready for bed.

By the time you’ve showered and slipped into an oversized t-shirt, exhaustion has fully caught up with you. You slide beneath the cool sheets, letting out a sigh as your body finally relaxes.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

You reach for it, blinking at the screen.

Pedro: Made it back okay?

A small, involuntary smile tugs at your lips.

You: Yeah, just got into bed.

There’s a brief pause before his reply comes through.

Pedro: Get some sleep, cariño. Big day tomorrow.

You bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest at the nickname.

You: Goodnight, Pedro.

You don’t wait for his response, setting your phone down and rolling onto your side. The weight of the day settles over you, but it’s lighter now, easier to carry.

And as you drift off, the last thing on your mind isn’t Cecilia, or the long production days ahead.

It’s a bracelet you didn’t buy.

And a Polaroid you won’t forget.

CHILTERN FIREHOUSE HOTEL — MORNING

Your alarm blares, dragging you out of sleep far earlier than you’d like. With a groan, you fumble for your phone on the nightstand, blindly swiping at the screen until the sound finally stops. The room is still dim, the soft glow of early morning creeping through the curtains, casting long shadows across the walls.

You sit up slowly, rubbing at your bleary eyes before forcing yourself out of bed. The floor is cool against your feet as you shuffle toward the bathroom, yawning through the motions of your morning routine.

The second your toothbrush is in your mouth, you grab your phone, squinting at the screen as you scroll through your notifications.

Pedro: Morning, sleepyhead. Still up for coffee?

You smile around your toothbrush, quickly typing back.

You: Morning! Yes, definitely. Meet you in the lobby?

His reply is almost instant.

Pedro: I’ll be the one looking devastatingly handsome and in desperate need of caffeine.

You roll your eyes but feel warmth creep up your neck as you set your phone down and step into the shower. The water is warm, waking you up as you let your playlist play softly in the background. You don’t linger too long—just enough to wash away the remnants of sleep before stepping out and wrapping yourself in a towel.

As you get dressed, you glance at the Polaroid on your nightstand. The memory makes your stomach flutter, but you shake your head, pushing the thought away.

It’s just Pedro.

You grab your bag, double-check that you have everything for the long production day ahead, and head downstairs.

Pedro is already there when you step into the lobby, leaning casually against the wall near the entrance. He’s dressed comfortably, a hoodie pulled over his curls, sunglasses perched on his nose despite the early hour.

His head lifts when he spots you, and a slow grin spreads across his face. “Well, look who’s alive.”

You roll your eyes. “Barely.”

He chuckles, pushing off the wall. “Coffee. Stat.”

You nod in agreement as you both step outside, the crisp morning air waking you up a little more. The streets of London are still sleepy, only a few people out at this hour, and for a moment, it feels like the two of you exist in a quiet little pocket of the city.

Pedro falls into step beside you, close but not overbearing, his hands tucked into his hoodie pockets. “Did you sleep okay?”

You hum, adjusting the strap of your bag on your shoulder. “Yeah. I was out as soon as my head hit the pillow.”

He smirks. “Tired from all that shopping?”

You side-eye him, but your lips twitch. “Maybe. It was a productive day.”

“You have fun?”

You nod. “Yeah. Daisy and Omar were great. We just wandered, picked up a few things, nothing crazy.”

Pedro hums, glancing over at you. “Get anything good?”

“Some art supplies,” you say. “Markers, sketchbooks. Stuff to keep my hands busy.”

Pedro’s brows lift slightly, though his expression softens into something knowing. “Still adding to your collection, huh?”

You glance at him, a little shy under the weight of his gaze. “You say that like I have a problem.”

He smirks. “I’ve seen your stash.”

You roll your eyes, but your lips twitch. “It’s not that bad.”

He hums, clearly unconvinced, but before you can argue your case, you both step into the small café near the hotel. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries wraps around you instantly, sinking into your bones like comfort.

As you approach the counter, Pedro turns to you with a look of exaggerated concentration. “Alright, let me guess your order.”

You snort, crossing your arms. “You know my order.”

“Do I?” He taps a finger against his chin, drawing out the moment. “Let’s see… you’re obviously an iced salted caramel latte girl.”

You blink at him, half-impressed, half-annoyed. “You’re just showing off.”

Pedro grins, triumphant. “I knew it.” He turns to the barista, ordering for both of you before you can protest.

As you wait for your drinks, you lean against the counter, watching him. He looks relaxed, the usual weight of the long days ahead not quite settling on him yet.

“You always this perceptive?” you ask, tilting your head.

He glances at you, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Only when it matters.”

Your stomach flips unexpectedly, and you quickly look away as the barista calls your names.

Pedro grabs both cups, handing you yours with an easy smile. “Alright, let’s get to set before they start sending search parties.”

You take a sip, the sweet caramel mixing with the bitter espresso, and let the warmth settle in—not just from the coffee, but from the way Pedro falls into step beside you again, his presence easy, familiar.

Maybe today will be even better.

The car ride to set is comfortable, the early morning haze still lingering outside the windows. You and Pedro are seated next to each other, the quiet hum of the car filling the spaces between conversation.

Joseph, Ebon, and Vanessa are preoccupied—chatting, answering messages, scrolling through their phones. But you and Pedro? You exist in the quieter moments, where words don’t have to fill the silence for it to feel full.

You glance at Pedro from the corner of your eye. He’s leaning back against the seat, fingers wrapped loosely around his coffee cup, sunglasses resting on the bridge of his nose. There’s something about him like this—relaxed, unreadable, but somehow still entirely present.

“You’re quiet,” he muses, breaking the silence.

You blink, caught. “I’m just… waking up.”

Pedro smirks, tilting his head toward you. “It’s been half an hour.”

You hum, taking a slow sip of your coffee. “Some of us don’t bounce out of bed with full energy at the crack of dawn.”

“I do not ‘bounce,’” he protests, dramatically offended. “I drag myself out of bed like the sleep-deprived, overworked adult that I am.”

You snort. “That’s not what I saw yesterday. You were practically bouncing into set.”

Pedro shakes his head. “I think you hallucinated that.”

“Sure,” you say, amused. “Maybe I should sketch it next time.”

His lips curl at the mention of your sketching, but he doesn’t tease. Instead, his voice dips, quieter now. “Do you still draw at the end of the day? Or are they keeping you too busy?”

You hesitate, fingers tracing the rim of your cup. “I try to. Helps clear my head.”

Pedro watches you for a beat, then nods. “Good. You should keep at it.”

Something about the way he says it, like it actually matters to him, makes warmth spread through your chest. You don’t know how to respond to that, so you just sip your coffee and hope he doesn’t notice the way your fingers tighten around the cup.

The car slows as it pulls up to the studio lot, and everyone starts gathering their things, stretching, shaking off the sluggishness of the morning. Pedro slides his sunglasses to the top of his head, glancing at you as he opens the door.

“Ready for another day of pretending we know what we’re doing?” he asks, grin lopsided.

You laugh, stepping out of the car. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

The driver bids you all a good day, and you offer a small wave, adjusting your bag over your shoulder. The familiar buzz of set life fills the air—crew members moving equipment, voices overlapping, the faint sound of someone running lines in the distance.

Pedro falls into step beside you, and despite the chaos around you, you feel oddly settled. Maybe it’s the coffee. Maybe it’s the warmth of the morning.

Or maybe it’s just him.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — DAY

The day stretches long and demanding, filled with the constant hum of movement, orders being called out, and the steady rhythm of set life unfolding around you.

You and Daisy barely have a moment to breathe, running between departments, making sure everything is where it needs to be. The production schedule is tight, which means there’s no room for mistakes, no time to slow down.

“Okay, okay, hold up,” Daisy pants, stopping next to you behind the set, hands braced on her knees. “If I have to run across this lot one more time to deliver another prop, I’m throwing myself into the fog machine and disappearing.”

You huff out a tired laugh, adjusting your headset as you check the call sheet in your hand. “I hate to break it to you, but we still need to get the next set of dailies to the editing bay and make sure wardrobe has the updated continuity notes.”

Daisy groans dramatically. “How did we get roped into this again?”

“You volunteered to take extra PA shifts,” you remind her, smirking.

She scowls. “And you agreed to do it with me, so who’s the real fool here?”

You nudge her with your elbow before checking your watch. There’s a brief window before the next setup, and you both know better than to waste it. Without another word, you split up—Daisy heads toward the props department, while you weave through the maze of trailers and equipment toward wardrobe.

The moment you step inside the wardrobe tent, you’re met with the sharp scent of fabric steam and the controlled chaos of stylists making last-minute adjustments.

“Hey, got the continuity notes from this morning’s shoot,” you say, handing over the folder to one of the assistants.

They glance up, looking relieved. “Oh, thank God. We were just about to send someone to chase these down.”

You flash a tired smile. “Happy to save you the trouble.”

Before you can leave, someone’s headset crackles with an urgent call from set, and you hear your name being mentioned.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, already moving.

By the time you get back to set, Daisy is already there, headset tilted as she listens to the first AD barking orders. She shoots you a look when she sees you approach, her expression somewhere between we’re so screwed and why is everyone like this?

“What now?” you whisper.

“They need another PA to help reset the stunt rigging for the next take,” she mutters back. “Guess who gets to be that PA?”

“Us?”

“Ding, ding, ding.”

You sigh, but there’s no use complaining. Instead, you follow Daisy toward the main soundstage, where the crew is resetting for another action sequence. The rigging team waves you over, already handing you harnesses to help secure the area.

You’ve barely finished clipping things into place when Pedro appears nearby, already in costume, watching the controlled chaos of set. His gaze catches on you, a flicker of recognition in his eyes before amusement settles in.

“Didn’t realize this was part of your job description,” he teases, arms crossing over his chest.

You roll your eyes, adjusting the straps on your harness. “I do everything around here.”

“Clearly,” he says, grinning. “I should start calling you the real MVP of this production.”

Daisy, overhearing, snorts. “Oh, don’t encourage her. She’s already got enough of a complex.”

Pedro laughs, and you glare at Daisy, but it’s all in good fun. The truth is, despite the exhaustion, despite the constant running around, there’s something oddly satisfying about the work. It’s not glamorous, not in the way people think movies are made, but it’s real. And you love it.

Even if, by the time lunch rolls around, you feel like you’ve run a marathon.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

You slump onto the nearest empty bench, your limbs aching from the nonstop running around since the crack of dawn. With a tired groan, you twist open a bottle of water and down it in several long gulps, the cool relief barely making up for how drained you feel.

“I’m so glad I brought an extra change of clothes because holy shit,” you gasp, wiping at the sweat on your forehead.

Daisy collapses beside you with an equally exhausted sigh, her head lolling back against the table. “If I don’t sit down for the next hour, I might actually pass out standing up.”

Omar drops into the seat on your other side, groaning dramatically as he takes a long swig from his water bottle. “No, because fuck this,” he grumbles, shaking his head. “Why does it feel like production’s been testing our stamina like we’re training for the fucking Olympics?”

You huff a tired laugh. “Because we are.”

Nearby, a group of other PAs are in similar states of exhaustion, scarfing down sandwiches like they’ve been starved for days. The entire crew has been running on fumes all morning, juggling stunts, continuity notes, and last-minute script changes.

You dig into the lunch Daisy had brought back for you—a sandwich and a bag of chips, simple but satisfying. The three of you eat in comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds being the occasional sighs of relief from getting off your feet for even a few minutes.

Eventually, Daisy leans forward, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “So… have you thought about saying something to the first AD about Cecilia?”

You nearly choke on your bite of sandwich. "Oh my God, not now.”

“Yes, now,” Daisy insists. “She’s been a bitch all week, and it’s only getting worse. I swear, if she snaps at you one more time, I’ll throw my walkie at her.”

Omar nods, chewing thoughtfully. “Yeah, it’s actually getting kinda unbearable.”

You sigh, pushing your food around with your fork. You know they’re right. Cecilia—one of the senior production assistants—has been making your life hell lately. Every little thing you do is apparently wrong, and her constant nitpicking has started to feel personal.

“I just…” you hesitate, rubbing at your temples. “I don’t want to make it a bigger deal than it already is. Maybe she’s just stressed?”

Daisy gives you an unimpressed look. “Stressed my ass. We’re all stressed, babe, and we’re not out here making everyone miserable just because we can.”

Omar points his fork at you. “Exactly. And look, I get not wanting to stir the pot, but if she keeps treating you like shit, it’s gonna start affecting your work. You need to say something.”

You bite your lip, mulling it over. You’re not the type to cause a scene, especially when it comes to work—you’ve always just kept your head down and powered through. But this… this has been eating at you for days.

“I’ll think about it,” you murmur, still unsure.

Daisy narrows her eyes. “You better do more than think.”

Before you can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps makes you glance up—only to find Pedro making his way toward your table, two cups of iced coffee in hand.

“Oh, look who’s finally gracing us with his presence,” Omar teases, smirking.

Pedro grins, unfazed, before setting one of the iced coffees in front of you. “Thought you could use this.”

You blink, surprised. “You—” You glance down at the drink, recognizing it immediately. Iced salted caramel latte. Your go-to. “How did you—”

Pedro shrugs, casual as ever. “You think I don’t pay attention?”

Your stomach flips, heat creeping up your neck. Daisy and Omar exchange a look before Daisy not-so-subtly nudges you under the table.

“I—uh, thanks,” you say awkwardly, taking the cup and focusing very hard on the condensation forming on the plastic.

Pedro watches you with a knowing smile before he turns to the rest of the group. “So, what’s the gossip? What’s got everyone whispering like high schoolers?”

Daisy doesn’t hesitate. “Oh, just Cecilia being Cecilia.”

Pedro’s smile fades slightly, his gaze flicking to you. “She still giving you a hard time?”

You shift uncomfortably, avoiding his eyes. “It’s nothing, really. Just—”

“It’s not nothing,” Daisy interjects. “She’s been riding her ass all week, and it’s getting ridiculous.”

Pedro frowns, leaning against the table. “You talked to the AD about it?”

You sigh. “No, because it’s not that serious—”

“It is,” Omar cuts in. “You’re working twice as hard as half the people on this set, and she’s still treating you like shit.”

Pedro’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, he looks like he wants to say something—something firm, something protective—but instead, he exhales, rolling his shoulders back.

“Well,” he says finally, voice measured, “if you don’t want to bring it up, at least let me know if she crosses the line again.”

You glance up at him, the warmth in his gaze soft but serious. There’s something reassuring about it, like he’s quietly telling you that he’s in your corner, no matter what.

Your chest tightens, and for a second, you don’t know what to say.

Daisy, of course, fills the silence for you. “Damn, maybe you should just let Pedro handle it,” she jokes, wiggling her brows. “Bet she’d shut up real quick if he just—”

“Daisy,” you hiss, mortified.

Pedro chuckles, but there’s a hint of mischief in his eyes. “I mean… I could have a word with her.”

“Oh my God, no.” You shake your head rapidly. “That would just make it worse.”

“Debatable.”

“I swear to God—”

He laughs, hands up in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll stay out of it.” A pause. “For now.”

You groan, but there’s a warmth in your chest that wasn’t there before.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — AFTERNOON

The day isn’t over yet.

After lunch, you’re right back at it, running around set, checking call sheets, adjusting rigging equipment, and making sure everything is in place for the next round of stunt rehearsals. You, Daisy, and Omar move like a well-oiled machine, setting up wires and double-checking safety protocols.

Matt Shakman, ever the observant director, watches from a distance, arms crossed and a satisfied nod of approval on his face. “You three are killing it today,” he says, passing by as you finish tightening a harness.

“Thanks, Matt,” Daisy beams, nudging you playfully. “We try.”

Jess Hall, the first assistant director, chimes in, “Seriously, you guys have been on top of everything. Keep this up, and I might actually sleep well tonight.”

You let out a small, shy laugh, ducking your head. “Just doing our job.”

“Yeah, but you’re doing it well,” Jess points out, before heading off to oversee the final checks.

As you straighten up, rolling out the tension in your shoulders, you spot Pedro, Vanessa, Ebon, and Joseph arriving on set. Pedro catches your eye first, grinning as he waves. The others follow suit, greeting you and the crew with casual waves and easy smiles.

You lift a hand in return, a small but warm flutter in your chest.

And then there’s Cecilia.

Standing off to the side, arms crossed, face like thunder.

You don’t even have to look directly at her to feel the glare she’s boring into you. The barely contained resentment. It’s been like this all day—every time you do something right, every time you get even a sliver of recognition, she seems to grow more and more pissed.

But you push it out of your mind.

You have a job to do.

And right now, that means making sure this next stunt goes off without a hitch.

The rigging for the next scene is extensive—multiple actors wired up, intricate movements choreographed down to the second. You’re double-checking the setup, securing a final carabiner when someone calls for places.

“Alright, let’s lock it up!” Jess shouts. “Rolling in five!”

You step back, joining Daisy and Omar off to the side, scanning the setup one last time. Everything looks solid. No loose wires. No unsecured equipment.

At least, that’s what you think.

Then—

A blur. A crack. A scream.

It happens too fast.

Something above shifts—maybe a light, maybe part of the set structure—but it’s falling, fast and heavy, right where Pedro is standing.

Your body moves before your brain does.

“Move!”

You shove Pedro with both hands, hard, sending him stumbling out of the way just as the metal rig comes crashing down.

The impact never comes.

Not for him, at least.

Pain explodes across your shoulder, sharp and jarring, but adrenaline surges through you, numbing everything as chaos erupts around you.

“Jesus Christ—”

“Someone get a medic—”

Voices blur together. There’s movement, hands reaching for you, but you’re not even thinking about yourself.

You blink up at Pedro, his face inches from yours, panic written in every crease of his expression.

"Are you good?" you ask, voice tight, breath coming faster now.

Pedro just stares at you, jaw clenched, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to process what just happened.

Then he swallows, hard. “Am I—?” His voice is strained. “You’re the one who—”

He doesn’t finish, just reaches for you, steadying you as a medic pushes through the small crowd that’s formed around you.

It’s only then that you notice—

The blood.

Your sleeve is torn. There’s a gash on your arm, deep and angry-looking, but you barely feel it.

Pedro does.

His grip on you tightens, like he’s just realizing how close that was. Like he’s just realizing you took the hit for him.

You don’t register the pain at first. The adrenaline drowns it out, buzzing through your veins like white noise, making everything feel strangely detached—like you’re floating just outside your body, watching everything unfold in slow motion.

But Pedro’s grip on you is very real.

“Shit, shit, shit—” His voice is low, strained, hands hovering over you like he doesn’t know where to touch, afraid he’ll make it worse. His eyes flicker between your face and your arm, widening at the sight of the torn fabric, the deep gash beneath it.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, blinking rapidly as the world tilts slightly. “You’re fine. That’s what matters.”

Pedro exhales sharply, jaw tightening. He looks anything but reassured.

The medic finally pushes through the crowd, dropping to his knees beside you. “Let me see,” he says, already reaching for your arm.

“I’m good—” you try to insist, but Pedro gives you a look. A look that immediately shuts you up.

A storm of emotion brews behind his eyes—concern, anger, something else you can’t quite name yet. He’s tense, his entire body coiled like a spring.

You feel a little dizzy. Maybe it’s the blood loss. Maybe it’s the fact that Pedro is looking at you like that, like he cares too much.

“Alright, this is gonna sting,” the medic warns before pressing gauze against the wound.

It does more than sting. A sharp, searing pain shoots through your arm, and you hiss through your teeth, eyes squeezing shut for a second.

Pedro flinches. Actually flinches, like he felt it too.

“Fucking hell,” Daisy breathes from behind him. She’s pale, wide-eyed. “That thing could’ve crushed you.”

Omar nods, face just as grim. “Yeah, what the hell even happened?”

There’s a murmur of agreement from the other crew members gathered around, voices overlapping in hushed confusion. Because this wasn’t supposed to happen.

The rig had been checked. The lights had been secured.

So why did it fall?

You glance toward the area where the rigging had come loose. Something gnaws at the back of your mind—an unease you can’t quite name. Your gaze flickers briefly toward Cecilia, who stands a little too still, a little too composed.

She doesn’t look shocked.

She looks… interested.

Like she’s watching.

And then, as if she senses you looking, she tilts her head slightly—just a fraction—before turning away.

A chill snakes down your spine.

“Hey.” Pedro’s voice pulls you back. He’s crouched next to you, closer now, his hand still hovering near yours but not quite touching. His knee almost brushes against yours. “You with me?”

Your breath hitches.

You hate how he does that—how he sees you so easily, how he pulls you back from the edges of your own mind with nothing but a word, a glance.

“I’m good,” you say, voice quieter than before.

Pedro’s expression darkens, like he doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t press. Instead, he turns his attention back to the medic. “She needs stitches, right?”

The medic nods. “Yeah. We’ll need to get her patched up properly.”

Pedro exhales through his nose, rubbing a hand over his jaw. He looks like he wants to hit something.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you mutter.

“Like what?”

“Like I just died in front of you or something.”

Pedro does not laugh. In fact, he looks even more tense, if that’s possible.

“You could have,” he says, voice low. “If you hadn’t moved so fast, that thing—” He stops himself, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I shouldn’t have saved you?” you arch a brow. “I didn’t realize that was a bad thing.”

Pedro levels you with a look, one that sends heat crawling up your spine. “You know what I mean.”

There’s something charged in the air between you. A tension neither of you acknowledge, but it’s there, lingering like the static before a storm.

Jess Hall calls for a short break while the crew inspects the rigging failure. People start to disperse, murmuring about safety protocols and near-misses.

But Pedro doesn’t move.

Neither do you.

The medic finishes wrapping your arm in temporary bandages. “She should get properly stitched up in the medical tent.”

Pedro stands before you can even process that. “I’ll take her.”

You blink. “That’s not necessary—”

“Not asking,” Pedro says, holding out a hand to help you up.

You hesitate, but the moment your fingers brush against his, the warmth of his palm against yours, you stop thinking.

He pulls you up carefully, keeping you steady when you sway slightly on your feet. His grip lingers—just a little too long.

And when you finally look up at him, there’s something in his expression that makes your stomach twist.

Something unspoken. Something more.

Something you don’t have the words for yet.

PINEWOOD STUDIOS — MEDICAL TENT

The walk to the medical tent is quiet.

Pedro hasn’t let go of you. His hand hovers near your lower back, not quite touching but close enough that you feel him there—like a tether, grounding you.

You should say something, maybe make a joke, lighten the mood. But the words don’t come. Your arm is starting to throb now, the sharp edge of pain creeping in as the adrenaline fades. You exhale slowly, focusing on each step forward.

Pedro doesn’t rush you. He matches your pace, his brows drawn tight, his jaw locked so hard you can see the muscle tick.

You swallow.

“I mean,” you start, forcing out a breathy laugh, “at least I’m lucky insurance covers this.”

Pedro stops.

Just—stops.

You nearly stumble, caught off guard, but when you turn to look at him, the expression on his face roots you to the spot.

His eyes flicker over you, frustration darkening his gaze. “That’s what you’re thinking about right now?” His voice is tight, controlled, but there’s an edge to it. “Insurance?”

You blink. “I mean… yeah?”

Pedro exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then he presses his lips into a firm line, nostrils flaring.

You watch the way his shoulders rise and fall with the weight of whatever he’s holding back.

And suddenly, you get it.

He’s mad.

Not at you. Not really.

He’s mad that you got hurt. Mad that you shoved him out of the way instead of letting him take the hit. Mad that he almost lost you—over a fucking light rig.

Your chest tightens.

“Pedro—”

“Don’t.” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He looks away, shaking his head. “You scared the shit out of me.”

Your throat feels thick. “I—”

“I saw that thing falling, and I couldn’t move—I couldn’t do anything. And then you—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand down his face. “Christ.”

Your fingers twitch at your side. You don’t know what to do with this—this version of him. The one unraveling right in front of you.

“I didn’t think,” you admit, voice small. “I just—moved.”

Pedro lets out a quiet, bitter laugh. “Yeah. You did.”

There’s a beat of silence. A moment where the world around you fades, leaving only the two of you standing there in the dimly lit corridor just outside the medical tent.

Then—

Pedro takes a step closer.

And another.

Your breath catches.

His eyes search yours, something raw flickering beneath the surface. He looks at you like he’s memorizing you, like he’s trying to commit this exact moment to something permanent.

You don’t move. You can’t.

Then, barely above a whisper—

“Don’t do that again.”

You part your lips to respond, but before you can say anything—

Pedro cups your face.

And then—

He doesn’t kiss you.

He hesitates. His breath is warm against your lips, his fingers trembling slightly where they rest against your jaw. He’s so close you can count every fleck of gold in his eyes, so close you can feel the way his chest rises and falls against yours.

You exhale, something between relief and longing tightening in your stomach.

Then—a sharp ahem cuts through the moment.

You jolt, heart still racing, as Pedro pulls back slightly—just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to let you go. His hands remain where they are, warm and steady against your skin.

The medic staff is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, one brow arched like they’ve seen this kind of thing play out before.

“Hate to break up the moment,” they say, voice dry, “but I have some stitches to put in.”

You blink.

Right.

The pain in your arm, dulled by adrenaline and—well, Pedro—suddenly makes itself known again, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. You wince, shifting slightly, and Pedro’s hands immediately fall away.

But he doesn’t step back.

If anything, he lingers, his fingers ghosting over your wrist like he’s reluctant to break contact entirely. His brows furrow as he glances down at your injury. “She’s not gonna need the ER, right?”

The medic shakes their head. “Nah. She’s lucky. It’s a clean cut—deep, but nothing life-threatening. We’ll get her stitched up, give her some pain meds, and she’ll live to tell the tale.”

Pedro exhales, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. But not all of it.

You try to make a joke. “Told you I had good insurance.”

Pedro doesn’t laugh.

Instead, he just looks at you.

The kind of look that makes your breath catch, that makes your chest feel too tight, that makes you ache in a way that has nothing to do with your injury.

He doesn’t say anything, but his hand finds yours again, his fingers curling around yours. He squeezes, just once, before letting go.

“Come on,” the medic says, gesturing toward the exam table. “Let’s get this over with.”

You try really hard to be tough about the whole thing.

You really do.

But the moment the needle pierces your skin, you can’t help it—your breath stutters, your body tensing so hard it actually hurts.

“Hey,” Pedro’s voice is right there, warm and grounding. His hand finds your knee, rubbing gentle circles over the fabric of your pants. “Breathe, cariño.”

You suck in a sharp breath through your nose, blinking rapidly against the sting behind your eyes.

God, this is so stupid. You literally work on a film set—you’ve seen worse injuries, watched stunt performers brush off things ten times more intense. But the sensation of the needle threading through your skin, pulling tight with every stitch, is enough to make your stomach turn.

Pedro must see it written all over your face, because before you can spiral too much, he shifts, crouching beside you so you’re eye level. His voice drops lower, softer.

“You’re doing good,” he murmurs. “Just a little more.”

You nod, swallowing against the lump in your throat.

The medic works quickly, but it still feels like forever. You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to think of something else. Anything else.

Pedro.

The way he looked at you before he almost kissed you.

The way he held you.

The way he’s still here, watching over you like he has no intention of going anywhere.

“Almost done,” the medic announces, tying off the last stitch. “You’re a champ. Didn’t even cry.”

Barely.

Pedro doesn’t let go of you. His thumb brushes over your knee one last time before he finally stands, watching as the medic cleans up and starts giving you aftercare instructions.

“No lifting anything heavy for a few days. Keep it clean, change the dressing daily. Try not to move your arm too much—don’t want to pull the stitches.” The medic pauses, glancing between you and Pedro with something suspiciously close to amusement. “And get some rest. I mean actual rest. No overworking yourself.”

Pedro snorts. “Yeah, good luck with that.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined by how utterly exhausted you feel. The medic finishes up, giving you some painkillers and a fresh bandage before stepping back.

“You’re good to go,” they say. “But seriously—take it easy.”

Pedro notices.

Before you can protest, he’s already there, an arm sliding around your waist to steady you. “Alright, that’s enough excitement for one day,” he mutters. “Come on, I’m taking you back to the hotel.”

End Notes:

I’m a sucker for having character A get injured and character B absolutely losing their shit and realizing they could lose them SO FAST and they haven’t even had a chance to love each other yet LOL

YAHHH I KEEP TEASING YA’LL WITH THE KISS IM SORRY— But I swear it’ll probably happen in the next chapter... maybe... 👀

There’s something wonderful about delayed gratification idk why

Pedro probably didn’t want to kiss you in such a situation like that– he’s probs the type to want to do it right.

Also OOoooOOOoo I almost killed the reader lol. How fun.

Again, my apologies for taking so long with this chapter, school is a bitch and I had to lock tf in for a little bit.

TAGLIST: @comfortzonequeen @christinamadsen @liciafonseca @greenwitchfromthewoods @iqr-x @southernbe @maryfanson @brittmb115 @klajmekk @taytay0403 @whimsiwitchy @zymiii @sarahhxx03 @leilanixx @lilasskicker-23 @https-murdock @barnescamboy @widowsvail @senhoritamayblog @morganlolitta @suzysface @reidsworld @xmaykeca @dontlookatme121 @mandaloriankait @picketniffler @pedrofan @mystickittytaco @enchantingchildkitten @seven-seas-of-fuck-you @ro-nahime-things @senhoritamayblog @hermionelove

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starkeyisthelastname · 10 months ago

Note

can you plzzzz write more pornstar!rafe i love him !!

pornstar!rafe is a different breed of dirty 😿

Pornstar!Rafe who had no idea what he was doing at the door of your apartment a few weeks after the scene you had shot together. He had fucked a lot of women, on and off camera. Never did he once go back for seconds, he just wasn’t that type of man. Maybe it was perverted of him to pay your agent to give him your address, but nonetheless it worked for him as he knew it would. He kept thinking about you, and he didn’t know why. Sure he fucked a lot of pretty girls, but something about you made him want more.

You looked up in surprise when you heard a late-night knock on the door, wondering who could be visiting at such an hour. Due to your line of work, you didn't have many friends or family, so unexpected visitors were a rarity. Slowly getting up, you made your way to the door and looked out the peephole. “Rafe?” You whispered to yourself, feeling your stomach drop. How did he know where you lived? What was he doing here? It made you nervous but in such a curious way.

As you opened your door, you immediately noticed his towering figure. His piercing blue eyes met yours, drawing you in. It had slipped your mind just how imposing his height was, even when dressed casually. A baseball cap concealed his messy blonde mullet, while a simple t-shirt and loose-fitting jeans accentuated his broad physique. You saw the familiar smirk come to his face, making your pussy flutter and forget any concerns you had on why he was there in the first place.

“Keep your fuckin legs up.” Rafe spat, a head full of dirty blonde hair in between your spread thighs as he ate your pussy like a starved dirty man.

It had been all of 15 minutes and this man already had you on the brink of an orgasm by just his tongue. The way his head moved back and forth, smearing your sweet and sticky juices across his thick mustache, had you gasping while you tried to hold your legs back. Your body was becoming limp though, his pert nose rubbing against your swollen clit as his tongue rapidly licked through your soaked folds.

One hand that was hooked on the underside of your thigh, fell as your stomach tightened and eyes started rolling back. You felt two thick digits slide into your creamy hole, pushing themselves to hit your G-spot. “O-oh fuck…Rafe.” You mumbled, eyebrows squeezing together as your eyes came back to watch him.

“Greedy fuckin hole likes gettin' finger fucked, huh?” His words were dirty, only making you clench around them as he shot you that cocky smirk.

You nodded, mouth falling open as he drilled them in and out of your leaking cunt with brutal force. You wondered if he would be just as nasty off camera, but never thought you'd see him again unless you filmed another scene together. (At least you were hoping you two would.) He was proving to you that his porn acting was who he was as a person, and he was just as filthy as he was on camera.

That smirk faded as you refused to answer him, his blue eyes darkening into something a little more sinister. Abruptly pulling his fingers out, he shoved them inside your open mouth, pushing them deep until you gagged. His other hand came to your poor pussy, slapping it roughly as you squealed around his digits at the hard smack. It wasn't until he shoved three fingers in without warning that you realized he was not playing.

“Not a big fan of repeating myself. Yeah, slut? So I suggest you answer my fuckin question.” His voice low as he stood up to lean over you. He removed his fingers from your mouth, wrapping a hand around your throat to squeeze.

His left hand moved inside you at a rapid pace, repeatedly bruising your sweet spot as he choked a reply out of you. This man was on a whole other type of level, and you knew you couldn’t hold back any longer. “Please… k-keep fingering me. D-don’t stop. Gonna cum so hard.” Your voice strained as he applied pressure against your neck.

You could feel your eyes rolling back again, head spinning and cunt pulsing as one more push of his fingers did your climax hit. In the porn industry, you weren’t known for being a squirter. There you were though, letting a fountain of clear liquid spray both of your bodies as you completely let go.

You barely had time to recover, before you were flipped over with ease, thick cock cramming itself in your sopping cunt as he yanked your hair back. “You better fuckin start listening to me. I don’t ever fuck a girl twice, even on camera. Feel lucky I wanna make you my own personal whore.” He rasped in your ear, the butterflies hitting your tummy at the thought of having this deranged man in your guts over and over again.

#rafe cameron #pornstar!rafe #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron blurb #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #outerbanks rafe #drew starkey #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey smut #obx #obx smut #outer banks

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6okuto-moved · 2 years ago

Text

WEDDING MOMENTS

gn!reader | kuroo, bokuto, akaashi, hinata, atsumu, osamu, ushijima

hello everyone i'm back 🫶 these are more reception moments than wedding but y'know. give me a break man...

KUROO leans in and whispers in your ear as you dance, “is it bad i want to go home and just lie in bed with you now?” “why are you whispering as if someone can hear you?” you snicker back. tetsurou shoots you a cheeky smile. “so it looks like i’m saying something romantic.” you hit his shoulder, and he only laughs before pulling you into a tight hug. you wait for him to let go before replying. “idiot. but no, it isn’t. my back and feet hurt.” he hums, and you can feel his fingers tapping your back. “do you think it’s possible for newly weds to sneak out of their own wedding reception?”

BOKUTO is walking down the aisle again as everyone disperses to talk or get ready for the reception. you walk up to him, curiosity piqued as he bends down. “what are you doing?” “huh?” he drops a few petals that he was clutching. “crap—hi, baby. i’m just, uh, picking up some of the flowers to take with us. i saw someone do it online, and i thought we could press them or put them somewhere,” he explains softly, as if a little embarrassed. your heart flutters at the thought, and you smile before reaching down yourself. “we better get some flowers, then. and a ziploc bag or something.”

AKAASHI relaxes and rests his head against yours while you watch your guests mingling and dancing. you reach for his hand and intertwine fingers. “you okay?” he nods in response and presses a chaste kiss to your jaw. “yeah, i can finally calm down and not worry about something terrible happening.” “mm, something terrible could still happen.” “love of my life, can you please give your husband a break?” keiji blows air against your skin, eliciting a laugh from you. his tone is light, and you can feel him smiling even while you apologize.

HINATA takes one of the polaroid cameras that you got for the guests. you watch as he poses and takes a picture of himself before handing it to you. “do you want me to take a selfie?” he nods with a grin. “yeah! and also sign it so i can put it in my wallet, or maybe the back of my phone?” his sentence ends as a question to himself. you get your phone so you can check your appearance before mimicking your now husband’s pose. “sho, i swear if mine is bad i want a redo,” you say. he sputters as he looks at his forming photo. “well that’s good because i definitely screwed mine up. i’m like half in the frame.”

ATSUMU’s knee bounces as the video of your relationship the both of you got done nears its end. you shoot him a look, but he doesn’t seem to notice, gaze fixed on the scene. that’s when you hear a familiar voice, but unfamiliar clip start to play. “it’s, fuck, what day is it? november 13, and i’m pretty sure i need t’look for an engagement ring,” your now husband says into the camera. you gape, shock evident across your face. atsumu’s voice is soft as he says your name. “i love you, really. and if you’re seeing this then i didn’t fuck this up, and you decided to marry me, and i’m probably ‘bout to have a heart attack,” he nervously laughs. you turn to atsumu next to you, whose face is flushed red. “don’t look at me, the video isn’t done yet.”

OSAMU keeps holding your hand, and if he isn’t holding it he’s probably thinking of doing so. you don’t mind, finding comfort in the way he rubs the back of it. you’re sitting together when he silently reaches for it again. “i’m pretty sure you’ve held my hand more today than this entire week.” osamu rolls his eyes but smiles. you stare as he gently takes hold of your ring and fidgets with it. “sorry, can’t stop thinkin’ about how we’re actually married now.” you stare at each other, and he rests his chin in his palm. with his other hand, he brings yours up to press gentle kisses against the ring and your skin. “just another excuse to stay close t’you.”

USHIJIMA looks over when you poke his shoulder, and quickly realizes you’re trying to feed him some cake. “say ahh,” you sing song. it’s a half-joke, and you don’t fully expect him to accept, but he leans forward and opens his mouth, hand underneath the fork to catch any crumbs. despite his serious expression and stature, you can't help but think he looks cute. “i know we picked this flavour, but does it taste good?” you ask. wakatoshi nods. “it was a good choice.” he gets a forkful for who you assume is himself. but instead he lifts it toward you. “do you want to try now?”

@devilgirlcrybabiey @lordbugs @smiithys @xfangirl-trashx @passionateuchiha @scaramouchesfootstool @fifteenshadesofpinkk @lotus-sukimono @chloee0x0 @kenmaslov3r @bakugosgrenade @semifilms @sakusasdirtyragdoll @dai-tsukki-desu @Thathoneybee3 @momoewn @aintgeluh @dazaisfavgf @simpforerenn @crystal-lilac @vhenis @omiigad @kur0-kawa @semispilledcoffee @ksyhmm @idontlikeyourjob @sparrowb3nscloset @awkwardaardvarkforever @rory-cakes @prblmtic @dimslover @kuroaka @vampyrkookie @sunaslay @the-midnightskies @h0n3ysgh0st @lackey-laufeyson @bontensbabygirl @dira333 @Kamukayakmonyet @danyisapingu @isentsworld @lilithlunas @anime-ships-gay @todorokiskitten @kellesvt @scill-a @curiouslilbeast @fiona782 @cvhenia @mitskiologist

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #akaashi x reader #hinata x reader #atsumu x reader #osamu x reader #ushijima x reader #kuroo tetsuro #bokuto kotaro #akaashi keiji #hinata shoyo #miya atsumu #miya osamu #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu multi chara posts u mean the world 2 me #when no one has my back...i know u do.. can i get an amen ?!

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sincerelyneo · 1 month ago

Note

hi there! can i request softdom possessive jeno? :)

you absolutely can (my fave genre of literature 😀)

steal my girl | l.jn

“find another one because she belongs to me”

💿now playing: steal my girl by one direction

❯ summary: Jeno’s always been protective, always a little territorial when it comes to you, but tonight—tonight feels different. He doesn't like the way that guy is ogling you right in front of him. No, he doesn't like it one bit.

❯ pairings: jeno x fem!reader

❯ genre: established relationship, smut

❯ words: 2.7k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, jealousy, possessiveness unprotected sex (don't do this!), creampie, slight roughness, exhibitionism, arguing, manhandling, just jeno being an unapologetic caveman for 2k words because i can.

How unethical would it be to keep his ridiculously hot girlfriend locked away from the rest of the world? That’s the question running through Jeno’s mind as you weave through your sister’s engagement party.

He’s kidding—well, sort of. He’s a feminist, after all.

He just doesn’t like the way men—way too many men—watch you as you move through the room, their eyes dragging over you like they have a right to. Old high school friends letting their handshakes linger a little too long, their smiles a little too familiar.

Yeah, he doesn’t like it one bit. Finds it downright disrespectful, actually—how so many of them pretend he’s not even there. Like he’s not the one you walked in with, not the one with his hand currently resting on your waist, not the one wearing a matching blue tie to your blue dress for God’s sake.

They need to back the fuck off.

Especially this Felix guy. The one claiming to be your childhood best friend. Jeno finds that real fucking funny because he’s never heard Felix’s name come out of your mouth in all the time he’s known you.

Jeno stands beside you, trying to keep his cool. This is your sister’s party, your family, your friends—he can’t be the jealous asshole here. He has to play nice. But it’s hard, so damn hard, with Felix flirting with you right in front of him. Felix’s hand brushes against yours as he laughs at your jokes, leans in just a little too close when you catch up, when you tell him about your life now.

Jeno likes that you mention him when you talk about your "now," but when you refer to Felix, it’s always the "then." But still, every time you laugh or smile at Felix, Jeno feels a stab in his chest one that makes his jaw instinctively tighten. He doesn’t want to make a scene—not yet.

But when you give Felix one of those long hugs—one Jeno definitely doesn’t fucking like—and peck Jeno on the cheek before heading toward your parents, Jeno doesn’t miss how Felix watches you walk away. The way his eyes trace the curve of your back as you turn, how his gaze drops low enough to linger on your ass, how he bites his lip like he’s savouring every inch of you. Like you’re his to take, his to admire. It’s blatant. It’s invasive. It’s the kind of look that makes Jeno’s blood boil.

Deep, deep breaths—actually, fuck playing nice.

"Watch it," Jeno grumbles, his voice low and hoarse, forcing Felix to peel his eyes off your figure and lock onto him.

Jeno knows he’s intimidating when he’s happy, blame his build, but when he’s pissed? It's on a different level. Felix turns to face him, and Jeno catches the slight hitch in his breath, the way he swallows noticeably. That’s when Jeno knows—he’s at peak intimidation mode. Because Jeno isn’t happy right now—he’s fucking angry.

Felix kicks the ground beneath his feet, hands slipping into his pockets, a smug look creeping onto his face. “I see, Y/N’s found herself another jealous asshole to latch onto.”

Jeno scoffs, a bitter laugh slipping past his lips. “Jealous? No,” he says, coldly. “Jealous means you have something I want. You do not. Possessive asshole? Definitely.”

Felix tilts his head, a smug little shrug playing on his shoulders. “Jealous, possessive—it’s all the same, really. Doesn’t matter in the end. You’re just passing through her life. You’ll break up, and I,” he pauses, his smirk widening, “I’ll always be here for her. Ready for her.”

“Waiting around like a pest?” Jeno asks, but he doesn’t really care for Felix’s answer.

He blinks, caught off guard. “Well, no—”

Jeno doesn’t give him the chance to finish. He’s done with the playing nice act. He’s wasted too much time pretending to be polite. He’s not polite, not when it comes to his girl. Grabbing Felix by the neck, he pulls him close, his voice dropping to a low growl that’s every ounce deep and possessive.

“You will always be waiting around for my girl,” Jeno sneers, his eyes narrowing. “A big fucking fantasy, while I get to have her, get to savour every little bit of her. All those sweet little noises she makes for me, and only me. Got it?”

Jeno releases his grip on Felix’s neck, and maybe it’s because his hold was too strong, or maybe it’s the red clouding his vision that maked him forget the weight of himself, but Felix stumbles back, losing his balance. A light clatter of glasses and china follows a mess of noise that ripples through the room.

And just like that, every eye in the room snaps to them.

Including yours, and Jeno knows he’s in deep shit. He’s so wrapped up in you, so attuned to every shift in your expression, that he reads it all in an instant. Your eyes are dark, but not in the way he loves—no hunger, no affection. Instead, there’s nothing but anger and frustration. Angry at him for losing his cool. Frustrated at him for not playing nice like he should’ve.

When you storm over, hand wrapping tightly around his wrist to drag him out of the crowded hall and into the dimly lit hallway, Jeno doesn’t protest. He lets you lead him, knowing full well he’s about to get an earful.

“What the fuck was that, Jeno?” You say, voice hushed but still angry.

“He said something I didn’t like,” Jeno explains flatly.

Your eyes widen in disbelief, the anger bubbling up as you step closer. “You can’t—You can’t just throw your weight around because people get under your skin. I asked you to play nice here, and you—” You shake your head, frustrated. “You didn’t.”

Jeno shrugs. “I won’t apologise,” he mutters. “Because I’m not sorry, and I’m not gonna lie to you.”

You poke the inside of your cheek with your tongue, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable. What was the big deal anyway? Felix is basically harmless.”

Something shifts in Jeno’s eyes—something dark and angry. He thought he couldn’t hate anything more than watching men ogle you, but what gets under his skin even more is hearing you defend Felix. It grates on him, that you're jumping to his defence when all he did was stand there and objectify you.

“Harmless?” Jeno steps closer, forcing you to take a step back. His presence presses in until your spine is flat against the wall. “That bastard was telling me how he wants to have you once I’m done with you…how harmless does that sound, huh?”

“Wha–?”

His voice drops into a growl, practically snarling now, and you feel the heat of his anger. He’s angry at Felix, angry at this whole damn party, angry at you.

“That’s ridiculous—”

Jeno cuts you off, his face pressing into your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down your spine. It’s so distracting, it completely halts your train of thought. “Oh, I know… because I’ll never be done with you, Y/N.”

You shudder as his lips press soft, teasing kisses along your collarbone. “So what?” You ask breathily, “You think you can just go around pushing my friends, pissing like a dog to mark your territory?”

He chuckles, lips pressing against your skin in a smile, sending goosebumps scattering across your flesh. He likes that—likes knowing that the simplest thing he does makes you react so blatantly for him.

“Yes,” he responds flatly. “I’ll always mark my territory when it comes to you, baby. Get it through your head—and everyone else’s—that you. Are. Mine.”

Your breath catches as his words settle. You know you shouldn’t like this, like it when he’s so dominating, so controlling. But you’d be lying if you said his touch, the firm grip on your hip that pins you to the wall, doesn’t make your pulse race. The possessiveness in his voice, the way his lips press against your skin like he can’t get close enough—it’s all too much, it’s all too good.

"I’m not an object, Jeno," you murmur, still caught between the frustration and a part of you that knows, deep down, you're not entirely opposed to this side of him either.

He shakes his head, another quiet chuckle escaping him as his hand slides along your sides, his touch searing through the fabric of your dress.

“Never said you were,” he replies lowly. “I said you are mine. The same way I am yours.” He leans in closer, his breath now hot against your ear. “We belong together. Extensions of each other.”

As he speaks, Jeno’s fingers trail along your exposed arms, making you flush as he traces the contours of your skin. His touch is light, almost delicate, but it burns, like a branding iron, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. You can’t help but tremble, your body reacting the way it always does to his greedy touch. It’s like he knows every inch of you, like he has a secret map to your body—a handbook on how to make you tick. Or maybe you react this way simply just because it’s him.

"You seem to have forgotten, baby," he says, his touch now trailing along the inside of your forearm, fingertips circling your wrist to trace the pulse he can feel racing beneath your skin. "Do I have to remind you how much we belong to each other?" he murmurs. "Because I will. I have no problem showing you, again and again, just how much you belong to me—how deeply you're embedded in my mind."

You feel a flutter in your chest as his finger continues its lazy path, now tracing the curves of your shoulder, the slope of your neck. It's like he's re-mapping your body, re-claiming you as his own. You can't help but feel a thrill of excitement, a rush of pleasure at the way he's touching you. But you’re in a hallway. In public. At your sister’s engagement party.

"Jeno, we can’t—my family, Felix—is in there—"

"Not what I asked," he snarls, voice clearly irritated. "And considering you still have him in your head, I think I ought to remind you..."

Without warning, he spins you around, pressing your front against the wall as his hands hike up your dress. He doesn’t care that you're out in the open—he's not thinking about the consequences. You said it best: he's like a dog marking his territory, and right now, he has to claim you, right here.

A rush of excitement floods you, mingling with a twinge of embarrassment. Excited because it’s him—because this is him taking control, showing you that you’re his. Embarrassed because, despite everything, you like it. You like it when he’s like this. When he makes you feel like you belong to him, in every way.

You hear the rustling of his suit pants, the unmistakable sound of his belt clinking as it unbuckles. Then, a warm, firm hand soothes over the plush flesh of your ass, soft and delicate, a reminder that even though this is about to be a feverish, heat-of-the-moment fucking, he still cherishes every inch of you. Every part of you is his to worship.

He yanks your panties down, not bothering to be gentle, just needing them out of his way. A moan builds in your throat as his fingers dig into your hips, pulling you closer to his hard, muscular frame. Your body arches into his touch, craving, no—silently begging for more. Until it’s not silent.

“Please, Jeno—please—”

In any other circumstance, hearing you need him so hopelessly, begging for him, would get him off. But not now, with only a wall separating you from that guy. He promised these little sounds—your pathetic pleas—were his to hear, only his. He has no plans on sharing them.

“Want me, huh?” he asks, as you look over your shoulder at him. You’re biting down on your lip, chewing it desperately as you nod. Fuck, he loves that view. “You’ve gotta be quiet for me then, baby. This is just for us, me and you, okay?”

You nod eagerly, but truthfully, you’d probably agree to anything he asked of you right now. You just need this, need him—need to be his.

Jeno teases the tip of his cock between your folds, brushing against your clit a few times, which makes you bite down on your lip to hide a moan. The stakes are high, with the party next door, but he needs you ready for him, wet and aching for it. He doesn’t want to hurt you. He’s possessive, but not an asshole—well, maybe he’s a little bit of both.

With one rough thrust, Jeno plunges into you, cock sinking deep inside your pussy, filling you completely. He fits perfectly, making you gasp at the stretch because he’s so big, so thick. You nearly break his rule right away, but your hand moves to cover your mouth, stifling the sound. You just want to be good—so good for him.

You feel a sting at first, which is quickly rectified by a rush of pleasure when he starts to move. The sound of the party next door, the music and laughter, fades into the background as you focus on the sensation of Jeno's cock hammering into you.

He sets a brutal pace, hips pistoning in and out of you as his fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place. It’s consuming, it’s claiming, it makes your body tremble with satisfaction, your nipples hardening as you press your face against the wall, trying to muffle your cries.

It feels so good, that you start to lose control, your moans growing louder despite your best efforts to suppress them. Jeno's hand leaves your hips to cover your mouth, fingers gripping your jaw as he muffles your moans. "Shh, baby," he whispers, his voice hot against your ear. "We don't want to give anyone a show."

You nod, body still trembling as Jeno continues to fuck you. The stakes are high, but you don't care. You're too caught up in the feeling of his cock inside you, too lost in him.

“Such a pretty fucking girl,” he groans, “My good fucking girl. All mine.”

Jeno’s always been protective, always a little territorial when it comes to you, but tonight—tonight feels different. There’s something more dangerous, more desperate in the way he’s holding you, in the way he’s pressing you against the wall like he’s afraid to let go.

And maybe that’s what gets to you most. Because underneath all the jealousy and possessiveness, you can feel it—the fear, the insecurity.

“You don’t have to remind me,” you murmur, your fingers reaching up to brush against his jaw. “I know, Jeno.”

His eyes search yours, as if he’s trying to find reassurance in them, as if he needs to hear it over and over again. And so you say it, just for him.

“I’m yours,” you whisper, “Always.”

His eyes roll back, the breathy, needy way you say it is like music to his ears. “God...you're so good for me.”

The roughness of his pace, mixed with his praise, makes it impossible for you to hold back any longer. Your breath hitches, your focus on him shifts back to the wall, and then a needy, high moan escapes against his hand. Hiding it isn’t enough now; he hears just how good he’s making you feel. But still, he doesn’t want anyone else to hear it either. His hand moves to your jaw, tilting it so you can meet his gaze over your shoulder.

And when you look up, something shifts in his eyes—something beyond lust. You see a man willing to do anything to keep you by his side. You realise Jeno's possessiveness isn’t about control or claiming territory—it’s love. A deep, primal need to make you his, to protect you, and to keep you safe within his arms.

And when he claims your lips in a desperate, suffocating kiss (one that swallows your sweet, little sounds) it’s the confession you need. You belong to each other—so blatantly, so undeniably.

His tongue invades your mouth, claiming every inch of you as his own, and you let him. You let yourself be lost in the feeling, edging closer to orgasm as Jeno's hands tighten around your waist, holding you in place while he drives into you one last time, lips still connected. A rush of pleasure overwhelms you, your body arching into his touch as you cum, pussy pulsing around his cock as your mouth parts against his, eyes fluttering shut.

Jeno’s body tenses too, his cock twitching inside you as his orgasm hits. It’s intimate, warm, reckless—and you fucking love it.

As you catch your breath, a flush of pink spreads across Jeno’s cheeks when he pulls out, thick spurts of cum dripping from you, pooling in your panties. You never go raw. Ever. And he’s just staring at the mess he’s made, looking at it like a fucking dog marking his territory. Then, when reality sets in, he runs a soothing hand up and down your arm.

“Fuck, baby, I’ll stop at the store on the way home. Got a little carried away.”

You raise an eyebrow, teasing. “No apology?”

“I’m sorry for not asking you,” he admits, “But I’m not sorry for doing it. I fucking loved being this close to you.” His fingers trace the curve of your jaw. "Biggest way to show you're mine," he whispers, "Always, mine.”

#nct smut #jeno smut #nct dream smut #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #jeno x reader #kpop smut #nct hard hours #nct scenarios #jeno oneshot #nct one shot #🏷️frompaige

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mountainsandmayhem · 4 months ago

Text

BDSMaid - Chapter 7

Series Summary: After recently graduating you take what is supposed to be a job to save money before you go back to university to get your law degree. Your best friend offers you a job cleaning luxury homes for clients you’ll never know. Easy. Simple. Mundane. Until one of your clients is home and everything you felt was missing in your life starts to fall into place. This goes against the NDA you signed and you could get fired. Or worse, you could fall in love.

CW: 18+ MDNI. In order to avoid spoilers, all tags are under the cut in small red lettering. Reader does have some body descriptions so more of an oc than female reader.

AN: I am not the least bit sorry for the ending 😉

Word Count: 8k

Series Masterlist | My Masterlist | AO3

TW: open door smut scenes, unprotected P in V. Cream pie. Squirting. Use of nipple clamps. Oral (female receiving). Fingering (anal and vaginal). Ass play. Use of nicknames (good girl, sweet girl). Pussy and dick pronouns. Joel having a filthy mouth.

You

Holy shit, I just fucked Joel Miller.

The thought rattles around your brain over and over, as if the more you say the more real it will feel, but you’re still floating, still up in the clouds even though you’re firmly tucked against Joel's side. Your head rests in his chest, rising and falling with the quick rhythm of this breathing. Your eyes flick down to his beautiful cock; it’s standing straight up, ready whenever you are, as you both try to slow your heartbeats and breathing. You nestle your body tighter to the warm, solid wall of a man beside you, wrapping a leg around his. He slides his fingers up and down your spine. As you lay in silence your mind races.

“Just call me Joel”.

There are almost too many things bouncing around your head, making it hard to focus on only one. Does he love me? When I tell him what I've decided with college, will he think I’m staying in Austin because of this? Aren’t I staying in Austin because of this? How else do I explain it? What about my friends? I don’t want to keep this a secret anymore; is this worth losing my job over? What if this is all part of his plan? Sleep with me and then use it as a reason to end our dom/sub relationship? Is this even a dom/sub relationship anymore?

Anxiety and worry start to buzz through your veins. The sight of soft belly and rock hard cock blurs. You slam your eyes shut, the unknown starting to overwhelm you. Sucking in a big breath, you try to break the vice grip that’s starting to tighten around on your lungs and throat.

“Are you ok?” Joel says softly.

“Ya,” you nod as his free hand that's been tucked under his head comes to your chin and tilts it up. The moment you’re engulfed by his soft chocolate brown eyes, your brain stops. Quiet washes over you. You’re safe here, you’ve always been safe here. Rolling over, you perch yourself on his leg and hip, chin resting on the tops of your hands as they lay on his chest. You can feel his heart beating strong and steady under your hands. That’s what you need: consistent stability. No, not need, deserve.

Joel removes the golden clip from your hair. “Freckles, I probably should have said this before, but this isn’t what I normally do with my subs, and I’m…”

His eyes dance around yours as he pauses. You can see a million emotions happening at once, all of them mirrored in yours. Fear. Happiness. Confusion. Anxiety. Vulnerability. But mostly, love. You finish the sentence for him.

“I’m pretty sure we aren’t just a dom and a sub, Joel. I don’t know if we ever have been.”

I love you.

With that, he pulls himself up, stuffing some pillows so he can lean comfortably against the headboard. You follow, and he guides you to straddle his lap, his cock pressed between your bodies. The air between you feels thick with emotion. Both of you look at the other, your shallow breaths in sync before both of you snap and dive in. The kiss is hungry and desperate. There’s probably a million things you both could say, but in this moment, the kiss is enough.

“I’m never going to get enough of you,” he moans as your lips trail his jawline.

“Good,” you hum, sliding your hips up to drag your pussy along his length. You’ve slept with a handful of men before Joel, but it’s never been this passionate with anyone else. You just had each other, yet here you both are, acting like it’s been years since you’ve touched. His head falls back, a sigh passing his parted lips as you kiss down his neck.

“Fuck that feels good, sweet girl.” His hands tighten along your hips. Joel is always so concerned with your pleasure and needs, so for now, or for as long as he’ll let you, you spend time focusing on him. You kiss every inch of him that you can reach: his neck and shoulders, his collarbone and ear lobes, all while softly grinding against his cock. Every moan and gasp from his lips has you growing wetter.

You drag your slippery pussy up his cock, both of you completely coated in your arousal. Joel lifts you to hover above his cock. “Need to feel you wrapped around me again. Please, sweet girl.”

You capture the sound of him begging with your lips, snake a hand in between your bodies, and guide the tip of his bare cock inside of yourself. You shudder and whimper at the delicious stretch of him. “Oh god.”

“This pussy,” he coos, and the sound of his weakness at the feel of you has the muscles behind your navel tightening. Your lips find his again as you slowly work yourself down his cock. “That’s my girl, nice and slow.”

You rock and grind, sliding him in further, your body writhing as you take inch by tortuous inch. As your hips finally come into contact with his, you still your movements and relax into the feeling of him at this new angle. Joel is definitely big, not in a scary romance novel kind of way, but bigger and thicker than you’ve been with. “Joel,” you mew, the vowels of his name lasting longer than they should and you tuck your head into his neck.

“It’s all you, baby girl. Just sit on him if you need to, fuck.” He kisses your shoulder, hands moving to the globes of your ass. “Tell me how it feels.”

“F-full,” you whine into his skin.

“What else, my sweet girl?”

“You’re so big, J-Joel. I can feel you everywhere. I - I need, oh my god.” You grind your hips forward slightly, the cool metal of his piercing sending a shockwave through your clit and up your spine. “More. I need more.”

“Just take it, baby. I’m yours.” He rasps between kisses along your shoulder and neck.

You pull back, your face mere inches from him. He’s everywhere all at once and the painful stretch of your cunt around his cock starts to become an intense burning pleasure with each flick of your hips.

“Suck on my nipples,” you gasp, leaning back slightly. The shiny silver ring in his pelvis presses harder against your clit, and now, not only are you madly in love with Joel Miller, you’re also so fucking addicted that not even a twelve step program could fix you.

He obeys your wishes, sucking your right nipple into his warm mouth roughly and swirling his tongue as your hips grind back and forth once, twice, three times. He moans against your skin, moving his hands up your body to cup both your breasts. “Harder, please Joel, harder.”

Your movements become less fluid; your clit aches with every brush against his piercing. The muscles behind your navel start to feel like they’re going to snap. He moves to the other nipple, meeting it with his teeth, but it’s still not enough.

“Harder,” you beg.

“Do you need clamps, baby?” Of course this man would know what you need; he’s never not known what you need.

“Yes, god yes. I need more.”

“Can you reach the top drawer of the nightstand?” You nod, then push his sweaty curls away from his forehead. He raises an eyebrow and you reach into the drawer, pulling out a small set of gold nipple clamps. “Good girl. Now, can you reach my hat at the end of the bed?”

You press your lips into a thin line to stop your smile and nod excitedly. He winks and you turn your upper body the other way and stretch to reach his hat. As soon as you place it on his head you feel the sharp pressure of the clamp on your left nipple. The pain heightens the feeling of him inside of you and a high pitched whine leaves your throat.

“Fuck, please, Joel. Please.”

As he places the second clamp he says, “You don’t even know what you’re begging for, do you?”

A mix between a whimper and a whine passes your lips in response and your lashes flutter shut. “That’s what I thought. Just as long as I keep myself deep in this tight little pussy, you’ll be happy. Won’t you?”

The second clamp evens out the pain and sends a wave of adrenaline through your system. You pick up the speed of your hips. His piercing bumps against your clit, the pleasure coursing through your veins mixed with the burning pinch on your nipples is almost all the ingredients you need to fall over the edge.

“You’re doing so well for me, sweet girl. Wish you could see how good you look right now.” Joel moves his hands back to your ass, pulling you forward in time with the pace you’ve set.

“I love - Joel, oh my god.” You want to tell him how much you love the feeling of him inside of you, how much you love the words he says and the praise he gives, but you aren’t capable of forming sentences with the way his piercing teases at your clit. All you can do is let your forehead fall to his shoulder, your eyes squeezing tighter.

“Love what, huh?” He whispers deeply into your ear. “The feeling of my bare cock so deep inside of you that you can feel it in your stomach? Or the way my piercing feels against your swollen clit? Or maybe you love the pain of the clamps on your nipples as you ride me? Huh? Is that what you love, baby?” You make a gasping whining sound of agreement.

“Look at me,” he adds. It takes all of your strength to sit back up and open your eyes. When he comes into focus you’re overcome with desire. He’s so much more than you could ever imagine in his new black cowboy hat, pupils blown wide with passion, and cheeks flushed a light pink. “Good girl, keep your eyes on me. I want to see it in your eyes when you come on my cock.”

Your hips slow, but you push your clit harder against his pelvis, and you blurt the first thought you have. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Joel.”

A smile tug of his cheek reveals the boyish dimple you love so much. You slide your hands from his shoulders to the short hair at the nape of his neck. You’re close, so very close. “Come with me, I’m so close,” you whimper.

“I know, Freckles. Fuck, I can feel it.” He doesn’t take his eyes off yours, but the flex of his jaw tells you he’s holding back for you. “Squeezin’ me so tight. Fuck, can feel her fluttering, listen to how wet you are.”

You reach back and grab his wrist, squeezing it gently, “Spank me.”

“Christ, sweet girl.”

You release his wrist, and without looking away he spanks you hard and you are launched into your orgasm. His face lights up with admiration as you chant a mixture of his name and ‘oh god’. You grind frantically into his piercing, your clit practically vibrating at the attention.

“That’s it baby. Good, fuck, I’m gonna, good girl. Don’t stop, fuck, don’t stop.” He slaps your ass again and that same familiar pooling of liquid starts to build.

“More,” you cry and he spanks you again.

You feel the gush of your cum, and Joel takes over as you’re consumed by pleasure. His strong hands grip your hips, moving you at a slower pace. “There she goes, such a messy little pussy.”

You peel your eyes away from him, looking down at the way his piercing presses against your clit when your bodies meet. “Fill me,” you moan.

“Fuck - oh fuck, sweet girl.” Your orgasm starts to fade and you tug at the hair you can reach.

“Fill me, Joel. I want to feel you leaking out of me for days.” You aren’t sure where this version of yourself has come from. Just weeks ago you wandered around JMKink all wide-eyed and nervous, and now you’re saying words that you never thought you could.

Joel lets out a mix between a growl and a moan and you feel his cock harden before it jerks inside of you, hot ropes of his cum filling you like you asked. He moans your name, stilling your hips in his hands as his orgasm washes over him. “God, you feel so good.”

The two of you gasp for breath, your head falls back and you close your eyes, trying to slow your heart beat. Joel removes the nipple clamps and you cry out just as he places light kisses along them. “Ouch,” you whimper.

“I know,” he says, moving to kiss the other one. “Taking them off is the worst part. I’m sorry, sweet girl.”

When he pulls back to look at you again your body goes limp and you fall into his chest, head tucked into the crook of his neck. “Need a minute,” you murmur.

He pulls the blanket from the other side of the bed and wraps it around the two of you. “Good, because I’m not ready to let you go yet.” His lips caress your hairline softly, one hand on your back under the blanket, the other playing with your hair.

I love you.

After a few moments of blissfully content silence you wince at the pinch in your hip. “I gotta get up, I’m sorry.”

He laughs gently into your hair, and pulls back the blanket before helping you slide off his softened cock. You both look at the mess you’ve made on his lap and you let out a mischievous giggle.

“Don’t even think about it, Freckles. I need nourishment before you take advantage of me again.” He says jokingly.

“Well, I guess this is what I get for fucking around with an old man,” you laugh, flopping down on the bed beside him.

Joel moves quickly, slipping two thick fingers inside of you easily and you squirm at the feeling. You suck in a huge breath, like you’re about to swim to the bottom of a deep pool. Tears start to burn behind your eyes as overstimulation makes it almost impossible to breathe, nevermind being able to tell him to stop.

His voice is a gravel filled growl, “That right, little girl? Because from what I can tell, you’re about to beg me to stop, so be careful who you call old.”

Heat flushes your skin, pleasure building, yet when your tired pussy flutters around his strong digits a loud, pained cry fills the room. You’re not willing to admit defeat as you force your lungs to suck in a breath.

“I’m not.”

“No?” He pumps his fingers harder against your sensitive g-spot. “Don’t wanna use that safe word?”

Can’t. Fuck, I might actually die if I come again again. You never imagined yourself debating if you wanted another orgasm. A cold sweat coats your lower back as you arch off the bed, a sob leaving your throat.

“How’s that feel? Wanna come again?”

You shake your head and moan in disagreement.

“You sure? She wants to, I can feel it.” He pumps his fingers forward again.

“M-mister Miller. No.” As you swallow down the scream that’s inching its way up from your lungs he watches your throat like a starved wolf.

“Safeword,” he commands.

“Steg-“ you don’t even say the full word and he’s slipping his fingers out of you with a lewd squelching sound. “Thank you.”

“Are you okay?” He says softly, his dom mask gone as his eyebrows knit in concern.

“Yes,” you say with a quiet laugh. “I was close to coming again, but….”

He gives you a thigh lipped smile, “Sore?”

You nod as he continues, “Food, then shower, then we can come back here,” he says deeply before he slips his two fingers in his mouth, cleaning off the mixture of the two of you.

I fucking love you, Joel Miller.

Joel

The small crack of light in the curtains wakes him. His alarm clock shows 7:18 am; he can’t remember the last time he slept past six am, but he also can’t remember the last time he stayed up until two in the morning. He rolls slowly, careful not to disturb you in the cocoon of blankets you’ve created in the night. The top of your head and one foot is the only thing visible, your slow, quiet breathing filling the room.

So fucking cute.

He pulls on a pair of black pajama pants and adjusts the curtains to keep the room dark before slipping downstairs. The morning sun reflects off the gold in the marble, basking his kitchen in warm fire light. His eyes glance around the kitchen, a dirty frying pan sits in the sink from the grilled cheese sandwiches he made you both last night, the kitchen stool still pulled out from where you sat. A smile pulls at his cheeks, his cock stirring as he remembers the rest of the evening.

The two of you ate your sandwiches; all you had on was one of his t-shirts, and he was wearing the pants he’s in now. After you both finished eating, he grunted as he came over to help you off the stool. You made another joke about him being old. Slipping in and out of dom mode is almost too easy around you. Without missing a beat, he made you clean the cum that had leaked out of you off the stool with your tongue, then spanked you until more cum dripped down your legs and onto the floor. He didn’t even have to tell you what to do, all he did was glance at the floor then at you with a raised brow. His sweet girl got down on her hands and knees and cleaned up. He praised you the entire time and then took you upstairs to shower; not that it did much good, because he fucked you from behind the moment the two of you got back into his bed. Joel hasn’t fucked someone back-to-back like that in years, but you have him feeling like he’s in his twenties again.

He pulls the jar of imported coffee beans from the cupboard and grinds them, reflecting upon how easy it was to just sit with you. As you ate, you both laughed and joked about whatever came to mind. He made fun of you for asking for ketchup to dip your sandwich in, then you poked fun back by eating the sandwich with one pinky up once you realized it wasn’t just processed bread and cheese.

As he tamps the freshly ground beans into the basket he realizes just how lonely he has been. He’s always been surrounded by people and enjoyed coming home to his quiet solitude of a house, but now? He smiles sadly to himself. This is really going to hurt.

He places the basket in the machine and as it brews he gets your beans in the grinder and then grabs the milk to steam and froth. He adds the milk to his cup and then starts on yours just as he hears a very soft ‘Good Morning’ from behind him.

He looks over his shoulder as you wrap your arms around his middle, placing a kiss on his bare spine. It shoots right to his heart and he holds it there, desperate to keep this love he’s feeling, love he knows is on a timeline.

“Good morning, sweet girl. Coffee?”

“Mmm, yes please.”

He rubs at your arms around his stomach. “How does bacon and eggs sound?”

The soft warmth of your cheek rests on his back as he steams your milk, your espresso almost done. “You actually use the kitchen?”

“Used it last night, didn’t I?”

“Yea,” you reply, “but I’ve never seen you have actual food in your fridge. Cleaning it is always on your list, but aside from milk there’s never been anything in it.”

“That’s not entirely true,” he says.

“You’re right, once there was just a single long stemmed red rose.” The rose he got you for your birthday.

“So you’re saying you don’t want surprise long stemmed roses?”

You gasp dramatically behind him and then wiggle under his arm. He laughs, adjusting his grip on the milk and coffee cup to pour the milk just right, creating a heart on the top of your latte and then holding it in front of you. He watches the little smile that curves your lips. “Thank you, Joel.”

He kisses your forehead before you both part. His eyes trail from your face, down your body that’s draped in one of his black t-shirts brushing the top of your bare thighs. “Breakfast?”

You nod, wrapping both your hands around your coffee cup and inhaling. “What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. Get that cute little ass on one of those stools,” he spins you and pats at your butt gently, a giggle escaping your throat as you wander around the island to sit.

Joel gathers what he needs for breakfast, and after a few heartbeats you break the silence. “Can I ask you a question?”

He glances over at you, “We’ve been through this. You don’t need to ask permission, just ask.”

“Well, it’s about the hat.”

“Ah,” he says softly, starting one of the gas burners to heat the cast iron pan for the bacon. “You can ask anything you’d like, baby.”

“I just wasn’t expecting that sort of reaction.”

“That’s not a question,” he says jokingly.

You let out an amused sound that’s part giggle, part snort. “What’s the history behind the black cowboy hat?”

He clears his throat, moving around the kitchen the entire time he speaks. “I grew up on a small ranch outside of Austin. My grandparents’ ranch. Me and Tommy lived there with our mom. My grandma gave us both our first cowboy hats; mine was a black Stetson with a black satin liner. I wore that hat all the time. It brought me comfort for whatever reason, or maybe it was confidence in those awkward adolescent years. Whatever it was, it sort of became a part of who I was as a teenager. One night, in my senior year, after winning our baseball state championship I went to a party, with my hat on, of course…that’s, umm, that’s where I met her.”

He watches you take a sip of your coffee, eyes soft. “Tiffany, my…my wife. That’s where I met her. My grandpa always said that I’d feel a tug, like a pull behind my belly button, and it did. When I went to talk to her she took my hat and put it on her head and…I just knew. That hat, well, I wore it for her from then on.”

“Where’s the hat now?” You say, looking shyly up at him.

He turns back the stove, swallowing the dry lump in his throat and flips the bacon before cracking the eggs in the second pan. His voice is low. “When she passed away it just felt right to send the hat with her. I couldn’t let her go alone.”

The eggs sizzle as he flips them. “How old were you when that happened?”

“Young,” he says, then looks back over at you. “About twenty three or twenty four.”

He scoops two eggs and a few pieces of bacon on each plate and then walks around to the stool beside you. “I’m sorry that happened, Joel.”

He places a light kiss on your forehead, sliding the plate in front of you. “Me too, baby. Thank you.”

Joel sits on the stool next to yours but that still isn’t close enough for him. He grabs the leg of your stool and pulls you tight to his side. The moment your shoulder makes contact with his arm he feels more at ease. Talking about Tiffany isn’t so painful anymore.

“So it’s just been you and your daughter since then? You didn’t want to remarry?” He watched the way your lips purse to blow on your fork full of eggs before he answers.

“I wasn’t opposed to remarrying. Sarah used to try to set me up with her friends' moms when she was kid. But, I never felt that pull like I did with Tiff. I focused all of my time on Sarah and building my construction firm.“

It feels almost too comfortable to talk to you as he continues between bites. “I just kept waiting for that pull again. Then my career took off; I went from building homes to mansions, and then eventually apartment complexes. I didn’t have time to even look for a partner.”

“Is that when you got into BDSM?” You ask, nibbling on your bacon.

“Ya, I met Cap…”

“Cap?” You interrupt, looking at him with wide eyes. “Like the sweet man with the grey hair and kind blue eyes who drives me around?”

“Yes, same Cap. He taught me almost everything about being a Dom.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “He’s so soft and kind.”

“Am I not soft and kind?” He says, placing a hand on his chest. You press a kiss to his cheek and he raises an eyebrow at you. “As I was saying, I met Cap through one of the trades we hired to run cable through a large apartment building. Spent a lot of hours with him and he eventually brought up how being a dom might be a good option for me and wouldn’t risk Sarah getting hurt through a break up.”

“Sarah is older than me, isn’t she?” You put your fork down and look up at him with concern.

He nods, “She is. Not by much, but she is. However, I recently learned that I was the campus DILF while she was in university.”

You snort a laugh beside him.

“She just wants me to be happy. I don’t know what I did right with that kid. She’s a doctor and just got accepted to a surgery fellowship in New York.”

As he finishes his last few bites, your soft, warm palm traces up and down his bare back slowly. “I’m sure you were, or are, an amazing dad.”

He smiles over at you as reality slams into him. You’re younger than his daughter. You’re going to want things that he’s already done and is too old to do again. And quite frankly, he doesn’t want to do it again. Biologically he cannot have any more kids, and he’s not looking to adopt. He’s done that part of his life.

One of his hands wraps around the back of your neck and his mind races as he lowers his face to yours. He’s sure you’re going to go to Berkeley, which will break his heart, but also means he can keep that pesky little secret he’s been keeping from you hidden. You finding out about that will ruin him.

You

Something shifts in Joel’s eyes before he kisses you, his tongue swiping against your lips, asking to let him in. You tilt your head, deepening the kiss, as the urge to show him just how much you need him takes over. You spin your body towards him, kissing him back at the pace he’s set. You could sit like this for hours, your lips fused to his, his tongue flicking sweetly against yours. Your hands roam along the muscle-lined skin of his arms, pressing your lips happily to his without any plans to break the kiss first.

After a few minutes, Joel pulls back, cupping your chin, his thumb caressing your bottom lip. “Speaking of university,” he prompts.

You take a slow deep breath in through your nose, trying to keep your face a neutral mask as all of your thoughts around school and Joel scream in your mind. He squeezes your hand reassuringly, “Come with me.”

As he leads you towards the stairs to the basement you say, “We should clean up.”

“Nah,” he starts leading you down the stairs, his voice light, “I have a cleaner coming this week.”

You jokingly hit his shoulder with a laugh as he walks down the stairs in front of you. The two of you settle into the plush couch. You cozy up into the corner of the sectional, him beside you. He pulls your feet onto his lap and then flips a blanket from the back of the couch over you.

“It’s gonna be Berkeley, right?” Joel’s voice is excited and curious, not disappointed. For a second you think he might not care in the way you think he does, until your eyes meet his. His eyes tell a whole damn story right now, more honey flecks than onyx shine your direction. They seem sad almost, or longing.

“Maybe. That was sort of my dream school but I don’t know anymore.”

His thumbs press into the arches of your feet and after wearing those ridiculous heels last night it feels delicious. “Your phone screen, which, by the way, I’m getting you a new phone. That screen is a hazard, and don’t bother arguing with me. But your Lock Screen is the beach.”

“I know,” you look down at your hands, picking at the pearly white polish.

“I want you to follow your dreams, sweet girl.”

“But that’s the thing, Joel. Becoming a lawyer is the dream. Either way, I will graduate as a lawyer, so…” The words die on your tongue and hang heavy between the two of you.

“Don’t pick based on me.” He says softly.

You scoff, immediately annoyed by his ego. Is that really what he thinks of you? That some man would come along and change everything you had planned. Didn’t he though?

You pull your feet from his lap, bending your knees up as if you’re building a wall between the two of you. “I’m not. I’m a grown woman who can, and does, make decisions for herself.”

“So then what’s the reason for giving up what was always your dream school for a law school here?”

You feel sick to your stomach. His singing last night, that wasn’t a proclamation of love to you. He was just singing a song that he knows and you almost changed your entire life’s trajectory for him.

No, you remind yourself, these are valid points. Joel or not, it makes sense to stay.

It doesn’t matter how you justify it to yourself in your mind, the annoyance that anyone would think you’d make a decision this huge for anyone but yourself doesn’t ease. You didn’t even consider your parents when you left for university, so why would he think you’d consider him when you’ve only known him a few weeks?

You try to keep the edge of frustration out of your voice as you respond. “It’s cheaper, for one. I also have a job that I could do once or twice a week if I stay here. I have a chosen family of friends who support and love me. There’s lots of reasons. And at the end of it all, I come out with a law degree.”

“Sweetheart,” he says softly, his fingers toying with the hem of the blanket. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to defend yourself or your decisions.”

“You assumed I’d choose my future based on you.” You say, and it comes out a lot angrier than you intend. You rush an apology, “Sorry, I didn’t mean for that to sound so harsh.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” his voice stays soft as he moves to rub the top of your foot under the blanket. You let him pull it back onto his lap, shortly followed by the other foot. “You’re making a big decision and I could see you working through your thoughts in the car last night. I just don’t want you to think you have to figure this out on your own. I’m here for you. I’m sorry, sweet girl. I was trying to let you know I’m here. I should have worded that differently to begin with.”

“Sorry,” you murmur, looking back down at your hands. You feel about two feet tall all of a sudden.

“Hey,” he squeezes at your calves and you look back up at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. C’mere.”

You slide across the couch and he pulls you close, draping your legs over his and wrapping you in his arms. “I know Berkeley is more expensive, but you’d have more opportunities there, wouldn’t you?”

You shrug and lean into his touch. “Maybe, but I’d finish top of the class here, I don’t know where I’ll fit there. Plus, my friends. It’s weird, I’ve never been scared to leave somewhere before; not even when I was freshly eighteen and left my parents, but now I am.”

His strong hands rub along skin, desire beginning to flicker at your core. It’s only further ignited when he speaks again.

“Those are all very valid reasons and fears, sweet girl. We all feel that way about big change. Your friends will always be there for you, regardless of what state you decide to go to school in. I’ve only known you for a short time, and I can see how much this means to you. They’ve known you a lot longer, I can only imagine how proud of you they must be. You’re an amazing person and an incredibly hard worker. If anyone can do this, it’s you.”

“I’ll be in debt forever,” you say with a sigh, leaning back so you can see his face.

“You don’t have to be…”

“No, I’ll accept the phone, albeit begrudgingly, but I will not accept that.”

“We’ll see about that,” he says with a wink and a laugh as you roll your eyes.

Joel

The rest of the morning was spent laughing and talking. He asked about your first kiss, your favourite song, what you were most proud of so far. He filed away every single answer.

As the two of you cleaned up from breakfast he said, “So you never saw yourself having kids?”

“No. I saw myself fighting for others. I think based on my past that I’d be a great mother, just do the opposite of what my parents did, but that never interested me.”

His fears from earlier started to ease knowing that you didn’t want kids, and your views on marriage were so mature compared to what he usually heard.

He oiled the cast iron as you spoke. “I just need a partner. Someone who is on my side. I’ve been alone almost my entire life, and I can be happy alone. It’s not the company I need - it’s the support. Someone who can shut the world off. You know?”

He knew the moment he saw you that he could turn you into the perfect little submissive, his perfect submissive.

“Sounds like you need a partner who knows how to be a Dom,” he says with a wink, eyes roaming over your body in just that thin black t-shirt he gave you. He sees the switch in your eyes, desire blows your pupils wide, darkening your usually sparkling orbs. “Does my sweet girl need something?”

He watches your thighs squeeze together as you stand beside him. You hum a yes and nod your head.

“Are you sore?”

“Yes, Mister Miller. But I still need it.”

He leans in closely, tracking the shiver that runs up your body as his lips ghost along the shell of your ear. In a deep whispered command he says, “Give me that shirt, and then go wait upstairs for me.”

He pulls back and watches as your arms cross in front of your body and grab the hem of the soft cotton shirt. Time slows as you reveal your naked body to him, his heart catching in his throat along with his breath. So utterly perfect.

“Good girl,” he hums, extending his hand for the shirt. “Upstairs, on your hands and knees at the foot of the bed.”

He watches you the entire way up the stairs. You only glance over your shoulder once, and he knows the wink he sends you is the reassurance you need. Granted, the little smile and the slight skip in your step afterwards were a dead giveaway that you’re excited for whatever he has planned.

He waits in the kitchen, forcing himself to keep his eye on the digital clock of the microwave. Three minutes, he tells himself. His dick has other plans, throbbing behind his loose, low hanging pajama pants. Wait three minutes, you weak and pathetic little man.

He palms himself through the fabric to relieve some of the ache, picturing your ass up in the air on the end of his bed. When the three minutes pass, he practically sprints up the stairs until he reaches his bedroom. He takes a breath to compose himself before stepping over the threshold. Looking to his left, you’re exactly how he wanted you. Knees on the edge of the bed, hands planted on the mattress, eyes glued to the fluffy sheets below you.

“Remind me, sweet girl,” he fights the smile as you startle at his voice, wide eyes looking over your shoulder. He leans against the doorframe and crosses his arms. “Did you mark off that you’re interested in exploring aspects of anal sex?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.” You say shyly.

“Here’s what we are going to do,” he starts to walk towards you, eyes roaming along every inch of you. “Look at the mattress, please.”

He smiles as you obey, always his good girl.

“You’re going to stay very still. I am going to tease your beautiful pussy and ass with my tongue and fingers.” He stops right behind you, running his fingertips along the back of your thighs. “I’m going to go slow. I want you to close your eyes and just breathe. Focus on my tongue. Can you do that?”

“Yes, Mister Miller.”

“Good girl. Before we start, grab a pillow and put your chest on the bed. I need you to arch your back for me.” He slips his pajama pants off as you crawl forward to grab the pillow and licks his lips as your ass scoots back down the bed before you get into his desired position.

“So beautiful,” he coos, kneeling on the small bench at the foot of his bed. “I’m going to start by drawing long lines of my tongue from here,” his finger lightly presses on your clit, he collects your arousal as he runs it up the soft folds of your cunt, stopping when he reaches your asshole, “To here”.

“I’m going to do that a few times, and then start applying more and more pressure. Once you start to shake, and you will start, sweet girl, so please, don’t hold back. But once you start to shake, I’m going to swirl my thumb along that tight little ring of muscle while I eat your pussy.”

You let out a moan, he hasn’t even touched you yet and he can see you growing wetter. “Think you like the idea of that. Already so wet for me.”

“What else?” You ask with a moan.

“I’m going to tease your ass with my tongue and fingers until you let me in. And then fuck you with my fingers, all while continuing to suck on your clit until you come for me. Do I have your consent?”

He can hear the smile on your face as you say, “Yes, Mister Miller.”

“No, no, baby. I want you to say ‘Yes, Mister Miller, you have my consent to play with my ass’.”

He sees your cheeks flush crimson, he brings his hands to your waist, holding you firmly as his cock rubs against your thighs. “Y-yes, Mister Miller. You have my consent….”

“You can say it, sweet girl. Come on.”

“To….”

He leans over you, placing a kiss on your shoulder. “Good girl, keep going.”

“To play with my ass.”

He sinks his teeth into the meat of one of your cheeks and then runs his tongue over the sharp pain before he does exactly as he said he was going to.

You

Your whimpers of pleasure fill the room as two of Joel’s thick fingers slide easily into your ass. You have no concept of how long he’s been teasing you. Since he took the lube out, you’ve been nothing but a vibrating ball of pleasure. His tongue flicks your clit with perfect precision, his fingers stretching and caressing you at the same time.

“I wanna come, Mister Miller,” you whine.

He pulls his face away from your centre. “That right?”

“Please. It feels so good.”

“You know you don’t have to ask, sweet girl. You can come as many times as you want.”

“Need more,” you manage to gasp as he curls his fingers slightly inside of you.

“What do you need?”

“Fuck me - fuck me while you do that with your fingers.”

“‘Manners!” He growls.

“Please, Mister Miller,” you half whine, half cry. “I need to come. Please.”

He slips his fingers from you and you whimper in protest. “I know, sweet girl.”

He urges you to move forward and then you feel the mattress dip as he kneels behind you. The click of the cap of the lube sounds behind you, the cool liquid hitting your ass. The warm tip of his cock slides from your ass to clit, back and forth, spreading your slick along with the lube. You push back into the soft top of his cock every time it teases your ass.

“Needy little thing, aren’t you?”

“It’s been hours, please, Mister Miller.”

“That’s a bit dramatic, baby,” he says, focusing his attention on that tight ring of muscle that you’ve never explored before. “It hasn’t even been an hour.“

You push back again, feeling intense pressure. You hiss as the sensation but don’t pull away. “Easy, sweet girl. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The slippery tip of his cock slides towards your entrance. He pauses, and then as he finally pushes inside of you, his thumb enters you at the same time. You cry out, “Oh my god.”

The usual pinch of the stretch of him filling you isn’t there this time. You don’t need to adjust to his size, you just need him to fuck you.

“Harder, Mister Miller.”

He obliges, keeping his thumb firmly inside of you as he slides his hips back and thrusts forward. He repeats this motion, setting a quick pace, his hips slamming against your ass over and over. You bury your face into the pillow and scream; deja vu washes over you. The darkness, the way his cock kisses your g-spot, the heat of his body behind you. This is the recurring dream you used to have about Joel, and it’s so much better in real life.

“Play with your pretty clit, sweet girl. Wanna feel you.”

You bring your hand to your clit. You’re so wet that your fingers easily slip along your most sensitive part. You rub fast, tight circles, moaning and somehow arching your back even further. “Atta girl. Make yourself come for me.”

Your orgasm slams through you and you scream his preferred dom name into the pillow. Your entire body is vibrating, your pussy clenches hard around his cock. You feel him growing harder before he’s calling your name along with praise and then spills inside of you.

His forehead meets your back, the sweat of his forehead mixing with your own as you both try to catch your breath. Your heart races. I love you.

Joel

When his alarm goes off Monday morning, it’s the first time in a long time that he’s not looking forward to work. He spent the better part of his weekend with you. The rest of your Saturday was spent in a bubble bath before ordering take out and watching movies. He reluctantly dropped you off at home on Sunday morning in a pair of his sweatpants, a hoodie and wool socks. Even while carrying your dress and heels and doing a proverbial walk of shame, you were undeniably gorgeous.

Now, he sits in his office, the heat of the afternoon spring sun causing the air conditioner to whirl. In the past few weeks, his feelings towards being in a relationship has mirrored the weather. When he met you in February, he was cold and isolated towards the idea, but now just weeks later as March turns to April, he’s warm and soft towards it, opening up to someone when he didn’t think he ever would. He opens a brown folder, a proposal for a new building that JMConstriction is going to take on. Tommy has already done the real work; at this point, Joel is just the figurehead for the construction side. He grabs his pen, looping a J and an M neatly.

He places his glass on the table and pinches the bridge of his nose. He knows he should have read that before signing, if only he could focus on the words. Somehow the letters on the page transformed into you. Smiling as the movie played, laughing as the two of you tried to toss popcorn across the couch and into the other person's mouth.

He’s all in, for as long as you’ll let him. He woke up Sunday morning to his cock in your mouth. You whispered asking if it was ok and after his hum of approval he watched your lips slide up and down his shaft. Simply put, he is mesmerized by you. He stopped you before he came, pulling you onto your side, your back against his front and slipped inside of you. He made you come three times before he let himself fall over the edge.

As he held you, you confirmed that you were staying here for law school.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Yes. For lots of reasons. But yes, I’m happy. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy. I’m staying here.”

Guilt and excitement swirled in his stomach at your decision. He has to tell you what he did. He should tell you regardless of your decision, but it’s going to be so much harder now. He picks up his phone and texts you.

Joel: Hi, sweet girl. Before we celebrate at the club on Tuesday, can I take you out for dinner?

You: I would love that, Mister Miller. But this super rich man has me scheduled to clean his house from 12-4, so what time are you thinking?

Joel: Get ready at my place, Freckles. We’ll have a drink and then go for dinner, then I’m going to teach you all about the St. Andrew’s Cross.

He wants you to stay. More than wants, he needs you to stay. The thought of you leaving now makes him feel like his lungs are in a vice grip. Wrong, Joel. That vice grip is actually that thing you did. You know this is going to hurt her, he scolds himself loudly. The imaginary iron fist squeezes tighter and he fights to suck in a full breath.

He has to tell you. He will tell you. At dinner tomorrow night, he will explain everything from the beginning. You can’t find out any other way or you’ll likely never forgive him. His heart starts to deflate at the thought of not being able to wake up beside you again; seeing you in a cocoon of down-filled sheets, just the top of your head and one foot giving away your identity.

He stands from his desk and walks towards his office door, clicking the lock and resting his forehead against the wood. He closes his eyes, resting one hand on his chest. I can’t lose her.

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