#you spent it painting a woman's dress???

[bitacrytic]

Also, why did that gay boy think the best way to get over his gay crush was to get in a heterosexual relationship????

My guy, go find you a man to bang your brains out. A woman will not do it for you.

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[joelsrose]

Tangled In Paradise: Chapter 2

previous chapter

my masterlist!

smut in the next chapter promise... heheheh

The soft morning light filtered through the sheer curtains, painting the room in golden hues. Your eyes fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, as the hazy remnants of your dreams clung to your mind. You reached for your phone instinctively, wanting to check the time, but… you couldn’t move.

“What the hell,” you murmured groggily, your voice barely above a whisper. And then you froze.

Joel’s arms were wrapped around you.

Not just resting near you—wrapped around you. His tanned, strong arms, were draped securely over your waist. His hand rested lightly on your hip, his grip loose but grounding.

Your breath hitched as you risked a glance at his face. You shouldn’t have. God, you shouldn’t have.

His features were softened by sleep, the sharp lines of his jaw and cheekbones now relaxed, his lips slightly parted as he breathed deeply. The faint shadow of scruff on his face caught the morning light, giving him a golden glow. His lashes—thicker and darker than you’d noticed before—rested against his cheeks, and his hair was slightly tousled, like he’d spent the night chasing dreams instead of reality.

He was warm. So, so warm.

And it felt too good.

His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm against your back, his quiet, even breathing filling the silence of the room. You shook your head at yourself, remembering what he’d said the night before about not being able to handle snoring. Now, he was the one snoring softly, the sound barely audible, almost endearing.

Of course, even when he was unconscious, Joel Miller was insufferably charming.

You gulped, the subtle scent of him wrapping around you like a second blanket—something earthy and clean, with a faint hint of whatever cologne he’d worn the night before.

Your pulse raced as you became painfully aware of the weight of his arm, the firmness of his body pressed lightly against yours, the way he smelled, the way his hair looked just slightly too perfect for someone who had just woken up.

“Fuck,” you whispered under your breath, a mix of disbelief and something far more dangerous stirring in your chest.

He stirred slightly, his grip tightening for just a moment before loosening again, his breathing never faltering. You held your breath, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts but unable to settle on a single one.

You had to move. You needed to move.

You managed to slip out of bed, carefully and quietly maneuvering Joel’s arm off you, your movements slow and deliberate. He stirred slightly, his brows furrowing as he rolled onto his back, but he didn’t wake. His breathing evened out again, and you exhaled softly in relief.

Padding across the room, you grabbed your things and made your way into the bathroom. The warm cascade of the shower was grounding as you stood beneath it, trying to shake off the flurry of emotions from waking up next to Joel Miller.

You washed away the lingering tension, dressed quickly in the steam-filled bathroom, and emerged feeling more composed—at least outwardly. Back in the room, you paused, your eyes drifting toward the bed. He was still there, sprawled on his side, the blanket half-tangled around his legs.

You told yourself you weren’t staring—this wasn’t creepy, not like a serial killer lurking in the shadows. This was… curiosity. That was it. The kind of fleeting, harmless observation a single woman might have when sharing a room with a very, very gorgeous man.

Joel stirred, his head shifting on the pillow as he stretched slightly, his muscles flexing in a way that was entirely unfair. His brow furrowed for a moment before his eyes blinked open, hazy and unfocused as he adjusted to the morning light.

Why was he so damn cute? He turned toward your side of the bed first, his brow knitting as he registered your absence, before his gaze shifted and landed on you, standing awkwardly near the dresser.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and rough with sleep, like the rasp of a warm summer breeze against your skin.

You swallowed hard, suddenly hyper-aware of the fact that you were staring. “Hi,” you breathed, your voice quieter than you intended.

Joel stretched again, his movements slow and unhurried as he propped himself up on one elbow. His eyes were still heavy-lidded, his hair slightly mussed in a way that made him look annoyingly perfect. “How’d you sleep?” he asked, his voice softening into something warm.

“Good,” you said, moving toward the bed and sinking onto your side, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck as his gaze followed you. Joel shifted, rolling onto his side to face you fully, his smile lazy but genuine. “Good,” he echoed, his grin widening just a touch.

You couldn’t help but smile back, the tension of the moment giving way to something lighter. He had that effect—a way of disarming you with just a look.

“You, uh…” you began, a laugh escaping you before you could finish. “You snore in your sleep.”

Joel’s grin vanished, replaced by a mock-offended expression. “I do not,” he said, grabbing the nearest pillow and tapping you lightly with it.

“You do!” you countered, laughing as you swatted the pillow away.

He shook his head, his grin returning as he leaned slightly closer, his voice dipping into a playful drawl. “You’re makin’ that up. Tryin’ to tarnish my good reputation.”

You rolled your eyes, biting back another laugh. “Trust me, Joel. Your reputation’s safe. But you do snore.”

Joel chuckled, leaning back against the headboard, his arms crossing lazily over his chest. “Well,” he said, his tone warm and teasing, “guess that just means you’re payin’ way too much attention to me, roomie.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but the words caught in your throat as his gaze lingered on you, soft and amused, like he was savoring every second of this moment.

And damn it, you thought, he wasn’t entirely wrong.

A loud knock echoed from the door, followed by Maria’s unmistakable voice, sing-song and far too chipper for this hour. “Wakey, wakeyyyy!”

Joel groaned, throwing his head back onto the pillow with a dramatic sigh. “Christ,” he muttered, his voice muffled as he covered his face with one hand. “Thought vacation meant sleepin’ in.”

You laughed, the sound light and easy as you turned toward him. “You’re lazy.”

Joel’s hand dropped from his face, revealing a grin that was equal parts playful and dangerous. “Take that back.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you sat up straighter. “Or what?”

“Or,” Joel said, shifting suddenly, his grin widening as he leaned toward you, “I’ll tickle you.”

Your eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His gaze locked onto yours, the challenge sparking between you like a live wire. Before you could move, his hand darted toward your side, his fingers brushing lightly against your ribs.

“Joel!” you shrieked, twisting away as laughter bubbled out of you uncontrollably.

“Take it back,” he said, his voice low and teasing, though his grin betrayed just how much fun he was having.

“Okay, okay!” you gasped, squirming as his fingers lingered for just a second too long, sending a thrill up your spine. “You’re not lazy! Happy?”

“Very,” Joel replied, his voice softening as the laughter between you ebbed into a quiet hum.

You froze for a moment, suddenly acutely aware of how close he was. His hand was still on your side, his thumb brushing gently against the fabric of your shirt. His face was just inches from yours, his breath warm against your cheek, and his eyes—God, his eyes—held a depth that made your pulse race.

Neither of you moved.

The room felt smaller, the air thicker as Joel’s gaze flickered briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again. His expression softened, the teasing grin fading into something quieter, almost hesitant.

“I should, uh…” he began, his voice low and rough. He cleared his throat, his hand dropping back to his side. “I should shower.”

You nodded quickly, your breath catching as the spell between you broke. “Yeah,” you said, your voice a little too high. “Yeah, go ahead.”

Joel stood, running a hand through his hair as he grabbed his things from the dresser. He paused by the door for a moment, glancing back at you with a small, almost sheepish smile. Then he disappeared into the bathroom, leaving you alone with the sound of the shower starting and the lingering heat of his presence still crackling in the air.

You let out a long, shaky breath, pressing your hand against your chest as if that could calm the wild fluttering there.

What the hell just happened?

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The breakfast table was a colorful mosaic of buffet plates piled high with everything the resort had to offer. Maria had gone for a perfectly Instagram-worthy selection: fresh papaya, golden pineapple slices, and a delicate croissant resting on the side of her plate. Tommy, on the other hand, had opted for the classic “pile it on” approach—eggs, bacon, pancakes, and what looked like a heap of hash browns drowning in syrup.

You’d chosen something light—ripe watermelon slices, a dollop of creamy yogurt, and a sprinkling of granola. Meanwhile, Joel, seated beside you, had a more straightforward plate: scrambled eggs, toast, and a generous helping of crispy bacon.

The morning sunlight spilled across the outdoor dining area, painting the terrace in soft gold. Beyond the railings, the ocean shimmered, waves lazily rolling onto the shore, the sound mingling with the faint rustle of palm trees swaying in the warm breeze.

It was the kind of day that felt too perfect to be real, the sky impossibly blue, with just enough fluffy clouds to look like a postcard.

Maria set her fork down with a soft clink, her face bright with excitement. “Alright,” she said, clapping her hands lightly. “Today is jam-packed!”

She pulled out her phone, scrolling through their itinerary. “First up, we’ve got canoeing, which’ll take us out to a great snorkeling spot. Then,” she continued, ticking things off with her finger, “we’ve got some leisure time to relax by the pool or whatever. After that, there’s a massage situation booked for all of us. And then, another break before dinner.”

“Christ,” Joel muttered, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his glass of orange juice. He took a slow sip before raising an eyebrow at Maria. “You sure this isn’t boot camp?”

“Hey,” Tommy interjected, pointing his fork in Joel’s direction. “We paid for this shit, so we might as well get our money’s worth.”

Joel rolled his eyes, his lips twitching into a faint grin.

“What d’you think, sweetheart?” Tommy said, turning his attention to you.

You smiled, spearing a piece of watermelon with your fork. “Sounds amazing,” you said, taking a bite and savoring the burst of sweetness.

“Good,” Tommy said with a triumphant nod. “See, Joel? Why can’t you be more like this one?”

Joel let out a quiet laugh, his gaze sliding over to you as he reached for his coffee cup. As he took a sip, your gaze flicked to the lineup of drinks in front of him: orange juice, coffee, and what looked like a bottle of water.

You couldn’t resist. “Jesus, Joel,” you said, tilting your head as you gestured toward his array. “How many drinks does one man need?”

He glanced at the table in front of him, then back at you with a playful shrug. “What can I say? Gotta stay hydrated. It’s gonna be a long day, remember?”

You rolled your eyes, though a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Hydrated or caffeinated?”

“Both,” he said with a wink, taking another sip of coffee. “Gotta keep up with you.”

Maria, clearly oblivious to the banter, was already chattering about how excited she was for the snorkeling.

Tommy chimed in occasionally, but your attention was stuck on Joel—the way his grin lingered just a little too long, the way the sunlight caught the faint scruff on his jaw, the way he seemed to make the most mundane things—like sipping coffee—look effortless.

You shook your head, turning back to your plate. It was going to be a long day indeed.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

Joel lay sprawled across the bed, his red swim trunks low on his hips and his bare chest catching the sunlight filtering through the curtains. His phone was in one hand, the other resting lazily across his stomach as he scrolled with a contented sigh. “Jesus,” he called out, his voice breaking the quiet hum of the room. “How long does it take to put on a swimsuit? Maria’s gonna kill me, then you, if we’re late.”

“Shut up, Joel,” you called back from the bathroom, your tone sharp but not without a smile.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, a grin audible in his voice as he returned to his scrolling.

You exhaled slowly, looking at your reflection in the mirror. The bikini fit perfectly, its fabric hugging your curves, but you found yourself adjusting the straps for what felt like the hundredth time. Why were you so nervous? It was just a swimsuit. It wasn’t like Joel hadn’t seen people in far less before.

Your gaze drifted down, taking in the lines of your body with a critical eye. The curve of your stomach, the way your hips flared, the softness in places that didn’t quite match the airbrushed perfection you’d seen in magazines. You bit your lip, suddenly self-conscious.

“Hey,” Joel called out again, his voice softer now, tinged with curiosity. “You sure you’re all good in there?”

“Yeah,” you answered quickly, pulling on your swim cover-up and giving yourself one last glance.

As you opened the bathroom door, Joel glanced up from his phone. The way his eyes lit up, his lips curving into a slow, genuine smile, made your pulse falter for a second.

“Alright,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed and standing with an easy stretch. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

You tried to ignore the warmth spreading up your neck as he grabbed his towel and gestured for you to follow.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The beach was postcard-perfect, the sand a soft, powdery white that stretched endlessly under the vibrant turquoise sky. The waves lapped gently at the shore, their rhythmic sound blending with the occasional laughter of other vacationers. The salty tang of the ocean hung in the warm air, mingling with the faint scent of sunscreen as the sun kissed your skin.

Joel walked beside you, his towel slung over one broad shoulder, his gait unhurried, as though he owned every step he took. His confidence was maddening, casual in a way that made it seem effortless.

Ahead, Maria and Tommy stood near a row of brightly colored canoes, their chatter punctuated by Maria’s bubbly laughter as Tommy wrestled with his life vest straps. The canoeing instructor, a lean man with sun-bleached hair and an easy smile, waved you over.

“Finally!” Maria called, her hands on her hips. “What took you guys so long?”

Joel smirked, his hand brushing lightly against the small of your back as he stepped ahead of you. The touch was fleeting, barely there, but enough to send a ripple of warmth through you.

“Blame the roomie,” Joel said, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Takes forever to get ready.”

Your jaw dropped, and you turned to glare at him. “Excuse me?”

He shrugged, his smirk widening. “Just callin’ it like I see it.”

Maria laughed, rolling her eyes. “Alright, lovebirds, let’s get moving before we miss our spot.”

Before you could correct her, the instructor approached, his grin wide and welcoming. “Hello, beautiful couple,” he greeted.

“Oh, we’re not—” you started, but Joel cut in smoothly, stepping forward with a hand outstretched.

“Hi,” Joel said, his voice easy and confident. “Name’s Joel.”

The instructor—Kai—shook his hand, smiling. “Pleasure to meet you, Joel. And you?”

You replied with your name whilst Joel slid his arm around your waist like it belonged there. “But you can just call her perfect. Isn’t she?”

Your mouth fell open, a mix of disbelief and embarrassment flooding your chest.

Kai smiled warmly, nodding. “Yes, very.”

“Thanks, man,” Joel replied with a wink. “Two years together, and she still keeps me on my toes.”

“Alright,” Kai said, handing you both life vests. “Pop these on, and I’ll guide you to your canoe.”

“Yes, sir,” Joel replied, saluting jokingly as he took the vest.

You turned to Joel as Kai walked back toward Maria and Tommy, your voice low but sharp. “Seriously, Joel?”

“What?” Joel shrugged innocently as he pulled on his life vest. “It is a couples vacation.”

You rolled your eyes, fumbling with your straps when you realized something: you still had your swim cover on.

“Shit,” you muttered, biting your lip as your fingers hovered at the hem of the light fabric. You hesitated for a moment, but there was no avoiding it. The life vest wouldn’t fit properly over the cover.

You shook off your doubts, pulling the cover over your head in one swift motion and stuffing it into your bag. Grabbing the life vest from the ground, you were too focused on fastening the straps to notice Joel’s gaze.

But Joel noticed everything.

His hand froze mid-buckle, his gaze fixed on you, tracing the way your red swimsuit hugged your body. The way the fabric dipped and clung to your curves, the soft swell of your chest, the way your thighs looked under the bright sunlight. Holy shit, he thought, his mind scrambling for words as his throat went dry.

You, completely unaware of Joel’s lingering gaze, fumbled with your straps, your cheeks burning from the rush of heat brought on by the sun, his presence, and the vulnerability of standing there in nothing but your swimsuit. Your hair clung to your face, the strands sticking stubbornly as your fingers trembled over the life vest’s clasps.

“Fuck,” you murmured under your breath, the frustration bubbling up as everything seemed to work against you.

Joel, who had been pretending to adjust his own straps while watching you from the corner of his eye, stepped forward. His voice dropped low, warm and steady. “Here,” he murmured, closing the small gap between you. “Let me do it.”

You froze as he reached out, his hands brushing lightly over yours before taking over. His fingers moved with a practiced ease, tugging and adjusting the straps until the vest fit snugly against your frame. He was so close you could feel the faint warmth of his skin, his scent—a mix of the ocean breeze and sunscreen—wrapping around you like a blanket.

“There,” he said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “Can’t leave you unbuckled now, can we?”

You looked up, your breath catching as you caught the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—an openness, a quiet sort of tenderness beneath his usual teasing grin.

“You look—” Joel began, his voice softer now, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by Maria’s voice calling out from the shore.

“Let’s go, people! Canoes are waiting!”

Joel stepped back, the moment dissolving into the salty air. His hand brushed your shoulder lightly—a fleeting touch that sent an electric warmth rippling through you.

“C’mon, roomie,” he said, his grin returning as he glanced over his shoulder, his brown eyes sparkling with mischief. “Can’t keep Maria waiting.”

You let out a shaky breath, grabbing your paddle and falling into step behind him as he led the way toward the water.

The sun blazed above, the waves lapping gently at the shore, and the rhythmic crunch of sand beneath your feet mixed with the hum of the ocean. Your heart raced—not from the heat or exertion, but from the way Joel had looked at you just moments ago. Like you were the only thing worth seeing.

This was going to be a long, long day.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

“Alright,” Kai began, his voice calm and steady as he gestured toward the canoes. “A few safety things, my beautiful couples.”

Then, as if on cue, his arm slid around your waist, his hand settling against the curve of your hip. The gesture was so smooth, so natural, it startled you for half a second. The other hand still held his paddle, but his focus was entirely on you.

You felt his warmth immediately, the strength of his touch grounding you. Instinctively, your arm looped around his waist, your fingers brushing against his skin.

“There we go,” Joel murmured, his voice low and close against your ear, his breath brushing against your hair. “Not so hard, huh?”

“Shut up and listen,” you whispered back, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you, tugging upward into a small smile.

Kai smiled warmly, his sun-bleached hair catching the light. “Life vests stay on at all times. Keep your paddle movements synchronized—makes things much easier. And most importantly, relax and enjoy. This is supposed to be fun.”

Beside you, Maria nodded eagerly, already clutching Tommy’s arm like they were gearing up for an Olympic event. Joel, however, seemed completely at ease, standing with his paddle resting casually against his shoulder.

Kai clapped his hands together, breaking the moment. “Alright! Now I’ll help you settle into the canoes.”

He reached out, his hand steady as he gestured for you to step forward. “Ladies first,” he said with a kind smile.

You placed your hand in his, letting him guide you carefully into the canoe. The wooden surface dipped slightly under your weight, the gentle sway of the water rocking the vessel.

“Thanks, Kai,” you murmured, settling yourself onto the front seat.

Kai nodded before turning to Joel. “Alright, hop in behind her.”

Joel stepped forward, his movements deliberate as he climbed into the narrow canoe. The space was tight—too tight—and as he sat down behind you, his chest practically pressed against your back.

You froze for a moment, acutely aware of every inch of him. The way his thighs bracketed yours, the solid heat of his torso against you, the faint brush of his breath near your neck.

“Small canoe, huh?” Joel murmured, his voice dipping into that warm, teasing drawl.

You turned your head just enough to catch his gaze, his brown eyes glinting with mischief. “Is that a complaint?” you asked, your voice steady despite the flutter in your chest.

“Not at all,” he replied, his grin widening as his hands adjusted the paddle across his lap. “I’m likin’ the view from back here.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to the water, but the warmth blooming in your cheeks betrayed you.

“You good up there?” Joel asked, his voice softer now, the teasing note replaced with something gentler.

You nodded, unable to trust your voice as the water lapped softly against the sides of the canoe.

“Alright,” Kai called out from the shore, his voice pulling you back to the moment. “You’re all set! Follow the guide, and you’ll be at the snorkeling spot in no time.”

“Bye, Kai!” Tommy shouted, his voice carrying over the gentle crash of the waves as he and Maria’s canoe began to glide ahead.

Tommy twisted slightly in his seat, throwing a glance over his shoulder toward your canoe. “Last one there’s a rotten egg!” he hollered, his tone full of childish glee.

“Fuckin' child,” Joel muttered under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching as he adjusted his paddle in the water.

You laughed softly, turning your head just enough to catch his expression. “Thought you’d be all over the competition,” you teased, your tone light as you dipped your own paddle into the water.

Joel leaned back slightly, the movement so casual it sent another wave of warmth radiating from where his knees bracketed yours. His drawl was slow and deliberate as he replied, “Yeah, usually. But…” He paused, his voice dropping just enough to make you glance back at him again. His dark eyes caught the sunlight, softening as they settled on you. “I don’t really wanna rush this.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and you quickly turned your gaze back to the water, grateful he couldn’t see the blush blooming across your cheeks. The soft lapping of the ocean seemed to amplify the silence, the moment hanging delicately in the air.

“Don’t get shy on me now,” Joel added, his voice dipping into that playful drawl that sent your pulse skittering.

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “I’m not shy,” you countered, though the warmth creeping up your neck betrayed you.

“Good,” Joel murmured, his paddle dipping into the water with smooth precision, guiding the canoe forward in an unhurried rhythm. His voice, low and deliberate, sent ripples through the air as surely as the paddle stirred the water. “’Cause I don’t plan on rushin’ any of this.”

Your breath caught, the words settling over you like the warmth of the sun, and before you could respond, you felt it—a gentle brush against your back.

Joel’s hand, warm and steady, moved to sweep your hair off your shoulder, the strands catching slightly against his rough fingertips. The motion was casual, deliberate, like he’d done it a thousand times before, though you both knew he hadn’t. His fingers lingered as they slid over the curve of your shoulder, tracing random, absentminded shapes against your skin.

A circle.

A letter—maybe the start of your name.

A heart.

The paddle in your hands suddenly felt heavier, your grip tightening as you tried to focus on anything other than the steady, lazy patterns he was drawing.

The teasing lilt in his voice still lingered in the air, but beneath it, there was something softer, something quiet and sure. It was that steadiness that left you breathless, the way his touch spoke a language you didn’t quite know how to name yet.

You dared a glance over your shoulder, your heart pounding against your ribs, but Joel’s eyes were fixed on the water. His face was relaxed, his lips curved into the faintest hint of a smile, like he wasn’t fully aware of the way he was undoing you. Or maybe he was, and that was the worst part.

Tommy and Maria’s laughter floated back to you from ahead, breaking the moment like a wave against the shore.

“Better keep up,” Joel said, his voice light now, the teasing edge returning. He shifted slightly, his hand falling back to his paddle. “Or Tommy’s gonna gloat all day.”

You exhaled, shaking your head to clear the haze he’d left behind. Glancing back at him, you let a small smile tug at the corners of your mouth. “Then stop holding me back.”

Joel’s laugh rumbled low and warm, the sound wrapping around you like a familiar melody. “Alright, alright,” he drawled, dipping his paddle into the water with purpose. “Let’s show ’em what we’ve got.”

The two of you found a rhythm quickly, your paddles slicing through the sparkling water in unison. The canoe glided smoothly over the waves, the sunlight catching in golden streaks across the surface. The distant hum of the ocean filled the silence between your playful exchanges, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that felt shared, almost sacred, as though the air between you held something fragile and new.

You stole a glance at him again, watching as he focused on the water ahead, his brow furrowing slightly in concentration. There was an ease to Joel—something that made you feel both grounded and entirely unmoored all at once.

And as the two of you paddled forward, the waves lapping gently against the canoe, you couldn’t shake the thought that this trip was about to change everything.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

When you reached the snorkeling spot, your breath caught in your throat. The water was impossibly clear, a shimmering expanse of turquoise and deep azure stretching out before you. Beneath the surface, you could already see flashes of vibrant coral and darting fish, their colors bright and alive.

Tommy and Maria had beaten you there, their canoe already tied off and bobbing gently near the guide’s boat. They were standing on a small platform, Maria excitedly chatting as Tommy adjusted her snorkel gear.

Joel’s voice pulled you back. “I don’t know how it keeps gettin’ better,” he murmured, his tone quieter than usual, almost reverent. His gaze wasn’t on the water, though—it was on you, his brown eyes warm and steady as they took you in.

You turned away quickly, focusing on the task of securing the canoe.

Joel hopped out first, the canoe rocking slightly as his feet hit the platform. He turned back to you, holding out a hand. “C’mon, roomie. Don’t make me carry you outta there.”

You rolled your eyes but placed your hand in his. His grip was firm, his palm warm against yours as he steadied you, his other hand brushing lightly against your waist as you stepped out onto the platform.

The guide handed you your snorkeling gear, a mask and fins. You fiddled with the straps on your mask, trying to secure it, but Joel was already beside you, watching your clumsy attempts with an amused grin.

“Here,” he said, stepping in close. His hands brushed yours as he adjusted the strap at the back of your head, his touch gentle but sure. “Gotta get it snug so you don’t end up drinkin’ half the ocean.”

You stood still, the warmth of his hands and the nearness of him making it hard to focus.

He pulled back slightly, tilting his head to check the fit. “There,” he said with a faint smirk. “Atta girl. You’re good to go.”

You muttered a quiet thanks, adjusting your grip on the fins as Joel turned to grab his own gear.

He slipped his mask over his face and adjusted it in one fluid motion, his movements practiced and easy. With a glance back at you, he grinned through the clear plastic. “Watch this,” he said, his tone playful, before diving into the water with a clean, powerful arc.

The splash sent a light spray over the platform, and you instinctively shielded your face. When you looked up again, Joel had surfaced, pushing his hair back with both hands as he treaded water effortlessly.

He looked up at you, his grin widening. “C’mon in. Water’s perfect.”

You hesitated for a moment, adjusting your mask nervously before nodding. Pulling it into place, you stepped to the edge of the platform, your heart thudding as you tried to mimic Joel’s graceful dive.

Instead, you landed with a far less coordinated splash, water rushing around you as you surfaced with a sputter.

Joel’s laugh rang out, warm and easy as he swam closer. “Not bad,” he teased, treading water just a few feet away. “Little more practice, and you’ll be Olympic-level.”

You pushed your wet hair out of your face, laughing despite yourself. “Shut up, Joel.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You followed Joel through the water, the gentle current guiding you both as you moved together. Below, the ocean was alive with color. Schools of tiny, shimmering fish darted in perfect harmony, their scales catching the sunlight like scattered jewels. Bright coral in hues of orange, pink, and purple rose in intricate formations, their surfaces dotted with swaying anemones and the occasional sea star clinging to the rocky edges.

A larger fish, vibrant and striped like something out of a dream, glided past you, its movements slow and unbothered by your presence. You felt your breath catch, even through the snorkel, as a sea turtle drifted into view, its serene, graceful movements making everything else seem to pause.

Joel swam just ahead, his powerful strokes propelling him forward with ease. He glanced back over his shoulder, making sure you were still following. The moment your eyes met through your goggles, he paused, floating in place as he gestured to something below—a hidden cluster of coral glowing faintly in the filtered sunlight.

You both lingered, sharing a quiet, wordless moment as you watched the vibrant life below. When you turned back to him, his expression behind the mask was unmistakable: awe, not just for the ocean, but for the shared experience. It was a connection, clear and simple, spoken in the language of glances and silence.

When you finally surfaced, the world above felt almost too loud after the stillness beneath the waves. The soft lap of the water against your shoulders and the warmth of the sun on your face grounded you as you treaded water, catching your breath.

Joel moved closer, his strokes smooth and deliberate, until he was just inches away. Reaching out, he brushed a wet strand of hair from your face with his fingers, his touch light and careful.

“There,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, his eyes meeting yours. “Now I can see you better.”

Your cheeks heated, though the cool water around you did little to hide it. “Thanks,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s grin softened into something quieter, more sincere, before he turned, treading water as his gaze drifted over the expanse of the ocean. “This is somethin’ else,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of wonder.

“It’s amazing,” you agreed, your heart still racing from more than just the swim.

He tilted his head toward you, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Did you see that one fish? The big striped one?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah. It looked like it belonged in a painting.”

Joel chuckled, his deep laugh sending ripples through the water around you. “I’m startin’ to think maybe I should stick with you. You’re good luck.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “Pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

Joel moved closer again, his shoulder brushing yours as you floated. “Guess we’re both lucky, then.”

The weight of his words lingered in the air between you, their meaning deeper than the casual tone he’d used. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you, suspended in the gentle sway of the ocean.

“Hey!” Maria’s voice called from a few feet away, shattering the spell. “You guys coming to check out the reef, or are you just gonna float there all day?”

Joel grinned, his attention flickering briefly to Maria as she swam off before turning back to you. His grin softened into something smaller, more intimate as he moved closer, the water rippling gently around him.

“So,” he said, his voice low and warm, “what d’you think?”

“Huh?” You blinked, distracted by how close he was, his brown eyes catching the light in a way that made it hard to think straight.

“You think Tommy’s gonna do it here?” Joel asked, his lips tugging into that crooked smile you were beginning to recognize as trouble.

“Here?” you replied, wrinkling your nose slightly as you glanced around. “Hell no. It’s too wet.”

Joel’s laugh rumbled deep in his chest, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tilted his head back. “Too wet, huh? That’s your expert analysis?”

You rolled your eyes, though a grin tugged at your lips. “What? It’s not romantic if you’re dripping saltwater all over someone during a proposal.”

“Guess you’ve got a point,” Joel drawled, his eyes narrowing playfully. He leaned in just slightly, the space between you shrinking. “Still think you’re gonna lose our bet, though.”

You raised an eyebrow, your pulse quickening as his words lingered in the air. “You underestimate me, Miller.”

“Do I now?” His voice dipped, teasing but softer, his gaze locking with yours.

The warmth of his nearness, the way the water seemed to hold you both in a weightless bubble, made it hard to respond. Before you could think of a clever comeback, Tommy’s voice cut through the moment.

“Joel!” Tommy called, his tone carrying over the gentle sound of the waves.

Joel blinked, the spell between you breaking as he turned toward his brother. “C’mon!” Tommy shouted, gesturing toward the reef where Maria was already pointing excitedly at something underwater.

Joel turned back to you with a soft sigh, his grin returning as he treaded water. “Guess I’m bein’ summoned.”

“Better go, Miller,” you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

He paused for half a second longer, his eyes flicking over your face as if trying to memorize something. Then he nodded, a teasing light back in his gaze. “Don’t fall too far behind.”

With that, he pushed off the water, his strong strokes propelling him toward Tommy and Maria. You watched him go, your heart still racing in your chest, the weight of his words and the closeness of his presence lingering in the space he left behind.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The sun hung high in the sky, its golden warmth wrapping around you as the canoe gently rocked over the glittering water. The rhythmic sound of Joel’s paddle slicing through the waves filled the air, steady and uncomplaining.

You had given up paddling long ago, letting your oar rest across your lap as you leaned back slightly, soaking in the breeze and the ocean’s soft lull. Part of you expected Joel to tease you, to make some snarky comment about how you were letting him do all the work, but he hadn’t said a word.

No complaints, no jokes. Just the quiet strength of him paddling, propelling the canoe forward with ease.

You cracked an eye open and turned your head slightly to glance at him. He was focused, his brow furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing with each stroke. You wished you could see more, the way his body worked with the motion, but the angle of the canoe kept it out of view.

With a soft sigh, you let your eyes close again, the warmth of the sun and the gentle sway of the canoe lulling you into a drowsy haze.

“You tired?” Joel’s voice broke through the quiet, low and gentle.

“A little,” you admitted, cracking one eye open again to meet his gaze.

You hesitated, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Sorry for not helping,” you murmured, your voice soft. “My arms feel like they’re gonna fall off.”

Joel’s grin softened into something warmer, and he shook his head. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. I gotcha.”

The steadiness in his voice, the way he said it so simply, made your chest ache in a way you didn’t quite understand.

“I mean it,” he continued, his gaze flicking briefly toward you before returning to the horizon. “You did good out there. Deserve a little break.”

You bit your lip, the unexpected sweetness of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. “Thanks, Joel,” you said quietly, your voice almost lost in the sound of the waves.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

As the canoe bumped gently against the shore, Joel hopped out first, his feet sinking into the warm sand as he steadied the vessel. Without a word, he turned back to you, extending a hand.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice soft but firm, the sun catching the faintest sheen on his tanned skin.

You placed your hand in his, and he helped you step out carefully, his grip steady and sure. His other hand hovered near your waist, ready to catch you if needed. Once you were firmly on the ground, he let go, but only long enough to reach for the clasp of your life vest.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder as he unfastened the straps. It was effortless, as though it was a role he’d naturally assumed—quietly taking care of you without needing to be asked.

The thought sent a strange flutter through your chest, and for a moment, your brain slipped. You wondered—just for a second—if this was what it would feel like to actually date Joel. To have him by your side, steady and dependable, with those fleeting touches and that easy charm that always seemed to catch you off guard.

You shook the thought away quickly, biting the inside of your cheek. Get a grip. You’re just really, really lonely.

Kai’s voice brought you back to the present. “How was it, my beautiful couples?” he asked, standing from where he’d been lounging on the sand.

“It was amazing, Kai,” Joel said, stepping forward and returning the smile as he handed over the paddles.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Joel,” Kai said, nodding approvingly.

Before you could excuse yourselves, Kai tilted his head and smiled. “Now,” he added, “would you two like a photo together?”

“Oh, you don’t need to—” you began, waving it off.

“We’d love that,” Joel cut in smoothly, pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it to Kai.

You glanced at him, your cheeks warming, but before you could protest further, Joel stepped closer, his hand finding its way to your waist as if it belonged there.

“Alright,” Kai said, holding the phone up. “Three, two, one—Hawaii!”

You managed a smile, though you couldn’t help noticing how natural Joel’s arm felt around you, the weight of his hand grounding and oddly comforting. As the shutter clicked, you glanced up, only to catch Joel looking down at you instead of the camera, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners with the hint of a grin.

Kai passed the phone back, nodding in approval. “You two make a very beautiful couple,” he said earnestly.

“Thanks, Kai,” Joel replied smoothly, his tone casual but warm.

You, however, were less composed. “Uh, thanks,” you murmured, feeling the heat creeping up your neck as you avoided Joel’s gaze.

The two of you leaned in to look at the photo, and your stomach flipped at the sight. Kai had captured the perfect moment: Joel’s arm around your waist, his head tilted slightly toward yours, the both of you glowing against the backdrop of the sparkling ocean.

It wasn’t just a good picture. You did look like a couple—a beautiful one. The realization hit you like a wave, and for a second, you wondered if Joel was thinking the same thing.

But before you could say anything, Joel’s voice broke the quiet. “Not bad,” he said, his tone light as he nudged your shoulder gently. “Might be my new favorite photo.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

And as you walked back toward the resort together, his hand brushing against yours just enough to make your heart skip, you couldn’t help but wonder if Kai’s words had struck a chord in both of you.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

Joel hummed beside you as he carried your things, his steps easy and unhurried, like the weight in his hands didn’t bother him at all. The sound of his voice—a low, rhythmic hum—mingled with the ocean breeze, setting an oddly calming pace to your walk back to the hotel.

“What you gonna do now?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Maria and Tommy had peeled off, deciding to check out the local markets, leaving the two of you with no agenda for the afternoon.

You lifted a hand to shield your eyes from the sun, the heat making everything shimmer. When your gaze met Joel’s, you noticed the way his brown eyes glinted in the light, warm and inviting, as they always seemed to be.

“Hmm,” you mused, drawing out the sound as if you were deciding right there on the spot. “I was thinking about lying by the pool. Maybe tanning, reading a book...” You glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “What about you?”

Joel grinned, his free hand tucking casually into the pocket of his shorts. “Oh, you know, might hit the gym, grab a drink at the bar...”

Your chest dipped slightly at the answer, disappointment creeping in before you could push it away. “Oh,” you murmured, dropping your gaze to the ground. “Okay.”

Joel’s chuckle pulled you back. He nudged your shoulder with his own, the gentle touch a small spark against the heaviness of your thoughts. “I’m jokin’,” he said, his grin softening into something warmer. “I’ll come with you—if that’s alright.”

The pang of disappointment evaporated, replaced with a warmth that spread through your chest. You gave him a small smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Alright, then,” he said with a shrug, his grin widening just enough to make your heart skip.

When you reached the pool area, the sight before you was nothing short of breathtaking. The infinity pool stretched out like glass, its edge merging seamlessly with the endless turquoise ocean beyond.

Lounge chairs lined the perimeter, neatly arranged under gently swaying palm trees, their shadows swiping lazily across the stone. The faint sounds of waves crashing in the distance mixed with the chatter and laughter of other vacationers, creating a soft, serene buzz.

You picked a pair of loungers near the edge, the view too stunning to resist. Settling onto one, you adjusted the straps of your swimsuit, feeling the sun warm your skin as you leaned back. Joel took the chair beside you, sprawling out with an ease that made you almost envious.

For a blissful moment, everything felt perfect.

Then your stomach betrayed you.

A loud, unmistakable growl broke the silence, echoing louder than it had any right to. Your eyes widened in mortification as you sat up slightly, adjusting your sunglasses in an attempt to hide the heat creeping up your neck.

Joel turned his head toward you, his brow lifting in amusement. “Shit, darlin’, you hungry?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. But your stomach growled again, as if determined to betray you.

Joel chuckled, a low, warm sound that rumbled in his chest as he sat up. He reached for his wallet from the side of his lounger, flipping it open with ease. “Tell that to the noise that just escaped ya.”

“Joel,” you groaned, tugging your sunglasses down slightly to glare at him.

“What?” he teased, leaning over to grab a menu resting nearby. “What’re you in the mood for?”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him through the lenses of your sunglasses. “What do you wanna eat?”

He shook his head, his grin widening. “Nuh-uh. Your choice, roomie. They’ve got all kinds of stuff.” He scanned the menu, his finger trailing down the list. “Fish and chips, calamari... nachos.”

Your eyebrows perked up at the mention of nachos, and Joel caught it instantly.

“Nachos it is,” he said, closing the menu and standing up in one fluid motion.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quickly, your voice softer now.

Joel leaned down slightly, his eyes catching yours over the edge of your sunglasses. His voice dipped, warm and steady. “Hey,” he said, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Sit. Relax. Let me take care of it.”

And before you could argue further, he was off, striding toward the poolside café with a confidence that made it impossible not to watch him go.

You sank back into the lounger, letting out a soft breath as you adjusted your sunglasses. The sun was warm, the pool glittered like something out of a dream, and Joel was, well... Joel.

You couldn’t help but watch him as he walked toward the café, the sun glinting off his tanned skin, the slight roll of his shoulders with each step. There was something so effortlessly commanding about him—the way his muscles flexed, the easy grin he flashed to the staff, the way people around him seemed to light up as if his presence was a gift.

He was... perfect.

Your thoughts spiraled for a moment. How was this man single? There had to be a catch. Maybe he was secretly toxic. He had to be—someone this gorgeous, this charming, couldn’t possibly be real without some glaring flaw.

You sighed, shaking your head as if to physically rid yourself of the thoughts. But before you could dwell any longer, Joel was making his way back, balancing a large plate of nachos in one hand, a pink lemonade and a beer in the other.

The nachos were a masterpiece: a mountain of golden chips piled high with melted cheese, fresh guacamole, tangy salsa, sour cream, and a generous drizzle of jalapeño slices scattered across the top. The colors were vibrant, the steam rising faintly from the plate as Joel set it down on the small table between your loungers.

“Here we are,” he said casually, settling into the chair beside you and taking a swig of his beer, the condensation from the bottle leaving a faint sheen on his fingertips.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the food. “Oh my god, Joel. This looks so good.” You looked up at him, your voice softer now. “You seriously didn’t have to do this.”

Joel shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he rested the beer against his knee. “No big deal,” he said, his drawl warm and easy. “Can’t have ya starving on me, now, can I?”

You gave him a small, grateful smile before reaching for a chip, loaded with cheese and guac. The first bite was heavenly, the flavors bursting across your tongue.

Joel watched you with a quiet smile, his gaze soft as you hummed in approval. “Good?” he asked.

“So good,” you managed between bites, savoring the combination of salty, creamy, and tangy.

Joel chuckled, his laugh low and warm. He took another sip of his beer, leaning forward slightly. “So,” he said, his tone shifting into something lighter but curious, “tell me more about you.”

You blinked, glancing at him as you wiped your fingers on a napkin. “What do you mean?”

Joel tilted his head, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners with his grin. “I mean, I’m sharin’ a bed with you for a week, and I don’t even know your last name. Feels a little backwards, don’t ya think?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Alright, fair point. What do you wanna know?”

“Everything,” he said simply, his grin fading into something softer. “Start with the basics. Where’re you from? What do you do? Why’d you say yes to this trip?”

You hesitated for a moment, taken aback by how genuine he sounded. Most people didn’t actually care when they asked questions like that, but Joel’s gaze was steady, curious, like he really wanted to know.

“Well,” you began, settling back in your chair. “I’m from a small town—like, really small. The kind where everyone knows everyone and nothing exciting ever happens.”

Joel nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah? What’s that like?”

“Comfortable,” you admitted. “But also... stifling, sometimes. You grow up wanting to see more, do more. So I moved for college, and I’ve stayed in the city ever since.”

Joel hummed, swirling his beer in his hand as he leaned back. “Makes sense. So, what do you do now?”

You smiled, feeling a little shy under his steady gaze. “I work in marketing. It’s not the most exciting thing in the world, but I like it. I like the creativity of it, I guess.”

“That’s somethin’,” Joel said, his voice thoughtful. “Creativity’s important. Bet you’re good at it.”

You blushed, ducking your head slightly. “What about you?”

“Me?” Joel shrugged, his grin returning. “Construction, mostly. It’s hard work, but I like it. Buildin’ somethin’ from the ground up, seein’ the results. Feels good.”

You nodded, your gaze drifting to his hands—strong, calloused, capable. It suited him.

“And this trip?” he asked, his voice pulling you back. “Why’d you say yes?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “Honestly? Maria begged. And I figured... why not? New Year’s in Hawaii sounded better than sitting on my couch with a bottle of wine and Netflix.”

Joel’s grin widened. “Yeah? Glad you came?”

You glanced at him, the warmth in his eyes making your chest tighten. “Yeah,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “I think I am.”

Joel nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he reached for a chip. “Good,” he said, his tone easy but laced with something deeper. “Would’ve been a shame if I came all this way and didn’t meet you.”

Your heart stuttered, but Joel just leaned back, popping the chip into his mouth as if he hadn’t just said something that turned your world on its head.

“So, huh,” Joel began, his voice teasing as he leaned back in his chair, one hand lazily holding his beer. “Wine and Netflix, huh?”

You laughed softly, pushing your sunglasses up onto your head. “I know. It’s sad.”

Joel shook his head, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. “Not sad. Just... surprised, I guess.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, tilting your head at him.

Joel shrugged, taking another sip of his beer. “Figured someone like you—smart, funny, beautiful—would have somethin’ a little more exciting lined up for New Year’s Eve.”

You blinked, his compliment catching you off guard. Heat crept up your neck, but you tried to play it cool. “Well,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your napkin, “I’m not exactly the club-and-kiss-a-random-stranger-at-midnight type.”

“Right,” Joel said, nodding slowly, as if that explanation made perfect sense. His brown eyes lingered on you for a beat too long before he added, “No one waitin’ for you back home, then?”

You hesitated, just long enough for him to notice. “Well, there’s someone...” you started, glancing at him.

Joel froze mid-motion, a loaded nacho hovering just shy of his lips. His face fell ever so slightly, but he recovered quickly, brushing a crumb off his shorts in what you could only describe as a casual panic.

“Oh,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Girl,” you corrected, your voice light but deliberate, watching as his brow furrowed slightly. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, the flicker of confusion that followed.

“Girl?” he repeated slowly, leaning back in his chair. For a moment, he seemed to falter, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Was he reading this all wrong? Were you—

“Mimi,” you said, your lips quirking upward into a grin. “My cat. She’s waiting for me back home.”

Joel blinked, the realization dawning slowly before he groaned, his head falling back against the lounge chair. His hand scrubbed over his face as he muttered, “You’re somethin’ else.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and genuine. “Well,” you teased, crossing one leg over the other as you leaned back, “how about you? I’m sure there’s plenty of ladies dying for a handyman like you.”

Joel’s lips quirked into a crooked grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shrugged, the movement slow and deliberate. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I mean... I want the whole thing, y’know? Wife, kids, family... dog—or cat,” he added quickly, his gaze flicking to you with a playful glint.

You smiled, your chest tightening at the earnestness in his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softening as he looked out at the infinity pool, the water reflecting the golden light of the sun. “But I just... never really met anyone I could imagine that with. Someone who made it feel... right.”

You nodded slowly, your hand wrapping around your glass as you thought about his words. “I get that,” you said, your voice just as quiet. “It’s not easy, finding someone who fits.”

Joel turned his head to look at you, his brown eyes warm and searching. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Exactly.”

For a moment, the air between you felt lighter, Joel’s grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright,” he said, his voice warm and playful, “lemme see some pictures of this famous Mimi.”

“Really?” you asked, perking up instantly as you set your drink down and grabbed your phone. “She’s the cutest, Joel. I swear.”

His grin widened, boyishly charming, as he gestured for you to hurry. “C’mon, show me. Prove she’s worth all the hype.”

You unlocked your phone and began scrolling through your photo album, your excitement bubbling over. “Okay, okay—here she is, napping on my bed.” You held up the screen to show a photo of Mimi sprawled out on her back, all fluffy fur and tiny paws in the air. “Tell me that’s not the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.”

Joel tilted his head, squinting at the photo like he was studying it carefully. “Alright, she’s cute,” he admitted, nodding. “Kinda got that ‘queen of the castle’ vibe, though.”

“She is the queen,” you said, laughing. “I basically live in her house, not the other way around.”

He leaned closer, resting his chin in his hand, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Lemme see more.”

You swiped to the next picture. “Oh, this one’s from Halloween, I dressed her up as a pumpkin.” You burst out laughing, showing him a photo of Mimi looking unimpressed in her bright orange costume, one paw sticking out awkwardly. “She hated it.”

Joel let out a laugh, throwing his head back slightly before shaking it in disbelief. “A pumpkin? Poor girl looks like she’s plannin’ an escape.”

“She was so mad,” you said through your laughter, scrolling to another. “But she got over it after I gave her some treats.”

He reached out to gently take the phone, his thumb brushing yours in the process. He studied the picture, his grin turning into a full smile. “She’s got that ‘why do I put up with you’ face. Kinda reminds me of someone.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, teasing.

“Ha, ha,” you said, snatching the phone back, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you with a grin. “She’s the best. I don’t care what you say.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the golden light of the sun catching in his eyes as he tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, looking so effortlessly charming it made your stomach flip. He took a slow swig of his beer, his gaze lingering on you.

“Well,” he drawled, the word lazy and teasing as it hung in the air. “She’s definitely a cute cat.” He paused, his lips twitching like he was holding back a grin. “Takes after her mother.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, the way he said it so casually yet with a warmth that felt like a soft caress. You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the heat creeping up your neck.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep until Joel’s voice pulled you back into reality. It was low and soft, with just a hint of that Texan drawl, like a tether pulling you gently from your dream.

“Shit,” he murmured, his phone in his hand as he swiped at the screen. “Hang on.”

You cracked one eye open to see him putting the call on speaker.

“Joel, where the hell are you guys?” Tommy’s voice rang out, exasperated. “You’re gonna be late to the massage thing, and Maria’s about to freak.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, unfazed. “Relax, Tommy,” he drawled. “We’re by the pool. We’ll be there in five.”

There was a dramatic sigh on the other end of the line. “Alright, fine. Just hurry up,” Tommy said before hanging up.

Joel chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He turned to you, leaning over slightly to poke your arm. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

You blinked, sitting up slowly as the sun’s warmth wrapped around you. “Hey,” you murmured, your voice still groggy. “I forgot about that massage thing.”

Joel shrugged, his gaze steady on yours. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he said, his tone softer now. “We can stay here, or you can take a nap back in the room ’til dinner.”

The unexpected sweetness of his offer made your chest tighten. Joel, with his teasing and his smirks, had a quiet way of surprising you. When he wasn’t being a massive pain in the ass, he was... well, kind of amazing.

You shook your head, brushing away the thought. “No,” you said, sitting up straighter and adjusting your sunglasses. “We should go. Maria will revoke bridesmaid duty if I flake.”

Joel chuckled, standing and offering you a hand to help you up. “Well, look at that,” he said, his grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Me, the best man. You, the bridesmaid. Perfect little team, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, letting him pull you to your feet. “Alright, Miller,” you said, adjusting your towel as you smirked up at him. “Keep it moving before Maria comes down here and drags us both to the spa.”

Joel laughed, the sound deep and warm as he grabbed his things. “Whatever you say, boss.”

As the two of you walked back toward the hotel, his shoulder brushing against yours every so often, you couldn’t help but feel that Joel had a way of making even the smallest moments feel like something more.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The couples massage was located on the hotel’s lower level, tucked away behind a serene courtyard surrounded by lush greenery and gently trickling fountains. The space was dimly lit with warm, golden light, and the air smelled faintly of lavender and eucalyptus.

Soft instrumental music played in the background, a mix of delicate piano notes and ocean waves, designed to lull anyone into relaxation. The atmosphere was undeniably tranquil, though the idea of “intimacy workshops” had you teetering on the edge of amusement.

You sat cross-legged on a plush mat, the fabric cool against your skin as you tried—and failed—to maintain a serene expression. Joel sat beside you, his broad frame and long limbs making him look out of place. To your other side, Maria and Tommy were already fully immersed, Maria’s posture perfect and Tommy nodding earnestly along with the instructor’s every word.

“Hello, couples,” the instructor began, her voice smooth and calming, though there was a distinct theatrical quality to it. “My name is Linda, and I’ll be guiding you through today’s couples massage and connection experience.”

You shot Joel a quick glance, and his eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. He didn’t say anything, but the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth spoke volumes.

Linda continued, her tone dipping lower as if she were sharing a secret. “Before we begin, I’d like us to take a few moments to breathe and connect. This exercise will ground you before embarking on this intimate experience with your partner—an experience even more profound and vulnerable than sexual encounters.”

Joel shifted beside you, leaning just close enough that you could hear him mutter under his breath, “Oh, this’ll be good.”

Your lips twitched, and you bit down on a laugh as Linda began a series of deep breathing instructions. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you, though you refused to look at him, knowing you’d lose it completely if you did.

“Now,” Linda said, her hands clasped reverently in front of her. “I’d like you to turn and face your partner.”

You shifted on the mat to face Joel, your knees brushing his as you settled in. His brown eyes met yours, warm but slightly hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this.

“Next,” the instructor continued, her voice almost hypnotic, “place your palm against your partner’s chest.” She demonstrated the motion, and you watched as Tommy and Maria eagerly mirrored her, their hands pressed against each other’s hearts, smiling like they were in a rom-com.

Joel hesitated, his hand hovering slightly as he glanced at you. “We don’t have to,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“It’s okay,” you assured him, offering a small smile.

You placed your palm on his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your hand sending an unexpected shiver through you. Joel’s breath hitched just slightly before he placed his hand on your chest. His movements were careful and deliberate as he tried—unsuccessfully—to avoid brushing against your breasts.

“Perfect,” the instructor cooed. “Just like that.”

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh at how absurdly intimate this was for two people who weren’t actually a couple.

“Now,” the instructor continued, her voice dipping even lower, “I want you to look your partner in the eyes. Really look at them. And I want you to tell them one thing you love about them.”

You couldn’t help it—you let out a quiet laugh, glancing down briefly before meeting Joel’s gaze again.

“You or me first?” he asked, his lips curving into a small smile that softened the tension in his jaw.

“You first,” you said, your voice light but steady, as if daring him to make it through without cracking a joke.

Joel chuckled softly and glanced down briefly, like he was gathering his thoughts, before his eyes lifted to meet yours again. This time, they were softer, more serious, and the weight of his gaze made your chest tighten.

“I love…” he started, his voice a little quieter now, “how passionate you are about the things you love.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the sincerity in his tone cutting through the playful air between you.

Joel smiled faintly, “It’s... somethin’ special. You’re somethin’ special.”

You blinked, your heart doing an unsteady flip as his words settled over you. For a moment, you forgot you were in a room full of people. Forgot about the absurdity of the exercise, the spa robes, the instructor’s soothing voice.

The instructor’s voice broke the moment. “Now, let’s hear from the other partner.”

You cleared your throat softly, trying to steady yourself as Joel’s lips quirked up in that signature lopsided grin. “Your turn,” he teased, his voice lighter now but no less warm.

You took a deep breath, letting your fingers press just slightly against his chest as you looked him in the eye. “I love…” you began, your voice soft, “how steady you are. How you just... take care of people without even thinking about it.”

Joel’s grin faded into something gentler, his eyes searching yours.

“And I love,” you continued, a small, nervous laugh escaping, “how you manage to make me feel like everything’s going to be okay, even when we're doing stupid shit like this.”

Joel’s smile returned, but this time, it didn’t have the teasing edge you were used to. It was softer, quieter, and it lingered in a way that made your chest ache.

“Alright,” the instructor said, breaking the spell. “Beautiful work, everyone. Let’s move on to the next step.”

Joel’s hand fell away from yours, but not before his thumb brushed against your skin one last time, sending a small spark up your arm.

As the instructor continued with her directions, Joel leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur just for you. “Guess I was right,” he said.

“About what?” you whispered back, your brow furrowing.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. “We do make a pretty good team.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You sat perched on the massage bed, your legs dangling slightly, the fabric of the soft robe brushing against your knees as you glanced toward Joel. He stood a few feet away, his broad shoulders stiff, his hands tucked into the pockets of his robe as if grounding himself.

Linda’s cheerful knock interrupted the silence, and she stepped into the room, her warm smile as calm and collected as ever.

“Hello, my couple,” she greeted, her hands clasped together. “You two said some lovely things during our meditation earlier. Truly heartwarming.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Joel, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips. His mouth curved into something similar, but there was a tension in his jaw that betrayed him.

“Now,” Linda continued, her tone dipping into something softer, almost reverent, “I won’t be here while you massage each other. As I mentioned, this is an intimate, spiritually sexual experience—something meant to connect the two of you without distraction.”

Joel shifted slightly, his weight moving from one foot to the other, but his expression remained impassive.

“But,” Linda added, her gaze flicking to you, “I will give you some instructions before I leave.”

“So, you, darling,” she said, gesturing toward you, “will go first. Once I leave, you will remove your robe so that you are completely naked.”

The words hung in the air like a grenade. Joel choked on his own breath, a sharp cough escaping as his hand flew to his mouth.

You shot him a look—part exasperation, part mortification—but his ears were already tinged red, and he avoided your gaze like it might burn him.

Linda, blissfully unaware of the chaos she’d just unleashed, continued smoothly, her attention now shifting to Joel. “And you, sir, will dip your hands into our coconut oil, freshly made right here at the hotel.”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze firmly fixed on the bottle of oil on the table as though it might offer him salvation.

“You’ll slowly rub the oil over your lover’s body,” Linda explained, her tone so serene it almost felt cruel. “Take your time, connect with her energy, and once you’re done, she will do the same for you.”

The air in the room felt like it had been sucked out entirely, replaced with something heavy and stifling.

Linda clasped her hands together once more, her smile bright. “Any questions?”

“No,” you and Joel said in unison, your voices flat and clipped, as if any further elaboration might tip you both over the edge.

“Wonderful,” she beamed. “Enjoy.”

And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving the door to click softly shut behind her.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Joel shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting to everything in the room except you. You stood from the chair, crossing your arms over your chest as you took a shaky breath.

“Well,” you said finally, your voice breaking the tension. “That was... thorough.”

Joel snorted softly, the sound low and nervous. “Yeah. Thorough’s one word for it.”

You bit your lip, glancing at the table where the coconut oil sat, the small bottle practically mocking you. “We don’t have to do this,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out. “If it’s too weird, we can just... tell Maria it was great and skip the whole thing.”

Joel shook his head, his hands falling to his hips as he finally looked at you. “No, no. It’s fine. I mean...” He hesitated, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “If you’re okay with it.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the way he always seemed to check on you first, even when he was just as thrown off. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m okay with it.”

Joel nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Alright, then.”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you glanced at your bag in the corner of the room. “Um,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll just... put my bikini back on, if that’s okay?”

Joel’s head snapped up, and he nodded quickly, turning around so his back was to you. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little rough. “That’s fine. Take your time.” He closed his eyes for good measure, his broad shoulders stiff as he stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his robe.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he added, the words coming out quieter than intended.

“Okay,” you murmured, slipping out of the robe and pulling your bikini from the bag. The fabric felt even smaller now, the strings tangling briefly as your hands trembled, but you managed to tie it securely before lowering yourself onto the massage bed.

“Alright,” you said, your voice steadying. “I’m ready.”

Joel turned around, and for a moment, he just stood there, his breath catching in his throat.

You were lying on your stomach, your head resting in the cradle of the massage bed, the curve of your back dipping perfectly into the arch of your hips.

The tiny bikini left little to the imagination, the soft lines of your body glowing under the warm light of the room. Your legs stretched out, bare and inviting, the faint sheen of the day’s sun still clinging to your skin.

“Christ,” Joel muttered under his breath, the sound barely audible but heavy with something unspoken.

The scrape of the oil bottle against the table broke the silence, and you turned your head slightly, your voice hesitant. “If it’s weird, Joel... we don’t have to do this.”

“No,” he said quickly, already pouring the oil into his hands. The scent of coconut filled the room, warm and heady. He rubbed his hands together, his palms slick and shiny, before stepping closer to you. “You deserve to feel good,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “Lemme take care of you.”

“Okay,” you whispered, your body sinking into the bed as his words wrapped around you.

Joel hesitated for just a moment, his hands hovering above your shoulders, the heat of them palpable even before they touched your skin. When his palms finally met your back, you let out a small, involuntary sigh, the tension in your shoulders melting under his firm, deliberate touch.

His fingers pressed gently into your skin, moving in slow, steady circles as the oil warmed beneath his hands. The strokes were careful at first, almost tentative, but as he worked his way down the length of your spine, he grew bolder, his touch firm but never rough.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely breaking the quiet.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax. “Feels good.”

Joel’s hands moved lower, tracing the dip of your waist before pausing just above your hips. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep his focus on the massage and not the way your body responded to his touch.

“You’re all tense here,” he said, his thumbs pressing gently into the muscles at your lower back.

You let out a quiet laugh, muffled by the chair. “Probably from carrying Maria’s bags all day.”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, well, remind me to give her a hard time about that later.”

As he worked his way down to your legs, his hands slowed again, his touch almost reverent. His fingers glided over the curve of your thigh, his grip steady but light enough to send a shiver through you.

“You okay?” he asked again, his voice softer now, like a tender whisper in the space between you.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, the word slipping from your lips as your breath hitched, caught somewhere between a sigh and a smile. His hands were moving lower now, fingertips brushing over the length of your calves, the pressure just right—enough to soothe, to make you feel weightless, like you were melting into the touch.

You sighed softly, the tension in your muscles melting away as his hands moved upward, past the curve of your thighs. His touch slowed as he reached the soft curve of your ass, his palms hesitating, hovering just above your skin. His fingers trembled ever so slightly, a crack in his otherwise steady confidence.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice muffled by the towel but still soft, reassuring. “You can touch me.”

Joel didn’t answer. Instead, you felt the pause in his movements, the faint hitch in his breath. A beat later, he nodded—not that you could see it, but the gesture was almost palpable in the quiet room. Then his hands resumed their work, more deliberate now, his touch gaining confidence as he warmed the coconut oil between his fingers before pressing it into your skin.

His hands kneaded gently, working against the plush curve of your ass with a focus that had your breath catching. The oil slicked his palms, his thumbs pressing in circles that left heat blooming across your skin.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low and thick, carrying a rasp that gave away his attempt to stay composed.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, a soft sound of affirmation as you melted further into the table. The feeling of his touch was too good to put into words, his hands coaxing every ounce of tension from your body.

Joel’s throat cleared, the sound subtle but unmistakable. Even without seeing his face, you could tell—he was flustered. The confidence in his hands was undeniable, but it wasn’t unaffected. “You’re, uh… good at this,” you murmured, your voice soft, carrying that teasing lilt he always seemed to draw out of you.

Joel chuckled, a low, almost sheepish sound. “Yeah, well... I’ve had my fair share of massages,” he replied, though there was something strained in his voice, a crack in his usual charm.

“Course you have,” you replied, a soft laugh muffled by the towel beneath your cheek.

Joel’s hands stilled for a beat, the faintest hesitation in his movements before he gave you a light tap on the curve of your ass—a gentle, playful signal he was done. He stepped back, wiping his hands on the towel with deliberate slowness. “Alright,” he said, his voice finding its usual teasing edge. “That’ll be forty bucks.”

You sat up, the warmth from his hands still lingering on your skin as you gave him a mock glare. “Wow, Miller. You drive a hard bargain.”

Joel shrugged, though you didn’t miss how his face had reddened—not from the sun this time. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding interest in the corner of the room.

“Well,” Joel muttered after a pause, his voice a little rougher, “Linda wasn’t wrong. This... this is a helluva lot more intimate than I was expectin’.”

You smirked, shaking your head as you adjusted your robe. “It is meant for couples, Joel.”

His laugh was quiet, but it carried that boyish charm that made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t explain. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he admitted, his hand gripping the towel tightly as if grounding himself.

You tilted your head, catching the edge of his silhouette as he stood to the side. “Your turn?” you asked, your voice tinged with challenge, even as your breath hitched.

Joel exhaled, the sound coming out heavier than usual. “Yeah,” he said, though his voice was laced with something deeper, something just shy of restraint. But as he reached to shrug off his robe, the sharp sound of his phone ringing shattered the moment, slicing through the serene atmosphere like a knife.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, his brows furrowing as he glanced at the phone like it was a personal betrayal.

“You brought your phone into our romantic couples massage?” you teased, raising a brow even as you fought back a grin.

Joel groaned, shaking his head in apology as he read the screen. “It’s work,” he said, apologetically. “I’ll be right back, alright?” His gaze lingered, even though you weren’t looking directly at him, his concern evident in the warmth of his tone. “You okay in here?”

You nodded, adjusting your robe as you lay back down. “I’ll manage,” you smiled.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of blissful indulgence. After the massages, you’d all retreated back to the suite, letting the warm, languid haze of relaxation linger as you lounged until dinner. That evening brought another spread of incredible food, paired with cocktails so colorful and ridiculous you half-expected umbrellas and sparklers to spontaneously combust.

Now, hours later, the four of you had settled in the suite’s spacious living room. The night had softened into something cozy, everyone in their pajamas, legs draped lazily over furniture like you’d been here forever. Maria and Tommy were being sickeningly cute, giggling and whispering as though they were the only ones in the room. You couldn’t even pretend to roll your eyes anymore—it was almost too sweet to ruin with sarcasm.

Joel, seated next to you on the plush sectional, was a different story entirely. As you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, you felt a nudge against your leg. His finger.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. And there he was. Why did he have to look so good even now, sitting around in sweats like it was nothing? His dark hair was tousled from the shower, drying in lazy waves that made him look annoyingly effortless. His face held that crooked smile, the one that whispered he knew exactly how charming he was.

“Nothin’,” he said, the word dripping with an easy drawl. But the gleam in his eye betrayed him. He leaned closer, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that sent a flicker of something through your chest. “Got an idea.”

Before you could even ask what he meant, he stood, clapping his hands together as if he’d just unveiled some grand revelation. “Alright, listen up,” he called, his voice commanding enough to even break Maria and Tommy out of their loved-up haze. “Let’s play a game.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, already sensing this was going to be interesting. Joel had that mischievous glint—the one that promised he was about to be the most entertaining (and insufferable) man in the room.

You smirked, leaning back into the couch as you folded your arms. “Alright, Miller. What’s this genius game of yours?”

“Never Have I Ever,” he revealed, his voice rich with amusement.

Maria immediately let out a groan, her head falling dramatically against Tommy’s shoulder. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound spilling out before you could stop it. Across the room, Tommy looked as though Joel had just announced the most cryptic game in existence. His brows knit together in utter confusion. “Which one’s that?” he asked, looking to Maria for clarification.

Maria sighed, straightening up just enough to explain. “The one where you have to drink if you’ve done whatever the person says.”

Tommy nodded and Maria eventually admitted defeat. “Fine,” she said, smirking at Tommy. “Let’s do it. And when Joel gets embarrassed about some deep, dark secret, I’ll be the one laughing.”

Joel just laughed, that low, rolling chuckle that always seemed to stir something in the air. “Don’t worry, Maria. I ain’t embarrassed by nothin’.”

His words hung in the space between you, and for just a moment, you swore they carried a weight meant just for you. Whatever this game was, Joel had already decided to win—and somehow, you had the distinct feeling you were his favorite opponent.

Joel had stretched himself out across the couch directly opposite you, legs sprawled casually, one arm draped over the side. His fingers idly tapped against the armrest, the faint rhythm keeping time with the teasing grin that hadn’t left his face since the game started.

You, on the other hand, were curled up on the couch, one leg tucked beneath you as you balanced a throw pillow against your side. The soft lighting of the suite painted everything in warm, golden hues, casting Joel in a glow that only made his messy hair and lazy smirk look even more unfairly good.

Maria leaned forward from her spot beside Tommy, perched on the edge of the couch like she was about to unveil a scandalous secret. “Alright,” she declared, clapping her hands together with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’ll start.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced between the three of you, clearly savoring the attention. “Never have I ever… bought an engagement ring.” Her voice was sweet, her tone feather-light, but it was clear she was watching Tommy like a hawk.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a quick, startled sound, and Joel joined in almost instantly, his low chuckle rolling over the room. Across from you, Tommy froze, his jaw tightening as he blinked at Maria like she’d just thrown him into a firing squad.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joel interrupted, holding up a hand in mock protest. His grin widened as he shook his head at her. “No playing dirty Maria."

Maria pouted, though it was obvious she wasn’t even remotely sorry. She leaned over to press a quick kiss to Tommy’s cheek, her smile softening just enough to make him sigh in relief. “Fine,” she relented, sitting back with a playful shrug. “No fun, though.”

Maria tapped her finger against her lips, her eyes narrowing with mock concentration. “Okay, okay. Let me think of something good. Hmm…” Her gaze drifted upward dramatically, as if the perfect idea might be hiding somewhere on the ceiling. Then, a mischievous spark lit her expression. “Alright, I’ve got it. Never have I ever… gotten a speeding ticket.”

The room erupted into movement. Without hesitation, Tommy, Joel, and you all grabbed your drinks and took a shot.

Maria gasped, clutching her chest as if the revelation physically wounded her. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, her voice heavy with dramatic flair. She leaned back against the couch, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m surrounded by criminals. Actual delinquents.”

Joel snorted, the sound warm and genuine, before pointing a finger at her. “Don’t act so innocent, Maria. Bet you’ve sweet-talked your way outta plenty of tickets.”

Maria smirked, leaning her head on Tommy’s shoulder with a sigh. “That’s the beauty of being me, Joel. I don’t need to break the law. I just make everyone else do it for me.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but Joel’s attention had shifted again. His gaze flicked back to you, lingering with that quiet intensity that always made your pulse quicken. “What about you?” he asked, the question easy but his tone soft. “What’d you do to earn yours?”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “Nothing exciting. Speeding on an empty road late at night. Wasn’t paying attention.”

Joel tilted his head, his grin turning softer, like he was imagining it. “Let me guess. Windows down, music up, thinkin’ you owned the road?”

You flushed, caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “What, do you think I’m in a car commercial?”

Before Joel could respond, Tommy leaned forward, setting his drink down on the table with a deliberate thud. “Alright,” he said, straightening up like he was about to make a grand declaration. “So, I just say somethin’ I haven’t done before?”

“Yes,” Maria replied with a roll of her eyes, her tone dripping with playful exasperation. “It’s not that complicated, Tommy.”

“Alright then,” Tommy said, his grin turning sly as he glanced around the group. He hesitated just long enough to make everyone squirm before finally saying, “Never have I ever… had a threesome.”

The room fell silent for a beat. Your cheeks burned instantly, but your glass remained firmly in your lap, untouched. You didn’t dare glance at anyone, though you could feel Maria’s amused gaze sweep across the group like a spotlight.

“Jesus, Tommy,” she said, shaking her head. “Of course, you’d ask that. God, you’re insufferable.” She didn’t raise her own glass, though her smirk said she wasn’t entirely shocked by the question.

Your eyes darted toward Joel without thinking, and there he was—cool as ever, downing the shot like it was no big deal. The way his throat moved as he swallowed drew your gaze for a moment longer than you intended, and when his eyes met yours, there was a flicker of something in his expression. Mischief.

Maria caught it too, her eyebrows shooting up. “Well, well, well,” she drawled, her attention now fully on Joel. “Do tell, Miller.”

Joel shrugged, the movement slow and deliberate, as though this was the most boring revelation in the world. “What’s there to tell?” he said, setting his glass down on the table with a faint clink. “I was in college once.”

Tommy let out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat. “College, huh? That your excuse for everything?”

Joel smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a way that felt maddeningly deliberate. “Ain’t an excuse,” he said simply. “Just a fact.”

You rolled your eyes, finally finding your voice. “College Joel sounds wild,” you quipped, hoping the humor would help you ignore the faint flutter in your chest.

“Wild?” Joel repeated, his voice dropping slightly, that teasing lilt still present. “Nah, just… open to new experiences.”

You nearly choked on your own breath, your cheeks warming further. Maria snorted, clearly entertained. “Alright, lover boy, settle down,” she teased, giving Tommy a playful nudge. “Not everyone’s interested in reliving their glory days.”

Joel just chuckled, his gaze flicking back to you for a brief second—enough to send a flicker of heat through your chest. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, his voice low enough that it felt like it was meant just for you. “I keep things pretty tame these days.”

Your lips twitched, threatening a smile, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back into the couch, refusing to acknowledge the way his words had your heart racing just a little too fast.

Joel leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lazily against the armrest as his gaze flicked to you. “Alright,” he said, that unmistakable drawl curling around his words. “Your turn, roomie.”

You hesitated, your drink balanced precariously in your hands as you glanced around the group. What urged you to ask the next question, you weren’t entirely sure.

“Never have I ever…” you started, your voice softer than you intended. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening before you forced the words out. “…cheated on my partner.”

The room went still, the playful energy from earlier cooling into something quieter. Everyone exchanged glances, searching for the first telltale movement. Maria’s brow furrowed slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she didn’t reach for her drink. Tommy fidgeted with his glass, his fingers tapping the rim, but he didn’t raise it either.

Your eyes drifted instinctively to Joel. He hadn’t moved—his drink rested untouched on the table beside him, though his expression had shifted. The teasing smirk was gone, replaced by something subtler, quieter. His gaze locked with yours, and for a moment, it felt like the room had disappeared entirely.

“Well,” Maria said finally, her voice breaking the silence. She let out a breathy laugh, the sound more nervous than amused. “Guess we’re all saints tonight.”

Tommy chuckled, the tension easing just enough for him to lean back against the couch. “Speak for yourself. I just don’t have the energy to juggle that kind of drama.”

Maria rolled her eyes, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “That’s because I’d kill you if you tried.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

As the hour wore on and the room grew warmer with the haze of alcohol and laughter, Maria leaned forward again, her cheeks flushed from too many drinks and her grin entirely unfiltered. “Alright,” she said, giggling as she held her glass aloft. “Never have I ever…” She trailed off, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though the walls had ears. “…had sex in public.”

The words hung in the air, ridiculous in their delivery yet potent enough to catch everyone’s attention. You blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right, before glancing instinctively across the room—straight at Joel.

His dark eyes met yours, holding your gaze for a second longer than necessary. And then, as if compelled by some unspoken agreement, you both raised your glasses and took a sip.

His eyebrows shot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he watched you. You lowered your glass slowly, your expression unreadable as you caught the knowing smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Across the room, Maria and Tommy exchanged looks, their jaws dropping in perfect sync.

“Really?” Maria said, incredulous, her gaze darting between you and Joel like she was trying to piece together a puzzle she hadn’t known existed. “You guys? That adventurous?”

You shrugged, leaning back into the couch with what you hoped passed for nonchalance. “What?” you said, your tone light but your pulse racing. “You guys that vanilla?”

Tommy groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Maria’s scared of gettin’ arrested,” he muttered, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder.

“I am not!” Maria protested, though her voice carried a guilty edge. “I’m just… cautious! There’s a difference.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and lazy, drawing your attention back to him. He had that look again—the one that made you feel like he was two steps ahead of everyone in the room, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking on you with an intensity that sent heat crawling up your neck.

“So,” he drawled, his voice slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every word. “Where exactly we talkin’,? Public covers a lotta ground.”

Your breath caught at the way his eyes lingered on you, heavy with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. His question hung between you like a dare, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he waited for your answer.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the way his gaze pinned you in place made it nearly impossible. “You first,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected.

He chuckled again, leaning back in his chair with an ease that only added to the tension. “Fair enough,” he said, his fingers tapping idly against the rim of his glass. “Parking lot. Middle of the night. No one around… or so we thought.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was an edge to his tone that made your stomach flip.

“Your turn, roomie,” he said, his voice softening.

You hesitated for a moment, considering your options, before deciding you weren’t going to let him win this little game. “A rooftop,” you said simply.

Joel’s eyebrows rose, genuine intrigue flashing across his face. “A rooftop?” he repeated, the drawl in his voice making the words sound heavier than they should. “Well, now I’m impressed.”

You shrugged again, pretending his reaction didn’t send a thrill down your spine. “It had a view,” you added, your tone light, though your heart was racing.

Maria’s jaw dropped as she stared at you in disbelief. “A view?” she repeated, laughing. “What the hell—were you guys starring in some indie film?”

“Hey,” you said, raising your hands in mock defense, the grin on your face belying the heat already rising in your cheeks. “Some of us like a little risk.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile that sent your pulse into overdrive. He tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he was only now starting to piece together. “And to think,” he said, his voice low and almost teasing, “I thought you were a good girl.”

The words hit you like a jolt, and you swore the air in the room shifted. Your laugh faltered, your expression softening as his gaze held yours—steady, unflinching, and far too intense for the playful tone he’d taken. Heat flushed your skin, your cheeks burning under the weight of his words. “Guess you don’t know me that well,” you shot back, your voice quieter now, almost breathless.

His grin deepened, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite name but couldn’t look away from either. The space between you felt charged, every glance and pause stretching into something heavier, something unspoken.

“Alright,” Tommy cut in abruptly, breaking the moment with a question that came out far louder than necessary. “Never have I ever… faked an orgasm.”

The tension snapped like a rubber band, and you laughed, the sound spilling out before you could stop it. Maria groaned, shooting him a look that could only be described as incredulous, but Tommy didn’t seem fazed. He leaned back, his drink in hand, clearly directing the question at his girlfriend.

You raised your glass without hesitation, taking a deliberate sip. Maria followed suit, rolling her eyes as she did. Across the room, Joel and Tommy remained still, their drinks untouched as they looked between you and Maria.

“What?” you said, shrugging as you set your glass down. “It’s part of the package that comes with being a woman.”

Joel’s dark eyes shifted to you, his expression unreadable for a beat. And then, with the same effortless drawl that always seemed to unravel you, he said, “Think you’re sleepin’ with the wrong men sweetheart.”

The casual delivery of his words only made them hit harder, your stomach flipping in response. You met his gaze, half tempted to shoot back a witty retort, but the way he looked at you—like he was waiting for you to prove him wrong—left you speechless. Your lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out, and his grin only grew.

Tommy, thankfully, was too distracted by Maria to notice. “Wait, wait,” he stammered, his brows knitting together as he turned to her. “With me?”

Maria shrugged, clearly unbothered by the question. “Well… maybe in the beginning,” she admitted, her voice light, though the color in her cheeks betrayed her. “But then, you know, I told you what I liked, and it got better.” She trailed off with a small smile, patting his leg as though that explanation would suffice.

Tommy looked positively scandalized, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite decide how to respond. “I… Jesus, Maria…”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you stood, your drink still in hand. “Alright, alright,” you said, your voice cutting through the awkward energy like a blade. “I think we’ve learned enough about each other for one night.”

Maria laughed, waving you off as though you’d ruined her fun. “Oh, come on, don’t act so prudish now.”

“I’m not being prudish,” you shot back, arching a brow at her before turning toward the rest of the group. “I just don’t think I can handle any more of this conversation.”

Joel followed suit, standing up and stretching lazily, his movements unhurried and easy, like he had all the time in the world. “Bedtime?” he asked, his voice warm and low as he looked at you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, surprised by how soft the question sounded coming from him. It caught you off guard—sweet in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, draping an arm over your shoulders as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His touch was casual but warm, sending a spark of heat through you as he guided you toward your shared room. “Goodnight,” he called back to Maria and Tommy, who were still sprawled out on the couch.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The suite was quiet now, the late hour wrapping everything in a soft stillness as you stood in the bathroom brushing your teeth. You leaned against the counter, the rhythmic sound of bristles against enamel the only noise, when the door suddenly opened behind you.

“Hey?!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled by the toothpaste in your mouth. “What are you doing?”

And of course, it was Joel—shirtless, sauntering into the bathroom like he owned the place. Which, technically, he kind of did, given that you were sharing the space. But still.

“I’m brushing my teeth,” he said simply, grabbing his toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto it, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

You huffed, your indignation melting into a bemused smile as he began brushing, standing shoulder to shoulder with you in front of the mirror. You caught his reflection, his gaze flickering to yours, and for a moment, the quiet intimacy of it made your breath catch.

“You can’t just walk in here like that,” you said, your voice laced with mock annoyance as you bumped him lightly with your hip. “I could’ve been naked.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat, his voice muffled by toothpaste. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

You froze, your cheeks burning as his words hung in the air, casual but heavy with implication. He didn’t even look at you, his attention still fixed on the mirror, but the corner of his mouth twitched with the faintest hint of a smirk.

You spat out your toothpaste, rinsing your mouth hurriedly to avoid giving him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, turning to leave the bathroom, but before you could make it out, Joel’s hand shot out, wrapping gently around your arm and pulling you back.

“Hey, hey,” he said, his voice softer now, his touch firm but careful.

“What, Joel?” you asked, your irritation more for show than anything else.

“You’re sunburnt,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as his thumb pressed gently against the bridge of your nose. The touch was warm, almost tender, and you froze under the unexpected intimacy of it. “You need more sunscreen tomorrow,” he added, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh,” you murmured, caught off guard. Your voice came out smaller than you’d intended, and for a moment, you just stood there, blinking up at him as his hand dropped away.

Joel spat out his toothpaste, rinsing his mouth quickly before following you into the bedroom. The silence between you felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken. You climbed into bed, pulling the sheets over yourself, and turned to find him leaning against the doorway, watching you with an expression that was impossible to read.

He crossed the room slowly, settling onto his side of the bed, his movements unhurried as he adjusted the pillow beneath his head. Then, his voice broke the quiet, low and quiet in the darkness.

“Were you telling the truth during that game?”

Your heart stuttered, and you turned your head toward him, the question catching you off guard. His gaze was steady, searching, as if he was weighing your every move, your every breath.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice soft, though you already knew exactly what he was asking.

“About… not cheatin’ on anyone.” His words were careful, deliberate, but there was something raw in the way he said them—like he wasn’t just making conversation.

“I was telling the truth,” you said, your voice firmer this time, though your chest tightened under his scrutiny. “Why?”

Joel was quiet for a moment, his eyes dark and thoughtful as they lingered on you. “Just wanted to know,” he said finally, his tone light but his expression anything but.

You exhaled softly, the tension between you palpable in the quiet of the room. “And what about you?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He smiled faintly, his gaze softening as he leaned back against the pillows. “I was tellin’ the truth too,” he said simply. And yet, the weight of his answer lingered, like there was more he wasn’t saying.

The soft light from the bedside lamp painted shadows across his features, accentuating the scruff of his beard, the faint curve of his lips, and the honey in his eyes that seemed to draw you in without effort.

He shifted then, turning to face you fully, propping himself up on one elbow. The way his hair fell slightly across his forehead and the way his dark eyes studied you made him look effortlessly handsome, almost boyish—but the intensity in his expression reminded you there was nothing boyish about Joel Miller. “Have you ever been cheated on?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but there was an edge of something raw beneath the question.

You turned to face him, mirroring his position, your elbow digging lightly into the mattress as you studied him in return. “Yeah,” you said softly, your voice carrying the faintest thread of vulnerability.

Joel’s jaw tightened for a moment, his gaze flickering as though the answer hit closer to home than he’d expected. “You?” you asked, your voice quieter now, unsure if you wanted to hear his answer.

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah,” he replied simply. The word was heavy, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Fuckin’ sucks,” he added after a moment, his voice tinged with frustration.

“Yeah, it does,” you agreed, your tone softer, though the memory of it stung like a distant ache.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, something tender flickering in his eyes. “Well,” he said, his voice lightening slightly as a small, crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Their loss.”

You laughed at the simplicity of his words, though the warmth in your chest spread faster than you expected. “You think so?” you teased, your smile breaking through despite yourself.

“Definitely,” Joel said, his tone firm, like it wasn’t even up for debate. His eyes held yours, steady and sure, and for a moment, the humor in his words melted into something deeper.

And then, as if he couldn’t help himself, Joel tilted his head slightly, his voice dipping lower. “And, uh…” he began, a small smirk playing on his lips. “The other questions—you were tellin’ the truth?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before the realization dawned. Your cheeks flushed at the confessions from the game – rooftop sex and faking orgasms – but still you nodded. “Yes, Joel,” you replied, your tone exasperated but amused.

Joel leaned back slightly, his smirk growing into a full grin. “Bet it was the one who cheated who couldn’t make you cum,” he said casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

“Joel!” you exclaimed, sitting up slightly, your eyes wide as you stared at him in shock. Your heart pounded in your chest, your cheeks blazing as his words sank in.

“What?” Joel said with a shrug, hugging the pillow tighter against his chest as he watched you, entirely too pleased with himself. “Every time I’m with a girl, I make sure she, you know…” He lowered his voice into a whisper, clearly teasing you for your reaction to the word, “…cums first.”

Your jaw dropped, your face burning so hot you thought you might combust on the spot. “Joel,” you hissed, your voice caught somewhere between disbelief and mortification. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

Joel, of course, was completely unfazed. If anything, the flush creeping up your neck only seemed to spur him on. He leaned back on the bed, one arm tucked under his head, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who’d just dropped that bombshell.

“You’re all red,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “For someone who’s had sex on a rooftop, I wouldn’t think you’d get this flustered. Don’t act so innocent.”

“Oh my God,” you murmured, covering your face with both hands as though that might somehow make this entire interaction disappear.

Joel’s chuckle was low and rich, rumbling through the air like a warm summer storm. “I’m just sayin’,” he teased, tilting his head slightly as his gaze never wavered from you.

You took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Well,” you said after a moment, your voice steadier now, though you still refused to meet his eyes. “Some guys don’t have the same… sexual mindset as you, Joel.”

That got his attention. His eyebrows lifted slightly, his grin growing even more amused. “Sexual mindset?” he repeated, his tone dripping with curiosity. “Do tell.”

“I’m serious,” you said, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. You shifted on the bed, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket as you tried to explain. “In a perfect world, sure, you always, you know…” You paused, struggling to find the words.

“Climax,” Joel supplied smoothly, his voice casual, though the way his lips twitched made it clear he was thoroughly enjoying this.

You groaned, throwing him a glare. “Yes, fine. Climax. But sometimes that doesn’t happen. That’s just life.”

Joel shook his head, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious as a scoff escaped him. “You’re so wrong,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You blinked at him, “What?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “You’re the sex guru now, telling me I’m wrong?”

“Damn right, I am,” Joel replied without missing a beat, propping himself up on one elbow to face you directly. The soft glow of the bedside lamp caught the curve of his jaw, the flicker of intensity in his dark eyes. They locked onto yours, steady and unflinching, the playful edge in his voice shifting into something deeper, weightier. “It ain’t just about sex. It’s about listenin’. Payin’ attention to her, the way her body responds. And, you know, communicating if somethin’ doesn’t feel good.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded into the background. It wasn’t just the way he said it, like it was the simplest truth in the world—it was the conviction in his voice, the quiet confidence that hinted at experience, understanding. Your mind wandered briefly, unbidden, to the women who’d been lucky enough to have him like that, to be cared for in the way he described. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening.

“So,” Joel said, his grin returning, softer this time but no less teasing. “What’s the deal? You were datin’ this asshole who couldn’t make you… climax,” he said, the word slow and deliberate, his eyes glinting with amusement. “How’d you, you know, relieve all that tension?”

“Joel,” you groaned, pulling a pillow over your face as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Joel laughed, the sound low and warm, rumbling through the quiet room. “C’mon now,” he said, nudging your side. “I’m curious.”

You sighed into the pillow, debating whether to say anything at all. But somehow, his easy grin and relaxed demeanor loosened something in you. “I… I had a toy,” you admitted finally, your voice muffled as you refused to look at him.

Joel froze for half a second before letting out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “No way,” he said, incredulous. “He must’ve been really shit if you had to go out and buy a toy.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, still hiding behind the pillow.

But Joel wasn’t done. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, his grin widening into something downright smug. “Poor girl,” he said, his voice tinged with mock pity. “Deservin’ better than that.”

Your hand shot out to shove his shoulder, but your embarrassment only seemed to amuse him more. “So what,” you said, emboldened now, “you’re telling me every girl who’s been with you has… you know.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Hell yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’.”

“Come on,” you said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Statistically, that cannot be true.”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “Darlin’, you can’t fake that kinda pleasure.”

You made a face, skeptical and a little exasperated, but he didn’t stop. His voice lowered slightly, turning serious again, though the teasing edge still lingered. “I’m serious. It’s really not that hard. Every time I’m with a girl, she…” His grin returned, slow and deliberate. “…climaxes. More than once.”

You stared at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and begrudging admiration. “Wow,” you replied finally, your tone flat but your heart racing. “They must be doing something different in Texas.”

Joel chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief as he shifted closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Well, you know what they say…”

“Huh?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the proximity suddenly making it hard to think.

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” he said, his grin widening into something downright devilish.

Your jaw dropped, a laugh bursting out of you despite yourself as you shoved his shoulder again. “Oh my God,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

Joel just leaned back, watching you with a satisfied smile, like he’d won something you hadn’t even realized was a game. But then his expression softened, the teasing edge melting away into something warmer, something far more sincere.

“But seriously,” he said, turning slightly to face you. His tone was low, thoughtful, the kind of voice that made you stop and listen. “You deserve the best. Someone who gets you, who takes care of you. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ that.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. They weren’t flirtatious or laced with mischief—just simple, raw honesty that hit deeper than you expected. You swallowed hard, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to find the right words.

“Thanks, Joel,” you said finally, your voice softer now. You managed a small smile, the sincerity in his words settling into your chest. “You too.”

A flicker of something passed through his expression—something almost vulnerable, though it was gone as quickly as it came. He gave you a faint smile, one that felt quieter, more intimate. “Goodnight, roomie,” he said, his voice soft, almost a murmur.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you replied, the words catching slightly in your throat.

You turned over, pulling the blanket higher, but you couldn’t shake the weight of the moment. Even as the room grew quiet and the only sound was the faint rustle of sheets, Joel’s words lingered in your mind, warm and steady, as if he’d etched them directly onto your heart.

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[inkskinned]

nobody ever gets the mugshot of gluttony right. these days you think it has nothing to do with bodyweight. what a good trick: that gluttony could take a shape. no, there was never any fault in finishing a meal or in taking second helpings. it was always in taking from others that there was an issue - the oil baron's fingers steepled over dead bodies and stolen lands. gluttony - twin of greed, although most think greed and envy are the siblings - gluttony is pleased with the experience of gaining, is thrilled just-by-having. greed is the one that stays hungry, that has to move forever like a shark. gluttony likes it - "a glutton for punishment" is one who is seeking the harm, who loves the rush.

gluttony is a mother using her daughter's body for a diet testing ground, sharpening the bone angles. gluttony is saying why, well not! to the seventh and eighth mansion or yacht. it is not just wanting the six white horses, it is making sure that the horses came from your stables. it is not just bathing in milk - it is bathing in milk while others are starving.

oh, it's true that some sins still blaze in their bright floral prints. wrath in a white woman yelling at a person of color for even daring to be in her neighborhood. the red, incipient rage of a neck tightened at even the thought we would take the guns away. wrath has laurels, and she is good at her job, and works hard.

but sloth wasn't ever the sleepy morning of depression, the hours spent begging a clouded body to please move goddamn it; the protestant work ethic claiming even rest is somehow demonic. it was never chronic fatigue. sloth was subtle, a grey mist. she is watching you get bullied and she is deciding it is none of her business. she crosses the picket line because - what! it's just chicken, isn't it? she is closing her eyes and turning her head when the next anti-gay legislation passes. someone else will handle it. not the tense freeze of anxiety or a lack of preparation - she knows you're hurting and would rather you stay quiet about it. she tells other people i just don't see what the big deal is.

sloth is a father that doesn't do the dishes. sloth is your boyfriend's innocent shrug you're just better at household shit. sloth isn't the missed opportunity - it is the purposeful desire to just get-someone-else-to-do-it.

greed and envy are doing body shots in the back of a private jet. they are the way they always have been, but are lovers in the age of the internet. greed just finished union busting, is rolling a bitcoin over his knuckles, is about to start another MLM. envy is in a broadbrimmed hat, showing off her instagram life, grinning about how if you want it, work for it.

okay, it's true. you have a soft spot for lust, gathering dust in a corner. so tame in comparison to the others. but how funny lust is always painted as being a woman in tight clothes. you've met actually lustful women - the ones that purposefully climb into your partner's lap, the ones that say lesbians are gross but ask bisexual women into bed with their husbands. a lustful woman is not donned in lace and garters and red: that's how men think lust looks, painting their own sins into frame. this way, the sin displaces as fog and hovers above her: a woman in a dress is lust; what the man experiences is just the natural consequence.

here is the thing: lust is doing just fine, save your pity. lust is running more circles than any of them. lust is shutting down safe sexwork sites while also making teenagers in knee-high socks sex sensations. lust is CEO of an advertising network where women never pass 25 years old. all the bras lust makes are pretty to look at but, when worn, legitimately hurt. lust has a podcast, his fur coat looped around his shoulders, sells the idea that only certain people have value, that sex raises some and destroys others. lust is tilting his head and asking what did you expect when you dress like that? lust shuns you, sneers that everything you want is disgusting and taboo - right until he can figure out how to capitalize off of it. lust has the midas ability: everything he touches becomes an object.

people usually say wrath is the scary one. you agree with FMA here, though: the real dangerous one is pride, and the shit-eating grin. the white cloaks and the nationalism and the inability to apologize. it is every partner who threw a book at your head because you don't respect him. it is every mother who said my son doesn't deserve to have his life ruined over allegations. it is the teacher that fails you because you talked back.

you worry you have this one. you feel guilty when you need help but don't ask for it. prideful. ashamed when you complete something and feel good about it. too proud for your own good. but pride is not the reward of hard work or accomplishment: pride is a twitter feed. it is the thing that has to mask i didn't do anything with look at me.

pride is your father's raised hand, his raised voice. how he was never there when you needed him, but he is still "head of house." he ruins dinner and blames it on you: you're an embarrassment to this family. this is the glass you walk around, the cuts in your feet. how he says this isn't how i raised you and you have to bite back the retort: that's because you didn't actually fucking raise me.

[sincere1ystar]

Shining just for you

coriolanus snow x fem! reader

After things get messed up between the two of you at the gala, Corioanus is desperate to fix things between you two again

authors note: guys when i mean desperate i mean DESPERATEEEE

Everyone always said that the C in Coriolanus Snow stood for calculating. What a silly saying, because when it came to you the C in Coriolanus Snow stood for clueless.

The image he built himself as a man who oozes with power crumbles in a matter of seconds around you. You liked it that way, you knew it was just a persona and if life hadn’t pushed him around the way he did he would’ve stayed soft.

When the two of you first met you didn’t fall pity to his charms like the rest of the peers around you. He liked that about you, you were diligent. You had beauty and brains, unlike those lifeless souls that threw themselves at him as they fluttered their eyelashes. He considered himself lucky to call himself yours and he wasn’t afraid to show it either. Every gala he was there right on your arm, and if you didn’t encourage him to go converse with the other party-goers  to others he probably would have stayed there.

You had built a home in Coriolanus’s heart, love was too weak a word to describe his emotions towards you. He didn’t consider himself a violent man, but for you he wasn’t afraid to roughen up the edges of himself. To make his image seem more powerful than it already was, so people would fear him and not even think about hurting you. 

Of course he got invited to many galas, it was only natural considering he had made a name for himself now. Still, he viewed them all as pointless affairs and if you weren’t so fond of going to them he wouldn’t bother to even step foot in the venue. 

Although his signature color is a shade of deep red, he often matched whatever color you were wearing. Tonight it was a cerulean blue to match your dress of the same color. The only thing that stayed the same was the white rose in his handkerchief pocket that eventually ended up behind your ear. 

As you’re finishing up the final touches to your look Coriolanus comes behind you, adjusting the straps of your dress as he leaves soft kisses on your neck.

“Coryo we’re gonna be late-“, you try to protest but he quickly silences you with a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“We can spare a few minutes can’t we darling?”, he cooed.

By the time you manage to drag him to the car sent for you two, you’re already late to the party. Not like Coriolanus cares though, it was time well spent.

Usually when the two of you arrive to any sort of event, he would stick by your side for atleast the first part of it until some buisnessmen or some senator pulled him away. But this time since your arrival was later than usual, the minute you two walked through the doors some of his fellow associates dragged him off to discuss business. You don’t mind much, knowing he has work to do as you walk over to a few friends of your own.

While you enjoy yourself, chatting away like the social butterfly you are, Coriolanus finds the whole event to be tedious and torturous . He wasn’t even paying attention to what his colleagues were saying, too busy stealing glances at you giggling as your friend told a story about her latest date. He’s so intrigued by observing you as if he was stuck in some trance, that he doesn’t notice Aurelia, a woman married to a local senator whom she openly despised, practically throwing herself at him.

He doesn’t snap out of it , not until he feels her red painted lips slightly touch the tip of his ear. The only thing he feels in that moment is utter disgust. The fact that someone other than you attempt to get this close to him was appalling. Did she not see the wedding band on his finger?

After chatting away with your friends for a while, you politely excuse yourself to make your way to Coriolanus since it seems that all his fellow politician friends have now left. Just as you’re about to approach him, you notice her. The woman who is all over Coriolanus, as if she wasn’t married already to another senator and he wasn’t already yours.

You’ve always been the confrontational type, which is why it’s no surprise when you come up right beside them ready to tell Aurelia to back off. Well that was before you overheard her say in that sultry voice of hers, “A man like you shouldn’t be stuck at some flimsy party like this Coriolanus. I bet you want to get out of here don’t you? Y’know my hotel room is better than any party…”

Before Coriolanus responds, you storm out with anger hot on your heels. How dare he. You decide to just go home, taking the car despite Coriolanus still searching for where you went. He can find his own way home. Better yet why doesn’t he get a ride with Aurelia, surely there’s another spot left in her husband’s car.

Your rage doesn’t die down, even as you reach the manor and tuck yourself into bed. You don’t have too much time to notice how empty it seems with Coriolanus’s side of the bed being vacant before he rushes in, his words overflowing out of his mouth. But it’s all a blur to you, tuning him out completely as you shift your body to face the wall while pulling the blanket up.

It’s not until late at night just as you’re about to fall asleep, when you realize he’s begging.

“Darling.. darling please”, he mumbles almost pitiably. He continues desperately kissing your skin with your back still turned to him. “Didn’t even notice what she was doing.. was too busy looking at you”.

You don’t say anything in response and continue staying still, but you’re not pushing him away and Coriolanus takes this as a sign to keep going. “I pushed her away the minute I noticed what she was doing. I would never be unfaithful to you darling, you know that… you’re the only one for me”.

The stubborn part of you wanted to continue to ignore him, but the more reasonable side of you decided to hear him out. “I suppose… I was overreacting just a little bit. Fine”-, you start before you were cut off by his kisses.

“Thank you. Thank you sweetheart… I know I don’t deserve it”, he rasped while leaving little frantic kisses all over your face, “Don’t deserve your forgiveness. Don’t deserve you”.

“Not so stoic and cold are you now Coriolanus Snow?”, you think to yourself. Oh how funny it would be if all his politician friends see how he acted under your finger.

[luvsupa]

001 | WORK OF ART

tags: sugardaddy!nanami x fem!reader, smut, public sex-ish, toys used, age gap (nanamis late 30s and readers early/ mid 20s), petnames, nanami is in love with reader and her art, mdni.

w.c: 2.6k

a/n: UHMM GUYS THANK U SOSO MUCH FOR 600 FOLLOWERS?! EEKKK ILY GUYSSS 🤍🤍

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated!

the convention center quickly fills up at eight o’clock as hundreds and hundreds of rich people eagerly gather to see and purchase the artworks displayed by you and your fellow artists.

you’re already over the fact that it’s art display season, as obnoxious rich patrons approach your work only to mock it and its price. your coordinator has repeatedly stated that your specific artwork isn’t as eye-catching as the others in your group.

“your art can only sell for one thousand, and that’s pushing it,” your coordinator once said.

one thousand is quite a lot of money, but everyone else’s pieces are selling for five thousand and more! their bland artwork compared to yours shouldn’t be sold for that much—now i’m just sounding jealous.

all the artists stand at their assigned sections in front of their artwork as the paid guests slowly walk in, drawn to whatever catches their attention. you glance at your friend beside you as she wishes you good luck.

the room is brightly lit with led lights, giving it a clean and modern feel. soft, instrumental music plays over the speakers, barely audible over the hum of conversations. waiters weave through the crowd, offering glasses of champagne that clink as guests accept them.

you stand awkwardly, already expecting the nasty glares at your canvas. this year, you went for an erotic art piece titled “a woman’s high.” the painting depicts a woman in an abstract way, in the moment of climax, as a blurred-out male figure gives her oral sex, with the focus solely on the female.

“don’t you think this is quite… inappropriate for an art exhibition?” the middle-aged woman clung to her husband’s arm, both looking disgusted at your erotic painting. she leaned in to read the card with your name, pricing, and title, her brows raising in amusement.

“hah! one thousand for this? oh dear, this is a mockery to all the other talented artists here,” she scoffed, her voice dripping with disdain. the snobby rich couple found it hilarious, unable to control their laughter. “even i wouldn’t keep it if it were free!” she said as they walked away, still laughing as they moved on to the next pieces.

you stood there, their words stinging more than any you’d heard before. nearly five months spent on your painting, and this is how they treated you. damn that couple.

“your talent for oil painting is incredible,” a deep, husky voice said. you looked up to see a tall, middle-aged man with golden blonde hair slicked back, a few strands hanging in front of his beautifully sculpted face. he was looking at you—and complimenting your art?

you rarely got this stunned at one of your exhibitions, but wow. you shamelessly scanned his figure, muscles bulging from his white button-up shirt, a few buttons undone to show his toned chest. his black dress pants hugged his muscled thighs, and you gulped hard, eyes moving back to his-

“nanami! how great it is to finally see you!” your main coordinator appeared, twirling her hair awhile bombarding him with questions.

“there’s something i want to show you, but it requires us being alone,” she giggled, rubbing his arm up and down. you stood there awkwardly, not wanting to listen to their flirtatious conversation.

“i’m afraid i’ll pass. i’m more intrigued by this beautiful art.” he turned to look at you, making your eyes widen. no one had ever been this persistent about wanting to see your artwork. it made you feel giddy inside.

“oh nanami, this artist needs a lot of practice. i mean, look at the painting!” she pointed out, trying to embarrass you in front of this fine man.

“i wasn’t referring to the painting.”

oh.

“s-sir?” she stammered, both of you shocked at his words. he thinks i’m beautiful? he was very slick with that.

“and her skills are beyond amazing. the way she captures the perfect moment of the woman’s orgasm and highlights her expression—there’s no need for more practice,” he said, silencing your coordinator as he praised the parts of your art that he loved. you were still in shock at what had just occurred.

“however, there is one flaw about this,” nanami stated, and your smile slightly dropped. you were ready for him to treat you the same way everyone else had. your coordinator found an opportunity to bully you and your art even more.

“pfft, finally. i’ve noticed a lot wrong with her art—”

“the price,” he cut her off, pulling out a chequebook from his pocket and beginning to write. “how much?” you both gasped at his boldness.

“i-i…” you stuttered, at a loss for words for the first time, while your coordinator fumed. he chuckled at your reaction as he continued writing, then ripped the paper to hand it to you.

“i’d like for you to come see me later, beautiful,” he said, his smooth words leaving you hypnotized. and with that, he walked away as your coordinator followed him, trying to get his attention.

you stared down at the paper, your jaw dropping at the amount he was giving you.

10,000 dollars

holy fuck.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as the art exhibition continued on all night, you left your painting unattended- searching everywhere throughout the museum to find the mysterious man, nanami. hell, you even had to beg your annoying coordinator for his whereabouts. finally, she gave in.

“he’s going to his car, something about a gift for me!” she exclaimed. you didn’t buy it for a second, but you headed towards the elevator, stepping in to pressing‘P’ as the button illuminated. the doors closed, and the elevator descended to the parking lot.

the button stopped glowing as the doors opened, revealing the eerie parking lot filled with cars on every level. you walked out, your heels clicking against the cold concrete as you quickly rushed to see where he could be.

“are you following me?”

you stopped where you were, hearing his deep voice. you turned around to see his beautiful smirk plastered on his lips, holding his black jacket on his shoulder. fuck, he’s so hot.

“i just wanted to thank you so much for purchasing my art,” you nervously said as he eyed you down. you squeezed your thighs tight as the tension thickened.

“come with me,” he said, smiling as he formed a sinful idea in his mind. he honestly couldn’t control himself, thinking about how delicious you looked in your black mini skirt and white button-up shirt similar to his own.

cute, he thinks.

you wasted no time, immediately picking up your steps as he strode down the long parking lot to his car. finally, his car came into view—a luxurious sports car you’d only seen in movies and tv shows. how rich is he?

he unlocks the driver's door as you stand in front of his car, listening to the muffled chatter and honks of the city coming to life at night. from the corner of your eye, you see him pull out a box as he shuts the door, catching your attention.

"i want you to put this on," he says, walking closer and towering over you as he hands you the box. you carefully read it, and your jaw drops for the second time that night.

bluetooth vibrator.

"i-i can't, i have to be talking to people this whole night," you stammer, attempting to hand the box back, but he doesn't take it.

"that's the whole point, sweetheart. live a little- have fun." he coos, bringing his hands to cup your face, caressing it. "you always seem so serious. let me show you how to enjoy yourself." for the first time your body betrays you as you start feeling aroused by him.

shamelessly, you bring one of your free hands to pull his neck lower to your level, smashing him into a heated kiss. he smirks into the kiss as you suck harshly on his lips, smudging your lipstick onto his. nanami places you against the hood of his luxurious sports car as the box slips from your hand, making a loud thud on the ground.

"eager, aren't we?" he murmurs, his voice dripping with condescension and desire.

nanami parts your thighs with his knee, allowing you to grind on him. your hips move rhythmically as you whimper into the kiss, growing wetter by the second.

he snakes his hand down to your thighs, moving his knee, eliciting a needy whimper from you. wanting more. he replaces his knee with his thick fingers, easily reaching your clothed cunt through your short skirt. he rubs your leaky slit through your panties, and you moan into the kiss. he pulls away, chuckling at how quickly you became this wet.

"such a good girl," he teases, his tone both patronizing and seductive.

you look up at him with needy eyes, craving more of his touch—more of him. you need him.

“i’ll see you inside,” he says, pecking your lips and sliding his hand away from your heat. he walks away, wiping the smudged lipstick off his mouth, leaving you sprawled out on the hood of his car. how can he leave you like this? you’re contemplating on whether you should continue on or leave- oh fuck it.

“w-wait, i’ll put it on,” you say, rising from the hood of the car and wobbling towards him as you quickly pick up the box. he chuckles, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. 

“my sweet girl, i knew you’d give in,” he says, turning around to see you almost losing your balance. he holds you steady as you start unboxing the toy, wanting nothing more than a good release from him.

you stare at the oddly shaped vibrator, confused about how to put it on.

nanami grabs the pink toy from your hand as he kneels to the ground. “may i?” he asks, wanting to insert it for you. you eagerly nod as he bunches up your skirt to your waist, and you stare down at him, watching his every move like a hawk.

he places a soft kiss on your clothed clit, making you nearly fall over. nanami swiftly tugs down your panties, and you step out of them as he rises from the ground, standing tall as he shoves your wet panties into his pocket. how nasty he is.

“geez, you’re soaking,” he points out, swiping two of his fingers along your slit and watching your arousal coat his digits. he brings the toy to your hole, aligning it with the tip before slowly inserting it. you hiss at the stretch of the toy within your velvety walls, the girth painfully good as you bite your lip hard, clenching rapidly around the silicone toy.

you whimper as he positions the other half of the toy against your achy clit, applying just the right amount of pressure to ensure it’s perfectly aligned with your sensitive nub. he’s determined to see you crumble.

nanami smooths down your skirt, pulling it back into place so no one can see the lewd things happening between you two. he retrieves his phone from his pocket and connects to the app, pressing the power button. your knees buckle as the vibrator springs to life, the dual stimulation nearly making you roll your eyes back at the slow, teasing intensity.

“you did so good, baby,” he coos, his praise making you hum in pleasure as he steadies your balance, pressing a tender kiss to the side of your head. he increases the intensity, and broken moans slip from your lips. he finds your reactions amusing as he guides you back to the elevator, pressing the button and standing behind you, holding you in place.

“y-you clicked the wrong f-floor,” you manage to gasp, breathless. he chuckles darkly behind you, making your skin crawl. your eyes shoot up in horror as you realize he’s selected the floor where all the guests enter to get to the museum.

“oh, did I? silly me,” he says, a smirk evident in his voice. as the elevator doors open, you’re met with a small group of guests, including the middle-aged couple who had mocked you earlier. you feel a fleeting sense of relief as he finally turns off the vibrator, but the situation remains unbearably tense.

the elevator is packed with guests, and you’re pressed intimately close to nanami. the heat of his body against yours only heightens your need, as you’re unconsciously grinding against his bulge, desperate for release.

“nanami, i didn’t realize you were with her,” the familiar woman says, clinging to her husband. the bitch who flat out insulted me..

“mhm, yes, i am,” nanami replies smoothly, his hand slipping lower to discreetly control the vibrator. “have you seen her work? i think everyone should join. she’s got a beautiful speech prepared, don’t you?” he adds, his gaze shifting to you with a knowing smile. heads turn in your direction, intrigued by the fact that nanami kento is involved.

“oh, yes, i suppose i’ll prepare something as well—mmf,” you try to stifle a moan as nanami cranks the vibrator to its fullest intensity. you squeeze your thighs tightly, fighting to keep your arousal from dripping down your thighs.

“and what will it be about?” a businessman in the elevator asks curiously. you can barely focus on anything except the overwhelming pleasure of the vibrator thrusting in and out at a relentless pace, your poor clit being ruthlessly stimulated.

“haven’t—hahhh—i haven’t f-finished,” you stammer, casting a pleading look at nanami, desperate for the torture to end. he only smiles in response, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction.

ding!

you’ve never been so eager for the elevator’s arrival. the guests say their goodbyes, but just as nanami tries to guide you out, you stop him, hitting a random button.

“what happened to speaking to everyone the whole night, hmm?” he says, his voice dripping with mockery as he gazes down at your dazed expression.

“fuck them,” you mutter, reaching up to kiss him, but he pulls away, eliciting a pout from you.

“such a dirty mouth—do you expect me to kiss you?” he says, bringing a hand to your face. you melt into his touch as he slowly brings his thumb to your mouth, smudging your lipstick. he rests his thumb on your bottom lip, and you open your mouth, looking sultry into his hazel eyes.

you take his thumb into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it and slightly bobbing your head as if giving a messy blowjob. nanami watches, his blood rushing to his growing bulge as he takes in your bratty attitude.

you release his thumb with a slight pop, leaving it glistening with your saliva. nanami, shocked by your filthy display, grabs your face and crashes his lips onto yours. this kiss is hungrier, more eager than the last.

ding!

the elevator’s arrival chimes, and the doors start to open. your coordinator, her face a mask of horror, sees you two and screams in shock. she’s so upset that storms off. the doors quickly close, leaving you and nanami in the privacy of the elevator.

you chuckle at her reaction. “i have to get back, nanami,” you say, your hands roaming his chest, a whimper escaping as you remember the toy still buried deep inside you.

“you’re really gonna leave me like this?” he growls, referring to his raging hard-on. you chuckle, feeling a thrill at his reaction. “hmm, you can still toy with me the entire night,” you purr.

nanami reaches into his front pocket and pulls out a business card, his name and phone number neatly printed. “call me when you’re ready to leave. i’m not done with you,” he promises, making you feel excited for what he has planned.

you give him a quick peck on the lips and press the ‘open’ button on the elevator. just as you’re about to step out, you feel a sharp sting on your ass cheek. you hear him hum behind you.

oh how he’s going to cause so much trouble.. 

[iwashie]

Sevika x stripper!reader, +18, 3k, MDNI!!

“Don’t get your hopes up, girl.” You furrowed your eyebrows, a pout forming on your beautiful face as you watched your painted nails press against the sheet, avoiding looking at her getting dressed. “You know it was just a good time together.”

You bit your mouth, feeling your chin tremble and your eyes burn from the tears that were about to come out because of your heart that had just been broken by Sevika. It's always been that way; you did your job as a dancer in the brothel, exchanging glances with her all night so that at the end of the night she would steal you from other customers, pleasure you, leave a good amount of money and then leave out through the door in the same hurried way that she entered. You knew it was stupid to fall in love with something momentary, but how could you not get feelings when Sevika protected you from annoying customers, looked at you with attention and desire, and gave you pleasure as if you were the only woman in the world. As if her mission was to be your devotee, as she was in those few hours you two spent in a room at the back of the brothel.

You knew you would only suffer if you harbored feelings for those gray eyes and roguish smile. You knew it was all in vain, but you did it anyway; you fell in love with those moments and Sevika's warmth. What can one do about it? The heart wants what it wants…

You felt her fingers on your chin, lifting your gaze to hers and you saw those light gray eyes soften, indecision hovering on her face for brief seconds, soon disappearing as soon as she squeezed your chin. “We're not… I’m not for that, girl.”

Sevika let go of your face and turned back, that broad back disappearing through the door and leaving you alone in the messy room still smelling of tobacco, your perfume and the faint smell of sex, the low purple light wavering just like you. You felt your eyes fill with water, the stinging soon turning into a silent cry, hot tears running down your face along with the makeup and the pain of disappointment filling you as you lay down on the bed messed up by the two of you.

After that night, Sevika never showed up at the brothel again and you had to get used to the new empty routine of looking around the corner where she used to stay and just having the men play, and the automaticity of you getting on stage, dancing, serving a few customers and then left alone, cramming yourself into the big coat, heading through the streets of Zaun.

You moved to the beat of the music, your body swaying back and forth, making the sequin skirt glued to your thighs reflect the colors of the pebbles and follow the slow movements of your waist while your arms slid along the hem, wrapping around the object and holding the weight of your body so you can turn, go up, go down, support yourself and perform as you had rehearsed. Luckily for you, the music was calm, sensual and somewhat melancholy, helping you keep your eyes on the floor as you danced, avoiding eye contact with the customers, as you had been doing since that night.

You felt the music echoing inside you, guiding your movements across the bar, sliding to the floor and continuing the performance lying down, moving your legs and waist in alternating movements according to the rhythm of the music. You climbed back up, jumping on the bar and spinning a few times before hanging upside down, your legs up simulating steps and returning to stand straight on the bar, sliding your hand as your waist swayed against the object. You looked around the people present in the place, not lingering too long on the men who were smiling and enjoying your performance, looking at the back of the brothel to attract customers as they entered, but you swore you saw her hiding in the back.

You felt your heart skip a beat, but you continued the performance, taking the opportunity to check if it was really her. It was her. Sevika was hidden at the back, leaning against the wall, the green light of the brothel barely illuminated her, but you knew that powerful posture, those gray eyes focused on your figure. You finished dancing and continued working, waiting on some tables and keeping company with other customers, your gaze always following where she was.

Sevika looked so different since the last time you saw her. Her hair was very short, that confident and arrogant expression gave way to a dejected and irritated one, those gray eyes that shone with determination and desire were just a blurry gray in a pitiful and sad look, but the worst of all was that her left arm was missing. Sevika held eye contact with you for a long time, and you noticed how exhausted and helpless she was. You almost abandoned everything and followed her when she looked away and left the brothel with her head down.

You ended the night without seeing her again, and that made you restless, a mix of anxiety and nervousness growing inside you, almost leading you to run out and look for her. You stepped out of the brothel and tightened the strap of your bag on your shoulder, closing your arms around your body to hold the heavy coat and protect you from the cold night, you sighed deeply and prepared to continue on your way when in the corner of your eye you saw something moving in the dim street light.

You held your breath, tightening your grip and feeling your heart beat faster, your eyes filling with water as you stared at Sevika standing in front of you protected by a long cloak, both waiting for a reaction from the other. You didn't look away from the woman and saw those eyes ask for you. You almost dropped your bag when you let go of your arms and took steps towards her, the click of your heels echoing loudly on the deserted street, stopping a few steps away from her, asking for permission to get closer.

Sevika let her shoulders fall, sighing softly, and you threw yourself at her, wrapping her in a tight hug that was returned by the woman with the only arm she had left. She buried her face in your neck like she used to do, and in that moment, you had forgotten she had broken your heart and disappeared, and now she came back like a dog regretting having run away from home. You didn't say anything, that hug said it all, and you knew that she had been through a lot during her absence.

You two followed in silence through the streets, heading somewhere you weren't sure of since you had never taken that route, much less had the woman's company. You stopped walking in the middle of the busy street with the bars around, and she also stopped. That silence was killing you, and you needed to know why she was doing that to you.

“Sevika…” The rest of the sentence died in your throat when she looked at you, those gray eyes reflecting your stupid image staring at her and that mischievous sparkle appeared in her eyes again, making you get lost in the present and past, barely noticing her approaching and towering over you, your eyes trailing to her puffy mouth painted with dark lipstick.

You gasped as your back met the hard wall and you felt Sevika's body pressing against yours, her breasts against yours, her hot breath hitting your face raised to look at her and the thick thigh between your legs. You shivered when you felt her calloused fingers passing through your arm under your coat and going up to your neck, caressing the side and wrapping around your throat, giving a light squeeze as you liked and making you let out a whine. Sevika kept those gray eyes on yours, attentive to your every reaction, wandering over your face as if memorizing what she had forgotten, and pressed her forehead to yours, closing her eyes while still feeling your warmth and your rapid breathing.

She opened her eyes and you looked at her, alternating between the gray of her eyes and the dark of her lipstick; You licked your mouth and swallowed, looking up again, knowing that Sevika didn't kiss, never. She smiled, shaking her head slightly and leaned in more, joining your mouths in a seal, you sighed in surprise and she slid her tongue into your mouth while her hand fit the contour of your face.

You remained unresponsive for a few seconds, very surprised that the woman who the first time you spent the night together pushed you away saying she didn't kiss; it was very intimate and was the door to catching feelings. Sevika squeezed your face, bringing you to reality and you kissed her back, following her tongue with yours while your hands went up to her neck and held her against you, moving your mouth in the rhythm she wanted.

Sevika never kissed for fear of falling in love, and now you understand why. That woman's kiss was a killer. You pulled her against you, almost lying against the wall as you pressed yourself against her and returned the kiss with the same intensity, feeling her explore your mouth, sucking your tongue and biting your lower lip, sliding her tongue back into yours as she squeezed you by the back of your neck, and pressed your mouths tightly; savoring your taste and devouring your moans and sighs as her thigh pressed and moved between your legs.

You sighed against her mouth, moaning when you felt her bite your bottom lip and kiss you again, pulling you more and more against her. You were out of breath, your brain going fuzzy, body begging for oxygen as you clung to her as if your life depended on her and that fucking amazing kiss; you felt fucking amazing kissing that woman, trapped in her heat. You didn't want it to end.

Sevika tugged at your bottom lip one last time and moaned as she pulled away from you, pressing her forehead to yours. You half-opened your eyes, seeing the smudged lipstick and the swollen lips wet with your saliva, you swallowed and filled your lungs with air, pushing your forehead against hers, giving her lips a light seal, feeling her reciprocate.

“Sevika…” You pushed your head against the wall, giving more space for Sevika to mark your neck with kisses and bites while her large, calloused hand squeezed the skin of your belly.

She kissed down to your chest, kissing the exposed skin of your breasts, giving light bites and hickeys as you liked. You were shaking from her touches, your trembling hands squeezing her shoulders and your legs shaking from the caress in your intimacy. You looked at her still marking your chest, the dim orange light in the alley illuminating half of her face, her gray eyes shining with desire, her roguish smile as her mouth was attached to your skin.

You placed a hand on her cheek, caressing the warm brown skin, watching her lean into the touch and close her eyes. Suddenly, you were back in that room at the back of the brothel, feeling Sevika's touches and heat, those gray eyes devouring you... And suddenly, she wasn't gone, your Sevika was there.

“Sev… please…” You moaned when you felt her hand on your thigh, reaching up your skirt. She stood straight, her hand cupping your face and her gray eyes glued to yours. You squeezed her face, running your thumb over her lips, still staring back at her, begging for her like before.

Sevika sealed your lips once again, her hand stuck to the back of your neck and some strands before leaving the alley pulling you with her.

You barely noticed when you arrived at a small apartment, probably hers, too focused on the sensations of her mouth on your neck and shoulder as soon as your coat hit the floor. “Ah…Sev…Ngh!” You moaned softly, feeling the strap of your top slide down your arms and her mouth moving down to your left breast. Her left hand was missing, but she managed to pay attention to your breasts, leaving them full of teeth marks, saliva, and lipstick.

“Damn… I missed this so much…” She whispered in your ear, feeling one of your breasts and pulling the areola, making you hang your head and whimper, closing your legs around her knee.

You took off your top, throwing it on the floor as you were guided to the bedroom between kisses and sighs, Sevika's big, warm hand squeezing and scratching your back and waist. You fell onto the mattress with a groan, your hands supported you, and spread your legs for her to settle in the middle.

“Sev, I missed you so much, sev…” You said, rubbing your face against her hand and taking your hands to her tight waist, entering her short blouse and feeling the warm and firm skin on your fingers, moving your fingers up to her breasts. Sevika sighed heavily into your mouth, closing her eyes, feeling your nails playing with her breasts and kissing you with hunger and desire, teeth and saliva.

You undid the zipper on her cape and blouse, throwing the pieces away and enjoyed that firm and warm brown skin that you loved so much, running your hands over her full and soft breasts, feeling her shiver with your touches and letting out a groan when you took your wet lips in the middle of her breasts, her hand getting caught in the middle of your strands and pulling them, forcing you to face her.

“Tonight is not about me, girl. It’s about you and how I want to fuck you like I used to.” You shuddered and smiled openly, your eyes disappearing into a line, your expression dissolving into pleasure as you imagined that woman fucking you willingly like before. “Take off your skirt and open your legs.”

Sevika got off of you, and you slid the piece along with your panties away from your body, lying back on your elbows and opening your legs, showing your already wet pussy to the woman's hungry eyes.

You shuddered as you felt Sevika's long fingers slide from your mouth to your neck, breasts, stomach, groin and thighs, squeezing the soft flesh and teasing you with her thumb very close to your pussy. You stared at the woman, begging her to touch you, but she just smirked and continued to tease you.

“Sev-Ngh!” You moaned, shuddering and curled your fingers as you felt her fingers slipping into your folds, one finger entering and spreading your liquid to the nerve. “So wet for me, babygirl.”

You pushed your waist against her fingers, sliding them into your pussy and smearing them. Sevika took her fingers out of you and brought them to her mouth, tasting and cleaning them, humming when she tasted you. “Fucking delicious … My girl.”

You moaned loudly, keeping your eyes open and focused on Sevika enjoying your taste and bending down on the edge of the bed, approaching your waist and distributing wet kisses on your skin, caressing down to your pussy and placing a light kiss on your clitoris, smiling against you as she felt you shiver.

Sevika distributed kisses over your pussy, running her tongue lightly over your folds and sucking the liquid that dripped more with the woman's caresses. You gasped, lifting your back off the bed when you felt her flatt tongue lick from bottom to top and suck hard on your clit, opening your folds with her fingers and mouthing your pussy, licking and sucking every little bit, rubbing her nose on your nerve, repeating the movement slowly until you bring your hands to her hair, pressing her against you.

You rubbed yourself against Sevika's face buried between your legs, your fingers tightly stuck in the dark strands as she sucked you eagerly, her nose brushing your clitoris as she stuck her tongue inside you and slid it into your folds, returning to sticking her tongue in you and gulping down your liquids in loud, needy noises.

Only Sevika could have you rolling your eyes, moaning loudly, your back arched, your fingers curled, and your body trembling, completely in ecstasy with pleasure. You just wanted her to give you pleasure and have you like that; she was perfect for you, and you were perfect for her.

“Sev… I’m close…” You warned, but she knew just by the way you trembled and your pussy squeezed her tongue. She knew you like the back of her hand. “Ngh! Sevi…”

She pulled away from you, her face glistening with your liquid, her pupils dilated and the gray of her eyes shining clear with desire. You were breathing heavily, your body sprawled out on the bed, your teary eyes shining with desire for that woman.

“Come get what you want, girl.” You crawled towards her, lowering yourself until you pressed your lips against the skin of her stomach, your hands pressing her sides as you kissed down the trail of hair and unzipped her pants with your teeth, sliding the garment and her panties down her toned legs in a hurry.

Sevika was looking at you from above, seeing your beautiful red face rubbing against her thigh and moving up to her wet pussy, placing a light kiss on her hairy crotch. Her hand tugged at your strands before you stuck out your tongue and licked her, pushing you onto the bed and settling between your legs; your left leg raised, locked around her waist while your right leg was on top of her left, like you guys did when Sevika needed relief, and feel all of you.

You held her by the waist, your nails scratching the flesh, sometimes going down to her ass and thighs, rolling your hips against hers as she pressed and rubbed your pussies at a fast pace, and squeezed your neck, swallowing your moans and sighs.

You were close to cumming, feeling her pussy rub deliciously against yours, your liquids making the movement very wet, obscene and pleasurable, the wet noise of your pussies along with the moans and sighs of the two of you, the smell of sweat and sex impregnated in the stuffy room.

You increased the pace of your waist, feeling your clit bump against hers at the right angle, making both of you moan loudly, your toes curling as you pulled her down, kissing her with need and feeling; You were very much in love with that woman.

Sevika laid on you, still keeping the movement and pressed your face, kissing you back with need, affection, and feelings. “Sevi… I’m going to-Ngh! Ah…ah!”

"That's right. Be a good girl and cum for me.” Sevika whispered against your mouth, hand sliding to your breast and squeezing the nipple, feeling you gasp and shudder as you came in her, your nails scratching her broad back. “That's it. My good girl…” Sevika gave you a peck on your lips and stood straight again, the rhythm of her waist accelerated and out of step, also cumming and squeezing you.

She laid on top of you, you intertwined your legs with hers, and hugged her, feeling her heat and weight. You two remained silent, normalizing your breathing and calming down from the orgasm. You became very aware of what was happening and feared that everything would happen again when she moved, freeing herself from your embrace.

You felt your heart sink, your eyes burning, and your breath catching in your throat as you brought your hands to her body. “Sevika, please don’t go.” Your voice was choked, and you would easily cry. Sevika held your hand, and you intertwined your fingers, reaching up with your other hand and kissing her hand. "Please."

Sevika closed her eyes and sighed heavily, squeezing your hand back and pulling you towards her body, resting her chin on the top of your head, feeling the hot tears running down your face. “I’m not going anywhere, girl.”

“I’m sorry about before…” The words hung in the air, and you hugged her, clinging to her warmth and crying more. Her hand stroked your hair as she told you she wasn't going anywhere. “Let’s be together…” You lifted your head, nodding quickly in agreement, and felt her lips on your forehead. “My girl.”

@iwashie 2024 please do not translate, modify or republish my works

[ghost-proofbaby]

#94 sTEEEEEB

oh i am SO excited about this one. it's been too long since i've written for our boy steve 🫶

#94 - "JUDAS" BY LADY GAGA

“I couldn't love a man so purely, even prophets forgave his goofy way. I've learned love is like a brick, you can build a house or sink a dead body."

warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), fem!reader (or at least mentions of wearing lip gloss and a dress), use of whore as an insult, sort of enemies to lovers? sort of forbidden love? honestly the plot is only half-baked i just wanted porn. 18+, minors dni.

wc: 2.8k+

“If your daddy finds out about this, he’ll kill us both.” 

It’s spoken through muffled syllables, lips tight against your neck as you feel his stubble scratching the sensitive surface of your skin. 

Your hand travels up, fingers combing through soft and wavy hair as you whisper out, “If he finds out, and he won’t.” 

Bold words and sharp assumptions given your current predicament. Steve Harrington, heir to the Harrington Estate, hovering over your body. The son of the man your father hates most in the world, and he’s currently spinning a secret language across every inch of your bare skin. A painting of harsh kisses and fading teeth marks, his hands gripping every inch of the forbidden enemy below him. 

The weight of him against the center of your pelvis is almost heavier than the weight of all the choices leading you up to this moment. 

How many times had you been warned to play nice as the two of you had been raised in the same shark-infested waters? How many forced smiles had been almost-politely exchanged at galas? How many times had your mother rambled on about how that Harrington boy was nothing but trouble?

Not enough times, apparently, as your mother’s voice is the last on your mind as your nails scratch slowly down the center of Steve’s back, relishing the way he shivers and twitches under your dancing touch. 

“What would they say if they saw you like this?” he chuckles, lifting his head to look you in your eyes, a gentle hand coming up to caress a line from your temple and down your cheek, “Their little princess, consorting with the enemy’s son?” 

All the late nights spent listening to your father pace and complain about the Harrington business being in competition with his own. All the cursed names under the sun spit out in lieu of their actual names, muttered during late dinner arrivals. 

“What about your parents, hm?” you sigh out, letting your palms press flat against his bare chest, running up to wrap shaking fingers around his throat. Not quite choking him, but simply a warning: if you wanted to, you could press the cherry red of your nail deeper into his skin. Draw blood, leave a mark. You won’t, but you could. “Their little golden boy, upstairs and on his knees for the little whore of the party.”

His eyes widen. Clearly, no one had realized you’d overheard Claire Harrington’s comment when your family had entered the current gathering buzzing below. 

He rolls his eyes, “My mother’s a prude. Any woman wearing any dress above the knees is a whore.” 

He returns to all his mitigations, his plump lips fiery against your skin as they continue on their previous trail. Over your jugular, across your collarbones, settling into your sternum. Entirely unbothered and still focused on one thing only. 

“You’re right,” you breathe out wistfully, leaning your head back, a smug grin overtaking your face as he trails lower, “Besides, you’re not even on your knees yet.” 

“I could be.” 

He moves quickly, uncaring in his actions as he fumbles to lift up off the bed. The expensive comforter behind your back twists and scrunches in protest as he drops down to the ground, knees landing hard enough that it surely had to hurt. His hands grip your hips through the entire process, dragging you right with him until your legs are fully off the bed and your clothed center dangles right at the edge of the mattress.

“Is this how you want me, honey?” he grins up at you, shaking thighs bracketing each side of a shadowed face, all intentions twisting into something sinister by the dim lighting, “On my knees, begging for you?” 

“I do. But I don’t hear much begging, Harrington.” 

Sinister no longer covers it once the initial shock wears off. 

“Oh?” he hums, hands creeping up your legs. His fingers tap against your ankle before sliding up a few paces, the rhythm going steady as his palms travel up, up, up. “Allow me to fix that, baby.” 

His fingers dig into the meat of your upper thighs, tugging you even closer. You have no choice but to throw your arms out behind you as you partially collapse backwards, your entire body now shaking as you keep yourself held up to be aligned with his mouth. Every breath, almost mimicking laughs as he baits you, fans across the wet spot forming at the center of your lace crotch. 

“Please,” he breathes out just as his nose presses against your mound, taking a deep breath, “Please, let me just taste you, honey. I bet you’re so sweet, so sweet,” you let out a little gasp, hips bucking a bit at his expert words, “You like that, yeah? You gonna be sweet for me, honey? Gotta live up to that pretty little name, don’t you?” 

He knows how to get you riled up. He knows every string that laces your entire body, how to tighten and how to cut them loose. He’s had plenty of time to mesmerize this dance – a dozen different galas before to pull you into empty rooms, a hundred different nights to sneak away to indulge in you under pseudo names in the nicest hotels a few towns over. He can anticipate every jerk of your hips when his lips start to brush over your clit, even with fabric keeping his skin from yours. He knows which hand needs to keep a firm grip on your thigh, massaging it slowly as his thumb brushes closer and closer to the sensitive inner skin. His free arm works on autopilot as he throws it across your hips, planting you flat to the mattress as you mew out and he presses his tongue flatly against your weeping slit. 

His spit, your wetness. It all becomes the same within the intricate lace pattern separating him from your cunt currently. 

“I can taste it already, you know,” he keeps up the sweet talk and you feel his grin as he lets his cheek rest against your inner thigh, fluttering his lashes up at you, “Are you this easy for every golden boy walking around downstairs, pockets stuffed full of daddy’s money?” 

The gala downstairs. You had entirely forgotten, transported into only this moment here and now with Steve. 

Both your families, undoubtedly avoiding each other like the plague. His mother still gossiping about how short she thinks your dress is, your father snickering about the lacking details in Arthur Harrington’s suit. Bitter champagne on the tongue and even more bitter feelings on the brain. 

Your father would kill you if he knew what you were doing up here. 

Fraternizing with the supposed enemy. 

“Golden boy?” you gasp out, trying to swallow down any desire. It’s a useless battle. “And what’s so golden about you right now? All the hickeys I left on your neck, or that wet spot on your pants from how excited you’re getting at just the sight of me?” 

You don’t tell him how you’ve never taken an interest in any of the other sons of other supposed empires. You don’t mention how the rest of them hardly got more than a scoff from you all these years. 

You don’t tell him how he’s become your one and only betrayal to the blood running through your veins. 

He surprises you with a smack to the cunt. 

“I don’t remember you being so mouthy during the last charity event.” 

Your head rolls back with your laughter, “Guess I’m just in a mood tonight.”

“Is that so?” he questions, voice almost singing as he reaches up to the waistband of your panties. One finger hooks between it and your skin, pulling it out taut from your skin, “Guess that makes two of us.” 

The snap after he lets go can be heard only in this room, only between these four walls. It’s sure to leave a mark. 

“God,” it’s meant to be a groan of annoyance, but it’s more of a whine that leaves your glossy lips, “Just put your goddamn money where your mouth is or I swear to fucking God-”

Steve Harrington is many things. A brat, a golden boy, a nepo-baby to the highest degree just like yourself. 

And he’s also an excellent listener. 

You don’t feel his fingers tearing through the side strips of your underwear – all you suddenly feel is the slightest of cool breezes, and then his hot mouth on you. 

Eager, wanting, patient. Within seconds, his tongue’s mitigations go through a myriad of options, and he’s more in tune with your body than you are yourself. He finds the pace you need quickly, finds the pressure and just how much enthusiasm would be your deal breaker tonight. Long and steady strides from slit to clit, firm but gentle with you as he tugs you nearly off the mattress and right onto his waiting lips. A dog at your windowsill, offering all he can give as he laps at you. A man on his knees, worshiping a divinity beyond comprehension. 

Familiar politics no longer matter when he’s slipping two fingers into you and curling them harshly, lips locked around your sensitive clit. 

“Mmm,” he hums against you, nuzzling even further against your heat. As if he might be able to bury himself there. As if he might be able to force you to feel his sudden devotion from the press of his nose against your sensitive bundle of nerves, “I was right.” 

You open your mouth to answer, but all that comes out is a whimper as your hands try to snake down for his hair once more. 

Right about what? 

A silent question he must hear from your breathless begging for more. 

“Sweeter than I remember,” he mumbles, unable to stop himself from beginning to kiss your cunt, tongue flicking out and making your body jump, “Always so sweet for me, baby.” 

Your back arches at every curl of his fingers, legs somehow thrown over his shoulders in the daze until your heels are digging into his back. You need him closer, you want him closer. 

There’s no such thing as too close. Not when he worships you like this. 

Reciting prayers as his tongue circles your clit, raising you to a precipice that should damn your bloodline. When he has you teetering on the edge like this, it’s hard to not remember the thrill of it all. If someone, anyone, were to walk in and catch the two of you – you both lose everything. 

He’s worth it. When he has you falling over the edge, body washed over in ecstasy only thought to exist in Heaven, he’s worth the damnation. 

You don’t try to muffle the chants of his name as your hips jerk in rhythm with his tongue as you both ride out your high. 

“Jesus,” you gasp out one final curse, still tasting his name on your tongue as your body falls limp against the mattress.

It takes Steve a second to crawl back up next to you, his knees surely sore as he grins, “Not quite. Steve, or Harrington, or golden boy will do just fine.”

You open your mouth, unsure if you even have energy left within your buzzing mind for a snarky retort, when a heavy knock sounds at the door. 

“Hey, who’s in here? Upstairs is meant to be off-limits!”

You panic as Steve only rolls his eyes, turning his head towards the door as you try to sit up and find your discarded panties, still unaware that your golden boy had ripped them off. 

“It’s Harrington!” Steve calls back, voice unwavering, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

His name works like magic. 

No retorts, no further risk of trouble. There’s a whisper of some grumbles, and then receding footsteps, and still no sign of your panties. 

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath, looking on the bed wildly, “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Are you lying on my panties? Move-”

You’re cut off by his snickers. 

“What’s so fucking funny, Harrington?” you whisper harshly, standing with your arms crossed and glare set on the boy with a bit of wetness still shimmering on his chin. “Did you hide them, you asshole? Because if you did-”

“I ripped them, honey.” 

Your arms drop immediately, a sharp breath taken, “Excuse me?” 

“I,” he sits up, “Ripped,” he’s back on his knees, scooting across the bed, “Them.” 

He stops just short of your reach, boyish charm radiating with smug satisfaction. 

He has a nice smile. If it weren’t the anger simmering in your chest at finding out that he’d ripped one of your nicest pairs of lingerie, you might even tell him that. 

“Fuck you,” you spit out. Or at least, you mean to. It’s more of a cross between spitting venom and a sigh of surrender. 

He has a really, really nice smile. 

“Later,” he laughs back, finally standing from the bed, pulling scraps of lace fabric out of his pocket just enough for you to catch sight of, “For now, we’ve got to go show our pretty faces downstairs, yeah?” 

He has a nice laugh, too. 

“What about my underwear?” you scoff, pulling down your dress until it brushes the top of your knees anyways. 

“Only whores have panty lines. I saved you another snarky comment from my mother, if anything.” 

He’s nice. He pisses you off, he infuriates you, but he makes you feel nice. It’s not just the afterglow of the orgasm he’s given you without any demand of returning the favor, it’s not just the glint in his eyes as he teases you and shoves his hands shyly in his pockets. 

There’s a flash of something more in the air between you. A time and place where you met and your fathers weren’t at each other’s throats. An existence where you meet him out at some overcrowded bar rather than extravagant ballrooms, and you’d never heard of his last name until he tells it to you on a third date. A world where you bring him home and your parents' only first impression is all his charm that he puts into overdrive during dinner, no whispered rumors over wine tainting the image before them. 

A lifetime where Steve Harrington is merely a salvation, and not also a sin. 

“You’re right,” you smoothly reply, even if the words choke you. The invisible smoke only you clearly see between you and the boy who couldn’t be nice, who couldn’t be a simple salvation despite the way he elevates you to godhood time and time again. “You are buying me a new pair of those, though, Harrington.”

You almost say his name the way you would in that make believe space that isn’t quite here, isn’t quite now. Where a name is just a name. 

“I’ll have them wrapped up with a bow and everything for you next time… honey.” 

He almost says your name instead of some lewd nickname in place of what has been taught to be venomous to him. 

He opens the door like a gentleman, he instructs you to return to the main showroom, he advises you to grab a glass of champagne to excuse the flush in your cheeks. No crowded bars, no proper dinners with your parents, no third dates. 

It all evaporates like smoke and mirrors as you join your parents’ sides downstairs, tugging at the bottom seam of your dress and grabbing a crystal flute with a forced smile. You don’t even turn to look in the direction of his descent when he also joins his family.

But salvation remains. Even when faced with the reminder of damnation by the look on your father’s face.

“Can you believe that boy?” he gruffly asks, glaring in their direction, “Just waltzing back in here, like he hadn’t rudely disappeared for a good thirty minutes. Those Harringtons know no manners, I tell you.” 

You hum in lackluster agreement, studying the rim of your glass, ignoring the twist in your chest. 

“Where did you run off to, though, honey?” the nickname makes your back straighten up, memories of chills running up your spine as you glance up at your father suddenly. 

“Oh, no where,” you flail a hand about, keeping steady breathing, playing an act you’ve rehearsed a million times, “I’d just heard a rumor that the Richardson’s garden fountains were larger than ours, and had to see for myself.” 

“Were they?” 

They have no idea. 

“Not even close,” you laugh. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see your laughter has attracted the attention of a certain pair of warm brown eyes and wavy brown hair, set with hidden devotion only privy in private rooms. “What did I miss?” 

Steve was right. If your father ever did find out, he was going to kill you both.

[xenosaurus]

I’ve been plotting out a story that is either horror or comedy depending on which half of the main romance you’re following.

On one side, you have Shiloh, a profoundly awkward and unlucky young peasant woman. Considered too tall and ‘mannish’ to serve the lord’s beauty-obsessed daughter, she instead spent her teen years working for the groundskeeper. This was, of course, until she turned out to have a magical talent! Of changing the colors of things, and nothing else. However, given the price of dyes, stained glass, gemstones she can replicate with quartz, decorative stonework, paints that don’t have poison in them…. Well, that’s a good talent!

The lord of the house cheerfully sells her off to the capital to work for the royal family. Dressed a little better but deeply in over her head, her life becomes a comedy of errors where she never notices how many girls around her actually prefer a sincere butch girl with rough hands.

On the other hand is Colette, a beautiful maid working for the daughter of the original lord. She was extremely shy when she was young, and often bullied by her mistress. She often snuck out of the manor to get away from the mistreatment, where she would spend time with Shiloh, who was friendly and kind to her.

Shiloh being sold to the capital started with an incident where she used her magic to make Colette beautiful purple hair ribbons for her birthday. The lord’s daughter accused her of stealing them and was going to have her beaten, before Shiloh came forward to prove her story, exposing her magic.

Colette… does not handle it well.

[benedictscanvas]

hey love! im sorry your request box hasnt been what you were looking for but maybe this will work! can i request a ball with benedict bridgerton where feelings are only realized when one of them dances with someone else? i dont really mind if its reader or benedict but i just think it would be cute!! hope you’re doing well <3 <3

hello my lovely. you're the sweetest, thank you so much for such a gorgeous request. I've got a pretty similar fic where Benedict realises his feelings, so I was super excited to do the other way around, I hope you enjoy <3 <3 | 1.5k words, fem!reader

There is a woman in Benedict’s arms and it isn’t you and you think you might throw your lemonade at her. Accidentally, of course.

You don’t know her, and if the reasonable side of your brain was in charge, you’d probably think she looks quite lovely. Her hair is adorned in elaborate braids and her smile is demure but still a little goofy - she isn’t shrouded in the fake humility that she finds so many ladies of the ton carry around with them. 

But still you find yourself fantasising about a large lemonade stain painting the front of her dress, the poor girl hurrying away in her shock and distress.

Away from Benedict. Who’s now laughing. At something the girl has said, no less. Why, you’d never seen him laugh at any lady of the ton who wasn’t either his sister or, once, Lady Danbury.

And yourself, of course, but you didn’t count.

At least, you didn’t think you counted. You didn’t think you wanted to count, content to while away the balls and the promenades by Benedict’s side, sometimes Eloise’s, whispering about so-and-so’s hat or whats-his-name’s hair. He’d never asked you to dance, although you’d never wanted him to before. Now that he was dancing with someone for the first time you could recall, however, you could feel that changing very swiftly.

”You know, looking vexed in the corner isn’t likely to win you many adoring suitors, Miss Y/L/N.”

Eloise always knows just when to get on your nerves and she’s grinning at you slyly when you turn to face her, finally breaking the spell that Benedict and his new dance partner had placed on you.

”Since when have you believed that was my endeavour, dear Eloise?”

”Since you’ve spent the entire night glaring at pretty young Miss Pennyforth. It’s making you look rather jealous, to the untrained eye.”

You turn away from her, fixing your eyes on her brother yet again. They’re not talking anymore, just staring at each other as he twirls her again and again. Maybe it was better when they spoke after all, because now your stomach is twisting into something that does indeed feel a lot like jealousy.

”Yes, well, you know better than to think I’m jealous. Though I do seem to be in a foul mood.”

Eloise nods exaggeratedly, a pretend-sympathetic pout on her lips.

”Yes, you poor thing. And it obviously has nothing to do with the brother of mine that you can’t take your eyes off.”

You pointedly look at her again but she just dissolves into giggles at the look on your face.

”If you have a point, Eloise, I suggest you make it.”

”Oh, no point at all. Only that the one ball where Benedict decides not to stand with you and ruin his prospects all night, you seem to be very dour indeed. With no correlation, of course.”

You glower at her as best you can. You have the irritable feeling crawling out of your stomach through your throat that you might be about to cry, and you refuse to do so here, or to allow Eloise to think it’s her fault if you do.

”You run along and find Penelope or I shall tell your mother there’s a gentleman asking after you.”

She gaped at you, quite genuinely.

”You wouldn’t,” she murmured, but then promptly hurried away when you fixed her with a look that told her you most certainly would. It was a lie, because you could never bring yourself to do that to your friend, but it was a ruse that allowed to slip away from the ballroom.

You cast one last glance over your shoulder at Benedict to see him kissing the back of Miss Penny-something’s hand and your eyes began to sting.

- - -

There was a little bench hidden away to the left of the grand entrance, just dark enough to not be spotted by those near the carriages. You managed to shed a few tears in private, silent silly things, and you wiped them away angrily.

It was only Benedict. Quiet, mischievous, generous Benedict. He was creative and caring and could come up with the most brilliant insults you’d ever heard. Obviously, he also had a beautiful face, but you’d never given it much thought. All the Bridgertons were beautiful, it felt like a requirement.

”Did Lord Tennesby try to talk to you again?”

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes with your head bowed. Of course he’d find you. If anyone was likely to be looking for a quiet spot for a moment’s reprieve, it was him.

You wiped at your face in vain before looking up at him with what you hoped was a convincing smile. 

“I’d be halfway back home if that was the case. What are you doing out here?”

Why aren’t you with Pennyfuzzy? was the unspoken second question that you couldn’t quite bring yourself to ask, knowing how spiteful it would come out. You wished you had realised you might want more from Benedict in the comfort of your own home, where you could take a week to process those feelings and prepare for how to deal with them.

Instead, you’d just have to see what happened in this conversation and go from there. Sounded promising.

”I was going to ask you the same thing. Have you…been crying?”

”I think it’s the flowers,” you point over at the hyacinths in the nearby flowerbed, “They often get the best of me this time of year.”

”Daphne’s ball last year was filled with hyacinths and you didn’t so much as sniffle.”

You frowned at him.

“I probably sniffled.”

“You didn’t. I would have noticed. I would have offered you a handkerchief like the dashing young gentleman I am.”

It was enough to pull up your frown at the corners, which in turn propelled him to take a seat beside you on the bench. You busied yourself with a crease in your dress when you talked to him.

“Maybe you’re not as dashing as you think.”

“I’m incredibly dashing,” he argued, pointing his chin upwards in that silly, mighty way you always giggled at, “I swept Miss Pennyforth off her feet just moments ago.”

Like an ice cold bucket of water poured right over you. You almost shivered.

“Ah, Miss Pennyforth. Has someone finally captured your wayward attention, Mister Bridgerton?”

You looked up at him and tried not to sniffle or snuffle or anything else that might give you away. He was just looking puzzled.

“What? No, I meant I quite literally swept her off her feet. I got the steps wrong, according to Eloise, who helped me up once she had a hold of her laughter.”

You blinked at him.

“You fell?”

“Into quite the heap. Miss Pennyforth was a good sport about it all but she did end up with a rather unfortunate lemonade stain all down the front of her dress. I think she was a little embarrassed.”

He had the decency to look a little embarrassed himself. There you had been, ready to hurl the contents of your cup at the girl and Benedict had solved your predicament for you. A twinge of guilt tugged at you.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” you said honestly, face overtaken by a wry smirk since Benedict had not sat down singing her praises. Still you had to be sure, “She was looking a very good dancer before I left, I was afraid she might steal away my conversation partner.”

It ended up sounding far more transparent in your intentions than you’d hoped. But you held his eye contact defiantly when he grinned.

“I knew you missed me,” he said, smug, “I took one look at your face and I could see it plain as day. Really, you should have hidden it better.”

“I don’t enjoy these events and you know it, Benedict.”

Back to his first name and by the light in his eyes, he’d noticed the switch. He stood up and held out his arm for you.

“I know. I’m very grateful for it. Now come along, I’ve done my duty to my mother dancing with that girl and now I would like to do my duty to myself.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, not moving a muscle.

“I would like to make fun of the Featheringtons with my most cherished friend. Would you do me the honour?”

Something skipped inside your chest. Light and airy again, no longer weighed down and chained to something churning your stomach. His most cherished friend. Despite the evening’s revelations, that sounded heavenly.

“Is Eloise inside waiting for you then?” you can’t help but tease and he promptly puts his arm back by his side with a huff.

“You are intolerable. I’m going without you.”

“No - wait!” you laughed, following after him gleefully as he turned away from you and started walking. You managed to catch him on the stairs, threading your hand into the crook of his elbow with ease as you did.

The smile he sent you would take at least the next week to contemplate but you had time. You could be a very brilliant 'most cherished friend' for now.

(and you were far more cherished than you knew, of course, but he wasn't quite ready to tell you yet)

---

if you'd like to request something of your own, please see this post for characters I write for and two super brief guidelines. thank you for reading, sunflower <3

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐧 𝐍𝐮𝐞𝐯𝐚 𝐘𝐨𝐫𝐤 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ from that time when Miguel and you had an extremely big sexual tension and during the chaos of a tropical storm hitting the HQ, both of you ended up tangled under the humid rain. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ SMUT 18+, sex…minors, go away pls, size kink, unprotected sex (just don’t…), dom!Miguel, sub!reader, shy reader, creampie, porn with plot, porn starts in medias res sorry, age gap. NO PROOFREAD, and poor attempt at writing smut bye. 𝐀/𝐍_ if I had Miguel calling me mami and chiquita while destroying my coochie… I would die… happily, listen to fetish with this PLEASE!!!

♪ ♫ my miguel playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

When clouds started to look bigger at earth-928, everyone should’ve known something weird would happen.

However, you don’t have time to worry about that at midday. You are laughing so hard at the sight of baby Mayday Parker; she had vomited all over Peter because he bounced her right after Mayday drank her milk.

“I can’t-oh my god. I can’t stop laughing!” You babble, tears in your eyes, and your stomach hurts.

“Stop laughing and get me a towel,” the man pleaded.

“Oh boy, Spider-Man from the humble reality is having a humble moment” Your laughs increase when Hobie walks in, to Peter’s dismay. The bench on the rooftop of the HQ slowly filled with colorful petals. Petals that emanated from you and your happiness.

“Could someone give me a towel?” You wipe the tears from your eyes with a napkin before handing it to Peter while Hobie carries Mayday.

“It’s not a towel, but it’ll work,” the older man grunts but accepts your help.

“Is it me or the weather is weird today?” Peter asks again.

“Yeah, it’s cloudy but hot. It’s so weird,” you added; Hobie nodded, analyzing the sky. In addition, Mayday keeps drinking her milk bottle, looking fussy as usual.

Nueva York was always foggy but sunny and warm but not hot. So this was something new, but not enough to make you wonder further. Then you start walking inside the giant building of the HQ with your friends.

Mayday now in your arms, Hobie walking by your side, and Peter was stuck on the showers trying to clean himself.

“Miguel was looking for us…” your smile disappears as Hobie speaks. Nervousness immediately ran across your body, and a blush painted your cheeks.

“Oh… Really?”

“Yeah, he’s mad as usual. And Lyla making it worse… as usual,” you laugh awkwardly.

When you had Miguel in front of you, if you were with friends, you had the ovaries to talk back and be reckless. But you couldn’t even look him in the eye when it was just you.

And when he wasn’t around, you were a mess of anxiety. Because you had a crush on your boss, who was older, grumpier, and more traumatized than you.

“That’s not new….”

“Yup, here…” he opened the door of his office. And all you could hear was Mayday’s babbling the whole way inside. She had a dirty dress, and her curly hair was a mess.

“You need a shower, little woman,” the baby giggled and started playing with your hair. At least she was entertained.

Miguel was on the screens as usual. Seeing anomalies and random canon events makes you wonder if he ever spent time at his own place.

He turned his broad back to see you. And there you were, looking like a nymph (technically, you were half one, anyways…). He saw you carrying Mayday, and his heart started to beat softly. A warm feeling assaulted him. Something that often happened whenever you were near him.

“I’ve told you to stop that…” his firm and deep voice was all you heard.

You look back to see more petals scattered over the entrance. Oh…

“I’m sorry, I can’t control it,” you admit. He rolls his eyes.

In the past, Miguel had said that your weird ability to leave petals behind was dangerous for Lego Spider-Man and spider plushie due to their height.

“Sure. And where were you an hour ago?. I sent Lyla for you…” he can see how you shield yourself by looking at Mayday. Oh, there it goes, pink painting your cheeks.

“Well… While I know we have big responsibilities here, bombón, I was busy back at home” You don’t know what possessed you to call him like that. But it doesn’t feel as bad as you thought it was gonna be. He’s surprised, you rarely make that type of comment, and he always ignored them. But as time progressed, he couldn’t deny his real feelings.

“Really? Doing what, bonita?” For you, it was shocking. Was he flirting back?

“Uh-… I had to build my schedule for the next college semester,” Miguel nods mockingly. He sauntered towards you, tilting his head, and for some seconds, you think you’ll drop the little girl in your arms. The man hears you gulp, bringing a little smile to him again.

“Don’t get all shy, chiquita…” you don’t feel when Hobie grabs Mayday from your arms. You are going to fall on your knees.

The man with punk vibes knows it's not a moment for Mayday to be present.

“We’re out…” Hobie announces. He leaves with the kid, and silence reigns.

Miguel grabs your chin to make you look up at him. The urge to feel his hands somewhere across your body invades you. Maybe his hands on your hips would look good. Or his hands holding your legs apart.

stop it, y/n, you think.

“I can hear your heartbeats… “ he had an idea of the effect he caused on you. And he was eager to discover if his feelings were reciprocated.

“You do?…” your voice is a melody to him. Sweet, cute, and shy. He won’t admit he wants to ruin you.

“You sound nervous. But I can also smell you… and it’s telling me how wet you are” A barrier had been crossed. Nothing would be the same. The tension that slowly built since you joined the spider society a year before the events with the kid Miles Morales, had exploded.

“Miguel…” You don’t want to ruin your barely existing friendship with him. So you place your hand on his broad chest to stop him from leaning closer.

But his gaze is focused on your eyes, and it confuses you. Because if you didn’t know Miguel and what happened to his daughter in that alternate earth, you would believe he was looking at you with a mix of lust… and love.

“We both feel the same…” his voice was confident. Like he was sure of his actions and words. Like he was confirming he felt something for you.

Miguel can hear your slow heartbeats,

You close your eyes, and by the time his lips brush yours, a loud and scary thunder startles you, pulling you away from having a kiss with your boss.

“What was that?” You ask just after a little scream of scare you let out.

“A thunder, I guess…” Miguel confirms. He had an arm around you because you had looked for comfort in his arms after the thunder.

“But Nueva York never has storms in summer.”

“If we learned something last year… was that anything can change,” the man replies.

And it’s true. After Miles ran to Earth -42, Miguel owed him an apology after discovering that canon events could change.

He even apologized to you for not believing and hearing you.

“True… but still, it’s weird” Slowly, he pulled away, noticing and analyzing what just happened. The sound of rain distracted him and you, but both were having a hazy moment for what almost happened.

And before he could talk about it again, Lyla appeared.

“Oh, good to know you two are here… We’re locked,” you frowned. Miguel walks away from you. But the heat in the room, between you two… barely decreases.

“What?” Lyla ignores your question to move her heart-shaped glasses and cross her arms.

“The storm is messing with us. The portals won’t work, and everyone is stuck inside here.” Miguel sighs and starts walking in little circles. You exchange looks with the AI before she shrugs.

“Isn’t there anything to do?” He asks tiredly. Another wave of thunders hit, and now you’re curious to look outside. It was rare to have tropical storms, even rarer in Nueva York.

“Well…”

Peter entered the room, now changed, with no more baby vomit over his suit. Gwen and Miles were beside him, with Pavitr holding the tiny Spider-man popsicle. The man near you is rolling his eyes and already stressing.

“Great. Now what are you doing here?” Miguels asks, visibly frustrated. Because Peter, Gwen, and Miles were not some of his favorite spiders. He tolerated Pavitr and secretly admired popsicle Spider-man. But that's it.

“It’s raining…” Miles said.

“No way, for real?” Lyla mocks him

“What do we do?”

“Power is unstable, too,” Peter announces. Miguel is about to burst into anger when he hears Peter, thinking his words make him more annoying.

“He’s right, boss. Our security system needs a boost to stabilize it.”

“Which is?…” you ask, stepping beside the tall man. He sends a little look down to you.

“A button…” Lyla answers.

“A button?…”

“Yes. It’s a yellow button that we have to secure the power and security system of the HQ. Someone has to go outside and manually press it from the electricity box,” everyone sighs.

“But it’s raining…” Miles protests again, and Gwen nods. Of course, nobody wanted to go out and get drenched.

“We are heroes, kid. C’mon, I’ll do it…” immediately, Pavitr stops Peter.

“NO! Mayday needs his dad. What if you get a cold in the rain? What if you die?”

“It’s like 90 degrees outside, Pav. If the power goes out, we melt to death and die anyway…” For some seconds, you want to laugh; but when you catch Miguel made looking at you, your cheeks turn red, turning away again. He chuckles in disguise, thinking how cute and hot you look.

After seeing your reaction to the almost kiss, he's eager to do more than just kiss you. Blaming his intense desire for you caused by the stress of the storm and the damn button.

“Where’s the electricity box, then?” Peter asks again. Lyla opens a virtual map and selects the rooftop area.

“It’s in zone A of the rooftop. You have to be careful; the floor in that section is from crystal. Even your spider senses can betray you and make you fall badly with the humidity outside.” Peter looks scared because he doesn't remember the rain and its potential risk.

Miguel sighs, frustrated again, and steps further, urging you to walk by pressing a hand on your lower back.

“Save it; I’m going with y/n” Everyone knew you were one of Miguel’s favorite spiders. Half of the spider society suspected he was in love with you. So it wasn’t a surprise that he chose you for the task.

“Hold her tightly…” Gwen suggests Miguel as you two leave the room.

Oh, I’ll do more than that to her, Miguel thinks.

…

Well, the rain wasn’t that bad. It was like a warm breeze; the awkward part was the humidity, which felt like the whole HQ and the rest of Nueva York evaporated.

“There’s the box. Look, Miguel!” You yell when you look at the grey box with buttons and wires. The man nods. And he thanked for wearing his mask because you looked amazingly pretty with your hair wet. Even more, flowers seemed to grow around you because of the rain.

And your suit, he wanted to avoid looking at you with desire. But he had been pushing his emotions for so long that it seemed like that summer would be impossible.

“Let’s be careful” Your soft muscles looked tighter with the drenched suit. But god, when you reached the box in the wall and opened it, he let go. The fabric looked so thin that your nipples were visibly perking, and the outline of your pussy lips was almost there, tempting him.

His cock hardened utterly. And as you tried to reach the damn yellow button, he was getting hypnotized by your small figure, imagining you in the most erotic scenarios.

“I can’t…” you admit in the middle of the pouring rain. Jumping wasn't the best option, but the floor is so slippery that you'll likely fall if you stand on your tip toes for an extended period.

Everything changes when you jump one last time and slip, set to land on your back against the crystal floor. The moment was so fast that you only closed your eyes, hoping for the worst.

But when you open your eyes, Miguel is on top of you. His arms had saved you, and you were okay.

"Are you okay?" His brown eyes are one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen. And you find yourself getting lost in them. Before you can thank him, he has already smashed his lips on you. Kissing you like a starved man.

His hands attach to your hips, and your arms hug his neck tightly, kissing him with the same passion.

When he hears your first moan, he knows he reached heaven.

__

The lights of the cafeteria blink nonstop. Gwen, Miles, Pavitr, Hobie, and Mayday are sandwiched on a couch. While Jess, Ben, and Peter talk near them.

“Poor y/n and Miguel, they must be getting wet,” Pavitr laments. Everyone nods in agreement, hearing the rain pouring outside.

“Maybe y/n will fall, but Miguel will save her, and they’ll finally be together,” Gwen fantasized. Even Jess, Peter, and Ben turned to look at her in disbelief.

“What? Everyone wants them together. See,” the blonde takes out her phone and shows everyone a screenshot of a poll made by Ultimate Spider-Man. 91% said they wanted you to date Miguel.

“Oh-, wow…” Jess mumbled, confused.

“What? And I didn’t vote? Let me check!” Peter immediately went to vote on his own device. Jess and Ben rolled their eyes.

“Let’s just hope they get here early. They had been out for forty minutes already” Gween nodded at Miles.

“Maybe that button is giving them trouble,” Ben says.

Everyone wonders how you two are dealing with the hot storm outside.

…

“Miguel, you’re so fucking big. You’re stretching me so good.”

How you ended up having sex in the rooftop of the HQ with Miguel?

One second both are kissing, then you remove your suit, and he follows you.

You had seen his cock; proportional to his massive body. A pink tip slowly getting swollen and leaking pre cum, a vein across the length that made your mouth water and pussy clench. His abs and massive arms caged you in an intense yet soft way.

There’s a solid dominant aura that Miguel is holding as he buries himself inside you. Your velvety walls welcome him tightly. He hits a spongy wall that makes you arch your back, and your tits invite him to taste them. So he does; Miguel sucks your nipples like a starved animal. You feel his fangs over the sensitive bud, and his talons are holding your hips with just enough pressure to make you feel pleasure.

“Dios…I can’t believe this,” he’s shocked. You had disintegrated your suit minutes ago, offering your body to him. He asked if you were okay because just with the stretch of his tip sliding through your folds, you couldn’t stop sobbing. He knew he was big, and with you being so small, he wanted to be careful, even when, in his most dark desires, he wanted to ruin you.

The image is erotic; how you shyly took him. Still, you look hotter than ever, arched back with the rain leaving your hair and body all wet, your face shining with tears mixing up.

“Oh-Miguel…” he thinks your face is a treasure, showing him how much of a good job he was doing by pleasuring you.

“Mig-Miguel,” your eyes are closed. But he wants to see you and your pretty face while you moan and cry.

“Look at me, chiquita. Look at me when I’m buried inside you” Your walls clench at his voice using the hottest nicknames in Spanish. But you can do that too. However, you obey. Your eyes are now glued to him; the visual contact is a challenge for you, but his cock and balls hitting your ass are enough to distract you.

“you’re gonna let me be yours?” He asks, his hands holding your hips so tightly. That you’ll likely get bruises. That doesn’t stop the whole scenario from being so lustful.

“Yes, ah-. Yes, Miguel… And I’m gonna be yours too, papi” he’s a goner; the passion is hypnotic. Both of you can feel the way his cock pulses inside you. You clench around him on purpose, causing the man to close his eyes briefly, savor the pleasure, and believe what is happening. He had you on your back, your actions making him think you might want him in the same ways as he does.

“You’re gonna be mine?. Solo mía….” You can feel every vein of his thick length helping to rip you open, and it’s the best feeling ever. Your hand rests on your lower stomach, and your brows furrow in pleasure as you feel the outline of Miguel’s cock. The man looks at it and wishes to photograph the sight.

“Can you feel how hard you make me, bonita? Very easy, mami” The rain turns the moment stickier, and it’s naughty. His pace is fast but soft, with the humidity reigning over Nueva York, the sweat and rain shower over your burning body and his.

You believe he couldn’t look better with the hairs on his forehead. It makes you want to say the most vulgar things. Feeling his cock causing a sting with every thrust, it only makes you feel dirtier.

“Soy tuya, Miguel… I’ve always been” maybe you’re cockdrunk cause you don’t even remember that the whole HQ is locked inside. At least they had a lot of things to do.

“Fuck…” he mumbled. His eyes were glued to your cunt, seeing how you sucked him in. And every time he bottomed in and out when his cock was balls deep inside you, something extremely hot happened; the mix of the sound of your cunt squelching and a ring of fluids mixed forming at the base of his cock. Miguel accepted he had never been so hard before, to the point where he could feel himself being extremely hard even inside you.

“Please, bonita. Please let me fuck you harder” It takes you by surprise; the duality of Miguel. He was possessive, in control. But he was soft like he wanted to be good for you. Thing that made you fall more in love with him.

“Do it, Miguel” He welcomes your sweet lips as he starts pounding harder into you. Miguel knew he wasn’t acting as a leader. He was getting lost in the lust, in your gorgeous eyes and perfect body, instead of returning to the HQ's safety.

“You’re so pretty, chiquita.” He whispers in your ear. Your heart clenches and softens for him, the urge to scream I love you, to welcome him in your life, and keep him forever.

“Fuck, god-Miguel, fuck me harder, papi!” He kisses away your tears before he focuses on your tits again. His hot mouth sucks and leaves wet kisses on your chest. A hand was still gripping your hip, and the other traveled to land on your swollen clit.

“Are you getting closer, bonita?” You nod, accepting the way he was fucking you. The mix of his lips sucking your nipples, his fingers circling your clit, and his cock causing the most obscene sounds with your cunt.

“Yes, yes, fuck…” At that point, the rain was only a boost to keep going. You hold tightly from his neck, biting him occasionally, sending him to death.

“Oh-I’m cumming. I’m gonna cum, Miguel,” he moans when your hands comb his hair. His thrusts start to get sloppy, and the lips that were once on your tits now rest on your neck.

“Cum, bonita. Make a mess on my cock” You keep repeating his name, louder each time. He loves it and wants to keep being the reason for your pleasure.

This is heaven, you think. You see stars even when the sky is dark, only Miguel had the capacity to do that to you with an orgasm.

You arch your back, clenching around his cock so hard that, consequently, Miguel cums too. His hot cum paint white your walls, and with each thrust, a mix of your sheer fluids and his white seed drip from your folds.

Both of you pant, breathing for air.

“Wow…” and you’re back to being shy. When Miguel turns down to see you, you have your hands on your eyes, covering yourself.

He slowly slips out of you and gently touches your hands.

“Y/n…” he calls you, slowly removing your hands from your face. A blushed face pops in, and he can’t help but chuckle.

“I’m on the verge of being in love with you…” his touch on your chin makes you forget you are still naked. The shock on your face grew, and Miguel awaited your answer.

“Is-, Is this a joke?. I mean, we just had sex, but… Are you kidding?”

“Am I known for being someone who jokes often?” he asks you with sarcasm. And you’re hesitating, analyzing every possible reaction to any possible answer you could give him.

You love him, and he was admitting the same to you. But… everything was so sudden.

Then you have been contemplating that couples that tend to wait for the moment or analyze everything are separated too fast. And while you and Miguel had never been anything besides work partners, now you know the feelings were always there.

“So you like me as… a potential love interest?” you asked to confirm that you weren’t dreaming. Miguel smirks, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb.

“I would like you to be my partner. Long term and everything…” Another giant wave of blush invades you. Only the rain pulls you out of your daydream. By then, it was a warm breeze mixed with some wind.

“I like commitment…”

He smiles, and a genuine smile appears on his face.

You’re not ready to have him smiling and showing a soft side every day.

“Then… it’s a yes?” you nod, leaning closer to hug him. Maybe both should have talked about the feelings before having sex, let alone that the first time happened on the HQ rooftop in the middle of a tropical storm. But it’s okay.

“Yeah…So now you’re my boyfriend?”

“Indeed” Oh, you’re so happy. He kisses your temple, knowing he would quickly fall in love with you completely.

Suddenly you remembered why you ended up naked with a new boyfriend on the rooftop.

Well, only the grey sky was a witness of your sin.

“Oh, shit!… Miguel! THE BUTTON!” he chuckles, accepting he got carried away by the irresponsibility. He offers his hand, and simultaneously, both of you have your suits again.

“They must be fine,” he assures you, walking towards the box that caused everything. There’s a little door that opens the box full of wires and the infamous yellow button. Miguel presses it and turns back to you.

“Ready?”

“Sure…” You try to suppress the urge to scream when he takes your hand.

-

Jess is the first to see you and Miguel back inside the HQ. She frowns in confusion, making everyone else turn around to encounter the scene.

“Damn. What the hell happened to you two?” The woman asks, inspecting how your hair and Miguel’s are totally drenched.

“Uh-…” Miguel grows quiet, and you chuckle nervously, planning a decent lie.

“It was a hard mission. We couldn’t open the damn box to press the button” Everyone nods, understanding.

“Why are you holding hands?” Gwen looks curiously at your small hand covered by Miguel’s giant one.

“Oh, uh-…”

“We’re together….” First, you covered him, and now he was covering you; you would be a good team. One last time, a blush paints your face.

“Shoot, WHAT?” Peter, Pavitr, and Gwen seem to be celebrating. Peter shows you a poll debating whether you should date Miguel or now; the majority said yes. Your boyfriend rolls his eyes, clearly annoyed by his workmate's antics.

“So today we had a tropical storm and a couple revelation? On the same day? Weird…” Pavitr's comment makes you realize how chaotic the day was.

“Even weirder because the portals are still out of service” While Jess is stressed because she left her baby and husband at home, the younger spiders are excited.

“We should make a sleepover,” Gwen suggests, and you agree with excitement.

“No. I don’t think that’s matu-…” but you stop Miguel, turning back to him.

“Can we take a break and relax for one evening, love?” Everyone can see Miguel blushing cause you called him love. Of course, Hobie laughed and pointed at him.

“We can sleep in the cafeteria and tell supernatural stories.”

“That’s so silly…” Jess said to Ben, but the young man seemed excited too.

Ultimately, Jess and Miguel were the only serious adults looking at the upcoming mess.

“The button wasn’t an issue, right?” She asked Miguel. For some reason, Spider-Man 2099 couldn’t lie to Jessica.

“Of course not,” he heard Jessica laughing, knowing or at least suspecting what had happened between you and him.

“You’re insane,” she accuses his friend. But Miguel can’t feel embarrassed with Jess or Lyla. Yes, he wasn’t proud of fucking you on the rooftop under a storm, but he was happy that it made you two come together, at least.

After watching you leave the recreational area, he goes behind you and the blonde girl.

“Hey…Where are you going?” He asks, taking your forearm softly.

“Miles and Gwen want to get some sleep bags. And then I’m going with Ben for some lamps and-“

“I never approved of a sleepover” You send him a playful look, arching a brow.

“It’ll be fun. Besides, there’s nothing else to do. You can’t even send us on missions. Please?…” god, he hated how fast you were gaining power over him. As you bat your eyelashes and remark the e on please to convince him, he’s already considering improving the silly sleepover.

“Está bien pues…” you cheer and stand on your tiptoes to pull him down, kissing him.

Miguel couldn’t pull you away; even if many spiders were watching him, he couldn’t. Not when your lips felt so good on him.

Suddenly Gwen pulls you away, annoying Miguel once again.

“Okay, macho libre, I’m taking your girl away some minutes…” he rolls his eyes but gives you a little smile that you reply with a giggle.

Sure, something weird had happened that day in Nueva York.

__________________________________

It’s official, I’m doing Do you want a baby part three .

[vivwritescrappythings]

Unfair

no outbreak!joel miller x fem!reader

an au about Joel attending a wedding simply inspired by Pedro's slutty little fit at the SAG awards.

part 2

tw: age gap (late 20s/late 40s), fingering, oral (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, alcohol, she/her pronouns, reader has hair long enough to twist around her finger, Joel is probably poorly written in this, and this whole thing is a little poorly written.

word count: 7.2k

MDNI

masterlist

–

Your mom was smiling as you zipped her into her gown, the chiffon and lace dress gorgeous on her as you fastened the eyelet closed at the top of the bodice. You could feel the lens of the photographer’s camera trained on you both, the woman having been with you the entire morning to document the process of the bridal party getting ready. 

The photographer was fluttering around the room, taking candid photos of you all making small talk and toasting mimosas. The posed photos had been earlier that morning, you all wearing your matching silk robes with your names screen-printed on the back. You didn’t know how much had been spent on the whole production–but it certainly wasn’t cheap. But, to see your mom glowing and her wide smile all morning, every penny must have been more than worth it.

Before you realized, you all wore dresses and bouquets of white flowers with magnificent greenery were being thrust in your hands. The wedding planner was ushering everyone out onto the stone walkway to the barn, women finally meeting men just outside the farmhouse turned wedding venue. The best man looked vaguely familiar to you as you placed your hand in the crook of his elbow to walk down the aisle, he must have been Shawn's eldest brother.

The officiant droned: he just repeated the same platitudes of what it means to love one another and be good spouses. You tried to stay focused, your eyes inevitably wandering. The ceremony space was picturesque: southern live oaks casting shadows in the late autumn sun as they married in front of the barn. It really couldn’t get more Texas than that, especially when you counted the number of cowboy hats in the crowd. 

You could feel someone staring at you for the better part of the ceremony, making you glance out of the corner of your eye as you tried to find the source. Every fiber of you wanted to turn and look in earnest, but you knew that you’d ruin the photos as soon as your body twisted and your happy, grinning face wasn’t facing the bride and groom on the best day of their lives. 

Your grip tightened around the bouquet in your hands as your skin crawled, your focus so jarred that you almost missed your cue to walk out. The cheers and clapping woke you from your reverie before the best man had to. Grasping him by the elbow, you walked back up the aisle between the celebrating wedding guests, the feeling of being watched now fading to the background.

—

When you finally made it to the renovated barn, you were starving and in desperate need of a drink. The photos had run long, the photographers getting you all in a variety of line ups and poses. It was almost time for the plated dinner to begin, guests settling at assigned tables after a cocktail hour and the live band playing quiet music in the corner of the half-inside half-outside space that would eventually serve as the dance floor.

The orange lighting from string lights along the ceiling was soft, mismatched Edison bulbs hanging along zigzagged wires from wooden rafters. It painted the guests and decor in gold tones, making everything look sepia like an old photo.

With your double shot vodka tonic in hand, you found your name written in gold calligraphy on the seating chart. Your mom and her new husband were sitting together at a small table at the front of the room, a faux-neon sign behind them that displayed his last name. Well, their last name now. 

You were at one of the front tables, the ivory table cloth nearly brushing the shiny wooden floor as you plucked your name card off your plate and sat down. There were only a few people you knew at the wedding, neighbors from the neighborhood you grew up in and a handful of your mother’s coworkers. But, they were seated elsewhere. 

Some of the seats on the opposite side of the sprawling white and green centerpiece were occupied with strangers in flamboyant cowboy hats and boots, an obvious sign they were from out of town. You smiled politely as you sat down, taking a long sip of your drink as you checked your phone for the moment of downtime. 

“This seat taken?” A deep, twangy voice made your gaze cut away from the screen and up to the right. You were immediately dumbstruck by how handsome the man was, his umber colored eyes reminding you of the sunlight hitting the tree trunks during the ceremony. A few of his dark brown curls were falling on his tanned forehead, the rest of his hair loosely pushed back. 

You floundered for a moment, lips parting and no words coming out of your mouth. Finally you caught up, blinking a few times. The place card in front of the ornate gold and white place setting next to yours was your saving grace. “Well, uh, if you’re Joel M., the seat is all yours,” you said, looking back up at him.

God, you hoped he was Joel.

He smiled, the lines on his face becoming a bit more defined as he extended a hand toward you. “Joel Miller, nice to meet you…” he trailed off, waiting for your assistance. 

You slipped your hand into his, his calloused palm engulfing yours as he shook it politely. You introduced yourself, neck craned back so you could look him in the eye. He released your hand and sat down, setting the glass he was holding next to yours on the table cloth. 

“So how do you know the couple?” Joel asked you, his gaze dragging over you. You tried not to squirm under the weight of it, your face feeling hot as you set your phone face-down on the table. The way he looked at you made you feel like a bug caught under a microscope.

“The bride is my mom,” you said, fiddling with the elegantly folded cloth napkins for a moment. You glanced at her briefly, watching her giggle at something Shawn had said. 

Joel nodded, a huff of a laugh following. “No shit, so you’re the stepdaughter?” he asked, an eyebrow raised as a smirk lifted the corner of his lip. One of your eyebrows lifted of its own volition, his reaction catching you off guard.

“Do I have a reputation?” A sip of your drink helped wet your dry tongue, your eyes trained on him over the rim of your glass. There was a spike of anxiety in your chest, the temporary fear that he’d heard something bad about you filling your mind. You held your glass in your hand as you crossed your legs at the ankle, waiting for his response.

Joel paused to take a drink, a hand scrubbing over his beard as he looked back at you. He shook his head, waving a hand in a way that was meant to be placating. “Shawn told me about you, said you just moved back to town a few months ago.” 

“Um, yeah, actually. Moved back from Denver,” you said, bashful that the subject of you even came up. You hadn’t realized that you were important enough in Shawn’s life to mention, especially to his friends. Of course, there wasn’t animosity between the two of you, just what you assumed was limited interest. Most men didn't bother to learn too much about their adult stepchildren.

You were both leaning forward as you spoke, the music and chatter of the other guests making the barn a little too loud to hear one another clearly at a distance. He was looking down at his drink, giving you an opportunity to study his profile. Joel was easily twenty years your senior, the dark beard on his jawline threaded through with patches of silver hair. 

“So—“ Joel started, getting cut off by the shuffle of the last people to their seats and an arm thrust between the two of you. The waiters serving the plated dinner made you sit upright in your chair, the soft fabric of your dress fluttering as you put some space between Joel and yourself. 

You didn’t realize how hungry you were until you took the first bite of your food, a sigh escaping you as your eyelashes batted against your cheeks. Conversation floated around your head, you caught polite questions about Joel’s construction business and half-assed replies.

For some reason your mother had put you at a table full of Shawn’s friends, maybe in an attempt to help you get to know him better.

“So you’re a contractor?” you asked after your hunger had been satiated. You’d gotten a refill on your drink from one of the waiters, nursing a fresh vodka tonic as you looked at Joel.

He chewed his steak methodically, nodding as he turned slightly to look at you. “Been building houses for years, my brother, Tommy, works with me,” Joel said after he swallowed, taking his cloth napkin off his wide thigh to wipe the corner of his mouth. 

“Do you like it?” you asked after a moment of contemplation, tilting your head to one side as you looked at him.

There was something about him that kept you smiling, your lips curved like a bow as you sipped your drink from the straw. You studied his features while you could, his aquiline nose and his full lower lip intriguing. Way too intriguing for someone who was your stepfather’s friend.

“Pays the bills, keeps the roof over me and Sarah’s heads.” Joel finished his plate, picking up his drink and leaning back in his seat. 

Sarah? Your eyes dropped to his left hand, not seeing a ring on any of the fingers. Not even a tan line. He noticed it, making your face burn as he chuckled. “Sarah? Your…”

“Daughter,” he cut in helpfully. Daughter, he had a daughter. You exhaled, relieved. But, did he have a wife? No ring, never mentioned her. He would’ve brought her up by now. She would've attended the wedding with him. You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment, taking a breath as you rationalized.  

Your mouth opened to ask another question when glasses were chimed and dinner was cleared away. Champagne flutes were passed around, and to your horror you realized it was time for your toast. You stood in a fluid motion, adjusting your gown and your hair before heading toward the microphone next to the table with the bride and groom.

–

You spent the rest of the night getting drunk. Champagne became cocktails and cocktails became shots–all with your mother and new stepfather and family and friends from your childhood. Tipsiness made you remove your heels, kicking them off to the side to a forgotten corner as your aching feet pressed against the polished floor. 

The dance floor was cramped, the band having transitioned partway through the night to someone’s phone with a playlist hooked up to the speakers. You watched your mom laugh as she was spun around by her new husband, making you smile as you nursed your glass of wine. 

“You lost something.” Joel approached, pointing to your strappy heels with a lazy finger. 

You grinned, your teeth digging into your lower lip for a moment as you looked up at him. “Looks like you did, too–a few things actually,” you said, nodding toward his shucked suit jacket and tie. The top few buttons of his white shirt were open, revealing just enough of his tanned chest to feel dangerous. He was more disheveled than before, a chilled beer bottle held loosely in his fingers and his cheeks flushed.

Joel chuckled, taking a step closer to you as he took a long drink from his beer. You watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed, taking a sip of your red wine in tandem.

There was something about this man that had you all kinds of flustered, a giddy lightness in your chest when he focused his attention on you. “So why aren’t you out there dancing?” Joel asked, his warm eyes surveying the dance floor before returning.

You shook your head, a demure smile and a shrug. “Never was much of a dancer.” The last time you really danced was wasted at a frat party in college, the lights low and the music making the house shake. Far from a respectable barn wedding, and definitely not your mother’s respectable barn wedding. 

“That’s a shame,” Joel smiled at you, pressing just a bit closer, “a pretty girl like you should be out there.” 

You were surprised by the compliment, nearly choking on your wine as your eyebrows lifted. Joel was smirking, his whole body leaning toward yours. You were warm to the touch, your entire face burning under his attentions. It felt like you were in high school again, pining after some older boy that you assumed would never look at you twice–but here he was, looking.

“Do you always flirt with your friend’s stepdaughters?” you asked, hoping to come off as hard to get. Realistically, he already had you in the palm of his hand.

Joel pursed his lips, something mischievous flashing in his dark eyes for a moment. “Just the ones that look like you,” he said, his deep voice low. It was almost too quiet to hear over the music, making you shift forward so you could hear him better.

“Joel.” It would've been chastising if it wasn’t for your bright smile. He exuded an easy confidence that was magnetic, it had your nerves on fire as you selfishly hoped that he would do more than just flirt with you. Your gaze was on his lips for a moment, taking in the lines of his full bottom lip and tidy mustache before meeting his eyes again.

“The couple is getting ready to leave!” You both looked toward the door and watched the wedding planner usher guests out the barn doors. Sparklers were thrust in everyone’s hands, the photographer already positioned at the end of the walkway near the rented white Rolls Royce.

Joel’s hand found the small of your back, warm through the thin fabric of your dress as he guided you toward the door. The wedding planner handed him two sparklers, the long kind that wobbled under their own weight. 

The guests had divided into two lines, waiters lighting sparklers on either side of the column created. Joel handed you one as you stood at his side, your bare feet on the warm concrete. You held it out from your body, focused on the bright sizzle of the sparks as they made their way down the lines of powder.

Your mother and Shawn walked through the column of sparklers on cue, laughing and smiling while holding hands. They looked so happy. You could hardly imagine being that happy with someone.

She broke off for a moment to embrace you, making Joel thoughtfully pluck the sparkler out of your fingers so you didn’t burn her. 

Tears pushed at your eyelids, overwhelming joy for your mother finally breaking free of your chest. You whispered ‘I love you’s into one another’s ears and pressed kisses to cheeks as you clung to each other. The photographer’s camera was shuttering nearby, catching every intimate moment.

Finally you let her go, tearful and smiling as Shawn pulled her toward the car that would take them to their hotel. Joel’s large hand found the curve of your waist, bringing you to his side as you watched your mother get into the car. 

You were tipsy enough to allow it.

He was warm, smelling like cigar smoke and whiskey and cologne. You both were quiet as you watched the car pull away, your shoulders fitting in the space between his arm and torso.

“You wanna help me find my jacket? Think I left it around back when I was smoking a cigar with Shawn,” Joel murmured into your hair. His fingers pressed into your waist, his breath on your neck.

It was enough to distract you. You blinked your tears away, fingertips brushing at the corners of your eyes to make sure your makeup was still intact. “Sure,” you whispered, looking up at him after you’d composed yourself.

Your heart skipped a beat when Joel took your hand, tugging you along with him down the path on the outside of the barn. Both of you were tipsy, giggling and stumbling a bit over the paving stones that had been set in the tall grass. The lights faded behind you, the dim glow through the high windows of the barn and the solitary strand of Edison bulbs between the trees just enough to navigate by. 

It all happened so fast, you didn’t even know who initiated it. Joel’s calloused hands were cupping your cheeks and jaw, tilting your head up as your lips met his. He tasted like whiskey and the sweet wedding cake, making you sigh into the kiss as your fingers twisted in his shirt and pulled him close. 

You had to stand on your tip toes to kiss him properly, a few soft laughs escaping the both of you when the hard cartilage of your noses bumped and teeth clashed. 

He took steps forward until your shoulder blades pressed against the side of the barn. Joel crowded you in, one hand leaving your cheek to brace against the wood behind your waist as he swiped his tongue along your bottom lip. You could feel him smiling.

You always found French kissing to be weird, never knowing quite what to do with your tongue. Whenever a guy had initiated it you managed to cut it off quickly, moving on to some other method of making out to spare yourself the embarrassment of letting your tongue sit there like a dead fish.

Of course you’d seen people do it, always seeming like a lot more licking each other than kissing. Nevertheless, the second time Joel ran his tongue along the seam of your lips you found yourself parting them for him.

Suddenly, you understood. Joel’s tongue massaged over yours as he groaned softly. You wanted him to consume you, letting him take control as he explored your mouth. He tilted your head back more, leaning over you with his full height. You flicked your tongue along his, spine arching toward him in an attempt to get closer.

The horn of the hotel shuttle startled you as you broke apart, chests heaving and your lipstick smeared onto Joel’s mouth. 

“You staying at the same hotel as everyone else?” Joel asked, nosing at your hairline as his hands roamed over your dress. He bunched it in his fists, raising the hem above your calves and wrinkling the fabric.

“I am,” you breathed, twisting your fingers in his thick curls. 

Joel smiled against your earlobe, nipping at it. “Wanna continue this in my room? Got a king size bed and everything,” he drawled, pulling back to look down at you. There was a sparkle in his eyes, his smile was breathtaking.

You wiped your lipstick off his bottom lip with your thumb, suddenly feeling a bit shy. “You sure?” you asked, folding your arms over your chest in a form of protection from Joel’s possible rejection. 

He offered, but there was still a part of you that was worried.

He furrowed his brow, a smile still on his face as he looked down at you in the dark. “'Course I’m sure. Go get your shoes, baby, and I’ll see you on the shuttle.” Joel spun you toward the nearest door to the barn, lightly smacking your ass go get you moving.

You yelped, swatting at his hand with a glare. 

“Go on, before I ruin that pretty dress of yours in the dirt out here,” he told you, a smirk on his face as he nodded his chin toward the door. You rolled your eyes, acquiescing to his instructions.

—

It took Joel no time to get you down the hall from the packed elevator and to his room. He clumsily tapped his keycard against the sensor, stamping kisses along the side of your neck as you giggled in the cage of his arms.

Finally he got it to unlock, tightening an arm around your waist as he pushed the door open. Joel took wide, staggered steps on either side of your body as he ushered you inside. 

As soon as the door snapped shut he was already lifting the bottom of your dress, kisses turning into bites on the curve of your neck. “Jo-el,” you whined through giggles as you grabbed the forearm he’d locked around your waist. 

“Unfair that you’re this fucking pretty,” he mumbled, making your face heat up as you tried to protest. Joel shushed you by grabbing a handful of the meat of your thigh, groaning in your ear. 

“How’s it unfair?” you managed to ask, your head spinning from the overwhelming presence of Joel. His rough, calloused hands were groping at your soft flesh, his lips sucking marks on your neck like you were teenagers. 

The room was relatively untouched, his open suitcase on the stand near the large windows on the far side of the room. The curtains were slightly open, moonlight filtering in. “S’unfair that I didn’t meet you sooner,” Joel said, scraping his blunt teeth over the sensitive spot just under your earlobe. You shivered in his arms.

He separated from you just enough to shuck his suit jacket that he had haphazardly put on for the shuttle, tossing it on the little sofa in the room. You turned after stepping out of your heels, linking your hands behind Joel’s neck and pulling him in for another kiss. 

Joel smiled into it, his hands grabbing your waist and holding you flush against his body. “You still wanna do this?” His fingers moved to your spine and played with the zipper on the back of your dress, looking down at you as he waited for your answer. "Don't want you to feel pressured or anything."

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be,” you murmured, carding your fingers in his thick curls.

Joel just groaned, pressing you flush against him as he captured you in another needy kiss. He pulled the zipper of your dress down in one fluid motion, making a shiver prickle up the length of your spine.

“Let me see ya, baby,” he said against your mouth, pulling the thick straps of your dress down your arms. 

You let the fabric pool at your feet, your sheer, skin-colored bra and panties leaving little to the imagination. A wave of insecurity flashed over you, your skin suddenly feeling stretched too tight over your body as your face and neck heated up. 

You were too aware of the parts of yourself that you didn’t like: the dimpled flesh on the outside of your thighs and the hairs you hadn’t plucked away because the wedding was the last place you thought you’d find a one night stand. A wobbly smile formed, your instinct making you bury your face in Joel’s neck to hide.

“Jesus Christ,” he mumbled, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear his praise. His massive hands ran down your sides, thumbing at the mesh of your bra and panties before he started moving you backwards.

Your calves hit the bed, making you squawk in an unflattering way as Joel lowered you to the mattress. “You’re so gorgeous,” he breathed, his lips trailing down your neck until he was kissing and sucking at your sternum. He nudged your knees apart with his free hand, his other forearm planted on the mattress to hold his weight off of you. He slotted himself in the space between your thighs as his tongue laved over your nipple through the mesh fabric of your bra.

The noise that came out of your throat was embarrassing. Your breath turned into a strangled moan, eyebrows pinching together. The sensation only made your arousal increase tenfold, spine already arching to press your tit against his mouth. 

Joel chuckled, soft brown eyes ticking up to look at your face. “That sensitive?” he said, more of a statement than a question. You found yourself nodding anyway. He thumbed at your other nipple, making it bud against the thin fabric and pulling another whine from your throat. He snickered.

“Don’t tease,” you huffed, wiggling your hips and lightly squeezing his sides with your knees. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” Joel muttered, a smile stretching on his lips as he rolled the pad of his thumb over your nipple again. He placed kisses along your stomach, making you suck in the soft flesh on reflex. His coarse facial hair tickled your skin, making you giggle a bit as he continued to work his way down your form.

“Just wanna taste ya, okay?” Joel asked, his broad shoulders between your spread thighs. His thick fingers hooked into your panties, manipulating your legs so he could pull them off and toss them somewhere in the room. He pressed your legs apart before you could snap them shut, a seed of worry taking root in your mind as you looked down at him.

You’d never been so self-conscious during a hook-up before, but for some reason Joel felt different. Your thoughts were preoccupied on how you looked from his vantage point, if you smelled alright and if anything looked weird.

“Been wanting to taste you all night, ever since I saw you standing up there during that damn ceremony.”

He spread you apart with his thumbs, eyes focused on your already wet pussy as a smirk stretched across his features. He just stared, making you want to crawl back into yourself. Then the feeling of his tongue on your clit makes you forget your worries, your face scrunching as you moaned. Joel hooked your leg over his shoulder, your heel pressing against his back as he pushed your thighs even further apart. 

You couldn’t remember a time when you’d been so soaked before, sticky arousal practically gushing out of you. Joel’s wide tongue licked long stripes up your cunt, careful to practically gulp down everything that he could. He was groaning as he ate you out, his big hands digging into your waist to pull you closer. The coarse hair of his beard was rough against the soft skin of your inner thighs 

“Oh–oh god, Joel,” you sighed, propping yourself up on an elbow so you could look at him. 

Your thighs were quaking, pressing against his ears as your hips twitched. Joel’s dark eyes were hazy and half lidded as he lapped over your clit, working with a focus you’d never experienced with any other man. He looked beautiful between your legs, belly-down on the mattress and still dressed in his button down shirt and slacks. 

One of his hands left your hip, snaking up your stomach to reach blindly until he cupped your breast. He pulled at the cup of your bra, revealing your peaked nipple. The bud was immediately pinched between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch your back as you let out another whine of his name.

Joel dipped down to shove his searing tongue inside of you as his nose bumped into the swollen bead of your clit. A bolt of lightning ricocheted up your spine, a gasp leaving you. It felt so good you could almost cry, your chest heaving and hips clumsily grinding toward his mouth. You were already starting to tremble, pleasure sparking in the pit of your stomach as he mouthed at you. 

And then he pulled back.

“Joel!” you yelped, starting to sit up as your gaze hardened into a glare. Your pussy clenched around nothing, neglected and empty with an interrupted orgasm.

He huffed a laugh, looking down at you as he knelt on the bed in front of you. “You’re right, baby, that’s my name,” he teased, his voice deep and smokey. 

He grabbed you roughly by the hips, pulling so you fell to your back again. “You fucker–” Joel cut you off by pressing the backs of your knees until you were bent in half, a brief show of just how strong he was. His calloused hands gripped the soft flesh of your ass, readjusting you again so the small of your back was propped up against his quads. You’d never been in this angle before, your pussy the highest point of your body as he pushed his forearms against your thighs to keep you still.

Joel’s hot breath washed over your cunt before he delved back into it, greedy as he started sucking on your clit. With the way you were contorted, you were completely helpless, any attempt to move your hips just made your thighs push uselessly against his arms. You were soaking, your arousal dripping down to your asshole as you whimpered pathetically.

He went at a leisurely pace, taking his time to tongue at you and lick long stripes from your perineum to your clit. Your hands were clenching in the white comforter on the hotel bed, your chest heaving. There was something about being completely at his mercy that made your head spin.

You wanted to be greedy, take everything he would give you; but, Joel was in no rush, languidly pressing his face into your pussy despite your best efforts to get him to speed up. 

It was overwhelming in all the right ways, your head spinning as you watched Joel lick at you like he wanted to consume every part of you. Joel cupped your breast in a hand, strumming his thumb lightly over your nipple to keep it stimulated as you gasped. 

You were delirious by the time he sunk two fingers into you, almost making you scream. Joel took a few breaths, his pink lips swollen and shiny with your arousal as he studied your expression. You could hardly think straight, strings of curses mixed with his name falling from your lips as you panted like a bitch in heat. 

The squelching sound of his fingers lazily pumping into your pussy filled the hotel room, loud enough to make your cheeks burn. You wetted your lips, trying to catch your breath beneath Joel.

“So fucking tight around my fingers,” Joel mumbled, the words muffled and wet because he didn’t pull away. It didn’t even feel like he was talking to you, communing with your pussy instead. The praise went directly to your head, making you tighten around his fingers. You threaded a hand in his hair, keeping his mouth pressed against you. “Tastes just as good as I expected.”

“Oh… oh my god,” you breathed, your climax building toward its precipice. 

Joel wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked, just barely speeding up the rhythm of his fingers fucking into you. His thumb on your nipple followed suit, matching the motion as tears filled your eyes. Your fingers threaded into his curls, your brows furrowed as you pulled on his hair. He grunted against you, not letting up as he worked you up toward the edge. 

When you came it was a whole body event. Your legs trembled, hips burning from the awkward angle Joel had bent you into. Your back arched, breath pausing in your chest. Your cunt clenched around his fingers, sucked tight and feeling every inch of them inside you. The pleasure was white-hot as it coursed through you, leaving your nerves buzzing and your ears ringing as your body went limp.

“So pretty when you come,” Joel said, his thick fingers still deep inside you.

You were almost nonverbal, your response a delirious sob as you looked up at Joel with watery eyes. He caressed your cheek, gently stroking your jaw and thumb wiping over your lower lip. You kissed the pad of it out of reflex, the motion making his expression soften for a moment.

Then he started to massage the spongy spot inside of your dripping pussy, making your eyes roll back. “Too sensitive,” you whined, grabbing onto his forearm in a weak attempt to stop him. 

“Trust me, baby, I’ve got you,” he said in that syrupy tone, gaze still locked on your face as you squirmed. He took his hand away from your cheek, holding one of your legs to keep you still as he fucked his fingers into you. “You can do one more for me, right?”

The need to please him made you nod, taking in a deep and shaky breath. You couldn’t do anything but take it, your mouth dropping open and your back arching. The overstimulation made you tremble, your whole body squirming. Breaths kept huffing out of you, your brows pinched tight as you tried to relax. It was hard to think straight, hell, it was hard to even breathe. 

Joel pulled his fingers out of you for a moment to strum over your swollen clit, only touching you with just enough pressure to drive you crazy. He continued until you were straining against him, moaning and sobbing his name. It was like he was carved from stone, hardly giving you any leeway as he kept you in place. The pressure in you built faster this time, it was almost embarrassing how quick he was able to get you to the edge. 

“Joel, Joel, Joel–ohmygod,” you gasped, reaching for purchase against his thigh. His dress pants were soft under your fingers as you squeezed, your body practically vibrating. 

“I know, baby, I know,” he murmured soothingly, pressing a wet kiss to the back of your thigh as his fingers hooked back into you. 

Joel fucked you on them at a ruthless pace as his thumb rolled over the crest of your sex, your mouth opening in a wordless cry as you fell into your second orgasm of the night. You were completely lost, your eyes squeezed shut as your muscles spasmed against the restraint of Joel’s arms. White noise filled your mind, your body melting against Joel’s thighs and the bed as your legs fell open even further. 

He rubbed along the seam of your cunt soothingly, calloused fingers working you through the aftershocks. Your eyes were completely hazed when you looked up at him, splayed on the bed like every bone had been pulled from your body. He looked positively giddy, his wet fingers smearing on your thigh as he rubbed your legs in an effort to help you come back to yourself.

Joel let you off of him, returning your spine to the mattress as he leaned over you to give you a kiss. You hummed into it, smelling and tasting your salty-sweet slick on his lips and facial hair. “Please fuck me,” you begged between presses of his mouth, desperation easy to hear in your tone.

“‘Course I will, baby,” he said, getting off the bed to quickly undress himself. You shakily sat up, unclipping your bra at your back and tossing it aside. 

Joel was impressive, his body rippled with muscles beneath a layer of fat that told you he was eating well. Your gaze dragged down him, mouth watering as you finally saw his cock. It was big, the same tanned tone of his skin with a flushed tip. It jutted from a patch of trimmed, dark hair that was accentuated by the happy trail beneath his navel. You swallowed thickly, pussy clenching at the thought of him fucking you into the mattress.

You kissed him eagerly as he got back on the bed, part of you so desperate to please him. Joel was older than you, so much more experienced, you just wanted him to like you. 

He grunted, curling a hand around the back of your neck to keep you close. His other hand traveled down your body, massaging your hip with his thumb. You were putty in his hands, your own arms in a loop around his neck.

“Lay down,” Joel mumbled against the hinge of your jaw, nipping at the bone. You whimpered, fingers digging into the broad muscle of his shoulders as you complied. Joel ran a hand over you, sliding it down the valley between your breasts and over your soft stomach. 

The backs of your thighs were pressed against his quads as he took himself in his hand, sliding the blunt head of his cock along your pussy. You clenched around nothing, desperate and wanting. “Joel, please.” 

You couldn’t take waiting anymore.

He smirked, notching himself at your entrance and obliging you. Joel pressed and pressed and pressed until his hips were completely snug against yours. He split you in half across the width of his cock, moving slow to give you some time to adjust. It felt like he’d consumed all of the extra space in your body, you even felt him in your throat. 

You breathed brokenly, back arched and hips twitching as you struggled to find a comfortable position. You weren’t a virgin–weren’t anything close to it, really–but it felt just as overwhelming as your first time.

Joel bent over you, his elbows on either side of your head carrying his weight as he ground his hips against yours. His forehead pressed into your shoulder, a heated groan rumbling from his chest. It was hard to make sense of things, rattled breaths filling your chest as your mind whirred uselessly. He peppered kisses over your face, his lips wet and warm as he showered you in affection.

Then he moved his hips, the roll of them slow and syrupy and making you nearly choke. You grabbed at his biceps, an attempt to anchor yourself to him as he started to rut his hips into yours. He made room for himself with every press of his cock, molding you to the shape of him.

Joel collected your leg with a rough hand, pushing your knee toward your chest. He let it come to rest in the curve of his elbow, palm pressed flat to the comforter as he spread you open wider. Your hips protested as he splayed you apart, the discomfort easily taking a backseat to your pleasure.

You keened, mouth falling open as he sank even deeper inside of you. Your breaths came out in little mewls, matching Joel’s grunts as you met each thrust with a weak roll of your hips. His lips were at your throat, sucking more marks into the skin and his facial hair scratching against you. “Goddamn, you’re gonna be the death of me, baby,” Joel groaned into the curve of your neck, still keeping an even rhythm

You let out a breathy laugh–you felt the same way about him. He lifted himself to get a better look at you, dark brown eyes as warm as the summer sun as his gaze drifted all the way down to where his cock was buried in you. He grunted at the sight, pupils dilating like drops of ink in water.

His free hand lifted off its elbow, his weight shifting to one side so he could wet the pad of his thumb with a lick of his tongue. You were making sounds you couldn’t control, each thrust pushing a small gasp from your throat. Then, Joel dropped his hand to your lower abdomen, gently tracing the curve of your belly down into the soft thatch of hair you hadn’t bothered to shave.

A calloused thumb found your clit, swirling over it with a confident pressure in a way that made your eyes nearly roll back in your skull. Joel was pounding into the spot that made you see stars, merciless in his pace. “Joel… oh god…”

You could feel the flutter of your orgasm starting, your legs trembled against his arm and the curve of his waist. You chanted his name like a prayer, overstimulated tears starting to squeeze out of the corners of your eyes and roll into your hairline. He just soldiered on, grinding his thumb over your clit as he worked you higher and higher toward the edge.

A rattling gasp escaped your throat as you pulsed around Joel, your brows pinching and your body stiffening beneath his. You could feel the release from the soles of your feet to the crown of your head, your nails digging into his thick biceps as the flickering pleasure turned into a full on forest fire. You leaned up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him down onto the mattress with you as you held him close.

“Fuck,” Joel moaned into your neck. His thrusts became sloppy fast, his discipline gone to the wayside now that he made you come on his cock. You felt him twitch inside you, his breath coming out in hot huffs against the curve of your shoulder. His hand grabbed your hip, pulling you down to match his frantic thrusts as he moaned your name into your skin.

You wanted to pull his head away from you so you could see how his face looked when he finished. The muscles in his abdomen clenched, his hips grinding tight to yours as he came inside of you. You moaned with him, the feeling of being filled up by him satiating a need you didn’t know you had as you dragged your blunt nails on his scalp.

Joel finally collapsed, the weight of his body pressing down on you as you combed your fingers through his hair. His hips were cradled by your legs, sweat slicking your skin wherever it was pressed together. You breathed against one another, pulling each other close as you basked in the afterglow.

You were sharing the same air, pressing loose kisses to each other's warm skin as you melted into each other for an unknown amount of time. It could have been seconds, it could have been hours.

“We should clean up,” you finally breathed, able to come back to yourself. 

Joel nodded against your neck, you felt it more than you saw it. You giggled after he didn’t move, still leaving you helpless and pinned beneath him. He seemed to make himself even more comfortable, arms constricting around you and face nuzzling closer to your throat.

“Joel,” you chastised, lightly shoving at his shoulder. It was half-hearted and meaningless–you were more than content to stay here all night if you had to.

“I like how you say that, Joel,” he said, mimicking your voice in an annoyingly high-pitched tone. It made you laugh, throwing your head back against the comforter as you shook it. 

He hissed, pulling away from you just enough to prop himself up on an elbow. “You clench around me like a fucking vise when you laugh like that, baby,” Joel muttered, swirling his fingertips over your skin. He didn’t move to pull out of you quite yet, the two of you relishing in the intimacy of your embrace.

A slow smirk crossed his face, his dark eyes flickering back up to meet yours. “Plus, what’s the point of cleaning up if I’m not done with you yet?”

–

Needless to say, you were sneaking out of his room when the dregs of sunlight started streaming through the hotel room windows, sore and exhausted, with his phone number typed into your phone and his hickeys all over your skin.

[bosbas]

Chapter 2: I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 2.0k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, negative self-talk (Colin bby🥺🤏), a small part of the dialogue is in French

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

April 16, 1816 – And of course, one cannot forget to mention Lady Y/N Montclair, who looked like a vision in her emerald dress at the Danbury Ball last night. Her presence seemed to cast a spell over the gentlemen in attendance, and they were practically lining up to engage her in conversation. It was a sight to behold, watching them swoon over her. However, one can hardly blame them, given how effortlessly graceful she was. It appears Lady Montclair will have more than enough gentlemen to choose from this season…

Eloise scoffed and rolled her eyes, the newest Whistledown in hand as she sat on a couch in the tearoom. “My word, if she hadn’t been in Tuscany last season I would think Lady Montclair herself was Lady Whistledown! She’s only been here two days and she’s already been mentioned more than most of the ton.”

Benedict chuckled from his seat across the room, shooting a look at a disgruntled-looking Colin who was trying very hard to make it seem like he wasn’t listening to Eloise reading Whistledown’s account of the ball. 

“I’d wager that Colin is Whistledown, actually. I’m convinced after today’s column,” Benedict said teasingly, taking a bite out of an apple as he analyzed the sketch in front of him. 

“First of all, I don’t even write like Whistledown, which you would know if you read the letters I sent while I was in Greece,” Colin shot back, irritated. “And second, even if I were, I certainly would not have spent two full pages talking about Lady Montclair. I’m sure I have no idea why Whistledown thought she warranted such a large portion of the column today.” 

The words felt bitter and unpleasant in his mouth, and he regretted them instantly. He knew he sounded petulant, but he couldn’t help his defensive tone after last night. Eloise, catching onto Colin’s tone, cocked her head toward Benedict and raised an eyebrow in confusion.  

“She didn’t want to dance with him,” explained Benedict, sounding highly amused about what was one of the more embarrassing things to happen to Colin. 

Eloise burst out laughing. “No! A woman who didn’t want to dance with Colin? Something must be incredibly wrong in the world! How could she have said no to London’s golden boy? And on his first day back! Shall we call for a medic?”

Colin felt the blood rushing to his face and his cheeks warming, not particularly pleased to have to deal with his sister's teasing today. He knew he was being ridiculous, that much was clear. You were only one person who hadn’t wanted to dance with him. But you had just looked so beautiful, and the way your eyes had lit up when you laughed with your brother was so enchanting, that he fashioned himself half in love with you already. 

It was slightly gut-wrenching to know you didn't feel the same way. He must have done something, Colin reasoned. No one had ever not liked Colin simply because of who he was, and he was more than a little concerned that you seemed to be the first. 

Eloise had been joking, of course, when she called Colin London’s golden boy. But it wasn’t as much of a joke as he would have liked. Anthony was a viscount, and Benedict was a successful artist with a painting in the national gallery, but what did he have to offer? He was just aimlessly traveling the world, documenting his travels in a journal no one would ever read. His own family didn’t even read his letters, for Christ’s sake. He was a third son with no talents, and the only thing he could do was lean into his charm and good nature and hope that people liked him anyway. And he had been relatively successful thus far. Except for with you, it seemed.

Noting Colin’s uncharacteristic grim mood, Eloise briefly panicked, wondering if she had gone too far. With a far softer tone, she added, “Maybe her dance card was full, Colin. It doesn’t mean she didn’t want to dance.”

But Colin shook his head, placing his chin on his hand. “I highly doubt it.”

He knew better than to assume the best. He was remarkably skilled at reading people, but even without that, it had not been difficult to tell that you were full of contempt. For him or someone else, he couldn’t be completely sure, but the way you had been laughing and smiling with everyone except for him was a particularly useful hint. 

Before he could dwell further, Violet entered the tearoom. “We’ll be going to Hyde Park to promenade today, darlings.” It was far easier to coerce her children into doing her bidding when she didn’t give them a choice. 

Ignoring their grumbling, she left the room, calling out over her shoulder, “Be ready in one hour!” 

---

Colin had barely been at the park five minutes before he spotted you, and he drew in a sharp breath. God, it was infuriating. You were wearing a cream-colored dress, chatting pleasantly with your mother, and he wanted to scream. Of course, you looked completely breathtaking. It was exactly what he needed when he was already nervous about approaching you. 

During the carriage ride, he had decided to try to speak to you again. To be your friend, at the very least. Perhaps you did not want him as a suitor, but the thought of someone in the ton actively disliking him was nauseating. 

So, he steeled himself, staring longingly at you. Now was as good a time as any because, for some miraculous reason, there seemed to be no men hounding you at the moment. You had separated yourself from your family slightly, silently observing who he could only assume was one of your older sisters and her husband. 

He made his way over to you, hands fidgeting behind his back nervously. Swallowing down his fear, he cleared his throat as he approached you, a soft smile on his face. 

“Lady Montclair, it’s lovely to see you here today. I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot at the ball last night, and I wanted to offer an apology.” Your face was completely blank, not giving anything away, and Colin found himself a tad more nervous than he was when he first walked up to you. “Perhaps we could promenade?” he finished weakly. 

An apology? What on earth was Colin Bridgerton on about? There was no way he’d seen you in the hallway, right? 

“An apology, Mr. Bridgerton? Whatever for?” you asked carefully, not giving anything away. 

Colin cleared his throat awkwardly. He wasn’t quite sure himself, to be honest. “Well, I’m afraid I might have offended you by asking to dance so suddenly. It might have been a bit brash to ask for a dance without a proper introduction first.”

You almost sagged in relief. Your reputation was safe. Though now you seemed irrationally angry, despising Colin for no apparent reason. However, it wasn’t in your nature to make nice with someone who viewed women simply as breeding stock.  

Curtly, you responded, “I can assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, that that did not offend me. Had we been properly introduced, my answer would have been the same.”

“Oh,” he said softly. 

You stared at him blankly, with no hint of warmth in your gaze. Sensing your hostility, he promptly turned away from you, returning to his family. Anger burned in his chest. What the hell was your problem with him? He’d barely spoken two words to you, and you had acted like he had offended your entire bloodline. 

When his anger subsided, Colin had a sobering thought. For the first time in his charmed life, someone simply did not care for him. And the worst part? He hadn’t even caused it. Colin, who prided himself on his charm and wit, found himself in the position of being disliked without cause. 

He suddenly felt very inadequate. It was a foreign feeling, and it settled quite uncomfortably in his chest. If you were determined to hate him, so be it. But to hate him without reason? That, Colin could not agree to.

If you insisted on casting him as the villain in your narrative, then he would play the role with ease. If you wanted a reason to dislike him, then a reason you would have.

You stared after Colin, eyes narrowed. His ability to act like a complete gentleman would have been impressive if it wasn’t so disturbing. 

“Ma grande,” your mother called, coming to your side (My dear). “Did I just see you being rude to Colin Bridgerton? He left fairly quickly,” she scolded gently. 

“Non, maman. Ne t'inquiète pas,” you assured (No, Mom. Don’t worry). Upon seeing her unimpressed look, you switched to English. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Well, you don’t seem to like him very much,” she observed.

You let out a nervous laugh, waving her comment away. “I don’t know him well enough to dislike him, maman!” 

You needed something to distract her from this line of questioning. Your mother knew you well enough to tell when you were lying, and she would be positively furious if she uncovered the real reason why you despised Mr. Bridgerton. 

Fortunately, a distraction arrived by the name of Lord Arthur Barlow. 

“Lord Barlow,” your mother called out excitedly. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing my daughter, Y/N Montclair.”

“Lady Montclair,” he smiled warmly, stretching his hand out to you. “A name as lovely as its bearer, I daresay.”

 “Lord Barlow,” you answered shyly, placing your hand in his. You felt your cheeks heating up as he kissed the back of your hand, and you were taken aback. This entirely charming man had disarmed you completely in a matter of seconds. 

"Lord Barlow, the Duke of Monmouth," your mother announced with a flourish, her eyes bright with approval at the budding acquaintance. "Shall we take a turn about the park? I would be delighted to chaperone."

Subtlety was not her specialty. Or perhaps not her priority. Though you couldn’t really be upset with her, given how good-looking the Duke was. He nodded graciously at your mother and placed your hand at the crook of his elbow, smiling down at you as you began to stroll. 

You were so enthralled you barely registered him speaking. “I hear you’ve got a knack for languages, Lady Montclair,” he remarked, prompting your attention.

“Yes, your Grace. I speak five languages, and read Sanskrit,” you answered dutifully. Such accomplishments were no small feat in the circles of the ton, and you knew it put you at an advantage in the marriage mart.

“Most impressive, indeed,” he answered, his gaze thoughtful. “My brother’s wife is from Prussia, and I’m sure she would love a chance to speak in her native tongue.”

The Duke's boldness caught you off guard, the suggestion of speaking with his sister-in-law a surprising turn. "Oh," you murmured, slightly taken aback by his directness.

 “And what else do you like to do?” asked Lord Barlow, smoothly transitioning the conversation. 

A well-prepared response rolled off your tongue, a practiced smile gracing your lips. “I am well-versed in needlepoint, and enjoy playing the pianoforte,” you smiled. It was what was expected of a young woman of your stature, after all.

Lord Barlow nodded appreciatively, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “And how do you find England? I’m certain you’re missing the Tuscan sun,” he said, pushing the conversation to lighter topics. 

The Duke's engaging manner, paired with the approval of your mother, had utterly charmed you. Engaged by his charisma and easy conversation, you found yourself giggling during your conversation, utterly captivated.

Unbeknownst to you, Colin Bridgerton observed

from afar, his gaze sharp with a mixture of irritation and something deeper brewing beneath the surface. Each laugh, each shared glance between you and the Duke, stoked the flames of his simmering displeasure.

—

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[queenoftheimps]

Artistic Expression as a Form of Love: aka Some Meta About Interview with the Vampire

hey guess who spent all of today putting off a really boring work task

So I'm just suddenly just having a lot of feelings about how love is tied to creation in Interview with the Vampire.

Specifically, each character's artistic impulses and what they say about their relationships, and how they use their creative output as a sort of love language.

From the very first episode, we see hints of this. Miss Lilly asks about Lestat's music box, which plays a song he wrote for Nicholas once upon a time, evidence of his love for someone who's been dead for over a century.

He later writes his own song for Louis, 'Come to Me', and Claudia makes the connection explicit while deliberately poking at him -- he wrote a song for each of his true loves, but does one signal love more strongly than the other?

She's being facetious to prod at him, but the show seems to genuinely make the point that we can track each characters' relationships through the art we see them create.

After all, we see it with Claudia herself later -- even before there's any discussion of becoming companions, we can feel Madeleine's compatibility with Claudia in the way she makes dresses for her.

Madeleine dresses Claudia as the grown woman she wants to be seen as, as she really is, even before she fully understands the circumstances of Claudia's age. It's telling that in Madeleine's dying vision, the one that convinces Louis of her love for Claudia, that Claudia is wearing a dress that Madeleine made for her.

By contrast, we see how Claudia is incompatible with the coven in the role that they have quite literally written for her. If Madeleine shows her love by treating Claudia as an adult, the coven shows their lack of caring by creating artwork where Claudia is forced into playing a part that diminishes her.

In turn, we can see Claudia's enthusiasm for the coven tied into her willingness to perform -- she starts off trying to smile her way through the situation, before quickly growing tired of the performance (and, relatedly, the coven itself).

But then again, how does the coven show its real loyalties? Well, with a painting.

We don't know who painted Lestat (Armand, possibly?), but having artwork of him in a place of prominence is pretty telling. But then again, the theater's creation is itself a reflection of art as a signifier of love & bonding -- Lestat suggests a theater to a lonely Armand as a way to regain a family/coven structure, after the last one fell apart.

Which makes particular sense for Armand, the character who most explicitly equates artistic expression with love and understanding. We see him underline it in his own telling of his backstory -- "No one has painted me in over 400 years." He associates painting with being seen and cared for by his maker --

-- and yet we, the audience, can plainly see what a warped, toxic relationship it was from the painting itself : a whitewashed version of Armand's face that doesn't truly look like him.

Hell, we even see Armand's betrayal of Louis in the form of creative expression -- to quote Daniel, "He directed the play!"

His treason isn't just that he sold Louis & Claudia out, it's that he participated in a creation that would condemn them. Artistic expression shows us love and loyalty in this world, yes, but it can also be used as a tool of abuse or betrayal.

Which brings us to Louis, he who has the eye for art but maybe not the skill for it, who never said 'I love you' to Lestat and wouldn't call Armand his companion, who ultimately gives up on creation in favor of becoming a collector.

It's especially interesting that his abandonment of photography is also explicitly tied to the end of his visions of Dreamstat. Even the one photo he takes that garners praise is one he tries taking of Armand & Dreamstat at the same time -- as if the closest he can get to expressing love through creation is something that blurs the lines between both men he has complicated feelings for. (Note that the scene where he develops the photo is directly after the "Show me the only way you know how to love" sequence of Louis bashing some guy's head into a wall.)

Hell, if we want to take it even further, we can even see some of this pretense in the inclusion of the Fred Stein photos (assuming Armand actually did sneak them in). On one level, we can see it as Armand trying to build up Louis' happiness, but on the other, it's him trying to build up the image of their romance.

After all, if artistic creation is a sign of love -- especially to Armand! -- what does it mean if Louis is openly disparaging his own abilities to make anything at all?

Taking it further, what does it say that he and Armand have a collection of photos of various boys over the years and expensive artwork hanging on every wall, but Louis doesn't seem to have taken any pictures of Armand in almost eighty years?

And hey, speaking of fascinating boys: what does it mean when Louis hasn't made anything creative of Armand since the 1940s, but he has no problem writing a book for ten hours with some guy he picked up at the bar?

Hell, writing a book where Louis spends ten hours talking about his life and hasn't even gotten up to the part with Armand yet? The supposed love of his life doesn't even garner a mention, to the point where Daniel didn't even know he existed when he arrives fifty years later.

And what does it mean when that book you never wrote is a giant hanging thread in your life, enough to create a connection strong enough that you remember that guy fifty years later and go back to that writing it? Even over the objections of the love of your life?

Especially when find out that Daniel's entire writing career is sparked in part by inspirational words given to him by Louis -- a sign of their bond withstanding the test of time, enough to make them friends after a fifty year absence.

That said, if we're working with the idea of artistic expression as proof of connection -- especially when it comes to Armand -- then it also makes perfect sense why Armand would insert himself into the interview once he's been revealed.

Then it's no longer about Louis & Daniel, or Louis & Lestat, it's about Louis & Armand and artistic proof of their connection! They're both now creating a story, a book that will include their entire romance! It's the first time that Armand has had the possibility of being an artistic subject in decades, so no wonder he's quick to latch onto it.

Even then, though: I think it's interesting that when Armand is talking to Daniel alone, the first story he thinks to tell him about is his relationship with Lestat. Make of that what you will.

(Also, I've said this before, but I am very curious what Armand's feelings towards Daniel will be after having an entire book written in which he plays a starring role.)

I think that this is all very rich with subtext and possible further progression, especially since we are about to enter a season where a new book is being written by Daniel and there's going to be an entire tour's worth of music being performed, all of it ripe with potential for further relationship nuance.

And while I don't want to wander too far into book spoiler territory, I think this might even neatly factor into a potential Season 4 -- especially since book fans will know that a specific musical performance is the catalyst for a lot of what happens in The Queen of the Damned.

[hhighkey]

Taken, part 2 // Uvogin, one shot - part of hhighkey's phantom troupe universe series

Rating: mature Story Contains: stockholm syndrome, love??, implied past kidnapping, implied references to depression, suicidal thoughts, unnamed chronic illness, medical inaccuracies, marriage, rough sex, size kink, lots of come im so sorry, manipulation, female reader Note: about 17k words, ao3 link: xxx, link to part 1

The union could never be legal, technically Uvogin didn’t exist, but that didn’t matter. Not to you when he confidently proposed with the biggest grin months after getting you back from Bates, going on a ramble about the thought of you being someone else’s wife terrified him. To him, it furthered his ownership of you, and was another way to show his utmost commitment and love. Not that kidnapping you four years ago was a total display of it or anything… That it took someone else trying to marry you for him to think of it. 

Never sure what to categorize as the happiest day of your life, for now that day took the cake. How even on one knee he was taller than you, a gorgeous ring in hand (you could thank Chrollo for that as you found out later). The idea of being someone’s wife when you were little had been like a dream, you’d always gawk at wedding stores and the dresses on display. It was more of a fantasy to look the prettiest surrounded by even prettier decor, not necessarily about the concept of ‘in life and death.’ After so long with Uvogin you understood that marriage wasn’t about a gorgeous wedding but about the vows and status it brought. Because your relationship with Uvogin was the epitome of together until death. And with each day getting harder to get out of bed, blood painting your tissues after coughing, you realize that death is on the horizon.

However, for the last few weeks Uvogin was doing his best to avoid a certain group. The term ‘bachelorette party’ became a forbidden term to me murmured around him, it’d be a night where he’d have no control. However, three people weren’t letting him off easy as you found amusement in him trapped.

“Fuck no.” Uvogin grunted, eyes tensely looking over the three female Troupe members, “She doesn't leave my sight when I’m not workin’.” 

“It’s a thing Uvo.” Machi said, “You’re not supposed to see the bride a few days leading up to the wedding, especially the night before and day of.”

“Okay so you can have her tomorrow then.” He waves them off, going to grab your arm, but Machi cuts him off stepping in front of you.

“No, you can survive two days without her.” 

“Whaddya wanna do babe?” He focused on you, pretending not to hear the pink haired woman. 

Your mouth falls open as you glance between Uvo and Machi. Your chest flutters with discomfort being in the middle of a strange face-off, where you particularly didn’t want to see Uvogin perturbed with you if you agreed with the girls. “Um..” 

“The four of us are going to do something tonight.” Pakunoda steps in, her voice level like she were talking to an overly large toddler not getting its way. 

“Like what?” 

“None of your business.” She stared at the larger man down. 

“Well Y/N’s my business so, anything she does is my business.” 

“It’s bad enough we can’t force Phinks and Feitan to let us have their girls, but let the poor bride-to-be have a bachelorette party where nothing can possibly happen. Then she’ll be your wife in two days and you can dictate the rest of her life, how about that?” Machi huffs, annoyed, “Go bother Nobu if you get bored but we’re taking her.”

“Yeah, no you ain’t.” He went to push past her, but she shot a hand up pressing on his chest. 

“What do you want to do, Y/N?” Machi asked. 

“I- Uvo I would really like to spend time with them.” With a slowly ticking clock on your life due to the state of your health, you think you should say what you want. For a second you remember, like a little flicker at the back of your brain, times spent with friends shopping, movies, gossiping about boys. Makes your heart yearn for that type of connection again. Clarity seemed to leak into the depth of your mind the sicker you got. 

He frowned at you and time seemed to stop until he nodded, “Alright.”

“That was easy, thought we’d have to steal her in the middle of the night.” Shizuku said absentmindedly, which earned her a few glares. 

Uvo fretted over you before he let you go, fingers prodding along your delicate skin as if you were the most precious treasure, as if you’d break from one touch alone. 

“Behave.” His words come across as a warning but you hear the depth to it, the worry rather than a threat. 

“I always do.” You tease, moving to hug his thick, muscular torso. A small part of you wants him to scoop you up and lock you away with him, your heart beginning to panic at the idea of separating from him. Yet your mind told you to stay strong no matter how badly you wanted to melt right into him. 

Uvogin made a few more tiny threats towards the girls before he finally left, telling you he’d be at the Base. For a moment your chest twisted in pain knowing he’d be hours away, not working. You could survive being without him due to his job, but not knowing he was free.

So you stood in your townhome with Machi, Paku and Shizuku watching you. Sure, you considered them your friends at this point, slowly considered most members of the Troupe your friends. Yet you knew their loyalty to you was really loyalty to Uvogin, the help protecting you, keeping you healthy, keeping you happy- was all for him. While you’re sure they care for you as a person enough to make small talk, you’re Uvogin’s property through and through. But this moment as you debated what to do, made you want to feel hopeful. The three of them didn’t need to do this. It made no sense for them to fight with Uvo for days to let them host something. 

How Machi’s fingers dug into your bicep as you involuntarily took steps forward, 

“Don’t.”

You didn’t know how to be without him. Your body was slowly dying, and not the dramatic bullshit of aging. So perhaps it was quickly dying. The ever exhausting fog you lived in where all you had was Uvogin to care for you. His warmth disappearing from the room settled a chill and awareness. 

Machi has her normal blank expression, but she seems pleased when you nod, “So, what are we doing tonight?”

The looks exchanged made you wary. 

The devilish upturn of Machi’s lips makes you wonder if you should go run back to Uvo. But the part of you, stuck oh so deep down, that couldn’t rebel for years was overjoyed as it wretched its way out. 

“We are going out.”

“Out..?”

“You know, what normal girls do, dress up and get drunk, flirt with men.” 

You cringe at the last part, discomfort swirling in your gut. Normality. Normal girls. You play the words over and over, hearing her words echo as a harsh reminder. But also self reflection as these three weren’t normal either. Farther from it and yourself. Perhaps you nodded, agreeing to the location they wanted, because you’d missed out on so much. Though the sour taste in your mouth lingers as you all get ready as if it were any other night- that everyone in the Troupe was all aware of the fact Uvo kidnapped you. No one told him that he should reconsider, that it’d be selfish. But did you even want that? Would you have wanted Machi or Nobu to tell him to let you go? Because the thought makes your stomach flutter with wrenching nerves you don’t want to think about, as society’s version of normal wasn’t yours. And like that, you snapped back to the image staring back at you in the mirror, the girl chronically ill yet irrevocably in love with someone they shouldn’t be.

You look- strange. Yet you’re taken aback by the beautiful girl Paku had turned you into, makeup breathing life back into your sullen state. A flash of somebody else, a younger version of you reflected, prior to knowing what you’d become and with who. It’s nostalgic almost, thinking about the minimal times you’d gone to a bar with a coworker or an old school friend, how you debated over what to wear or how to do your hair. With Uvo it was simple- he didn’t care what was on your body, or if you had makeup, he controlled everything you could and couldn’t do and it simplified everything. 

The dress fit you like a glove, pushing cleavage up and you wanted to retreat into yourself.

The night sky preys down on you. Buildings feeling like they were closing in, the openness of the town, the fresh air felt like a jail. The fact you were in the open with options was suffocating, but you walked with your arm linked with Paku’s trying to save face. Trying to push down your insecurities and thoughts of Uvo getting angry with you. He’d never have let you wear this, never had let Machi push a shot of vodka down your throat prior to leaving. Thrilling. Yet terrifying. The best way to sum up what coursed through your veins while wanting to turn around at the same time. 

The lack of alcohol the last five or so years was clear, the shot made your cheeks tinged pink and a dazed smile on your lips. You tried hard now to sway as you walked and luckily the cool breeze against you the last few minutes helped to bring you back down. The taste of it was exhilarating- dancing on the edge of inebriation and the thoughts that came with it!

“I- Can’t.” You take a step back, “Too many people- I can’t.”

“Hey- Y/N.” 

You stare at the ground as you stumble back to some steps, letting the cold pavement press against you. Stuck inside yourself as your world spun you began to ramble, 

“I- Only people I’ve been around are the Troupe. No more than 12, never more. A-And Bates kept people away from me. No- No, too many. Feels suffocating, like I can’t breathe.” You look at them with terror written across your face, “Why are you all doing this for me? Because you know I’ll die? Or because you feel bad for me? Y-You know he kidnapped me, I’m not allowed to use phones or see my old friends, my family thinks I’m dead. Yet…” 

Machi crouches down to get eye level with you, “You deserve a night of freedom and fun you should have had. You’ve given all of us more kindness than we deserve all these years. And Uvo has never been happier in all the time we’ve known him. We want to repay it back before you die as his wife.” 

“We’ll take any backlash that comes of this, with your state Uvo wouldn’t dare to upset you.” Paku said, correctly inferring the nagging at the back of your mind that this would make him furious.

“You could get away with a lot more than you realize because he’s terrified of you dying, remember that.” Machi’s intensity bores into you in a way that makes you sit straight up. Either from the fact her nen could kill you in an instant or she was trying to instill you with a backbone. 

“How much longer do you have, Y/N?” Shizuku asked. 

“I… Don’t know.” You push your fingers against your temple, trying to stifle the weight of everything on your shoulders. The sting of the vodka still in the back of your throat, your eyes focused on the heels you wore. 

“A year at most, probably eight months.” Machi replied.

“Why- Why would Uvo be scared to upset me? Hasn’t stopped him before.” You flinch at the reminder of your impending doom, no matter how much you were coming to terms with it; It was Uvogin’s karma.

“With my non-professional medical guess, who's been there since the start, is that there’s so much medicine can do if you’re giving up. Uvo doesn’t want you to want to die, selfishly wants you to hang on for as long as possible even if you’re in pain.”

Oh. It felt like you hit a wall. A harsh wave of soberness and the realization of where you were, “I wondered, why it took him so long to think of marrying me? Did Bates love me more to go through those lengths? What did I do to deserve all this?”

No one spoke. It would have been hypocritical for them to, they were just as big of monsters as Uvo. That they didn’t need you looking at the situation from an outsider’s viewpoint anymore, a discomfort settled within their guts. 

“Can we- still go to that bar?” You ask, breaking the silence you caused. 

As much as you spilled to them unprompted, knowing your words wouldn’t spur them emotionally to do anything, you were always smart not to let anyone in on the doubt you felt. On the anxiousness since Bates, on the second guessing if your emotions for Uvo were real. You knew everyone would take it wrong, that you’d been indoctrinated or rebelling. 

Because hadn’t Uvo washed away every insecurity that made you doubt your love? All this hushed proclamations whilst his cock was buried in your guts. The small touches and the fact you no longer had to lift a finger. His ever permanent seeming presence. Right? Ringing struck up in your ears forcing you to shake it off, Right. Right. No question about it as you stared at the ring on your left finger. You were excited to be his wife, to further cement your love. You had to be. 

“Of course,” Paku said, “Let’s go. You can hold onto us as much as you need.” 

Everything was a blur after they helped you up from the step, urging you to forget about your woes. The line wasn’t a long wait before you’re stepping into what felt like an alternate dimension. Thick sweat-infused-air with the smell of alcohol, bodies shoved like sardines, and strobe lights beamed around. 

Music. Music! Oh it made you sway in utter glee as the bass reverberated in the depth of your soul. You felt like a fish out of water with your fingers intertwined with Paku’s, looking around the room like an awe struck child seeing the world for the first time. 

A glass was shoved in your hand and you indulged, then again, and again. Uncaring for the strength of the liquor or the overly sweet syrups, the taste of freedom was absolutely addicting. How you’d missed alcohol in all this time, you’d beg Uvo to let you drink again. Soon your vision blurred along with your doubts. 

It was tiring always worrying. Always wondering. Being on edge. Doubting. It made you suffocate and being able to let go was pure relief. Giggle and laugh with the three Troupe members like any other friend group would. Even if they weren’t as into or as relaxed as you, watching your every move, you didn’t mind. They were doing this for you.

Any man that approached you was shooed off with a threatening glance from Machi. You were encapsulated in a perfect bubble as you bounced around sucking down another tequila infused drink. Not caring that you didn’t know any of the lyrics because this was music you’d never heard before. When was the last time you’d listened to music? You stop as you warm, bodies pressing to you, and you realize you don’t know. 

You tug your dress further down your thighs, attempting to cover more. You falter in your steps and arms are on your waist in an instant. 

“Ready?” Shizuku stares through her glasses at you.

You nod. Was it late? How long had you been inside the club dancing to your heart's content as your mind went to mush. 

The air outside was frigid compared to your body’s temperature, to the red flush along your skin and sweat beading at your hairline. Hair a frizzy mess. Mascara smeared under your eyes with the glitter from atop your lids. You hadn’t smiled so big in so long, to the point your cheeks ached as you tried to skip along the paved sidewalks, giggling like a madwoman. Pakunoda never let you get far though, listened and responded to your entertainingly slurred words and statements. And how you slowly began to wear down, to slow in your steps as you wrapped an arm around her. Contentment resonated from you. 

They’re on edge first, you not noticing the sudden change in atmosphere. That the aura around you all dropped, anger seething through it. Three forms stood past the turn. One particularly large. 

Uvogin. Flanked by Nobu and Phinks, who looked more annoyed than anything. Yet it wasn’t them that brought concern, because Uvo looked halfway ready to destroy the local buildings. 

“The fuck are you all doin’? Thinking you can take my soon to be wife out to get drunk, take ‘er somewhere I don’t fucking know.” He’s rigid, a murderous aura surrounding him. Muscles flexing as his jaw locked. Oh Uvogin was a big and terrifying man yet you looked at him like the dark, bustling city was naught. 

“Uvo!” You squeal, delighted, your core flush with warmth as you don’t notice his anger. Your thoughts are screaming for him, chanting his name like a prayer because there he is! He’s suddenly in your sights, though you aren’t sure why there’s two of him, but all you want is to squeeze him, take him for yourself. The way his thighs squeezed against the fabric of his shorts you narrowed in on, thinking about running your hands against them, prodding into the skin. Massaging and kissing and moving to his thick co- your core goes warm, such liquid goodness that you can’t fathom being away from him any longer, your daydream making you go numb.

You push off Paku and skip over to Uvo, practically throwing yourself into him. Which he caught you with ease even without prior notice. You nuzzled into his warmth, feeling his calloused fingers run along your arms. You don’t feel how he tugged down your dress as it’d ridden up, or as he checked for any marks. And you certainly didn’t feel the genuine panic, terror past jealousy of you drunk around others. The fear of you out without him. Finding someone else more interesting upon realizing how much he’d taken from you. Living a life that didn’t include him. And if you wanted said life back over what you two built on the cracked foundations only help up on your (possibly) messed up sense of reality. 

“Hi baby.” Uvo said in a fairly choked back tone; his attempt to seem relaxed towards you while he was really seething. In his mind he had to blame his fellow Spiders, that this was on them, not you. 

“Want you.” You whined softly, eyes filled with heated want that bore into him. Your palms flat on his chest feeling his erratic heart beat like it was your lifeline, “Missed you.”

You don’t remember much, not as you swayed in his grasp, vision splitting your environment from doubles to triples. The hazed joy settled into a comfortable exhaustion as your eyelids drooped, uncaring for the voices that argued around you. It doesn’t matter that it’s getting heated, not to you, this night has been better than the stars above. Topped off with Uvogin at the end. As your head falls limp, knees buckling, your last drunken thought is on the wedding. 

Feeling your body beginning to go limp as you mewled into him, Uvo picks you up cradling you into him. Your touch grounded him. Your excitement to see him might have been what stopped a possible massacre powered by his anger and fists alone. You’d missed him terribly even when you had the whole world at your fingers, and he loved that. Filled him with a sense of pride. 

“We’re going.” Uvogin nodded to Nobu and Phinks.

“Good fucking thing I didn’t let my girl come. Will have to tell Feitan ‘bout this.” Phinks grumbled under his breath.

“We’re heading back to Base.” Nobunaga tells the girls, “Come if you want, will be a tight squeeze.”

The group began their departure, silence amongst a still bustling town. Tension thick enough to cut with a knife, trepidation building within a few of the Spiders. Strange looks from some, especially at the large man carrying a girl who looked like she had a rough night out. 

Soon buildings died out. Lights limited. Roads turning to dirt, fences showcasing expansive private overgrown property. Countryside came into view with a car waiting, as Phinks pulled out the keys. For a second they all share uncomfortable glances unsure how they’ll all fit, but one person in particular had a dark cloud above her.  

“Uvogin.” Machi said dangerously low, fists clenched and Shizuku ready to grab her if needed. “How long have you had her now, four years, or is it five? She’s not going anywhere she’s in love with you, as much as she’s able. She doesn’t know how to think without you telling her what to think about, nonetheless run away anywhere. Where would she go? She relies on you for everything and more, you are her life. And she’s happy about it I guess, babbled about you all night. She doesn’t have long and you know it, don’t let her go it’ll do more harm than good but… let her say goodbyes. Proper ones to those you took her from.”  

“No.” He responded without pause, “You’ve gone soft, Machi I’m surprised. I ain’t letting her out my sight from here on out, I’ll let Chrollo know I need a fucking sabbatical or something. You’ll be lucky if I let any of you see her again.” 

“She’d be upset about that.”

“Whatever.” 

“You say that now.” She knew he was bluffing, and of course he was. 

He squeezed your sleeping frame before settling into the passenger seat of the car, keeping you tight to him. He stared at your angelic form feeling his heart squeeze, “Don’t do something like this again. And one day maybe you might understand a sliver of what I feel for her and why I do what I do.”

Uvogin couldn’t fathom missing another one of your breaths. Not a single one. Because from here on out he’d claim them all as his. 

-

This was how it was meant to be- your wedding day- you realize as you stare at your reflection. You remember the attempted one with Bates felt like walking to your doom, while this time around with Uvo? It felt like you were walking through a floralled field surrounded by a thick lavender odor, heading towards the rest of your life. It felt right. 

A white gown flows along your emaciated body that has a faint golden sheen from the joy swirling within you. Excitement coursed in your veins as you finished final touches for your hair and makeup, relying on Paku heavily for assistance. 

It’s Fall, the orange and red leaves falling delicately around you as you carefully walk along a gravel path with grass laying flat from overuse. The cooling air filled with a cinnamon spice odor so acutely that of the lengthening nights as Hallow’s Eve was around the corner. Feeling wrapped in the comfort of your favorite season, a molten liquid spread as you inched closer and closer to the altar. Arm looped in Paku’s, a smile lives etched on your face as tears prick at your eyes, swirling sentient settling within. After much convincing, Uvogin agreed to an outdoor wedding at sunset, not being able to say no to you. The Trope had done an immaculate job at setting up a cozy venue

It was a whirlwind. Walking down the aisle to Uvogin. How he looked at you with misty eyes and utter happiness, looking devilishly handsome in a tailored suit, something you never imagined seeing him in. He towered over you with a powerful aura that made you feel safe. Nothing else existed when in Uvogin’s orbit. How his hands held yours, staring so intently like you were the entire world. That you were all that existed on this plane, that all he wanted was to whisk you away as soon as vows were shared. 

You were always his, but to Uvogin this tied you to him forever. Emotionally linked your cute self to him in a way that meant everything to you, while to him the title of marriage did little to change his feelings. It made your heart swell and your face beam with love, making this worth it in his eyes.  

And it was worth it to see you walking down the aisle to him. His pupils dilated, shoulders dropping, mouth quirked up at the sight of you in a white gown. An angel. His heart soared and he stood a tad straighter beaming with pride. 

Closer. Closer to him. Time seemed to slow as you both became so consciously aware of the other, of how your hearts raced in rhythm combining. Circulating souls, winding and meshing, flowing together like pieces of twine twisting and twisting. Paku handed you off to him and he’s lit with a burning need as your smaller hands slot into his perfectly. A necessity so pure, like a starving man who’d kill for his survival, burn the world to the ground to have you. 

Nothing else mattered besides you; not Chrollo who began the ceremony, not the eyes and pleasant words of the other Spiders and their partners (who stared hopeful at their lovers). 

Only your tears of merriment as you peered up at him like he was your savior, mattered. He was your salvation. The sweet words that left your lips as you cried through your vows with breathy laughs, built him up more and more. Uvogin’s vows were strong, filled with his promises of protection and love, his thinly-veiled apologies for the past and the excitement to continue as husband and wife. 

A faint cinnamon smell wafted on the breeze, heavy earthy-spice amongst the falling leaves. The sun is setting beyond the horizon. Dimming violet skies flourished as the ceremony ended- you in Uvogin’s arms as vows sealed with a kiss. A symphony of harmonious noises blurred out your surroundings, a deafening buzzing that should have made your stomach churn and your instincts blare red. Instead it’s elation that spurred your tunnel vision as you kiss your husband passionately uncaring for anything else. 

Maybe you were too far gone from the clarity you’d had, from the questions of Uvo’s real feelings you once picked apart. All of it drowned and stamped out. Glowing delight crammed into every vein and bone, to your most miniscule of nerves. Plugged up so thick with the taste of Uvogin that you’re almost drunk off his scent alone, off the way his eyes raked along your body. The thought of him looking and touching anywhere else made you want to die. Like he was the oxygen you breathed. A fresh intake of air seeping with amber and intoxicating caramel, the taste of a maple tree’s smoky bark going up your nostrils to the tip of your head. 

Dizzied by his musk. Dizzies as your mind buzzed like a million honey bees flew about in crazed circles. Unable to wipe the grin off your face as Uvogin picks you up Bridal style to carry you off. Marital bliss is already consuming the two of you whole, Uvogin’s aura a violent red as his chest swelled with possession. 

Every inch of Uvogin; from his flexing muscles to his grueling height where his toes tingle with want. He was wounded so tight. Chords pulling and pulling, fraying as they did, and any moment they’d snap. He’d snap. Flustering begins to control him and you can see it in his eyes. The fire. The lust. All of it.

Uvogin wastes no time getting to his corridor of the Base, since everyone wanted the loud man in his own area to reprieve them of his usual antics. 

And he wasted no time placing you on the bed with a thump, your giggles music to his ears. Pure joy shimmered across your features and it had been far too long since he’d seen it. Uvo relishes in it as he helps you out of the wedding gown (tries to help while you beg for him not to rip it). Because for the rest of the night he has plans that will keep you a mess on his cock as you cry and scream for more, drunk off overstimulation, none of your innocent happiness to be found. Only your reliance on him. Your need for him. 

You’re on your back faster than you can blink, Uvogin pulling you to the edge of the bed. On his knees between your thighs you watch him with insatiable lust clouding your eyes, your senses, sending little volts of electricity up your spine as his rough fingers traced the skin of your inner thighs. How he kneaded and stoked, your mewls and constant jerking making a devious look fall over him. 

“I ain’t gonna be nice, gonna fuck my pretty little wife til’ she can’t take it. Then I’m gonna keep going.” His breaths fans along your clothed cunt, your liquids beginning to soak through the white fabric. 

You nod, feeling the numb tingle of anticipation wash over your body. Your mind as if it hung out to dry, lust dulling your senses. 

The sudden onslaught of his tongue has you seeing stars. He knows exactly how to tease your entrance to make you squirm and gasp, knows how you like how he oscillates his long tongue inside you to pull out an orgasm. Stroking your inner thighs so playfully and feather like, 

“Uvo- pl-please!” You beg, fingers yanking at his scalp. You need him like you need oxygen to breathe. Your senses are so dull, the air smelling thick of your juices and sex, a tangy musk that is sweet because it’s because of your love for him that you feel this way.

“Need somethin’?” The vibrations of his deep voice sent shivers up your spine, your mind spinning in lust as with a flick of his tongue, the way it then drags along your folds brings you back to your high. 

Sobbing for him as you snap, squirt dribbles and he laps it up, sucking your engorged clit to make you shake. To make you tremble and jerk and try to push his face away as slurping noises fill the room. 

“Ne-ed you!” You sob, “In me!” Your head is spinning and all you can think about is having his cock stretching you out. 

He relinquishes with a final kiss above your clit, pulling to strip himself of his clothes.

Uvogin is more than aware of the size difference between you two, you’re so small beneath him, just so cute laying in awe at his naked hulking body as his hand goes to stroke his godly length. You’re so tiny, so breakable and while he is always as careful as a man like him can muster, right now all he wants to do fragment you into a thousand little pieces. 

“You’re so damn tiny, wife.” Blood rushes to his cock, hardening it even more as the tip leaks precum swollen and red. The way his hand engulfs parts of your leg as he gropes makes him burn and he knows he can’t hold back much longer. 

“You want this fat cock in your tight cunt? You wanna be nice and full, all stretched out? Gonna take all I give you?” 

“God yes, Uvo.” You keen, “Please, fill me.”

“Who do ya belong to, wife?” His eyes darken as he lines his cockhead up to your dripping entrance. 

You squirm and moan lewdly, unable to focus as pleasure grinds at your core, “Y-You Uvo! My husband, I’m yours- your wife- yours.” You babble as his swollen tip continues to tease you. 

“Cunt is mine.” He thrusts in fully, a silent scream escapes you as your eyes roll back. Uvogin’s cock pulses and he groans in pleasure, muscled legs trembling as his nerves are shot full of an addictive high from your body, “Tits are mine.” He engulfs one of your breasts in his hand, thumb rubbing over a pebbled nipple. “Whole damn body is mine. Your fucking mind is mine, I own you.” His thrusts turn erratic, slapping skin reverberates in the room as your little pussy takes his ginormous size and violent force behind each fuck against your cervix.

Already a mess, you’re easy to move, easy to morph as Uvo adjusts you on the bed. Angle was just right, your ankles held down at your head and his hips just so to drive into you so deep you won’t be able to walk. Your orgasm blossoms as squirt juts from your hole as Uvogin’s long cock spreads you too wide and too deep, the pain electric and overwhelming but your hips shake. 

“You’re so pretty baby, so damn good takin’ me like this.” He grunts, throwing his head back as he continues to fuck into you, his balls slapping against your ass. “I love ya, love how you squeeze me. You want my cum this bad? I’ll give it to you, get you nice and full from it. Take me deeper now, you can do it, yeah?” 

His vulgar words are disoriented in your ears but they make you feel obscene, make you smile sordidly with tears in your eyes, and nod like your life depended on it. 

You’re lost in his wicked aura. Your wedding night lived up to all you would have hoped for it, as your dress lay discarded and you were folded in different positions as your husband drove the both of you to pleasured highs again and again. Heavy spurts of come coated your insides, too much so that it trickled out and painted your thighs, painted the sheets. Again and again he plugged you with his cock and filled you with heavy grunts, letting you feel the hot come shooting out from him for far too long, far too much that you could almost taste it in your throat. He hit every sensitive spot you loved that made you feel mushy and braindead, just a reliant little thing on him. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You could barely hold your head up or moan how much you loved him and his cock. Your eyelids grew heavier, while your body shook from the continued rapture. 

Uvogin kissed you so lovingly, so much so that it hid his true malicious intents you couldn’t understand in your fucked out state, “I got you baby, gonna let me use you?”

You nod. Smile like a drunken idiot, and go lax. You feel every thrust, every pulse and curve of his cock, each slap against your ass, each kiss, lick, grope along every open inch of skin. You knew this was heaven. Heaven as he pushed you to your chest, hiking back your ass and slamming in. Your poor cunt quivered, gaping wide from his girth as his come leaked out, lower tummy inflated and Uvogin watched you with a glint in his eyes, and he couldn’t keep his emotions in. He let out a monstrous roar, one the brute was known for, and he let you take every inch of him uncaring if you broke or said it was too much. But you took it. You always did. Even if your gummy walls tried to force him out, tried to tighten up too much but he’d always push past the defenses to claim you and feel your clamping cunt as it came, as it squirted. And god as he’d toy with your aching clit he’d see you spasm even in your passed out state.

His fingers gripped your hips, they’d leave bruises he’d stare at proudly tomorrow. And he knows more marks will follow, he needs to mark you, to show anyone who you belonged to on all open parts of your skin. Your eyelids were finally permanently closed at this point, once done-up hair a mess, makeup all smeared. Tiny mewls all that escaped your parted lips. Yet your pussy still squeezed him like a vice, milking him for all it was worth begging for more, “Still so fucking needy for me aren’t ya? Don’t worry I’ll fill you all night till I got nothing left, you know your husband will always take care of you.”

-

Uvogin could never help himself when it came to you from the second he laid eyes upon you. His feelings are too intense and overpowering of his superb fortitude, years of destruction and rigidness in his work. And it took awhile the first few months before he took you because he adored who you were, and did not want you to become a shallow version of yourself. But he always knew it was his job to protect you as your friend turned captor, turned partner, turned husband. 

What type of man was he if he couldn’t keep his love safe? He’d spent years diligently watching over you, even going as far as to check your body for harm. Make sure you ate well, slept enough, and had a good amount of things to keep you mentally entertained. He knew you like the back of his hand and it was why he struggled from the start when you couldn’t get healthy. But with his mind set on it, it would happen, he was sure. 

Uvogin wasn’t always suited for tough conversations when it came to you, overall happy with everything. Never complaining about not being able to contact anyone outside the Troupe or go outside without him or an escort. You stopped going stir crazy after accepting your feelings for home were true all those years ago, loving his clingy touches and loud humor. 

But as the weeks went on after the wedding, your state got worse. And so did his helplessness, the gut feeling that he was still not doing enough. His optimism wore on himself as much as it did you. 

Everything about you makes his heart race at such a speed he wonders if one day you’ll give him a heart attack. Simply based on his overly obsessive actions and thoughts, his every waking being is all for you. 

“Uvo, stop it.” You swat at his large hand that held a protein bar, “I’ll just throw it up. Don’t wanna.”

So maybe it was all coming to head after almost two years. Exasperation with the situation that turned into taking it out on the other. More or less you wanted a break from the pity, the treating you like a little porcelain doll by your lover. 

“You gotta eat, babe. Can’t survive off that baby food shit.” He sighed referencing the nasty apple sauces, ground up food into weird shakes that made him gag. 

“Better than nothing.” You murmur, staring aimlessly at the blankets you sat under.

Uvogin ran a hand through his hair, feeling disgruntled by your frail form not even looking at him. He moved towards the bathroom, dropping the bar in the trash. He wants to scoop you up, pin your chest to the mattress to fuck into you to hear you chant his name. 

He doesn’t mean to snap at you. But god he can’t fucking stand to watch what you’re doing, because he’s not stupid. He missed his girl, her smiles and snark, how she’d be equally all over him as he was towards her. His best friend and lover wrapped up in one. While he wasn’t cruel, swore if you were in pain then so was he, but he was tired of this push and pull. 

“You’re giving up.” His words come out harsher than he intended, but the bitterness bubbling up his throat spurred them on.

“Stop.” 

You wipe at your eyes because of the sudden tear that fell down your cheek. His words feel like a painful stab to the gut. 

“I can’t- I won’t watch you die, Y/N. Not even thinking about what this is doing to me. I can’t be without you.”

Anger filled you but you couldn’t breathe, dry heaving through your sudden sobs that hit you like an avalanche, “Doing to you? I’m the one dying, Uvogin. I’m the one in pain every day and every breath.”

He flinched at the usage of his full name. 

“Let me die, please it hurts so bad and I have fought. Fought for you, for us but I’m so tired. You need to let me go so you can move on with your life rather than be stuck as my caretaker.” Desperation laces your words, all you want is for him to hold you in his arms. Not for him to stand by the door with a faraway look. The sorrow on his features and the regret swirling in his eyes. You know he’s hurting, but this is destroying you.

“Is that what you think?” His fists clench, muscles going taut as they strain against his shirt, “That you’re a burden? That I’m better off without you? I take care of you because I love you, not out of some stupid fucking caretaker duty I’m obligated to.” 

“But aren’t you? You are the one who kidnapped me, you have to care for me or throw me to the curb if I’m not fulfilling my duties.” You spat, and you don’t regret the words as they slap him in the face making it twist in a dark glare. 

His brows pinched together, lips purse as he exhaled jadedly. The fierce mocking chuckle spewing out made your blood run cold, “We going there?”

“Maybe we should. We never have properly, always joking about it because it worked out for us. I downplayed what you did because you always respected me, kept me as me. Didn’t force me to fuck you, or be with you. And we always had amazing rapport even before that.” The aggravation of talking to him like he was a non-receptive 8ft plus wall made you want to rip your hair out. Not a flash of any emotions on his face leaving you to reel and second guess. 

“What’s the point of this babe? Gonna start throwin’ shit at me again? Begging me to let you go?”

“No!” You sit up straight, rolling your shoulders back feeling frustration and the sudden want to rip your hair out, “I love you. Only way I’ll ever want to leave is if you no longer feel the same, or if you hurt me. But jesus Uvogin, put yourself in my shoes even with your limited fucking ability to empathise. Because sometimes I wonder if you love me the way I love you, or if I have fucking stockholm syndrome!”

“What do you want me to say?” 

“The truth, how you really feel.” You press, almost as if you wanted him to snap. You’re tired of half truths, of him dumbing everything down like you’re a child.

“The truth?” His eyes narrowed as his chest thumped, felt like his insides were turning inside out in absolute agony, “Truth is I feel fuckin’ useless and you no longer care about living. You are leaving me, you’ll be dead. And now I’m hearin’ you think your feelings are fake? What a fucking time this is.”

“How am I supposed to not die, Uvogin? Tell me. I sleep all day, take handfuls of pills, IV for fluids. My body is rejecting it all and you don’t care that I’m in pain, you care more about having me around so you can get off.”

An explosion of red aura escapes him with a growl, his fist coming down on the closest piece of furniture. You gasp, heavy sobs returning as you recoil in ear. Realizing what he’d done, he tried to approach you, but you cried for him to stay away. Fear. Dizzied confusion written on you and Uvogin doesn’t know how to take it away. Not even the first few months after taking you, had you looked at him like that. And it made him want to die. 

“Y/N, M’sorry. Fuck. You’re my life, I love you. You aren’t some fucktoy to me, you’re the reason I breathe. And I’m so scared of the day I gotta live without you. It’s no excuse, but please. Would never hurt you, you’ve gotta know that right?”

You stare at him. Blank. Fingers gripping the blankets you used as a shield until your  knuckles turned white. Wet streaks falling down your face, off your jaw staining the fabric. 

“By begging me to stay alive… You are hurting me.” You whisper, but he can hear. 

“Fine,” He growls needing to leave your presence before he lashed out more, “Then you got my fucking permission to die, wife. I’m done.” 

He spares you no other glance as the door slammed behind him. You’re left trying to pick up the pieces, pick apart his words. Unable to hold back the flood of sorrow that seeped out, hysterical, airy cries as you heave. Pathetically quivering as you hugged yourself, slowly rocking back and forth atop the bed as it sets in. You think he means he’s done, he doesn’t want you, this is him washing his hands of you and your fate. 

You call for him, his name falling onto nothing, sniveling and blubbering like a mess. The air suffocates you, thick as it wrung you out. Dull skin prickling like a thousand needles inserting within you. Searing pain behind your brows and temples as it felt like your head was being crushed as your eyes went puffy and red.

Stuck in limbo staring at the wall. For months you’d been living under pitying glances, careful words, and locked up in an ivory tower of protection against the world. Even yourself. 

Your actions not your own as you move like a woman possessed, a ghost haunting the halls of its resting place. How you dressed for the colder weather outside the Base, discarding the disaster of splintered wood Uvogin left during his outburst. You moved with whimsical intent and glazed over eyes. In a trance as you padded along the eerily quiet halls then the main room, not a Spider in sight. Not that they could have stopped you, or even noticed as Uvogin’s screaming caused them to scatter. Pity as they had no choice but to listen as his deep voice echoed through every cranny spewing hurtful words.

Nobody stopped you as you opened the door to the outside. As you stand in the doorway contemplating stepping out, you realize it’s the first time you’ve been able to go somewhere without permission, with your own autonomy. With that you leave, crossing an invisible boundary that leaves you feeling lighter.

You walk, slow, stumbling as your lungs struggle to adapt. 

Unable to get far, you collapse unto a patch of grass, overlooking an expansive patch of trees overgrown with weeds and vines. 

On replay in your mind is the fight you’d just had with Uvogin, how his words sliced you deep. How he struggled with your pain, and how you spent too much time keeping your thoughts from him to ease his own. A selfish feat. But they were fearful, self deprecating thoughts that plagued you day in and out. The heaviness of accepting an eventual death that could be at any turn. The realization of your complacency and how the doubt Bates’s kidnapping of you set a spiraling turn of events. That you doubted your love feeling anxiety over his touch or telling him those three words- and how it made you selfish. More than ever. That you now saw Uvogin’s actions in the evil, manipulative light they were, and you did not care. Not anymore. His charismatic, strong nature over you was irrevocably his property, his wife, and this would have happened kidnapping or not. 

The cold, you feel yourself becoming one with it as your shallow breaths exhale fog around you. Your body feels numb as your pulse slows at an alarming pace. It’s comforting, serenely quiet before a high pitched noise sounds in your ears. The scenery is beautiful, you admire it as your eyelids droop, this was a good place to pass. To rest. The sky so blue, the sun high and bright, alluding to a perfect Summer day yet you shiver from the almost freezing temperature. 

You hear footsteps approaching and you hope it’s Uvo, that he’d get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness, that he’d make it up to you. But it’s not and you almost laugh, maybe he really did mean he was done with you. 

“Chrollo?” You jolted back to reality at the sight of the Phantom Troupe leader, at first having thought the figure was imaginary. In all these years you never conversed much, Uvogin having said the passing of his wife permanently altered him. 

“Y/N, dear.” His tone is gentle. He approaches and you see the heavy coat and blanket he carries.

“Don’t.” You stammer, “I’ve made my choice, I ask you to respect it. Just make sure he’s okay once I die. I used to think he deserved it after everything, after taking me but- god,” You let out an insane sounding laugh, “I don’t want to leave him, but I can’t live like this. Coughing up my lungs, blood, always tired, unable to eat. My body is giving out on me.”

“When I lost her, I thought my life was ending.” Chrollo laments, closing in on you to wrap you in the warm fabric. He takes a seat beside you, “It did. I’m forever stuck, unable to move on. And truly? I am okay with it. But there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for any members of the Troupe so they never have to experience the magnitude of losing your wife.”

“I understand but-”

“I want you to tell me what it is you truly want. If you could have one wish.”

You respond instantly, not needing to think of your answer, “To be healthy and live the rest of my life with Uvo.”

“I’m glad to hear that. I believe you.” Chrollo sighed, “I wanted to respect your wishes but I had a feeling you were accepting the path of a martyr as all roads appeared exhausted. I found someone, a skilled doctor from another continent who has treated and helped patients with symptoms similar to or more extreme than yours. He likes the challenges of strange chronic illnesses.”

You straighten, an invisible weight feeling like it’d been lifted off of you. Your mind is short circuiting however, as if you’d been unplugged. You’d had to come to terms with your impending doom after a multitude of medical avenues were taken at no expense. But Chrollo’s outreach must have been intense, it must have taken ages to discover if you’re only now hearing of it. 

Hope rushed into you. A re-ignited fire burning bright within, making the idea of living another day plausible. Something you wanted. 

“Does Uvo know? Where is he? He left me I… Thought he was done. That he didn’t want me-”

“I sent Feitan to find him, I wanted to talk to you first. The doctor is already on his way. I did not want to waste time if you agreed. And if you truly wanted to rest for eternity, I’d have sent him back.”

“How.. But the Troupe- please don’t kill him after.”

“No, it would be a waste. He is miniscule as a threat to us, I actually thought him to be dead all these years. I knew him briefly in Meteor City, he would come to treat the children.”

“Ah.” Knowing the doctor wouldn’t die for helping you released you from any possible qualms you’d have had, “Chrollo?”

“Yes?”

“I appreciate it, and I apologize for making you come out here.”

“Do not. Uvogin should be the one apologizing to you.” Chrollo stands with ease, then helps you stand, “I wouldn’t let him off easy, while we all deal with things in our own way, he’d have always regret walking out on you if it were the final time. We should never take time with our loved ones for granted. I am only glad I could find a possible solution for you.”

You’re swelling with appreciation, genuine happiness that you don’t think you’ve felt since the wedding. And before that? Prior to your initial pneumonia diagnosis almost 18 months ago. And definitely prior to Bates. With the burst of joy through your veins you want to throw your arms around Chrollo and thank him profusely some more, but that’s not something you’re physically capable of. Your legs can hardly hold you upwards as you two walk, him having to keep a firm grasp on your waist and arm in case. Slowly the path turned into the walkway for the Troupe’s base, the walking time taking practically double what it should have. But that’s okay, you’re too filled with ambition dreaming about having a normal functioning body once more even if Uvogin still wants to be done with you. 

Your teeth chatter, tips of your extremities a bright red from the chill. Unable to stop shaking even from the sudden heat inside. 

Chrollo helped you into your bed in Uvogin’s room, telling you he’ll have Machi swing by. The warmth of the room and the mound of blankets covering you, it’s suddenly easier to sleep than ever. For now you let yourself dream about good health, about treatments working, but still worry scraped the back of your mind when it came to your husband. Burning deep in your gut at the thought of your vows meaning nothing. As you begin to drift off–  

You hear a deep voice yelling laced with panic. Uvogin sounded ready to rage, to throw furniture across the room, you could picture the anger radiating from him through his tone. Because his words are hazy to you, and even as the door bursts open you’re unable to look. The feeling of large hands combing along your cool skin was the last thing you felt before falling into darkness. 

Uvogin shudders in relief as he watches your chest rise then fall. Your wind stained cheeks still pink as his thumb dragged along your face. He’s coming down from an intense adrenaline fueled high, his heart hammering in his chest ready to burst. How angry he’d been as Nobunaga followed hot on his trail attempting to put reason into him. And how Feitan appeared out of thin air with a look mixed with pity and contempt, saying Chrollo needed him for an emergency. How his stomach dropped filled with nauseating butterflies as his mind jumped to you, that him storming out left you vulnerable. That you fucking died somehow, as he’d let you think he was done. His selfishness towards his lack of control wracked him with guilt as he raced back to the Base. 

But instead Chrollo awaited him with a stern lecture even as he tried to push back yelling for you, body screaming for you to be against him. Yet Chrollo sat there amused over his idea to let Uvogin’s thoughts run rampant to a worse case scenario, sickeningly wanting him to feel the sorrow, the agony of losing you to get it through his thick head this wasn’t all about him. Then the leader informed him of the doctor on his way, giving one final effort to help you. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

Uvogin repeated as he pressed wet kisses to your skin, inhaling your scent like it was his own personal drug. His addiction to your frame in his as the bed creaked when he joined you under the blankets. 

How tiny you are compared to his monstrous form, precious and fragile as you subconsciously nuzzled into his warmth even in a half conscious slumber. He can feel all the cold that rattled you melt from your body due to his own heat, how you no longer shuddered as you fell further limp with relaxation. Little mewls escaping your lips. The jerk reaction of your leg twitching as you murmured something under your breath. Not quite actual words but always made his lips quirk. 

“Uvo?” You exhale with a smacking of your lips, a whimper as you attempt to shift. Arms and legs trembling as you stretch out waking from your quick douse of sleep, “You’re back?” 

Your delicate lashes flutter as you languidly look about. 

“Do… You still want me?” 

Oh his heart shattered from your frail words as you rubbed at your eyes, eyes glittering from the wetness in your lash line. Your bottom lip trembling that all Uvogin can do to show you his devotion is press a chaste kiss to you. 

“Always.” He grunted before deepening his lips against yours with force, slipping his tongue inside your mouth to taste and to claim. 

You gripped his bicep, head spinning from the suddenness of his stealing your breath. Now suffocating in his warmth, his scent, and his touch as you lose yourself in the pleasure running down your spine. Emotions all over. Anger at him for leaving, for yelling. Relief he’d come back. His hands roam underneath your clothes to lay ownership over your body, a heavy groan vibrating into you as he tugged you closer. If it were even possible. He’d tie you to him if he could, keep you glued to him, be inside you to be molded as one. 

As you become more aware, your feelings of betrayal towards him coming back, you push on his pectorals. And when he doesn’t budge you push again harder, words laced with venom shooting from your mouth. 

“I want you off me.”

He looked like a kicked puppy, surprised as he pulled away. Someone so big with his bulking muscles looked like he wanted to shrivel up before he regained his senses, then attempted to entrap you in his arms.

“You don’t get to crawl into bed and kiss me after what you said. Would you have come back? Would you be this happy if Chrollo didn’t tell you about the doctor?”

“Baby.” He murmured miffed as you squirmed from his grasp, “I-”

“He found me outside, I was so cold and lost, going to just die there.” Uvogin’s face twists to something unreadable and devastating, but you continue, “He asked me what I wanted. If I would accept help from one last doctor, it would be okay if I said no. Uvo I’ve had to come to terms with all of this on my own, you’ve always been so convinced it would be okay. But don’t you understand we were out of options? We have limited time, all I wanted was to rest, to enjoy whatever I had left with you. Yet you storm off. I know it’s been taxing for you but I have tried so hard to stay alive.”

You don’t want to cry, you don’t want him to see you suffer more. You get up from the bed, seeing how his arm twinged as he held himself back from grabbing you, Uvogin was smart enough to understand times you needed autonomy to stick it in your head that you had a semblance of control.

“And I am going to do whatever it is this doctor wants to try, but if it doesn’t work you need to accept that I’m letting fate have its turn with me.” 

It felt like an eternity as you and Uvogin stared into the depths of the others eyes, watching every movement the large man could make. The apprehension in his body language as the gears turned in his head put you on edge. For he was stubborn. 

“Alright.”

Alright. He says it like it’s a defeat but offers a faint smile to follow it up. You sigh from the comfort it brought you, physically allowing your shoulders to relax from where you stood. The bed served as a thick barrier between you physically, but the expanse there mentally was like a cavern. 

“Uvo.” You sniffled, lips quivering as the necessity for him brought you to tears. But you couldn’t, wouldn’t as you remembered his words from earlier.

“C’mere baby.” 

“No.” 

He says nothing though you have ideas what he’s debating doing. 

“I can’t. Not after what you said. How willing you were to tell me to die, then walk away.”

From words spoken out of quick anger, Uvogin watched as the relationship cultivated between you two seemingly came crashing down. A thread wound so tight, pulling and pulling for months, finally snapped. And he knows he needs to patch it back up as quickly as possible, get you back into his orbit. 

He groans into his hands, pushing against his cheeks running his fingers against his skin down to his jaw, eyes moist. An incredulous look flashed across his face as his mouth opened then closed, then opened back up to speak but with no words to follow. 

A standstill, you wipe at your tears, “I think we need some time apart.”

“No. Absolutely not, you’re out your fuckin’ mind if you think I’m leaving your side.” From confusion to immediate discontent, his chest overflowing with annoyance at your stupidity thinking he’d give you space.

“But you did. Earlier.”

Uvogin had nothing to retort back for once as his brows pinched together. His thick fingers flexed as he focused on containing his growing temper he felt towards himself, the divide he put between you two. 

“And I fucked up. Got no excuse for my behavior besides I was pissed, I know I’m big and breaking shit around you isn’t the answer. Walking away won’t fix it but I had to leave before I did anything I’d regret. Couldn’t scare you further or risk hurting you. The thought of me being the reason you’re ever hurt makes me fucking ill, I’d rather break every bone in my body. I love you, and I’ll prove it to you every single day over and over if I gotta. But I’m not giving you space.”

It’s the most genuine apology that’s ever left his lips, has you warm inside and brain flitting to accept immediately. You see and hear the regret, it pulls at your heart making your stomach flutter with butterflies. He knew exactly what you needed to hear but this time around he said nothing he didn’t mean in an attempt to sway you back into his arms. He was a truthful, passionate man overall, only straying when absolutely necessary in keeping you happy with him. And he sees you perk up. Knows he’s got you.

“I’ll hold you to that.” It’s hard to hide the twinkle in your eyes, the involuntary upturn of your lips, or your reddened face because of him. How you know you’re giving in to him too easily and that you should make him work for it more. Get on his knees and beg, maybe do a few things while down there too. 

Because against better judgment you’re across the room and straddling the expanse of his large hips. Your lips desperately pressing into his uncaring for the way your lungs throbbed within you, not until you’re pulling back. A coughing fit comes over you, heavy and mucus filled, from the depths of you making you shudder. Uvogin holds you, petting your back as you hack against his chest. Burning. You felt so hot it was almost unbearable as the intake of any air was torturous for your frail body. 

He sighed into your hair, listening to your erratic pulse, “My sweetest girl. I got you. No matter what happens with this doctor, I’m here.” 

And you believe him, whether or not out of necessity. It doesn’t really matter anymore. 

You fall into a strange cycle with him the following days. Uvogin becomes your ever present, ever hovering gigantic shadow that moved precisely when you did. His intense gaze feels like a permanent fixture upon you, watching, assessing every move you made. From the food you consumed so that it was up to his standards of health, to taking over shaving your legs, to not letting a single person touch you besides himself… It brings you back to the first year you spent with him before the relationship blossomed, to how robotically he controlled your life. 

Pieces of you wanted to brush him off, punish him as exasperation boiled within you. Unable to push his hands away without a glare. His gigantic form pressing against you constantly.

But this was different, you had to believe so. He was scared to lose you. Bad enough you wandered outside with him knowing because he stormed off, almost leaving you to freeze to death. So day in and day out you're met with an onslaught of kisses and tender touches along with his over-protective barrage. In your soul you feel it though, the light at the end of the tunnel slowly approaching. Just what that light was- you weren’t certain.

-

Two weeks later on the dot does Chrollo arrive with the mysterious doctor in tow. You’re nervous sitting atop the table in the small infirmary in the Troupe’s basement. You remember the medicinal scent from the one other time you’d been down here and it makes you squirm, palms sweating as you fiddle with Uvogin’s fingers. . 

Uvogin had pulled a chair to be beside you, a large hand engulfing one of your own as the doctor carefully looked you over, taking vitals, and a few vials of blood. You’d pouted at the sight of the needles, begging Uvo for some help which only brought a wicked grin to his face. You knew he liked how hard you’d squeezed him as blood was drawn, making a face at the nauseous feeling it brought. He’s trying so hard to keep your spirits up and you daresay it’s working?

Things had been strange, more tense in some ways, Uvogin seemingly walking on eggshells around you. Scared to upset you. Overly doting if that were even possible for the clingy man who would choose to spend time with you over Troupe business. (Which took you far too long to realize how serious he was the first time he told you that.)

“I’m going to run these tests I need real quick. I need to be able to count out a few possibilities to confirm what I think our path is. My nen will speed up the process so sit tight.” The doctor, who was a short man with an overgrown beard, said offering a kind smile. 

“Thank you.” You take a sharp breath in and glance at Uvo. The door clicked close, leaving the two of you to sit in heavy silence.

You watched him slowly kiss your knuckles one at a time, expelling the unruly feelings of obsessive jealousy coursing through him. His overly possessive nature regardless of your health, hated the doctor’s hands on you. Was grounding himself as his lips dragged along your skin, “Feeling okay?” 

“Nervous. Hated describing everything I’ve dealt with, though I know he needed to hear it.” You sighed. The insurmountable effort to get out of bed each day was wearing you down, at this point you’re surprised you’re able to at all. Mornings begin with faint cries and whimpers as Uvo helps you up. Then you stay placated in the same spots, droning away at whatever is shoved in front of you. And night time was when your bones could relax and mind could have its reprieve from the constant synapses shooting aching pain through you. 

You didn’t speak much as butterflies spurred from Uvogin’s invasive touching, continuing to claim parts of you as his own as you wait. But there was a twisting past the sparks he made you feel, one dreadful and sickening. A wandering mind down alleyways of deceit telling yourself there’d be no magical cure or good news; that you’d spend your remaining time wasting away in suffering. 

Eventually the door creaked open and the doctor strode in, head stuck in a clipboard, “Alright.”

You’re sitting straight, electricity shooting through your spine. Uvo tenses next to you, his grip on your thigh tightening ever so slightly.

The diagnosis was in the air of what you’d expected. Pneumonia from the time before Bates kidnapped you never properly healed. It expanded into more. Your respiratory tract was giving up and the rest  of your body did too. It wouldn’t be long before you’d begin coughing up blood per the doctor, the statement shaking you to your core.

“I see antibiotics have not done much, which are always the first line of defense. Which I believe a more aggressive track should be taken.” 

“And what is that?” Uvogin asked in a low voice, fringing on threatening. 

“I would like to put you into a medical nen induced coma.” 

“No.” 

“Uvo.” You grab his wrist as a silent plea, “He’d know better than us on treatment.” 

Your insistence has Uvogin backing down, as in his body physically relaxing. His muscles twitch in the arm you grasp. 

“I have seen and treated 3 cases of hemoptysis or pneumonia successfully this way. And have studied cases of past colleagues too. We are in the unique situation where my nen would be the driving factor rather than what a normal hospital would use. Your body would be given complete rest, no need to fight each day to walk or eat, or even rest. It would give your white blood cells the ability to fight this intense infection. This has turned a lung infection into something chronic, this is the only route that makes sense to take.”

“How long will the coma be for?” You race to articulate your swarming thoughts. They’re all jumbled due to your lack of medical understanding and the fear seeping in. But between you and Uvo, you need to be calm so he is. Because when it came to you, any sense went out the window. 

“Two weeks. But I would be able to tell from test results if you’d need longer. Then afterwards for 3 months there’d be a strict regimen of pills.”

You take a deep breath in, “And if this doesn’t work?”

The doctor gives you a solemn look, which you understand, “Then we’d want to make you comfortable.” 

It was a scary thought. Going to sleep and not waking up one day. One that you’d rather prefer than a malicious death, like torture at the hands of Feitan. While you feel confidence in this doctor, in that you’d wake up from the nen coma, it’s what comes after that makes bile churn in your gut. 

The doctor wants to put you into the coma pronto. 

Uvogin wants to argue, you see the fire in his eyes, the desperation on his face. The silent anger vibrates in him as he wants to scoop you, his wife, up and leave. His silent pent up feelings of failing you coming to the surface. 

He holds your hand as your body goes limp. The pink glow of the doctor’s nen cocooning you inside, not allowing Uvogin to touch you. He hates it. 

The days go painfully slow. 

An hour felt like twenty. 

The first week felt like a year. 

Uvogin was more combative than normal, aggressive with his words when he used them. Abnormally quiet but everyone knew to steer clear of him. Leaving your side was an absolute no-go for the large man, needing to watch every delicate breath to prove to himself you’re still breathing. 

If someone like Uvogin was truly capable of true self reflection- he probably would have during this time. Sure, his mind occasionally filled him with doubt, if his life choices were some fateful cause of your doom. Much like his thoughts had when Bates had you, at least this time he had his eyes on you. 

When the second week finally came to an end and the doctor confirmed it was safe for you to be woken up, that your vitals showed drastic improvement, Uvogin was elated. 

How endearing it was as you whined, eyes fluttering as you struggled to wake. Limbs heavy as you reach in the air through blurry vision, attempting to claw at your face. How you mewled for him relishing in his suffocating touch, fueling his protective instincts more than ever. 

You properly wake to lips against your own, stealing your breath before moving to your jaw. Through heavy eyelids you can make out the side of Uvo’s head, then threading a hand through his wild locks. You can feel his burning lips kissing, the nipping down your neck as he sucks the delicate skin between his teeth to leave marks. A fast sigh of pain leaves your lips as a jolt inside you grounds you to your surroundings. 

“Uvo?” You croak, voice betraying you as it doesn’t sound like your own. Throat dry and hoarse, it hurts to speak so you don’t. 

He doesn’t respond to you right away, Uvogin groping and squeezing at your skin. Swirling heat envelopes your weary limbs, sweat pooling along your hairline as your core goes flush with molten liquid. Sleep still dragged on your eyelids. You could barely move your own legs from the exhaustion and traces of medical nen pricking along you.  

Your legs move, Uvogin spreading your thighs wide. The bed creaks as his weight presses on it. His body exudes searing heat. Burning you as you squirm and mewl about the heavy fog weighing down on you. Chest heavy, heart hammering so much that you hear the blood pounding in your ears as you swallow in anticipation. 

The feeling of your nightgown hiking makes you gasp. Your panties peeled off your form felt like jabs of knives down your numbly tingling skin. 

Uvogin’s thick cockhead prods at your folds, “Fuckin’ hell your soaked. Thinkin’ of me in your dreams?” He chuckled cruelly. 

You whimper as a moistness between your legs fill you with shame, his words only prodding it further. 

Mind lit in static fire, blue and orange with smoke paralyzing your brain as your hips jerk to meet his involuntarily. Body blistering from head to toe, confusing lust settled in you as you feel a pained stretch through your smoky mind. 

“Fuck you’re tight.” Uvogin grunted as he sank his cock further. 

He’s splitting you apart. You cry out, a ghastly moan as your walls spasm around the large length forcing its way in. Dazed and overwhelmed. Impossibly full before you could properly register you were even alive. That you’d been in a coma for two weeks. That now, your poor cunt was shoved full of cock and your stomach expanded as Uvogin grunted with each vicious inch he pushed further in. Fingers seized at his biceps nails drawing blood, toes curled as your legs trembled with feathery pleasure whilst all you felt was unnatural. 

You’re being pushed and pulled every which way, caught in a dangerous undercurrent that shows no reprieve to let you swim upwards. Extraordinary pleasure blossoms within you, petal by petal unfolding and its bright colors glimmering in ecstasy. Ecstasy that choked you up to where you couldn’t breathe as tears brimmed at your eyes, desperately trying to gain senses.

Uvogin began to fuck into you slow, uncaring for the lack of prep, primarily driven by his insatiable want for you. Driven by the fear over your health and his lack of control. That shoving his cock into you to feel your poor gummy walls squeeze the life out of him, settled his churning emotions. That the incessant burn of anxiety in his chest was being snuffed out, and all because the electric pleasure of being one with you brought him. 

“Uvo!” You cry so sweetly for him, all hoarse and face filled with confusion. He was your lifeline in the storm. A storm he brought upon you. One that lifted you and dropped you as his cock hit your most sensitive spots, nestling up against your cervix only to pull out and thrust in again. 

Your lust filled whimpers only grow as Uvogin manhandled your thighs further apart, resting them on his biceps as he towered over you. His thick muscles corded with each push to the hilt of his hips flush to yours. Smacking of skin filled the dry air, your pain still twisting with rapture as his name repeats off your tongue. 

He leans to capture your lips, an inhuman-like groan from the back of his throat tickles your ears. It was one of desperation, higher pitched and letting you see him with shields down. His gigantic body practically trembles upon you as he picks the pace up, pistoning his hard cock over and over, and over. Mind blurring. Squirt dripples from your abused hole as you reach your high through a giant wave of pleasure. 

“Missed you.” Is all he moans. Again. And again.

Your arms move around his neck, legs attempting to wrap around his expansive waist. You can’t imagine him being any further, needing him closer, even closer than the part of him inside you. Because as you blink furiously, registering in your post orgasm haze, about the medical nen coma. That you don’t know the state of your health or the day of the month it is, instead all you can feel is your husband’s cock burying deeper into your guts like he’d never get to again. Overstimulated and too full, Uvogin roared as he came feeling your perfect velvet walls so tight, his vision whiting out. The way the bulge in your lower tummy inflated, the way he re-hardened in seconds to empty you to slam back in. A silent scream all that escapes you.

Fucking through each other’s highs there was nothing you could have ever wanted more than him like this. Maybe you would have wanted him to wake you properly to meet with the doctor to know whether or not you’d live or die. But you’d take this heated moment as you lose your mind as he fucks your sensitive nerves and toys with your clit, murmuring loving yet intense proclamations into your ears. 

Blissed-out face. Uvogin’s eyes burning into yours. Sweat falling from your foreheads. Cries of love. Heavy breaths. Electricity swarms you two, bodies lit in flames of passion and his possession over your body, mind and soul. As he comes again, letting your tiny cunt greedily take his warm seed, your chest sores and a pathetic smile tugs at your lips. You’re babbling incoherent words. Letting him grope you and kiss, and nip and play with your most sensitive areas even as you cried for a reprieve. His come leaked from your folds, an intense river of the warm seed trickling down to the bed, leaving you oh so empty from it and the aftermath of losing his cock. You cried for him to go back inside, that you needed to feel close to him to be one with him. Your hips bucked and jerked as tears fell, pitiful pouts before he laughed.

He sucks and licks along your cunt, slurping your juices and his own seed. Playing with your sensitive and enlarged clit as tingles shoot along your core, twisting so good in your belly. Sweet salvation as you sigh in joy and blurry vision from the pleasure his mouth gave you, collapsing further into the pillows and opening your legs further to welcome him. Fingers threading into his hair to keep his head in the very spot you needed. 

A whimper bubbles from you as he kisses up your aching slit, before leisurely dragging along your sensitive bud that feels just right. Furiously working you to another climax as he suckled your clit, a finger stroking inwards of your thigh. He pads along your sopping entrance and you shudder, watching as two fingers sink into your cunt. Two of his large fingers, which one alone bigger than most cocks. Stretching you out so good as he pumped and curled to your liking, stimulating all the spots that he knew made you go dumb. Uvogin thinks he wants to watch you lose yourself to him but he knows this is a fine line he’s on already, taking advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. But he can’t help himself! You’re just so cute and he’d been so scared the last two weeks. He needed to have his cock deep in your little pussy, the one he’d been so good not to fuck whilst you were in your coma. He wonders if you’d let him fill you again as he jerked his hips against the mattress as his cock began to harden again. 

You’re grinding against him, he smirks before latching back onto your clit and listens to every vibrato of each moan. Of each cry and beg as your slick rushes from your tight cunt, ecstasy blossoming inside you once more as he coaxes orgasm after orgasm from you, him allowing your roadmap of pleasure to lead back to the thick tip of his cock prodding at your slit once more. You smile, so stupidly with a wet face and flushed skin, hardened nipples and asking for him to fill you up again. 

And he does.

Until you're leaking of him. Barely conscious and not able to even moan in pleasure. Until you're trembling and neither your arms or legs can support you anymore. Till he’s shooting blanks and still nudging himself back into you even as you drift off.

Uvogin ruts into your barely there form, pulling you to the edge of the bed so he can have a better view. His come dried and caked onto your skin. Hair a mess. Face swelled red and dried with streaked tears. He grunts as his feet garner support from the ground so he can pound back into you without worrying about the mattress holding him. He doesn’t care that you aren’t crying his name or begging for more. All he sees and cares about how you still squirt little streaks of juices from your hole and across his abdomen. How your body is so obsessed with his touch that he can still make you orgasm even as you lull in and out of sleep. Your clit is so engorged, pink and sensitive but he can’t stop playing with it, rolling it between his calloused fingers as you squirm. Or sucking on it so harshly you passed out earlier, only awoken by him tapping your cheek, pulling the back of your head up so you could watch his cock morph your insides to him as you barely understood what was going on before spasming and blanking out again. Staring into your blank eyes, mouth open in an O-shape, he tells you how much he loves you, and that everything is going to be okay. And of course you believe him, he’s your husband after all, the only man you’d let use you like a fuckdoll in your sickly state to the point your tummy inflated from his thick spurts of come.

Tomorrow, you tell yourself, you’ll come back to the reality of your situation. Tomorrow. For now you’ll bask in your husband as an escape.

-

It’s the next day, your legs and core are so sore, when you meet with the doctor. It felt like the pink blush was permanently painted along your cheeks as he checked over your vitals. Uvogin watched you smug, one hand tracing circles along the low of your back. The memories of yesterday are prevalent in the air, the thought of it makes you go flush. Uvogin knows the effects he has on you even in such a serious moment that you almost want to smack him for it.

This was it. The moment of truth. 

You're fluttering with anxious nerves, stomach churning and you’re eyeing the garbage can for the chance you puke. Thundering in your ears as your heart hammers and blood rushes. It’s like your surroundings were null as you carefully watch the doctor’s every move, listen to his every breath and word to analyze what they mean. Looking for any sign in his body language that you’re fucked, that it failed and you’re officially out of options. 

But it doesn’t come. He smiled warmly between you and Uvogin. 

“As I expected, my nen coma was a success.” 

As he expected? Had he seemed so certain two weeks ago? You didn’t think so, but apparently he believed off of past patients that you’d recover?

He continues, “Your body was able to replenish itself not having to strain itself the last two weeks. You’re out of the danger zones to where traditional medicine will be able to bring you back to around 90% of your strength. While it’ll never be completely perfect, permanent damage has been done, you’ll no longer be in chronic pain day in or day out, or worrying about coughing up blood. You can go up stairs without stopping and go for walks without needing someone’s assistance. You’ll have energy, an appetite, no longer with permanent symptoms of pneumonia, and excitement towards the future once more.” 

You immediately look to Uvogin, who for once looks pleasantly surprised. His eyes glitter as he meets your gaze, and he smiles. It’s genuine, not forced like everything had been at one point to keep your spirits high. Immediately, you fling your arms around him, tears prick at your lash line. Hugging him as tight as you can knowing you couldn’t hurt him, while his boisterous laugh is like music to your ears. 

The doctor sends Uvogin out of the room to fetch food, saying he’ll go over your medications now. 

For a second you stutter, your whole body short circuiting as you don’t want Uvo to leave. But his encouraging nod your way before he closes the door helps you relax. 

You quickly discover why the doctor wanted time alone with you.

“It’s fairly simple, these two bottles of faint coral-pink pills are for the next two months. They’re high dosages which is why they’re rather large pills, do your best to get them down. Take them with food as well.” 

The doctor grabs two other bottles, your stomach drops as you feel a change in the air. 

“Now, I’ll keep it simple. I can’t tell if you’re happy, what kind of doctor would I be if I helped you recover just to keep you with a dangerous band of criminals?” He laments, “The pale yellow pills are for the final month, they’ll cement the work of my nen and the pink pills. You should not regress for the rest of your life, they’re strong and will kill off any remaining infections or diseases. You’ll be lethargic so I recommend taking them at night.”

“What about the blue ones?” You ask, stomach feeling like it was in the pits of hell the way it violently churned within you. 

“They’ll undo mine and the pill’s work and will allow you to pass peacefully. Take them for a final way out.”

“You- How could…” 

“I’ll write down directions, yellow pills if you feel like the pink ones worked. Blue is needed if more aggressive medications are needed after the two months. At your discretion, who would argue?”

For a split second you wonder if this was a test. But you just smile at him, “I really appreciate your help. It’ll be nice to breathe normally again.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

It took all your strength to not focus too intently on the blue pills as the doctor explained to Uvogin what they meant. He was completely bought in by the ‘deceiving’ explanations, no inkling present that one of the bottles could kill you.

You don’t want to think about it, not too much. You want to think about having autonomy once more. To breathe without hacking, to walk without needing help, to eat without getting sick. 

Month one- you take the bottle of pink pills. Each day, you aren’t sure if you’re truly feeling better or if it’s a placebo. A week of getting out of bed without tears or an aching body, is when you realize recovery was possible. You begin to enjoy full meals with Uvo, seeing the delight on his face when you bake for the first time in over a year. You two laugh at the mess, how half the pastries were burnt but it’s progress as you salvage the edible parts to feed the other. Your deep, nasty cough still surfaced each day. Less and less mucus each time. You’d sleep through the nights, once again becoming the one to wake up first like a waiting puppy for its owner, how expectantly you stared down at him nudging him to wake. How for the first time you were able to initiate sex with no worries of getting sick or him hurting you, as you took his swollen lengthy cock into your mouth. Him standing over you as he lets you explore him with your tongue. He’s so heavy and you giggle, warm and needy as you suck and kiss, lick along his thick veins to the point he can’t handle your teasing. You cry as he fucks your face but they’re good tears, and he watches as you swallow and then open your mouth to show him. Uvogin never leaves your side but for once you feel joy towards it, not frustration. 

Month two- you still take the pink pills and the improvement is astronomical. You giggle like a maniac as you skip about the fluttering grass outside the Troupe’s Base. Uvo watches you spin about before falling to the ground in exhaustion, he smiles as you bask in the sun. You’re breathing heavily but no coughing fits come. You’re bright red and clearly tired but you can still get up to keep going. He’s relaxing under a tree and you’re running around like your life depended on it, he thinks you’re just so damn cute. This is the month you return to more hobbies, become more talkative and want to watch more shows or finally give him back snarky remarks. Uvogin almost dies from the elation, the lightness of his chest at how life returned to you, how you were you. Not the husk of a person stolen away because of disease, you’re happy. Right? 

It’s now month three- you stare between the two bottles. ‘Take the blue pills for a way out.’ The doctor's words reverberate, you’d ignored them for the first two months not wanting to worry about it. Not wanting to get in your head before making a decision. 

You sit in the main room of the Troupe’s Base, Chrollo had called a last minute meeting the night before so Uvogin had to cart you out of bed, ruining a rather good dream. You’re staring at the medications on the counter, then eyes flickering to the clock. Today was the first day you needed to make your choice, the one you’d avoided for so long. 

Sickness numbed your mind at times, while at others allowed you to see things for what they really were. You think. You’d been ready to die, to be released from chronic neverending pain, but now having life back changed your mind. Little things you’d always taken more granted were now things you would never want to lose again. Maybe you’d lost yourself a long time ago, maybe you were always a horrible person to love Uvogin, but as you recount all these years with him you don’t want to lose him. Or the way he loved you. The doubt you’d had towards him after Bates was finally washing away, you walled all the incessant ringing you’d have in your ears off. No more were you susceptible to the common sense you had at the start of your captivity to always hang onto the truth about him. You walled it all off, brick by brick in your head. 

Maybe a part of you wants him to suffer. Wondering how he’d react when you suddenly fell sick again and passed, would he be ruined? Would he move on? You figured he’d do something dumb, find a way to get himself killed more likely. So you walled those feelings off too. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi.” You smile as Uvo walks out from one of the halls. You mewl into his large hand as he cups the side of your head before moving so you could lean back into him. He’s so large over you that when you lean back on the side of your chair that you only reach up to his thighs. 

You crane your neck to look up, “Everything okay?”

“Yep. Nothin’ for you to worry about.” He looks at the bottles on the table, “So, what ones you thinking? Can you mix them depending on how you feel each day?”

“Uh, don’t know about that, doubt it? I’ve been trying to recount everything to make a decision. Because I mean… I can’t complain, I feel good.” 

“Right.” Uvogin held a hand for you to take, then he grabbed your waist to help you up, “Up to you then, babe.”

The feeling of his thumb circling against your clothed side and the suddenness of standing makes your head spin. In a moment of striking clarity you reach to grab one of the bottles, certain in your choice.

“Yeah?” 

“Mhmm.” You grin up at him, squeezing his hand as you lace your fingers with his. 

The bottle of yellow pills rattles in your hand as you two make your way to his room. The blue pills sit forgotten, almost screaming out for you to change your mind, to think things through again. That you needed to at least leave cracks in the wall you created to protect yourself, just in case. But you didn’t. You coated it in shiny protective layers of something in your mind, causing your chest to surge in feelings of love and all things gooey and over the top. Just stars left shining in your eyes as you look at him. 

The month of taking the yellow pills passed, they made you lethargic like the doctor said they would, causing you to get mass amounts of sleep. But he was right, they made you feel good as new. 

You sit cross legged in the townhome, leafing through pages of your book as Uvogin shuffles around in the kitchen. He’d insisted that he’d make dinner tonight, which you told him takeout would be just as satisfactory (and probably better anyways). 

After multiple interventions on your part you two finally sit connected at the hip as your weekly show plays, food in hand. When Uvo finishes he tucks an arm around your waist pulling you closer, pressing a kiss to your hair. A heaviness in your chest suddenly becomes apparent, each time you swallow the food seeming dry and tasteless. 

“Uvo?”

He sensed the tension in your small body immediately, but didn’t say anything as he knew you were still adjusting. While physically you could handle a lot from long walks or eating actual food, mentally you were still catching up with the changes. 

“What’s up?”

“Can I tell you something?” You ask meekly. Your fingers feel sweaty, you have to set the food down on the coffee table immediately. A storm rages within you. One side telling you to spill, the other telling you to let this be a secret you die with.

“Anything.” 

“The- You remember the blue pills I could have taken instead of the yellow ones?” More screaming within you to stop. Like hands were physically trying to drag your voice back down, that this would only anger him. 

“I do.” 

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, focusing on your hands in your lap. You’re more aware of his hulking presence holding you to him than before. You’re more aware of his steady heartbeat and breaths as you wait for them to speed up, to show his anger.

“You can’t get mad.”

“Mad ‘bout what? You end up taking any?” 

Your heart is hammering in your ribs, like it’d burst out ripping you and all your biggest fears into the open. It’s giving you away, you know it. The room felt like it was closing in, suffocating you until you took a deep breath in. No lies. You were given a new chance at life and you would not keep this from him. Couldn’t. It was best it came from you rather than someone else somehow down the road. 

“They would have actually killed me.” 

Silence. 

“Uvo?”

“Yeah?”

He’s not reacting how you thought he would. He starts to fucking laugh and you’re staring at him like a deer in headlights. It makes feelings of annoyance bubble in your chest, anger as your nose flares and your pupils dilate. 

“Why… Are you laughing? It’s not funny.”

“Course it’s not, babe, but I already knew.” He shrugged. 

“How?”

“Shalnark. Guess he got curious what was in them after you said you wouldn’t be taking them. I said he could have ‘em to do whatever that tech freak does.” 

“I don’t understand.”

“Came to me and told me they would have regressed your pneumonia and caused you to pass in your sleep eventually. So I assumed you were aware of that, the doctor probably lied to me, and you made the choice to live. Of course I had to wonder what if you didn’t know and it was all luck you didn’t take them, now I know it wasn’t.”

“That’s why you didn’t say anything?”

“Yep, figured if you didn’t know you’d have flipped shit.”

“Why are you acting so calm? You’re freaking me out.”

Uvogin forced you to look up at him. He pulled you in for a quick kiss, “Because you chose me. You had all that time to think about it so you must have known for certain you wanted to be with me.” He grinned deviously, “Course I’m a little irked but, I do deserve some shit still for kidnapping you. I’d say it all worked out though, huh?” 

You playfully smacked his chest, unable to hide your grin, “You know I looked at the blue pills as a way out if the medical coma and pink pills didn’t work. That if I was back in pain, I couldn’t believe it almost, I was ready to suffer again. Not once did I want to use them because I wanted to be away from you. Sure I wondered if you deserved to suffer for the shit you do, but I love you. I wanted help from that doctor because I want more time with you, I could have said no to Chrollo three months ago. So I knew what my choice was from the start. You’re all I wanted those months with Bates, I had time to think, unravel my feelings yet you’re it for me Uvo. Guess you’ll get your karma in another way.”

“So fucking cute, wife.” His lips crushed onto yours again, his tongue shoving inside claiming you. He pulled you to straddle his lap before he pulled away to rest his forehead against yours, “You had me believing in that stupid karma shit, you know that? Glad you’re finally passed me being a mass murderer and all that.”

“Don’t say it like that!” You groan, shame prickling the back of your neck making you go warm. The wall is still strong in your mind, keeping you happy, keeping you from fully feeling that shame that should have made you go comatose. Instead it allowed you to kiss him with all your might, tugging at the shirt he wore. A kiss turned to desperate chaos as teeth gnashed and lips fought for dominance, saliva shared and dripping as lewd moans began to fill the air. Carnal touches. Salacious grunts. Swirling hot sex filled air controlled you two as clothes thrown discarded and forgotten, unneeded. 

You’d made your decision. How much of it was really your own, was left up for discussion. You’d never know how much of this you really wanted, or if you’d fallen in love out of necessity for survival. Or if Uvogin really was who you were meant to be with. But all you knew as Uvogin forced his swollen cock passed your tight unprepped walls, you’d never want anything more than this man as you cried. You who practically passed out as he breached your aching cunt and to the hilt of your cervix, outlining your tummy and pushing to stretch you even more as he yelled out for you. This man who loved you furiously and would destroy the whole world for you if you asked. And that- wasn’t that the grandest declaration of one’s feelings you could receive? 

Right? 

authors note on an alternate ending— i view it as if reader were to die than this would head towards canon where uvogin dies by kurapika’s hand and he’s all content because he gets to see you again :))

[zombieplaygrounds]

cw: virgin men, masturbation, sexual fantasies, implied age gaps, implied inexperienced sexual relationships, oral sex, masturbation, whats the thing where you get caught jerkin it? that.

Everyone loves virgin! Simon who's unknowingly a sex god while he bullies a fat cock into your horny cunt. Huffing and puffing in your ear as he asks you how good you feel, accidentally overstimulating you but far too clueless to even consider that your shaking and trembling is related to how dumb he fucked you. 'Course, he was just trying to be sweet to you, maybe get some coffee if you hadn't jumped on him for a good ride on his meat.

Even virgin! König had a considerable amount of attention for his monstrous cock that he'd never be able to fully fill you with. Too much of a jock-ish idiot to even know where to begin with foreplay, just rams his fingers up your cunt until you're sore and bucking your own hips against his palm to help smear your sloppy juices down his wrist. Every single "do you feel good?" is followed by your crying whines for him to shut the fuck up and keep stroking his own cock. Eyes wide watching pearl tears drizzle from the angry tip.

But where do I, the writer, draw the line? Virgin! Price. Old bastard aged like fine wine, his values held to something much more conservative - planned to spend his first time with a beautiful woman he dressed in pretty white silk on her wedding day. Someone who made his heart throb passionately; not with lust and the greedy desire to consume and ravage away her beauty.

Ideally, a woman to grow a family with.

Of course, considering his job, the risks his simple existence poses on any of those close to him - he cowered. Though, Price never really did see a true need to focus on that one, simple wish. He was satisfied with his 141, a group of rebellious young men he considered his own children; he was satisfied with his rare takes of leave, where he spent his time hiking and hunting, occasionally catching up with old friends from his civilian life; most importantly, Price was content.

Was.

A past tense term, considering his "ideals" of what made life so damn tolerable were thrown out the window. Shattered into billions of pieces that painted maps around the single coffee mug that was left on his desk one early morning. A note in your handwriting, with the coffee made just exactly as he liked it, and maybe even a small pastry from the vending machine - a pastry which was his favorite. Usually one that was hard to get because it was so damn good. And the note?

Have a good day, Cap'n! Love ya! btw, this is your favorite, yeah?

Fuck. You were too cruel. You and your pretty handwriting, smudged in blue gel pen ink. It was cute, sweet, endearing from a young thing like you. Made him feel sick and perverse, adjust the tightness that began around his crotch - because it felt so fucking dirty to be some turned on by a kind gesture. Especially a gesture from something as sweet and innocent looking as you.

All of those thoughts in his mind brought to a painful, stirring silence. Price would've almost felt shame for his next actions, the somehow graphic act of taking a huff of the sweetly scented drink made just for himself by you. The smearing of his finger tips against the note and getting a faint whiff of your sweet scented hand cream, the one you keep in the staff fridge, bitching at anyone who touches at it (something he was personally victim to).

The gentle, candied scent was enough to make his cock stir; rub against the rough fabric of his boxers, through his pants, through to his palm that somehow assisted in a slow, grinding motion against his self. His hand tilting backwards, eyes rolling back. Was the door locked? He wondered, not bothering to even give himself a glance at the knob to see if the slit was tilted horizontally or vertically; none of it mattered, too consumed by the peak edge he needed.

Too consumed by filthy, tainted thoughts of you. Your lips smeared in his own milk white sperm, no doubt still virile despite his years of maturity; wondered if his load would take if you just gave him the chance. Wondered if you'd pant, or moan his name. If your cunt dripped or creamed around his throbbing cock; what he'd kill to see your entire body trembling from a few bounces against him. Shove his calloused fingers into that pretty mouth of yours, begging you to be silent, and good.

You would be his first and final; a crossing thought that blurred past his mind. And the thought of putting a pretty jewel on that little ring finger of yours made him audibly gasp, sweat droplets splatter down from his cheek to his chin. And you, you're so young, full of potential. A real energetic pup that would probably eagerly teach him all the ways to make you feel good.

By now, Price was roughly, almost brutishly, fisting his own cock. Panting and hunched over the pretty note made by pretty you. His eyes squeezed shut as he bit into his fist, trembling at the splattering liquid that filled his palm. Droplets hitting the floor beneath him, a mess that would be so fucking frustrating to clean; the last thought on his mind.

Because how could he focus when you stood at the other side of the desk, a palm on either side as you leaned forward. So softly whispering: "Cap'n, did you like the coffee that much?"

Virgin! Price, who gives you the honor of being the first missus to wrap a warm mouth and plump lips against the tip of cock, kitten licks to clean away pearly beads of arousal that dribbled down the shaft. His clean hand rubbing your scalp so gently, humming soft, purring coos; mentally pondering your ring size as you greedily fit him inside your mouth. Whining vibrations fading the thought away once again.

tagging my fwends: @yandere-kokeshi @kettlemouse @babybimbo777