#I have more but they’re not as thought out as this one.

[joelsrose]

Tangled in Paradise: Chapter 3

my masterlist ~ previous chapters

warnings: oral f!recieving heheheh dirty talk joel is a dirty sexy bastard?! also sorry if its toooo longgg

The next morning, you woke to an empty bed, the sheets beside you cool and undisturbed. You rolled over, squinting at your phone. 10 a.m. “Shit,” you muttered, groaning as you stretched your arms overhead.

The sound of the door opening made you sit up, the grogginess quickly melting away. Joel walked in, his hands full—one holding a drink carrier, the other a bottle of water.

He looked maddeningly good for so early in the morning. His skin was sun-kissed, his hair just slightly messy like he’d already been out and about, and that damn t-shirt, snug across his broad shoulders, did nothing to help your situation.

“Hey,” he said, flashing you that easy, devastatingly handsome smile. “You’re awake.”

“Yeah,” you replied, your voice still raspy from sleep as you rubbed your eyes. “Sorry for sleeping in.”

“Don’t apologize,” Joel said, shaking his head as he crossed the room. “We’re on vacation. You’re allowed to sleep in.”

Before you could respond, Joel sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight. He reached over, setting a cup on your nightstand with a soft clink.

“Iced vanilla latte,” he said, his voice warm but casual, as if this wasn’t the sweetest gesture in the world. “And water. Figured you’d need it.”

Your heart stuttered, the ache from earlier dissolving into a wave of warmth that spread through your chest. “Joel,” you murmured, reaching for the latte. The condensation cooled your fingers as you held it, and you glanced up at him. “That’s sweet—you didn’t have to.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a lopsided grin that made your stomach flip. “Ain’t nothin’,” he said, but the way his gaze stayed on yours—steady, almost searching—betrayed the weight behind his words. “Anyway, Maria and Tommy left for a hike… like five hours ago. Apparently, they’re tryin’ to be one of those couples.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “God, they’re ambitious.”

“Or insane,” Joel added with a smirk, leaning back farther until his weight shifted onto one arm. His eyes flicked over you, a soft intensity in them that sent a small thrill down your spine. “So, I guess it’s just you and me for a while.”

Joel’s lips curved into that slow, wicked smile, the one that always made your pulse skip. He reached out, his fingers brushing over your knee lightly before retreating just as quickly.

You arched a brow, holding his gaze as you sipped your drink again. “What’d you have in mind?”

"Well," he drawled, his tone casual but his eyes glinting with something warmer, "we could sit by the pool. You could read me one of those romance novels you’re always pretending not to like," he added, nodding toward the book resting on your side table.

Your jaw dropped in mock offense, and he laughed, leaning back as if he’d scored a point.

“Joel Miller, I do not pretend.”

“Oh, you definitely do,” he teased, his voice rich and smooth. “Let me guess—billionaire bad boy falls for the sweet, innocent girl? Sound familiar?”

You smirked, shaking your head. “Wow, somebody’s projecting.”

“Hardly,” he shot back, his grin widening. “I’m more of a ‘charming Texan sweeps her off her feet’ kinda guy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you set your drink down. “You’re insufferable.” You bit your lip, trying not to smile too wide.

“Fine,” you relented, brushing a hand through your hair. “Pool it is. But I’m not reading to you.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You bit your lip, turning toward the full-length mirror in the corner of the room. The bikini was flattering—more than flattering, really—but no matter how you adjusted the straps or smoothed the fabric over your hips, that familiar knot of self-consciousness tightened in your chest.

A soft knock at the door jolted you out of your thoughts. “Hey,” Joel’s voice came through. “Can I come in, or is this a no-roommate zone right now?”

“Uh… yeah, come in,” you called, your hands automatically tugging at the fabric one last time.

The door opened, and Joel stepped inside. He froze, just for a second, his eyes dragging up your body in a slow, deliberate sweep. His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, the cocky charm he usually carried seemed to falter. “Shit.”

“What?” you asked, your cheeks immediately heating under the intensity of his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Joel blinked, his mouth twitching into that lopsided grin that somehow managed to be both infuriating and heart-stopping.

“Nothin’. You’re just—” He gestured vaguely with one hand, his words trailing off as his gaze dipped again, lingering on the curve of your waist. His voice dropped lower, rougher. “You’re gonna give the lifeguard a fuckin’ heart attack walkin’ around like that.”

You let out a huff of laughter, though your cheeks burned under the intensity of his gaze. It wasn’t just his words; it was the way he looked at you—like he was savoring every second of it. “Joel, stop,” you murmured, trying for exasperation, but your voice betrayed you, sounding far too soft.

He didn’t budge, didn’t even blink. If anything, his grin deepened, a slow, lazy curve that made heat curl in your stomach. His eyes shamelessly roamed over you, trailing from the slope of your shoulders to the length of your legs, before snapping back to your face. “Not my fault,” he drawled with a casual shrug, though his voice was thick. “You show up lookin’ like that, you can’t expect me not to notice.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shifting awkwardly under his gaze. Turning your back to him, you pretended to adjust something on the nightstand, hoping the movement would distract from how flustered you felt.

“Hey,” Joel said softly, his voice closer now. A warm hand landed on your shoulder, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, then swept it away from the back of your neck. His touch was unhurried, intimate in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.

“What?” you murmured, your voice catching as your heart pounded in your chest.

“Don’t gotta hide from me,” he said, his tone low, the kind of voice that could coax secrets from you without even trying.

“I’m not hiding,” you mumbled, though the way you kept your gaze averted didn’t exactly help your case.

Joel’s smirk deepened, his hand lingering on your shoulder just a moment longer before he let it slide down your arm, his fingers brushing yours. “No? Could’ve fooled me,” he said, his voice soft but teasing.

You turned to face him, finally meeting his eyes, which were dark and full of something you couldn’t quite name. “I’m not,” you insisted, a little firmer this time, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you.

“Alright,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “If you say so.”

Your breath hitched at the way his eyes locked on yours, dark and amused, like he was daring you to argue. Before you could muster a retort, Joel turned away, striding over to where his tote bag rested on the dresser.

“C’mon,” he called over his shoulder, the smirk still audible in his voice as he rifled through the bag. “Let’s go cause some medical emergencies.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You found a quiet spot by the pool where the loungers were spaced far enough apart that it felt private, secluded.

The soft sound of the water lapping against the edge of the pool blended with the faint hum of conversation from a few sunbathers nearby. You sank back into the lounger with a sigh, adjusting your sunglasses and stretching your legs out in front of you.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel said, his voice cutting through the tranquil moment.

“What?” you asked, peeking up at him over the rim of your sunglasses.

"Did you know," he began, his tone light and teasing as he flipped the sunscreen bottle in his hand, scanning the label, "that not wearing sunscreen is one of the top causes of skin cancer? Says so right here." He tapped the back of the bottle for emphasis.

You frowned, pushing your sunglasses up into your hair. “Joel…”

Joel crouched beside you, the sun casting a golden glow over his tanned skin, making every line of his toned arms stand out as he shook the sunscreen bottle. “Sit up,” he repeated, his voice carrying that soft but undeniable authority that made you instinctively obey, even as your brow furrowed in playful annoyance.

“You’re bossy, you know that?” you muttered, adjusting yourself on the lounger.

“Someone’s gotta keep you in line,” Joel shot back, uncapping the bottle with a smirk. His gaze flickered over your shoulders, his expression softening slightly. “You got burnt yesterday. Can’t let that happen again.”

“Thanks, Mom,” you teased, though the way his eyes lingered made your chest tighten in a way that was anything but maternal.

He chuckled low, leaning in to smooth the sunscreen over your shoulders. His hands were warm, strong, and far too deliberate for your heart to stay steady. “Relax,” he said softly, his voice almost a purr as his thumbs kneaded gently into your skin. “Not my first rodeo.”

“You do this for all your roommates?” you quipped, though your voice wavered when his hands slid down the curve of your shoulder blades.

Joel paused, his lips quirking upward as he leaned just a fraction closer, his breath ghosting against your ear. “Only the ones I like.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a response. “How kind of you,” you said instead, your tone light, though your pulse was anything but calm.

“What can I say?” Joel said, his grin turning downright wicked as he shifted to smooth sunscreen over the tops of your arms. “I’m a giver.”

The insinuation hung in the air, thick and electric. Your cheeks burned hotter than the sun, and you cursed your brain for immediately flashing back to the things he’d said last night.

“You’re quiet,” he said softly, his voice breaking through your thoughts.

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, your breath hitching slightly as his fingers grazed the nape of your neck, “not much to say when someone’s slathering you in sunscreen.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm, rumbling against your back. “There,” he said, his voice lighter now.

“Well, thanks, I guess,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though the way Joel’s hands lingered for just a moment too long sent an undeniable thrill through you. You tried to ignore it, shifting back against the lounger to lie down, but Joel coughed.

“What now?” you asked, glancing at him over your shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow, his grin faint but mischievous. “You forgettin’ ’bout me?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re a grown man, Joel. You can put your own sunscreen on.”

“Yeah, but I can’t reach my back, genius,” he said, giving you a look that was equal parts exasperation and amusement. “C’mon. I just hit you with a cancer fact. You really want me to get cancer?”

You groaned dramatically, sitting up. “You’re insufferable.”

Joel just chuckled, his grin widening as he said, “Good girl.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, low and rough in that way only he could pull off, and you hated the way your heart stuttered in response. Joel turned, presenting his back to you as he handed over the bottle of sunscreen.

You squeezed some into your hands, rubbing them together before pressing your palms against the broad expanse of his back. His muscles tensed immediately under your touch, the warmth of his skin making your breath catch.

You slapped the last bit of sunscreen onto his back a little harder than necessary. “There. Cancer-free.”

Joel laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest as he turned to glance over his shoulder at you. “Thanks, roomie,” he said, flashing you that crooked smile that made your stomach flip.

You shook your head at his antics before glancing around. Something caught your eye—a woman nearby sipping a colorful drink that looked particularly refreshing. Sitting up, you brushed your hair out of your face. "Hey," you said, turning to him. "I’m gonna grab a drink. Want anything? A beer?"

Joel cracked one eye open from where he was stretched out on his lounger, his expression shifting instantly from relaxed to alert. “What? No,” he said, already moving to sit up. “You stay here—I’ll go.”

“Joel,” you said, laughing softly. “I can handle walking a few steps to get a drink. I promise it’s not a Herculean task.”

He scoffed, standing and grabbing his wallet from the side table. “Not happenin’. I’m Southern. We don’t let the ladies lift a damn finger.”

You couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. “Oh, is that right?”

“Damn right,” he said, throwing you a lopsided grin as he stood over you, the sun casting golden highlights across his face. He shifted slightly, sliding his wallet into his back pocket with practiced ease. “Now, what’ll it be’?”

You tilted your head, pretending to deliberate. “Hmm… surprise me,” you said finally, leaning back with a smirk.

Joel raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he bent slightly toward you. “Oh, you must really trust me now, huh?”

You shrugged, doing your best to appear nonchalant despite the way his proximity made your stomach flutter. “Guess we’ll see,” you teased.

Joel straightened, shaking his head with an amused chuckle. “Alright. Don’t move. Be back in a sec,” he said, giving you a parting wink before sauntering toward the bar.

You couldn’t help but watch him go, the way his broad shoulders shifted, the confident, easy sway of his steps.

He reached the drinks bar, leaning casually against the counter as he spoke to the bartender. After a moment, he glanced back over his shoulder, catching your eye. Joel smiled, that damn charming smile of his, and raised a hand to wave. You waved back, warmth blooming in your chest despite yourself.

And then, of course, you noticed her. The waitress — insanely beautiful, with flawless skin, a dazzling smile, and a figure that made your confidence waver in an instant. She was laughing at something Joel said, her glossy hair catching the sunlight as she leaned a little too close.

You felt your stomach twist as she placed her hand lightly on Joel’s forearm, the gesture casual but intimate. Joel didn’t pull away. Why would he? He was single, a man—of course he’d flirt back. And he did, flashing her that same charming smile he’d given you just moments ago.

You tried to shake it off, leaning back in your lounger and adjusting your sunglasses, but the ache in your chest wouldn’t go away. It wasn’t jealousy, you told yourself. Not really. Joel was free to talk to whoever he wanted, flirt with whoever he wanted.

Finally, Joel returned, two drinks in hand. He moved with that same easy confidence, the kind that felt both infuriating and magnetic, like he had no idea the effect he had on people—or maybe he did. His expression was casual, but as he got closer, you noticed the slight furrow in his brow, like he’d picked up on the shift in your mood.

“Guess which one’s yours,” he said as he settled down onto his lounger. He balanced the drinks carefully, one a beer and the other a concoction that looked like a unicorn had exploded into a glass, complete with glittery sugar on the rim.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “Hmm…” You pointed to the beer, a small smirk playing on your lips. “That one.”

Joel let out a loud, buzzer-like sound, shaking his head with a grin. "Wrong." He handed you the colorful drink, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest moment before he leaned back with his beer. "Here," he said casually.

"Thanks," you murmured, taking the drink from his hand. You hesitated for only a second before adding, "So," a playful edge creeping into your tone, "Blondie seemed pretty interested."

Joel lowered his beer slightly, turning his head to look at you through his sunglasses. You felt the weight of his attention, and it made your pulse quicken. “The waitress?” he asked, his tone unreadable, casual in a way that somehow made it worse.

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging as you adjusted your posture. You hoped you looked relaxed, but the ice rattling in the glass betrayed you. “She was all smiles and giggles. You should, uh… go talk to her.”

The words felt heavy, wrong. You hadn’t meant to say them. Why did you always do this? Push men away, pretend you didn’t care, when every fiber of your being was screaming at you to hold on tighter?

Joel chuckled softly, a low, gravelly sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He set his beer down on the small table between you, the bottle clinking softly against the glass top. Then he pulled his sunglasses off, revealing those sharp, dark eyes that always seemed to cut straight through your defenses.

“Now why would I do that?” he asked, his voice calm but edged with something you couldn’t quite name.

You blinked, taken aback by the simplicity of his question. “Because she’s interested in you,” you said, your voice quieter now, almost unsure.

Joel tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady as he studied you, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. The corners of his lips twitched, and he leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. “Well,” he said, his voice softer now, “I’m not interested in her.”

Your breath caught, your heart stuttering in your chest. He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, and yet, the way his tone softened at the end made the words hit differently, made them linger.

“Plus,” he added, his voice lighter now, playful as his foot nudged your leg, “I’d rather sit here with you.”

The words sent a rush of heat through you, even though he delivered them casually, like it wasn’t a declaration but a simple fact. He grinned, leaning back in his chair, his eyes never leaving yours. The weight of his gaze made your skin feel too tight, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. You wanted to say something clever, something to break the tension that hummed between you, but your brain seemed to have short-circuited.

“So,” Joel said, breaking the silence as he reached into his bag. “You remember our bet, right?” His lopsided grin deepened as he pulled out a weathered baseball cap and placed it on his head.

His hair, sun-kissed and tousled from the day, peeked out in messy waves beneath the brim, and his lips—slightly pink from the beer and sun—curved into that easy, damnable smile that always made your heart skip.

“Yes,” you replied, leaning back in your chair as you tried to match his nonchalance. “Whoever guesses when Tommy will propose gets... what was it again?”

Joel tilted the brim of his hat, pretending to think. “The other’s social security number,” he deadpanned, his tone as casual as if he were suggesting splitting an appetizer. “Nothin’ big.”

You laughed, the sound bubbling out of you before you could stop it. Why did he have to be so damn cute and funny? It wasn’t fair.

“So,” Joel said, his voice dipping just enough to make the air feel heavier as he took another sip of his beer, “you think he’ll do it during the hike?”

You tilted your head, considering it. “Hmm,” you mused, tapping your finger against your glass. “I don’t think so. I mean, Maria will want to look good when it happens, you know? Not sweating and gross. Plus,” you added, glancing at him with a grin, “I have a feeling we’ll be there for the actual proposal. Tommy’s the kind of guy who’d want witnesses.”

Joel’s brows lifted slightly, a hint of impressed amusement in his gaze. “You make some valid points,” he admitted, his voice low and thoughtful, though the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were holding back a smirk. “I’m startin’ to worry I might lose to you.”

You tilted your head, your grin growing as you leaned just a little closer. “I have a feeling you’re not used to losing, Miller.”

Joel chuckled, leaning back in his chair, the brim of his hat tilted just enough to shade his eyes. “Not often,” he admitted, his tone light, almost like he was testing the waters. His gaze lingered on you for a moment, sharp but unreadable, before he tipped his beer bottle toward you. “Guess it’ll be good for me. Keep me humble.”

Joel leaned back now, his broad shoulders catching the sunlight in a way that made it impossible not to stare. You caught yourself looking as he pulled out his phone, scrolling for a moment, his thumb moving lazily over the screen. Then, with a sudden movement, he sat up straighter, his face lighting up as if he’d just remembered something.

“Shoot, I almost forgot,” he said, setting his phone down and turning toward his tote bag.

“What?” you asked, sitting up a little in your lounger, intrigued despite yourself.

Joel leaned over to dig into the bag, the muscles in his arms flexing as he rummaged through it. You swore he was doing it on purpose. “Got ya somethin’,” he said casually, his voice almost too casual.

You took a sip of your drink, eyeing him warily. “Should I be scared?”

“Terrified,” he replied with a smirk, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Great,” you muttered, your tone dry, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

“Alright,” he said, pulling something out of the bag and holding it behind his back. “Close your eyes.”

“Seriously, Joel?”

“C’mon now,” he coaxed, his grin widening. “Promise it’s nothin’ kinky.”

You squinted at him, unimpressed. “Wasn’t even worried about that, but now I am.”

He chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a flutter through your chest. “Trust me. Just do it.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes dramatically but obliging him. “Fine. But if it’s something weird, I’m chucking it in the pool.”

“Hands out,” he instructed, and you could practically hear the sly grin in his voice.

With a sigh, you held out your hands. “Wow,” Joel teased, his tone thick with innuendo. “So obedient.”

“You’re a perv,” you shot back, laughing softly. But then something soft and light landed in your palms, and your curiosity piqued. “Can I look now?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You opened your eyes, and there it was—a Hawaiian Hello Kitty plushie, complete with a tiny grass skirt and a pink flower tucked behind its ear. The sight of it hit you like a wave, disarming and unexpectedly sweet.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, clutching the plushie. “This is so cute.”

Joel laughed, the sound warm and easy as he took a sip of his beer. “You like it? I was pickin’ up snacks for us to try later, saw it, and thought of you. You know, cute, girlie…” He shrugged casually.

“I love it,” you said, the words spilling out without hesitation. Your heart swelled as you held it closer, running your fingers over the soft fabric.

“Good,” Joel said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “Thought you might be missin’ Mimi.”

The mention of your cat made you laugh, a soft, genuine sound that eased the tension you hadn’t even realized you were carrying. “She’s gonna be so jealous when I get home with this.”

Joel shook his head, his gaze lingering on you for a beat longer than necessary. “Glad you like it,” he murmured, his voice softer now, almost shy. For just a moment, the teasing melted away, leaving something warmer, deeper in its place. His eyes flicked down to the plushie in your hands, then back up to your face, as though he was committing this moment to memory.

“Well, now I gotta get you something,” you said, your voice lighter, trying to shake off the way his stare made your chest feel tight.

Joel leaned back in his lounger, casual and effortless, his grin slowly spreading. “I can think of a way you could pay me back,” he said, his tone laced with just enough suggestion to make your stomach flip.

“Oh, God,” you groaned, rolling your eyes even as your cheeks warmed.

Joel chuckled, his voice low and warm. “Geez roomie. Get your dirty mind outta the gutter,” he teased, his grin turning mischievous. “I meant you could try stayin’ on your side of the bed for once. You know, as payment for my generosity.” He leaned over to poke your side gently, his finger brushing against your ribs.

Your blush deepened, and you hugged the plushie closer to your chest. “Sorry about that,” you mumbled, though you couldn’t help the small, sheepish smile tugging at your lips. “I didn’t realize I was such a bed hog.”

Joel’s grin softened, his teasing easing into something gentler. “I’m jokin’,” he said, his voice dipping lower. “I like it. You’re cute when you sleep.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

It hadn’t even been ten minutes of peaceful reading when you heard a long, exaggerated groan from the lounger beside you.

You turned your head, eyebrows raised in amusement, to find Joel sprawled out, one arm slung lazily over the back of his chair. His book was balanced precariously on his lap, his impossibly short red shorts leaving little to the imagination. “You good?” you asked, your tone half-curious, half-mocking.

“I’m fuckin’ bored,” Joel declared dramatically, tipping his head back to glare at the sky. Then he turned to you, his dark eyes locking on yours. “You’re ignorin’ me when we could be chattin’.”

You sighed, snapping your book closed with a soft thud. “What happened to reading?” you asked, gesturing toward the book he hadn’t even bothered to open.

“Got bored,” he shrugged, the motion impossibly nonchalant, as if his restlessness was your problem to fix.

“Jesus,” you muttered, leaning back in your chair. “You’re like dealing with a child.”

Joel’s grin spread slow and wicked across his face, his tone dropping into something deeper, richer. “Nothin’ childish about me, darlin’,” he drawled, the insinuation hanging thick in the air between you.

You rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened at the way his gaze lingered on you. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though the edge in your voice wasn’t nearly as sharp as you’d hoped.

Joel turned his body fully toward you now, resting his forearm on the armrest and leaning in slightly. His expression turned mischievous, his grin full of trouble. “So,” he started, his eyes flicking to your phone resting beside you, “you one of those Instagram influencers or somethin’?”

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

He gestured vaguely, his grin widening. “I dunno. Just got the vibe, is all. Pretty girl. Always readin’ or sippin’ iced coffee. Bet you got a ton of followers.”

You laughed, shaking your head as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m on private,” you said, leaning forward to grab your drink. “I think I’ve got, like, 300 followers. Maybe.”

Joel hummed, his grin softening into something warmer as he tilted his head. “Green flag,” he teased, his voice playful but with an undertone that made your stomach flip.

“Oh, and you?” you shot back, leaning toward him now. “You add all your Hinge matches on Instagram?”

Joel let out a laugh, the sound low and rumbling in his chest. “Nah,” he said, smirking. “They don’t get that luxury.”

You rolled your eyes, sipping your drink to hide your grin. “Sure.”

“C’mon,” Joel said, shifting closer, his arm draping over the back of his lounger as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. “Lemme follow you.”

“You wanna follow my Instagram?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, the motion effortlessly casual. “We’re friends, right? Ain’t that what friends do?”

You smiled despite yourself. “Alright,” you said, giving him your username as he typed it in.

As you accepted @JoelMiller91's follow request, Joel sat up straighter, his attention fixed on your Instagram profile as he scrolled through it. He angled the phone so you could see the screen, his thumb moving deliberately, pausing on a photo of Mimi curled into a perfect ball.

“Damn,” he said, his tone teasing but with a hint of something warmer. “This is, like, a full-on Mimi shrine. Look at this—‘Mimi in the sun,’ ‘Mimi with a bow,’ ‘Mimi judging you.’”

You snorted, leaning over slightly to peek at the screen. “She’s very photogenic.”

He grinned, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “You got, what? Three photos of yourself on here, tops?”

“Well, Mimi’s cuter than me,” you said, shrugging as you sipped your drink.

Joel hummed, a low, thoughtful sound that made your stomach flip. “Agree to disagree,” he murmured, his eyes still scanning your feed.

Your breath caught as his gaze flicked back to you, his grin widening. “Alright,” he said suddenly, sitting up on his knees and setting his beer aside. “We gotta fix this.”

“Fix what?” you asked, watching him warily.

He gestured to your phone. “This ratio. You and Mimi. I’m takin’ some pictures of you.”

“What, now?” you asked, your voice incredulous.

“No, tonight when you’re half-asleep and grumpy. Yes, now.” Joel was already on his feet, standing in front of your lounger, phone in hand.

“Joel, I’m not exactly the ‘pose in a bikini’ type,” you muttered, squirming slightly under his intense gaze.

“Who said anything about posing?” he said, crouching slightly to adjust the angle. “Just sit up. Relax. I’ll do the work.”

You groaned, but before you could protest further, the shutter sound clicked. “Oh my God, Joel!”

“C’mon,” he teased, grinning at you over the top of the phone. “You’re gorgeous. The world deserves to see.”

You flushed, shaking your head. “I’m really bad at posing.”

“Don’t pose, then. Just…” He gestured vaguely with the phone. “Pretend to read your book.”

“Fine,” you muttered, picking up your book again and settling back against the lounger. You tried to focus on the words, but your mind was too occupied by the way Joel moved around, crouching and angling himself like some overly enthusiastic photographer.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his tone softening. “These are nice.” He stood up straight, his gaze flicking back to you, and for a moment, you swore you saw something unguarded in his expression.

You couldn’t help but blush. “Alright, are we done?”

“Not yet.” He gestured toward your drink. “Take a sip.”

You rolled your eyes, but you did as he asked, lifting the glass to your lips.

“There she is,” he said under his breath, his voice almost reverent. “Atta girl.”

You set the drink down and glared at him playfully. “Happy now?”

Joel grinned as he settled onto your lounger, the chair dipping under his weight. It was too small for one person to sit comfortably, let alone two, and the proximity sent your pulse fluttering in your throat. His thigh pressed against yours, warm and solid, as he leaned in, his phone angled toward you.

“Look at this one,” he said, his voice carrying a boyish excitement as he swiped to a photo. He tilted the screen toward you, leaning in just enough for you to catch the faint, sharp scent of his aftershave. “You look like a Victoria’s Secret model or somethin’.”

You flushed, heat prickling at the back of your neck as you pushed the phone away gently, your gaze darting toward the pool instead. “Stop,” you murmured, trying to laugh it off. “I don’t need to see.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as he turned the phone back to himself, glancing at the picture again like he couldn’t fathom what you were talking about. “You’re kidding, right?” His tone was softer now, laced with something tender and earnest.

You shook your head, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m not...,” you muttered, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear in a nervous gesture.

When you eventually met his gaze, the usual mischief in his brown eyes had melted into something achingly sincere. “You’re gorgeous,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “How can’t you see that?” His brows knit together, a flicker of frustration in his expression, as if he couldn’t understand how you didn’t see it yourself.

The words settled over you, heavy and warm, and for a moment, the world around you—the sounds of splashing water, distant laughter, the hum of conversation—faded into nothing. All you could hear was the soft, steady cadence of his voice and the way it made your chest ache.

You cleared your throat, trying to dispel the tension that wrapped around you like a vice. “Alright,” you hummed, finally setting your book aside and breaking the spell. “Let’s see yours then.”

Joel froze, his expression teetering between amusement and mild panic. “Oh, hell no,” he said, quickly pulling his phone back as if to shield it from your view.

“What? That’s so unfair,” you protested, swatting his thigh playfully.

“Alright, alright,” Joel groaned, rolling his eyes before surrendering the phone with a reluctant sigh. “Here. Take it.” He passed it over, leaning back into the lounger and taking a sip of his beer, his eyes fixed on you as you started scrolling through his photos.

The first photo was a group shot at the beach—Joel and a handful of friends standing knee-deep in the water, beers in hand, all of them grinning like idiots. Joel stood off to the side, his smile easy and boyish. “Aw,” you cooed, tilting the phone toward him. “Look at you. So wholesome.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Joel muttered, waving you off. “Keep scrollin’.”

The next photo made your breath hitch. Joel, shirtless, standing beside a grill with a spatula in hand. His skin was sun-kissed, his hair slightly tousled from what must’ve been a long day outside. He wasn’t even looking at the camera, his focus instead on whatever he was cooking, but damn. You swallowed, the image burning itself into your brain.

“Jesus,” you muttered, quickly swiping to the next photo. “Do you have something against shirts, or…?”

“You complaining?” he smirked, his tone playful.

You shook your head, laughing softly as you scrolled to the next post. It was him and a woman—a beautiful woman. She was smiling brightly, leaning against him as his arm rested loosely around her shoulders. The caption read, Alright company. Your chest tightened inexplicably, and you fought to keep your expression neutral.

“This your ex?” you asked, feigning nonchalance, though your voice came out a touch too casual.

Joel leaned forward slightly, peeking at the screen before letting out a deep laugh. “My cousin,” he said with a shake of his head.

“Oh,” you said, relief washing over you far too quickly for your liking.

Joel didn’t let it go, though. His grin widened, and his dark eyes glinted with mischief. “What’s this, huh?” he teased, his voice dropping an octave. “You jealous?”

“Please,” you scoffed, trying to mask the embarrassment twisting in your chest. “As if.”

Joel tilted his head, watching you with that knowing smirk that was both infuriating and dangerously charming. “Alright,” he said, his tone light but teasing.

Joel set his phone aside, leaning back against the lounger with an easy grace, his arm wrapping lazily around your shoulders. His fingers traced absent patterns up and down your arm, sending shivers across your skin in a way that felt both casual and entirely deliberate. Then, without a word, he reached up, pulled off his baseball cap, and plopped it onto your head, ruffling your hair in the process.

“There,” he said, his lips curving into a satisfied grin as he tilted his head to admire his work. “Looks better on you.”

You huffed, reaching up to adjust the cap, but the warmth blooming in your chest betrayed your feigned annoyance. “You’re seriously cockblocking me right now,” you muttered under your breath, lifting your drink to take a sip, hoping it would hide the telltale flush creeping up your neck.

Joel’s eyebrows shot up, and then his mouth curved into a wide, teasing grin. “Me? Your fake vacation boyfriend, cock-blocking you? I’d never.”

You rolled your eyes, aiming for exasperation, but the heat on your cheeks gave you away. “Sure,” you muttered, leaning back in your seat, trying to ignore the way his eyes seemed to linger on you a moment too long.

His grin faltered, just slightly, and he glanced down at the beer in his hand, swirling the bottle idly. The teasing air around him softened, replaced by something quieter, almost contemplative.

“What?” you asked, the shift in his tone pulling your attention. You tilted your head, your gaze narrowing as you tried to read him.

Joel’s fingers tapped against the glass of his beer before he looked up at you, his eyes dark and steady. “You tryna find a boyfriend here or somethin’?” he asked, his voice low, casual—too casual.

You blinked, caught completely off guard by the question. “What?” you repeated, letting out a light laugh. “No, Joel. God, no. But even if I was…” You hesitated, fiddling with the condensation on your glass. “I don’t think anyone would dare approach me. Not with us sitting here looking like we’re… like this.”

Joel tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “Lovey-dovey, huh?” His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smirk but wasn’t far off either.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as his hand, warm and rough, drifted to your thigh. He traced slow, deliberate circles against your skin, his touch light but impossible to ignore.

“Maybe,” Joel said after a moment, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant, “maybe I don’t want anyone approachin’ you.”

You froze, your breath catching as his words hung between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. Slowly, you lifted your gaze to meet his, and the way he was looking at you—soft, sincere, and a little unsure—made your chest ache.

“Joel,” you started, your voice barely above a whisper, but he cut you off with a slight shake of his head.

“I’m serious,” he murmured, his thumb brushing against your leg now, his touch grounding. “Maybe I like this. Us… like this.”

Your chest tightened, your mind racing to keep up with the sudden shift. You furrowed your brows, forcing out a laugh to lighten the weight of his words. “You flirt too much,” you said, trying to sound teasing, though your voice wavered.

“I flirt,” he admitted, his lips curving into the faintest smile, “but this ain’t that.” He paused, his gaze locking onto yours, earnest and unguarded in a way you hadn’t seen before. “This is me bein’ honest.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight as his words lingered between you. The weight of his gaze, the sincerity in his voice—it was too much, too raw. You forced a smile, trying to ignore the way your chest ached. “We should get back,” you murmured, brushing your hand against your thigh as if the movement might ground you. “Don’t wanna get burnt like yesterday.”

Joel’s expression flickered for a moment, something unreadable flashing across his face, but then he nodded, his lips curving into a small, almost reluctant smile. “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft, easy, but it carried an undercurrent you couldn’t quite place. “Let’s go.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

Dinner was, as always, lively and full of laughter. Maria and Tommy regaled you with tales of their hike, Maria’s animated hand gestures making you chuckle as she recounted, with dramatic flair, how “Tommy slipped and almost died.”

Even with Joel’s quiet confession from earlier still echoing in your mind, the two of you fell into the same easy rhythm as always. If anything had shifted between you, neither of you let it show. Joel teased Maria about exaggerating, you joined in, and Tommy feigned indignation, his grin betraying him.

The living room had become your little sanctuary after dinner, where everyone gathered to wind down. The warm glow of the lamp bathed the space in soft amber light, casting flickering shadows that made the room feel cozier. The low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of glasses filled the air, a soundtrack to these lazy, contented evenings.

A half-empty bottle of whiskey lounged on the coffee table, surrounded by an assortment of glasses and a scattered pile of peanut M&M’s that had clearly been Joel’s doing. You tugged at the hem of your silky pink pajama shorts as you made your way in, the fabric brushing softly against your thighs. Settling into the chair facing the couches, you tucked your legs beneath you, stealing a quick glance around.

“Ooh, pink,” Joel drawled, his voice pulling your attention. He leaned back on the couch, one arm slung lazily over the cushions while the other popped another M&M into his mouth. His dark eyes flicked over you, a teasing grin curling his lips. “I like that color on you.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly, the warmth rushing to your face faster than you could hide it. You glanced down for a beat, then back up, offering him a shy smile. “Thanks,” you murmured, your voice soft as you adjusted your position, tucking your legs a little tighter beneath you.

Joel’s grin widened, but he didn’t push further, though the playful glint in his eyes lingered, making your heart race just a little faster than you’d like to admit.

Maria, seated next to Tommy on the other side of the couch, suddenly reached for the remote, pausing the movie they’d been half-watching. “Okay,” she announced, sitting up with an energy that made you suspicious. “Tonight, we’re gonna play…” She turned dramatically toward Tommy and Joel, clapping her hands together. “Drumroll, please!”

Tommy immediately leaned forward, drumming his hands against the coffee table. Joel, always the joker, slapped his thigh loudly, his grin turning into a laugh when Tommy gave him an exasperated look.

Maria threw her hands in the air. “Truth or Dare!”

You let out an audible sigh, sinking further into your chair. “Really?” you asked, your tone somewhere between amusement and dread.

“Yes, really,” Maria said, narrowing her eyes at you. “Don’t be a party pooper.”

You glanced around the room, your resolve slipping under Maria’s playful glare and the way Joel was watching you with that infuriatingly charming grin. “Alright, fine,” you said, relenting with a dramatic sigh.

“Atta girl,” Joel chimed in, his voice warm and teasing. “But why’re you sittin’ so far away? C’mon, I don’t bite.” He patted the empty space on the couch beside him.

Hesitating for just a moment, you finally stood, smoothing down your pajama shorts as you crossed the room. Joel’s gaze followed you, warm and steady, and when you lowered yourself into the seat beside him, his arm draped casually over your shoulder, the movement so seamless it felt almost automatic.

“See? That’s better,” he murmured, his voice dropping slightly as his fingers brushed lightly against your shoulder. His scent surrounded you—something clean and woodsy, mingled with the faintest hint of the beer he’d been sipping—and it made your head swim. You fought to keep your breathing steady as he leaned back, his thumb lazily tracing an idle pattern on your arm, his presence entirely too consuming.

“Alright, brother,” Joel said, his voice light with mischief. “Truth or dare?”

Tommy leaned back against the couch, his arms spread wide like he was ready for anything. “Dare,” he said confidently.

Joel laughed, the sound rich and deep, already brimming with amusement. “Alright, I dare you to…” He paused for effect, his eyes sparkling with wicked delight as he grinned at Maria. “Suck Maria’s toes.”

“Ew, Joel!” you exclaimed, nudging him in the ribs. “That’s disgusting.”

“What?” Joel said, feigning innocence as he rubbed the spot where you’d elbowed him. “It’s a dare. Ain’t my fault Tommy said he’d take one.”

Tommy, to everyone’s surprise, slid off the couch and onto the floor in front of Maria. He pointed a finger at Joel, his expression dead serious. “You think I won’t do it, Joel?”

Maria shrieked, pulling her legs up onto the couch and hiding her feet under a throw pillow. “No, Tommy! Gross! Don’t you dare!”

“C’mon, baby,” Tommy said, reaching for her ankles with exaggerated determination. “I ain’t losin’ to my brother.”

“You’re disgusting!” Maria yelled, laughing uncontrollably as she swatted at him. “Get away from me, oh my God!”

Joel was laughing so hard he nearly doubled over, his hand brushing against your knee as he steadied himself. “Oh man,” he said between breaths, “this is better than I could’ve hoped for.”

Still chuckling, Joel straightened up, his hand lingering just a moment too long before he pulled it away, leaving a phantom warmth behind. He pointed toward the tequila bottle on the table, his smirk turning mischievous. “Alright,” he said, his drawl playful and commanding. “You failed your dare. Gotta drink.”

Tommy groaned, grabbing the shot glass and downing it in one go, his face twisting in dramatic agony as he slammed the glass back onto the table. “Ugh, that’s brutal,” he muttered, shaking his head.

“Rules are rules,” Joel said with a smirk, leaning back on the couch and looking far too pleased with himself.

“Alright, wise guy,” Tommy said, poking Joel in the chest with one finger, his competitive streak clearly coming to life. “Truth or dare?”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you for a moment, a faint spark of mischief dancing in them before he leaned forward with an exaggerated air of confidence. “Dare,” he said, his voice slow and deliberate.

You let out a groan, leaning your head back against the couch. “Why do men always choose dare?” you murmured.

Joel turned his head, smirking at you. “Because, darlin’, truth’s too easy. Dares keep things interesting.”

Tommy’s grin turned downright devious as he scanned the room, his gaze settling on you like a predator locking onto its prey. “Alright,” Tommy said slowly, dragging the word out for maximum effect. “I dare you to give this lovely lady…” He pointed directly at you, his grin widening. “…a full Magic Mike lap dance.”

“What?!” you exclaimed, sitting up straight, your cheeks instantly burning. “No way. Absolutely not.”

Joel let out a low laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his hair. “You’re somethin’ else, Tommy,” he said, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he glanced at you. “But hey, a dare’s a dare.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re not seriously going to do this.”

Joel shrugged, his grin turning slow and wicked as he stood, rolling his shoulders like he was gearing up for a performance. “What can I say? I don’t back down from a challenge—especially if it’s an excuse to take my shirt off.”

“Joel,” you said, your voice rising slightly in protest, but he was already stepping around the coffee table, his movements smooth and confident as he approached you.

“Oh, c’mon,” Maria chimed in, laughing as she nudged Tommy. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Do it, Joel!”

Joel smirked, his gaze locked onto yours now, playful and teasing but somehow disarming all at once. “Relax,” he murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “I’ll keep it PG.”

You couldn’t decide if that made things better or worse.

He stopped just in front of you, tilting his head slightly, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief. “Alright, sweetheart,” he said, his tone low and dripping with charm. “You ready for the show of a lifetime?”

“Oh my God,” you muttered, feeling your face heat as you instinctively covered it with your hands. Joel’s laugh was low and warm, and you could feel it ripple through you, making your pulse quicken.

Tommy, of course, had found Pony on his phone, and the unmistakable opening beat filled the room. The sultry lyrics—I'm just a bachelor…—sent Maria into a fit of laughter. Joel turned his head toward you, a slow, deliberate grin spreading across his face, one that practically radiated mischief. Trouble. Before you could say a word, he leaned in, his hands bracketing your body as you instinctively sank further back into the couch.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled, his voice a warm murmur against your cheek. “I’ll be gentle.”

Your heart raced, your breath catching as you tried to process the nearness of him, the way his eyes flicked over your face like he was gauging every reaction. Before you could form a response, Joel straightened, his expression shifting to something far too smug as he stepped back and began to move.

And God, did he move.

His hips swayed to the beat, slow and deliberate, his hands running through his hair before trailing down his chest with exaggerated precision. It was ridiculous and yet… not.

Joel had a way of commanding the space around him, making every motion seem effortless, every glance deliberate. The energy in the room shifted, a mix of laughter and something heavier—something you couldn’t ignore.

Shit, he was sexy.

Then, with the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, Joel reached for the hem of his shirt. Slowly, agonizingly, he began to lift it, revealing a sliver of tanned skin and the faintest hint of muscle as he moved to the beat. Your stomach flipped as you watched, your breath hitching when he met your eyes again.

“Oh my God,” Maria wheezed, slapping Tommy’s arm. “He’s really doing it.”

Joel ignored her, his focus entirely on you.

The air between you seemed to crackle as he tugged the shirt higher, revealing more of his toned stomach, the faint trail of hair leading down from his navel making your face burn. He didn’t stop there, pulling the shirt over his head in one smooth motion and tossing it aside, his grin growing as he caught the stunned look on your face.

“Joel!” you hissed, mortified and utterly unable to look away. “This is insane.”

“Yeah?” he drawled, stepping closer, his voice rougher now, a teasing edge layered with something deeper that sent a shiver down your spine. His gaze locked onto yours, dark and smoldering, his smirk a devastating mix of cocky and alluring. “Thought you liked a little crazy, darlin’.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to throw out some quip to defuse the growing tension, but the words caught in your throat as Joel reached for your hands. His fingers wrapped around yours, warm and steady, and he guided them slowly to his chest.

Your breath hitched as he directed your hands downward, over the taut planes of his chest, across the curve of his ribs, and lower still. His muscles flexed under your fingertips, firm and defined, as he moved your hands across his abdomen with deliberate slowness. The heat of his skin radiated through his shirt, every motion purposeful, intimate.

You should pull your hands away, tell him to stop, but you couldn’t. You were utterly mesmerized, caught in the intoxicating push and pull of his presence.

Then, Joel dropped to one knee in front of you with a smooth, deliberate motion, and before you could fully process what was happening, his hand was on your knee. Gently but firmly, he pried your legs apart just enough to step closer, his movements so fluid it left you stunned.

Your instinct was to close them again, your body reacting on autopilot, but Joel’s other hand caught your knee, holding you there. “Ah, ah,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear. His voice was teasing, but his grip was steady, unyielding, as he tilted his head to meet your wide-eyed stare. The music thrummed around you, its sensual beat matching the rhythm of your pulse pounding in your ears.

“Holy shit,” Tommy howled from the couch, his laughter breaking the spell for just a moment.

Joel ignored him, his attention fixed entirely on you. He reached down for his shirt, which he’d tossed on the floor earlier, and in one smooth, exaggerated motion, twirled it above his head. The playful movement drew laughter from the room, but his eyes never left yours, daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Finally, Joel stood, his grin softening as he stepped back and ran a hand through his hair, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He turned to Tommy and Maria, throwing his arms out dramatically. “There,” he said, his voice light but tinged with satisfaction. “That good enough for ya?” as he tugged his shirt back on

Tommy doubled over, his laughter echoing through the room. “Hell yeah! That was worth it.”

Maria was practically in tears, clutching her side as she tried to catch her breath. “Oh my God, Joel! That was… I don’t even have words. If all else fails, you could always be a stripper.”

“What’d ya think?” Joel asked, stretching out on the opposite side of the couch. His long legs sprawled lazily in front of him, one arm draped casually across the backrest.

You blinked, your heart still racing from the impromptu performance he’d just put on. “Yeah,” you stammered, barely managing to meet his gaze. “You’re… good at that.”

Joel chuckled, the sound rich and deep, his grin widening into something wickedly self-assured. “Must’ve done somethin’ right if I got you sweatin’ like a sinner in church,” he teased, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

Your cheeks burned, and you cleared your throat, looking anywhere but at him.

His grin deepened, downright devilish now, as his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers drummed idly against his thigh before he leaned forward slightly, pointing at you with a playful edge that felt like a challenge.

“Alright,” he drawled, his voice low, honeyed, and full of trouble. “Truth or dare, roomie?”

You sighed, already regretting your life choices. Both options seemed like traps in Joel’s hands, but you had to play along. “Fine,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “Truth.”

Joel’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming like a cat toying with a mouse. “Truth, huh? Guess I’ve gotta make it worth your while.”

“Joel…” you warned, narrowing your eyes at him, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you rubbed your hands against your shorts.

His smirk deepened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he sat up and reached for his drink. “What’s your favorite sex position?” he asked, his voice smooth as silk, as if he’d just asked you the weather.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you almost choked on air. “What?!” you sputtered, your eyes wide as heat surged to your face.

Maria gasped loudly, covering her mouth, while Tommy froze mid-drink, his eyes darting between you and Joel.

Joel just shrugged, taking a slow sip of his beer before setting it down with deliberate ease. “What?” he said, feigning innocence, though the playful tilt of his lips betrayed him. “It’s a valid question. You said truth, didn’t you?”

“I—” You blinked, completely thrown off. “That’s not… You can’t just ask that!”

“Sure I can,” Joel replied smoothly, leaning back again and stretching an arm across the back of the couch. His gaze never wavered, and the smug confidence in his expression made you want to throttle him—or possibly kiss him. You weren’t sure which. “You agreed to play, roomie. Can’t back out now.”

“C’mon now,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower, more intimate. “It’s just a question. I’ll keep it between us if you’re shy.”

Your heart pounded, your brain scrambling for an answer that wouldn’t make things worse. Joel’s gaze was unrelenting, playful yet intense, his presence almost suffocating in the best way. The teasing lilt in his voice, the challenge in his eyes—it was all too much.

Finally, you folded your arms across your chest like armor and muttered, “I don’t have one.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. “You’re lying,” he said simply, his voice low and sure. “I can tell.”

“I’m not,” you shot back, your voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.

Joel tilted his head, smirking as he picked up the bottle of tequila and poured a splash into a glass. He held it out toward you, his grin never wavering. “It’s called Truth or Dare—or Drink,” he said, his tone maddeningly casual. “If you’re gonna lie, you gotta drink.”

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, glaring at him as you felt the heat rising to your face. “You’re the worst.”

Joel chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “I get that a lot.”

You stared at the glass for a moment, weighing your options, but you knew drinking would be as good as admitting defeat.

“Fine,” you mumbled.

Joel leaned in closer, his movements slow and deliberate, his smile softening just enough to make your pulse stutter. “Go on,” he urged, his voice low and coaxing. “No judgment here.”

You hesitated, your gaze darting to Maria and Tommy, who were both watching with barely restrained glee. Joel must have noticed because he glanced at them and smirked. “Eyes on your drinks,” he said, waving them off with a flick of his wrist. “This ain’t for y’all.”

Maria giggled, Tommy groaned, but they both obliged, turning their attention to their drinks—though you could feel their barely contained curiosity lingering in the air.

Joel turned back to you, his gaze locking onto yours, steady and unyielding. “Alright” he murmured, his voice softer now. “What’s it gonna be?”

You exhaled shakily, your cheeks blazing as you forced the word out. “Cowgirl.”

Joel blinked, his grin faltering for just a fraction of a second before it returned, slower this time, a little more dangerous. “Cowgirl, huh?” he drawled, his voice rougher now, lower. “That’s… a solid choice.”

Your face burned hotter as you avoided Joel’s gaze, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of your shorts. You wished the floor would swallow you whole, wished for anything to break the tension thrumming between you. “You said no judgment,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

“And I meant it,” Joel said quickly, his tone softening, though the teasing edge in his voice hadn’t fully disappeared. “Matter of fact…” His lips curved into a lazy grin as he leaned back, his arm draped casually across the back of the couch. “Think that’s my favorite too.”

“The question wasn’t for you, Joel,” Tommy teased, shaking his head as he pointed at him. “Why are you always tryna make it about you?”

“This is an open discussion,” Joel shot back smoothly.

You groaned, burying your face in your hands for a brief moment before peeking at him through your fingers. “What do you like about it?” he pressed, his tone dripping with playful curiosity.

“I didn’t realize there were follow-up questions,” you said, your voice dripping with exasperation, though your lips twitched with the beginnings of a smile.

Joel just raised an eyebrow, waiting, his patience maddeningly effective. You sighed, shifting in your seat under the weight of his gaze. “I don’t know,” you said finally, your voice quieter now. “It… feels good. That’s it.”

“Huh,” Joel murmured thoughtfully, leaning forward slightly as if he were considering your words like a philosopher pondering the meaning of life. “What about missionary?”

Your eyes snapped to his, wide with disbelief. “Joel!” you exclaimed, your voice high and mortified.

“What?” he said, completely unbothered, gesturing around the room. “We’re all adults, right? Just a question.”

Tommy groaned, tipping his head back against the couch. “Man, you need a hobby.”

Maria smacked Joel lightly on the arm. “No, he needs to stop.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, shaking your head as Joel turned back to you, his grin still firmly in place. “Well?” he asked, ignoring everyone else entirely.

You rolled your eyes but decided to play along. “It’s… fine. With the right person, it's ... nice.”

Joel nodded as if you’d just given the most profound answer. “Fair enough,” he said, his voice thoughtful. “And doggy?”

“Okay!” Maria interrupted, throwing her hands up as she pointed at him. “You. Cold shower. Now.”

Tommy burst out laughing, clutching his stomach as Joel raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright,” he said, though the wicked grin on his face told you he wasn’t remotely sorry.

He turned to you one last time, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “Guess I’ll just have to get your opinion on that one later.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

Joel stepped into the room, the towel slung dangerously low on his hips, water still dripping from his hair. A toothbrush hung from the corner of his mouth, and he glanced at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges in amusement.

You were sprawled out on the bed, scrolling mindlessly through your phone, but the moment he entered, the casual atmosphere shifted. The sight of him—damp, shirtless, and so effortlessly masculine—made your stomach flip.

He leaned against the wall for a moment, then started doing pushups against it, the muscles in his back and arms flexing with every movement. “Ninety-nine, one hundred,” he counted, his voice gruff but teasing.

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you. “God, you’re such a man,” you said, emphasizing the word with mock exasperation.

Joel straightened up, spitting the toothpaste into the sink as he grinned. “Sounds like a compliment to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Put some pants on,” you muttered, trying to focus on your phone again, though the heat rising to your cheeks betrayed you.

“Sure thing,” he said, opening the drawer and pulling out a pair of boxers, which he slung casually over his shoulder like he had all the time in the world.

Then, with an infuriating smirk, he turned toward you. “Cowgirl, huh?”

Your jaw dropped, heat flooding your face. “Joel, stop.”

He shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. “Just making conversation,” he said with a wink. “Alright, close your eyes.”

“What?” you asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“I’m changin’,” he said simply, tugging at the knot of the towel. “I’ll be naked in like three seconds.”

“Oh my God,” you groaned, slapping a hand over your eyes. “We have a bathroom for a reason.”

“Yeah,” Joel said with a laugh, “but where’s the fun in that?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Just a peek, you thought.

You cracked your fingers open just enough to catch a glimpse, and your breath hitched. Joel’s back was tan, the muscles rippling under smooth, sun-kissed skin as he reached into the dresser. The sharp definition of his shoulders tapered into a strong, narrow waist, the dip of his spine leading down to—

Oh. My. God.

The towel fell to the floor, revealing the most perfectly round, firm ass you’d ever seen, framed by powerful thighs that looked as though they could crush steel.

And then you saw his cock.

It hung thick and weighty, the shaft resting against his muscular thigh, even at rest. The skin was tanned like the rest of him, a darker, ruddy hue gracing the head, which was perfectly proportioned and smooth. A faint, darker vein ran along its length, drawing your attention in a way you couldn’t look away from.

The base was framed by a neat patch of dark, coarse hair, blending seamlessly with the faint trail that started at his navel. It was the kind of cock that made your stomach flip, intimidating in its sheer size and girth but undeniably captivating.

Even soft, you couldn’t help but imagine how much bigger, harder it could get, and the thought sent heat rushing through you. You clamped your eyes shut again, your cheeks burning hotter than ever, but the image was burned into your mind now, seared there like a brand you couldn’t shake.

“I’m such a perv,” you thought, your stomach twisting with a mix of embarrassment and something warmer, something far more dangerous.

“All done,” Joel said casually, snapping you out of your spiral.

“Good,” you croaked, your voice barely audible. You risked a glance as he slipped into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. He turned toward you, his gaze soft and a little too knowing, the corner of his mouth pulling into a lopsided smile.

Gosh, why was he so handsome? The soft lamplight caught the curve of his jaw, the faint flush on his cheeks, the tousled mess of damp hair falling over his forehead.

He smelled like coconut—probably from the hotel body wash—and you felt your stomach twist in ways you didn’t entirely understand.

“Before we go to sleep,” he hummed, his voice low and easy as he propped himself up on one elbow, his head resting on his hand, “truth or truth.”

You laughed, caught off guard. “Joel, I think we’ve had enough of that for one night.”

“Please,” he said, drawing out the word in a way that made it sound so much softer. “Truth or truth,” he repeated, his lips curving upward just enough to betray a hint of nerves behind his teasing tone.

You stared at him, momentarily lost in the way he looked right now—so boyish, so earnest. His pink lips were slightly swollen, his cheeks still a little red, his wet hair falling over his temple in a way that made you want to brush it back.

“Fine,” you murmured, unable to say no when he looked at you like that. “Truth.”

Joel’s grin faltered for the briefest second, the playfulness in his expression dimming as he searched your face.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his voice quieter now, like he was working up the courage. He hesitated, his tongue darting out to wet his lips before his eyes locked on yours, something unguarded and raw in his gaze. “Are you… attracted to me?”

Your heart stuttered, your chest tightening. “What?” you breathed, your eyebrows shooting up as heat rushed to your cheeks.

He shrugged, but the movement was almost self-conscious, like he was trying to play it off even as his eyes stayed steady on you. “It’s a fair question.”

“Joel, I—what are you even talking about?” you stammered, your voice shaky as you tried to process what he’d just asked.

“C’mon,” he said softly, the teasing edge gone now. “Just… tell me. I’m not gonna hold it against you.”

His sincerity threw you off more than the question itself. Joel Miller didn't strike you as the type of guy to be vulnerable like this—wasn’t supposed to ask questions that left your stomach flipping and your heart racing.

But here he was, waiting for an answer, his expression open, his usual confidence tempered with something quieter, something unsure.

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears as the air between you seemed to thicken, charged with something unspoken. And for the first time, you didn’t know how to hide.

“You’re a handsome guy,” you shrugged, trying for nonchalance. But the way your voice wavered betrayed you.

Joel tilted his head, his expression unreadable, though there was something sharp, something quietly intent in the way his eyes stayed on yours. “That’s not what I asked,” he murmured, his voice soft but insistent.

Your gaze flicked to him, startled by the shift in his tone. He was watching you so carefully, so thoroughly, like he was trying to decipher every flicker of emotion across your face.

“What?” you said, your breath hitching slightly.

“I said,” he repeated, slower this time, his Southern drawl wrapping around each word like a secret, “are you attracted to me?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs, the words landing heavier than they should have. “I—” you started, then scoffed, shaking your head like it could somehow dispel the heat rushing to your cheeks. “What kind of—who even—”

Joel didn’t interrupt, didn’t move. He just kept looking at you, patient and unyielding, his gaze steady and unrelenting as if he had all the time in the world. And that was worse somehow—because it left you nowhere to hide.

You huffed, breaking under the weight of it, your voice coming out quieter than you meant. “Yeah. Fine. Yes, Joel. I’m attracted to you. Happy?”

He nodded once, the movement slow and deliberate. His eyes softened just enough to make your chest tighten, though his expression remained unreadable. “Good,” he murmured.

You bit your lip, a nervous laugh escaping before you could stop it. “What?” you asked, trying to fill the charged silence. “You needed that for your ego or something?”

Joel shook his head, his lips curving into the faintest smile, though there was something different about it this time. Something shy, almost unsure. “No,” he said quietly. “Just… wanted to know.”

Your heart tripped over itself at the simplicity of his words, and you shifted slightly, your fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt.

The question tumbled out before you could stop it, your voice barely above a whisper. “Are you… attracted to me?”

For a moment, Joel didn’t answer. He just stared at you, the silence stretching unbearably as something flickered across his face—something you couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” he said finally, the single syllable carrying enough weight to knock the air from your lungs. His voice was low, gravelly, and sure. “Yeah, I am.”

Your chest tightened as Joel leaned in slightly, his hand braced against the mattress, his movements deliberate yet hesitant. His dark eyes flicked to your lips for the briefest moment before snapping back to meet your gaze.

Joel’s voice broke the silence, low and quiet, almost like he didn’t want to scare the moment away. “Thought it was pretty obvious,” he said, his lips twitching into a soft, self-conscious smile as a quiet laugh escaped him.

The sound made your chest ache, the vulnerability in it catching you off guard. He shifted slightly, leaning back just a fraction as if he was giving you space to breathe.

“Anyways,” he murmured, his tone softening even more, “it’s late. You should get some sleep.”

You blinked, your heart still racing as the tension eased, replaced by something warmer, gentler. Joel’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, like he was trying to memorize your face, the curve of your lips, the way the moonlight painted your skin.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the room dark and still except for the soft sound of Joel’s breathing beside you. He was sound asleep, his features softened in a way that almost felt unfair.

His brow, usually furrowed with intensity or mischief, was relaxed. His lips, so often curled into a smirk that drove you crazy, now rested in a slight, peaceful curve. He looked so sweet, so angelic, nothing like the devil he became when he was awake and teasing you mercilessly.

Your eyes lingered on the way his dark lashes fanned against his cheeks, the steady rise and fall of his chest as the light sheet barely covered him. His hair was messy, slightly tousled, the curls resting against his forehead. He looked younger like this—soft, unguarded, and warm.

You sighed softly, your chest tightening as the weight of his earlier admission settled over you. The honesty in his words had left a crack in your defenses, and now, staring at him like this, you couldn’t help but wonder if he realized just how completely he’d unraveled you.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, squeezing your eyes shut as if that would erase the ache in your loin. You shifted under the covers, restless, your body betraying you at every turn. Joel’s antics earlier—the damn lap dance, his relentless teasing, his towel slipping, the dip of his hips, his cock. Jesus, his cock.

You pressed your thighs together, heat blooming between them as the memory of it all replayed in vivid detail. And now, lying here in the dark with him just inches away, asleep and completely unaware of the havoc he’d wreaked on your mind and body, it felt unbearable.

Needy. That’s what you were. Completely, hopelessly needy. And it was all Joel’s fault.

Padding out into the quiet living room, you sank onto the couch, curling your legs beneath you as the cool leather met your skin. The room was dim, illuminated only by the soft glow of your phone as you scrolled aimlessly, searching for a distraction that could ease the tension winding tightly through your chest—and lower. But nothing seemed to work.

You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t hear the soft pad of footsteps until they were right behind you.

“Hey,” Joel’s voice came, low and rough from sleep, and it made your pulse skip. You turned to see him rubbing at his eyes, his hair even messier now, sticking up in disheveled tufts that only added to his boyish charm.

He was barefoot, the hem of his sweatpants riding low on his hips, and his shirt hung lazily over one shoulder, revealing the toned expanse of his chest.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked, his voice softer now as he stepped closer, the faint rasp of sleep still clinging to it.

You swallowed, dropping your phone into your lap as you sighed. “No,” you admitted, your voice quiet. “Sorry for waking you.”

Joel shook his head, plopping down beside you on the couch with a small, tired groan. “You didn’t wake me,” he murmured, though you could tell he was lying. The slight squint of his eyes and the tousled mess of his hair gave him away.

He glanced at the clock on the wall, squinting slightly in the dim light. “It’s 1 a.m.,” he said, his lips curving into that familiar lopsided smile. “You’ve been up this whole time?”

You shrugged, pulling your legs up to your chest. “Just couldn’t fall asleep.”

Joel leaned back against the couch, studying you for a moment. His gaze, still heavy-lidded from sleep, softened as it swept over your face. “Hey,” he said after a beat, his voice lighter now, teasing as he nudged your knee with his hand. “I got an idea.”

You raised an eyebrow, immediately suspicious. “Oh, no. What kind of idea?”

Joel’s grin widened, the kind of mischievous, devil-may-care smile that made your stomach flip in the worst—or maybe the best—way. “One that involves changin’ into your swimsuit,” he said, his voice low and coaxing, his Southern drawl making the suggestion sound almost innocent. Almost.

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “Joel…”

“Come on,” he said, standing up and holding out his hand. His grin softened, something gentler lurking beneath the teasing. “Trust me. I’ll wait.”

You hesitated, glancing from his outstretched hand to his face, your heart racing for reasons you couldn’t quite name. But there was something in his expression—a quiet steadiness behind the playfulness—that made it impossible to say no.

With a small sigh, you slipped your hand into his, his palm warm and solid against yours. “This better not be one of your bad ideas,” you murmured.

Joel chuckled, tugging you gently to your feet. “Oh, it’s definitely bad,” he drawled, his grin flashing again. “But you’ll love it.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

Not long after, you found yourself padding down the resort’s quiet, dimly lit hallway, Joel leading the way with his hand wrapped around yours. His grip was warm and steady, entirely unnecessary but impossibly reassuring. You didn’t dare pull away. The gentle pressure of his fingers against yours sent a thrill up your arm, a sensation you tried—and utterly failed—to ignore.

Joel walked confidently ahead, his bare chest catching the faint glow of the overhead lights. His swim shorts hung low on his hips, his relaxed stride exuding an effortless confidence. Beside him, you felt the cool air against your skin, the bikini you’d hastily thrown on feeling all the more revealing in the stillness of the night.

“Joel, this is insane,” you whispered, glancing nervously over your shoulder. “We’re gonna get in trouble.”

He stopped abruptly, turning to face you with that infuriatingly cocky grin that made your stomach flip. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and warm as he tilted his head, his hair still charmingly messy. “We’re payin’—” He paused, his smirk widening as he corrected himself. “Actually, Tommy’s payin’ a shit ton of money to be here. If we wanna use the pool at 1 a.m., we’re gonna use the damn pool at 1 a.m.”

You sighed, a blend of amusement and exasperation bubbling to the surface as you reluctantly let him pull you along. “This feels like a terrible idea.”

Joel glanced back at you, his grin sharp and teasing under the dim glow of the resort lights. “The best ones always do.” His thumb brushed against your knuckles, a small, almost thoughtless gesture, but one that sent a ripple of warmth up your arm. The air was thick with the scent of salt and hibiscus, the soft rustle of palm fronds above only amplifying the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Joel pushed open the gate to the infinity pool with a soft creak, holding it open as his hand tightened briefly on yours, guiding you through before letting it close behind you with a gentle clang.

And then your breath caught.

The infinity pool stretched out before you, its surface still as glass, shimmering under the silver caress of moonlight. It was a vision of serenity and magic, the water reflecting the stars like liquid silk.

Subtle underwater lights glowed in hues of soft blue and white, their faint ripples casting dancing patterns onto the surrounding tiles.

Beyond the pool’s edge, the dark expanse of the ocean stretched into infinity, its gentle waves blending seamlessly with the star-strewn sky.

The world felt quieter here, as if the night itself had conspired to create this pocket of intimacy, a secret space carved out just for the two of you.

Joel stepped up beside you, his hand slipping from yours at last, leaving behind a fleeting chill you weren’t ready for. “See?” he said, his voice low and reverent, like he didn’t want to disturb the stillness. “Told ya it’s even better at night.”

The pool lights cast a gentle glow across the water, the soft hues of blue and silver rippling over his skin. Shadows played along the strong lines of his shoulders, the curve of his chest, and the defined cut of his back, every movement a study in quiet power.

The faint shimmer of moonlight danced against the tan of his skin, and for a moment, he looked almost otherworldly—like something pulled straight out of your imagination.

Joel took a step into the water, the muscles in his legs flexing as he descended. He turned to you, his smirk fading into something softer, more inviting. “You comin’ in, or what?” His voice was low, coaxing, with an edge of something that sent heat straight to your core.

You swallowed, the warmth rising to your cheeks undeniable as you tried—and failed—not to linger on the way the water lapped at his waist, highlighting every inch of him. “Yeah… yeah, I’m coming,” you murmured, your voice betraying the flutter in your chest.

Joel didn’t move, just stood there in the water, his eyes fixed on you. His gaze was steady, quiet, as though he was waiting for something. The faintest curve of a smile tugged at his lips, and then he extended a hand toward you. “C’mon,” he said softly, the words like a thread pulling you closer. “Water’s perfect.”

You took his hand, his grip warm and steady as he guided you into the pool. The water lapped at your skin, cool and refreshing, sending a soft shiver through you as it rose higher. Joel’s fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary before he let go, and you floated alongside him, both drifting naturally toward the edge of the infinity pool.

Joel leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the pool. His hair, slicked back from the water, caught the faint glow of the underwater lights, droplets clinging to his tanned skin and glinting like tiny jewels.

His expression was unguarded, almost boyish, as he let out a soft sigh. “Shit,” he murmured, his voice carrying the weight of quiet sincerity. “This might be the best trip of my life.”

You turned your head toward him, his words settling warmly in your chest like a flicker of something you didn’t quite want to name. “Me too,” you admitted softly, your voice barely audible over the gentle lapping of the water.

Joel glanced at you then, his gaze lingering a moment too long, his eyes searching yours as if trying to piece together the thoughts you weren’t saying.

“So,” he said finally, breaking the silence, his voice lighter now but laced with something deeper. “Why couldn’t you sleep?”

The question hung in the air, far too close to the truth. Your heart stuttered as you turned your gaze back to the water, the soft glow of the pool lights casting ripples of light across your skin.

How could you possibly admit it? That Joel’s lap dance, his teasing, his cock—all of it—had left you restless, needy, and completely unable to quiet your racing thoughts.

“Not sure,” you murmured, shrugging and avoiding his eyes, your voice quieter than you intended.

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh, come on,” he said, his voice low and teasing, yet laced with something that sent a shiver down your spine. “Usually, you’re out like a light. Somethin’s on your mind.”

Your heart raced, your defenses crumbling under the weight of his gaze. “I told you,” you muttered, forcing a casual shrug. “I just couldn’t sleep.”

Joel tilted his head, studying you like he was working out a puzzle, his grin turning downright devilish. He leaned in slightly, his elbow braced on the edge of the pool, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. “Shit,” he drawled, his tone equal parts teasing and dangerous. “Baby… are you…” He paused, letting the question linger as his grin widened. “…horny?”

Your breath caught in your throat, your face heating instantly. “Joel!” you hissed, your voice a mixture of indignation and mortification as you swatted at his arm. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

He laughed, low and rich, leaning back just enough to let you breathe but not enough to create distance. His grin was positively wicked, his dark eyes sparkling with amusement. “What?” he said, feigning innocence. “Just tryin’ to help. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.”

You bit your lip, your gaze darting to his before skittering away again, the tension coiling tighter in your chest. “You’re wrong,” you said, forcing the words out, but your voice wavered, betraying you.

Joel’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it softened slightly, turning into something warmer, more disarming. “Darlin’,” he said, his tone low and coaxing, “you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”

Your eyes darted to his chest—broad and glistening under the soft glow of the pool lights—and lingered for just a second too long. When you realized what you’d done, you quickly looked away, cursing yourself internally.

He chuckled, the sound quieter now, almost fond as he shook his head. “Christ, girly,” he murmured, his voice dipping even lower. “When’s the last time you had sex?”

You groaned, looking away as your cheeks burned. “Joel, I’m not answering that.”

“Oh, you are,” he said, his grin still firmly in place. “C’mon, I’m dyin’ here.”

When you stayed quiet, Joel’s teasing softened just slightly. “Seriously,” he said, his voice more curious now, less playful. “When?”

You sighed, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Fine. Like… eight months ago.”

Joel froze, his eyes widening as he turned to fully face you. “What?” he choked, the disbelief in his voice almost comical. “Are you serious?”

You nodded, your gaze still fixed on the ocean, but the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. “Yeah.”

Joel ran a hand through his wet hair, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “Eight months?” he repeated, his voice quieter now. “Shit, darlin’… how have you not lost your mind?”

You let out a small laugh despite yourself, turning to look at him. “It’s not that big of a deal, Joel.”

“Right,” he said, a teasing grin tugging at his lips. “Because you got your little toy.”

Your face burned as you groaned, shooting him a glare. “I regret ever telling you about that.”

Joel chuckled, leaning his elbow on the pool’s edge as he turned to face you fully, his grin widening. “Hey, I’m just sayin’. No shame in it,. Gotta take care of yourself somehow.”

“Joel,” you muttered, pressing your hands to your face. “Please stop.”

He held up his hands, mock surrender in his posture. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave.” A pause, and then, with a tilt of his head, he added, “Seriously, though—why not?”

“Why not what?” you asked, looking at him warily.

Joel shrugged, his tone lighter but edged with genuine curiosity. “Why not just… y’know, find someone? It’s been eight months.” His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, his voice softening. “Look at you. You could have anyone you wanted.”

You sighed, your fingers skimming the water’s surface as you avoided his gaze. “Joel, some of us can’t just have casual sex with people.”

“Hey,” he said, his voice dipping lower as his expression shifted, a flicker of something serious passing through his eyes. “What makes you think I can?”

You looked at him, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. “Well… I just assumed.”

Joel leaned back slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he shook his head. “I don’t just go sleepin’ around with everyone, you know.”

Your eyes widened, heat rushing to your cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you said quickly. “I just meant… I don’t know. You seem like you’re more… experienced than me.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his grin softening into something closer to a smirk. “More experienced?” he repeated, the teasing lilt back in his voice. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

You groaned again, burying your face in your hands. “It means exactly what it sounds like, okay? You’re Joel. You’re… confident and flirty and… you. I figured you’d have had more… practice.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, and when you peeked at him through your fingers, he was shaking his head, his grin softening even further. “just because I know how to flirt doesn’t mean I’m out here sleepin’ with every pretty face I meet.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said, his gaze meeting yours, steady and sincere. “Truth is, I don’t do casual either. Never really been my thing.” He shrugged, his tone lightening again as he added, “Not that I haven’t tried, but… I guess I’m picky.”

“Picky?” you repeated, your lips twitching into a small smile.

“Yeah,” Joel said with a casual shrug, though the faint smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. “When I was younger, I guess I was more… free, you know? Didn’t think too hard about it. But now…” He trailed off, his gaze dipping briefly before locking back onto yours, a flicker of something deeper in his eyes.

“Now, I gotta have a connection with someone before I…” He smirked, his voice dropping lower as he added, “…rock their world.”

Your laugh burst out before you could stop it, a sound somewhere between amusement and disbelief. “Oh, my God, Joel.”

His grin widened, and he leaned back against the pool’s edge, his arms stretching out to rest along the tiles. “What?” he said, feigning innocence. “Just tellin’ it like it is.”

You shook your head, the laugh still lingering on your lips as you looked at him. “You’re impossible.”

“Nah,” Joel said softly, his tone shifting just enough to catch you off guard. “You’ve got a nice laugh.”

Your smile faltered for a beat, your heart skipping at the sincerity in his voice. “Smooth operator,” you replied, raising an eyebrow at him, trying to keep things light.

Joel shrugged, his grin softening. “I mean it,” he said, his voice quiet but sure, his gaze steady on yours.

You bit your lip without thinking, a nervous habit you’d had forever, and Joel’s gaze flicked down to catch the motion. Something shifted in his expression, his smirk faltering just slightly as his brow furrowed, his voice a low mumble when he finally spoke. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you asked, your voice softer now, the air between you thick with unspoken tension.

Joel shook his head slightly, his lips twitching into a faint smile, but there was something darker in his eyes, something restrained, like he was fighting an internal battle.

The moment stretched, the sound of the waves crashing below blending with the quiet hum of the night. And then—like the universe had a sense of humor—your bikini top came undone, the tie at the back slipping free.

“Shit,” you gasped, clutching the front of your top against your chest to keep it in place. Your eyes widened as you looked at Joel, your heart hammering for a whole new reason now. “Joel,” you whispered, motioning toward your back. “Can you… can you tie me up?”

His gaze flicked to yours, his lips curving into a slow, wicked grin. “And if I didn’t?” he teased, his voice low and dripping with amusement.

“Joel!” you hissed, glaring at him as your cheeks burned, your grip tightening on the loose fabric against your chest. “I’m serious!”

Joel tilted his head, his smirk growing as he treaded water, the glow from the pool lights casting shadows across his face. “What?” he teased, his voice low and playful. “You never skinny dip before?”

Your jaw dropped at his audacity. “No!” you replied, your voice sharp, though the heat rushing to your cheeks made you feel anything but confident.

“Seriously?” he said, his tone shifting into something bordering on incredulous. He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Damn, you haven’t lived, girlie.”

“Joel,” you said again, your voice dropping into something softer, more pleading, but he wasn’t backing down.

“Alright,” he said finally, his voice dipping lower, coaxing now. “Turn around.”

You hesitated, your pulse hammering in your chest, but his gaze held steady, warm yet unrelenting. With a sigh, you did as he asked, your back to him, the ocean stretching out into the night as the breeze brushed against your skin.

The sound of the water rippling around him reached your ears, and then you felt his hands—gentle, careful—as they brushed your back. His fingers worked deftly, the lightest graze of his knuckles against your bare skin making your breath hitch.

“Hold still,” Joel murmured, his voice low and intimate, the warmth of it wrapping around you. He finished tying the knot with ease, but he didn’t step back.

You stayed frozen, facing the endless horizon, when you felt it—the unmistakable weight of his hand settling lightly on your hips, his touch firm but not overbearing. His breath, warm and steady, ghosted against the back of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice barely audible, your heart thundering in your chest.

His grip tightened slightly, grounding you as he leaned in closer, his lips so near that you could feel the faintest brush of them as he spoke. “When,” Joel murmured, his voice low and rough, “was the last time a man made you cum?”

You froze, your breath catching as the question hung in the air, the intimacy of his tone cutting through the quiet night like a blade. Your fingers dug into the edge of the pool, your mind racing as every nerve in your body seemed to ignite at once.

“Joel…” you whispered again, though this time, it wasn’t a protest. It was something softer, needier, like your voice betrayed the thoughts swirling in your head.

He didn’t move, his hand steady on your hips, his fingers pressing just enough to make you hyperaware of every place he touched you. His breath, warm and steady, ghosted over your neck, and you swore the heat of it sank into your skin, making your pulse race.

“I—” you stammered, trying to steady yourself, trying to form words despite the way your heart thundered in your chest. “I told you. Eight months ago was the last time I had sex—”

Joel cut you off, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “I didn’t ask the last time you had sex,” he murmured, his words deliberate, each one like a spark against your already frayed nerves. “I asked when the last time a man made you cum.”

Your breath faltered, your stomach flipping as the weight of his question settled between you. You felt exposed, laid bare in a way you weren’t prepared for. “I…” you started, your voice catching. “I don’t… I don’t remember.”

Joel went still behind you, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly as his breath hitched, barely audible. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, the word low and soft, like it wasn’t meant for you to hear.

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. The truth was out there now, raw and vulnerable, and you didn’t know what to do with it. Your hands gripped the edge of the pool for balance, the cool water lapping against your skin doing nothing to calm the heat building between you.

“Eight months,” Joel murmured again, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place. His hand shifted slightly, the movement subtle but enough to make your breath hitch.

You could feel him now, the unmistakable press of his body against your back, solid and warm. “And not once…” He trailed off, exhaling sharply before he leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “…not once did a man know what to do with you?”

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling, his name catching in your throat. It was a plea, though you couldn’t tell if it was for him to stop or to keep going. Every inch of you felt alive, your senses overloaded by the heat of his breath, the weight of his hands, the raw intensity of the moment.

Slowly, Joel turned you around, his hands guiding your movements like he was in complete control. Your gaze locked onto his, and your breath caught at the sight of him.

His hair was tousled, damp from the pool and catching faintly in the light. His eyes burned with something raw, unrelenting, and entirely consuming. He looked angelic, like a man shaped by the heavens but sent to ruin you—and you felt like you were teetering on the edge of insanity just looking at him.

His voice broke through the haze, low and quiet, but laced with an intensity that made your stomach twist. “Were you wet when you went to bed?”

Your heart stopped, your pulse roaring in your ears as his words hung between you, heavy and deliberate. “Joel…” you managed, your voice cracking as your mind scrambled to keep up. “What are you doing?”

“You heard me,” he said, his tone soft but firm, his breath brushing against your cheek as he leaned closer. His fingers lifted to your chin, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His eyes locked onto yours, dark and unwavering, and you felt utterly exposed under his gaze. “Answer me.”

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling as the truth clawed its way out of you, unbidden. “Yes,” you whispered, barely audible, but Joel caught it. “I was.”

Joel’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk, but there was something almost tender beneath it, something that made your knees weak. “That so?” he murmured, his thumb brushing along your jaw as he studied your face, his voice dipping lower, rougher. “And you didn’t think to do anything about it?”

Your cheeks burned, the heat of his words and the sheer audacity of the moment leaving you reeling. “I—” you stammered, unable to form a coherent thought, let alone a response.

Joel tsked softly, shaking his head as his gaze lingered on yours. “Darlin’,” he said, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down your spine, “what am I gonna do with you?”

The question wasn’t meant to be answered—it was a statement, a challenge, and it hung in the air between you, thick and charged. His hand stayed on your chin, his thumb brushing softly over your bottom lip, the motion feather-light but enough to make your breath catch.

Your head dropped slightly, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “We can’t, Joel,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“Why?” he asked, his tone steady, curious rather than insistent.

You exhaled shakily, searching for the right words. “Because it’ll… it’ll make things weird for the rest of the trip. It’ll ruin the engagement.”

Joel studied you, his thumb pausing on your lip before he let his hand drop, though his gaze never wavered. He nodded slowly, his jaw tightening as he listened. “Alright,” he said softly, his voice gentle. “I hear you.”

His words felt like a lifeline and a loss all at once. Relief mingled with a strange ache in your chest as you dared to glance at him. His expression was unreadable, a mixture of restraint and something deeper that you couldn’t quite name.

“I won’t do anything you don’t want me to,” Joel said simply, his voice low and sure, his words laced with an unspoken promise. He leaned back slightly, giving you space, though his eyes still held yours. “But… I’ll say this much.” His lips curved into a faint, wry smile. “It’s a damn shame you’re goin’ to bed needy every night when I’m right next to ya.”

Your heart stuttered, your body betraying you as his words sent a spark of heat racing through you. You shook your head, trying to push the thoughts away, but the weight of his gaze pinned you in place, making it impossible to ignore the truth simmering between you.

“You’re so sweet,” Joel murmured, his voice low, rough, and laced with something softer, something that made your stomach flip. His hand, still resting lightly on your chin, tilted your face back up, coaxing your eyes to meet his.

You looked at him, your breath hitching as your gaze flicked—just for a moment—to his lips. Joel’s gaze was heavy, dark, and unrelenting, and his voice came low, steady, and utterly devastating. “Did you bring it with you?” he asked.

“What?” you whispered, thrown off by the sudden question.

“Your toy,” he clarified, his eyes locked onto yours like he could see right through you.

Your cheeks burned, and you shook your head quickly. “No,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel nodded slowly, his lips curving into a faint, knowing smirk. “So,” he drawled, leaning in just slightly, “you were beside me all wet and needy, huh?”

Your heart stopped, your stomach flipping as his words sank in. “Joel, this is insane,” you murmured, your voice trembling with equal parts disbelief and something darker, something you didn’t want to name.

“You already admitted it,” he said, his voice warm but laced with that maddening edge of confidence. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, the word falling from your lips before you could stop it.

He nodded again, his gaze never leaving yours, his voice dropping even lower. “So… were you gonna touch yourself?”

“What?” you asked, your eyes widening.

“Were you?” Joel repeated, his tone calm, deliberate, but the weight of his question hung in the air, crackling between you. “With me next to you, asleep? Were you gonna take care of yourself?”

You shook your head quickly, the honesty spilling out before your brain could catch up. “No,” you said, your voice soft, trembling.

Joel tilted his head, his smirk softening into something almost tender, though the heat in his eyes remained. “Poor girl,” he murmured, his tone turning to a low coo that sent shivers down your spine. “No wonder you couldn’t sleep. Just need someone to take care of you, huh?”

He leaned in closer, his hand brushing against your hip as his lips curved into a slow, deliberate smile. “Wonder if I was to touch you right now…” he murmured, his voice rough and quiet, like a secret just for you. “If you’d be ready for me.”

“Joel…” It was as if it was the only word you knew, the only one you could form, and the way you said it—soft, trembling, and utterly breathless—made his expression darken further.

His hand lifted to your chin again, his thumb brushing lightly against your jaw as he whispered, “Can I?”

The question was low, rough, and full of restrained hunger, but there was a softness in his tone, a thread of care that made your chest ache. He wasn’t pushing—he was waiting. And the way he looked at you, the way his gaze held yours, made it clear that you held all the power in this moment.

Your breath hitched, your chest rising and falling as the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you, the ocean, the night, and the question hanging between you like a live wire.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea. What if it… what if it makes things weird?”

“It won’t,” he said simply, his voice low and sure, like he’d already thought through every possibility. “You’re overthinkin’ it. I just wanna help you feel good.”

“It’s not that simple,” you said, shaking your head, though even as the words left your lips, they felt weak, as though you didn’t quite believe them yourself.

“Why can’t it be?” Joel countered, his tone gentle but firm, his eyes searching yours with a steady intensity that made it impossible to look away. “Not everything has to be complicated, darlin’.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze flickering between his eyes and the curve of his lips. “We don’t have to do anything,” he added, his hand lifting to brush a damp strand of hair from your face. “But I can see it in your eyes—you don’t trust men anymore, do you?” His lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, though there was a softness in his voice that made your chest ache. “Let me help restore your faith a little.”

You let out a shaky laugh, though it came out more like a breathless exhale. “What, by making me cum?”

Joel’s smile deepened, his hand resting lightly on your waist as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a murmur. “That what you want?”

Your heart pounded as you stared at him, the heat in his gaze stealing the air from your lungs. “Didn’t you say every woman you sleep with does?” you asked, your words coming out bolder than you felt.

He nodded slowly, his eyes darkening as his thumb brushed along the curve of your hip. “You wanna put it to the test?” he asked, his voice low and rough, the challenge in his tone sending a shiver through you.

The way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing in the world that mattered—made your chest tighten, your resolve crumbling with every second. He looked delicious. You couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but give in.

“Fuck it,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. Your hands shot up to grab his face, pulling him toward you, your lips crashing into his.

Joel didn’t hesitate. He kissed you back with a force that left you reeling, his hands immediately finding your waist as he pushed you back against the smooth edge of the infinity pool. The sound of water rushing over the edge was drowned out by the pounding of your heart as you pressed yourself against him, desperate, frantic, consumed.

His hands were rough as they slid along your sides, pulling you closer, grounding you even as everything around you seemed to spin. His lips were warm, insistent, and he tasted faintly of the tequila you’d both shared earlier. It was intoxicating, the way he devoured you, like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had.

You gasped against his mouth as his fingers dug into your hips, his body pressing firmly against yours, his heat searing even through the cool water.

“Shit,” he murmured, his voice rough and breathless. His eyes burned into yours, dark and unrelenting. “Gotta taste you.”

The words knocked the air out of you, leaving you blinking at him in stunned silence. Before you could even process what he’d said, Joel’s hands were on you, gripping your thighs as he turned you toward the entrance of the pool. With a firm but careful tug, he lifted you, placing you on the cool stone ledge so your legs dangled over the edge, the water still lapping at your calves.

“Joel,” you breathed, your voice shaky as you propped yourself up on your elbows, watching him with wide eyes.

He stood in the water, the faint glow of the pool lights illuminating the sharp lines of his face and the damp mess of his hair. His gaze never left yours as he pushed his slick hair back, his movements slow and deliberate, like he was savoring the moment. “Lay back,” he urged, his voice low and commanding, yet soft enough to make your pulse stutter.

“What?” Your eyebrows shot up, your heart pounding as your gaze darted between him and the vast openness of the pool deck around you. “Here?!”

“Yes, here,” Joel replied without hesitation, his tone steady but edged with amusement, like he found your disbelief charming. His hands slid up your thighs, gripping them just enough to send another spark of heat through you. “Ain’t no one around, darlin’.”

“Joel,” you hissed, glancing toward the resort, your mind racing. “We’re gonna get arrested.”

He chuckled softly, his grin widening as he leaned in closer, his hands still resting on your thighs. “We won’t. Trust me,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, almost a purr. “Now, lay back.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment before letting out a shaky breath and lowering yourself onto the cool stone. Your head rested against the ledge, the night sky stretching out above you, stars dotting the inky black canvas.

“Good girl,” Joel murmured, his voice softer now, almost reverent. His hands coaxed you down gently, sliding you closer to the edge until your hips hovered just above the water. “Shuffle down a bit. That’s it… just like that.”

Your body moved instinctively, following his instructions even as your mind screamed about the sheer insanity of what was happening. The cool air brushed against your skin, making you shiver, but Joel’s hands—warm, rough, and steady—kept you grounded.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that somehow managed to soothe and ignite you at the same time. “I’ve got you.” Your heart pounded as you swallowed hard, the tension between you crackling like a live wire. Joel’s lips quirked into a faint, teasing grin. “All you gotta do,” he continued, his tone soft and coaxing, “is lay there and look pretty. You’re doin’ just fine.”

You sighed, a mix of nerves and anticipation, as his hands began to move. They slid slowly, deliberately, from your thighs to the thin ties of your bikini at your hips. His fingers worked with maddening precision, untying one side, then the other, the slow drag of the fabric against your skin making your breath hitch.

“Joel…” you started, your voice shaking as the last barrier slipped away, leaving you bare beneath him.

He paused, glancing up at you with a teasing glint in his eye. “Yeah, darlin’?”

“I swear to God,” you hissed, glancing toward the pool deck, “if someone sees us—”

“Shh,” he interrupted, his voice a whisper that carried more weight than it should have. His lips brushed against the inside of your thigh, a soft, deliberate kiss that made your breath catch. “Stop worrying,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, “and let me take care of ya.”

Before you could respond, he hooked both of your legs over his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips to steady you. The cool night air brushed against your bare skin.

“You’re somethin’ else, you know that?” Joel murmured, his voice soft but laced with his signature teasing edge. His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, the weight of it making you feel completely exposed in a way that sent heat rushing through you. “All this fussin’, but here you are, lettin’ me do this anyway.”

But then, to your surprise, he didn’t move. His hands rested firmly on your thighs, his gaze locked onto your bare cunt like he was savoring the moment, drawing it out. The pause stretched too long, and suddenly, the self-consciousness crept in. You started to close your legs, your body instinctively pulling inward.

“Don’t you dare,” Joel said sharply, his voice low but firm, and the command in it made your breath hitch.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, your voice uncertain as you pushed yourself up onto your elbows to look at him. The way his gaze burned into you made your stomach twist, the heat in his eyes almost overwhelming.

“Nothing,” Joel said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “I just… shit.” His hands tightened on your thighs as he shook his head slightly, his lips twitching into a faint, crooked smile. “I wish you could see yourself, baby. Drippin’ for me.”

Your breath caught, your entire body going still at his words. He hadn’t even properly touched you yet, and the ache between your legs was unbearable. As if he could read your mind, his eyes flicked to back your core, and he chuckled low, rough, and entirely too confident.

“Christ,” he muttered, his voice roughening as he watched you clench around nothing. “Really haven’t been fucked good in a while, huh? Damn shame.”

Your lips parted, ready to scold him for the audacity, but before you could get a single word out, Joel dove in. His mouth was on you, his beard brushing against your thighs, and the sensation sent a jolt of electricity shooting through your entire body.

“Oh my God!” you shrieked, your head falling back against the cool stone as your hands flew to his hair instinctively. The mix of his rough beard and the soft, deliberate way his tongue moved against you was overwhelming, like he knew exactly how to unravel you piece by piece.

Joel hummed against you, the low vibration sending shockwaves through your body as his hands gripped your hips, holding you firmly in place. “Taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured against your skin, his voice rough and muffled, his words brimming with that maddening, casual confidence. It would’ve made you roll your eyes if you weren’t already halfway undone.

Then one of his hands moved, his thumb brushing slow, devastating circles over your clit, and you nearly screamed, your back arching as the pleasure hit you like a tidal wave.

“Baby,” Joel murmured, his voice teasing yet commanding, “you’re gonna get us caught. And then,” he added with a smirk, his lips curving against your skin, “you’re gonna break my streak.”

You gasped, your breath trembling as you gripped the stone ledge for support, every nerve in your body alight. “Joel, you’re so good… shit,” you breathed, your voice faltering as his movements quickened, relentless and precise.

Joel didn’t answer, didn’t stop to tease. He just growled against you, the deep sound reverberating through your core as he devoured you like a starving man who’d been waiting for this moment forever. His lips, his tongue, the rough scrape of his beard—it was too much and not enough all at once.

“Joel, I’m close,” you gasped, your voice trembling as your hands scrambled for something, anything, to anchor yourself, but the smooth stone beneath you offered no reprieve. Your body was suspended in pure sensation, trembling on the edge.

“Shit, baby,” Joel muttered, pulling back for just a second to bite gently at the inside of your thigh, his teeth sending sparks of pain-tinged pleasure racing through you. “That was easy.” And then he was back, relentless and hungry.

Your breath hitched, and all you could do was gasp his name. “Oh… oh, I’m gonna—Joel, I’m gonna cum—fuck!” The words tore from your throat as the pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling violently as waves of heat and release consumed you. Your legs clamped around his head involuntarily, your body overwhelmed as you rode the high, every nerve sparking like wildfire.

Joel didn’t let up. His tongue moved with practiced precision, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure until your body was nothing but sensation. You whimpered, your hands flying to his hair, tugging desperately. “Joel,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “Stop—please, it’s too much.”

Still, his lips lingered, a soft, satisfied hum vibrating against you before he finally pulled back, but not without one last, languid stroke of his tongue that left your entire body trembling.

His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, fixed on you like you were a masterpiece he wasn’t finished admiring. Slowly, deliberately, he swiped his bottom lip with his thumb, his gaze unwavering as if he were savoring every second of your unraveling.

Then, with a tenderness that felt almost out of place after the intensity of what had just passed, he leaned back in, brushing the lightest, most deliberate kiss against your swollen, sensitive clit. Your body jolted, a shiver rippling through you that made your breath hitch audibly.

“So damn sweet,” Joel murmured, his voice low, husky, and dripping with reverence, like it was a secret only he was privileged to know.

Finally, with a satisfied hum, Joel pulled back, his lips and beard glistening as he pushed himself out of the pool and collapsed beside you on the cool stone. His chest heaved as he caught his breath, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he glanced over at you.

You stared at him, your vision hazy, your body still humming from the aftershocks. He looked insane—angelic, even—his hair damp and tousled, his lips swollen and wet, his grin entirely too pleased with himself.

“Shit,” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

Joel propped himself up on one elbow, his grin widening. “How’d I do?” he asked, his tone teasing but laced with genuine pride.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you grabbed his face and pulled him into a kiss, your lips crashing against his as you moaned softly into his mouth, tasting yourself on him. His hand slid to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, lazy circles.

After a moment, you broke the kiss, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “Too good.”

Joel chuckled, his grin widening as you reached for your bikini bottoms, slipping them back on as you tried to gather yourself. You opened your mouth to say something, but a sudden, blinding flashlight beam broke through the tension.

“Hey! Who’s there?” a loud voice yelled, the beam swinging toward you.

Your eyes widened in panic, but Joel just laughed, the sound low and warm as he grabbed your hand. “Shit,” he murmured, his grin turning wicked as he whispered, “Run.”

Before you could protest, Joel was pulling you to your feet, his hand tight around yours as the two of you sprinted away, your laughter bubbling out of you uncontrollably.

The heavy footsteps of the security guard pounded behind you, and Joel’s low chuckle filled your ears as he led you through the resort, ducking around corners and weaving between palm trees.

“You’re insane!” you hissed between gasps of laughter, your hand tightening in his as you glanced back at the guard, who was struggling to keep up.

“You love it!” Joel shot back, his grin wide as he glanced over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

By the time you finally collapsed behind a cluster of bushes, both of you out of breath and laughing, you couldn’t help but think that this might just be the best night of your life.

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[reignpage]

Frat Boy!Gojo

Cosmopolitan: sober thoughts

Word Count: 6.1k Contents: their first date, cursing, a little angsty, but mostly fluffy, not proofread (barely skimmed this so again, dunno how much sense it makes)

“Before you get any bright ideas, just know I’m sharing my location with at least ten people.”

Whistling, the biggest pain in your ass saunters over to you

The moon is full, a big white orb that would otherwise bring you a lot of peace to look at but right now, only pisses you off for reasons you’d rather not spend too much time pondering. Rarely anyone comes around these parts; it’s at the very edge of the city, a half-hour drive from campus, and surrounded by miles of dull, old suburbia. You’re standing in front of a metal gate, slightly taller than you, with vines wrapping around the pickets. It swings slowly with every gust of wind, creaking before it meets the stone wall with a bang.

Gojo grimaces. 

“Seriously, did you have to choose the scariest place in all of Eden? I mean, I respect the commitment to the aesthetic, but this is just crazy,” he grumbles, eyeing the cathedral from its huge marble pillars to the sharp spires piercing the night sky. 

You roll your eyes. Trust him to leave the date planning to you just to complain every step of the way. You’re already regretting playing along with whatever games he’s conjured up this time, but at least you’ve got home turf advantage; you know this place like the back of your hand. There won’t be any surprises happening tonight. 

Without replying, you walk off, heading straight through the gate. 

“Hey, wait! Don’t leave me here. I don’t want to end up as a statistic.”

Shrugging, you say, “If you’re scared, you can go back home.”

When he doesn’t say a thing and follows you, you smile. You win. But that feeling of victory doesn’t last very long because then he starts muttering about the cobwebs and how they’re everywhere, then about the tombstones, how they’re so messy with moss covering the engravings and that ‘the spirits must definitely be like so mad about all that’, and when you don’t respond to any of his musings, he even complains about the eerie music foreshadowing his pending doom, like in Jaws.

There is no music. 

“Where are we even going?” He pokes your shoulder, snatching his hand back faster than you can swat at it. “I thought we were going to, I don’t know, have a picnic under the stars and cuddle on top of someone’s grave, like Mary Shelley did.”

“How the fuck do you even know about that?” 

Gojo lifts one shoulder. “Must have heard it online or something.”

You roll your eyes again — you have a feeling you’ll be doing a lot of that tonight, maybe even for the rest of your life if things go the way your parents plan. When you had first found out the village idiot is the president of the most sought-after fraternity of the most prestigious university in the country, you thought maybe no one else had stepped up. But then you found out he’s a Legacy --the Gojos have governed that fraternity since its conception -- and well, the pieces fell into place. 

Mischief no doubt sparkling in your eyes, you look at him over your shoulder. His eyes are full of suspicion and when they meet yours, he becomes even more doubtful of your intentions. With a grin, you whisper, “We’re going someplace no one will hear you scream.”

“Kinky.”           

That didn’t have the desired effect. How annoying. Though you don’t fail to notice how he moves in closer to you, his warmth radiating to your body through your black, fur cloak. You don’t shift away. 

Gesturing for him to follow you through a gap in a wooden fence, you squeeze through to avoid splinters, pulling at your dress when a piece of lace catches on a nail. Just as you’re about to offer advice on how to contort his body to get through, he climbs over the fence and lands on his feet without stumbling, all in one quick sweep, like he’s who wanders these hallowed grounds at night and not you. 

“What?” He asks when he spots your glare. 

Not even those stupid sunglasses are out of place. Very annoying, indeed. 

“Come quickly,” you bark, fixing your silk gloves to cover more of your skin as the chill settles in. It’s only six in the evening, and yet there’s no hint of light in the broad expanse above you, just the moon and the stars lighting your way, and occasionally your companion’s phone flashlight when he needs to look at what he’s stepped in. 

He laughs. “No one’s ever said that to me before.”

“Do you make it a habit to talk about your sex life with a girl on a first date?”

“You’re the first, so not a habit. Not yet anyways.” 

Screeching to a halt, your hand clutches his elbow to still him. Your jaw is slack and you’re staring, completely disbelieving. “There’s no way this is your first date. You took that girl to the casino.”

Gojo stares off into the distance as he ponders the notion, fingers tapping his chin. Then, he insists, “No, it really is my first date. And anyways, I don’t consider that night a date; she pretty much invited herself along. It was more like I was just taking her to the casino as her escort. Or maybe that does count as a date. If so, then I’ve been on a lot of dates. But none where I’ve actually used the word date. Does that even matter because —“ 

You wave a hand in front of his face to cut off his rambling; he talks way too much. “So, you’re telling me, I’m the first girl you’ve ever asked out on a date? That’s insane, Gojo. You hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he protests with a frown.

“You sure acted like you did for months,” you counter. 

He insists, “I don’t hate you. Never did. I just acted out but yeah, I’m sorry. I was a dick.”

Clearing your throat, you straighten up and continue walking. “It’s fine. Water under the bridge.” 

“You sure? ‘Cause I can get on my knees and beg.”

“Don’t tempt me, Gojo.”

He catches up to you and hums a playful tune, his light mood returning; Serious Gojo is gone like he never existed. “Guess that’s what you’re into, huh?”

“You’ll never know,” you snort, pushing a branch away from your face and letting it snap back into his chest, he yelps.

His hand reaches past you, lifting a thicker branch high above the both of you, before leaning close to your ear and whispering conspiratorially, “We’ll see.”

Disregarding the shiver than runs through you, you push on, moving almost on muscle memory alone. Your mind is attempting to distract itself by scanning the area, being careful not to be caught on church grounds after hours, pushing through the woodland to get to the clearing tucked away at the very back, where you go for peace and quiet. 

Truthfully, you have no idea why you decided to have this date here, of all places. This place is sacred. Literally but also figuratively — this is the place you always ran to when the world got a little too loud, a little too busy and bright for you. No one else knows about this haven as far as you’re aware and you always thought you’d do anything to keep it that way. And yet, you’re showing it to him. Actually, guiding him to the place. 

You should have at least blindfolded him so he couldn’t memorise the way. 

Maybe you wanted to spite him by living up to his expectations and being the gothic monster that he thinks you are -- you want to scare him off before he lets his curiosity take him too close to something that might scald him. He needs to be afraid of you. 

Or maybe you recognised that shadow in his eyes, the ones that suggests he’s lost as much sleep about this whole farce as you and thought he could do with a little silence. 

You both arrive at a thick bush, a massive wall of a shrub towering over even Gojo. Behind you, the cathedral is only a blob, lit up by lanterns, whereas you’re both submerged in darkness; there are no streetlamps here. 

“I’m totally going to be murdered here, aren’t I?” He whistles as if to say, ‘it’s been a good life, and I’ll have to just accept my fate’. 

“Yeah, I was lying when I said it was all water under the bridge. I’ve actually been colluding with the devil to sacrifice your white ass.”

Gojo laughs.

He laughs a lot, but rarely like this, you note. He chuckles when his friends do something stupid like push him into the fountain, and he snorts when he reads the most recent article on The Bulletin. But you’ve never really seen him throw his head back and clutch his stomach, at least not with anyone but you. He does it when you get caught texting him under the dinner table, when you give him the middle finger from across the Quad, and that one time you bumped into him in the hallway and almost apologised before you realised it was him.

It’s the kind of laugh that’s infectious, and you hoped every time he does it that you’re somehow immune. However, when he looks at you with a brightening sparkle in his eyes, you realise you’re very much not. 

You clear your throat again. 

“Through here, is a very special place. You must swear you will not desecrate this place, lest the Mother Crone curse you for your treachery,” you announce, wiggling your fingers at him for extra flair. 

Placing a hand on his heart, he stomps his foot like a soldier and swears, “I would never. I will take this secret to the grave.”

Satisfied, you grab the loose part of the hedge wall and pull it aside to reveal the little doorway to your secret hideout. He throws you a side glance before he ducks down and enters. You follow behind him, tucking the disguised door behind you. 

He doesn’t say a thing as you zoom to the side where you grope for something in the grass, right under part of the hedge. When you feel the smooth, cold plastic, you don’t hesitate to switch it on. 

Long wires of fairy lights light up, bulb by bulb, along the top of the hedge and down, like a really wide Christmas tree circling the hidden clearing. You hear him mutter a ‘woah’ under his breath as he scans the area — there’s only one thing here on the flat ground, it’s also lit up fairy lights along the top pole. It’s your most prized possession.

“You have a swing?” He shouts incredulously. Giggling like a child, he makes a run for it, jumping onto one of the two seats where he rocks back and forth on his feet. Then he’s whooping as he swings higher and higher, hair whooshing back and forth as he grins, taking in the cold autumnal air and the growing warmth of the lights. “This is freaking awesome!”

Sitting on the spare seat, you kick your feet gently so you can swing a little. Deep down there was a worry festering within, anxious that he would find this place boring, that he’d scoff at your idea of fun especially on a first date, but looking up at him, still hollering and grinning, you think, that was such a silly thought. 

Gojo slows to a mild back and forth momentum and wonders, “Are you sure I’m allowed to be here? This place seems pretty private, like your own mancave or something. Do girls have a version of a mancave? ‘Womancave?”

In the corner of your eye, you see him clamber down to sit as you answer his question. “I wouldn’t have taken you here if you weren’t allowed, dumbass.”

“Yeah, well, I’m still not convinced this isn’t an elaborate scheme to murder me and hide my body in a grave.”

“Neither.” You shrug. 

He laughs. 

Eventually, you both swing side by side, alternating up and then down. The wind is howling a little, rustling the trees surrounding you and the moon’s obscured by dark cloud. Neither you nor he say anything to break the silence. You were also worried that you’d come to hate his presence in your safe space, finding his tall, lanky presence an irritation, but surprisingly, you don’t mind it. 

It’s nice to have company. 

Especially when that company is keeping his mouth shut. 

“How often do you come here?”

Or not. 

With a sigh, you reply, “Like twice a week. I can’t come as often as I’d like because of all the classes and stuff, not to mention all the wedding planning we have to do.”

“Guess you have it worse than me since I don’t even need to be fitted for a suit; they already have my measurements,” he muses. 

“For whatever reason, it’s always the women who have to plan these things, even though it’s the men that propose.” You accidentally make eye contact with him. “Or at least, that’s how it usually goes.”

Gojo hums, a little sheepishly, before he changes the subject. “So, how did you find this place?”

“We buried my grandmother in the graveyard when I was fifteen. We were close and I took the loss pretty hard. I couldn’t stand all the people pretending they cared so I ran off, got lost and found this clearing. Well, I actually fell through the hedge, but I found it, nonetheless. And this swing was here already. I don’t know how long it’s been here or why it’s here, but it is.”

“That sounds like a fairytale.” He swivels, swinging a long leg over to straddle the seat, facing you as he leans back against the metal chain. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way. I lost my grandmother too and it was rough.”

You saw that on the news years ago, it was one of those private family events that make the national headlines by complete virtue of the family name. Your parents grieved in public like it was their own loss and you didn’t understand why. Of course, as you got older, you became more and more acquainted with the idea of ‘reputation’ and ‘public image’, but you still feel that same distance to the concept as you did when you were but a child. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you repeat back to him.

He shrugs. “It’s alright. I’ve got my gramps. We’re best buddies.”

“You have a lot of best buds, don’t you?” 

Gojo strikes you as the kind of guy who makes friends easily, thought you question the depth of most of those friendships; sincerity is a rare phenomenon in your world. 

“No,” he huffs, “I have Suguru, the girl that gave you my number, and gramps. I have lots of close friends, though.”

Considering his words, you realise you don’t have any best friends. Sure, you have friends you hang out with often, people that share your interest, that you can party with, but none you feel as strongly about as he does with those three people. You can hear it in his voice, the conviction, the pride, the confidence. And when you glance at him, you know he doesn’t even realise how defensive he sounds about his people.

How nice it must be to have someone like him as a friend.

“We could be friends, if you’d like,” he offers, and when you look at him with confusion, he adds, “You said it out loud, silly. You think I’m a good person to be friends with. Which, of course I am. I’m like super awesome.”

You burst out laughing. What he said isn’t even funny and he certainly doesn’t mean for it to be, but for some reason it is. So, you laugh, throwing your head back and clutching your stomach. He makes noises of complaints, telling you it’s rude to laugh at people. That makes you laugh harder. 

“Gojo, be serious for a second. We can’t be friends, idiot,” you push out between puffs of laughter. 

He frowns, lips twitching to fight back a smile at your flushed face. “Why not? We’re getting along fine right now, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, for now. But we’re going to be married. Or at least, we’re supposed to be. And think of all the complications that brings, it just doesn’t provide the conditions for a healthy friendship, especially considering our beginning. Think of all the people in our circle who had arranged marriages. How many of them get along? Like, really get along. Hell! Think about our parents.”

“Well, we could be different. We don’t have to end up like them. We can break the cycle or something.”

You stop laughing.

Something shifts in the air, like the moon’s reappeared, the wind’s slowed down, and his eyes shine just a little brighter. It’s sudden and you almost don’t notice it, almost shrug it off. But there’s a sincerity lingering between you and it demands your attention.

Fixing him a solemn look, perhaps similar to the one he gave you before, you assert, “That sounds an awful like an admission of surrender, Gojo.”

“Maybe it is.”

The speed at which he concedes, the sheer resolution in his eyes and the way he doesn’t falter when he says it all scream at you something you won’t accept. Can’t.

He grips your elbow, his long fingers wrapping around the limb with ease, demanding your attention. The sombre expression on his ghostly face haunts you. It’s like he’s shifted into a different person, into someone years older, a man burdened with great responsibility. 

“I’m sorry. About how I started this year off. I regretted everything I said as soon as I said them. I can’t even remember why I said and did those things, but I definitely don’t have a good reason,” he rasped, a desperation lacing his words like he needs you to understand, like he tosses and turns over it. “I know you’re just as much a victim of this as I am, but I was facing a problem I didn’t know to solve, and I lashed out. At you. At someone who didn’t deserve it. And I’m sorry.”

You reel back, snatching your arm away. His touch burns the way ice does, and you have to rub warmth back into it, despite the layers between your skin and his. The sincerity in his eyes is alien, revealing far more about the ongoings of reality than you can absorb in one night. Confusingly, your heart is pounding to the beat of a song you’ve never heard before. 

This date thing, taking him to your secret haven, giving him the opportunity to see you not as the enemy but rather as a woman was a mistake. It’s all one big mistake. It would have been fine if he had stayed as the Gojo you knew, the boisterous, obnoxious party animal that cares only about immediate gratification. But the man in front of you is not someone you can marry. He isn’t the type of man you can be around and feel absolutely nothing for. 

“I’m hungry,” you mutter, standing abruptly.

He looks up at you, something passing in his eyes, almost akin to disappointment or sadness, and you can’t bear to think about what that could mean, so you simply gesture for him to follow you. 

In silence, you walk back the way you came, using your phone’s flashlight to navigate through the thick haze of darkness. This was a mistake; you let him in for a second, gave him a glimpse into your life, and you aren’t even sure why. Was it because you could hear your mother’s voice telling you to do whatever it takes to drag the man to the altar or because, despite yourself, you actually wanted to see what going on a date with Gojo means? 

Maybe it was both. 

Or neither. 

You’re losing more and more of yourself these days, doing things you’d never thought you’d do for one reason or another, and you no longer even know what you want. Your pride or your family? A marriage with Gojo or the friendship he’s offering? Is there’s a third option.

“What’d you wanna eat?” He asks, rocking back and forth on his feet as he stares up at a streetlight. 

You’ve both made it back onto the main road, the swings a mile away. He didn’t press the topic more, simply walked beside you and pushed branches away like before. 

It’s nearing eight in the evening and your stomach growls. 

“Who said I’m eating with you?”

Gojo rolls his eyes and pokes your shoulder. With a sulky tone, he groans, “Don’t be mean. You’re hungry, I’m hungry, let’s eat. Simple!”

“Can you cook?” 

He beams, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he looks at you over them, bright eyes sparkling with what you can only guess to be mischief. You realise you really should think before you speak. 

—

That’s how you find yourself in his frat house kitchen, cloak discarded, hair up and gloves off. His frat members are out, partying, he claims, so the whole house is free. When he suggested it, you looked at him like he was insane, but he only wiggled his brows.

“You scared?” He cocked his head, grinning at you in a way that made you want to punch his teeth in. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you responded, “No, of course not.”

Gojo bent his arms and rocked his head, making clucking noises that echoed in the empty street. Every note pierced your body, mocking and goading. You knew exactly what he was doing, and it was fucking working, the stupid bastard. Without responding to his accusation, you stomped over to his car and gave him a glare. He fetched his car keys and spun them on his finger with a victorious whistle.

“Grate this,” he orders. 

His kitchen is huge, which is understandable for the size of the house and how many people live here. Apparently, there’s three more kitchens in the damn place, not that you believe even a quarter of the guys that live here know what a cutting board is. The kitchen is surprisingly clean, however. It’s sparkling clean. 

“We have cleaners that comes in every other day,” he chuckles, noticing your looks of complete judgement whilst he boils some pasta. “But we are pretty strict on cleanliness, regardless. And everyone knows, I’m not afraid to crack the whip to keep everyone in line.”

Scoffing, you clarify, “You? Cracking whips? I find that hard to believe.”

He leans against the island you’re stationed at, the sound of water simmering filling the small space between you. Watching you grate the cheese, he hums, fingers fiddling with the lace of your sleeve. He mutters, “I know how to be serious when I need to be.”

You hum too. 

Still fiddling with the fabric, you ignore his wandering hand, fingers slipping under to roll the soft lace between his fingertips. Goosebumps rise on your skin. His touch is tentative, hesitant and gentle — one would think he’s just afraid to snag the fabric, acknowledging the craftsmanship, but one glance up at him, seeing his gaze fixated on your exposed skin more than your sleeve, you know otherwise. 

“Hands to yourself, Geralt.”

“If I’m Geralt, that must make you Yennefer,” he retorts. With a laugh, he pulls away, returning to the stove to tend to the pasta sauce. You don’t realise how much warmth he generated until you feel a sudden draught. 

The smell of frying onions and garlic is delicious and you’re becoming more and more starved by the second. He’s agile, moving swiftly and on muscle memory as he opens drawers and cabinets to gather the things he needs. 

“How often do you cook?” You ask, arm getting tired from the motion of grating the block of cheese.

Gojo shrugs and admits, “Not as often as I’d like. Weekends are for parties and pizza and all the other days, everyone’s doing their thing, studying or whatever, and eating by myself is kinda sad, so I just eat out usually.”

“How is it possible that you eat out so often but still remain so skinny?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being spun around and pressed into the island with a hard body. His arms are caging you in, keeping you still as he grins at you. 

He had thrown his jacket by the door when you both walked in; his biceps bulge as he flexes. They’re so much bigger now, or maybe they were always like that. And he’s pressed so close his Adam’s apple is right in front of you, bobbing when you tilt your head back so you can meet his eyes. 

“I’m plenty jacked, actually,” he brags and to add salt to the wound, he leans down, cheek brushing against yours to whisper against your ear, “wifey.”

You shove him off, snorting at his lame line. He back away with little protest. Trying to hide the heat in your face, you wash your hands, turning away from him completely. 

The rest of the hour passes by in a blink of an eye, and you finally sit down at the dining table across from each other. He’s a decent cook and you pay him a compliment even though it physically hurt to do so. 

“Do you not cook very often?” 

“I make sandwiches and ramen, that’s as far as I know how to do,” you admit with no shame.

He pours you a cup of water and asks, “Do you not have a chef to pre-make meals for you? My father insisted I have one, but I complained to my gramps about the lack of privacy and independence, and he gave up pretty quickly.”

You pause. It’s a stupid question to ask someone, from anyone else it’d drip in condescension, but you know he’s genuinely asking and it’s a valid question, just not one you’re ready to answer. So, with a careful shrug, you say simply, “I’m fine with the way things are.”

Gojo doesn’t sense the tense quiver of your voice, or if he does, he has enough tact to ignore it, so he continues the conversation. He talks to you about what being a frat president entails, and you tell him your experiences as the Treasurer. 

He also shares stories of his friends: the time ‘the gang’ snuck into the gym to put shaving cream in Toji’s locker after he had his room bubbled wrapped down to every single pair of boxers, each and every one of his friends’ drunk habits, and how he’s actually a lightweight so he sticks to beers most of the time but he hates the taste and actually much prefer cocktails. 

“Wait, wait,” you say between laughs, “you drink cosmos in secret ‘cause you don’t want your frat mates knowing their president actually hates beer?”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. But it isn’t my fault those things taste like wheat piss!”

You laugh harder. “They do! They totally do!”

“Has anyone ever said you have a pretty la—“

“Woah!” A voice yells out. “What’s going on here?”

You both turn to look at the wide-open door. Two men walk in, they’re in gym clothes, wide toothy grins on their faces as they stare between you and their president. You recognise them as second years, often hanging around Gojo in pictures or loitering in the Quad. 

One guy, a fake blond, wolf whistles when he sees you. “Satoru, you didn’t tell us you were having a girl over. It’s been a while; we rarely even see your bestie nowadays.”

“Yeah, this is a sight for sore eyes. This place was getting too much hotdog and not enough buns, if you know what I mean.”

When they both guffaw, you grimace. Their voices are grating, like sharp notes, and despite yourself, you cower in your seat. You hate the way they’re looking at you, in half desire and half repulsion — they’re enjoying the sight of a woman in their space, but they don’t know what to make of your attire. Usually, you don’t let people like them get to you, not their comments and not their stares. But something’s different, you’re more sensitive, less guarded. 

“Isn’t she your fiancé? We’ve heard all about her. The girls from Delta Sigma said she dresses like a witch, and well, they aren’t entirely wrong.”

“Get out.”

Three heads turn. Gojo’s standing; you hadn’t seen him move. He’s leaning on his fingertips, head hanging as he stares at his empty plate. No one says a thing. There’s no air in here anymore. Only silence, a grim, gut-wrenching silence. 

They stammer. “H-hey, man. What’s wrong?”

“Get. Out.”

“Come on, we’re just messing around,” the fake blonde chuckles nervously. 

Gojo looks up, slowly, like a creaking door. When his eyes settle on them, they stagger back with the force of his disappointment, and again with his wrath. Though you feel the tendrils of that infinite space between you, you don’t bear its impossible weight. 

With his body tense, veins bulging along his arms, broad shoulders pushed back ready for something you can’t quite grasp in this moment, you realise he really is jacked. And those muscles aren’t just for show or pressing girls against marble countertops. 

As great as it would be to be his friend, it’s even greater to not be his enemy. You didn’t realise it then, but you do now, if Gojo had ever really wanted to make someone disappear, he probably could have done so. 

“You would do well to remember that I, as descendent of the founder of Alpha Phi Delta, have a right to terminate any fraternity brother’s membership without a need for sufficient cause. Just because I’ve never exploited that clause doesn’t mean I’m above it. So, get out. Now.”

Cheeks red and heads hung low, they walk back out without sparing you another glance. 

Gojo sits back down, shoulders still tense. 

The silence hasn’t disappeared, but it has lightened, much more tolerable now. With an uncertainty in your movements, you push your knife and fork together and pat your lips dry. 

“Well, this has certainly been an eventful night,” you say. “I really ought to go, though.”

Gojo nods and takes your plate, leaving to go to the kitchen whilst you freshen up in the bathroom. 

When you come out, he’s already waiting outside with his hands tucked in his pockets, staring up at puffs of clouds he breathes into the night sky. There’s a sombre air around him, like you’re better off not disturbing him, but when he spots you from the corner of his eye, that air evaporates and he beams, literally brightens, practically shadowing the moon. 

“Hey, come on, I’ll drive you to your dorm,” he asserts with a smile. 

And he does. You get into his car for the second time of the night and watch the campus blur past you. Through the ten-minute car ride, he sings along to the pop songs on the radio, bopping his head to every beat like they’re coursing through his veins. 

“You don’t know these songs? Really?” 

He’s completely incredulous, looking at you as if you’ve grown two heads. You roll your eyes and jokingly explain you’re committed to the aesthetic. He finds that funny. The rest of the ride continues wordlessly.

“Alright, this is me,” you announce when he parks. He climbs out the car with you, leaning against his door as you shuffle awkwardly on your feet. “Despite certain parts of the time being…stiff, should we say, I had a lot of fun. Surprisingly.”

A tinge of red colours the tips of his ears. “Yeah, me too. I expected to lose my life, or at least a few limbs, at that graveyard, so I’m pretty happy with the turnout.”

You roll your eyes. “And I’m very happy I’m not covered in pig’s blood coming out of your frat house.”

“No, closest we had to that was the pasta sauce,” he chuckles. 

“Which was surprisingly delicious, by the way. You should cook more often instead of the junk food you eat.”

“Says you?” He pushes your shoulder lightly. “Miss Cup Noodles.”

“Whatever.”

The conversation dies there, laughter fading as both of you eye the doors of your dorm building. You pull your cloak tighter around you, irritated that, even though he’s just in jeans and a plain graphic tee, he’s seemingly unbothered by the temperature drop. 

“You should go in,” Gojo suggests, voice softer, barely louder than a whisper. 

You nod and make a step to go, but then a warm hand wraps around your wrist, tugging you back. He’s carrying the weight of it in his palm, thumb grazing your wrist. There’s electricity thrumming where he touches and you’re about to snatch your hand away before he tightens his grip. 

“Just a second,” he mutters, before pulling out something from his pockets. Something black. 

Your gloves. 

You forgot to put them on, having left them in the kitchen. 

He’s taking his time, smoothing the material over your knuckles, ensuring your fingers are tucked in properly. His thumb lingers on the curve of each finger, exploring the slopes. Your breath hitches as his hands envelope yours completely, his touch deliberate and light and there’s no other way to describe it: it’s positively reverent. 

The glove slide snugly into place, a second skin but they feel new, as if fresh from the machine, still warm. 

You shouldn’t let him reach for your other hand, shouldn’t just watch as he unfolds the other glove, slipping it on with much more care than you yourself had ever done. His eyes are watching the fabric consume more and more of your skin, until they meet the ends of your sleeve, and no skin remains. 

“Gojo,” you breathe out. 

He shakes his head, brows furrowing. “Satoru. Call me Satoru.”

When he finally looks up, your eyes meet and your pulse quickens, quick and short breaths pulling your chest up and down. You didn’t even realise one hand is clutching his shoulder whilst the other remains in his grip. And you certainly don’t notice that you’re standing much closer than before, only a hair’s breadth from finding out whether his lips are as soft and plush as his touch. 

“You smell really nice,” he whispers, thumb running across your knuckles, like he’s willing warmth into your hand. 

You’re so close it only takes one gust of wind to push you together, to taste what a future with him could mean, to seal the first date with something that’ll keep you up at night. Just one kiss, one bad decision and everything could fade away for a second. You could pretend he’s just a boy and you’re just a girl and this is a normal date, that you have a normal relationship and tomorrow you could go back to being arranged lovers. 

His lashes flutter, so long and wispy and you’re jealous. Flickering between your eyes and your lips, you know he’s searching for any sign that you might want this just as bad as he does. You’re craning your head back, back arched to reach him, and when your chest rubs against his for a millisecond, he shuts his eyes with a groan.  

“Hey! If it isn’t Gojo,” a gruff voice bellows.

You step back, gasping for air and desperately smoothing your skirt down as you give a shaky smile to the newcomer. He’s a tall, buff man wearing shorts and carrying a basketball. He pats Gojo on the back, oblivious to the tension, to the way his friend is pouting, grumbling about how he ‘ruined the moment.’

The man looks at you with a friendly enough smile, eyeing your appearance with nothing more than curiosity before he gives you one of those manly nods. 

“Whatcha doing at my girl’s dorm?” He asks. 

Clearing his throat, Gojo answers, “Just dropping my wi—I mean, my friend off. Yeah, just stopping by.”

The guy doesn’t look ready to stop talking. So you take the initiative to excuse yourself with an awkward kiss on the white-haired boy’s cheek and you whisper, “Goodnight...Satoru.”

You don’t wait for him to reply.

Just as you’re about to enter your dorm building, you hear a distinct, “Dude, I totally cockblocked you, didn’t I? Fuck, put that thing away. You’re gonna poke my fucking eyes out!”

You smile just as your phone pings.

[paulthebukkit]

I agree with most of this... It seems even more clear in season 2 that this is all about capitalism now that the characters themselves aren’t solely preoccupied with fighting each other to the death for scraps, and have become more aware of who really benefits from the whole game.

The Xs and the Os got pitted against each other but they still managed to (attempt to) revolt against the game itself instead of fighting each other, which was cathartic to see… but something I noticed that I thought was interesting is how so many of the Xs supported the revolt while not a single one of the Os were willing to step in, since they were willing to conform to the system anyway instead of punching up. They keep saying “one more game” but their boundless greed and disregard for others would clearly ensure that they’re all dead before the end ever comes.

In season 1, people had a chance to go home and they took it before willingly re-entering the game because their lives outside were so empty. In season 2, that choice isn’t there, and the participants who want out are forced to endure the game anyway because the majority of others are quite literally voting against their own interests. There’s enough money for everyone to live a good life at this point if they vote to leave, yet half the people there instead vote to kill others in the same situation as them for more. I liked what they did in season 1 at the time but season 2 seems a whole lot more relevant right now.

I also think there’s also something to be said about how the people who thrive in the game more than anyone else are the ones who are the most ruthless and manipulative (with some exceptions since this is fiction and we need some characters to root for lmao). We saw this in season 1 with the finance guy who survived until the final game and we’re seeing something similar in season 2 with just about everyone on the Os team. It’s social Darwinism; It’s only natural that people will be rewarded for having sociopathic qualities in a game that favors them.

Seems very relevant to capitalism now more than ever

[beloveds-embrace]

https://www.tumblr.com/beloveds-embrace/769747896273862656/im-sorry-did-you-say-neglected-omega?source=share

You can't just drop that bomb on us. I feels like I should sue u for emotional damage

I very kindly request some fluff with this 🙏🙏

Can i be 🦋 anon? Pretty pretty please

if i got sued for emotional damage each time I fear i’d have to declare bankruptcy 😭 but ne ways, here you go 🦋 anon! <3

The room still smells faintly of a sour, lonely heat, even weeks later. No matter how many times Gaz scrubs the floors or Price washes the sheets (when you are not there yourself, with your own permission because for all that you wanted to just… keep them away, you had no strength or will to clean the room. That was the only inch you were willing to give), the scent lingers- a sharp reminder of everything they let happen.

Everything they let you go through alone.

They’re careful around you now. Slow. Quiet. Desperate not to spook you, not to push you any further away than they already have. But the distance is unbearable. It feels like walking on glass, and no matter how hard they try to reach you, you stay just out of reach.

So they simply try harder.

Price leaves things outside your door- practical, thoughtful things. Your favorite snacks, warm socks, a thermos of tea that stays hot for hours. Quiet gestures that let you know he’s paying attention. Sometimes he sits outside your room, low voice rumbling through the wood as he tells you about his day. Nothing important, just pieces of himself- things he’s never given anyone else.

Soap is softer, but more desperate.

He leaves drawings, slips them under your door like little apologies. Sketches of you smiling, of the pack piled together, happy and whole. There’s always a note attached.

I’m sorry, bonnie.

Please let me fix this.

And then one day, he spots one of them taped to your wall.

It’s small, but it’s something. It’s enough to lighten his heart just a little, giving him a sliver of hope.

Gaz doesn’t say much, but he does.

He cooks for you, warm homemade meals left outside your door. He waits, heart twisting every time the plate is left untouched. But then one morning, the food is gone, and he has to duck into an empty room so no one sees his reaction. He’d been so stressed seeing you thinner than he remembered, not eating as much as you should’ve, but he feels so, so much better when the plates he leaves you are cleared- eaten, and not just picked at.

Ghost doesn’t know how to fix this with words, so he doesn’t try. .

Instead, he sharpens your knives. Fixes the drafty window. Reinforces your bedframe even if all he wants is for you to return to them, to their nest. Leaves a scarf that smells like him. Little things, pieces of himself, pieces of his devotion.

Because even if you never let him close again, he needs you to know

He’s not leaving. He almost doubts himself, lets his fears cloud his judgement, until he sees the scarf around your neck one day.

It’s slow. God, it’s so slow, but they persist and don’t give up. Never even consider it for one precious second, not when it’s you they could lose.

But one night, Price finds you in the kitchen wearing his jacket.

You freeze when you see him, and for a second, he thinks you’ll run.

You stay.

“…It’s late.” You whisper, shuffling your feet. He smells your hesitance, your worries and fears, and hopes the distance he keeps soothes you. The thought of you feeling like that because of him… it leaves the taste of ash coating his throat.

“So it is.”

And yet, you don’t leave. You don’t push him away, or pull back when he slowly walks closer towards you. You just look at him, eyes tired and sad and-

It’s not forgiveness, when you let him gently caress the back of his hand against your cheeks.

But it’s a start.

[ssahotchnerr]

how do you think Aaron and reader who are married, react to both being called ‘Agent Hotchner’ and they both answer? That’s so cute, I could just imagine Derek smirking and Rossi having a proud dad moment

the hotchners

AHHH I LOVE THAT cw; bau!reader, established relationship, typical cm case talk, playful banter/fluff 🥰

"The unsub is devolving, they’re getting more reckless," Derek thought aloud, clicking his pen in hand. "He dumped the last victim in a public place, rather than the usual, secluded spot."

"They're losing control." You inputted in agreement, your eyes darting across the conference room table to him.

Aaron leaned down on the table, still standing, but with his palms pressed against the surface. He was next to you, and this stance allowed him to be ever so slightly closer. Your heart warmed by his proximity, as any displays of affection were at a minimum when in the field. You were happy he was just close by. "The next victim will probably be someone they can’t control-"

"Agent Hotchner?" A voice came from behind, hindering the conversation.

"Yes?" Both of you answered swiftly, out of habit, though it was a new habit for you. Your tickled eyes met Aaron's, your nose scrunched up slightly in amusement.

Derek grinned, swiveling back and forth in his chair in observance. Rossi raised his hand to his mouth casually, concealing a chuckle.

The voice in question, one of the local police department's officers, even hesitated himself, as if he didn't know which Hotchner he were to rely the information to.

As soon as you and Aaron got engaged, the discussion of whether or not you'd take his last name was on the table. To avoid confusing situations like these, or to prevent any reputable prejudices. It was rare, but every so often you received grimaces from bystanders, both in the field and in the office back home. Marrying your boss? Either tremendously romantic or something to be frowned upon.

But in the end it was unanimous; you wanted his last name, and as did Aaron. It was even more important to him. A symbol of a bond he couldn’t wait to share with you; an acknowledgment of the life you were about to build together. You and him. The Hotchners.

"Uh- sorry to interrupt. The victim's fiancé is here for their interview. They're waiting in interrogation." He stammered, his gaze switching between the two of you.

"Thank you. We'll send someone in shortly." Aaron replied, politely dismissing the officer. He kept his trained demeanor, but you could hear the laughter underneath his voice.

As his footsteps trailed away, you nudged Aaron, humorously bumping your shoulder into his upper arm.

He kept his gaze on the files laid on the table, his lips spread in a soft smile as he slowly shook his head.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, Dave." He didn't even need to look up.

"Hey!" Dave commented, his tone light as he spoke. He held up his hands in surrender, but that didn't diminish from the proud gleam in his eyes; it also happened to be the same one he had adorned on your wedding day. "I didn't say a thing."

"Oh, but it's written all over your face." You quipped also, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

"Just when I thought the two of you couldn't be any more married." Derek rolled his eyes, playfully as his lips pulled back into a grin. "What's next? Have you mastered the art of the ‘yes honey’ yet, or is that still a work in progress?"

"Please, that was perfected before we got married." Aaron remarked as he relaxed his posture, straightening up. He flashed a smile in your direction, speaking over Morgan's cackle. "Isn't that right, honey?"

[gifsbysimplysonia]

Authors who apologize for a high word count make me want to hug them so hard. THANK YOU for high word counts cuz to me, that means that your muse was on absolute fire and the fact that you did the work to follow that muse every step of the way AND share it with us? What a gift and an honor so again...thank you.

For anyone looking for a "quick summary" of my feedback?

Never has a GIF been more accurate cuz this story is DEFINITELY A PEARL CLUTCHER!

Ahead there be

THE SHEETS are chilled, crisp to the touch, cold enough that shivers tickle their way across exposed skin. A sigh is heard, loud enough for wandering ears as a figure moves about in the unmade, blanket muddled bed. The window had been left open, and as a result, cold air had poured into the room.

I live on a 2nd floor in a little hot box of a room, so this description is so detailed that I could feel it all and I'm jealous :)

Logan was not your boyfriend; he wasn’t even a friend. While he was cordial with the others in the mansion, he remained cold and indifferent toward you.

Ohhhh, one of these, eh? When the MMC acts like this, more often than not, it's cuz he thinks it's better to act this way then pursue OTHER feelings so I wonder if that's what we have here....

Though, you were only human and Logan fucking Howlett was a man worth embarrassing yourself over, especially when he looked like he did. He wasn’t, your mind huffed. He was, your heart retorted.

OMG I so relate to what she's going through and it's so precious to see her head and heart at war, over a dude who "doesn't like her."

Scarlett hues dust your cheekbones, lips bitten until they’re swollen and shiny with spit. Your breasts ache from inside the confines of the pink, lacy shirt, made worse with each labored breath you inhale as perky nipples brush the material. Your hole feels incredibly empty, the need to be filled overpowering. Your clit, puffy and neglected, throbs with pure, searing need. Another wave of aching pleasure from your wetness breaks your resolve— a shaky hand slipping from its place on your stomach down, down, down until cold fingers meet the mess between your thighs.

Again, the description is so meticulous that I can feel every bit of what's being described and WHAT TORTURE!

You were split between wanting to sink down onto his cock and rut your swollen nub against the curls that nestled the base of him and stuffing his dick down your throat, gagging around him until he came and coated your throat with his spend.

Cuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuz, me too??? LORDT.

The 8.5 K words is - NO JOKE - quite smut centric. I'm not sure I've read that many words that were actually smut centric? But there are involved and erotic descriptions of her masturbating to thoughts of Logan and they are DELICIOUS and I won't quote anymore cuz YOU NEED TO GO READ FOR YOURSELF! But imagine the horror when someone comes KNOCKING AT HER DOOR right when she finishes?! I think we know where this is going, don't we?

Logan could fucking smell you. It’s a heady aroma thats so completely you, that his body feels deranged, just about ready to march up those steps and break down your door. He shakes himself loose from the metaphorical shackles of you and begins the journey to his room, trying to block out how delicious and syrupy you smell.

You know what's funny? Having read my fair share of super soldier smut as well, the MMC being able to smell the woman's arousal comes up A LOT. And it's such a weird mixture of feeling absolutely mortified but also really turned on (because the MMC is always aroused by the smell, fantasy come true).

From here on out, the storytelling focuses completely on the carnal which is ABSOLUTELY WIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIILD. I'm not sure I've ever read smut this long in my entire life.

AND? It's good quality smut allllllllllllllll the way through. You gotta like it filthy, dirty talk (speaking of what they want to do to each other in explicity terms), and extremely detailed. I felt hypnotized all the way through it.

Logan is an excellent mix of gruff, rough, dominant and completely enamored of his partner. And his partner is a good foil for him because she wants him JUST AS MUCH, is vocal about it, and is as eager to please. These 2 have strong feelings for each other that are outlined in the story preceding the smut, and then reinforced once they are together. Logan in particular is in what I refer to as "worship" mode. He can't stop declaring "mine" and even in his own thoughts, thinking about the way she looks and how he wants to keep her to himself. When the emotions / connection between 2 characters is so well laid out for me as a reader, it intensifies ALL the physical stuff going on, and since this story is MAJORITY SEX? You can imagine how intense of a read it is!

It's an excellent pairing, and again, I've not read this much smut that is both out of this world with how detailed and involved it is, but also grounded in really good characterizations that kept me absolutely hypnotized to the end of this story. PLEASE GO READ IT, GUYS, BECAUSE WOW DOESN'T EVEN BEGIN TO COVER IT!!!

I legit am sweating lol

@logansbaby thank you so much for creating and sharing. What an absolute masterpiece!

GUILTY AS SIN - Logan Howlett

❥ summary: the entire time you’ve known logan howlett, you’ve tried to keep your longings locked. then, one night, all that effort goes to waste when you’re confronted about your feelings.

word count: 8.5k (IM SORRY!!!!)

pairings: logan howlett x fem! mutant reader

content warnings: 18+ CONTENT MDNI, masturbation, dirty thoughts, light choking, multiple orgasms, oral (reader and logan receiving), spitting, sixty-nining, scent kink, like one spank, underwear stays ON, slight hint of arousal from crying?, creampie, p in v (practice safe sex ty!)

❥ a/n: guys…… am i…. a whore? (yes) do i need to be locked up? (also yes). i started this when i was on my period so maybe that’s the reason this is so filthy? anyway i don’t know how it got to 8k of smut but it DID and i have nothing to say about that… also reader has a mutation it’s not super in depth but her hair changes to red in certain situations and she has red light/energy she manifest in her hands, kind of confusing but it’s okay. anyway please please enjoy and let me know your thoughts <3

— ˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

‘I keep recalling things we never did

Messy top lip kiss

How I long for our trysts

Without ever touching his skin

How can I be guilty as sin?’

Guilty as Sin? - Taylor Swift

— ˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚

THE SHEETS are chilled, crisp to the touch, cold enough that shivers tickle their way across exposed skin. A sigh is heard, loud enough for wandering ears as a figure moves about in the unmade, blanket muddled bed. The window had been left open, and as a result, cold air had poured into the room.

Despite the fact that goosebumps adorn your body, it felt as though you were on fire. Huffs escaped parted lips, a charged hum zipping through your veins that only intensified each time you moved. You’d been trying to sleep for the past couple hours, trying to ignore the need thrumming through you, but had only managed to fail.

You turn on your side for possibly the twentieth time, but the position only worsens your state as the flesh of your thighs squeeze unintentionally, a wave of brief relief sent to your throbbing core. Tears brim your lashes, damp with frustration because fuck, your body was humming with lust and everything was so, so sensitive.

This was all Logan’s fault.

The man has been gone less than a week and yet, your body was practically vibrating with need, trembling with desire.

The feelings you harbor make you feel shameful and guilty for a handful of reasons.

Logan was not your boyfriend; he wasn’t even a friend. While he was cordial with the others in the mansion, he remained cold and indifferent toward you.

You pretended it never bothered you when he pointedly ignored your greetings in passing or refused to partner up with you. You didn’t understand what you’d done to upset him, to warrant his treatment of you as if you were the most annoying person on the planet. More often than not, you are the subject of the man’s pointed glare.

So, logically, your heart shouldn’t race at the mere thought of him. Nor should desire pool between your thighs whenever images of his sweaty form cloud your mind.

By definition, you were immensely smart; a genius with how you could understand what others could not.

Though, you were only human and Logan fucking Howlett was a man worth embarrassing yourself over, especially when he looked like he did.

He wasn’t, your mind huffed.

He was, your heart retorted.

A memory comes forward, one that has your cheeks blushing, your chest rising a little faster than before.

A couple weeks ago, you’d been up late, struggling to sleep and with the way it evaded you, wandering the halls had been your solution, in hopes of tiring yourself out.

But when you had walked down your hallway, you froze at the sight of a shirtless Logan in his room, the door left ajar.

A towel covered his head as he scrubbed away the wetness in his hair, and you desperately hoped he hadn’t noticed your presence. Water dribbled down his muscular body, and your eyes greedily watched each droplet descend down, glistening against the tan stomach you wanted to bite. What really had you drooling, however, was the thick, prominent vein that crept down into the waistband of his gray sweatpants. Said pants had your eyes wide with the prominent bulge tented in the material.

When you just barely caught yourself from moaning, you had dashed back to your room right away. You were wide awake still, but for a completely different reason. All you could think about was tracing your tongue along that vein.

If you’d fucked yourself that night to the thought of him and his glistening torso, no one had to know.

So theoretically, if you gave in to your cravings, it wouldn’t be the first time, but it certainly wouldn’t make you feel any less guilty.

Scarlett hues dust your cheekbones, lips bitten until they’re swollen and shiny with spit. Your breasts ache from inside the confines of the pink, lacy shirt, made worse with each labored breath you inhale as perky nipples brush the material. Your hole feels incredibly empty, the need to be filled overpowering. Your clit, puffy and neglected, throbs with pure, searing need.

Another wave of aching pleasure from your wetness breaks your resolve— a shaky hand slipping from its place on your stomach down, down, down until cold fingers meet the mess between your thighs.

A gasp sounds, melodic as it swirls with heavy breathes, fluttering around the room as you brush over your clit. Even through the material of your underwear, the slight pressure of your fingers made you mewl.

Flashes of Logan dance behind closed lids, your imagination running wild while you messily swirl over your bundle of nerves.

You wanted him so, so bad, in every way possible, it actually hurt, both your heart and core.

Your mind submerges your consciousness with thoughts of him; his pretty hazel eyes, the slope of his nose, the tufts of his brown hair. The muscles that were constantly on display, his thick thighs that you wanted to ride until you came all over him, and the huge bulge that was ever present in those flattering jeans of his (and if it was a reoccurring fantasy of yours to ride that delicious bulge over his jeans until you both came from just dry humping, again— no one had to know).

Even if you wanted to, you couldn’t stop thinking about Logan.

Him hovering over you, dog tags swinging in your face as he fucked you hard. Him picking you up and taking you against the nearest surface, lips trapped in an erotic kiss. Him prying your thighs open as he licked up your pussy, tongue dipping into your hole to lap up all the desire pooling, his lips wrapping around the swollen bud and sucking violently. Him holding your face lovingly as his hips thrusted his cock deeper into your throat, groans spilling at the gag you’d let out.

You were split between wanting to sink down onto his cock and rut your swollen nub against the curls that nestled the base of him and stuffing his dick down your throat, gagging around him until he came and coated your throat with his spend.

You didn’t even bother to remove the damp underwear, instead circling the engorged bud over the material— and oh, fuck. The roughness of the lace mixed with the delicious rubbing of your fingers send little moans tumbling from parted lips.

Your unoccupied hand slips under the shirt covering your chest and only settle once your nipple is pinched between determined fingers, rolling the pert bud in tandem with the amorous touch of your hand on your sex.

Pleasure nips at your pelvis, and if you were a little more aware, you’d be embarrassed at how fast you to reaching your peak. But, as it is, your brain is completely hazy with wanton thinking and the only thing on your mind was lessening the ache that pulsates deep within you.

And fuck, you’re so fucking needy for logan that you try to pretend it’s his fingers abusing your clit, his fingers tugging at the sensitive buds of your chest. You want his tongue between your thighs, licking up your desire and sucking your puffy bud into his pretty mouth.

Chest rising rapidly, you feel overwhelmed at the fantasies swirling before your eyes. Its far too much— the mix of your filthy desires and your fingers rubbing your nub have your legs quivering as wetness coats your hand.

“Logan, Logan, Logan—“ The chant of his name mindlessly falls from you, the feeling of your orgasm washing over you, threatening to pull you under those soaring, unforgiving waves of pleasure.

Eyes snap shut, ears ring with white noise, and your hips hump your hand pitifully— you were an absolute, writhing mess against the sheets.

The hair messily strewn around your pillow shifts then from its natural state to a dark red. Even with your eyes shut, you could feel the vermillion light whirling at your fingertips, begging to be released.

Your mutation was not one of subtlety.

Searing bliss coils in your lower tummy, your button tingling with the after effects of the orgasm that crashed into you. You sigh, because even though you just came, you felt far from satisfied. Your body buzzes with sweltering hunger, all the way from the top of your head down to the tips of your toes. Even if you fuck yourself dizzy with another orgasm, you knew it won’t satiate your body. Not completely, anyway.

Before you could slip your fingers inside your weeping hole, a loud knock echos through your room.

You still; desperate and hoping that if you ignored the noise, whoever was knocking would simply go away. But when another rhythmic thump comes a few seconds later, you huff.

It’s well past midnight at this point, so who in their right mind would be going about and slamming their fists on your door?

Apparently, you arent moving fast enough when the person has the nerve to knock for a third time, hand a little heavier than before. A growl, tinged with annoyance, slips out as you fling yourself up and off the bed.

You stomp to the door, ready to tell the person on the other side to fuck off.

But when you actually swing open the mahogany door, all the anger simmering beneath your heated skin disappears, along with your breath, as your eyes take in the sight before you.

Logan Howlett stands before you, seemingly angry as a frown etches deep on his face. He glares at you, hazel eyes swarming with exasperation and something unknown.

And little did you know, all of your craziest, fatal fantasies were about to come true.

❥

The moment Logan steps into the mansion, finally back from the complete shit show of a mission Charles had sent him on, he tenses instantly.

His fingers clench into fists, tight enough that the skin turns white. The adamantium claws threaten to poke through his knuckles as he inhales deeply.

Big mistake.

That sweet, sweet scent swarms his heightened senses, the intoxicating smell nearly making him dizzy. His heart speeds up, his stomach flutters, and his cock twitches in the confines of his jeans.

Logan could fucking smell you.

It’s a heady aroma thats so completely you, that his body feels deranged, just about ready to march up those steps and break down your door.

He shakes himself loose from the metaphorical shackles of you and begins the journey to his room, trying to block out how delicious and syrupy you smell.

He decides then, as his body finally moves up the steps, that ignoring you is the best option.

But as he gets closer to the hallway he shares with you (just his luck, by the way!), he realizes that plan is a joke.

He feels his control slipping, especially as the heady scent grows stronger, tinged with something else— something erotic and salacious.

Logan curses, his entire being rigid.

You’re aroused, the smell seeping under the crack of the door giving you away instantly.

The idea of you whining as your pussy drips slick between your thighs has him grinding his teeth, fingers flexing and unflexing in an attempt to harness the control back to his body.

Though, it goes out the window entirely as his body is apruptly outside your door, unconsciously drawn to the very essence of you.

There’s a reason Logan has kept carefully crafted distance between the two of you.

The minute he was introduced to you, a new member of the x-men and teacher for the school, he knew he was fucked.

From the first look shared between you, he knew.

A pretty smile had graced your lips, eyes filled with joy as you greeted him, a hand outstretched in his direction as your hair swayed with your movements. In your cute, little outfit (a pretty, white lace dress that kissed the tops of your thighs, matched with baby pink pumps that accentuated your legs), he thought you looked like a princess.

He had stayed frozen, however, because he was assaulted with the fucking smell of you. It was nothing like he’d encountered before, and he’d been around for over a century.

Your scent was so fucking sweet, vanilla and honey permeated his nostrils and right in that moment, he wondered if you tasted as sweet as you smelt.

He knew that he had to keep his distance, otherwise he’d become addicted to you in every sense. If he let himself, he’d worship the very ground you walked on. He couldn’t risk having the walls he’d spent so long building to crumble.

And in an instant, he was angry that his body had reacted this way to someone he’d never even met. He was angry he wanted to press sweet kisses on your face while simultaneously wanting to fuck you on his cock until you screamed his name.

So, with that, he’d made up his mind.

He had simply glared at you, refused to acknowledge your existence and stormed out of Charles’ office. And since that day, he’s tried his hardest to pretend you didn’t exist— if only to ease the way you constantly haunted his every thought.

He pretended it didn’t kill him to see how your face would crumble at his rude behavior, at how he avoided you at all costs. He couldn’t help it, though, because if he treated you how he wanted, like the princess you were, he’d never let you go.

A sudden noise shakes him from the depths of his mind, that carnal, sensual essence growing stronger by the second.

“Logan, Logan, Logan,” your honeyed voice whines, all airy and light.

And it’s almost comical how the telltale snikt! sounds immediately after because what?

What the fuck? He thinks, mind utterly destroyed at the revelation that not only were you seemingly fucking yourself, but you were moaning his name.

Logan growls, low and dangerous as his claws reveal themselves, cutting through the skin of his knuckles. His body feels unnaturally hot, practically set on fire. His cock now uncomfortably hard in his jeans, lustful essence bubbling at his tip and no doubt staining his boxers.

With the wafts of your pretty aroma and sounds of your lewd whimpers, he knows he can’t resist you any longer.

His hand lifts, claws retracting as his heavy fist slams on your door.

And the sight of you, face shiny with a sheen of sweat has him choking on his own saliva.

Tonight was the night his control finally snaps, despite months of work put into avoiding you.

Logan knows his animalistic side is about to be released; he’s going to fucking ruin you.

❥

You gulp, a hand resting on the door frame as you stand frozen because honestly, what the fuck?

You deduce that the universe hates you because why? Why would the man you’d been thinking of while masturbating be right in front of you?

It only dawns on you when Logan’s gaze swipes over your figure that you’re basically naked. Clad only in your blushed, frilly top and the matching underwear, the latter soaked with both your arousal and release.

You shrink beneath his eyes, warmth simmering hot on the apples of your cheeks, and your mouth opens and closes, yet no words follow.

“Uh— Logan, hey!” Your voice is shaky, and whether it’s from the power of your release or the nerves that bumble beneath your skin at the man before you, you couldn’t tell. All you know is that you want the ground to swallow you up whole.

Logan doesn’t respond, just continues to stare at you in a way that you don’t understand. You assume he’s just gotten home from the very long mission, and confusion settles over you as to why he was at your door, especially considering how he badly despises you.

You’re about to voice that exact thought when Logan beats you to speaking.

“I heard you.” His gruff tone is coated in something darker than you’d ever heard before.

For a moment, you’re perplexed, brows furrowing and raising before your eyes go comically wide.

And— oh, oh.

“Can smell you, too.”

Heat licks at your whole body, embarrassment threatening to envelope you entirely. Tears of horror tickle your lash line, because this was probably the most painful moment of your life. Not only does the man hate you, but now he’s heard you moan his name as you came all over your fingers? How pathetic are you?

You open your mouth, an apology heavy on your tongue. You need to say something to quell the panic flooding your body— you’re never going to get over this

Though, before you can even speak, Logan slams his mouth onto yours.

He holds your head softly, a deep contrast to the way his lips melt over yours. A moan slips from your open mouth, the feel of his lips sucking at your bottom lip feels immensely intense and so, so good.

Your arms wrap around his neck, fingertips tangling themselves in the hair at his nape like you’ve wanted to do since the very day you met him.

“Logan—“ you whimper against his mouth, trying and failing to understand what the fuck was happening as he slips his tongue inside your wet, warm mouth. “Logan.”

He ignores you, grunting against your spit, slick lips as his hands travel down your curves, until they find purchase on your ass, gripping hard. A choked gasp spills from you as he suddenly paws at you, picking you up effortlessly in his strong arms.

The idea of him holding you up with no hesitation has your hips shuddering forward without your permission. Vaguely, you feel him move past the threshold of your door, slamming it shut before pressing your body up against the wood.

Logan switches between licking your tongue and sucking meanly at your lips, until they feel full and swollen with his attention. You’re pliant— almost willing to let him do anything he’d like to you.

Almost.

As good as his tongue feels dancing with yours, confusion still settles over your mind. Perhaps this was a dream and if that’s the case, you never want to wake up.

“Wait—wait.” You pull back, the questions swirling inside probing you until it’s impossible to ignore.

“Huh, baby?” Logan groans, teeth pulling at your bottom lip before sucking at the swollen skin.

Babybabybabybabybaby— the pet name clouds your senses for a second, a rush of arousal pooling at your hole. You want to cry at how that simple, simple word makes you feel.

“Stop that.” You mumble, pulling your head back and lips out of his reach.

Logan stares at you, silent but waiting as he waits for you say whatever is on your mind. Frankly, he wants his tongue to be buried deep in your cunt right about now, but, details.

“What is going on?” Breathless, the question settles between you, causing Logan’s brow to raise.

“Well, my tongue was just in your mouth—“ you slap his chest, face turning warm at his bluntness.

“Not that. I’m— why are you here? Why are you kissing me when you can’t stand me?” Your voice is quiet, insecurity present in your tone. Nimble fingers grasp the dog tags that rest on his chest, and you’ve never been grateful for it.

At that, Logan’s face scrunches up, confusion floating around his irises, lips curving downward.

“What are you talking about?” If it wasn’t for the genuineness in his voice, you would’ve smacked his chest again at how clueless he was.

“What do you mean? You’ve made it very clear how you feel about me; you’ve despised my entire existence the moment we met— wait, I can’t even say that because you didn’t even have the decency to greet me!”

Frustration hovers over you heavily, enough to snap you out of the lustful spell Logan often inflicts upon you. You slide down his body, ignoring the quiver of your cunt when you make contact with his jean clad bulge. You push at his chest, needing distance to ensure you actually get your words out and don’t end up back with his tongue down your throat.

“I don’t hate you.” Logan grunts out, staring at you as you pace the wooden floors of the room. Vaguely, he’s paying attention, but he can’t be blamed for the way his eyes focus on the way your ass shifts with each step, the plush skin so inviting as the lace cup each cheek. “What’re you on about?”

Frankly, Logan’s pissing you off. The vague answers are getting on your nerves, enough that you feel yourself snap.

Your hair swiftly turns bright red, a scarlet blossoming over the strands until they coat them completely. Your emotions could never quite be concealed, not with the way your hair would turn different variations of red when you were angry, furious, sad, happy, aroused.

“You’ve been a dick to me, treating me like shit for no reason and now you think you can just waltz in here and kiss me like that? You think you can pretend to want me when we both know that’s not true?”

Balls of fiery, red energy bloom at your fingertips, and though you stand in your pretty pink assortment, you look the part of threatening.

It’s too bad the abrupt display of your mutation, mixed with fiery words, has Logan’s cock jerking with want.

“Sometimes, I question whether or not you’re actually a genius.”

And just like that, you feel the words like a punch to the gut. You’re so mad, so blind by the intense emotions you feel for Logan, that you feel those pesky flames of energy moving up your wrist and forearm, a telltale sign of your anger.

“Fuck you, Logan.” You hiss, your fingers hot with the heat coursing through them.

What pisses you off more, to which your hair and eyes darken to a dangerous maroon, is the fact that Logan wears a faint smirk, watching you with humor as if you aren’t showcasing how pissed you are.

“Are you done yet?” Logan takes a step closer, uncaring of the way your mutation flares furiously at his presence.

“Logan, leave me alone. I don’t need you to sit here and pretend to want me. I don’t need you to make fun of me, either.” Huffing, you glare up at the man before you, who stares back just as pointedly.

You turn around, back facing him as you go to enter the attached bathroom when all at once, you’re spun back around by a hand on your nape, your neck in a delicious tight grip as Logan pulls you into his body, smashing his mouth on yours for the second time tonight.

Your body betrays you, a desperate whimper ebbs out at how fucking good Logan’s lips feel on yours.

His teeth bite down on your top lip, before suckling sweetly to combat the pain flourishing there. You moan, mouth falling open as he messily kisses you. The intoxicating taste of him swarms your tastebuds, his tongue swirling with yours in a way that leaves you dizzy with need.

A string of spit connects between your mouths as Logan pulls away, chuckling meanly when you promptly follow the warm wetness of his lips. A rough hand grips your throat again, tight enough to leave you feeling breathless but delicious enough to make your cunt squeeze around nothing.

“So that’s what you think, princess? That I don’t want you?” Logan’s fingers flex around your throat, gripping at your jaw to capture all of your attention. As if you were anything but than enamored with him. “You think that’s what I’ve been doing, huh?”

You can only stare up at him as your heartbeat rings loudly through your eardrums. A hand goes to tug at his shirt, an attempt to steady yourself, but Logan’s faster as he grabs your wrist.

“Answer me.” He whispers hotly as the hand holding yours captive moves to intertwine your fingers.

The touch of him, the hold on your throat and roughness of his fingers in yours, renders you speechless. You’re so overcome with your emotions that you can only manage to nod. The weight of you goes limp in his hold, silently begging him to do something to satiate the hunger burning every inch of you.

“Words, baby. Got nothing to say now, huh?” He taunts, his grip leaving your neck in favor of thumbing at your lips.

“Yes— I, it’s what it’s seemed like, what you’ve made me feel. Thought you hated me.”

Logan’s nose twitches, no doubt smelling your arousal as it leaks into the material covering you, ruining the lace.

“Couldn’t be more wrong,” He groans, pushing his thumb past the soft of your lips. His knees nearly buckle at the feel of your mouth closing and sucking his thumb, tongue rolling up against the skin as though it was his cock instead. “Shit, baby.”

You whine around his finger, eyes fluttering up at him in a way that has his dick aching for you.

“Fuck, been dreaming about you since the day we met. Been dreaming of you in every way possible.” He admits, a smile tugging at his lips at the way you freeze, lips leaving his thumb with a ‘pop’.

“What?” It’s a whisper, barely audible but he heard it all the same. The butterflies in your stomach are now having a complete rager, bolts of anxiousness kissing your skin.

“Of course.” Logan leanes down, pressing a kiss to your wet lips. “Knew the second I saw you you’d ruin me, so I just… stayed away. I never meant to make you think the worst. M’sorry, honey.”

This was not the way you’d expected tonight to go.

It’s as though all the confusion, anger, and sadness drain from you and, in its place,its full of the tremulous feeling of the admission.

And despite the fact that you’d fucked yourself thinking about him, and he’d heard, you feel incredibly shy. You drop your head to his hard chest, your hands squeezing his own where he holds them.

“I don’t know what to say.” You utter, brain all muddled and no other thoughts come forth as Logan haunts every inch of your mind. You feel like an idiot, even though Logan had acted like a dick for the better part you’d known him.

Logan simply lifts your head, invading your senses as his nose bumps yours.

“You were a dick.” It’s spoken factually, making him huff against your face.

“I know.”

“You could’ve kissed me months ago.”

“Can I kiss you now?”

His quick reply leaves you flushing, but when you nod, his lips are back on yours instantly, in their rightful place.

The kiss is messy; hot, wet, and dirty. Logan groans when you jump up, strong arms catching your thighs in a tight grip. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you lose yourself in the thrilling taste of his mouth. You unconsciously start humping him, dragging your drenched panties across his hard dick.

You suck on his tongue before capturing his lip between your teeth, nails dragging down his shoulder blades. A loud, feral growl escapes Logan, and without another thought, he throws your pliant body on the bed.

And at the sight of you, Logan feels like he’s about to come right then and there. In your skimpy outfit, so much plush, soft skin is on display. The hair tumbling from your shoulders has turned a dark cherry color during your kiss, and your hands are tickled with red energy that’s twirling up your arms, not unlike the way vines thread onto an old home.

This time, though, he knows you’re not upset, but instead, aroused.

He can smell the way your slick seeps from your fluttering hole, how it sticks to the skin of your thighs.

And fuck, he wants to sink his face right in front of your pussy and inhale until he’s woozy with the complete perfume of you.

So, that’s exactly what he does.

Your eyes widen as Logan drops onto the floor in front of the bed, yanking your body to the edge. Your lower half is completely in his grip, and he stares at you for a moment, eyes hazy with lust. Then, he’s pulling your pussy all the way up to his nose. The feel of him so close to your puffy lips has you clenching, even more so when he lowers his head and fucking sniffs you.

“Fuck, baby. Been dreaming of this since the minute I saw you. Smells so fuckin’ sweet.” Logan inhales deeply again, smattering messy, open mouthed kisses to the skin of your upper thigh. “You don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to throw you over my shoulder, get you alone and eat this pussy.”

“Logan!” You whimper out. The sound is completely feeble but you couldn’t care less, not with the way he’s sucking bruises into your skin. “Please, please.”

Spurred on by your whines, he sinks his canines into the skin, where your thigh meets the lips of your core.

Pain simmers into pleasure as the sting is followed by his tongue. Rosy splotches decorate your upper thighs, a preview of the bruises that will glaze the skin tomorrow. Logan does this until he’s satisfied with how his teeth imprint the skin. It’s as if it’s his way of solidifying that you’re his, like he’s staking his claim with his bruises smattering your thighs.

At some point your hand finds purchase in his hair, pawing at the tufts and tugging his face closer to where you need him most. He groans, the pain at his scalp sending jolts of desire throughout his body.

He sneaks a look up at you, and shit, you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Your head is thrown back, sending those rebellious, red strands fluttering around you. Your hips are canting up to his mouth, and the smell of you, mixed with the previous orgasm you’d worked out before he interrupted, sends his senses in overdrive.

He knows he’d tortured you both enough when you can’t stop shivering with need, when his own hips brush against the edge of the bed. Without hesitation, Logan licks a long, wet stripe up your clothed pussy, suctioning around your enlarged clit.

The taste of you, heady, sweet, and so distinctly you, floods his tongue. He knew you’d taste good, but this? Oh, he wanted to drink you up all hours of the day.

With a growl, Logan tuggs the lace aside and loses it. He sucks, licks, and mouthed at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue dips into your hole before licking up and down your slit.

Moans of his name sound around the walls of your room, along with the filthy noise of his lips sucking your swollen button.

You’ve never felt like this before; the way he’s eating you out has your entire body on fire, and if you could see yourself, you’d see how ruby colored lines swirl all around your hands, how your hair practically glows with the intensity of your feelings.

He’d been attracted to you the minute he saw you— but the way you look when your mutation is at work? The way your hair grows shades of intoxicating reds and the way the fiery energy glows from the tips of your fingers to your elbows? Oh, how it fucking wrecks him. He just wants to keep you captive in this bedroom for all of eternity, if only to see you like this all the time.

“Feels so fucking good, fuck.” You’re a blubbering mess, hands tugging Logan’s hair hard, resulting in a moan that vibrates your pussy.

“Mine.” He grunts, and you gasp at the sensation of saliva as he spits directly onto your clit. “My fuckin’ pussy.”

Then, he latches his soft lips around your puffy bud and sucks hard. His dirty words and lucious mouth have your thighs shivering, hips bucking with insatiable need.

Like you’d done when you were alone and thinking about him, whimpers of ‘Logan’ slip past bitten lips as you rut against his face.

“That’s it, baby, say my name. Taste so fuckin’ good.” He humms against the slick, swell of your pussy.

A stream of ‘fuckfuckfuck’ is audible from open lips, forming an ‘o’ as the rush of delicious, hot pleasure pours over you completely.

As you come down, the pleasure fizzles out and overwhelming bursts of overstimulation bubble over you. Logan continues to lap at your wetness, groaning at your taste.

“S’too much, Logan.” Shaky hands grip his brown locks and you try and fail to bring the man away from your throbbing hole. His tongue laps at the taste of you, dipping in as deep as he could to savor every last drop. “Oh, fuck.”

“Taste too fuckin’ sweet, baby. Can’t help it.”

Logan grips tightly at your thighs, cruelly pinching at the flesh as he devours your pretty clit.

He can’t get enough, and seemingly, neither can you, with the way you buck into his warm, slick mouth despite the crushing pleasure. The material of your underwear snaps against you as Logan’s grip loosens, but he still eats you out as though there was no barrier.

His soft lips and dangerous tongue make it difficult to do anything but take the mind-numbing pleasure.

He’s content to stay here; between your gorgeous thighs and ravage your cunt all night, pull orgasms from you until you forget everything except the syllables that make up his name.

Except, the words that come from you have him still against you, his cock jerking and responding immediately to the addictive tilt of your voice.

“Logan— Logan, wanna suck your cock. Please.”

It was as though you were made for him— every inch of you riles him up like no one else has before and he has to take a deep, deep breath to refrain from coming in his jeans like a damn virgin.

With one last lick up your lace covered cunt, his face is suddenly above yours, the sight is lethal. The entirety of his lower face wears your wetness with pride, glistening and gleaming in the lowlight of the room. His eyes look animalistic, the hazel taken over by the black of dilated pupils.

Logan looks at you like he wants to fucking destroy you. You know without a doubt you’d let him.

A sweet kiss is pressed against your lips, a warm caress of his tongue on yours, the musky taste of your pussy causing you to part your thighs further. You whine once more, because you crave the heady taste of his cock; your mouth salivates at the thought of his tip heavy on your tongue.

“Easy, honey. Can smell how bad you want it.”

If you were less intoxicated by lust, you’d be mortified at the knowledge Logan can smell your arousal right now.

“Logan.” Pathetic whimpers and moans against his mouth have him pulling back, gritting his teeth to force himself to get a grip. It doesn’t work, not with the way you’re spread out below him, face pretty with a tiny that vaguely mimics the hue of your top and panties.”Please.”

How is he meant to last when you sound like that? All fucked out from just his tongue alone?

“C’mere’.” Logan mutters, tugging your body all the way up his chest, maneuvering you until your pussy is hovering above his mouth, facing his cock.

Completely fucked out, saliva pools in your mouth at the sight of his bulge, massive even in the confines of jeans.

You’re confused as to why Logan has put you on his chest, but it makes sense when he pulls your thighs down, mouth finding your wet, sopping sex once more.

You cry out, hips jolting at the way his tongue push the fabric away from your puffiness, immediately wrapping around your clit. At the way you were shaking on his face, unmoving besides the subtle thrusts of hips, he stops.

“Lo—“

“Go on then, baby. Suck my cock, just like you wanted.”

And oh, you both feel the slick that follows after those rasped words fill the air.

Only once you undo that damn belt buckle and pull both his jeans and boxers down, just enough to see the way his cock bounced out, wet at the red, swollen tip, does Logan resume licking up your pussy.

Fueled by the return of those talented lips, you lean forward without another thought.

Licking from base to tip, a moan vibrates against his cock as you hum, a taste so distinctly Logan making you feel light and warm. You lick up and down him sloppy, spitting on the tip of him as you slick his dick up, before finally wrapping your lips around him.

“Fuck.” His growl is borderning on feral; his teeth finding purchase on your asscheek and biting, an attempt to ground himself. It only serves to have his hips jump at the feel of you whining on him, sucking him down so fucking good. “Fuck, knew you’d be good with that pretty fuckin’ mouth.”

He’s so focused on the way you’ve started bobbing up and down the length of him, overcome with euphoria at the warmth and wetness as you suck and swirl your tongue, that he’s stopped his attention to your pussy, something he’s only reminded of as you wiggle impatiently over him.

“Sorry, princess, you’re driving me fuckin’ crazy.” He grits out, fingers gripping the flesh of your thighs at the little ‘hmph!’ you let out, pulling off his cock.

Though he can’t see you, he knows there’s a string of spit that spans from your swollen lips to his pulsating cock. He shutters, overwhelmed by you entirely, before burying his face into your weepy cunt.

”Oh! Logan, feels so good!” With a pathetic little whimper, his cock fills your mouth again as you sink down, satisfied with the way his tongue is licking at you.

A blend of moans sound as he wraps his lips around your puffed clit, as you ease his cock into your throat.

Logan’s eating you out in a frenzy, crazed by the tang of you soaking his mouth, chin, and nose. Despite the warmth bubbling in his stomach, he’s determined to make you come on his tongue again.

When thick fingers nudge into your hole unexpectedly, you mewl at the blissful feeling.

Logan’s fingers work steadily inside you in tandem with the way his mouth suckles divinely at your button. You’re an absolute mess— grinding down on his face, riding his digits, gagging as Logan’s hips match the pace of his fingers, grunts vibrating against you as he fucks your throat.

Logan curls his fingers in a way that has you seeing every fucking color of the rainbow. You come, moaning around the base of his cock and rocking back and forth on his fingers and mouth, muffled sobs spilling from your stuffed mouth.

When he feels you shivering on his tongue, overstimulated and sensitive, he pulls away from your center, the soaked fabric of your panties falling back into place once more.

Your mouth is still full of him, lips lazily sucking him down as your body tries to get ahold of the white hot pleasure still coursing through you.

“C’mere, baby.”

It’s a soft whisper against your thigh, but it settles over you, his soothing voice swirling around your shaky body like a warm blanket. Letting his cock fall from your lips, you scramble as fast as your body allows before you find yourself straddling Logan, staring down at the man with cloudy, wet eyes.

And maybe Logan is sick— because the sight of tears spilling over your cheeks has his cock unbelievably hard, a growl threatening to tumble out at the way your pretty, crimson hair spills over your shoulders.

Still, he wants to make sure you’re okay.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Logan watches at the way a small smile graces your features, even as tears continue to glisten your lash line. “You okay?”

“Nothing's wrong, just feel so good.” Your voice is a little hoarse, no doubt from the way his dick was fucking your whiny mouth. Your voice is still the sweetest thing he’s ever heard, those few words going straight to his dick.

Logan feels his own lips tug upwards as you speak. Even though he’s fucked you silly and stolen two orgasms, he tenses with desire as he notes the want dancing in your irises.

“Good.”

“Mhmm.”

There’s a beat of silence, a moment where hungry eyes lock in on one another, sensual energy threatening to burst.

Then, in a flash, lips are locked and tongues whirl together familiarly. It’s a hot, lewd kiss filled to the brim with desire— the passion almost too much with how it lights up every inch of your bodies, a fire threatening to spread.

Neither of you are sure who moved first— but it doesn’t matter because the way Logan’s hand wraps around your hair, creating a makeshift ponytail in a tight grip, steals your attention.

If someone were to see the two of you, they would see how desperate and needy you both were.

You’re kissing Logan’s top lip, biting before soothing the sting with a sweet, soft suck. Your thighs are spread over his own entirely and your position has your cunt settling over his cock nicely. Logan’s free hand grips the skin of your ass tight, guiding as you grind against him, the soaked panties catching on the tip of him with each thrust. The fingers tangled in your hair are unforgiving, tugging harshly as Logan grunts into your open mouth.

You’re both a mess of passion and lust— and your body thrums with the idea of his cock inside you.

“Such a good girl, that’s it. Fuck—“ Logan nearly whines, the feel of your wetness on his bulge has him trapping your lips in another all consuming kiss.

Your hands, lit up with energy, find purchase in his pretty hair, yanking as he kisses you vulgar, because everything is somehow too much and not enough.

“Logan— need you. Need you so bad, baby.”

Logan wants to eat you up entirely— somehow you’re still not satiated, rubbing your slick all over his lap and begging him for more. If he was a better man, he would’ve fucked you already. As it is, he likes it a little too much hearing you beg for him.

“Shhh, you got me, honey. I’m right here.”

“Fuck me, please. Need you inside, Logan.”

There’s tears in your eyes again, ready to spill over if the ache between your thighs isn’t soothed in the next five minutes. You’re clinging to him, hips stuttering because it’s just not enough and you both know it.

“My poor baby.” He sighs, the words somehow a mix of condescending and genuine and it makes you cry out. “So needy, huh?”

“Just for you.” The way you say it, it’s a message you both understand— you need him in every way possible, not just sexually.

He wonders if you know just how badly he needs you, especially now that he’s got a taste of you.

“I’m yours—“ you start, but it’s cut off by the squeak you emit when you’re suddenly flipped over, Logan’s muscular form hovering over you, his dog tags swinging between you.

“You’re mine.” It’s not a question, but a statement and it sends a thrill over you.

“Yours.” You’re nodding, eyes wide and so fucking pretty that it makes Logan squeeze his hands, the metal of his claws threatening to break through the skin.

He pulls his shirt off then, pride filling his chest at the way your eyes glaze over, a lip taken between your teeth as you stare at the vein that leads to his cock, which is pulsing with the promise of release.

He doesn’t comment on your lustful eyes, instead tracing his fingers down your body, until he reaches the hem of your baby pink lace. It doesn’t leave much to the imagination but Logan might break something if he doesn’t see your tits in all their glory.

You get the message, leaning up and slowly pulling the fabric from your chest, your breasts and midsection on full display. If he hadn’t already eaten you out twice, you would’ve moved to cover your taut nipples. Instead, you grip the chain of his necklace and pull him back down with you, sighing when you’re chest to chest.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He says, pecking your lips once, licking a stripe down your throat. Wetness coats both nipples as his tongue swirls over them. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to have you under me?”

You moan, nails digging into his shoulder blades at the fluttery feeling his lips bring, deep enough to elicit blood from his skin. Logan groans, head tipping back as his hips thrust down suddenly, the tip of his cock ramming into your clit.

“Fuck, Logan.” Your hands span the expanse of his back, scratching each time he bumps your button just right. His jeans are still on, resting just below his thighs and something about the way he couldn’t even get up to properly take them off makes you shudder.

He’s rutting against you now, dick rubbing filthy over your panties and it dawns on you then that he hasn’t come yet, too preoccupied with taking care of you.

Determined, you slide one hand onto his asscheek, pushing him further into you, while your other grips his chin, pulling his mouth to yours in a slick, open-mouth kiss.

“C’mon Logan, fuck me, please.”

Logan turns into something animalistic then— flipping you over without warning, caging you between his arms. Your gasp is audible as he yanks your wet lace to the side, before thrusting forward, and fucks his cock into you with one thrust.

“Oh my god, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—“ the feel of Logan finally inside you had you absolutely fucking drunk on the feel of him.

“Tryin’ to, baby.” He grits, arms flexing beside your head, fingers intertwining with yours as he sinks into you, inch by inch, until you were filled to the brim.

Logan’s body covers yours, lips pressing all over your shoulder blades to soothe the little whines you let out at how fucking full you felt. It’s everything you want and more— you want to memorize the feel of him, every ridge and vein as he bottoms out.

“Baby,” he grunts, fingers flexing with yours as he stays still, for your sake. “So fuckin’ tight, so fuckin’ wet.”

And it was true— despite the fact that he’s huge, he slipped in easily because of the mess you created, a slick mix of your come and desire that seeps from you.

“Logan, fuck me, please.” You ask so sweetly, as if you weren’t impaled by his cock right now.

With that, he slips out of you slowly, before fucking into you hard, deep. Then, he fucking ravishes you— creating a steady, fast paced rhythm and fucking you dumb with his cock.

You’re a whiny mess. Your hair grows darker, hands glittering between his grip each time he slams into you, each time your cunt squeezes around him.

Completely cock drunk, your back arches, ass up and hips slamming back against his with your cheek pressing into the mattress as you sob.

You’re so fucking needy that his own thighs are wet with your desire— he growls at the sight, fucking you even faster.

“You’re mine. Have been since you came here.” Logan growled, releasing your fingers in favor of gripping your hair and pulling you up until you were pressed into his chest. “My fuckin’ girl.”

“Yours!” You cry, tears rolling down your face. Your entire body jolts with pleasure, and you feel like you couldn’t breathe, not with how euphoria threatens to smother you. “M’so close!”

“I know, honey, I know. Can feel you fuckin’ squeezin’ around me.“ Logan moans out, pushing you back down into the mattress and finding purchase on your hips, pulling you back hard. “Gonna come all over me?”

You don’t answer, instead crying out as you feel a sharp flash of pain on your asscheek, Logan’s hand swift and quick. The pain mixes into pleasure when he rubs at the red skin, pressing sweet kisses on your back.

He wishes you could see yourself right now; maybe then you would understand why he was so intoxicated by you.

Your pretty body is bent over, ass up and face in the sheets as whimpers seep out. The lace that drove him crazy is yanked to the side, grazing his cock each time he drove deeper inside you. You’re so beautiful like this, he wants to keep you forever.

Sweet, little ‘uh,uh’s’ fill Logan’s ears as he speeds up, pulling you back up once more against his chest. He wants to be as close as fucking possible, the feel of your skin on his almost searing.

You turn your head back, lips seeking out his own. He kisses you, sucking at your lips as he continues to fuck you vigorously.

The fluttery feeling of your cunt squeezing around him suddenly sends him over the edge— low groans falling in your open mouth as hot, searing spurts of come coat your walls.

Knowing that Logan had lost it, finally giving into the temptation like you’d been doing all night, has you whining as your own orgasm surrounds your entire being.

“Baby—“ Logan thrusts shallowly, riding your orgasms out as long as he could; if he could, he’d never leave this feeling behind. Seemingly, you agreed as your nails dig into his forearms that hold you up, eyes squeezing shut at the overpowering bliss tingling everywhere. “I got you, it’s okay.”

“Logan, fuck!” It comes out as a huff, head against his sweaty neck, body completely limp in his hold.

You’d never been so incredibly sex-dazed in your life. From this moment onward, Logan has ruined you for anyone else.

Though, you hope there isn’t anyone else.

Logan kisses your head before untangling from you; a smirk dancing across his usually gruff features at the little whine let out as he pulls out. He gently rolls you onto your back, laying your head tenderly on the pillows. It was such a stark difference to the rough way he’d fucked you minutes prior, but butterflies flutter around your stomach all the same.

You watch his eyes trail lower, landing on the mess between your thighs.

Logan is mesmerized by the sight; your pussy is destroyed , so wet with his come seeping out of your hole. Mindlessly, he lowers himself until heieye level with your sex. Sans any warning, his fingers are thrusted back inside.

He ignores your hiss in favor of trying to push his come back inside, to keep you full of him. His eyes meet yours, watching as your chest rises as you observe him. There’s a glint in your eye that has his heart stuttering.

“I want to kiss you.” You whisper, soft and a little bashful, as if he didn’t have his fingers inside you. You look too fucking perfect, hair returning to its original color, eyes cloudy with unspoken words, a smile gracing your face.

How could he deny you when you looked like that?

Logan kisses your clit once, enjoying the way you jump before removing his fingers.

With those same digits, he sticks them in his mouth, sucking the flavor of you both and humming. He could hear the way your heart picked up at his actions. He releases them with a loud ‘pop’, before finally coming back to you.

He hovers over you, and like you’d done earlier, soft hands pull at the chain until his lips melt with yours in a soft kiss. Logan pulls back, resting his head on yours, eyes connecting with yours.

“Hi.” You giggle then, nose bumping his in the proximity.

“Hi, baby.” Logan kisses your lips once more, before rolling beside you. You would’ve whined at him if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you onto his chest.

With your limbs tangled, a kiss pressed to your forehead, you think this could be heaven and if so, you never wanted to leave.

It was quiet for a moment— the two of you content to listen to one another’s heartbeat, the breaths that fall from lips. Then, you break the silence, because of course you do.

“Logan?”

“Hmm?”

“Just so you know, I’m expecting you to take me out before you get me like this again.” You mutter against his slick chest, where your head rests as you wrap yourself around the man like a koala.

A deep laugh fills the room, chest rumbling because what the fuck?

He’s fucked you, with his mouth and cock, and now you’re laying on him as his come seeps out of you and you’re demanding him to take you out?

He was going to in the first place, but he thinks it’s cute you decided for him.

Logan may be a man that’s been alive for almost two centuries, practically immortal, but it’s completely possible you’ll be the death of him.

˚｡⋆⟡♡⟡⋆｡˚ fin

tags: @strangererotica @cevansbaby-dove @morganyourone @asiancupid

[reignpage]

Forgive me, Father!

Summary: you have something to confess and Nanami is more than willing to hear you out Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: porn with little plot, fem!reader, dubcon, improper use of a confessional booth, manhandling, choking, unprotected sex, cursing, slight exhibitionism, dirty talk, squirting, blowjob, fingering, not proofread

Priest!Nanami waits for you in the confessional booth. He’s the local priest that everyone trusts, he even teaches at the orphanage, providing a stable figure for all the lost souls born here and that pass through. 

“What brings you here, my child?”

Priest!Nanami’s voice is deep and gruff, vibrating against the thick wood of the booth. It pierces your core, travelling straight to your pussy. You press your legs together. This is bad, so very bad. You shouldn’t be feeling this way for him; he’s a good man, an upstanding citizen, a pillar of the community. 

“F-forgive me, Father. I’ve been having bad thoughts, and I don’t know what to do.”

Priest!Nanami hums. You can see his figure through the privacy screen, the perforated divide granting only slight view of his cassock, the black robe a familiar sight, as you rest your knees on the kneeler, clasping your hands at your chest. 

“Bad thoughts, you say?” He asks. “What kind of bad thoughts, my dear?”

Lips quivering you answer, “I don’t think I should say, Father. I’d hate for you to resent me.”

Priest!Nanami insists, “Oh, but how can I guide you if I do not know what path you stray down?”

“Father, I’ve been thinking of you, wondering how your body feels under your robe and dreaming of your taste. I’m so terribly sorry, Father. Forgive me!”

Priest!Nanami chuckles. 

“That is very bad, indeed. I fear you have been possessed by a lustful spirit, and it must be repelled before it consumes you wholeheartedly.”

You trust him with your life, just as everyone does, so when he slides the slot beneath the privacy screen to the side, you don’t hesitate to part your lips to suck up the healing essence of his holy sceptre. 

It coats your lips, salty and scalding, as you widen your jaw to take as much of him down as you can.

“Very good, my dear,” he groans. “Just a little more and you’ll be healed in no time.”

His huge cock head presses against the back of your throat, the veins rubbing against your tongue, and he begins making shallow thrusts into your hot, wet mouth. 

Priest!Nanami makes a low groan and it travels straight to your pussy, urging you to take him deeper, tongue swirling around the underside of the head.

"You have a gifted mouth -ha- very gifted, indeed," he praises.

You needed this so badly. So many nights spent wondering how he feels and now your throat is being stretched to the very shape of his cock. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, the wetness of your pussy coating your inner thighs. One hand slides down your belly, pushing your dress up so you can soothe the ache. 

Priest!Nanami pulls his cock away, ignoring your whines of complaint, and through the holes of the privacy screen, he chastises you, “Now now, you know better than to feed that demonic spirit with shallow pleasure. Only a trained professional can wash away that which plagues you.”

“Yes, Father.”

Priest!Nanami makes shuffling noises in his side, and with a candle as your only source of light in the penitent’s chamber, you can only see only he hasn't abandoned you, leaving you aching and soaked.

The door bangs open, light blinding you momentarily, and you stare up at the silhouette of a tall, broad figure blocking you from view. You’re still kneeling, lips glistening. He appears before you, like an angel of the night.

Priest!Nanami is smiling, glasses hiding his eyes but you know they’re gliding down your form, stopping at your heaving breasts and your exposed thighs. 

“Turn and face the wall,” he barks, and then adds, “Spread your legs.”

Clambering to position, you do as he says, pressing your hands to the cold wood and keeping your legs apart. The door shuts and you’re once again encased in partial darkness. A firm hand palms your hip, and you jolt with the sudden heat. 

He yanks you closer to him, ass jutting out whilst your back arches. Something long and hard presses against you. You clench down onto nothing.

“So well behaved, the Lord would be very pleased,” he mutters into your ear, hot breath tickling you. 

With one hand still on your hip, the other slides across your stomach, spreading heat there before it climbs up, palming a breast and relishing in the weight. His finger tweaks the nipple poking through the thin material, blunt nails scratching your taut bud. 

“Father!” You gasp, ass grinding back onto him much harder than before. Your back arches painfully. 

“It is alright, my dear. It is all part of the process — we must relieve you of this evil.”

Priest!Nanami yanks the neckline, revealing your breasts. They bounce with the force and graze the wooden wall. You moan. And then the hand on your hip is inching downwards, gathering the skirt of your dress into a fist which he orders you to keep up whilst his hand explores further the apex of your thighs. 

His fingers touch the soaked gusset of your panties and together you groan. 

Huskily, he chuckles, “I see this is a particularly powerful spirit; you’re so desperately trying to expel its force. But be not afraid, my child, I will search deep within and seek it out for you.”

With expert work, he pushes your panties to the side and coats his fingers with your juice, using the lubricant to circle your clit. You squeal. The untainted hands of the priest feel smooth against your smouldering flesh as he rubs that bundle of nerves with unyielding pressure. 

Priest!Nanami’s mouth descends on the crook of your neck, sucking the salt of your skin before licking a stripe up the expanse. His fingers go lower, pressing inside your pulsing hole.

“You’re so tight, my dear. I see I’ll have to take extra care to alleviate you of your ailment.”

He curls those fingers inside, pressing hard against that spongy spot inside you that has you leaking onto his fingers even more. Again and again, he thrusts those fingers in, making sure to hit that spot over and over, ignoring the whimpers leaving your lips. Sloshing and plopping resound in the space, there’s no shame left inside you to care about the indecent sounds he’s wrangling out of your sloppy cunt.

“Oh, Father! I think I feel the spirit leaving,” you yelp.

He mouths at your jaw, teeth scraping the skin gently but with the promise of pain, before his thumb circles your clit. And then you’re shaking, back arching and mouth slacking as you feel the pressure inside burst. An elongated moan departs your lips, reverberating against the walls. 

You're struggling to keep your dress up with one hand, whilst the other holds you up on the wall. Your limbs are aching, just like your insides, melting like candle wax, flooding down your legs..

“Well done, child. Fight against the demonic spirit, just like that,” he coos as you ride his fingers. 

“Father? Are you in there?”

 Another voice rings out. It’s dull, coming from the outside. You still. 

Priest!Nanami doesn’t respond. But he removes his fingers from inside your pussy, smearing your wetness all over your lips before pushing them inside your mouth. You suckle with no complaints. 

In a low warning, he orders, “Be a good girl and keep quiet for me, yes?”

You nod. 

Without hearing any rustling, he retrieves his cock from the confines of his trousers and rubs them along your slit. He’s so hard and hot, you’re resisting the urge to squeeze your thighs around it. Back and forth, he coats his length with your juices, squelches sounding out. His cock head catches on your clit, and you moan around his fingers. 

“Father, may I come in? I’d like to talk to you about my son’s struggles in school. I fear I am not equipped to provide the necessary support and would like your guidance.”

Priest!Nanami he pierces your pussy with his throbbing cock. You scream into his palm, eyes rolling back. And with no further warnings, he’s dragging your hips back and forth, up and down his length. 

Priest!Nanami scolds you, “Fuck, you’re so tight, my dear. What a devious cunt, trying to milk my cock before I can even -ngh- exorcise you of this demon.”

The stretch is immaculate, forcing your wet cavern to memorise the shape just as your throat had. And his cock pokes your sensitive point with every thrust, drawing dulled moans after moans from your drooling mouth, with every slap slap slap.

Messy and squelching, your pussy cries out at the huge intrusion, sucking him in and pushing him out simultaneously. He’s churning your pulsing insides, dragging his cock head all the way to that tight ring at your entrance before ramming back inside.

Priest!Nanami grunts in your ear, “You must have done -ngh- something very wrong for our Heavenly Father to weaken his protection over you, otherwise you would not have been so -ha- vulnerable to such a potent malevolent spirit.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” you beg, his fingers leaving your mouth so he can pinch your nipple, pulling it taut. “But I’m so scared!”

“No need to fret, child. I will -ha- eradicate you of all that is holding you -so tight- back from enlightenment.”

He’s pummelling his cock harder and faster inside of you, the tip kissing your cervix in a way that has you seeing his stars. Letting go of your hip, he uses his to force you into submission, skin slapping and juices flying as he knocks you back with the force. 

Priest!Nanami’s hand circles your throat, squeezing every time you clench down on his cock. He’s robbing you of air, head growing lightheaded with the pressure. Your hips push back onto his. 

“Father? I'm very worried for my son.”

Her pleadings continue, unacknowledged and barely heard, as he reaches deeper inside you, heavy balls slapping against your clit. You can’t ponder too long on the desperation in her voice because the priest is turning your face around to kiss you. 

Priest!Nanami’s tongue dives into your mouth, seeking yours. The kiss is wet and sloppy just as you are down there, and he’s grunting with every thrust. You’re both growing more and more desperate for release, his cock ramming inside your tight cunt with an increasing tempo. 

“The spirit is weakening; can you feel it?” He enquires, hand leaving your breast to pull yours away from your dress, guiding it, instead, to your lower abdomen. You can feel the outline of his massive cock going in and out. He presses your hand harder. 

You feel that pressure inside grow, a sudden desire to pee overcoming you. 

“No, Father! I can’t!” You whimper against the wall, hoping that the woman outside can't hear the way you’re panting, how your pussy is weeping, and how he's pounding you so hard you're seeing stars. He growls encouragements in your ear, fuelling your own pleasure. 

Priest!Nanami kisses the back of your neck through the layer of sweat, tasting your skin. He leaves your hand and rubs your clit once more. 

You cum.

Your vision goes black, a scream lodged in your throat as you squirt all over his cock, soaking his length and splashing against the wood. 

“That’s it. Keep fucking yourself onto my cock,” he groans, still rubbing your clit as he himself cums with one hard, final thrust. Warmth explodes inside of you, painting your walls with his holy essence, punishing that demon within until it quietens down. “What a heavenly pussy, milking me so good. Such a good girl.”

“F-father? I’ll come back later,” the woman stammers. 

In the distance, you hear the quick patter of feet fading further away. 

You fall limp within his arm, heaving and still spasming from the effects of your orgasm. He holds you up in his arms, kissing your neck and whispering soothing compliments. 

Priest!Nanami slumps onto the floor, taking you with him. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart as he catches his breath too. His clergy collar is askew, and you fix it for him with a shaky hand. He grabs it and presses a kiss to your knuckles. 

“That was a good one, Kenny,” you breathe out with a giggle. “I told you you’d enjoy it.”

He grunts in agreement. “You’re always right, honey.”

“Of course, I am. But hey! For someone who was so reluctant, you were incredible.”

He kisses your forehead. 

“I think you were incredible. Your acting skills have certainly improved.”

You laugh. “You weren’t so bad yourself — you had me believing I actually have a demon inside.”

Husband!Nanami blushes and his eyes dart up to the door, a hand groping your breast like his own personal stress ball, and with a sheepish tone, he admits, “The real priest is going to have a lot to deal with after this.”

You bolt upright. “Speaking of the real priest, his break is ending any minute now, we should get going!”

The door slams open and you both look up at an unimpressed man, long hair tied up into a bun as he sighs. 

“You two again?”

[stargazsblog]

how to lose a girl in 10 days | ch.3 second move

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

ʚɞ ryomen sukuna is tall, devastatingly handsome, and the campus heartbreaker. everyone knows his name, and his reputation for leaving girls with broken hearts. but then there's you uninterested and completely unimpressed by him. you're the only girl who couldn't care less about him. when his friends tease him about it, everything changes. they challenge him with a bet to make you, the one person who isn't affected by his charm, fall in love with him in just 10 days, sukuna accepts the challenge, thinking it'll be an easy win. it's just a game, a way to prove he can get any girl he wants. but the more time he spends with you, he finds himself wanting something he never expected.

ʚɞ warning/tags: angst, fluff, romance, use of cigarettes and alcohol, jealousy, asshole sukuna, heartbreak, inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, college au, enemies to lovers.

ʚɞ now playing - no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

masterlist

note: new chapter! this one took awhile to write but i hope u love!! happy new year <3

The ring of the doorbell jolted you awake, pulling an annoyed groan from your lips. You turned over in your bed, calling out, “Shoko, can you get the door?” Your voice was muffled against your pillow, and you waited, hoping for the sound of her footsteps.

Nothing. No response.

The doorbell rang again, this time louder. You let out a frustrated sigh, throwing off the blankets as you dragged yourself out of bed. “Seriously, Shoko?” you muttered under your breath, shuffling to your bedroom door. You made your way to the front door, each step heavy with sleep-induced annoyance.

When you opened the door, the sight before you gave you pause. No one was there.

Your gaze dropped to the ground.

A massive bouquet of roses sat on your doorstep. You blinked, momentarily stunned.

“What the…?” you murmured, crouching to pick up the bouquet. It was heavier than you expected, the delicate scent of roses filling the air.

Closing the door behind you, you carried the flowers into the living room, setting them down on the table. Shoko, now leaning against the kitchen doorway with a steaming mug of coffee in hand, raised an eyebrow at the sight.

“What’s with the flowers?” she asked, taking a sip.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, still staring at the extravagant bouquet. “Maybe they’re for you?”

Shoko shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think so. Check for a note.”

Spotting a small envelope tucked among the flowers, you pulled it out and opened it. Your stomach flipped when you read the words.

“thought these were almost as stunning as you let me know if they compare – sukuna”

You felt your heart skip a beat as you stared at the note. Sukuna? Your brow furrowed in confusion. Why would Ryomen Sukuna, of all people, send you flowers?

“Sukuna?” you repeated aloud, more to yourself than Shoko.

“How does he even know where we live?” you asked, a mix of confusion and suspicion in your voice.

“Oh… I may or may not have taken Geto home the other night. And he might have told Sukuna where we live.”

Your head snapped toward her, eyes wide. “What?! You hooked up with Geto? And you didn’t tell me this?”

Shoko shrugged nonchalantly, setting her mug down. “It didn’t seem relevant at the time. It was just a fling. No big deal.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “No big deal? Shoko, this guy knows where we live! Do you know how creepy that is?”

“Relax,” Shoko said with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your distress. “It’s not like he’s lurking outside your window or something. He just… sent flowers.”

You groaned, sinking into the chair next to the table. “Great. Just what I needed. First he buys me snacks and now he’s sending me flowers? What’s his deal?”

“Maybe he likes you,” Shoko teased, her grin widening.

You shot her a glare. “That’s not funny.”

“No, but this whole situation is.” She chuckled, You had barely had time to response when your phone buzzed on the table, the screen lighting up with an incoming message from Ryomen Sukuna.

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers hovering over the screen. Was he really texting you already? What could he possibly want now?

You unlocked your phone, bracing yourself as you read his message.

12:20PM Sukuna Ryomen: so how’d you like the flowers?

You frowned. So he’s really going to go there? You glanced over at Shoko.

“Shoko… Sukuna just texted me.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your discomfort. “Well, well, look at that. He’s not wasting time.”

You glanced back at the message, unsure whether to ignore it or respond. You couldn’t help it, this was unexpected. After a few seconds, you typed out a reply.

12:20PM You: why did you send them? what do you want?

You hit send and sat back, unsure whether you’d made the right call. It felt a bit too direct, but you didn’t care.

Your phone buzzed again, and you jumped slightly, then glanced down at his response.

12:20PM Sukuna Ryomen: no need to overthink it i just thought you deserved something nice

“What does that even mean?” you muttered aloud.

You typed out another reply, trying to keep your cool.

12:21PM You: just a random act of kindness then? what’s the catch

You waited, feeling the tension rise as you glanced at Shoko, who was still watching with amusement.

The text pinged almost immediately.

12:21PM Sukuna Ryomen: no catch just thought you might like them unless you don’t then I’ll send you something better

You stared at the message, your stomach doing a strange little flip.

“Okay, now he’s just being cocky,” you said, shaking your head, showing shoko the text.

Shoko stares at your phone, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s the fun part. He’s definitely interested.”

You let out a sigh, running a hand through your hair. Great. What was happening here? You barely knew Sukuna. Sure, everyone on campus knew who he was, the tall, cocky heartbreaker, but you’d never even had a proper conversation with him.

Now, suddenly, he was everywhere. Sending flowers, finding excuses to cross your path, and even inviting you to parties. It wasn’t normal.

Your chest tightened at the thought. Something is definitely going on… and you don’t like it.

What did Sukuna even want? Was this just another conquest for him? Another name to add to his list?

“Earth to you,” Shoko’s voice broke through your thoughts, snapping you back to reality.

“You’re overthinking again.”

“I’m not overthinking,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “I just don’t get it. Why me? He could have anyone on campus, and he usually does. So why is he suddenly obsessed with showing up in my life?”

Shoko shrugged, but her smirk didn’t waver. “Maybe he finally met someone he can’t figure out. Guys like Sukuna hate not being in control. You’re probably driving him insane.”

“Good,” you shot back quickly, but the unease in your chest didn’t go away. Sukuna wasn’t just annoying—he was persistent, calculating, and way too good at getting what he wanted. And right now, you were in his sights.

And that was a problem.

"Shoko, please, I don't wanna go," you begged, standing at the doorway of your room as she rummaged through your closet. The hangers clinked together as she shifted through your clothes, her focus unwavering.

"I swear, if you don't go to this party, I'll never let you live it down." Shoko's voice was light, teasing, but there was a persistence behind it that you knew well.

She wasn't going to give up until you were dressed and ready to walk out that door.

You flopped down onto your bed, burying your face in your hands. "I already went to one party yesterday, and nothing happened. What's the point of going again?"

Shoko pulled out a short black dress and held it up, eyeing it with approval. "Except this time, you've got Sukuna inviting you."

You threw your arms up in frustration. "Yeah, so what? It's not like he actually cares. He's probably just doing this to mess with me. I'm not his type, and I'm definitely not falling for whatever act he's putting on."

Shoko leaned against the wall, unbothered by your complaints. "I'm not saying you have to fall for him, but you're not going to get anywhere by avoiding him. He's clearly paying attention to you, and you're not going to know what he's really about unless you go and talk to him."

You sat up on your bed, staring at her in disbelief.

"Why does it matter? I don't want to deal with him. I don't want to go to another party just to have him act like he's the center of the universe."

Shoko grinned like she knew exactly how to push your buttons. "Because, whether you like it or not, you've got his attention. You're not going to find out anything if you keep running from him. Plus, if you don't go, he's just going to think you're scared."

You slumped back onto your bed, exhaling deeply. "I just don't want to make a fool of myself."

Shoko walked over and sat next to you, nudging your shoulder. "Look, I know he's a pain. But you're strong enough to handle him. If you don't go, you'll just be left wondering what could have happened, and that'll drive you crazy. You don't want to keep playing the ‘what if' game forever."

You stared at her, your frustration building. "So, you think if I go, he's just going to magically be less of a jerk? What if he's just messing with me like he does with everyone else?"

Shoko chuckled softly, standing up and holding up a dress. "I'm not saying he'll be perfect, but you'll never know unless you show up. And if he really is that bad, then you'll have the satisfaction of knowing you weren't the one falling for it."

You sighed, the thought of facing Sukuna again making your stomach turn. But part of you couldn't help wondering what his deal really was. "I just don't want to deal with him."

Shoko raised an eyebrow. "Then don't deal with him.

“Go, enjoy yourself, and don't let him have the power to bother you. He invited you for a reason, and if you don't show up, he'll just just bother you even more."

You hesitated, chewing on your lip. You didn't want to go, but the idea of leaving things unresolved with Sukuna was nagging at you. "Fine," you muttered, finally giving in. "But don't say I didn't warn you when I end up miserable the whole time."

Shoko grinned, practically bouncing with excitement.

"I knew you'd come around! Now, get ready. We're going to show him how hot you are!"

You stared at the dress in your hands, running your fingers over the sparkly fabric. It was shorter than anything you'd ever worn before, the tightness of the material hugging your curves in a way you weren't used to.

With a deep sigh, you headed to your bathroom to change. The tight fabric clung to your skin as you slipped it on, the black dress glimmering with every movement. You didn't feel like yourself in it, but there was no turning back now. The dress barely reached mid-thigh, the hemline sitting just above your knees.

It showcased your hip dips, and the sparkle caught the light, making you feel exposed.

You stared at your reflection, arms crossing over your chest as you tried to will the discomfort away. The dress was beautiful, but it felt like it was wearing you instead of the other way around. You pulled at the fabric slightly, wishing it were a little looser, but it was perfectly fitted-almost like it was designed to demand attention.

You turned back to the door, hearing Shoko's voice coming from the other side. "You almost done?

“Come on, hurry up!"

You sighed and opened the door, stepping out into your bedroom. Shoko immediately turned to face you, a pleased grin crossing her face as she took in your appearance. "See? you look fucking hot.”

You glared at her. "I hate how tight this thing is," you muttered, tugging at the edges. You still couldn't get over how exposed you felt.

Shoko tilted her head, her eyes scanning you up and down. "You look sexy. And don't even try to pretend like you don't know it. The dress is doing all the work for you."

You shot her a side-eye, clearly not convinced. “It's too... much."

"It's not "too much,” she said with a playful smirk, grabbing the black heels she'd given you. "It's exactly what you need. Go, have fun, and let Sukuna see that how hot you are. You're owning this look, whether you want to or not."

You hesitated, staring at your reflection one last time.

The dress did make you look... different. More confident. Maybe it was the sparkle that made you feel like you could shine, even if you didn't want to.

You slipped on the heels, feeling your posture shift as you stood taller. You looked at Shoko.

"You better not make me regret this.”

Shoko grinned, “I won't promise. Now, let me put on some makeup.”

The music was already thumping when you and Shoko walked into the house, the bass rattling the floor beneath your heels. The place was packed, people swaying to the beat or crowded into clusters, shouting over the noise. You tugged at the hem of your dress, still feeling self-conscious as you followed closely behind Shoko.

Shoko grabbed your wrist and pulling you off to the side, away from the thick of the crowd. "Listen," she said, her tone softer now. "If you're not feeling it, just let me know, and we'll leave. I'm not going to make you stay if it gets to be too much, okay?"

You hesitated, her seriousness catching you off guard.

"Okay," you muttered, glancing around the room. “But don't disappear on me."

Shoko grinned, patting your arm. "I won't. You've got this."

Before you could say anything else, a familiar voice cut through the noise, making your stomach drop.

"Well, well, you actually showed up."

You turned to see Sukuna. He looked really good, dressed in a fitted black shirt that showed off his toned arms and just enough of his tattoos to make him look effortlessly cool.

You immediately stiffened, your guard going up.

"Unfortunately," you muttered under your breath, but he heard it, the smirk on his face only growing wider.

"Don't sound too excited, sweetheart," he teased, his eyes briefly flicking to Shoko before returning to you.

He let his gaze sweep over you, slowly, his tongue running over his lips as he did. "I was starting to think you were avoiding me."

"Maybe I was," you shot back, folding your arms over your chest.

Sukuna chuckled, the sound low and infuriatingly self-assured. He took a step closer, his gaze dipping ever so slightly to take in the curve of your dress before flicking back up to your face. The way he looked at you, slow and deliberate, made your skin heat—though whether it was from irritation or something else, you weren’t sure.

“Can’t blame you,” he said. “But you’re here now, and that’s what matters, right?”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing to let him get under your skin. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’m not here for you.”

“Sure,” he drawled, leaning against the wall like he had all the time in the world. “You just happened to show up to the party I invited you to, wearing that.”

Your jaw tightened, and you squared your shoulders. “What I wear has nothing to do with you.”

“Doesn’t it?” His voice dropped, the playful edge replaced with something darker, more intense. His eyes roamed over you again, lingering just long enough to make you want to punch him.

“Don’t test me, Sukuna,” you snapped, your voice sharp enough to make Shoko glance between the two of you with raised brows.

He grinned, utterly unbothered by your tone. If anything, he seemed more amused, like he enjoyed riling you up. “Relax, sweetheart. I’m just saying you look good.”

“Did I ask for your opinion?”

“No,” he said easily, his smirk widening. “But you’ve got it anyway.”

Shoko cleared her throat, her expression caught between amusement and concern. “Well, this is fun,” she said lightly. “But I’m going to grab a drink. You good?”

You gave her a tight nod, watching as she disappeared into the crowd. The second she was out of sight, Sukuna closed the gap between you, his presence immediately overwhelming

Sukuna glanced at Shoko walking away, then back to you, his gaze softening just a little, but the cocky smile never wavered. “She didn’t get you a drink?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

“No,” you replied dryly.

Sukuna stepped closer, his closeness almost making you take a step back, though you tried to stand your ground. “I could get you something. Whatever you want.”

“I’m fine,” you repeated, your voice tight. “And I didn’t ask for anything from you.”

“Sure you didn’t.” He chuckled, and there was something almost teasing in the way his eyes lingered on you. “But that dress? You’re asking for something.”

You tensed, resisting the urge to snap back. “I came here to hang out with my friend, not to be ogled by you.”

He stepped back, feigning mock hurt. “I’m just admiring your taste in fashion. But I’m guessing you didn’t come here to be sober all night either.”

And he was right, you knew how annoyed you’d be with Sukuna, so you figured you’d need something to take the edge off.

You gave him an unamused look. “I’m not your project to fix.”

“Maybe not.” He shrugged. “But I’ll be around if you change your mind.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, a girl approached from the crowd, her voice dripping with flirtation.

“Sukuna,” she said, her voice laced with sweetness as she placed a hand on his arm. “I missed you last night. You just left without saying goodbye.”

Her gaze shifted toward you, and her smile faltered for just a second, her eyes narrowing slightly as she sized you up. “Is this your girlfriend?”

Sukuna simply shrugged. “Nah,” he said dismissively, like it didn’t matter. “Not my girlfriend.

The girl didn’t seem to care, her smile staying in place as she leaned a little closer to him. “Well, maybe tonight, you’ll stick around longer,” she said, her voice sweet as she twirled a lock of her hair.

But Sukuna didn’t seem all that interested in her attention. With a casual flick of his wrist, he lightly pushed her off his arm, not even looking down at her. “You’re in my way,” he said, completely nonchalant.

The girl blinked in surprise but quickly recovered. She didn’t seem to know how to react, standing there for a moment before scoffing and walking away, muttering under her breath.

You couldn’t help but notice how effortless Sukuna had been in dismissing her. He didn’t even look bothered, and it almost seemed like the girl was just an annoyance to him.

Turning his attention back to you, his smirk was back, as if the whole encounter had been nothing more than a brief interruption. “Jealous?” he asked, his voice low and playful.

You arched an eyebrow, trying not to let your annoyance show. “Not even close,” you replied, crossing your arms.

He leaned in slightly, his eyes narrowing just enough to show that he wasn’t buying it. “That’s a lie, sweetheart. You’re not fooling anyone.”

You stepped back, uncomfortable under his gaze, but refused to let him win this little game. “I’m not interested in whatever game you’re playing,” you said firmly, your voice steady.

Sukuna tilted his head, studying you for a moment. “I’m not playing a game,” he said softly, the words almost too quiet for the music around you to drown out.

The tension between you two was noticeable, thick enough to cut through the noise of the party around you. And for a moment, neither of you spoke, just standing there, locked in this strange, unspoken understanding.

Before you could respond, Shoko suddenly appeared next to you, a drink in her hand. “You okay?” she asked, looking between you and Sukuna.

You let out a breath, forcing yourself to relax. “Yeah, just fine,” you said quickly, turning your attention to your friend.

Sukuna didn’t seem bothered by the interruption. In fact, he just nodded, as if he was used to things playing out this way. “Don’t let her scare you off,” he said casually to Shoko, though his eyes were still on you.

Shoko shot him a playful look before leaning in closer to you. “I’m just here to make sure you’re not falling for his charm,” she whispered, making sure Sukuna could hear. “But you seem to be handling it just fine.”

You smiled at her, grateful for the brief distraction. Sukuna didn’t say a word, but the look in his eyes said everything. He wasn’t done with you yet. With a scoff, he turned and walked away.

“Here,” Shoko said, handing you the drink. “You probably needed this.”

“Thanks,” you muttered, still feeling a little intimidated from Sukuna’s attention.

Shoko noticed this. “What happened? Was he being a little too much?”

You sighed and leaned against the counter. “You could say that.”

“Is it really that bad?” she asked, leaning in to talk more quietly. “I don’t know. I think you’ve got him curious.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m interested,” you shot back quickly.

Shoko shrugged, not at all fazed by your response. “I know, I know. But still… he’s kind of hard to resist, right?” She gave you a sly smile. “Anyway, I wanted to tell you about Geto. He’s been texting me all day. I’m honestly not sure what I’m doing with him anymore, though.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I thought you two were just having fun?”

“Well, we are, but… you know how it is.” Shoko waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Sometimes he acts all detached, and then he’ll show up out of nowhere like everything’s normal. He’s confusing, honestly.”

You didn’t know how to respond. Shoko had always played it cool, but it was clear she was a little unsure of where things stood with Geto. You didn’t press the issue, though, since you knew she’d tell you when she was ready.

Before you could respond, Gojo’s voice cut through the noise of the party, casual and upbeat as usual.

“Well, look who it is. The mysterious Shoko!”

You turned just in time to see Gojo walking over, his sunglasses perched on top of his head and that ever-present grin plastered on his face. He had the kind of confidence that was almost irritating, but you couldn’t help but smile at him.

“Hey, Gojo,” Shoko said, barely looking up from her drink. “You know I don’t like being called mysterious.”

Gojo chuckled, leaning in a little too close as he looked at you. “Oh, and who’s this?” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “Shoko, you’ve been holding out on me?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Not at all,” you said, keeping your tone light but firm. “I just don’t usually run in the same circles.”

Gojo let out a loud laugh. “Fair enough. But, if you ever decide to upgrade your circle, you know who to talk to.” He flashed a wink, then finally noticed your drink. “I’ll get you something better,” he said, turning toward the bar.

“Don’t bother,” you replied dryly. “I’m fine.”

Gojo just gave you a nod, understanding, and turned toward the crowd, disappearing into the throng of partygoers.

“Sorry about him,” Shoko muttered.

“Don’t worry about it,” you said, shaking your head. “He’s harmless.”

Just then, Geto appeared, his presence a quiet different to Gojo’s loud antics. His gaze immediately found Shoko, and his expression softened, the tension you saw earlier melting away as he moved closer. Without saying a word, he slid an arm around her, pulling her in gently.

“Hi, babe,” Geto said quietly, his voice carrying just the right amount of affection.

“Hey,” Shoko responded, smiling up at him. “You surviving the chaos?”

“Barely,” Geto replied with a chuckle. “But it’s worth it now that you’re here.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the two of them. Even though you’d only just found out about their ‘relationship’, it was nice to see them together

“it’s good to see you,” Geto said, finally turning to face you fully. His smile was polite, but it didn’t reach his eyes the way it did when he looked at Shoko. “Shoko’s mentioned you a few times.”

You nodded, unsure how to respond. “She probably talks a lot about you, too,” you said, knowing it was a lie. Shoko had only mentioned him once.

Geto chuckled, though his expression was unreadable. “I’m sure she does. She’s not the type to hold back.”

Gojo cut in, grabbing a drink off a nearby table and offering it to you with a bright smile.

“Come on, take it,” he insisted. “I’m trying to make sure you’re having a good time.”

You glanced at Shoko, who gave you an almost unnoticeable nod, as if giving you permission to go along with it. After a brief moment of hesitation, you took the drink from Gojo.

“Thanks,” you said, your voice steady despite the slight tension in the air. Gojo grinned, completely unfazed by the moment.

“Anytime,” he said, his eyes glinting with playful mischief. “Just don’t let Shoko keep you all to herself, alright?”

You nodded at his words, glancing away as your eyes searched for Sukuna. It was strange that he wasn’t with his friends. As you scanned the room, you finally spotted him in the corner with a girl. Before you could make out what was happening, Geto let out a small cough, drawing your attention back. His voice was quiet but steady as he spoke again. “So, how have you been? I don’t think we’ve really had a chance to talk much.”

You blinked, surprised by his sudden shift in tone. “I’ve been fine. You know, the usual stuff. School and all that.”

Geto nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’ve got things under control.” His gaze lingered on you for a moment, as if he was taking in more than just your words.

“Yeah,” you replied, unsure if there was more he wanted to say. It felt strange, like you were both trying to navigate the boundaries of something unspoken.

Gojo, sensing the shift, decided to add his usual touch of chaos to break the tension. “Alright, enough serious talk. We’re here to have fun, not talk about boring stuff. Right?”

Gojo leaned back casually against the wall, sipping his drink and letting his gaze wander around the party. “So,” he started, his grin mischievous as ever. “What’s it like living with Shoko? I imagine she has some… red flags.”

Shoko smacked his arm, rolling her eyes. “Don’t even start, Gojo. I’m a delight.”

You smirked. “She’s not lying. Living with Shoko’s pretty chill. Except for when she leaves coffee mugs everywhere.”

“Not everywhere,” Shoko interrupted. “Just… places.”

“You left one in the bathroom last week,” you deadpanned, and Gojo let out a loud laugh.

“Classic Shoko,” he said, shaking his head. “I bet Geto didn’t know you were a coffee hoarder.”

Shoko shot him a sharp look, her cheeks coloring slightly. “He’s not here to hear about my habits.”

Geto chuckled softly, watching the two of you with an amused expression. “It’s fine. I’ve seen worse.”

“Oh, so you’re saying you’ve already seen her coffee-stash phase?” Gojo teased, raising an eyebrow. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

Shoko groaned. “Ignore him. He gets worse the longer he’s at these things.”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” Gojo countered, his grin widening. His attention turned to you again, and he pointed at your drink. “You’re keeping up, right? No slacking.”

You raised the cup slightly in mock acknowledgment. “I’m pacing myself. Someone has to stay sober.”

“Smart,” Geto commented, his tone measured. He looked over at Shoko, then back to you, as if debating whether to say something. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter now. “So, how’d Shoko convince you to come out tonight?”

“She gave me a pep talk,” you replied, casting a faint smile at Shoko. “I guess I just needed a break.”

“She’s good at that,” Geto said, his voice carrying a warmth that made Shoko glance at him, her lips curving into a small smile. “Pulling people out of their routines.”

You nodded, sipping your drink. “She’s definitely good at that.”

The moment felt oddly intimate, even with Gojo’s constant interruptions and the background noise of the party. You could feel Geto’s gaze linger just a little longer than expected, and Shoko seemed acutely aware of it, though she said nothing.

Gojo, never one to let things settle too long, broke the moment with a loud laugh. “Well, I’d say tonight’s shaping up to be interesting. Who knows? Maybe you’ll end up actually having fun.”

“Don’t jinx it,” you muttered, earning another laugh from him.

“Alright, alright,” Gojo said, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “I’ll behave, for now.”

Geto shook his head, his lips twitching into a faint smile. “That’s the best we can hope for.”

Shoko nudged your arm lightly. “Come on. Let’s find a spot to sit before Gojo gets us dragged into something.”

You nodded, grateful for the escape, but as the two of you started to move away, you couldn’t shake the feeling of Geto’s gaze following you.

You glanced back briefly, only to catch Geto and Gojo talking in hushed tones, their expressions unreadable. Whatever they were saying, it wasn’t meant for you to hear.

Shoko was nowhere to be found again, and you were left alone in the kitchen, trying to collect your thoughts as the weight of the party surrounded you. You hadn't planned to drink much, but somehow you found your cup refilled a few times, the alcohol making your thoughts blurrier and your resolve a little weaker.

That's when you felt it again, his presence. Sukuna.

He was never far, it seemed.

You could feel the pull of his eyes from across the room, and before you knew it, he was standing beside you, leaning casually against the counter.

"You're still here?" he asked, his voice low, almost teasing. He gave you a look that told you he knew exactly what was happening.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain your composure. "Would you leave me alone already?"

“So,” Sukuna ignored your words, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone. “What did you think of the flowers?”

You raised an eyebrow, a hint of confusion in your voice. “I thought I already told you.”

Sukana replied, his tone casual yet with an underlying intensity. “Yeah, but you didn’t seem genuine over text. Just wanted to make sure you actually liked them.” You didn’t respond, still confused about what he was asking.

“The flowers,” he repeated, crossing his arms. “The ones I sent you. Did you like them?”

For a moment, you couldn’t tell if he was being genuine or setting up another one of his smug remarks. “They were… nice,” you said cautiously.

“Nice?” he echoed. “I think that’s the most lame reaction I’ve ever gotten.”

“I didn’t ask for them,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “So forgive me if I don’t fall at your feet in gratitude.”

Sukuna tilted his head, watching you with a glint in his eye that made you feel both irritated and slightly uneasy. “You’re hard to impress, aren’t you?”

“That's because I’m not interested,” you replied firmly.

“Right,” he drawled, his tone skeptical but not unkind. “So that’s why you kept them.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his observation. “How do you know I kept them?”

He grinned, and he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to make the moment feel more intimate. “Because if you didn’t, you would’ve told me by now. You’re not shy about speaking your mind, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks warmed at his words, and you hated the way he always seemed to find a way under your skin. “Maybe I did throw them away,” you muttered, looking away.

Sukuna's lips twitched into a smile, clearly amused by you. "What a shame," he said, leaning closer, his body just inches from yours. "Because I could've sworn you were warming up to me."

You shook your head, trying to clear the fog from your mind, but it wasn't working. The alcohol had already taken its toll, and you could feel the way your body reacted to his nearness, even though you were determined to stay in control.

"I'm not warming up to anything," you muttered. The alcohol was making your thoughts slow, and the way Sukuna was looking at you made everything feel like it was happening in slow motion.

He smirked, leaning in a little further until his breath was warm against your ear. "You sure about that?" His voice was a husky whisper, sending a shiver down your spine. "Because I can't help but notice the way you keep glancing at me. You want to be close, don't you?"

Your eyes met his in a gaze that held all the unspoken tension between you. "You think you know everything, don't you?" Your voice came out quieter than you intended, and you weren't sure if you wanted him to pull away or pull you closer.

Sukuna didn't answer you. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm as he stepped in even closer. His lips barely brushed the skin of your neck, and the sensation made your head spin.

"Don't fight it," he murmured, his hand now resting at the small of your back, pulling you gently toward him. "I can tell you want this just as much as I do."

Your head was spinning a little, but you couldn't deny the truth in his words. The attraction was undeniable, and no matter how much you tried to ignore it, it was there, tugging you toward him.

With a slight sway, you felt your body move closer to his, the alcohol making you bold, making everything feel a little more... daring. Before you knew it, your arm slid around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, your face just inches from his. You could feel the heat of his skin, the tension in the air thickening with every breath.

He gave you a half-smirk, one eyebrow raised, the challenge in his eyes clear. "Kiss me," he murmured, his voice velvet against your ear, the words hanging between you like a promise. "I know you want to."

For a moment, you almost gave in. The alcohol, the tension, the undeniable pull between you, it all felt too strong. You could feel his lips just a breath away, your eyes fluttering closed. But then, you stopped yourself. You couldn't do this. Not with him.

You pulled back quickly, pushing against his chest to create some distance. Your breathing was heavy, and your thoughts were clouded.

But before either of you could say anything, the door to the kitchen swung open with a sharp creak.

"Really?" Shoko's voice cut through the moment. You both snapped back in an instant, startled, as she leaned casually in the doorway with her arms crossed. Her eyes scanned between you and Sukuna, amusement dancing in her expression. "I leave you alone for five minutes, and this is what happens?"

You froze, heart pounding in your chest, as Sukuna remained unfazed, a smirk curling at the edges of his lips.

Shoko raised an eyebrow, clearly unbothered. "Guess we're skipping the 'will-they-won't-they' phase tonight, huh?" She chuckled and shook her head. "Let's go. I'm getting you out of here before you do something you'll regret."

You wanted to protest, to stay, but the tension in the air was thick, and you could feel your head spinning from the alcohol. As you turned to follow Shoko, you heard Sukuna's voice, low and teasing. "See you later, sweetheart."

You wanted to punch yourself. You hated Sukuna, so why the hell had you almost kissed him? You knew it was the alcohol talking over you, but still… why did it feel so damn good?

He leaned against the counter, watching you disappear into the crowd, your figure disappearing behind a few people. Sukuna's smirk deepened. Day two and he already had you exactly where he wanted.

another note: it felt a little weird making them almost kiss in only the third chapter but i remembered sukuna would probably try to make a move on her like kissing or sleeping with her because he thinks that’s how she’ll fall for him it just makes sense for his character! also was listening to ‘that’s so true’ by gracie abrams and that song is so sukuna and reader

taglist: @clp-84 @ssetsuka @lymsfm @monic19 @bol0-de-morang0 @strxberryicecream @r0ckst4rjk @gojocumslut @elliebelliegi @kazuuhali @luna-v-roiya @sussiesushi @nakiich @mourart7 @neuvilletteswife4ever @rusted-dolly @blueyesuguru @lillycore @yourhornysister @bnbaochauuu @ferretsqueen @anonnieghost @boogiemansbitch @sukubusss @sterzin @miazzzma @silkija @blueemochii @number0netrash @aldebrana @emoedgylord @cherixheri @jxeon @paradisestarfishh @bananaminn @reisore @monkeycheeks-lvl26

[audiart]

CRASHES INTO THE WALL

hi hello question. stares at you loudly : what made khan and nori decide to have porter?

in love w the idea that like as soon as nori got a new body they rlly just went ‘BABY. NOW.’ and boom . porter. but i also think nori would hesitate bringing up the idea because . You know what happened last time they had a kid. and also i think she’d just be worried khan wouldn’t want anymore even though these fuckers probably planned having 5+ kids (doorman clan .)

ANYWAYS sorry for rambling lawl im sooo normal about them!!!

Boi your eyes loud as FUcK got that SpongeBob blink sound wtf HI

I think Khan was the one to bring it up first and Nori agreed after a while!! She loves Uzi so much but felt like she missed out on p much all the major milestones parenting and Khan helped her through the “What if she thinks I’m replacing her?” Thoughts, but these dumbasses didn’t think to tell Uzi til after the UNN got uploaded to a body lol. They’re both extremely intelligent but not very bright at the same time.

A lot of her fear with having Uzi was her visions of the future and the possibility of passing the Solver on- now that the DDs are mostly tame and the Solver isn’t capable of possessing new hosts at the moment she’s more than excited to terrorize the world with more Doormans :D

[traveler-at-heart]

Speak or die?

Summary: You have a crush on your poetry professor.

Professor Natasha Romanoff x F!R

Request by @jujuu23 :) Hope you like it

And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting

On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;

    And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

    And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

            Shall be lifted—nevermore!

Professor Romanoff closes the book, the classroom silent as she walks to the front. Her raspy voice had a way of enchanting people, and it almost felt like she had cast a spell on everyone.

“Thoughts?” she asks, adjusting her glasses. Her beautiful features are framed by a couple of strands of fiery hair, the rest of it tied in a messy bun.

A couple of people lean back on their seats, nervous about being called to participate.

“What a weirdo” Barnes says, and some of your classmates laugh.

“Thank you, for that very insightful analysis, Mr. Barnes. Any other thoughts you’d like to share with the class?”

Before he can speak again and say something even more stupid, you jump in.

“It’s about madness, caused by grief. About his beloved, who he’ll never forget but is gone. It’s the same theme in Annabel Lee and Lenore. Though I think Annabel Lee is a lot less haunting… there’s a certain serene beauty to it.”

“Very good, Miss Y/L/N. And of course, we have the references to Pallas Athena. Not uncommon for Allan Poe to mention Greek mythology. Your next assignment will be to find and discuss examples of mythology and classical literature within his work”

As everyone leaves the room, you walk next to the professor’s desk.

“I’ve enjoyed your essay. Well, both of them” she says.

“Both?” you stop, looking confused.

“It’s very obvious your boyfriend is not writing his papers” she tries to keep her composure, but finds it irritating that someone as bright as you is with Barnes of all people.

“Oh, Bucky? Yeah, I might have helped him a bit… not my boyfriend, though”

You think it’s best to leave out the fact he enrolled in this class to meet pretty girls and act like he knows about poetry.

“Well, he should still do his own homework” Natasha says, this time with a kinder tone. “And nice work today”

“Thank you” you nod, smiling as you leave the classroom. 

You hope Professor Romanoff didn’t notice the way you were blushing at her praise. 

—

Natasha glances at her cozy living room one last time. It’s a crisp autumn night, and she could still cancel her plans and stay home with a good book and a glass of wine.

But she’d never hear the end of it, would she?

The woman takes a cab to the gallery downtown, hoping the evening ends early and she can at least read a chapter or two of her novel before bed.

As she enters the crowded space, Natasha feels the need to turn around and leave. Carol’s voice stops her.

“Fancy meeting you here”

“Yelena made me do it” the redhead explains, standing next to her colleague and friend.

“Well, she’s quite the artist. You should be proud of your sister” Carol says, looking around the room until she finds the younger woman. Natasha nods her thanks and walks to her sister, smiling.

“You made it!” Yelena, who was explainig her sculpture to a man, stops mid sentence and hugs Natasha. “I thought you’d find a way to stay home and avoid being out”

“I promised I’d be here. Go. I’ll have a look around” Natasha says when another woman walks up to Yelena.

“Try the appetizers, they’re really good!” Yelena says before going up to meet a group of art dealers.

It’s a big night for the Art Department. They have been planning this exhibit for months now. Plenty of critics and art dealers would stop by, hoping to find the next big name.

Natasha walks around, eyeing the paintings and sculptures in the room. Distracted by a very abstract work, she fails to notice another person walking behind her until her back collides with a shoulder.

“Sorry” she turns, surprised at meeting your eyes and friendly smile.

“Hi, Professor Romanoff” you greet. “How are you liking the exhibit?” 

“It’s good. What are you doing here?”

“College paper business. And to support my roommate, Wanda” you point at a couple of paintings, with very dark themes and distorted faces. “She’s uh… going through her misunderstood artist phase” 

“Well, she’s certainly committed to it” Natasha says, looking at the girl who must be Wanda, dark hair and smokey eyes giving her a grunge look.

“She’s a sweetheart” you promise, knowing that’s only one side of her. You’ve seen her cry over The Dick Van Dyke show, for heaven’s sake. Though you promised you’d never tell anyone. “Want to be on the record for me?”

“How so?”

“Just tell me what you think of the exhibit. Or the department in general” you shrug your shoulders. “It’s good that other faculty members are here”

“Well, I’ve known Carol for years, back when we were both students. She’s very committed to her work and advancing the curriculum, so it’s great to see an amazing selection tonight. My sister seems to think a great deal of the success is due to Danvers”

“Your sister?”

“Yelena Belova” Natasha clarifies. At hearing that name, you blush and she immediately assumes that something happened between you two. 

The reality is, you’ve spoken about how much you love your poetry professor in front of Yelena on more than one occasion. Now you understand why she laughed so hard when you said Natasha was Aphrodite reincarnate.

That little shit.

“Yeah, I know Yel. Wanda and her hang at the dorm, I mean, we all do” you trip over your words, picking up a glass of red wine to ease your nerves.

“You sure you can handle that?” Natasha asks, appreciating the way your cheeks blush at the taste of the alcohol.

“It’s fine” you lick your lips, missing the way Natasha follows the movement with her eyes.

“Well, it’s nice to know Yelena has someone with common sense to keep her grounded” Natasha says and inspite of your internal struggle, you smile.

In that moment, Carol clinks her glass gently, getting everyone’s attention. As she speaks, you try to listen to her words -the toast should be mentioned in the article- but your mind is focused on Natasha’s parfum, and the warmth of her body as she stands next to you. Once Danvers is done, everyone claps and you take a breath, thinking it might be a good idea to get some fresh air.

“Sestra, there you are” Yelena walks up to you two, a knowing smirk at your affected state. “I’d introduce you but I believe you already know each other”

“Yeah” you smile, looking anywhere but Natasha. “I’ll leave you to it, gotta talk to a couple more people. Enjoy your evening”

Yelena doesn’t move, so you’re forced to walk very close to Natasha, and the moment your eyes meet you almost forget how to breathe.

The redhead doesn’t miss the way your pupils are blown or the not so subtle way in which you glance at her lips.

She wants to reach out and grab your wrist, turn you around and devour your lips in a messy kiss. Instead, she sees you walk towards your friend.

“See? Aren’t you glad I made you come out of your cave?”

Apparently, your crush wasn’t one sided after all. 

—

The school paper. Natasha barely paid attention to it, even when it was delivered every Monday to her office, same as every faculty member at Lang University. 

This time, she is eager to open it and read your article. There it is, your name and a very long piece about the exhibit. Your prose is exquisite, and you didn’t just deliver an event summary; it’s a deep dive into the department, budget cuts and how students and professors are investing their own resources to keep the course alive.

Right under the dean’s nose. Natasha has to smile; it’s true that Howard Stark was more inclined to favor the Science department and a number of protests had gone unanswered on his side. Most of them came from tenured professors, as part time teachers and students were concerned with some sort of retaliation.

Not you, though.

Natasha is so focused on the article that she misses the knock on her door until Fury comes in.

“Romanoff” he greets. “Picking up on some light reading?”

“Something very entertaining” she turns the pages to show your article and he chuckles.

“She’s got balls” he recognises. “Heard she was talking about it with some art dealers who donate to the university. Apparently Stark is listening now”

“I’m happy to hear that”

“That’s not why I’m here, though” Fury sits down, crossing his legs. “The Foster Grant”

“What about it?” Natasha says, playing dumb. She hates to be the center of attention. “I know I got it, it’s no big deal”

“It is to the department. We don’t want to be the next on the list of budget cuts”

“Maybe we’ll just have to ask Y/N to write an article for us” she jokes, but Fury just smirks knowingly.

“Great idea! Let’s have her write something about your work and the research you’ve been doing” he slaps his knee, standing up. 

“What?”

“Well, don’t look at me like that, it was your idea, Romanoff. Better be this week so it’s on next Monday’s edition” he winks, leaving her office whistling.

As usual, Natasha is blindsided by her boss. How on Earth will she manage a conversation alone with you?

Still, Fury leaves no room for argument, and at the end of Tuesday’s class, you approach her desk.

“I was told you had an assignment for me” you say, biting your lip nervously.

“Yes, that’s right. Something about a research grant, it’s really not a big deal. Sorry that Fury put you up to it” she dismisses the thing like it’s a nuissance.

“I don’t mind at all. Just wanted to check if… when do you want to meet. And where. It would be better around Thursday so I can come prepared with questions and then write everything over the weekend. But I’ll adjust to your schedule” 

“Thursday is fine by me” Natasha nods. “My office? Last class is at 5, so maybe 6”

“Yeah, sounds good” you nod, blushing. “See you then, professor”

How will you survive this?

—

Thursday comes faster than you’d like, and you’re inspecting your wardrobe as if you’re going on a first date. 

Everythig’s too ugly. Why do you have such ugly clothes? 

Ugh, I should just cancel. 

In the end, you opt for a preppy look, with a black skirt and thights, choosing a black and white stripped sweater for the cold weather.

You run into Yelena and Wanda in the living room.

“Where are you going so fancy?” the blonde says, whistling and forcing you to twirl so she can have a 360 of your outfit. “You’re going on a date, aren’t you?”

Wanda, who actually knows about your appointment, covers her mouth to keep from laughing and you glare at her.

“Don’t”

“What? Is it someone I know?” Yelena looks between the two of you.

“Yes. It’s your sister” Wanda finally cracks. 

“It’s not a date!” you rush to say when Yelena turns to look at you. “I’m writing an article about her research”

“Mmm, right” she nods, not believing you. “She asked about you the other day, you know?”

“She did? I mean, what did she want to know?” you try to pretend it’s no big deal.

“She asked if we hooked up. I told her you’re not my type”

“Oh, please. I’m everyone’s type” you huff, picking up your bag before you run late. You still want to stop by the cafeteria.

“You’re certainly Natasha’s” Yelena mumbles, but you miss it. “Good luck on your non date with my sister”

“Not a date… although, what’s her coffee order?” 

“I’ll tell you if you admit it’s a date”

By the time you finally get Yelena to answer, you’re ten minutes late, walking around campus with two coffees and cookies. Knocking with your elbow, you hear a soft come in and figure out how to open the door. 

Juggling everything, you walk into Natasha’s office.

“Let me help you” the woman says, standing up and rushing to your side. You hand over the cup with her name. “For me?”

“Yes”

“Thank you. I’m sorry, I should be the one with a drink to offer. How did you know?” she licks her lips, appreciating the sweet flavor of the caramel macchiato. Her glasses fog from the warmth of the drink and you have to resist the urge to kiss her.

“I asked Yelena” you admit. “Glad to know she wasn’t pranking me” 

“I do have a sweet tooth”

“No worries, I won’t write anything about it” you take a notepad and your phone to record. “May I?”

“Please” Natasha settles behind her desk, appreciating that cute little frown that always appears when you’re focused. You go over your notes for a minute and then nod, ready to begin.

The hour goes by quickly, and Natasha feels proud when she notices you’ve stopped taking notes, genuinely interested and asking about everything she’s been researching for the past year and a half.

“Oh, it’s getting late. I’m so sorry for keeping you here” you apologize, looking at the time. 

“That’s ok, I’m free for the rest of the evening. I cleared my schedule just for you”

The words make your heart flutter. Of course she doesn’t mean anything by it, but how you wished she did.

“So, do you have time for a couple more questions?”

“Sure” 

For you, she has all the time in the world. Natasha could spend all night watching you put that lose strand of hair behind your ear, while you write down your thoughts. 

It’s dangerously endearing.

“I’d like to know… your favorite poem” you ask, more for yourself than for the article.

Natasha takes a deep breath, standing up and walking around her desk. She speaks as she approaches you, in that soft, tender tone that always makes your heart skip a beat.

“I loved you; even now I may confess,

Some embers of my love their fire retain;

But do not let it cause you more distress,

I do not want to sadden you again.

Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet I loved you dearly

With pangs the jealous and the timid know;

So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,

I pray God grant another love you so”

Natasha looks into your eyes as she sits on the edge of the desk, mere inches away from you. 

In truth, you had expected her to answer with the poem’s title, not recite it to you so passionately.

“Pushkin” you sigh, looking at your hands.

“Very good” she praises, which makes you blush even harder. “It sounds better in Russian, though”

“I can imagine” you say, torn between wanting to hear it or not. You might lose your last sliver of self control if she speaks her native language.

“Is there anything else you need from me?”

You need to kiss her, discover how her lips feel against yours. Hold her hand, guide her up your skirt…

“Yes. I… mean, no, I have everything I need, professor” you snap out of your thoughts, looking flustered. “Thank you so much for making the time to speak to me”

“I always have time for my best student” she says, standing up and walking you to the door. “I’m looking forward to reading your article”

“I’ll try to live up to the expectations”

“I’m sure you will” she says gently, leaning against the threshold of the door. You look at her lips one last time before stepping back, wishing the evening could be prolonged.

Natasha watches you walk away, already missing your presence.

—

You spend the weekend reliving the interview. Thank God you kept recording when Natasha recited Pushkin, because now you have it for posterity.

The article is done, has been since you got back to your dorm. The words flowed effortlessly as you remembered everything Natasha said, and so you spent all night writing and correcting it until it was perfect. Even your editor was impressed when you sent it over.

Now, all that’s left is you, the recording and the view from your window. You listen to Natasha over and over again, hoping her presence migh somehow slip into your subconscious and then, she’ll be in your dreams as well.

As if you had summoned her, Natasha appears outside your window, walking with Yelena. As her sister walks into your building to meet with Wanda, Natasha looks up, waving at you. You remove your headphones, blushing at the fact that you were just listening to her speak on the recording.

“How’s the article coming along?”

“Signed, sealed, delivered” you smile. “I do hope you’ll like it”

“It will be the first thing I read tomorrow” she promises, saying goodbye. This time, you don’t bother to hide the fact that you’re staring as she leaves, and a little part of you feels like Juliet, watching Romeo walk away.

Forbidden love.

No, not forbidden. Unrequited.

With a sigh, you walk away and join your friends, thinking it’s better to distract yourself now that you remember Natasha Professor Romanoff is out of your reach.

Still, you can only fall asleep as you listen to her reciting that poem over and over again. And when you wake up, the resolve to see her again overcomes every fiber of your being. 

So you walk up to her office, knowing very well she’s there at break of dawn.

“Y/N” she says, looking at the paper in your hands. “Come in”

“I thought you’d like to read it. But maybe you’re busy. And you won’t like it or it’s not a big deal to you” you rant, handing it over and turning to leave. “Never mind”

“Stay” is all she says, hand reaching for your wrist. Your heart skips a beat at the contact and you nod, trying to ease your nerves. 

Natasha sits on her small sofa to read the article, and you’re too anxious so you walk around her office, examining the bookshelves. As you approach her desk, you focus on an open book, some notes scribbled along the margins.

“I love it” Natasha says, standing right behind you. You jump, so absorbed by the book that you didn’t hear her stand up and come close to you. She’s now reading over your shoulder. “It’s the Heptameron, by Marguerite de Navarre. I was working on a translation from the German edition”

You can now see the sheet of paper next to the page, Natasha’s writing looking rushed as if she fears the words will be taken by the wind. With a shaky voice, you break the sudden silence in the room, reading the story.

“A handsome young knight is madly in love with a princess

And she too is in love with him

Though she seems not to be entirely aware of it

Despite the friendship that blossoms between them or

Perhaps because of that very friendship

The young knight finds himself

So humbled and speechless

That he's totally unable to bring up the subject of his love

Till one day he asks the princess point blank

Is it better to speak or to die?”

“I found myself thinking a lot about unrequited love this weekend. And so I remembered this little thing” she says in a low voice. “What do you think is better? Speak or die?”

“I think that depends, Professor” you sigh, feeling her hand against your lower back.

“Depends… on what?” she whispers against your ear, making you shiver. “Should I speak about all the times I think of you, of how endearing and wonderful and intriguing you are to me?”

You turn around, cornered against her desk. Natasha’s hands traces a path down your arm, and takes your hand, lifting it to her lips. Your eyes follow the movement, and a sigh leaves your lips at the soft kiss she places on the back of your hand.

“Should I speak about how I wonder what it would be like to kiss you, taste you, mark you, until you’re chanting my name like a prayer?”

This time, her hand travels to your lips, pupils dilating as you allow her to invade your mouth with her finger, sucking gently until she retrieves it, pulling you by the waist.

“Should I speak, then? Or shall we keep pretending neither one of us wants this?” she whispers against your lips. You close your eyes, taking a breath to steady your heart. Her touch, her words, is all too much and you’re afraid it’s all a perfect dream, and at any moment you’ll wake up, alone and desperate for her.

“Please…” you say, leaning forward and capturing her lips in a messy, frantic kiss. Dream or reality, you’ll take Natasha in whatever way you can.

Natasha craddles your face in her hands, spreading your legs apart with her knee. You whine incoherently at her surprising strenght, your hands balled up in fists around the fabric of her pristine shirt. 

“You’re so perfect” she sighs against your lips. “So beautiful”

“Natasha” you plead, wanting to feel her against you, closer, harder. More, more, more until you’re on the brink of destruction and she’s all that exists.

“I want you. Do you want me?” she asks, and you catch the uncertainty in her tone.

“Of course I do” 

If only she could feel how wet you are, all because of her touch.

But there’s a knock on the door, and you both look at the spot, alarmed. Natasha squeezes your hand to reassure you.

“Yes?”

“Just delivering the paper, Professor”

“Leave it outside, I’ll pick it up in a minute. Thank you”

You take a moment to breathe and fix your hair, aware that your lips are swollen from all the kissing.

You kissed your professor. Natasha Romanoff kissed you.

“Are you ok?” she asks, worried about your sudden silence.

“Just wondering if I’m about to wake up from a beautiful dream” you admit, and she smiles.

“Do you dream of me?” she teases, her hand reaching for yours.

“Only when I’m awake”

Natasha smiles, kissing your fingers.

“Would you like to have dinner with me? My place. This Friday”

“Yes. I’d love to”

There’s another knock on the door, but Fury doesn’t wait for Natasha to answer. You jump away from the woman, unsure if this could get her into trouble.

Luckily, Fury is busy inspecting the paper that was dropped outside of Natasha’s office and he doesn’t pick up on anything as he looks up.

“Miss Y/L/N. You wrote an amazing article. Brilliant”

“Thank you, Doctor Fury” you say. “I should head out, my Sociology class is starting soon”

Natasha smiles at you, hoping you understand how much she wishes you could carry on.

But the promise of more lingers in her eyes and so, as you take one last look at her, you return her smile.

“I’m happy the knight spoke, Professor. See you in class” 

“See you in class, Miss Y/L/N”

[aurorawritestoescape]

BORROWED TIME

Joel Miller x f!reader || 4k

Summary: Joel and you are enjoying an ideal vacation together. Warm ocean, white sand, soft kisses, and hot sex make it feel like paradise. But as your time here is running out, the thoughts that you‘ve been trying to keep at bay start eating at your soul.

Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, angst, fluff, age is not specified, soft dom vibes, infidelity, praise kink, f!oral, unprotected piv (wrap it up), creampies, belly bulge, soft!Joel, EMOTIONS, rough-ish sex, consensual somno, heavily inspired by Pedro’s vacay pics and videos. Pics are only for the mood. Joel can lift reader. Reader wears a dress, a bikini.

A/n: yay my first fic of 2025! I didn’t expect it to be this one but like all of us I was deeply affected by the recent Pedro content and needed to cope somehow so I wrote this. I really hope y’all will like it! Smooches to @milla-frenchy for beta-ing💋 ILY, baby🫂 Dividers by @/saradika-graphics

MASTERLIST

The first day in heaven. A soft breeze caresses your skin as soon as you step out of the cab, just from the airport, but Joel’s hands always do it better.

You’ve been looking forward to this trip, afraid to even talk about it, scared to jinx it, make it vanish like a mirage. You’ve been dreaming of having Joel all to yourself for too long.

Joel hugs you in the hotel lobby while they’re checking you in, and you tilt your head up to face him. You’ve never smiled so widely before. Your heart is fluttering in your chest, and his scent, your favorite in the whole world, makes you tremble and gush.

You taste sugar on your lips from a welcome Mimosa, and as soon as you two are in your room, he licks it off; the kiss is full of passion, his hands eager, desperate to tear your summer dress off. It’s on the floor in a second, just like your panties. He kneels in front of you and kisses your naked thigh. A growl against your skin makes you shiver before he looks you up and down, taking in the sight of your naked body, and then tuts with overexaggerated disapproval,

”Asked you not to wear anything underneath, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I couldn’t be butt-naked on the plane, Joel,” you giggle, tracing a line from the crease between his brows, down the slope of his nose, and to his chin. You love his profile so much that seeing it is not enough, so you made a habit of touching it too.

“I promise you’ll never see any underwear on me from now on.”

“Good girl,” he praises you with a wide smile, and then suddenly latches onto your wet pussy. You gasp and grab his broad shoulders to steady yourself. Joel helps you not to fall, his strong hands on your thighs spread your legs apart, and you happily grant him access to the most sacred part of your body.

He pushes his tongue between your folds, traces your soft entrance with its tip, and your legs are already trembling. He starts playing with you, mischief swimming in his dark eyes, slowly laps at your folds, gently sucks on your clit but doesn’t give you enough stimulation to come.

You whine when his mouth parts from your puffy bud, desperate for a release.

“You’ll come, my angel. But only on my cock,” Joel promises, getting up, takes you in his arms, and carries you to the shower.

You're caged between the shower wall and Joel. He's naked and wet, radiating sex and desire. Soapy water is running over the curves of your body while he's washing you, taking his time. His big lathered palms are gliding over your breasts, belly, mound, ass. Your hands are pressed to the expense of his chest as he's slowly edging you, always happy to play with you like a cat with a mouse. He's waiting for you to break under his touch, to beg for more. Yet his heart is beating so fast and hard under your palms that it leaves you no doubt that he's desperate for you just as much as you're for him. He can't get enough of you and your heart sings, seeing every sign of it— his blown out eyes, his heavy breathing, his hard cock.

You're revelling in the caress of Joel's hands but your body takes over soon enough. Your wet palm slithers down his torso and wraps around his stiff length. You pump the shaft a few times and then guide his tip between your folds.

"Fuck me, Joel." Your plea is almost swallowed by the sound of the rainfall shower but he hears you.

"Begging me already? So needy." His eyes are obsidian, he can't fool you.

"Aren't you?" you purr, sliding his fat tip up and down over your hardened clit, massaging it, making yourself moan and tremble. The sensation makes Joel grunt and break. Through his teeth he commands, "Turn around."

“Yes, sir,” you breathe out, smile wide, eyes sparkling, and in a second the cold tile kisses your cheek, then your pebbled nipples, and his fat head slowly slides into your pussy, followed by his girthy shaft.

“Hngggg— oh, baby—been thinking of fucking you since this morning. Your damn dress. Took me a lot not to ruin you right on the plane.”

You whimper at his words and then your eyes roll back when he starts thrusting his thickness in and out of your tight cunt. It takes you a few deep breaths to get used to the stretch but you always take him well and soon wet slapping noises reverberate off the walls, together with your moans and his grunts fusing into a melody of lust and passion. You love when he’s as desperate for you as you’re for him. It gives you hope.

Crispy sheets, so white your eyes hurt, envelop your poorly-dried bodies like a cloud.

“C’mere,” he croaks, pulling you closer, and you rest your head on his chest as he covers you two with a blanket. His warm cum is leaking out of your stretched pussy and you tingle all over again but the flight has drained you both and in a couple of minutes you two fall asleep.

You wake up before Joel and slip out from under his arm to look at the view. You walk out on the balcony and the beauty of the ocean under the bright sun overwhelms you, making you squeal with excitement. Not being able to wait any longer to feel the caress of the waves, you hurry back to the room and wake Joel up with a soft kiss.

“Wake up, sleepy. Let’s go swimming before the sun sets.”

Joel’s golden skin is sparkling with a myriad of water diamonds as he’s standing waist-deep in the bluest ocean in front of you, rendering you completely mesmerized. He chuckles, noticing the way you’re almost drooling, and pulls you closer into his embrace. With his body pressed to yours, your pussy starts aching, and a twitch in his swim trunks tells you that he’s also affected by the sight and the feel of you.

“Damn, baby, driving me crazy…your tiny bikini…”

“Do you like it?” you ask, brushing his neck with your lips, tasting salt on his skin.

“Hate the way they all stare at you. You’re mine. But the way you look. Yeah, I like it,” he growls and bucks his hips against you under the water. You giggle and then sigh into the crease of his neck.

“I’m yours,” you whisper. ‘Are you mine?’ you think. You push the thoughts back into a box in your mind you promised yourself not to open here. ’You’re in heaven. Don’t ruin it,’ you remind yourself.

The next morning you wake up and see Joel right next to you, limbs tangled in the sheets, plush lips asking for a kiss. A rush of happiness makes you tear up and you squirm with impatience to start the day when Joel opens his eyes. He’s gorgeous in the morning — hair disheveled, voice hoarse. He looks a little grumpy but you kiss the crease between his brows away and his face softens.

“Morning, my angel.”

You wish you could hear it till the rest of your life. Or at least next week. He pulls you into his sleepy body, the hug is tight, the kiss is impatient, and soon the murmur of the ocean accompanies your whispers as you’re riding him, your thighs, sticky with sweat cling to his hips, his hand is kneading your breast, the other’s focused on making you come, thick fingers swirling around your clit. He expertly brings you to a hard orgasm and follows quickly after—the back of his head dips into the fluffy pillow as he bursts into you and you milk him to the last drop, happy to walk around with his cum between your legs all day.

Joel’s lying on a lounger now, his expression concentrated, reading a book in the shade, while you’re standing a few steps away, drying yourself with a towel, just out of the ocean. You can’t help but stare at his handsome face, the broadness of his shoulders, his big arms. God, he’s gorgeous. Feeling your heart eyes on him, Joel glances at you from the side and his lips curve into a playful smirk. It sends a bolt of lightning through your body, electrifies every nerve, makes your core burn with desire.

No need for words. His expression tells you everything - ‘C’mere. Now.’

Still dripping water, you walk to him and straddle his muscular thighs, barely covered by his red shorts. His legs are hot against your cold skin but you melt into your bikini bottoms because of his eyes— obsidian, piercing, magnetic, they pull you close and you lie down on his chest. His book, forgotten in a second, falls on the sand with a thud. You kiss his soft lips and whisper against them, “Take me to our room.”

Delicious dinners at sunset, the warm ocean, the white sand, clinging to your heated body, but most importantly him next to you make the time here fly. Blissful minutes turn into hours, hours flow into days. Full of laughter, long conversations, endless kissing and hot sex. But your ideal life, your paradise starts glitching and breaking into pixels when one morning he offers, “Wanna go get some souvenirs?”

Just one question, as trivial as it can be on a holiday, breaks the wall you’ve built in your mind between your perfect existence here and your reality there. Between your present and your future. Near future. You’re going back soon. To that life.

Suffocating panic tightly grabs your throat and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drive away the thoughts, to glue the wall back together but he muses what he should get for Sarah and your wall turns into glass and shatters into a million pieces.

You mumble something incoherent trying to fight the upcoming tears and rush to the bathroom.

By the time you’re standing in front of the mirror tears are flowing down your cheeks and you hastily wipe them away, hating to upset him, but your heart and your head, joined in a cruel tandem, remind you that everything is going to go back to normal very soon. Normal for him is a misery for you. Waiting, hoping, asking him to stay longer, wishing that he finally makes a decision, finally chooses you.

The rest of the day you’re quiet, afraid to speak and to let your emotions spoil your precious time together. It gets unbearably hard to ignore the fact that you’re having him all to yourself on borrowed time. You start or rather let yourself notice his calls, his voice quiet, probably lying about his business meetings. He talks to his wife on the balcony or in the bathroom, not to keep you a secret —you know how to be quiet when she calls at this point, but rather not to rub her in your face. You’re thankful, not wanting to reopen the wound that’s been slowly healing up during these days together. Yet you know that soon it’s going to gush blood again when you say goodbye to your paradise and return to your empty bed, fleeting dates with him and soul-crushing loneliness.

You disassociate when he talks about packing and the flight back. You kiss him and want to cry, moan his name under the weight of his body but your heart aches. Every touch is a reminder that soon it’ll be over, soon he’ll be hers again.

It’s the last day of the trip and early in the morning you sneak out while Joel’s still asleep and go to the beach. It’s almost empty, only seagulls are the witnesses of your breakdown. You’re crying, swept by a wave of dreadful thoughts in your mind. Tomorrow you’re leaving and then he’s leaving you. For a day? Two? A week? Who knows.

You can’t blame him. You knew that he was married from the start. At first it felt like a fling but you got attached, you fell in love with the married man and foolishly expected him to divorce his wife, scoop you up in his big arms and carry you into the sunset like in a cheesy rom-com. But he kept telling you that, yes he didn’t love his wife anymore, but his daughter Sarah was too young and she was his world. He’d never hurt her like that, would never break up the family.

They say, you can’t change the ocean, no matter how hard you try, so it’s best to learn how to sail in all conditions. Just like the ocean Joel was unyielding in his devotion to his daughter but you failed to adapt so you were slowly drowning in despair, your love for him dragging you down like an iron ball chained to your foot.

You wipe the tears away and squeeze a handful of sand between your fingers as anger rises in your stomach. You deserve better than being someone’s dirty secret. What if you give him an ultimatum - you or his wife, and if he chooses her, you’ll find someone else. Someone who’ll love you openly, who’ll choose you. Someone better.

A thought makes your stomach sink - it’s not possible. Joel is perfect. He’s fucking perfect except for one huge flaw. He’s married.

You walk with your heart heavy back to your room and find Joel up, nervously pacing the floor. He asks where you’ve been and, not being able to conceal your feelings any longer, you burst into tears. He rushes to hug you but you slap his arms away. You shout, you cry, you beg. All the pain pushed deep down is spilling out of your heart, accompanied by the words you hate saying, insecurities you promised yourself to hide but it’s hard to stop.

It’s not like he hasn’t heard it all before. He has and that’s why now he looks tired. Not angry. Never. Just tired, sad and guilty.

Joel tries to calm you down, comfort you but all in vain. You’re waiting for him to tell you ‘I’ll be with you forever,” but instead he mumbles that he needs to take a walk and leaves you crying, face buried in his pillow. His scent woven into the fabric brings a thought to your mind which makes you cry even harder — soon you’ll go back to your flat where everything smells like him but loses the warmth of his body the second he leaves.

In the evening Joel timidly suggests going to the hotel bar. You feel embarrassed for your earlier outburst, but the fact that he didn’t make the decision you hoped for is twisting your stomach. Thinking that everything is better than staring at the suitcases in the corner of the room, you agree to go.

The bar is almost empty except for the two of you. You sit at the counter and order two shots of tequila. After emptying them fast, you both get two more and soon the hard liquor slightly numbs your emotions.

Joel’s warm hand is resting on your lower back as he’s peppering your shoulder, your neck, your cheek with open mouth kisses, but you’re cold, distant. It’s hard even to look at him.

He sighs but then suddenly exclaims, making you jerk,

“I love this song! Let’s dance!”

You smile a little, amused by the lights in his eyes. He’s cute when he’s tipsy. But you shake your head and mumble that you’re not in the mood.

Joel surprises you when he slides off his stool and starts dancing. Alone. For you. Despite everything you can’t tear your eyes off him. His dark gaze set on yours pierces your soul and makes your heart flutter in your chest. His movements are slow and alluring and the sway of his hips ignites fire in your core. You press your thighs together, quickly affected by his blatant seduction, and when he moves closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body, it gets hard for you to breathe.

Joel’s lustful eyes tell you to submit and when he places his hands on your knees, you obediently open your legs in invitation. He gets between your thighs and gently takes your face in his hands. Joel looks into your eyes and you stop breathing altogether. At this moment you realize that you’ll never leave him willingly, never be able to say goodbye to these kind brown eyes, these soft lips, these gentle hands. He’s the love of your life and you’re his completely and utterly. But he’s not yours.

You rush to your room, both swept by the urge to tear each other apart. Soon your clothes are littering the floor, your cheek pressed to the bed, ass pushed out in the air, as he’s kneeling behind you, snapping his hips against you hard and fast, pushing his throbbing cock deeper into your wet cunt, grunting, making you scream. His fat tip knocks at your cervix and it slightly hurts but you welcome it, wishing to focus on the ache from his length rather than the pain torturing your soul. His hands are leaving marks on your soft hips and you’re looking forward to seeing them on your body later as evidence that this trip was in fact real and not a wishful dream.

“Fuck— gonna come— you first, baby,” Joel growls and rubs your clit with an impatient hand, wet with your juices. You come shaking and crying on his cock and he rewards you with his load, squirting against your pulsating walls, which are squeezing him tightly and desperately. He’s carefully pulling out, and your tight cunt grabs onto him. Just like your heart, your body always craves him.

You wake up when it’s still dark outside. Joel’s chest is pressed to your back, his hand is cupping your wet folds, as he’s taking you from behind, sleepily moving his cock in and out of your sore pussy, drenched with his cum.

“Oh, baby— ahhh—love you—so much—yeahh— so good—,” he’s whispering in your ear, his voice gruff with sleep, his hot breath caressing your cheek. You moan softly before echoing him, “I love you, Joel.”

You beg him not to stop, already feeling yourself on the brink of ecstasy. The nature of your relationship makes it a rarity to be used by him in your sleep and you get turned on instantly. His arm snakes under and wraps around you as he starts pulling and twitching your nipples, while his other hand massages your puffy folds and then moves up.

“Damn—right here,” Joel grows, feeling a lump, moving under your skin. Thrusting his cock in and out with a steady rhythm, he mumbles, “Gimme,” grabs your hand and presses your palm tightly to your own belly, covering it with his hand.

“Feel it?”

“Yes, Joel, fuck,” you whimper and turn your head to catch his lips with yours. Joel keeps fucking you leisurely while you both are feeling the push of his cock under your skin.

Completely drunk on pleasure, swallowing each other's moans, you start coming hard at the same time, and your bodies, wet with sweat, jerk against each other. You feel so full, complete - your core is full of his load, your heart is full of his love. Happy in your oblivion, you fall asleep in the heaven of Joel’s arms.

But the dreaded morning comes fast. You try to concentrate on the tasks at hand, focus on the last preparations and soon Joel and you get into the cab, ready to head to the airport. You throw one last look at the hotel and the ocean, and take a deep breath, fighting the urge to cry. Sensing it, Joel pulls you closer and starts telling you an old childhood story, something about his brother Tommy and them ditching school together. You know what he’s doing but surprisingly it works and soon your giggles and his deep laugh fill the cab, lighting up the air between you two.

When you arrive in Austin, Joel insists on going to your address together. You refuse at first, but spending an extra hour with him sounds amazing. You hold hands on the way and shamelessly make out at the back of the cab.

You arrive at your place and Joel helps you with your suitcases. When you step into your flat, it seems like you’re carrying something heavy on your shoulders. Should you apologize for the last few days? Should you say something about it at all, risking leaving a bad taste in your mouths, ruining the whole trip.

But Joel beats you to it.

He comes up to you and hugs you tight. So tight that it’s hard for you to breathe. You nuzzle his neck, reveling in his scent, and suddenly you feel his whole body shake. You tilt your head up and see tears in his sad eyes. You’ve never seen Joel cry before, and it makes your chest hurt and your eyes well up too.

“Joel?“

“No, baby. Listen to me.” His voice is shaky, and fear grips your heart. Is he going to break up with you? You’d die on the spot.

He sniffs and continues,

“I’m sorry. Sorry for the mess I got you in. Sorry for your tears, but — I can’t, baby. Can’t do what you want from me. Rightfully so, but — not now. I’m sorry.”

You’re shaking your head, your teardrops landing on his tee,

”No, it’s ok. It’s fine.”

“It’s not, sweetheart. I’m an asshole. It’s horrible what I’m doing to them and to you. But I’m fuckin selfish. I can’t — can not be with you. I need you. I love you too much.”

You smile weakly, hearing his confession. Joel takes your hands in his and holds them tightly as he croaks,

“And you decide to stop seeing me, I’ll understand. I won’t bother you. I promise.”

You wipe tears off his scruffy cheeks and reach up to give him a kiss.

When you part from him, your expression is serious and determined.

“There’s nothing to decide, Joel. I love you. And I’ll wait for you. As long as you need me to. I’m yours.”

Joel’s red eyes dart between yours, and you give him a reassuring smile. After taking a deep breath, he whispers ,

“I don’t deserve you.”

He lifts you up, strong arms wrapped around your torso, and crashes his mouth against yours. You kiss him back with passion, putting your love in every stroke of your lips. Joel possessively licks into your mouth, his big hand cups the back of your head, keeping you close - a sign that he’s not letting you go. He needs you too much.

It might be wrong, it might bring you both grave pain, but a glimmer of hope in your heart, given by his confession, puts a smile on your face when you close the door behind him. He loves you, he wants to be with you, you’re his. And for now, it should be enough.

Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!<3

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @milla-frenchy @harriedandharassed @iamasaddie @nervousmumbling @bbyanarchist @stevie75 @puduvallee @auteurdelabre @mountainsandmayhem @senoratess @flamingochick55 @theoraekenslover @schnarfer @mermaidgirl30 @staywildflowahchild @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @evolnoomym @keylimebeag @joelmillerisapunk @pascaltesfaye @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40

People who were interested in the wip: @baronessvonglitter @almostfoxglove @tammy @sawmy @myownwholewildworld @guiltyasdave

[swappermanent]

Freckles

Being a closeted trans guy isn’t easy for anyone these days. Trust me, I’ve got the scars—metaphorical ones, at least—to prove it. But when it comes to my family, the challenge isn’t what you might expect. They’re not exactly waving rainbow flags at every Pride parade, but they’re not storming drag shows with pitchforks either. They’re comfortably, frustratingly middle-of-the-road when it comes to identity politics. You know the type—“We support you as long as it’s not too inconvenient.”

So, no, the problem isn’t their politics. The problem is the Elber Family Reunion Swap.

Let me explain. Every summer, my grandparents rent this massive villa somewhere in the world—we’re talking infinity pools, tennis courts, and a “staff quarters” vibe. It’s fancy. During this week of forced family bonding, Grandpa Elber breaks out his magic for what he calls “the ultimate empathy exercise.”

Yeah, magic. Real magic. My grandpa is an actual wizard, and no, I don’t know why he isn’t out saving the world or something. He claims this is his legacy, his gift to the family. And the gift? A body swap. Each of us trades bodies with another family member for the week to “better understand” their perspective. Sounds wholesome in theory, right? Sure. Except it comes with rules.

The first rule: you can only swap with someone of the same gender. According to Grandpa, this is because “genders have different energies” or some other magical nonsense he uses to justify it. The second rule: while in someone else’s body, you must act like that person. It’s considered bad form—borderline taboo, even—to behave “out of character.” The goal is to fully immerse yourself and live as them for the week.

This is the part that fucking sucks for me.

Growing up, I naturally got shoved into the women’s group. It didn’t matter that my hair was short or that I always would hang out with my male cousins all the time. When swap week rolled around, I was guaranteed to end up in the most hyper-feminine body available. Cousin Leah, with her long curly hair and pastel sundresses. Aunt Beth, whose shoe collection was a stiletto-filled nightmare. Once, I even got swapped into Great Aunt Carol, whose hobbies include flower arranging and oversharing about her cats.

It was torture. Absolute, unfiltered dysphoria. Butvery year, I’d smile through gritted teeth as relatives gushed about “seeing life from a different perspective,” counting the minutes until I could escape back to my flawed, but familiar, body.

But this year was different.

Nine months ago, I started taking T and told my family I wanted to use he/him pronouns. While their reactions ranged from awkward to mildly confused, they mostly rolled with it. And over time, my voice got deeper voice, the angles of my face sharpened a bit, and I started carrying myself more like a guy. Sure, I wasn’t "there" yet, whatever that meant: I hadn’t had top surgery, and my voice still cracked when I tried to lower it too much. But for this year’s reunion, I was cautiously optimistic that there was a chance—however slim—that I might finally swap with a guy.

The thought alone made my pulse race. Grandpa said he had no idea what would happen, that the magic would sort itself out. But if it worked—if the spell actually recognized who I was, not who I’d been forced to be—it would be life-changing. For once, I might not have to endure a week of floral prints and makeup. For once, I might get to experience a body that offered a glimpse into my future as a man.

---

On the evening of the swap, the family gathered in the villa’s massive living room, the air thick with incense from whatever mystical preparation Grandpa had cooked up. I sat cross-legged on the floor, trying not to look too eager. Across the room, Uncle Marco—rugged, broad-shouldered, and looking like he belonged on the cover of Men’s Health—was chatting with Cousin Dylan, who somehow made even a hoodie and jeans look effortlessly cool. If the magic did swap me with a guy, I hoped for one of them.

Grandpa raised his hands, muttered something in an unrecognizable language, and completed the spell. A wave of dizziness hit me like a truck, and everything went dark.

When I came to, the world felt... different.

Looking down, I saw strong, freckled arms with pale skin peppered by coppery freckles. The faint lines of veins ran beneath the surface, threading down to hands that felt capable, solid, real. My breath quickened. A quick glance at the mirror across the room confirmed what I already realized: I was in Theo’s body.

Theo. My cousin Theo was the only other openly gay member of our family. He was always unapologetically himself, and—if I was being honest—so effortlessly masculine it made my chest ache.

I tried not to stare too long in the mirror across the room—tried not to make it obvious—but I couldn’t help but take in the details. My hands shifted tentatively, brushing over the flat expanse of his chest. I could feel the firm definition of his pecs under my fingertips, the strength that lay just beneath the skin. A shiver ran through me as I slid my hands up to his shoulders, savoring the way they tapered down to his arms. My fingers traced his biceps, squeezing lightly, marveling at the power there.

My throat tightened as I flexed one arm, watching the muscle shift and ripple under the skin. For the first time in my life, I looked at a reflection that didn’t feel foreign. This was it. This was who I was supposed to be.

I feel a stirring in my pants, an undeniable reaction to the overwhelming experience of feeling up my own muscles. For the first time in my life, I have a dick. Hesitantly, I let my hand drift lower, subtly pressing against the fabric of Theo’s jeans. The weight of it, the reality of it, is electric.

Across the room, Grandpa—now in Dylan’s body—continues explaining the rules of the swap. His deep voice fills the air, and I catch myself half-listening. My attention flickers to Dylan’s slumped form, unlucky enough to be swapped with Grandpa for the third year in a row. Poor guy. I thought the swaps were supposed to be random, but maybe Grandpa has a knack for landing in his sexy body every summer.

I glance over at my former body. Dysphoria is etched into his—my—features. Theo’s jaw is tight, his hands clutching at my chest as if trying to make sense of the reality he’s been thrown into. It hits like a punch to the gut. I know that feeling all too well, and it sucks to see it written so clearly on my face. Worse still, it’s a stark reminder that I don’t fully look like a guy yet. Not the way I want to.

Grandpa’s voice booms as he finishes his speech. “Let’s all have a fun week!” he declares, his tone lighthearted but commanding.

I turn back to the mirror, drawn to my reflection like a magnet. My smirk curls naturally, unbidden. For once, the face looking back at me feels real, tangible, mine. And damn, does it feel good. Fuck I hope this week never ends

[faithsotherhouseofchaos]

Breast reduction surgery||Charles leclerc x fem!reader

Summary— Charles loves your breast so when you decide to tell him that you’re thinking about a reduction surgery he feels like his world is ending.

Word count —589

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon in Charles’ apartment, the kind of day that begged for nothing more than lounging on the couch and ignoring the world. He was half-watching a football match, the sound of commentators filling the space as he absentmindedly scrolled on his phone. Beside him, Y/N was curled up, legs tucked beneath her, scrolling through her phone with a focused look on her face.

Out of nowhere, she sighed, set her phone down, and said casually, “I think I’m finally going to do it.”

Charles looked up, brow furrowing. “Do what?”

She didn’t even glance at him. “Get a breast reduction.”

It took him a moment to process the words. He blinked, sat up straighter, and turned to her with wide eyes. “Hold on. What now?”

Y/N finally looked at him, her expression calm but resolute. “I’ve been thinking about it for years, and I think it’s time. My back can’t take it anymore.”

Charles stared at her like she’d just suggested selling their firstborn child. “Your back? When did this become about your back?”

“Always,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Charles, you know this. I’ve been complaining for ages.”

He leaned back, waving a hand dismissively. “You’ve complained, sure, but I just thought it was, like, normal life complaining. Not surgery-level complaining!”

“Charles,” she said firmly, her tone laced with both patience and warning.

He sat up, his full attention now on her. “You’re seriously thinking about just… getting rid of them? Like, just like that?”

“Yes.”

“But…” He gestured dramatically at her chest. “You can’t just get rid of them! They’re—” He paused, grasping for the right word. “They’re iconic!”

Y/N pinched the bridge of her nose, already regretting bringing this up while he was awake. “Charles. I’m in pain all the time. My shoulders have permanent dents from my bra straps, I can’t go running without strapping myself in like a gladiator, and every button-up shirt I own gapes open like it’s crying for help.”

“Okay,” he said, raising a hand to stop her. “But—”

“And bras?” she interrupted. “Do you know how much I spend on bras? A hundred bucks each, minimum. And they’re not even cute. They’re functional. Like, ‘industrial scaffolding’ functional.”

Charles blinked at her, his lips parting like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. Finally, he said weakly, “But… you look great in them.”

“Oh my god.” She threw her hands up, exasperated. “This is not about how I look, Charles. It’s about how I feel. And I feel like I’m carrying around a couple of bowling balls every day of my life.”

He frowned, leaning forward as if he could reason his way out of this. “But what about us?”

“What about us?”

“Our dynamic! The… the whole…” He gestured at her chest again, like it was a key player in their relationship. “You know, vibe.”

“Charles,” she said flatly. “They’re boobs.”

“Not just boobs,” he argued. “They’re your boobs. They’re a part of you. A part of us!”

She stared at him, deadpan. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m serious!” He stood up, pacing in front of the couch now. “Do you know how many people would kill for what you’ve got? And you’re just gonna… throw them away like an old sweater?”

“Okay, first of all, ew. And second of all, you’re being dramatic.”

He stopped pacing to point at her. “I’m not being dramatic. I’m being honest. You’re about to break the hearts of an entire fanbase—”

“Your fanbase,” she corrected, raising an eyebrow.

“Exactly!”

Y/N let out a disbelieving laugh. “Charles, I’ve made up my mind. This isn’t about you, or your ‘fanbase,’ or even how I look. It’s about me being able to live my life without constant pain and discomfort.”

He deflated a little at that, sinking back onto the couch. “But what if you regret it?”

“I won’t.”

“But what if you do?” he pressed. “What if one day you wake up and think, ‘Wow, my life was so much better when Charles was worshiping the temple of—’”

She picked up a throw pillow and smacked him in the face with it. He caught it with a grin, but his eyes were still slightly pleading.

“Charles,” she said, softer now. “I appreciate that you love me exactly as I am. But this isn’t about you.”

He sighed dramatically, flopping backward on the couch. “Fine. But just so you know, I’m going to miss them. Like… a lot.”

“Noted,” she said dryly.

“Maybe I’ll throw a farewell party,” he added. “You know, invite some friends over. We’ll say our goodbyes properly.”

Y/N laughed despite herself, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me,” he said smugly, pulling her back onto the couch and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Unfortunately.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Y/N got up to grab a glass of water. Charles pulled out his phone and began typing into the search bar: “Can boobs grow back after surgery?”

She glanced back at him from the kitchen, catching the guilty look on his face.

“Charles!”

“What? I’m just… curious!”

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, but there was a smile tugging at her lips, drinking the water and setting the glass down on the counter as she walked back over to Charles.

“Hey!” Charles says as y/n snatches the phone out of Charles's hands her own hands cupped his face “It’ll be okay Charles. It’s not the end of the world baby, you know that right?” You ask.

“Of course I know that but I just love them so much,” Charles says, reaching up to cup her breast feeling the weight of them.

“Can I fuck them?” Charles asked out of nowhere.

“Charles!”

“What can’t blame me for asking” he says smiling holding his hands up defensively.

“You know what I don’t see why not”

[steddieas-shegoes]

a stranger's advice

for @corrodedcoffinfest popup event 'Good Fortune'

using prompt 7: a single kind word can keep one warm for years + mouth + 48, 13, 46, 27, 31, 18

rated m | 1408 words | cw: implied sexual content kinda | tags: modern au, different first meeting, flirting, eventual famous corroded coffin, eventual rock star eddie munson, sound mixer steve harrington, strangers to lovers

🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️🎚️

Eddie’s giving up.

They’ve done all they can do.

Jeff’s dad is threatening to cut him off entirely if he doesn’t go to college and Gareth’s mom calls him crying twice a week, worried he’s gonna end up homeless or in rehab. Gareth’s never touched a drug or more than a single beer in his life and works harder than any of them, but he’s tired of telling her that. Frankie doesn’t have the same passion they have; He’s just there as the guy who answered an ad for a bassist.

No record label wants them, most larger venues don’t want to pay what it would cost for them to get there, and the smaller venues are getting less crowded as more people flock to arenas and stadiums to see big name bands. They aren’t as good as they thought they were and Eddie has to accept that.

He’s feeling sorry for himself in the hallway of this record company first, though.

The other guys already shook hands with everyone, patted Eddie on the shoulder, and left. He’s alone now, and he’ll be alone for the rest of his life.

“Waiting for a ride?” A man asks from in front of him.

Eddie looks up and sees someone he vaguely recognizes as the assistant who sat in on their unsuccessful meeting 18 whole minutes ago. He’s stunning in the way that someone way outside of Eddie’s league usually is, but damn if he doesn’t get stuck looking anyways.

The man raises a brow and crosses his arms.

“Uh, no. Sorry. I have one. Just needed a minute.”

The man nods and then uncrosses his arms, sighing.

“You want some advice?”

“Not sure if it’ll do me any good. My band’s done. I’m nothing without them,” Eddie lets himself sound as pitiful as he feels.

“A 13 track demo is too much. Most places aren’t listening to more than five songs at all, and that’s only if they’re impressed by the first two. You guys sound great, and clearly have passion, but it’s not heard by the people who need to hear it,” the man says despite Eddie’s warning.

Eddie is a bit distracted by the way his mouth forms words, like he’s trying to hide an accent. This is LA. A lot of transplants from the south and Midwest don’t like people to know.

“And you know this as the assistant?” Eddie asks and wishes he didn’t.

“I’m the sound mixer. The assistant is out and they asked me to fill in. But I’ve seen how this goes enough to see that you guys have everything right except the part you need,” he gives a small smile. “Cut down the tracks and you’ll be set. You’ve got an amazing voice. Don’t give up yet.”

The man walks away before Eddie can say thank you or ask any follow up questions like ‘do you want to come home with me?’ or ‘does your hair naturally swoop like that or is there product doing the job?’

Eddie decides to head out, waits nearly 31 minutes for an Uber, which is ridiculous when he’s staying in a hotel less than 10 minutes from the building. The guys are at the hotel bar when he arrives, sipping on sodas instead of mixed drinks like they deserve.

“Give me one more shot,” he begs.

They look at each other. They look back at him.

“One more,” Jeff agrees as they all nod.

~~~~~

“Can’t believe there’s 46,000 people here!” Eddie yells as he’s running off the stage.

There aren’t exactly 46,000 people watching them; That number is closer to 27,000. But there are 46,000 tickets sold for this particular event, which means that 46,000 people have seen Corroded Coffin’s name on a ticket stub or event guide. It’s more than he ever expected to know about them.

He’s so excited about the set they just played, he nearly runs right into a guy in nice jeans and a sweater. It’s too fucking hot for a sweater.

The guy grabs Eddie’s arms to steady both of them and Eddie looks up and his jaw drops.

“Holy shit, it’s you.”

“It’s me,” the man replies, smirking at Eddie’s surprise. “Had to see what our label missed out on in person.”

The other guys are rushing past him, probably to get to the green room for drinks and snacks. They never eat before a show, and when they’re done, they’re ravenous.

The man hasn’t let him go yet. He could. Eddie’s balance is fine, his initial adrenaline is crawling to a normal level, and he isn’t gonna suddenly run into anyone else.

“Your advice worked,” Eddie says.

The man nods, knowing smile on his face. “I’m glad you listened to me.”

“It wasn’t just your advice though,” Eddie admits. “I mean, it definitely helped! But you actually saw talent. We were feeling kinda down about how good we were and you made me realize that it’s probably not our talent that’s the problem. We’re good. We’ve been good. We just didn’t know how to show that to the right people.”

“There’s 48 bands here this weekend, you know?” The man asks, as if that’s a normal response to anything Eddie just said.

“Um, yeah. I know.”

“We represent 47 of them.”

Eddie’s brows practically leave his forehead. “But…”

“I insisted they get you guys on the lineup when I saw the options available. And I couldn’t pass up another opportunity to talk to you.”

Eddie feels like he might pass out, which could definitely be from dehydration or overheating, but could also be the very hot man in front of him kind of flirting with him?

“Sorry, I think I’m having a stroke. I don’t even remember your name. You’ve just been Hot Man in my head for four years,” Eddie manages to get out, feeling his cheeks heat up at the embarrassment of his outburst.

Hot Man laughs, throws his head back and everything, like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

“Steve. I’m Steve,” he says when he’s calmed down.

“Steve.” Eddie likes the way his name sounds coming from his own lips. “I’m Eddie.”

“I know,” he laughs again, quieter, more fondness sneaking in.

“Well, Steve, would you like to join me for a drink in the green room? I hear the lead singer of Corroded Coffin requested only the finest PBR,” Eddie gestures towards the steps leading off the stage. “Or perhaps you’d enjoy a vodka soda.”

“I’d love to,” Steve giggles. Eddie feels like he’s won something. “But I am technically working for a few more hours.”

“Oh,” Eddie swallows around the disappointment. “Right. Okay.”

“But I’m staying at the Marriott down the road. If you wanted to meet for dinner later?”

“Yeah, absolutely. Definitely. For sure.” Eddie groans at his awkward excitement, but Steve is giggling again. Hearing a hot man giggle like this just does something to his brain.

“Great. Here’s my number. Text me so I have yours,” Steve hands over a business card and Eddie ignores his dick twitching in his too-tight pants. “See you tonight.”

Eddie’s mouth feels dry as he nods.

Steve is already gone when he finally thinks of something to say, so he groans and makes his way to the green room, where the guys are all spread out across the couches placed haphazardly around.

“Where’d you go?” Gareth asks him before he takes a sip of his water. He’s still a one and done drinker and Eddie loves him for it.

“Got a date,” Eddie shrugs like it’s no big deal.

“A date?!” Frankie asks, nearly spilling his beer.

“Don’t act so surprised, man. I date!”

“You haven’t ‘dated’ anyone since high school.”

“Haven’t felt like I needed to. I was busy getting us famous,” Eddie smirks, finds a beer in the fridge, and settles on a chair. “It might just be one date anyway. He’s probably a busy guy and I’m not sure I’m really his type.”

“Yeah, right. If he’s here, you’re his type,” Jeff laughs.

Everyone moves on quickly, which is a blessing for Eddie because he gets lost in thoughts about Steve pretty much immediately.

In the years they spent trying to make it, only one person ever gave him helpful advice. Only one person spoke of his talent and made him feel like they could still make it.

And now he had a date with him.

[aerynwrites]

Familiarity

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Summary: Reader has reached their breaking point and Simon just happens to be in the right place at the right time. Word Count: 2.8k Warnings: **PLEASE READ ALL TAGS!!!** Descriptions of Suicidal thoughts, ideation, and attempted Suicide!!! Thwarted suicide attempt, hurt/comfort, this really is just a coping piece, no romance, tiny bit of fluff at the end kinda. A/N: if you are struggling with thoughts like these please reach out to somone (988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline). The anniversary of a friends passing occurred recently and I was having a harder time with it than usual. this popped into my head and wouldn't leave. I wish someone had been there for them in that moment. If you are struggling with thoughts like these please reach out to someone. there is ALWAYS someone who cares and will miss you. You are loved. You matter. And someones life won't be the same without you.

It’s cold. Colder than you were expecting it to be tonight, but maybe that would make it easier. you heard somewhere once that the cold water would shock the body and make you breathe in and then…

You shiver despite the winter jacket you wear, the only thing grounding you in this moment the paint flecking off beneath your fingers of the decrepit metal bridge, the cold seeping into your bones. The rubber soles of your boots squeak softly on the railing beneath them, the water rushing quietly a few hundred feet below. It had just rained for almost a week straight, the river is higher than normal, the current tumultuous. It would be quick.

You hope.

It’s also more lonely than you expected - as odd as that may sound. In reality you did pick this spot for a reason, not only because you drove by it often, but because it seemed desolated. Less likely for someone to roll up on you in this precarious moment. But you thought there might be birds singing or crickets chirping or…something except your own screaming thoughts and the breath catching in your throat.

Your eyes drift upwards, away from the watery tomb that lies in your future, out to your shitty car parked in the tiny gravel lot by the start of the bridge. You can see the faint white outline of the envelope you left behind sitting on the dash. You didn’t want anyone wasting resources on searching for you, so you left a note behind - and to maybe give closure to anyone who might care.

The cold air sears your lungs as you take a deep breath, knees quaking beauty you as you let it out again, lifting one foot from the railing to lean ever so slightly forward…

——

He couldn’t sleep. Again.

He’s used to that, used to the nightmares and the evil thoughts that taunt him in the early waking hours. But ever since Johnny…they’ve been worse - they never stop and they’re louder. This time he woke up in a cold sweat, Johnny’s voice echoing in his head, a scream he never really let out before he…

Simon clenches the steering wheel tighter, the leather of his gloves creaking with the strength of it.

He’s never taken this route before, but he needs to get away, needs the distraction of discovering and then trying to find his way back. Left, right, straight, left again, go through the stop sign and then…

A bridge.

One he’s never seen before, and on any other night, one he would’ve driven right past if it weren’t for the silhouette his headlights illuminate on the bridge as he turns on the road to pass it. He notices the car next, and tiny little alarm bells go off in his head. And, shamefully, a louder voice just tells him to move on this isn’t his business and he just needs to leave-

He parks his truck beside the car. Gravel crunching under his boots as he exits. His training kicks in without his approval, the part of him that has been taught to observe and gather information. It’s what makes him glance at the interior of the older model sedan, and at first there’s nothing unusual. Trash in the floorboard, mostly fast-food wrappers and…empty pharmacy bags. Articles of clothing tossed in the back seat, multiple old air fresheners hang from the rearview mirror. What strikes him as odd, however, is the handbag abandoned in the passenger seat, cellphone lying next to it, and the white envelope sitting on the dashboard addressed to ‘whom it may concern’ written in shaky script.

His feet carry him towards the bridge before he can think better of it, and the moment he sees the person standing on the railing of the bridge, he feels an almost impercebtible tug in his chest.

Familiarity.

It calls to him, an old friend. The grief, the pain, the anguish, the shame - all of it so consuming and all of it so familiar he can’t stop himself from approaching you. And as he watches your chest heave with a deep breath and your foot lift off the railing as you lean forward, that stupid tug is what makes him call out to you.

“A little cold out for a swim ain’t it?”

———

The voice shocks you, startles you so severely you can’t stop the yelp that slips from your throat as your foot slams back down on the railing, hand scrabbling for purchase against the rusty support beam. You jerk your head to the right to look at the intruder, eyes widening when they fall upon an absolute hulk of a man standing just mere feet from you. His hands are tucked casually into the pockets of his hoodie, stance easy - as if he didn’t just interrupt the most tragic moment of your life-

“What the fuck are you doing?” You practically hiss, indignation bubbling up inside you.

You can’t even manage to kill yourself without something going wrong.

The man shrugs, “Could ask you the same thing.”

He takes a step forward and you bristle, leaning away from him and further towards the water below.

“D-don’t come any closer!” You call, voice shaking despite your best efforts. “I’ll jump. You can’t…you can’t stop me.”

The man just shrugs again, pulling a small carton from the pocket of his hoodie, followed shortly by a lighter. He pulls a cigarette from the box placing it between his lips before lighting it, taking a deep drag before looking up at you again.

“Never said I was tryin’ to stop you,” he says simply, stepping closer to the railing when you don’t protest.

Confusion swims in your belly, heart thundering from the surprise but starting to calm down as the stranger finally comes close enough to lean against the railing you stand on, casting his gaze out over the inky black river.

You finally work up the courage to speak again.

“Then…why are you here?”

The man huffs out a laugh, a bitter dark sounding thing before he takes another drag of his cigarette.

“Couldn’t sleep, needed to clear ‘m head.”

You give a snort of your own, disbelief clogging your mind.

“And you just so happened to come across the person trying to dig her own grave,” you laugh this time, a real one. “What are the fucking odds.”

“Well,” he replies slowly. “You wouldn’t really be diggin’…swimming maybe-”

You scoff again, looking over at him in complete surprise. “You…was that supposed to be a joke?”

You swear you see his lips twitch up in a smile.

“Somethin’ like that.”

Your irritation comes back slightly as your lips tilt downwards. You want to snap at him, tell him to fuck off, to go away and just let you do this in peace - but something stops you. Fear maybe. Curiosity. you’re not sure what it is exactly but it implores you to ask -

“Nightmares?”

More paint chips away beneath your nails, falling down into the waters below, your eyes following its descent. You see the man nod in your peripheral.

“Get ‘em every night…but tonight was worse.”

It falls silent again as his words hang in the air, and neither of you say anything for a long while. You stand there still contemplating your demise and the stranger finishes his cigarette before flicking the butt of it away over the railing.

“I get it you know,” he says finally, voice softer than it has been so far, gentler.

You look at him, brows pinched in confusion, and he gestures to you then the water.

“I get it,” he reiterates, lips pinched in a thin line.

His words earn another scoff from you, and that bitter pit in your chest grows blacker. Darker.

Here we go, you think. Another good samaritan trying to tell you that you have so much to live for. Don’t do it. It will get better. Just look on the bright side.

You shake your head, looking back out over the water.

“I highly doubt it,” you say bitterly, eyes starting to burn with unshed tears that threaten to betray you.

The man shrugs and leans heavier on the railing. “Can’t doubt what you don’t know,” he trails off for a moment. “You wanna talk ‘bout it?”

You shake your head, eyes clenching shut when you feel the tears fall.

Goddammit, not now…

But before you can stop it, words come spilling from your lips, like a waterfall that never ends. All of your woes, your anger, your grief, your sadness, the demons that haunt you both awake and asleep. The perceived failures that never end, the never-ending hopelessness and seems to stretch out before you like a yawning cavern.

All of it.

And he listens.

You don’t even know how long you go on for, voice shaking, tears dripping from your chin, knees quaking beneath you as you dump all of this on some stranger who just happened upon you, until you finally stop, taking a deep shuddering breath and facing the water again.

“I just want it all to be over,” you finally whisper. “I’m so tired.”

The man nods, standing a little straighter now.

“My best friend was shot right in front of me,” he says softly, his own eyes now distant when you look at him.

“We’re military - comes with the territory. But he…” he takes a shaky breath of his own, “Johnny was different.”

A beat of silence.

“I went through all the same shit. Ended up in the same place you are,” he gestures to you, “but instead of a bridge I wanted a bullet. Got plastered, was just about to go through with it when I some how managed to get on the phone with my Captain…” he lets out a sigh that sounds so world weary you feel it in your very bones.

“He talked me down. Helped me get things back on track - as on track as they could be without Johnny.”

He looks to you then, and for the first time since he approached you tonight’s you’re able to see the color of his eyes. They’re brown - a deep dark brown that’s more expressive than you were anticipating.

You study him for a moment longer.

“Is that what you’re here to do? Talk me down?”

The man shakes his head, the movement allowing the light to illuminate the scar that runs from his eyebrow down to his upper lip. Yet another thing you missed.

“No. Don’t need to,” he says casually. “You were never going to jump.”

Indignation flares its ugly head again, but it’s quickly tempered by the confusion bubbling in your belly.

“What…how could you possibly know that? I was going to do it.”

The man shakes his head again, this time turning to face you fully.

“If you were going to do it, you would’ve done it the minute I walked up to you. Now-”

He reaches out a scarred hand, and you see the barest hint of black ink peaking out from beneath his sleeve.

“Let’s get you down from there.”

You hesitate, eyes trailing back to the water rushing beneath you before trailing back to this strange man on the bridge. You could jump, you could do it right now and he wouldn’t get to you in time.

So you turn.

And his hand is surprisingly warm, soft even. Despite the scars and calloused palms. His hand cradles yours so delicately as he helps you down from the railing, his other hand reaching out to grip your waist to ease your descent.

“That’s it.”

Shame washes over you the moment your feet touch solid ground, and the man must senses it, because a firm hand settles on your shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I’m sorry-”

“None of that,” he chastises lightly, shaking his head. “Y’got nothing to be sorry for.”

You can only nod, eyes trailing slowly up from the ground to finally look at him face to face. To some people he might seem scary or intimidating - what with his tall stature and the scars on his face or even his demeanor. But to you, right now, all you can sense is solidarity - a warmth. An understanding you haven’t felt in a long time.

So, before you can really think about what you’re doing you’re leaning forward and wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

He seems surprised by the act, his entire body going stiff beneath your own. But just when you move to pull away, a pair of arms wraps around you in kind. The hug is longer than usual, but it would appear that both of you needed it. And when you do pull away, neither of you step much further apart.

“What’s your name?” You ask, breaking the silence that had fallen over both of you.

He thinks for a moment, as if hesitant to reveal more of himself to you than he already has.

So you extend an olive branch in the form of your own name and watch as his shoulder sag ever so slightly before he answers your question.

“Simon.”

You can only nod, and soon a silence falls over you both once again. This one a bit more tense than the others.

What do you do now? There’s no rulebook for this - not step by step; what to do when someone stops you from jumping off a bridge. There’s so much you want to say, but your thoughts are a jumbled confused mess and now you feel foolish and-

“There’s a spot up the road a ways that opens early,” Simon says, interrupting your thoughts. “I could use a bite. You in?”

The invitation startles you. It’s so casual, so…normal, in the face of what just transpired that you can’t stop the smile that tugs at your lips at the absurdity of it all. But then you fumble for your phone before remembering you left it in the car.

“Early? What time is it?”

Simon turns a muscled forearm over, tugging at his hoodie sleeve to peak at his watch.

“A little past four a.m.”

You suck in a breath, shock coloring your features. You got to the bridge at midnight. You didn’t even realize how much time had passed…

A gentle pat on your shoulder pulls you back to the moment as Simon turns to start walking back to the small gravel lot.

“Come on,” he says, leaving no room for refusal, “They have good pancakes. Johnny-” you watch as his steps falter slightly before he continues.

“Johnny always raved about them,” he turns back to look at you then. “My treat.”

You manage to send him another small smile, nodding.

“Can’t exactly turn down a free meal, now can I?”

Simon lets out a chuckle, so soft you might have missed it if it wasn’t so quiet out.

“You’d be the first.”

Neither of you say much on the short journey back to your parked cars. Only when you get there, Simon gives you the name of the restaurant to plug into your GPS before turning to walk to his truck.

Your car door squeaks loudly when you open it, and you slide into the drivers seat. Moving to close the door, you pause - the small white envelope catching your eye.

Reaching for it, you take it in hand and eye the shaky writing on the front. Instinctively you want to shove it in your purse, that tiny voice in the back of your head telling you that you’d need it again one day. But another voice, a new one - rough and gravelly with a Manchester accent is just a little bit louder and before you can think twice your out of the car and walking back toward the bridge.

You hear slightly hurried footsteps behind you, and you can picture Simon slightly panicked thinking your rushing back to finish the job. But you stop at the railing, white envelope crushed between your fingers as you look back out over the dark water.

The footsteps behind you stop, assessing, waiting for your next move.

So, with one last glance at the paper in your hands, you take a deep breath and rip in half. Then rip it in half again and again and again - until nothing but tiny scraps remain. The flat between your fingers like sand, falling down, down to the waters below in a manmade snowfall, the wind picking up and carrying pieces away until you can no longer see any evidence of the object at all.

You turn, and Simon is smiling - a real smile.

“Come on,” you say, walking towards him and your parked cars once again. “I want some pancakes.”

And as you both walk together, his shoulder brushing your own…You can’t help but feel just a little bit lighter.

A little less alone.

[thursdayinspace]

ficlet: a long time and no time at all

So, @laurencem asked what Mulder and Scully were doing at the unremarkable house at midnight for the anniversary of the millennium kiss. I could imagine their night having been something like this. tagging @today-in-fic

It’s been a long time and no time at all. She’s looking out the window, three minutes to midnight, lost in thought; it’s dark outside, but the room is filled with the soft light of a single lamp and a few candles. She sees little but her own reflection looking back at her, a contemplative look on her face.

His reflection joins hers as he steps up behind her, placing his hands on her hips and leaning his chin on the top of her head. He fits against her as if their bodies were made to slot together. She’s never felt small in his arms. She feels invincible.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” she answers.

“What are you thinking about?”

She takes a second to answer. It’s been such a long time and no time at all. “Us. You and me.”

“Funny,” he says. “I’ve just been thinking about the same thing.”

It doesn’t surprise her. They don’t celebrate many holidays, but they celebrate this one. There aren’t many New Year’s Eves they’ve spent apart. The few she hasn’t spent with him, she’s spent alone. She knows he’s done the same. This night belongs to the two of them. There’s no room for anyone else.

His eyes are fixed on her reflection. Hers are fixed on his. If she squints, she can see their younger selves in the window standing slotted together like puzzle pieces, and it seems right. Such a long time. She leans back against him and sighs. No time at all, really. She takes his arm and lifts it to look at the watch on his wrist. One more minute. She links her fingers with his before letting their hands drop back to their sides. It seems like yesterday that she touched him for the first time, shook his hand and changed her life.

It seems like yesterday that he leaned towards her in a hospital hallway and touched his lips to hers for the first time.

“Twenty-five years,” he says. Of course he’s thinking about it too.

“A quarter of a century.” It sounds like forever when she puts it into words. It has been forever. It is forever.

He sways back and she turns in his arms, looks up at him, wonders how the sight of him can still take her breath away. In the small space between them he lifts his arm so they can both see the face of his watch, the seconds ticking down. They don’t speak. Time passes without words. They’ve never needed many.

Ten seconds. She hears the countdown from the TV twenty-five years ago, feels the quiet calm she’d felt as she watched the world stay the same.

Five, four, three.

She looks up at him, his gaze meeting hers, and the look in his eyes is the same it was then. It’s always been the same.

Two. One.

He leans in.

Midnight: a moment’s pause, close enough they’re sharing breath, and even if she can’t remember the number of seconds it took for his lips to meet hers back then, she thinks it must have been exactly this long before they closed the final inch of distance for the first time.

A soft, lingering kiss, so familiar it makes her heart flutter in her chest. She knows his lips so well. They’ve touched every part of her body. They’ve formed words that have healed her and hurt her and made her feel like the luckiest person in the world. The new year wouldn’t start without his kiss, the hands of the watch frozen in the half second before midnight. She doesn’t know how time moved on when they weren’t together. Maybe it only did because she closed her eyes and wished him to be with her until the universe believed that he was.

The smile on her face is different than the one from twenty-five years ago. His is too.

She’d never thought she was all that special until he’d looked at her.

“Happy new year, Scully,” he says.

“Happy new year, Mulder,” she answers.

A quarter of a century ago, so much had happened to them that she’d believed nothing could surprise her anymore. These days, so much has happened to them that she expects new surprises every day.

This is the only thing that will never change: she loves him. Utterly and completely. It’s been so long and no time at all since she let that knowledge out its cage in her heart, shared it with him, and learned what the look in his eyes had been telling her all along. To be loved like this is more than she can comprehend.

“When you kissed me back then,” she starts.

“Twenty-five years ago?”

“Yeah. When you kissed me then…” She puts her hands on his chest to feel the steady beating of his heart. “I never asked. Was it supposed to be a New Year’s kiss? Or the start of something?”

He runs his fingertips gently along her temple. “Neither,” he says. “I think I was admitting something that had been true for a long time.”

“Okay.”

“Did you understand?”

“I think I did,” she says. “Did you understand my answer?”

He nods. “I think I did. Either way, it worked out alright, didn’t it?”

It’s been a long time and no time at all since she kissed him for the second time. In the car as she dropped him off at his apartment. A long time and no time at all since she asked him if he needed help with anything with his arm in a sling, a long time and no time at all since he said yes and asked her if she’d come up for a while. A long time and no time at all since they kissed for the third time and then more times than she can count.

She kisses him again. She kisses him like it’s twenty-five years ago, she kisses him like they’ve been kissing for a quarter of a century, she kisses him like time has no meaning at all.

He’s the same and he is different. She’s the same and she is different. What they’re saying to each other is the same. That time passes, and they’ll face it together. Always.