#Ways to keep your home cool without AC

[ramcoolers]

Beating the March Heatwave: Top Cooling Solutions You Need!

As the March heatwave approaches, temperatures soar, making it challenging to stay comfortable both indoors and outdoors. With rising global temperatures and unpredictable weather patterns, finding effective cooling solutions is essential. Whether you’re at home, in the office, or traveling, understanding how to beat the heat can make a world of difference.

In this article, we will examine the best heat-beating cooling solutions to make you feel cool in the hot weather. Ranging from energy-saving cooling appliances to natural heat-beating strategies, we’ll discuss all the information you should know. Let’s get started and discover pragmatic and innovative ways to stay cool while being energy-efficient.

Read more : Buy Air Cooler Online in India | Best Air Coolers | Ram Coolers

[erensfeed]

Hello!! Can you please do lnd men where the reader gets dizzy easily for example in car if there's no music or they're not sitting at the window they get dizzy orif there's a strong smell at the vehicle they get dizzy like how would they react to that?

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀｡ WHEN YOU FEEL DIZZY IN THE CAR .ᐟ ｡

featuring: rafayel. zayne. sylus. xavier. caleb x reader.

៹ cw. fluff. mentions of dizziness + lightheadedness.

⌞ an⌝ hiii pookieee!!!! omg i literally apologize for how this took longer but i hope you enjoy these bunch & it’s sweet enough for you! also, make sure you take care during/after times you may feel a bit dizzy ♡︎ future doc orders here👻

wc. 1.4k

rafayel.

has this tender worried look etched onto his face the moment he notices you looking uneasy.

if you admit to him that you were feeling dizzy in the car, he would roll down the windows so you could get some cool fresh air and then ask how you feel after.

"should i take you to the hospital? no? are you sure?"

closing your eyes now, you’d manage to laugh about how it doesn’t feel that serious, just to make him less worried because ironically, he would be the one who’s more stressed.

if he’s driving & can pull over, he will. if not, he’ll drive slower, smoother—making sure you feel safe until he can stop somewhere or even home.

knows how woozy you may be feeling regardless, so he would hold your hand in his to keep you grounded as his way of not wanting you to go through the feeling alone and would keep glancing back at you more than the road.

when you get home, he’d ask if you can walk or if you'd want him to carry you.

settles you to rest on the couch then comes over to add more pillows to keep you comfortable so you can relax for the rest of the day.

makes you drink lots of water too then moves to open the windows at home too.

asks how you’re doing again after the 110th time you told him you’re better because he really wants to make sure.

"it's hard for me to see you unwell you know."

also asks if you need anything and when you tell him you just want to cuddle, he’d be happy to and reassures you that you’ll fully be a-okay after sleeping and waking up.

still talks gently here and there while you’re sound asleep in his arms.

when you wake up he asks again how you feel. “feeling better? good.”

lightly chuckles with you after on how you looked like a dizzy bean emoji but in a cute endearing teasing way of course (even though seeing you dizzy made him a worried parent.)

zayne.

zayne notices before you even say anything. the second your posture shifts or your breathing changes, his attention would be on you.

��dizzy?” he would ask softly and all it would take is for you to confirm it before he would already either have the window up with the ac on or down for fresh air depending on what needed to be done to avoid making you nauseous.

prioritizes you no matter the level of how bad it feels for you.

parks somewhere better, safe and quiet & would have a bottle of water ready in the center console storage.

helps hold it for you with one hand and the other behind your head.

his doctor instincts would kick in without thinking and he’d ask questions and give instructions.

“how bad is it? “do you feel lightheaded or nauseous?”

“okay, close your eyes. now breathe slowly. here—gently press your forehead against the seat. it’ll help.”

when you get home, he would also carry you and would help you take off extra layers of clothes so you feel less suffocated and so it doesn’t happen again.

would make you herbal tea or some sugar tea to drink then gives you medication to help.

“your blood sugar levels might’ve dropped."

if you tease him for being in ‘doctor mode’ he would just simply smile a little and crouch to your level then say something like

“tease me all you want but i’ll always put your health first.”

because doctor or not, you’re his #1 priority.

(affectionately) lectures you about you needing to stay away from doing things that’ll trigger your stress/dizziness while you’re in his arms in bed.

if you tried to talk he shushes you and kisses the top of your head instead so you sleep.

monitors you a lot more (than usual) since then.

you'd hear more "no. and i mean it, doctor’s orders."

you won’t ever have to face dizziness/lightheadedness when you’re with him as much after that. and in the car, in most cases, the window would be already down/up depending on whether you need fresh air or not, to prevent it from happening .

sylus.

notices when you instinctively touch his arm and asks “what’s wrong?”

the moment you tell him how you feel, he doesn’t panic since he also doesn’t want you to too.

slows down the car and helps you recline your seat back a little and adjusts your seatbelt/unbuckles you so you can relax your head.

“lie down, and close your eyes. do you need me to get you water from the nearest store?”

asks if it’s okay to continue driving & if it is, he drives carefully making sure the car ride is smooth as well.

“here, take my hand and keep closing your eyes if it gets bad.”

plays a calming & soothing music right after to help you.

later, whether or not you can walk & are feeling better, he’d carry you bridal style inside and would gently settle you on the bed when you’re home.

reads about what to do to stop/prevent it again and what to make for you to eat.

spoon feeds you soups/meals he made that can help.

“sylus you do know i can feed myself right?”

“i know sweetie, but let me.”

pampers you the whole day.

although he notices when you act even more dizzy for his attention, he chuckles to himself about it but still obliges by taking care of you and doesn’t mention it.

xavier.

super gentle about it. his whole demeanor softens the second you tell him.

places a hand on top of your head to see if you’re running a temperature first.

“are you sick?”

when you tell him it’s from a super strong random smell from outside that's getting you this way, he’d have the windows up and turn on the ac.

“will it help if you lean on me? i don’t mind, i just want you to feel okay.”

once you get home, he doesn't leave your side unless it's to go get you water or medicine he got.

offers to cook you something.

orders it instead because it’s already one thing to worry about than burnt food.

searches online and finds out that meat helps.

“i knew it. see, it's like i told you. meat always helps everything.”

he would say to you, making you both laugh.

makes you some ginger tea before the food arrives.

“i read this will help too. careful, it’s a little hot so take slow sips. here, let me..”

while feeding you, he would ask if you overworked yourself these past few and if you say yes he would do everything else for you from then on.

“if you take a nap now, you’ll feel even better soon”

if you ask if he wants to sleep too he’d say “no, not yet” and that he prefers watching you fall asleep first as he puts a blanket over you.

plays quiet music as well at home to help you & comes back next to you, to watch you slowly fall asleep.

(ends up falling asleep next to you once you're long asleep)

caleb.

catches it when you stop midway your sentence and start blinking and shaking your head.

“hey what's the matter?”

when you let him know, he gently takes your hand in his as he drives carefully to looks for a parking spot.

he has even more reason to protect you by the way.

he’d be worried but keeps a calm face for you as he tells you to relax your head and to lie back on your seat.

cracks the window down just right as well.

“easy, i’ve got you. yeah just close your eyes for a sec and breathe with me, okay? yeah, just like that.”

praises you softly as he comforts you all through.

"good girl."

when you get home, he would do anything that wouldn’t have you stressed or bending down.

if you tried to do something, he’s got it covered instead.

“oh no you don’t.”/“not on my watch.”

while you're resting your eyes, he would ask “do you need anything else?.. like more water? more pillows?.. or maybe… me?”

you’d fully open your eyes to give him this look

(depending on your reaction *mild shock, a smirk or a ??*)

“*softly laughs* geez i meant like a cuddle, princess.”

rubs his thumb over your knuckles absentmindedly during the cuddle, not even realizing he’s doing it and talks with you on how you fit perfectly into him because of times like these too.

even days after you say you’re fine, he still watches you more from the corner of his eye, until you call him out on it.

still does everything and around the house for you even after you feel better and makes sure you eat/drink enough, exercise & sleep better.

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤4 erensfeed. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[britcision]

By the way friends, since I am being reminded that summer is here and therefore so is the heat, here are some reminders for you lot too!

1) active cooling, like an AC, does require you to remove heat and vent it somewhere else.

Nothing that does not vent hot air outside is going to provide active cooling, like magically making your whole room immediately colder

Never believe an ad that tells you you can instantly cool your space without a visible heat vent to outside they are lying

2) passive cooling absolutely does not. It’s slower, has a smaller radius, and is in general less effective, but also requires less energy

Things like filling all your sinks/bath tubs with cold water (or ice water for preference) will provide passive cooling

(You may have heard the term “heat sink” if you’re a computer nerd. Basically, same thing - you put the heat in your cold thing, your cold thing heats up, everything else cools down)

Depending on your humidity, you can do a lot of passive cooling with water - there’s a reason it’s our natural default, but it does require humidity less than 80-90%

(Because you need the water to be able to evaporate and leave)

Ice is, of course, king; if you have a freezer, make as much as you can ahead of the heat wave and keep it in water-tight containers for refreezing

If you don’t have a freezer, hotels have ice machines usually right by the elevators. Clearly you have a very good friend you need to drop off a charger for in the nearest inattentive hotel. Bring big pockets. For the charger.

Also, freeze dish cloths or small towels if you can, by lightly dampening and applying ice. This kicks ass for heatstroke on the back of the neck, so do at least 2 to have one refreezing while you use the other

3) if you sweatin’, you need electrolytes. This is why we’re told they’re specifically for work outs, but the truth is they are for sweat, because you lose salt and shit when you sweat

Get that hydralyte, whatever, and if you can’t immediately get your hands on proper official electrolytes, toss a salt packet like they have at fast food restaurants in your water

Normal water ain’t gonna cut it when you’re a sweaty spaghetti you must be seasoned

If you touch your tongue to the salt and it is wicked delicious, you are probably dehydrated. Add an extra salt packet or two

4) defy purity culture and spread your legs

For real

You lose a lot of heat through your grundle, and keeping your legs closed will trap that heat in your body. Open up and feel the cooling

Also applicable for arms etc be a starfish

5) do not fucking use your oven. Don’t.

Big hot appliance makes big hot home. If you can only possibly cook via oven, do it at night when it’s coldest and you can maybe get some cooler air by opening windows

Use the bbq outside, the microwave, the stove top, the air fryer, anything but your goddamn oven, but honestly? Maybe eat cold food. You will be cooled down

Charcuterie boards comeback round 2?

6) basements are OP, and anywhere you can lie on cold cement kicks ass until all your joints get fucked on by the hard cement

Pretty good for keeping water cold though. Stick it on basement floor

7) hydrate or die-drate

Seriously, we talked about electrolytes and shit, but I mean it. Drink more than you usually would, even if that means smuggling extra water bottles to your local drinking fountains and fill em

If your pee is orange you are dehydrated as hell

You can also eat wet bitches like watermelons to rehydrate yourself, slorp up the juice and if anyone complains tell them it is vital for your health

8) shade! Bring your umbrella, bring Big Hat, fuck the sun it is the enemy you wanna have something between yourself and it while you rest

Sunscreen also good but you do not want your head in the sun for long periods because sunstroke is a bitch and will sneak up on your ass

9) furries I am sorry this one is for you you NEED a fan in the fursuit and you NEED to take it off if you get tired or wanna nap

NEVER fall asleep in your fursuit in the summer, ALWAYS be prepared to get outta it in a hurry, and bring triple water or have a planned water stop

Inflatable folks too you are wearing a dinosaur or a pikachu not fur but that is still a goddamn closed environment and will also cook you

Manual fan, electrical fan, water bottles, ice packs are required for safe summer fun and probably also a shirt inside so you can go into ice cream store

10) con goers, save yourselves $15 and go to a dollar store or local equivalent and buy a cheap folding fan before the con

Bring it to dealers or panels or just out for the day you can buy fans at the con usually but they are marked up because they know you need it

[lostintransist]

The Price is Wife | Part 2

Part one here *Part one includes ace!wife!reader coming home to find John has brought home a boyfriend and packs a bag to spend the night at a hotel because why would John need a wife if he has a boyfriend???

Tear stains on your cheeks led to a cool washcloth on your face before packing all of your clothes back into your luggage. You didn't know if you would be able to book this same room for another few nights.

Digging your nails into the palm of the other hand you focus on breathing. The bright color on your nails makes you think of John. Fuck. He had paid for this set. Dammit all and beyond, you didn't want your marriage to end. You love John, he had to be one of your best friends. With a little wine in your glass you would even call him your soul mate. He would laugh and lay a kiss at your cheek, thanking you for the honor.

You loved that man so much you couldn't, wouldn't, stand in his way of being truly happy. John longed for more physical affection than either of you was comfortable with. You knew that John would thrive under the kisses of his boyfriend. Guess you would request a transfer at work and file uncontested.

Halting those thoughts before you started sobbing again you flap your hands at your face to keep your eyes from leaking. Your makeup was done lightly today, knowing you would be crying most of it off in John's office after work despite the setting spray.

Three meetings. That is all you had to get through today. You could buy yourself comfort food on the way to the hotel. Might even splurge and rent an overpriced movie. Yeah. That sounded like a plan.

First meeting drags, sending the following two into overtime and you to missing lunch and clocking out an hour later than you originally planned. The idea of putting food in your face makes you nauseus. Any food will taste like sawdust right now.

The first person to notice something is wrong is the gate officer. Office Madida had been letting you on and off base for a few years now. The man's bright smile fit so neatly on his dark skin that to see him without one would almost signal the end of the world.

"Ah! Mrs. Price, here to see your husband?"

Offering a wan smile you nod, "I'm a bit late. Would you call his office to let him know I'm here?"

"Of course! Give me a moment," Madida grabs the phone from its cradle and punches in a series of numbers. He looks you over smile slipping as he takes in the whole of you. "You doing alright Mrs. Price?"

The title slices at you. It won't be yours for to much longer. Your wan smile is now watery.

"Not really, but I appreciate you noticing."

He holds up a finger as he speaks into the phone. "Yeah, I've got Mrs. Price at the gate. She's asking that Captain Price can meet at his office?" He lifts a brow at you to confirm. At your nod he continues, "I'll send her in now. No, she won't need an escort she's been visiting her husband for nearly a decade."

Fuck a duck, your next anniversry would be ten wouldn't it? A hiccuping sob bursts past your lips. The hand you slap to your mouth doesn't prevent Officer Madida's sharp look as he hangs up the phone.

"Go and park Mrs. Price. Give me five minutes to get a replacement out here and I will walk with you."

You do as commanded, tears streaking down your face as you settle the car into park. Madida opens the door and reaches in to turn off the engine when he arrives. Thankfully you have nearly sobbed yourself out when he arrives. He walks close to you, deference and defense in his body language.

Officer Madida leaves you after John's voice rings out at your knock. Stepping into his office feels like the first time you did two weeks after you had gotten married. He introduced you around the base, proud to show off his new wife. The same drab brown covered the walls, a blanket you had crocheted him for your first wedding anniversery lay across the couch he kept for naps. The only real change in the room had to be the drawn look across John's face.

For a man who should have been happy to lose a wife and gain a husband he looked dreadful. Deep eye bags and his unkempt beard tell of a hard night. Maybe as hard as yours.

John rose slowly as you shut the door behind you. His eyes searched yours.

"Are you ready to talk now?" The gravel in his voice stings as if you were flung across it.

The lip quiver starts first. "What is there to talk about John? Why would you me when you have a boyfriend now? We are friends who sometimes kiss and share tax benefits and a flat. That's not much compared to someone who can love you the way you deserve and fills your needs and your bed."

Tightening your nails into your palms and your arms around your ribs you watch your husband round his desk. John's broad hands settle on you, one at your face and the other on your elbow. Your eyelids drift closed at the familiar, safe touch.

"Why would I want to trade one love for another?" John whispers, voice breaking.

Lifting a hand to lay across the one on your face you open your eyes and match his tear filled gaze.

"I can't see your boyfriend being okay with you keeping a wife. I can't be the reason you don't get to be happy."

John's hand slide around to the back of you, pulling you into a hug.

"The first thing I did," John spoke into your ear, "When Nik kissed me out of the blue was tell him about my wife. The woman who holds me as I cry and pokes fun at me until we both laugh. My best friend, my soul mate. I told him about our arrangement, and how anything with him could not hurt what I have with you. You're allowed to be selfish."

You are sobbing now, wrinkling John's shirt with your tears and your grip. Selfish isn't something you have ever been allowed to be. Asking for your parents to show up to important dates in school, graduation, etc were always met with cries of being selfish. Your sibling had an event that day already, or they had a work event. John had been the first to put your first.

Being put aside so often by those that claimed to love you it only made sense to step aside before John could do the same.

"No, I'm not. Selfish is always the word people use to say I am asking for to much." Sobbing harder the past pains work their way out through your grip on your husband. "Why didn't you tell me John? I would have understood. I want you to be able to be loved the way you deserve."

"Honestly?" He chuckled a bit, "I was so excited for the two of you two meet that I didn't think it through."

Pulling back from John you give him a look he is expressly familiar with. Sometimes your brilliant, SAS-trained, Air Force Captian was dumber than a box of rocks. At this point, you chalked it up to a function of testosterone.

"You forgot to tell your wife that you were bringing your boyfriend home?" The deadpan delivery has John's ears pinking up.

"Nik also called me an idiot after I explained that you were heading to a hotel for the night. He was looking forward to meeting you. If you're okay with it he is probably outside the office waiting to talk to you," John gives you the softest of smiles.

There is a light knock at the door.

"I want you both, and if there is anything you need from me to keep both of you I will do anything to make that happen." John speaks with the seriousness that made you believe he would fight god and win.

Pressing a light kiss to your lips John opens the door to his lover. Nik observes you with a cool indifference. The deepening wrinkles around his eyes tell you he might also be nervous.

"Would you like to see my helicopter?" His accent is thicker today than when he introduced himself last night.

You nod, and John offers your hand to his boyfriend. Nik takes your hand, tucking it into the corner of his elbow as the two of you wander further onto base. Passing no one on your way neither of you is ready to break the silence.

Leaving the building behind both you and Nik take a deep breath. Glancing at him you find Nik looking at your already. Both of you laugh out your big breath of air.

"I hate being in the base buildings for too long. Makes my skin itch," you offer.

"I dislike all the brown," Nik replies in return.

"What did John tell you?" You broach the subject first.

"He told me of his wife. Of her kindness, her self sacrificing ways, of the kisses you share, and the happiness that fills him up so much that I fell in love with coming from you."

No change in his tone or side glance at you. The feet attached to your body would have been rooted to the ground if Nik did not keep careful pressure on your hand, pulling you forward to the helicopter now within sight.

The ache in your chest that had started last night when John called Nik his boyfriend flared to life again, an improperly cared for fire.

"First thing you will need to learn," you cover your mouth with a hand, "Is that you can't say nice things like that to me. I cry if you are too nice to me and you are in love with John so you don't want to comfort his wife."

Nik blinks at you slowly, observing. He gives no inclination as to what he saw but lets your hand fall as you reach his helo. He opens the side door and invites you to sit down with a pat of his hand. Sitting next to you Nik does not say anything for a long time. Swinging your feet you prod at your emotions until you can parse them out enough for words. Your palms wear patterns up and down the thighs of your pants.

"I don't want to lose him, Nik. But he deserves to be happy and I know he will be happy with you. He's talked about you before, for years now, I just never realized he liked you more than as a friend. A word from you and I will file the paperwork today. It's an odd agreement between us. I knew it would end for him one day when he found someone to love and love him in return." Your voice breaks as you fight back the sobs. As if the cliffs could fight back a storm.

He pulls your hand from your lap, threading his wide fingers between yours. Hair dots his knuckes. He does not offer platitudes, or unfounded words, simply holds your hand as you weep.

"You love John. I also love John. Part of the love John carries is for you alone, and it would shatter him to lose you," Nik pauses until your sobbing has slowed enough to hear him again. "Give us a chance to learn to love each other, as friends and as those who love the idiot that is John Price."

Someone else calling John an idiot sparked a bark of laughter.

"I would love to learn to love you Nik," squeezing his fingers tight in yours you stand.

Nik joins you. Releasing his hand from yours he settles both against your face. Placing a kiss to one cheek and then the other, he finally places a kiss on your lips. The two of you share a smile and a nod of understanding. This would be a time of transition and of growth, but you both loved John enough to make room for the other.

The kiss Nik pressed to your lips did not go unobserved. Kyle, with a twisted and complicated relationship of his own he kept under wraps, saw Nik kiss John's wife. Turning and sprinting across the base he found his lovers, Simon and Johnny, reviewing paperwork from their last mission.

"Nikoli is a fucking homewrecker and is trying to get with Mrs. Price!"

That brought all work to a hard standstill.

Part 1 | Part 3 | Bonus

Masterlist

[csuzlipofa]

So it was a bet?

Daniela x fem!reader

You were surprised when the popular girl from school started talking to you, but everything makes sense now.

pt.2

Warnings: -

Angst

Daniela Avanzini had always lived for the thrill of a challenge. Whether it was acing her exams, or effortlessly charming her way through any situation, she thrived on the attention and praise that came with being the golden girl of the school. Her closest friends—Sophia, Lara, Manon, Megan, and Yoonchae—were the only ones who truly knew her. Or at least, they thought they did.

It was during one of their usual Friday hangouts at Sophia’s house that the spark of her latest challenge was ignited.

“Alright, Dani,” Megan said with a smirk as she leaned back in her chair, twirling a soda can between her fingers. “You’re always going on about how no one can resist you. Prove it.”

Daniela raised an eyebrow. “Prove what?”

Lara chimed in, flipping through the yearbook on the coffee table. “Make someone fall for you. But not just anyone.”

The room grew quiet as they all leaned in, waiting for the reveal. Megan slid the yearbook across the table, stopping on a page where your quiet photo stared back.

You were a ghost in the halls, keeping to yourself, slipping by unnoticed. You weren’t like the other girls who clung to Daniela’s every word. You were distant, untouchable—a complete mystery.

“Her?” Daniela asked, blinking in surprise.

“Yeah,” Megan said, grinning. “Y/N. Bet you can’t crack that shell.”

“You have to make her fall for you,” Sophia added. “Dates, holding hands, the whole thing. And she can’t know it’s a game.”

Daniela hesitated, her cocky smile faltering for just a moment. Manon noticed and spoke up. “Maybe we shouldn’t—”

“I’ll do it,” Daniela said abruptly, her voice confident and unwavering. The thrill of the challenge was too much to resist, and deep down, she told herself it was harmless.

The next Monday, you were sitting at your usual spot in the back of the library. You were tucked away in the far corner, headphones in and sketching in your notebook. You liked the solitude, the quiet escape from the chaos of the school halls.

“Hey,” a voice interrupted.

You glanced up, startled, to see Daniela standing before you. Her brown eyes sparkled with an almost disarming warmth, and her smile could have stopped time.

“Hi,” you said cautiously, pulling out one earbud

“I’ve seen you around,” she said, pulling out a chair without waiting for permission. “What are you doing?” she asked with curiosity.

You hesitated, confused why she was talking to you. “Just sketching.”

“Cool,” she said casually. “I was wondering if you’d want to help me with English sometime. I could really use someone who knows what they’re doing.”

Her words left you stunned. Why would Daniela, the most popular girl in school, need your help? But her smile was so genuine, her presence so magnetic, that you found yourself nodding.

“Sure,” you said softly.

And that was how it began.

The first study session turned into a second, then a third. Daniela started showing up at your locker in the mornings, her charm never faltering. She’d tease you gently about your quiet nature, buy you coffee, and even invite you to sit with her friends at lunch—though you always declined.

For the first time, you felt seen. Her attention was intoxicating, her laughter infectious.

“Why are you so nice to me?” you asked one afternoon as the two of you walked home together.

Daniela shrugged, her smile playful. “Why wouldn’t I be? You’re interesting.”

That answer left you both confused and flattered. You couldn’t deny the way your heart skipped when she was near, even if it scared you.

But Daniela wasn’t prepared for the way you’d worm your way into her heart. What started as a bet—a stupid, cruel game—began to feel like something else. She noticed the way your eyes lit up when you talked about things you were passionate about. She noticed how you chewed your lip when you were nervous, how your laugh was soft and genuine.

Her friends noticed the change, too.

“You’re getting too attached,” Lara warned one day during lunch.

“I’m fine,” Daniela snapped, though her stomach twisted.

“You’re falling for her, aren’t you?” Yoonchae asked softly.

Daniela didn’t answer. She didn’t know how to.

Everything fell apart one rainy afternoon.

You’d left your jacket behind in the cafeteria, and when you went back to retrieve it, you overheard voices.

“She’s totally in love with you now,” Megan said, laughing. “You’ve got this in the bag, Dani.”

“Yeah,” Lara added. “The quiet ones always fall the hardest.”

You froze, your heart pounding.

Daniela’s voice was quieter. “I didn’t mean for it to go this far.”

“So what? It’s fun watching this whole thing.” Megan said with a laugh.

Daniela stayed quiet.

You couldn’t listen anymore. Grabbing your jacket, you bolted from the cafeteria, they noticed you, the sound of their laughter echoing in your ears as you left.

Daniela found you the next day, sitting alone in the empty art room. Your shoulders were hunched, and you wouldn’t look at her when she walked in.

“Y/N,” she said softly.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Please,” she begged, stepping closer. “Let me explain.”

“What’s there to explain?” you snapped, finally looking up. Tears brimmed in your eyes, and your voice was sharp with pain. “It was a bet. A joke. I was just some game to you.”

“It started that way,” Daniela admitted, her voice cracking. “But it’s not anymore. I swear, it’s not.”

“How can I believe you?” you demanded, standing up. “How can I trust anything you say?”

“Because I’ve changed,” she said desperately. “You changed me. I don’t care about the bet, or what anyone thinks. I just care about you.”

You shook your head, stepping back. “I can’t do this, Daniela. I can’t be your charity case or your guilt trip.”

“It’s not like that—”

“Then what is it?” you shouted, tears streaming down your face. “What am I to you?”

Daniela was silent, guilt began to eat her up.

“That’s what I thought,” you said bitterly before walking away, leaving her standing there alone.

The weeks that followed were agonizing for both of you. Daniela tried reaching out, but you ignored her calls and texts. At school, you avoided her gaze, even as she watched you with a pain she couldn’t hide.

She had broken something precious, and no amount of apologies could fix it.

And for you, trusting someone again felt impossible. The quiet that you once cherished now felt suffocating, filled with the echoes of what could have been.

[monster-effer]

HIIII.. your write rlly good for autistic reader so i would like to request lads boys with an autistic reader that gets overstimulated and accidentally gets angry them? when i am overstimulated i get really angry so i feel bad,,, (hi fellow autistic gals)

Thank you so much 🥰 and yes I can!

In all of these headcanons, it is assumed that each love interest is aware that the reader is autistic and experiences overstimulation on occasion.

Sylus – temperature dysregulation (hot)

It was midsummer in Linkon and you feel like you are boiling in your flesh suit.

You have always had issues with temperature regulation. You get hot from the smallest amount of physical exertion, from eating warm foods, or being outside long enough when the sun is shining. And then you begin to sweat. Being hot and sweaty makes you irrationally angry, and you can’t help it.

Usually, you bring a portable fan and wear tank tops to avoid becoming a sweaty mess. In the summer even these things don’t save you. And today is one of those days.

You are out with Sylus at a summer market in Linkon city. He is wearing a pair of dark sunglasses, a tank top, shorts and sandals as you two peak at the stalls you pass by.

You were so hyped when you first got here because usually Sylus is sleeping during this time of day. But he was willing to sacrifice his sleeping schedule to see you smile.

You have been walking around for an hour, indulging in free samples being handed out and stopping at any stall that catches your eye.

But your blissful afternoon is interrupted by the all too familiar feeling of your body heating up past the point of comfort. You feel agitated and upset that you can’t just enjoy a day out without heating up and getting sweaty. And unfortunately your irritation leaks into your conversation with Sylus.

“Which booth would you like to check out next kitten?”

You let out an audible sigh before replying. “Why do I always have to choose?” you ask harsher than you would have liked.

Sylus pauses at your tone and takes in your body language. Your face looks flushed, you’re starting to fan yourself with your hands, and you have an adorable grumpy expression on your face. He knows what this means.

Instead of commenting he begins to steer you back towards the parking lot, so he can get you back home in a cool environment. He also makes sure to turn on your AC via the smart thermostat he installed in your apartment.

“The booths are that way you know,” you say quietly.

“I know sweetie, but right now I think it’s time for us to go home.”

Instead of acknowledging his response with an answer you focus on fanning yourself with your hands. And lifting your arms up so your armpits can get some air. You blessedly arrive at his motorcycle and after a quick ride you are home once again.

When you arrive back at your apartment you sigh in relief because the air conditioner is already on. Without saying a word, you head to your room and begin to strip down to your undies so you can cool down completely.

Sylus walks to your kitchen to get you a glass of water with ice in it, he’s very familiar with this routine. After giving you a few minutes alone, he brings you the glass of water with adoration in his eyes.

“…I’m sorry. I got so hot and it made me upset. You didn’t deserve me taking it out on you.”

Sylus leans towards you and gives you a smooch.

“I forgive you. Now, drink this glass of water and continue to cool down for me okay?”

Zayne – being tired + in pain

You are beyond tired, there is a large gash on your leg and you’re sitting in urgent care at Akso hospital. The mission you just completed was rough to say the least. As you sit in the waiting room marinating in your misery, you decide that you’ll request a vacation once you’re all patched up.

You can almost feel your social skills slip through your fingers. It’s taking more effort than usual to keep up the niceties when you interact with the hospital staff, but you manage to do it. Just barely.

And when you are finally ushered into a room, the bright fluorescent lights instantly give you a raging headache.

As you close your eyes and cradle your head in your hands you consider going home instead of waiting for the doctor to come in.

You hear the door open, someone walk in then the door close once again. But you don’t bother looking up.

“What damage has your body sustained this time?”

Zayne’s voice is usually very soothing to you. But today his voice feels as smooth as sandpaper on your nerves. You cannot take his teasing at this moment because way too much is going on. You are overwhelmed.

“It’s not like I seek out ways to get hurt you know,” you reply petulantly.

Before he can reply, you can’t stop yourself from continuing “Also who thought it was a good idea to install these blinding lights? My eyes feel like they’re going to explode.”

Zayne silently observes you as he lets you vent. He turns off the lights in the room and opens the curtains so now there is only soft light coming in from the setting sun.

He then turns to you and speaks in a hushed tone. “Is this natural lighting more tolerable? I had to open the curtains so I can inspect your wound.”

You nod your head.

“Let me clean up and cover your wound then I will grab some aspirin for your headache.”

With the threat of the overhead lights gone, you finally open your eyes and look towards Zayne. “Zayne, I’m sorry for snapping at you. Everything just felt like too much at once.”

Zayne lets a small smile reach his lips. “I can tell when you’re overstimulated my love. No need to be sorry for things that are outside of your control. You were my last patient for the day, let’s go home together.”

Rafayel – crowded places

You are attending one of Rafayel’s gallery shows near the beach.

You, for the most part, came to support your lovely boyfriend but you also came at the urging of Thomas because “If you don’t come, Rafayel will not show up.”

The gallery is more packed than usual, with the news of Rafayel making an appearance spreading like wildfire through the news.

Rafayel is currently occupied by conversation with someone interested in buying one of his paintings. You wander over to the refreshment table to grab another flute of champagne.

You feel antsy from the amount of people at this gallery showing. The sensation of being trapped is putting you on edge. As you chew on your bottle lip and take a sip of your drink, you contemplate making a quick exit and apologizing to Rafayel later.

As you scope out the exits, you hear his familiar voice behind you. “Where are you heading off to cutie?”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel like you are under attack. “Coming here was a mistake. I feel like I can’t breathe,” you say quickly. You avoid his gaze because you know your words hurt him.

Before he can reply you rush out of the gallery and make your way down towards the beach before plopping down on the sand. Your dress be damned.

Watching the waves lap against the sand helps center you. After a few minutes you hear the crunch of sand as someone approaches you. You know it’s Rafayel because he is the only person who sits so close to you, both of your knees touching.

Both of you are quiet for a beat because he speaks up. You tense as you ready yourself for the backlash of your harsh words. But you are surprised at what he says.

“It really hurts when you run away from me” Rafayel says in a soft tone.

You feel like a piece of shit because you know Rafayel has abandonment issues. And you unintentionally played into them this evening.

You feel even worse once you look in his direction and see his signature pout and puppy dogs in full effect.

“Rafayel I’m so sorry. I thought I could handle being around all those people but it became too much for me to handle.”

Hearing your sincere apology softens the blow of your actions. “I figured that’s what happened. We didn’t expect there to be such a large turnout for this showing.”

“You know I would never purposefully put you in a situation that causes you distress, right?”

“I know.”

You two sit in companionable silence after reconciling.

“Do you want to take a stroll along the beach with me?”

“Don’t you have to stay at the gallery showing?”

“Ehh, Thomas can take it from here,” he replies nonchalantly.

With that you two stand up and walk hand in hand along the sand.

Caleb –loud noises

You are enjoying the atmosphere at the Linkon New Year festival with Caleb.

You still can’t believe that he’s back in your life after believing that he was dead for a year straight.

You have exhausted yourself from trying to visit every booth.

Before you know it, it is nighttime, and everyone is walking towards the open lawn to watch the fireworks show.

You turn to Caleb to ask if he wants to leave when he interrupts you by speaking first. “Will you be okay with watching the fireworks show before we head home?”

You swallow your own question after seeing the smile on his face, you don’t have the strength to deny him anything. But you’re not sure if you can handle how loud things are going to get.

“Sure,” you say with a tight smile as you dig through your bag for your earplugs. Your heart drops when you recall that you changed bags this morning. You are now woefully without ear protection. You feel like crying but decide to push through, not wanting to disappoint Caleb.

The fireworks show starts off fairly tame. But the loud boom from each firework frays your nerves and fills you with anxiety and dread. You feel like a cornered animal in a cage.

Caleb suddenly gets close to your ear. “What’s the matter pipsqueak?” He shouts in an attempt to be heard over the continuous fireworks.

The volume of his voice makes you jump and shout back “Get away from me!” Before you take off running through the crowd, towards the parking lot. This moment reminds him of a time in your childhood when you reacted the same way. You were overwhelmed and he refused to leave you alone in this state.

Caleb extensive exercise regimen kicks in as he catches up to you in no time. You have shakily climbed into the passenger seat of your car.

When he gets into the driver’s seat, he turns towards you with concern furrowing his brow.

“How are you feeling?”

“I feel okay now,” you reply quietly.

“Maybe we should look for some new earplugs for you. They didn’t seem to help much during the fireworks show.”

“I forgot to bring them with me today.”

“Ahh well that explains it. Why didn’t you mention it to me? We could have left early”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Caleb sighs and shakes his head in amusement. “You could never disappoint me princess. Let’s go home. I’ll make you some chamomile tea when we get there.”

You nod your head and buckle your seatbelt. The ride back to your apartment is filled with companionable silence. Nothing else needs to be said. Caleb accepts you for who you are, and he prioritizes your wellbeing above all else.

Xavier – lack of sleep

It took:

six fucking days

to track down and kill a wanderer that was causing havoc in remote town.

You learned during your investigation that this wanderer appears randomly, but always at night. You and Xavier have been taking turns patrolling.

You learned during your investigation that this wanderer appears randomly, but always at night. You and Xavier have been taking turns patrolling.

Your body, mind and soul are beyond exhausted. And you feel ready to take a week long nap in your bed.

As you finish compiling your report you are fighting to keep your eyes open. Once you send your report to Jenna you see Xavier approaching your desk from your peripheral vision.

“Hey, do you want to stop at the hot pot restaurant on the way home?”

The irritation you feel from lack of sleep reaches a boiling point. You don’t know what comes over you, but you just snap.

“Do you ever think of anything besides food? I am going home then straight to bed.”

Although it felt good to release that pressure and frustration. You regret directing it towards Xavier, especially when you look his way.

The soft and open expression you’ve grown accustomed to is gone and replaced with the blank and closed off one that he wore when you first met him. His lips are tensed in a straight line and his beautiful blue eyes are intently focused on you.

As you open your mouth to try to salvage things, Xavier interrupts you.

“Okay. How about I get us both home and while you sleep I’ll put some takeout in your fridge? When you wake up you won’t have to make anything,” he says in a monotone voice.

You feel tears pricking your eyes. Xavier is incredibly understanding even during the moments you misdirect your anger towards him.

“That sounds good. Thank you for being patient with me.”

“Like my love, my patience for you is limitless. Let’s leave, you need your rest.”

[loucifersbitch]

BuckTommy - you’re such a needy boy

Buck is ready to vibrate out of his skin. It's been four days since he last saw Tommy. FOUR. He feels ridiculous for it, but he needs Tommy. Needs him immediately. They haven't gone more than 24 hours without seeing each other since they got back together two months ago. Four days is HELL.

But the wait is almost over.

Tommy had texted 25 minutes ago that he was leaving Harbor - a 35 minute drive - and Buck hasn't been able to sit still for 24 minutes and counting. He's freshly showered, kneeling in the center of the bed, curls still drying in the cool air from the AC. His bare skin would be pebbling in the chill if he weren't so restless.

Finally, 28 minutes after Tommy first texted, Buck can hear the exhaust of the old truck as it pulls into the driveway. A relieved sigh works its way out from the depths of Buck's soul even as his heart rate picks up in anticipation.

The sound of the engine cuts off, and a few seconds later, Buck hears the lock on the front door click open. He keeps his arms resting at his sides, forcing himself to relax. They're not going to be doing anything crazy - they don't even have a scene planned. They're just Buck and Tommy tonight, and Buck is already so turned on by just the thought of Tommy touching him soon, he might be embarrassed if he had any higher brain function working.

Tommy is doing his usual just-got-home-from-work things - boots off, duffel dropped to the floor, keys on the hook by the door, front door and sliding patio door both locked and double checked - and Buck is about to start whining if Tommy doesn't get his perfect ass in the bedroom in the next 10 seconds.

"Hi, baby," Tommy says, shutting the bedroom door behind himself. Buck can feel Tommy staring at him, looking him over, almost like a caress. "You look so beautiful like this. Always so obedient for me, even when you don't need to be."

"Wanna be good for you, s- Tommy," Buck catches himself at the last second. "Let me?"

He lifts his gaze to Tommy's, gratified when he sees blown pupils and the pure want in Tommy's eyes.

Tommy grabs him by the curls, hauling him in for a kiss. He loses his balance for a moment, but Tommy catches him easily.

"Please," he says in the brief second when Tommy lets him get a breath.

"You're such a needy boy, aren't you, sweetheart," Tommy murmurs lowly, the gravel in his voice going straight to Buck's weeping cock.

"Yes, yeah, please," he babbles, feeling more words build up in his chest. "Please, Tommy, need you. Missed you so much. Need you, ple-"

Tommy cuts him off with a kiss, one giant hand wrapping around the back of Buck's neck, moving him where he wants him. His other hand goes to Buck's cock, stroking with barely-there pressure and ghosting over the head.

"Tell me what you want, baby," Tommy says, forehead pressed against Buck's as he continues stroking, slowly driving Buck insane.

"You." Simple. Factual. Straight to the point. But Tommy raises an eyebrow pointedly, so Buck adds, "Inside me, Tommy. Come on." He affects a pout, and it's silly, but he knows it'll work. "If you don't get that gorgeous dick in me soon, I will explode from lack of Tommy cock."

"That's not a real thing."

"It could be! And then you'd feel bad for killing me because you withheld the healing cure - your dick in my ass."

"You're ridiculous," Tommy snorts, but he's grinning as he strips out of his jeans and flannel. He's hard and almost dripping, and Buck's mouth goes dry at the sight of him, naked and stunning. Tommy stalks toward him, climbing onto the bed, inches from him now. Two steady fingers lift Buck's chin so they're eye to eye. "How do you want it?"

He's thought about this. A lot in the past four days. He leans back, lying down and gesturing for Tommy to close the distance.

"Just like this," he says, Tommy's lips close enough to kiss.

Tommy teases the head of his cock around Buck's rim, occasionally catching, but completely driving Buck crazy. When Tommy finally, finally pushes forward, Buck sees stars. He loves this part - the too-much-not-enough burn as his body adjusts, feeling filled in every possible way.

"There you go," Tommy says as he bottoms out. "Look at you. You take me so well, baby. Just beautiful." Tommy pulls out a few inches, slamming back in, repeating the move. Studying Buck's face, he asks, "Feel okay?"

"S- so good, Tommy. So fucking - oh god, ngkh- just like that."

It's been more than a year since Buck begged Tommy to let him try bottoming, but it's still just as thrilling as that first time. Buck will swear until his dying day that his boyfriend's cock is magic.

He's been so wound up that he's already close, nearing the edge as Tommy hits his prostate sporadically. Then he's being lifted, Tommy settling him in his lap, impaling Buck on his cock. Tommy is everywhere - in him, surrounding him, his cock so far inside Buck that he can almost taste it.

That's how Buck cums, feeling consumed by everything Tommy, Tommy, Tommy, painting their chests and stomachs. He squeezes around Tommy's cock, hears his low groan as his hips stutter right before Tommy cums deep inside him. Buck's cock twitches valiantly at the sensation, but he's spent, the sensitivity already bordering on too much.

As Tommy lays him down gently, pulling out slow and steady, Buck sighs, exhausted but happy. For the first time in four days, his mind is blessedly quiet. And when Tommy gathers him in his arms after a perfunctory wipe down, he drifts off to sleep, content.

[absurdthirst]

Love on the 4th {Dave York x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.7k

Warnings: Military service, breakups, mentions of masturbation and porn, drinking, oral sex (male and female receiving), fingering, vaginal sex, cum play, fraternization, friends with benefits, fear of getting caught, mentions of pregnancy, reunions, surprise, feelings of missed opportunities,

Comments: When Dave gets a 'Dear John' letter from Carol while you're on deployment, the two of you decide to explore a physical relationship on the 4th of July. Only to have that change when he gets another message from her. Now, 22 years later, you meet again on the same holiday.

A/N: Happy 4th of July!

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Dave York MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

Iraq: 2003

Location: Camp Blue Diamond

“Fuck, it’s too goddamn hot.” You roll your eyes at your rackmate as she peels off the sweaty undershirt and stands in front of the fan that does nothing more than move the hot air around your tent. The air’s broken, third time this week and you swear if it’s not fixed you are just going to demand to sleep in the Colonel’s quarters. He actually has a conex box that’s been outfitted to be his room. Solid walls and AC that works. “You know, you’d probably feel better if you went and showered.” You offer, but she just snorts and starts to unbuckle her belt, eager to climb out of her uniform and get into the rack. “I’m going to bed.” She moans, making you grimace slightly. Unable to understand how she could climb into her bunk dirty. You can’t do it, not even when you are exhausted from a patrol. Checking your watch, you know she wants some peace. Space to sleep without a roommate around. It’s why both of you working opposite shifts works so well for the both of you. “I’m going to get chow, you want anything?” She grunts, shaking her head and you just put your cover on and duck out of the tent, making sure to close the thick fabric so the oppressive desert heat doesn’t penetrate the instant darkness when she shuts off the lights. You’ll go get some food, and see what kind of shit you were in for today.

Dave watches you make your way into the mess hall. Everyone is buzzing this morning since it’s the 4th of July. Everyone is overflowing with patriotism, especially the newbies, and Dave digs into his breakfast with amusement at the conversations going on around him. His eyes drift over to the entrance and they widen slightly when he sees you walk in. You’re gorgeous, funny, smart - everything Dave wants but he’s with Carol. He likes Carol, maybe he could love her, but she seems more interested in his benefits and pay than him. He might break up with her when he gets home but until then, he enjoys the photos he sends her and the sexy letters.

The chow line is pretty quick today, the eggs less watery than normal and there is actual bacon on the line. “Fuck yeah.” You huff to yourself, deciding to grab a piece of cherry pie too. You could fucking die today, might as well have pie for breakfast. You pick up two Rip-It’s and shove one of them into your pocket for later before you carry your tray over to the table where some of the guys to loosely work with and hang around are sitting. “Morning fuckers.” You joke, smirking when Rodriguez shoots you a bird. “How did you assholes sleep?”

“Fucking awful as usual. It’s goddamn hot and I don’t even know how to cool down anymore. I think I’m just gonna be overheated for the rest of my fucking life.” Jackson groans, setting his fork down. “Who the fuck knows when I will get to put my A/C to 65 and just - just freeze. I don’t remember the last time I was cold.” Rodriguez grunts and Dave snorts, “pretty sure your old lady froze you out your last night stateside.” Rodriguez scoffs, “asshole. She was pissed I was being deployed again. What was I supposed to say? Sorry baby, lemme tell Uncle Sam to go fuck himself so I can drive you to your goddamn nail appointment. Your lady keeping things hot, York?” He asks Dave who chuckles, “she sends me shit. Keeps me entertained.”

You flash a smile that hides the jealousy. The little thing you have for York hasn’t seemed to go away. He’s got this hold on you that you can’t explain but you’ve never acted on it. Never even hinted that you liked him beyond the friendly banter and comradery. “What about you?” Jackson is nosey and he leans forward. “You never talk about your man. What’s he doing while his girlfriend is off to war?” You chuckle and clear your throat as you pop the top on your first energy drink of the day. “He wrote me a ‘Dear Jane’ letter.” You admit, making Jackson twist uncomfortably and look down at his plate. “Aw shit, I didn’t know, I’m sorry.” The other guys murmur apologies but you shrug them off. “It was a month after we got here.” You tell them. “I’m over it. He can fuck Jody all he wants. Catch the clap or whatever. His dick wasn’t big enough to miss that badly.”

The guys all chuckle and Dave rocks his jaw. He wants you to be happy but damn if he isn’t a little jealous at the idea of some guy making you his. It’s wrong. He has Carol but he’s thought about it. “He’s a fucking idiot. Not waiting for you? Fucking fool.” Jackson scoffs and the others agree but Dave stays quiet.

“It is what it is.” You say and every single person at the table repeats it. “It is what it is.” It’s almost become your mantra this deployment. A way to deal with the bullshit and try to stay sane. “Anyway. Enough of that shit.” You take a sip of your drink before picking up your fork to eat your pie. “What are we doing today?”

They all eye you as you eat the pie, some in attraction, some in admiration that you’re straight up having dessert for breakfast. “Mission brief at 0800. Prepare for Thursday. They know we won’t be worth shit tomorrow morning after tonight.” Jackson says, knowing you will all celebrate the 4th.

“Too bad there’s no alcohol.” You huff, cutting your eyes over to York. “Right?” You ask innocently, completely aware that he has some bottles that he managed to tactically acquire from somewhere and had stashed away. Tonight was the perfect night to crack into that supply.

He smirks, “right. Unless someone procured a few bottles of vodka and whiskey.” He says innocently, well as innocently as he can as he taps his fingers on the table. “Maybe we can all meet over by the communications tent to have our own celebration.”

You grin as you fork up some eggs. “That sounds perfect.” You agree, knowing that it might be breaking all the rules and risking getting NJP’d, but you all deserve to take it easy and cut loose. “Shit,” your eyes widen. “We also have mail call today.”

Dave hums, wondering if Carol has sent him another naughty letter. His only source of release apart from the fantasies he has about you. He knows he shouldn’t but he can’t help it. “Expecting a love letter?” Jackson teases you, “maybe now your ‘Dear Jane’ will be a ‘Fuck Me When You Get Home Jane’.”

“Fuck no.” You snort, shaking your head. “If a guy breaks up with me, that’s it. No second chances.” You’ve seen too many girls get suckered into a toxic cycle with guys and you won’t be one of them. “My mom said she was sending a package for the Fourth.” You grin. “She included cookies.”

“Damn. Your mom makes the best damn cookies. I swear she puts crack in them.” Rodriguez groans, excited to have some cookies for the 4th. There’s nothing more patriotic than serving your country but everyone misses home a little more on holidays.

“After the brief, I’ll go pick up the mail for everyone and meet back?” You’ve basically got to hang out at the guys tent that they share. You only have one roommate, where they are four to a tent. “Although we aren’t eating the cookies now.” You warn them playfully.

They all groan in protest and Dave chuckles, his eyes meeting yours across the table. You are one of the boys but he doesn’t see you that way. He picks up his fork, digging back into his food, and he buries those desires. He has Carol and he’s here to serve his country, not fuck someone.

****

“York, you got some titty pics this time? My stash is getting boring. Need something new in the rotation.” Jackson teases as Dave opens his letter, snorting at his friend and fellow soldier. “You’re not stealing my photos. I’ll get them back with fucking stains on them.” Jackson howls, “you know me too well.” Dave chuckles and unfolds the letter. No photos. He frowns at the formal, “Dear David” at the beginning, starting to read it and he’s certain his expression darkens as he gets through the letter. Everyone is engrossed in their own mail until Dave hears you say “everything okay, York?” Dave flicks his eyes to you after reading “Sincerely, Carol.” He sighs, “uh, I, um - I just got dumped.” He holds up the letter, “Carol sent me a Dear John.”

“Fuck.” You breathe out softly, feeling horrible for him and hating how there was a flicker of happiness deep inside you. You hate it. You shouldn’t be happy Dave just got his heart broken. He’s not gonna be interested in you just because Carol dumped him. “I’m sorry.” You reach out and touch his arm for just a second. “She’s a fucking idiot. Let me guess, ‘I’m so lonely’.” You intone a falsely feminine voice. “Like you aren’t out here in the suck with your dick in your hand.”

You aren’t great at consoling someone, so you break your own rule and open up your box to offer Dave some candy. The cookies are still stashed at the bottom, but you remember that he likes peanut M&Ms so you give him the bag your mom had put in your package.

Dave looks at the bag of M&Ms, thanking you as he takes them. He will get you something to thank you later. "She, uh, she said she couldn't wait for me because she wants to live her life and she doesn't agree with the war. Bullshit, huh? Suddenly she's Yoko Ono." He rolls his eyes but he must admit to himself he's a little hurt. He likes things to be done on his terms and Carol dumping him by letter is not what he'd want. He feels like she's had the control and he does not like being out of control. He hates it. "Guess we really do need to get the booze out." Jackson says and the others all nod, "sorry man. Letter? That shit is rough." Dave snorts, "at least it got me M&Ms."

You chuckle and that leads to the other guys crowding around your package, eager to steal shit but you don’t give them anything. Promising the cookies later, you are laughing at their exaggerated pouts although you keep looking over at Dave. You can tell he’s processing everything and he’s not happy with the way the day has turned out. “Heard we’re getting the old steak and lobster tonight.” You tell them. “But one of the cooks told me that there’s also going to be pizza and shit on a shingle.” It looks disgusting, but SOS is amazing on some toast.

“Trying to keep us happy so we don’t bitch about the next assignment?” Jackson snorts, “I, for one, will be enjoying steak and lobster like a true American should on the 4th.” He chuckles and everyone starts to discuss the food but Dave is busy fiddling with the letter, his jaw clenched. Fucking Carol. He wasn’t even in love with her. Why is this bothering him so much?

“Rah.” You grunt at him, making the others chuckle but Dave is off in his own little world. None of you press him, knowing that he needs time, but you don’t rag him as hard as you would normally. Dave is often closed off, there’s things going on inside that mind of his that you are curious to get a look out. His ability to detach from the situation has been killer when you’ve been in the shit, but you worry about him. You see him look down at the letter and then glance up at you, wondering if he wants to talk about it with someone who knows what he’s going through.

****

“To fucking America. Red, white and blue baby! America. Fuck yeah!” Jackson holds up his glass of whiskey to the group who are sitting around by the communications tent. Dave chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. He never felt the need to be loudly patriotic. He’s serving his country. That speaks for itself.

“I swear to God, if we get caught drinking because of Jackson, I’m going to put a camel spider in his fucking rack.” You huff, coming back from pouring yourself another drink and you sit back down next to Dave. He’s been more quiet than usual, which would alarm some, but you know that he’s just a little down. “How are you doing?” You ask quietly, not wanting the other to overhear. If Dave wants to talk, he will, but you don’t want the drunken idiots to start bringing it up unless he wants to bitch about Carol.

Dave sighs, having a sip of his drink, "I dunno." He answers honestly, "pissed that she dumped me over a damn letter. Annoyed that I didn't do it first." He confesses which makes you raise your eyebrows. "She's - it was over before I left." He admits, "she wants the house and 2.5 kids. The Mercedes SUV and I - I don't know what I want." He leans back in his seat, "kinda need a distraction but blowing something up is off the books for the time being."

You snort and take a sip of your own drink. “Getting drunk seems like a good idea.” You offer but Dave shakes his head. “Fuck no.” He grunts. “Knowing my luck, the fuckers will use the fireworks to start fucking shelling us.” He reminds you. “My ass isn’t listening to the sirens drunk.” He’s got a fair point, that shit sucks sober. You sigh. “Well, what would distract you?”

Dave huffs, “I don’t know. Booze won���t do it. You know what I need?” He asks and you frown, shaking your head. “I need a good fuck. Someone to just completely lose myself in. Stop all the goddamn thoughts in my head for a bit.” He waves his hand next to his head.

“Hell, York.” You smirk slightly as you take another sip of your drink. “You should have suggested something reasonably unobtainable.” You joke, making him frown at you. “What the fuck are you talking about?” He huffs, thinking you are making fun of him. “I’m talking about the fact that 90% of the women on this base would fuck you.” He snorts in disbelief and you nod. “Those little Air Force nymphos have all been talking about the hot Marine in my unit. Begging for information.” You hadn’t given them shit, mainly because you were jealous. So you told them he was outrageously in love with Carol and didn’t look at other women.

Dave snorts, “they’re not my type.” He says and you tilt your head, “all of them? Surely of them has to be.” He shakes his head, “pretty hard to want to fuck a zoomie when I got the most beautiful woman on this fucking base sitting next to me right now.” He says, turning his head to look at you.

It’s a smooth line, and if it were anyone else, you would think it was a line. Said just for the sole purpose of getting in your pants. However, this is Dave. Underneath the dark, bloodiness, is a man who’s pretty fucking honest about what he wants. The heat in his eyes isn’t faked, he wants you. Your stomach clenches and you feel yourself already starting getting wet from the thought of having him. “Well.” You bide your time and finish your drink before setting it down on the sand in front of you. “My tent mate is working tonight.” You tell him with a small wink before you raise your voice to get the others' attention. “I’m hitting the rack!” You call out, ignoring their groans and comments about you being a buzzkill. “Shut up, I’m going to bed.”

He watches you go without saying a word. His cock already starting to harden in his pants, and he bites his lip for a moment until he downs the last of his whiskey. “I’m gonna head out too. Wanna get rid of the photos of Carol.” He explains and Jackson groans, “can we have them?” He jokes and Dave growls, “goodnight.” He strides off, taking the long way around until he’s standing by your tent. He shouldn’t do this, shouldn’t touch you, but you invited him and fuck, he’s wanted you for so long. He taps on the flap before he pulls it aside to enter your tent.

“Hey.” You’ve been expecting him. Changing out of the utilities you had been wearing, without your blouse. Making sure you hit the hot spots with a baby wipe and your wash rag. You’ve not been gross today, but it never hurts to freshen up. You’re sitting on your bed in your PT shorts, a t-shirt and you had left your bra on for a little mystery. Dave steps inside and glances around. “She’s at work all night. Won’t be coming back.” You smirk. “So there’s no chance that she will catch us.”

He nods, pleased that you won't be interrupted and he shifts to take off his boots, bending down to undo the laces. He's methodical, setting them aside and standing up after pulling off his socks. "You had too much to drink for this?" He asks, wanting you to be of clear mind.

“Two drinks.” You shake your head. “I solemnly swear that I will very enthusiastically fuck you, Dave York.” You hold your fingers up like you are making a Girl’s Scouts Promise. Giggling to yourself when he rolls his eyes. “I want to fuck you, Dave. Believe me.”

He nods, pleased that you want him, and he wants you. Fuck, he wants you. He smirks, watching you as you look at him with innocent eyes despite your words. "Then strip off. I wanna see you."

You could argue just to annoy him, but you honestly are too eager to have him touch you to do that. Standing up, you pull your shirt over your head and drop it down to the thick canvas floor of the tent. Leaving you in your functional bra and shorts. Watching him watching you as you reach behind your back to unclasp the hooks.

He watches, not touching you, and when you drag your bra down your arms to expose your tits, he can't stop the groan that escapes his lips. "Holy shit." He murmurs, "you're-" He strides forward, his hands finding your waist to drag you against him as he surges forward to press his lips to yours.

His unspoken words have to be good, considering how desperate the kiss is. His tongue pushing inside your mouth and eagerly mapping it, fingers digging into your flesh above the shorts and his other hand immediately cups your tit.

He loves how you feel in his hands, pliable and eager. He groans into your mouth, caressing your tongue with his. He's hungry for you and he lets that bleed into his touch. His fingers pinch your nipple, making you gasp into his mouth, and he grunts. His cock hardening in his pants even more for you.

You don’t let him take complete control, your fingers pulling at his belt. Wanting to strip him out of the desert cammies. The pants and the shirt, standing between you and his skin. You unbutton the top button before you tug at the tightly tucked in top. His skin is hot, smooth as you run your hands up his chest.

"Fuck." He pants, "take what you want, baby. I promise you, I'll make you remember tonight." He promises, "you won't forget it." He leans in to kiss along your neck while you caress his chest.

You hum in amusement, pushing back and starting to pull down his pants and then you strip down your shorts. Dropping down to your knees and smirking up at him. “I think we’re both going to remember tonight.”

He looks down at you, a smirk on his face when you work on opening his pants. “Oh I know we are, baby.” He promises, caressing your cheek, and he is aching in his pants.

It takes you a moment before you are staring at his cock. It’s large and impressive, jutting up hard and already dripping with need. “Fuck, she’s an idiot.” You groan, reaching out and wrapping your fingers around his length to start to pump him gently. Your cunt clenches and you want nothing more than to take him into your mouth, so you lean forward and do exactly that.

He groans, hoping he’s not musky from a day around base but your moans make him think he’s fine as you wrap your lips around him. “Jesus Christ.” He hisses in bliss. Your mouth is hot and wet. He can only imagine what your pussy is going to feel like around his length. “Fuck baby. That’s - that’s good.” He grunts, cupping your cheek to look down at you.

Your eyes are filled with sass as you take him deeper. Lips stretched around his shaft and you hold the base of him. The other hand is in his hip, holding him steady as you start to bob your head.

The way you look at him has his cock twitching in your mouth. You look like this is all you wanted. To suck him off. It makes his stomach clench and he inhales deeply, “look at you? Sucking my cock so prettily.” He coos, not rocking his hips because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you.

You swallow around him, watching his mouth drop open and you move your hand from his hip down to cradle his balls gently. He’s already groaning in pleasure, although you appreciate him keeping it down so no one walking by would hear.

“Shit. You’re gonna make me cum if you keep doing that. It’s been too damn long, sweetheart.” He grunts, squeezing his eyes shut to try and control himself. It’s been two months since he left the States and for a man who enjoys sex, he’s pent up.

You pull off of him with a smirk and lick your lips. “Can’t have that, can we?” You ask, squeezing him gently. “How are you gonna fuck me if you blow your load now?”

He looks down at you, opening his eyes, and he chuckles. “Exactly. Now, get on the fucking bed.” He demands, grunting when you squeeze him one more time until you shuffle away from him to stand up. He shoves his pants down his legs, stripping off the rest of his clothes so he’s naked and when you’re on the bed, he hooks his fingers in your shorts to drag them down your legs.

You never wear panties under your shorts. There’s no need to with the mesh lining and it keeps you cooler. So now you are just as naked as he is. “I’m still on my birth control.” You admit. “Period regulation.”

He trusts you with his life so he definitely trusts you to be smart with birth control. "Fuck. You're so pretty." He murmurs, caressing your legs as he shifts to kneel on the bed between your legs. His touch slides higher until he is caressing your folds with his calloused fingers. "So wet. What got you so wet, sweetheart?" He asks, tilting his head.

“Sucking your dick.” You admit shamelessly. “Turned me on thinking about how thick your cock is and how good you will feel inside me.” You reach up to palm one of your breasts. “Thought about you fucking me more than a few times when I was using my little magic finger vibrator.”

He slides his fingers further into you, caressing your clit with his fingertips and he watches you. “Yeah? Goddamn. You’re filthy. Knew it though. The way you look in uniform. Fucking devil in disguise.” He smirks, rubbing your clit a little faster.

You moan softly, careful to keep your voice down, but you know he likes the way you sound. His cock twitches and his eyes keep drifting down, watching his fingers play with your pussy. “Fuck, Dave.” You whimper softly, eyes closing as you grind down on his hand. “Want you inside me.”

He knows you need to be stretched out to take him so he slides his fingers lower, pushing two thick digits into your cunt. His cock twitches violently at how tight you are around his fingers, how wet and hot you feel. “Shit. Want you to cum like this first.”

You moan softly, watching him as he starts to curl his fingers to find that sweet spot that makes you whimper. His fingers are thick and longer than you realized, making it a short search before you are gasping out his name and grabbing his hand. “There.”

He nods, a smirk on his face at how wrecked you already look, and he pumps his fingers a little faster to hit that spot. His thumb twists so he can press it to your clit, needing to feel you soak his fingers.

You had halfway expected Dave to be a little selfish. To be in a rush to be inside you. He doesn’t get anything from this but you are loving it. Getting wetter by the second and you have to press your hand over your mouth when a moan gets too loud. Feeling how he is working you up methodically. Wanting you to fall apart for him.

He can feel how close you are, the way you arch up into his touch, and he desperately wants you to cum for him. "Come on, sweetheart. Soak my fingers. I know you can do it." He groans, pushing them into you a little faster, your pussy squelching in response.

“Dave.” You choke out his name right before your vision goes blurry. Body tensing and tightening, lurching up as your walls clench down around his finger and that little ball of tension in your core snaps.

He groans your name, working you through it, and he fucking loves the way your back arches up into his touch until your hips lower and you almost try to push his touch away. "You okay, baby?" He asks, slowly pulling his fingers out of you to wrap them around his cock. He slowly pumps himself, "you sure?" He asks, wanting to make sure you want this.

You nod breathlessly. “Yes.” You reach for him. “I want you inside me. So badly.” You watch him stroke his cock. “Fuck me. Lose yourself in me and fuck away all the hurt, the anger.” You smirk. “Forget about that bitch in my pussy.”

Your words make him growl and he shuffles closer until he can notch his cock at your entrance. "Fuck. Don't want to think about anything but your pretty pussy around my cock." He confesses as he drags the head of his length through your folds until he is notched at your entrance. His dark eyes flick up to you as he starts to push into you.

It’s not a sharp snap of his hips. He’s not driving into you as if he’s going to break you in half. It’s almost slow. Almost. There’s desperation to the way he sinks into you that has you lunging up to press your lips to his. Moaning as he bottoms out inside you.

He groans your name, pushing into you a little harder without realizing it as his hips buck. "Fuck. You - shit - you feel so goddamn good." He pants against your mouth, caressing your thigh until he growls, his tongue immediately sliding into your mouth.

He can’t deny you anything when you beg him so sweetly. His cock pushing deeper, faster, harder into your dripping pussy, and he fucking loves it. He groans, fingers digging into your back as he gives you everything he has. 

The cot creaks, groaning under the pressure of his thrusts. Stiff and perfect to fuck on. It gives just enough to make it a ride. Your legs wrap around him, but it’s not like those days you were dressed and practicing combat training. Your walls clench down around his length as he drives into you again and again. Loving how frantic it’s getting.

He groans, loving how you react to him. It’s fucking perfect. He pants into your neck, pressing kisses and nibbling the delicate skin. The only sounds are grunts, your whines, and skin slapping. He is lost to the rhythm of his hips, pushing deep over and over again.

“Dave, Dave, fuuuuuuuck.” Your whines are quiet, meant for his ears only. “That is - you’re fucking amazing.” Your fingers drag down his back, down to his ass. Grabbing it and urging him on.

He shifts his hips, wanting to find the spot that makes you scream his name. He keeps shifting until he hears you cry out. “Shit. There!” You squeal and he chuckles, “shhh. You gotta be quiet, sweetheart.” He orders, keeping his hips at the angle for you.

You smash your lips against his, desperate to keep quiet but you know that he’s just determined to make you scream. His thrusts are hard, deep, pushing into your guts like he has you folded in half but he’s just that perfect for you. “So close.” You pant against his lips. “So close baby.”

He grunts, needing to make you  in on his cock. Dave keeps thrusting, keeping the rhythm and depth that you like, needing to watch and hear you fall apart for him. “Fuck. Cum for me, baby. Wanna hear it. Feel it.” He orders in your ear.

You can feel that his rhythm is made of extreme effort. He wants to let up, to change the pace but he refuses. Huffing and puffing his way through every thrust because it makes you tense. Finally that last push, the thrust that grinds deep, sends you over the edge. You bite down on his shoulder to muffle your scream as you start to buck and shake under him.

He hisses at your teeth in his flesh but he fucking loves how you soak him. “Goddamn.” He mutters. “Fuck. That’s it, baby so fucking tight. Jesus.” He feels so lost by the sensation and he grunts as he adjusts the pace to work you through it but finds what feels good for him.

“Dave….” You practically sob his name, your body swimming in pleasure as all you can do is hold on to him. “Dave.” You know that this is going to happen every fucking chance you get now. His cock is amazing, he’s amazing. You kiss along his shoulder. “Your turn. Cum for me.” You beg.

He pants, wishing he could last longer but you feel too fucking good. He grunts as he thrusts into you. One, two, three more times before he pushes deep, burying his cock inside your cunt as he twitches while painting your walls with his cum.

He looks gorgeous falling apart. Jaw tense, neck strained. The dark, possessive look in his eyes one that makes you him as you lean up to kiss his lips and along his jaw. Cooing that it feels so good as he rides out his orgasm.

He pants, eyes squeezed shut as he fills you up with his cum until he’s spent. Collapsing onto his forearms above you, he leans in to softly kiss you. “Fuck, that was exactly what I needed.”

You giggle quietly, knowing that you definitely needed it as well. “Good.” You hum, kissing him again. “I needed it too.” You admit. “It was fucking amazing baby. She’s a fucking idiot.”

Dave shakes his head, “who?” He teases with a smirk and you giggle, caressing his cheek. “I better get back before people notice I’m missing.” He murmurs, “but I want to do this again…if you do.” He adds, “only if you do.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “I absolutely do.” You promise after your grin settles into something softer. “I- I like you Dave.” You confess softly. “Always have. That doesn’t mean I want you to jump into anything with me beyond this.” You add quickly, not wanting him to think you want to rush a relationship. “But I want to spend more time with you.”

Dave nods, “me too. I’d like that.” He slowly pulls out of you, shifting to kneel on your cot. “Let’s see what happens but id like to fuck you again. Definitely helped me forget that stupid goddamn Dear John letter.” He scoffs as he caresses your leg, watching his cum well up inside you.

You sigh softly. “It’s a really shitty thing to do.” You agree. “Although it’s not like we aren’t back home.” You remind him. “We are out here in this sandpit.” Reaching out, you caress his shoulder. “Fuck you are handsome.” You blurt out, smiling when he smirks at you.

He snorts, “you’re gorgeous. Seriously, I’m shocked you’re out here fighting when you could be married and snapped up back at home.” He caresses your cheek, “instead you’re out here fighting for some bullshit war.”

“Free college.” You shrug. “Although I’m not like the rest of the whiny brats that are marching around here talking about how they didn’t join the military to go to war.” You had been annoyed by it, but you didn't say anything.

He chuckles, “I came here because - well, I lost a friend in 9/11. He was in the north tower and I- I wanted revenge I guess. Stupid now that I’m here and see what’s happening.” He confesses, “I’m here to serve my country.” He was angry, frustrated, and bought into the propaganda that the Bush administration pushed about how Sadam Hussein has weapons of mass destruction. “Still, I’m here to do a job. So that’s what I’ll do.” He doesn’t confess that he likes the act of losing himself in the job. The way his mind focuses.

“You’re a good Marine.” You tell him honestly. “It’s one of those things, you’re good at what you do. And there’s no one I’d rather have beside me in a fight.” You reach out and touch his shoulder. “No one.”

Dave is happy at your assessment, a little smug if he’s honest, and he knows it’s because it’s you saying it. He values your opinion more than you know. “You’re a damn good Marine too. You’ve got my back. I trust you.” He promises, leaning in to kiss your forehead, “I better get back before it gets too late.” He says and shuffles off the cot to reach for his clothes.

You aren’t offended, knowing the guys will demand to know where he was and you can’t get caught sleeping together. You’d both be disciplined. “That sounds good.” You tell him. “I’m going to take a shower and then hit the rack.” You sit up and watch him redress. It doesn’t take him long, so used to jumping in and out of your cammies at a moment's notice. “Night, York.”

He winks at you before he ducks out of your tent, "sweet dreams, baby." He strides across the base, sand kicked up by his boots as he absorbs the fact that he just fucked you and he desperately wants to do it again. He wants you in his cot, wrapped around his cock. "Shit." He mutters, running his fingers across his cheek, "Carol who?" He mutters to himself and smirks, pleased that the Dear John letter led to someone even better.

****

The next morning, you are out early, your excuse was they had fixed your AC during the day before so you got to sleep in the cool air. The truth was that you were eager to see Dave. Hoping that the time apart hadn’t changed things for him, you don’t think he’s the type to fuck around. He doesn’t with anything else, so why would he risk his career? You enter the chow hall and don’t see them, so you go grab a tray to load up.

Dave looks up when he sees you enter the chow hall. His stomach is twisting and he hopes you don't regret last night. He certainly doesn't. He wants to do it again. He wants you again. You smile when your eyes meet his and his chest tightens but he shoves that aside. Dave doesn't really do emotions. Especially not here. Jackson spots you a few seconds later, waving you over.

“Hey boys.” You grin as you sit down right across from Dave after finishing going through the line. “You didn’t get too drunk after I left, did you?” You can tell some of them feel like shit, blinking slowly and trying not to be too obvious that their skulls are split in two and hammering like a war drum.

Jackson waves his hand again, silently begging you to be quiet even though you’re not shouting. Dave chuckles and Rodriguez shushes him. “Good thing we don’t have target practice today.” Dave smirks, watching as you sit opposite him and he quickly winks at you.

“Should have gone to bed.” You chided smirking at Dave. “See, York and I were good. We went to bed and now we are perky and ready for anything.” You tease. “What are you going to do if the sirens go off right now?” It had actually been a little shocking there hadn’t been any rockets fired on the base because the enemy knew it was an important American holiday.

The guys all scoff, “whatever. You didn’t have as much fun as we did.” Jackson tries to save face but Dave looks at you with a chuckle, “oh I think we had plenty of fun. Just enough to make sure we showed up without a headache.” You grin and Dave nudges your boot with his under the table.

You glance at him again and then back down at your plate. Not wanting to give away the game even though they aren’t being particularly observant right now. “Whatever.” Jackson scoffs. “Just- be quiet.”

Dave is tempted to bang his spoon on his tray but he refrains, nodding before forking up some eggs. He accidentally scraps the metal on metal and the others groan, making him chuckle. He definitely will suffer through their moodiness today if he gets to see you smile like that.

You giggle quietly as you eat the sausage gravy over a biscuit. “Eat your food.” You encourage. “It’ll help you get over that pounding headache from being too free last night.”

The boys all grumble and Dave snorts, glad that you didn’t let him drown his sorrows in alcohol.

****

“Jesus Christ, baby.” Dave grunts as he thrusts into you, his fingers digging into your hips as he kneels behind you on your cot. The cot creaks but he doesn’t care, lost in the sensation of your pussy.

“Fuck.” You drag your pillow closer and bite down on it, trying to muffle your sounds. The harsh sound of slapping skin is enough to give away what’s happening in your tent but you don’t really care right now. Too close to cumming on Dave’s cock again after thinking about it all day long. You clench around him, making him hiss and his fingers turn bruising on your hips.

“Fuck yes that’s it, sweetheart. Give it to me. Fuck, pussy gets so tight when you cum.” He growls, “wanna feel it.” He demands, smacking your ass even though it’s risky. You can be heard from outside but right now, he’s too pussy drunk to care

You cry out into the pillow, that stinging ska pushing you over the edge. You come apart, locking down around his cock so hard that it nearly stops his thrust. A flood of your juices coating him, soaking him as your hips push back and you grinds against him.

“Holy shit.” He hisses when your juices splash on his thighs and he gives you a moment. He stops thrusting because he can’t, you’re squeezing him so tight. “Fuck, this pussy is so goddamn good, baby.” He murmurs, “got me so fucking hard. Gonna make me cum. You want me to cum in you?” He asks and you nod, panting. He tuts, wrapping his fingers around your neck to drag you back against his chest, “I didn’t hear you.”

“Fuck.” You try to catch your breath, but you can’t help but turn your head to kiss along Dave’s jaw. “Yes baby.” You whine softly when he squeezes gently to remind you to answer. “Cum in me. Fill me up.” You beg, loving the way it feels when you have Dave’s cum between your thighs. Both of you are clean and he’s the only man you’ve fucked since you’ve been here. Reaching back, you wish his hair was long enough to pull, but the regulations keep it shorter than what your fingers could grip. “Cum baby, wanna see you cum.”

He grunts into your neck, fingers gripping the flesh enough to make you gasp, and he hammers into you. It’s a brutal pace that takes your breath away until he lets out a strangled groan, pushing deep and stiffening behind you while his cock pulses. Twitching as he releases spurt after spurt of cum against your walls.

You moan his name, soft enough that on he can hear you. Holding onto his neck and arm where’s he’s holding you tight. “Fuck I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.” You confess breathlessly. It’s been a few days of sex every night, the playful banter of the friendship you already making this so much better than your last few relationships. Dave lowers you down to your cot and pulls out of you. It’s been fun to discover that he enjoys watching his cum drip out of you. Always suspecting he has a little bit of a fetish with cum play.

He groans, caressing your legs as he watches his cum well up and threaten to push out of you until he pushes it back in with two thick digits. “Goddamn.” He mutters, “how the fuck has it gotten better?” He asks, almost to himself but his dark eyes flick to yours.

“Practice.” You tease, grinning back at him and letting him play with you pussy. Dave likes being in control in bed and you like letting him. However, you have discovered the man has to bite down on his fist to stop making noises when you suck on his balls during a blow job. “You gotta get back right away or you wanna stay for another round?” You ask.

He sighs, patting your thigh, “I gotta get back.” He doesn’t expand on his reason, “I have a briefing.” He doesn’t tell you that he’s being considered for a different unit - something more classified. “See you later, sweetheart.” He murmurs, shifting to kiss your lip until he shuffles off your bed to grab his things.

You watch him get dress as you lean back against your pillow. When his blouse is buttoned, you smirk at him. “See you later, York.” You hum as you wink playfully. “See you at chow. We are supposed to be leaving early, so don’t let Johnson stay up too late, wanking it to porn.”

He snorts, “I’ll try not to.” He winks at you as he ties his boots and within moments, he’s ducking out from the tent to head back to his own.

****

He sighs, letter in hand as he approaches your tent. You asked him to come over again and he was eager until he received his mail. “Come in.” You call out and he enters your tent. You rush over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck to drag him in for a kiss but he gently pushes you away. “I- we need to talk.” He says and you pull back with a frown. “Sit down.” He orders softly.

That doesn’t sound good. Anxiety twisting in your stomach as you sit down on your cot. You had been ready to strip down and touch him, but you fold your hands in your lap. “What’s wrong?” You ask, knowing it has to be something. Everything had been good when you had left the guys.

He swallows harshly, pulling the letter from his side. “I- I got a letter from Carol. She - she told me she’s pregnant. It’s mine. We, well, the night before I deployed and that was two months ago. She just found out. I’m, uh, I gotta do the right thing and so when I get back, I’m going to marry her. So this - me and you - can’t happen anymore. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes widen and you look back and forth from the letter back to Dave. “Pregnant?” You gasp out and he nods, his face set in that stubborn way that tells you he’s made up his mind. Even if you wanted to argue, you wouldn’t be able to change his mind. “O-okay.” You mumble quietly, trying to hide how much this hurts. You had something good and now it seems like that’s over. “You’ve got to do the right thing,” you agree.

Dave sighs, wishing this wasn’t his reality but he knows Carol and he knows she wouldn’t lie about being pregnant. She said she’s keeping it and he’s not even sure what he wants but he has to do the right thing. “I’m so sorry. I just - fuck. I don’t want to end this but I have to.” He confesses, rubbing his cheek.

“You do what you have to do.” You murmur softly, not reaching for him like you might have just a few moments ago. You sigh and nod, “then we just pretend like the last couple of weeks haven’t happened.” You offer. “We are perfectly capable of being professional.”

He sighs, “I, uh, wanted to talk to you about that too. They’re moving me. To another unit. I’m not - I’m going to another base.” He confesses, not able to give you more information and he hates it but this will help his career.

“Oh.” You swallow harshly and give a small, dry laugh. “Perfect timing, I guess.” You don’t want to sound bitter, but you’re afraid that it might come out that way from the way his wince tightens slightly. “Well, when are you leaving?”

“Tonight.” He murmurs, looking down at the letter in his hands, and his eyes flick back up to yours. He sees the hurt in them and he hates it. “I- I’m sorry. I know this isn’t - that we- I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’m gonna miss you too, York.” You admit, swallowing harshly so you don’t cry. He doesn’t deserve shit from you about shitty circumstances. He’s trying to do the right thing and you won’t blame him for that. “You better get out of here, go pack your shit.” You stand up and walk over to him to give him a brief, hard hug. “Take care of yourself.” You whisper. “I’m not gonna be there to watch your back.”

There’s so much he wants to say but he can’t so he simply kisses your forehead and steps back to look at you. “Be safe, kid.” He orders, needing to know that you won’t let yourself make mistakes. He doesn’t want your name to be added to the list of people he’s lost. He looks back at you one last time before he ducks out of your tent, leaving his heart behind and allowing the hole that’s left to be filled with anger and resentment at the world.

Present Day: July 4th, 2025 

“So how are you liking our little community?” You want to roll your eyes at the puffed up pride that is practically oozing from the self appointed community leader. There’s not an HOA, you would never live in a fucking place where some arbitrary council could decide to put leans against your property for forgetting to put the trash can up after the garbage ran. You take a sip of the beer you had been handed when you arrived with a homemade banana pudding and smile politely. “It’s wonderful.” You admit, looking around at all the tables that have been set up. Kids are already screaming and running around, hopped up on too much sugar from attacking the dessert tables before eating. “We’ve almost unpacked and I’ll be glad to get the last box broken down. Work had brought you here, and you were honestly considering making it your last move. You were tired of uprooting your life and it would be good to finally call a place home for real.

Dave ushers the girls into the community park, thanking Gary for opening the gate as he hands him a six pack and some cupcakes that the girls had made yesterday since his wife is setting up the food table. “Alice! Molly! Be good!” He calls after them as they rush over to where all the kids are playing. He sighs, knowing he shouldn’t have to come to these events but the girls insisted and he can never say no to them. He grabs an ice cold beer, popping the top off, and lets his eyes wander around the expansive park until they land on you. He knows it’s you. Even if he hasn’t seen you in over twenty years. His eyes widen and he stares until you almost sense someone is looking at you and you turn your head to look right at him.

Dave fucking York. Your eyes widen in surprise to find what a small world it is. Never being shy and there being too much history between you to snub him, you murmur your apologies to the Johnsons down the street and make your way over to where he is standing, looking like he’s seen a ghost. “Small world, York.” You ignore the butterflies twisting in your stomach as you look at the man you’ve always loved. He’s changed, older and harder in a lot of ways that most vets are. You aren’t the same woman you were back in ‘03 either. “You live around here?”

He nods, “just moved in a few weeks ago.” He admits, “and the girls have made friends already with a bunch of the neighborhood kids so they insisted we come. Even though this holiday makes me itch.” He confesses, knowing that most people who served aren’t massive fans of the fireworks and explosives associated with America’s birthday. “You? What the hell are you doing here?” He asks, knowing you’ve got a lot to catch up on and his heart flutters in his chest.

You lift a brow, wondering if there’s a large age gap in his kids. “Moved here for a job.” You admit, shrugging slightly. “Moved in a week ago and decided that the BBQ was a good enough time to meet the neighbors and socialize just enough that they don’t notice I’m gone when the fireworks start.” He looks good, damn good, and you glance around, expecting to see the woman you had only seen a few times in pictures. “Do I get to meet Carol?” You ask politely.

He snorts, “she, uh, she isn’t here. We divorced. About a month ago.” He confesses and your eyes widen, “shit. I’m sorry.” You say and he scoffs, “don’t be. She - she cheated and we - we never should’ve been together.” He admits, “I love my girls, but Carol? She’s - well, she’s a liar.”

“Well, I mean, there must have been something there.” You sigh softly. “How big of an age gap is there between the girls?” You ask. “One is an adult, and how old is your youngest?”

Dave sighs, remembering why he ended up moving units. “Carol - she wasn’t pregnant. By the time I got her follow up letter, I’d already moved bases and we - we were talking. She wanted to get married and I felt like I had to do the right thing but we didn’t have kids until eight years ago. I’ve been busy with work.”

“Wow.” You grimace slightly, knowing that you might have changed your own trajectory if you had known that. “I’m surprised that you didn’t dump her when you found that out.” He shrugs, probably not wanting to bring up the past, only for it to walk up. “Hey mom, I’m going to head out.” Your son walks up to you and leans in to kiss your cheek. He’s never been the type to be ashamed of showing his mother affection. “Okay. Be safe.” You tell him seriously. He nods and then nods politely to Dave. “David Cross.” He offers, extending his hand to shake Dave’s.

Dave stares at the kid, probably about twenty - twenty one years old, and his eyes flick over to you. “I- it’s great to meet you.” He reaches out to shake his head and he sees the resemblance but he doesn’t say anything. “Dave York.” He tells the kid his name and he’s so curious but he won’t rock the boat when he sees you watching him cautiously.

“Nice to meet you.” David says politely before he turns back towards you. “I’m probably not going to be home tonight. Rogers came into town and we are going to catch up.” You smirk slightly and shake your head. “Don’t catch up toooo much.” You warn him. “When you go back, she’ll still outrank you.” You tease, making. David huff. “Mom, it’s not like that!” He hisses and you click your tongue. “Sure it isn’t, baby.” You kiss his cheek and pat it affectionately. “Go on, Midshipman. Don’t get arrested.”

“Navy?” Dave asks and David nods, “I’m in the academy.” He says and Dave hums, “I was a Marine.” David grins, “no way, man. Mom served too, like before I was born.” He says and Dave nods, turning to look at you, curiosity in his stare. “Go have fun.” You usher your son away and he says “bye!” as he strides off. “So, uh, you’re married?” Dave asks, shuffling his feet.

You wince. “Gold Star widow.” You explain quietly, watching as his eyes shadow over. “Cross was- he was attached to the supply unit that was back home when I got shipped back for being pregnant.” You answer his unasked question with that one statement. “He knew he wasn’t David’s father biologically. But he wanted to be his father.” You had loved Adam in a way that was much different than Dave. “He deployed the year after David was born.” You sigh and look down at your bare hand. You had never remarried but you had stopped wearing your wedding ring years ago. “He was killed by an IED with his supply convoy.”

“I’m so sorry.” Dave murmurs, seeing the sadness in your eyes, and he wants to squeeze your hand but he doesn’t. “You -” He frowns as he looks at you, “you said you were shipped back because you were pregnant?” He asks, not connecting the dots.

You nod slowly. “Yeah.” You breathe out. “I didn’t let you know because I didn’t want you to feel torn about your responsibilities.” You tell him softly. “You had decided to be with Carol and I respected that.”

Dave sighs, wishing you’d tried to contact him. “We - Carol wasn’t pregnant. I would’ve - shit. I wanted to be with you. Not her. I didn’t want to be with her. I wanted you.” He reveals, “fuck. He’s mine. I have a son.” He inhales deeply, trying to reconcile the news.

“He knows Adam wasn’t his father.” You admit, wondering if you had made a mistake all those years ago, not letting Dave know. “He has his name, his grandparents-“ you shrug slightly. “Adam told them about David, about me, but they didn’t care. They still love him.” You don’t know why you are telling him this. “But I never told him your name. I didn’t-“ you shrug again. “I couldn’t talk about you with him.”

“Did your husband know? Who I was?” He asks and you nod, “he did. He was a good man. I- I had to move on from you and Adam was there for me in my worst time.” You confess, “David was early and it - I nearly lost him.” You admit and Dave inhales deeply, regret deep in his bones. No one around you seems to realize the seriousness of the conversation you’re having.

“I understand if you’re mad at me.” You actually never thought you would ever see Dave York again, never have this conversation with him. All of this has brought back old feelings you had long since put to rest. Or so you had thought. “I was trying to do what I thought was best and I know you would have torn yourself apart if you thought you had to choose.” You didn’t know Carol had lied to Dave to get him back. 

He huffs, "there was no choice. I was trying to do the right thing and instead I left the best thing that ever happened to me behind." He confesses, as the words "daddy! Daddy! Look!" hit his ears and he turns his head to find Molly and Alice running towards him with balloon animals. "Oh wow. Lemme guess...it's a...lion?" He teases and Alice huffs, "daddy, it's a dog!" He chuckles, "oh I see it now. Yours is a hippo?" He teases his other daughter who cries in protest, shaking her head, "silly daddy. It's a flower." He grins, shifting straighter and he looks at you, "girls." He gets their attention, "this is-" He says your name, "she used to work with daddy. This is Alice and Molly." He introduces his girls, gesturing to each one.

“Hi girls.” You smile at each of them and wave, seeing so much of their father in their little faces. “It’s nice to meet you.” They giggle over that and scamper off, eager to play with their friends. “They are beautiful.” You tell him. “No matter what, you can’t be upset at creating those girls.” Dave shakes his head. “I don’t regret them.” He promises. “But I regret leaving you.” You sigh softly. “It hurt, but I knew why you were doing it. You are a better man than you believe that you are, York.”

He looks around, shaking his head with a huff, "no. I've done some bad things, sweetheart. I'm not a good man but I would kill for my girls...and for you." He adds after a moment, "those girls are my world. The reason why I put up with Carol for so goddamn long." He shifts a little closer, "I thought about you. A lot. Uh, over the years."

“I think it’s safe to say that I thought about you.” He’s still so damn good looking. He’s broader, the leanness of youth has been replaced with the filled out figure of a man. It’s honestly distracting.

“Does he - did you tell him anything? David? You named him after me?” He asks, curious and so pissed off at himself for missing twenty years of his son’s life. All because Carol lied to him to get him to marry her.

“I told him that his father was a man that I loved very much and he didn’t know I was pregnant when we ended things.” You explain. “He does know that he’s named after you. He just didn’t react since when he was younger he would ask every man named David if he was his daddy.”

Dave nods, his heart clenching, and he clears his throat. “Can I - it’s completely your choice. He’s your child, but I’d like him to know the truth. That it’s me.” He says, wanting you to have a say since you’ve raised your son for twenty years.

“I never thought he would ever have a chance to meet you.” You admit quietly. “I never even looked you up anywhere. But…” you bite your lip. “I think he should know. He might have questions that I can’t answer.”

Dave is nervous, he can’t believe he’s saying that but it’s true. He’s nervous and he desperately wants to be able to explain himself to his son. To be able to tell him who he is. Even if his father is not a saint. He deserves to know where he came from. “I’d like to meet him. Tell him who I am.”

You don’t have any issue with that. You never wanted to bar Dave from seeing his son, but you had also never warned to cause issues for him. You had thought Carol was having his child, that she needed him. “He should be home tomorrow sometime.” You agree with a nod. “I don’t want to interrupt his plans.” You look towards where the kids are playing and spot his girls. “What about your kids?” You ask. “Do you want them to know right now? Or ever?”

Dave nods, “I do. It’s their brother. I want - I want them to know but not right now. I need to meet him, see if he’s angry at me for not being there his whole life. The girls will want to watch the fireworks and then I’ll take them home.” He looks at you cautiously, “can you- do you want to come back with me so we can talk some more?”

“Yeah.” You had anticipated just dipping out and going home after a little while, but now that’s changed. You don’t want to leave his side, wanting to learn what he’s been doing for the past twenty years. “I would like that. I think we have a lot to talk about.” You push aside the attraction that immediately roars back to life, he’s still handsome her all. He has moved on, you don’t expect him to want to be with you. Not after all this time.

He nods, “let me get the girls home. I live at 5678 Brookgreen.” He tells you, knowing that it will be best for him to get the girls in bed first before you sit down and talk. He thinks you’re just as gorgeous as back then and his stomach twists with attraction.

****

You mingle with the other neighbors, knowing that Dave needs to watch his girls around the fireworks. You don’t really enjoy them, but you don’t leave until they are over and walk back to your own house. Rolling your eyes at yourself but you jump in the shower really quickly and you hesitate, but then reach for the razor to quickly scrap the hair from your body. You don’t even contemplate what you are doing when you dress in your best lingerie and throw on a cute outfit.

Dave tucks the girls in, kissing their foreheads and bidding them goodnight. He promises to keep the monsters at bay, chuckling to himself when the door is closed as the real monsters are outside the house but he protects them from those too. He knows you'll be heading over soon, fireworks still bursting in the sky and he decides to have a shower, clean up before you arrive. His hair is still damp when the doorbell rings and he takes a deep breath before he opens the door.

“Hey.” You smile, stomach twisting when you realize he had also showered. Not sure if it means anything and it could be just your imagination, but he looks happy to see you. “Not interrupting am I?” You ask, looking around to see if the girls are still running around. You know the difficulties about getting hyper kids into bed by yourself when you’re doing it alone.

Dave shakes his head, "no. They are in bed. They are pretty good at going to bed when they are told to." He reveals and steps aside to let you into his house. It's a little messy with the girls' toys all over the place that he hasn't picked up yet but it's his home. He shuts the door behind you, getting a whiff of your body wash and his cock twitches in his pants.

“That’s good.” You chuckle as you step towards what you think is the living room. His house isn’t laid out too different from your own. “Sometimes David would want to compromise with me about bedtimes. Or he would just sneak out of bed and raid the fridge.” You smile fondly at those memories. Batman pajamas, guilty looks and sticky fingers at midnight.

He smirks, "luckily, girls are easier than boys." He gestures for you to sit down. "You want something to drink?" He asks and you nod, "whiskey if you have it." He nods and walks into the kitchen to grab two glasses of whiskey. He hands it to you before he sits down, settling in with his own glass as he looks at you. "So, uh, you haven't changed." He says, his dark eyes flickering over your features.

“If I don’t look like I have, I feel like I have.” You snort, taking a sip and looking him over. “You have though.” You lift a brow. “Filled out. Can’t believe you actually got better looking. Thought that was a hard thing to do, but you’ve got middle age by the balls, York.”

He chuckles, secretly pleased by the compliment. “I know what you mean. My knees are fucked. My hearing is definitely fucked.” He confesses, “too many years around guns.” He sighs, “but it feels like yesterday I was with you over there.”

“We were fucking babies.” You snort, shaking your head. “I can’t believe it’s been over 20 years since I’ve seen you.” You really can’t, it shocks you, considering how often you think about Dave. Not in a creepy, stalkerish kind of way, but he was your love. He is the father of your child. You think back on the times you spent with him, even before you slept together.

Dave smiles softly at the memories, remembering who he was before all the killing really poisoned his mind. “It feels like yesterday I was in your cot. Yet seeing you…makes me realize that I’m just as fucking in love with you now as I was then.” He admits bluntly.

You’re shocked, mouth dropping open and you shake your head. “I’m not the same woman I was twenty years ago.” You caution him, making him snort. “Hell, you’re a lot better than I’ve been, sweetheart.” He insists, leaning forward and cupping your cheeks in his hands. “Tell me that I’m wrong.” He challenges you. “Tell me you haven’t thought about me in the dark of the night, regardless of who you’re laying next to. Wondering what might have been.” You swallow harshly and lick your lips. “I can’t.” You admit quietly. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.”

Dave searches your eyes for a moment before he surges forward to press his lips to yours. Swallowing your moan as he greedily takes what he’s wanted to have for the past twenty years. Your hands grab the back of his neck, shifting to slide your fingers through his hair like he wanted you to all those years ago.

You can’t believe that he tastes the same. The raw, pure essence of Dave. You moan as his tongue touches yours, completely taking over in a way you haven’t felt in years. You press closer, not caring if it’s too fast, if you should slow down. You only had weeks before with Dave and here you are twenty years later. You aren’t going to waste this second chance.

He groans into your mouth, hand sliding down your back until he’s squeezing your hip. You take the cue and eagerly shift to straddle him. He’s already half hard, lost in the memories of how you feel and how fucking incredible it is to have you back in his arms. He kisses along your jaw after you need to catch your breath. “Shit. I missed you.” He pants, kissing down your neck.

“I thought I was going crazy when I saw you staring at me.” You admit with a breathless laugh. “God baby,” you feel his hands palm your ass and you grind down on him. “Feels like we’re back in that fucking tent, so fucking eager to touch each other.”

He chuckles, “always goddamn hard around you. Grateful for the uniform to keep it concealed.” He smirks and nudges his nose against your jaw, “tightest pussy I ever fucked. Thought about it a lot when jerking off. Remembered you under me in that cot.”

You grin to yourself and tilt your head back so he can kiss where he wants to. “Fucking loved your cock inside me.” You agree. You reach down and pull his shirt up, eager to find out what the time has changed.

“God, baby.” He shifts so you can pull his polo shirt over his head and he continues kissing your neck while his fingers play with the hem of your shirt. “Are you sure?” He asks, pulling back a moment later.

“Do you want to take things slow?” His eyes are searching yours but you know what you want. “I don’t. We’ve wasted twenty years, but if you need to take it slow, we can.”

He shakes his head, “I don’t want to but I want this to be what you want.” He murmurs and you cup his cheeks, “David Anthony York, it’s been twenty years and I’m still in love with you. Fuck me already.” You demand and he groans, surging forward to connect his lips with yours again and he squeezes your ass, shifting you onto the sofa so you are laying down. He wants to taste you, see if you taste just like he remembers.

Dave was never shy about anything to do with sex when you were in that sandbox together. He would go down on you, but he always knew you were clean. Maybe a little sweaty, but he couldn’t be a hypocrite about that shit. You watch as he reaches for your shorts and smirks as he starts to slide them down, chuckling when he discovers you aren’t wearing any panties. “Never wear them anymore.” You admit shamelessly.

Dave groans as he tosses your shorts over his shoulder, pushing your legs apart with his hands to expose your pussy to his hungry eyes. "Shit, baby. Looks just as goddamn delicious." He grunts as he surges forward to slide his tongue through your folds.

“Fuck Dave.” You gasp out his name before slapping your hand over your mouth. You don’t want the girls to hear you, but Dave shakes his head and pulls away. “Don’t, I want to hear you.” He groans before diving back in. Your hands pull away, clenching in a fist beside reaching for his hair again. “Baby, you were always so damn good at this,” you praise softly, keeping your voice low. “Never needed my vibrator when you were between my legs.”

He laps at your clit, fingers digging into your thighs as he laps at you. He loves how you taste, he has missed it. He sucks your clit into his mouth, fingers sliding along your thigh until he’s pushing two thick digits into your pussy.

“Fuck.” You gasp out the curse quietly, loving how he just completely takes over and gives you everything that you need. Your walls clamp down on his fingers and you can feel the hush of wetness that starts to coat them. Moaning softly when he curls them up and presses against a wonderful little spot inside you. “So good baby, you could always find that spot.” You praise. “Get your fingers so deep.”

He groans into your flesh, sucking harder and pumping his fingers a little faster. He wants you to fall apart for him. He needs to feel it. His free hand slides up to squeeze your breast, pinching your nipple, and you cry out. He’s hard, aching in his pants, and he desperately wants to be inside you.

He works you through it, pumping his fingers and pressing kisses to the skin around your clit. “So damn good.” He murmurs, licking his lips. “Daddy!” He hears from upstairs and he shifts, “I gotta - shit.” He mutters, reaching for his shirt and he wipes his face with the back of his hand. “Stay there.” He orders, “coming, baby girl!” He calls back to Molly and makes his way upstairs.

You reach for a blanket off the back of the sofa, pulling it over you to cover your body. Hopefully the girls aren’t coming downstairs but you wouldn’t want them to see a ransom naked woman in their living room if they did. You hear the low murmur of Dave’s voice as he talks to the upstairs and he doesn’t sound impatient or annoyed. You smile, thinking that he is a fantastic father and for a moment, you wonder how it would have been if you had told him. If he would have married you and had more kids. How many would you have had together? It’s a question that you think about sometimes.

Dave settles the girls down after they woke up from the fireworks, making his way back downstairs and he doesn’t remove his shirt. He finds you covered up and sighs, “sorry about that. The fireworks woke them up and they were scared.” He explains, “are you- you wanna get dressed or can I -?” He asks, wanting to be certain.

“No, it’s okay.” You promise, sitting up and letting the blanket pool at your waist. “I just didn’t want her to come downstairs and find some strange lady naked in her living room.” You grin. “That can happen later on.”

Dave chuckles, pulling his shirt over his head, and he shifts to sit back down on the sofa. “I can’t believe you’re here.” He murmurs, “it’s like no time has passed. Fuck, you still taste just as good.” He murmurs, ducking down to take your nipple into his mouth while he works on unbuttoning his pants.

“Oh fuck.” You love how sexual he is. How he just makes you forget about everything but the way he touches you. “I can’t believe you are here.” You reach down and pull his pants down one hip just as soon as he flicks the button open. “Always wanted to see you again.”

Dave doesn’t say anything to that, just hums around your nipple until he switches to the other one. You tug on his pants again and he pulls off your nipple with a pop, shifting off the sofa so he can push his pants down along with his briefs until his cock springs free.

“Still the best dick I’ve ever seen.” You moan, lunging up to wrap your hand around his length. “Don’t.” Dave bats your hand away and shakes his head. “I won’t last if you do that.” You pout, but you lay back and spread your legs. “Fuck me then, Dave.” You encourage, spreading your pussy lips with your fingers.

“Shit. Do we need - condom?” He asks, wanting to fuck you this second but he wants you to be comfortable. He groans, watching you play with yourself, squeezing his length in his fist.

“Not unless it’s been awhile since you got checked.” You bite your lip. “Never had sex since my last screening and my birth control is an IUD.” You smirk slightly. “Unless you don’t want to risk batting a thousand.”

He chuckles, “is it bad if I say I wouldn’t hate it?” He admits, shuffling closer, and he knows he has to introduce himself properly to his son, but for now, he enjoys this moment with you. “I’m clean. Got tested last month.” He promises, shuffling closer so he can slide the head of his cock through your folds.

You’re about to make a smart comment about age gaps but he starts to push inside you. Stealing your breath and every thought in your head just like he always did. “Daaaaave.” You whimper his name, lifting a leg onto his hip to let him sink deep inside you.

He groans your name, inhaling deeply at the feel of your tight cunt already squeezing him. “Fuck, baby. You feel so good.” He murmurs, caressing your thigh as he looks down at where he’s pushing into you.

“You-“ you gasp out, caressing his arm, the only place you really reach right now. “I want to feel you.” You beg. “Missed your weight on top of me.” You loved when he fucked you hard and pressed his entire weight down on you.

He nods, shifting to hover over you, and he pushes deeper. His weight on his forearm, he reaches for your other thigh to lift it onto his hip. His weight fully on you before he starts to slowly pull out. You whimper and he leans in to kiss your neck as he pushes back into you.

“Fuck.” You close your eyes and just let yourself feel this. He smells a little different, the cologne he used back then is different than the one he uses now. Now it has a more masculine scent, something spicy and dangerous. It smells delicious on him. “This is what I need.” You hum. “A Fourth of July fuck.”

“Better than fireworks.” He smirks, starting to rock into you. His pace is steady and sure. “Fuck. Forgot how good this pussy is. Fuck, baby.” He pants, biting down on your shoulder.

You giggle quietly and tighten your legs around his waist. Wanting this more than anything. “Dave.” Your nails dig into his back but you don’t drag them down, not wanting to scratch him up in case his girls had questions.

He groans when you react so beautifully. Fuck, he has missed how you sound, how you taste. He groans your name and presses his lips to yours, moving his hips a little faster. Fireworks burst in the sky outside but he doesn’t care, too lost in how you feel.

“I love you.” You whisper softly, eyes closed and a smile on your lips as he rocks into you. Dave groans your name in disbelief before he kisses you passionately. Your walls clench around him and you cry out when he punches deep.

He murmurs against your lips, “I love you too. I love you. Always have.” He declares, rocking into you in the same way that makes you cry out. He loves it. He loves how you flutter around him. “Fuck. So good.”

Both of you are lost in the sensations. Pushing each one higher, encouraging each other with kisses and praises. “So good, baby. You’re gonna make me cum. I’m gonna cum on your cock.”

He pants, rocking into you a little less precisely, needing to feel all of you. He groans into your mouth, his tongue caressing yours when he pushes it into your mouth. He needs you to cum for him.

Dave is just as insistent, just as needy as he fucks you. Pushing you and him both closer to the edge every time he thrusts his hips forward. Filling you and moaning into your mouth. You whine, so close your toes are starting to curl.

He can tell you’re close, his hips grinding into yours on each thrust, wanting to rub your clit. He wants to see you fall apart again. He needs to see it, to feel it. “Fuck, baby. You look so fucking pretty like this. Always did.”

“Baby, baby!” You love how he always knows what you need. His memory of your body apparently is not lost to time, or maybe he’s just that good of a lover. You don’t care, your cry is loud enough to ring in your ears while you start to shake and shatter under him. “Jesus.” He hisses when you clamp down on his cock, thrashing beneath him as he works you through it. Rocking into you with as precise thrusts as he can manage. “Fuck, baby. Still so goddamn tight.”

“So good, so good.” You want to go limp under him, but he still needs to cum. “Fuck, Dave.” You kiss along his jaw. “Need you to cum now, want to feel it again. Missed it, missed this.” You babble quietly. You had missed everything about him, but you have him back in your arms and you want to keep him there.

He grunts, needing to fill you up, and he grabs your thighs, lifting them onto his shoulders so he can sink even deeper into your fluttering pussy. Your answering cry has him chuckling and he looks down at you, almost folded in half. “Shit, you are squeezing me like a fucking vice.” He mutters, eyes drifting down to where his cock is buried inside you.

You moan as he starts to fuck you harder. The slap of his hips against your thighs is almost musical in its tempo. “Fuck!” You can’t do anything but hold on. Watching Dave’s face as he fucks you. Mapping the lines and the planes of his face while he pants and grunts, so close to cumming himself.

“That’s - shit. That’s it. You’re so goddamn beautiful baby, just as beautiful as I remember you. Fuck, best sex I ever had was in your cot.” He confesses as he rocks into you. His pace is sloppy, desperate thrusts as he works himself towards his orgasm.

“Yes.” You agree breathlessly. “Cum for me baby.” You beg. “Want to feel it, need to feel it.” You tell yourself that it’s fitting, poetic that it’s the 4th again. This time you are under Dave on his couch. “Cum!” You cry out right as fireworks explode outside and behind your eyes. Another orgasm crashing over you and overwhelming you.

He pushes deep, cock pulsing as he twitches. His hot cum painting your folds as your walls flutter around him. “Fuck. Jesusssss.” He hisses, ducking his head to press his lips to yours while he rides his orgasm.

You whimper softly against his lips, smiling as you float down from the incredible orgasm and your arms loosen around his back to start slowly stroking his skin. “I love you.” You whisper when he pulls back slightly. You can't believe that you've found him again. Now that he is back in your life, you won't let him go again. “Happy 4th of July.”

[gilverrwrites]

Best friends to lovers, but it's Dick Grayson.

≈1.3K words, CWs: F!Reader, cunnilingus, dirty talk. Pet-names: Princess, baby girl, pretty girl. Rating: 18+ MINOR DNI

Your best friend Dick Grayson has no boundaries.

He helps himself to your food, swapping and changing dumplings for noodles, carrots for celery, dips his fries in your milkshake, without even asking.  

He leaves his dirty clothes in your washing hamper, ‘borrows’ your lotions, and leaves his streaming services logged in on all your devices. In the winter he puts his cold hands under your shirt, stealing your warmth, and laughs when you flinch. “But you’re so hot!” He whines, hugging you tighter, “Let me hold you a while longer, please.”

In the summer he struts around your apartment, shirtless and sheening with sweat, eating your ice cream, pumping up the AC so he and Haley can chill out post-run. Not that you mind, it’s just that ‘oh, no, he’s my best friend’ is a hard sell when you bring dates home.

At random hours of the early morning, he wakes you up by crawling into bed with you, clings to the over-sized shirt you're sleeping in that is clearly his and makes fun of your tattered old underwear. “They’re comfy!” “They’re… something...” He trails off, all dreamy and quiet, refusing to expand before falling asleep, and is gone by the time you wake up.  

Your best friend Dick Grayson brings you gifts from all over the world. Chocolates from that one mom-and-pop you once mentioned in Keystone, jewellery, and perfume he probably paid way too much for from market vendors in cities like Paris and Istanbul, risqué pieces of underwear from Milan.

On late nights, he rests his head on your tummy, settled between your thighs as you watch your favourite film series for the nth time, smiling to himself as you babble on about your favourite scenes, about facts he already knows because you already told him, but he wants to hear you say it again anyway. When you start falling asleep on the couch, he lifts you, bridal style with ease, and carries you to the bedroom. “Come on then princess, let’s get you to bed.” “I can do it myself.” “You can’t even keep your eyes open, let me.”

He brushes stray pieces of hair out of your face when you’re too engrossed in something to do it yourself, when your hands are too full to reach, or when he wants to get a better look at you, just because he loves looking at your face.

“Um, what are you doing?” He nonchalantly hooks his finger into the waistband of your trousers, disappointed when he gets a not-too-subtle peek at neither your endearing threadbare usuals, nor the lacey Italian ones he’d bought for you.

Your best friend Dick Grayson flirts with you blatant and publicly;

“The red or the blue?” “Neither.” “I have to wear something!” “I’d love to see you wearing nothing.” “Wear the blue, always the blue.” Jason would never let it go otherwise.   “What do you want?” “You.” “I meant to eat.” “Same answer.” “I could never be you.” “What? Why?” “Must be tiring, being that cute.”

He texts you when you’re not together. “Good morning pretty girl” “saw this and thought of you.” “What are you wearing?”

One day you text back a picture, a mirror selfie from behind, your skirt hiked up, showing off the tiny navy-blue thong and he doesn’t text back. You worry that you’ve taken it too far, overstepped a line. 

Until your best friend Dick Grayson is waiting for you when you arrive home, sporting a nasty black eye and a smile the size of titan tower. In actuality, that image was exactly what he’d been hoping for every time he messaged. That image had been ingrained in his mind since you sent it, and it was one thousand times better than he’d imagined. That image was his hook, time to reel you in.

“Sorry I didn’t text back, I was speechless. No really, I got this” he points to the purple bruise forming around his eye “because I was distracted, thinking about you.”

“It’s cool, you didn’t have to say anything.” You lie. “Not like you haven’t seen it all before.” 

“Can I see it again?”

In the middle of your cramped kitchen, your best friend Dick Grayson lifts your skirt above your waist and drops to his knees, brazenly eying your folds. On request, you take the skirt from his hands, holding it up, exposing yourself as you do a little twirl for him, letting him see the full picture. 

When he lands a playful smack on your ass-cheek he grins, thrilled by the playfully petulant look you fire at him over your shoulder. When he runs a finger over your clothed slit, he’s even more delighted by the way your body shivers, by the hint of wetness he can feel seeping through the thin piece of fabric.   

You don’t stop him when he hooks a finger in the crotch, pulling the obstructing lace to the side, or when he runs his fingers through your now exposed lips. Deft fingers tease you, ghosting over your clit with no real fiction, making your pussy clench around nothing. 

“Want something?” The sight of him at your feet, watching you through defiant eyes has you weak.  

“Yes, touch me.” The sight of you, spread and writhing has him near feral, but he wants something more. 

“I’m already touching you, Princess.” He laughs, his warm breath against your slick tingles. If his breath is enough to make you quiver, he can’t wait to find out what his tongue will do to you. “Ask for something else. Nicely.”

You’re not sure exactly what he wants you to say, so you stammer the first words that come to mind; “Please Dick, stop teasing. Just do whatever you want to do, I want it too.” 

It’s enough. 

Your best friend Dick Grayson lifts you by your knees, setting you on the counter and securing your thighs over his shoulders as he descends on your folds. He’s messy and desperate, unable to get enough of your sweetness, darting his tongue in every direction until he finds the select few motions that have your fingers curling in his hair, have you panting his name between loose lips.

When you start to roll your hips, using his mouth for your own pleasure he can’t help but moan, the reverb sending further vibrations through your body that has your toes curling. He’s rock hard, itching to palm his cock, to grind it against the closest surface, but that’s an afterthought. He won’t get off until he’s lapped up your climax at least once. 

“Are you gonna cum for me?” His words are slurred, muffled between your legs, unwilling to pull away long enough to get his words out cohesively. “I want you to cum all over my face, okay baby girl?”

If he wasn’t already salivating against you, Dick’s mouth would water at the sight of you. Your body begins to jerk, your back arching, head thrown back as your orgasm hits you, his firm hands tighten around your legs, locking your lower body in place until all your tension is gone, and his face is soaked with your fluids. 

As you come down from your high, he savours the flavour, occasionally licking up stray droplets from your skin. He admires the way you look, head lolled to the side, eyes static under heavy lids, jaw slack, until it’s too much, until he needs to see you high on his doing once more. Without warning he lifts you. The collar of his shirt is damp, his cheeks are flushed, his hair a mess.

“Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable for round two.” Your best friend Dick Grayson says as he cradles your body in his arms. 

<3

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More Like This | Tip/Commission Me

[peachdues]

a glimpse at some soon-to-come Hashira interaction and a wee predicament in Compass

CW: slight reference to/implied roofie-ing • protective Sanemi • violently protective Sanemi • bad boy/gang AU • slight mention of throwing up

“Y/N?” Sanemi catches you right as you stumble once more. He brings you in against him, keeping you upright with his body as your knees give way.

“Y/N. Hey, hey.” He lightly slaps your cheek, cool and clammy under his touch.

Your eyes have rolled back and you’re muttering and moaning incoherently under your breath, but you manage a single, whimpered “Sanemi.”

“I’m here, I’m here, baby’. I’ve got you.” Sanemi loops your arm around his shoulders, allowing you to fully sink into his side. His other arm anchors itself around your waist. “What happened? Did you drink something?”

You mumble again, your head rolling heavily into his shoulder.

He sidesteps with Iguro, blocking him while keeping you in his arms.

“The diner on 12th street. Tomorrow night. Seven.”

And Sanemi knows, by the way his fellow Hashira’s eyes widen — marginally so — that he’s struck a chord.

Good, Sanemi thinks. Let him know that he has leverage of his own; an ace in his back pocket, should Iguro decide to test the limits of his patience.

His raven haired companion only responds with a tight nod that Sanemi returns before he turns toward your apartment building, and carries you inside.

“We’re home, baby,” he soothes, cheek pressed to your clammy temple as he carries you toward the door.

Sanemi doesn’t let himself think about the mental slip he’d just made, by telling you that you were both home; as though he has some claim to your apartment. As though he deserves to, especially after he failed to be with you tonight, when you needed him most.

He sets you down only for a moment to rummage his pocket for the key he’d had made to unlock your door, before he lifts you back up into his arms and totes you inside.

He makes a mental note to check your jacket for your own keys, as well as your wallet — to ensure they’re still on you and haven’t been swiped by whomever targeted you, lest they think it wise to return.

Some brutal, violent part of him dares them to try; let them come for you again. His reputation is brutal enough as applied to the lowlifes he’s tasked with breaking; let them see what he can do when someone he loves is threatened.

He’ll show them a monster.

But first, he needs to get you situated.

He makes for your bed, resolving to strip you free of your clothes and find one of the sweaters or shirts he knows you’ve swiped over the last few months when you begin squirming in his arms.

“Throw up,” you moan, pushing weakly against his chest. “Gonna — up —“

With lightning speed, Sanemi whips around and makes a beeline for your bathroom. He barely has time to set you down in front your toilet and flip open its lid before you’re retching into the bowl.

Sanemi sighs and settles in behind you, his hand gathering your hair together and sweeping it back, holding it out of your way. His other hand rests solidly against your back, occasionally rubbing soothing circles in between your great, shuddering gasps.

At some point, he helps you peel your sweater off of your sweat-dampened skin, leaving you in nothing but your bra and jeans as you continue heaving your guts into the toilet.

Sanemi leans forward and presses his lips against your sticky shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

You moan in some vague attempt at a response, though he’s not entirely sure you’ve heard him. You only rest your cheek against the cool porcelain of your toilet, your eyelids heavy as your breathing eases.

When an hour passed without you vomiting up your insides, Sanemi decides it’s likely safe to try and move you to your bed. He would be concerned by the heavy way you rest in his arms, dead to the world, if it wasn’t your steady breathing.

Once he’s stripped you of your jeans and underwear and found you his worn, white and black sweater to wear, he strips himself down to his briefs and climbs into bed with you.

You don’t move, even as he slides his arms under you to bring you to his chest , still too worried that you may throw up at some point in the night and be unable to roll to your side. But Sanemi basks in the temporary relief of knowing you’re here, warm and safe in his arms.

Whoever did this to you should be grateful Sanemi can’t unglue himself from your side right now. He will kill them regardless, and it will hurt; of that, he is certain.

But if he’d had the chance to hunt them down right then, Sanemi was fairly sure there would be no mercy. No where they could run, no where they could hide, where Sanemi would not hunt them down and make them pay.

Annnd Iguro knows about her

[honeydippedfiction]

There's no number but can I get with Joey B, 'you used to hate me, and now you can't take your eyes off me.' 'you have no idea how long i've thought about having you like this.' & "My little slut to ruin"🤭

Reposting bc tumblr decided to fuck with me again, so if you seen this earlier, no you didn’t.

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

'you used to hate me, and now you can't take your eyes off me.' 'you have no idea how long i've thought about having you like this.' & "My little slut to ruin"

Joe Burrow x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

It started, as most disasters do, with a smirk.

Y/N would remember it for the rest of her life—not because anything particularly dramatic happened that day, but because of the way it made her feel. A slow-burning irritation, the kind that simmers behind your ribs long after the moment passes. The kind that warns you, deep in your gut, this one’s going to be trouble.

The first time she met Joe Burrow, he was sitting on her mama’s butter-soft leather couch, legs sprawled out like he’d paid rent and picked out the curtains. He had a Gatorade bottle tilted lazily in one hand, the condensation dripping onto a coaster he probably didn’t notice. He looked right at home—too at home—and that alone set her teeth on edge.

It was the summer after her sophomore year of college, a summer she had earned. She came back to Baton Rouge with a fresh silk press, a sun-kissed tan from a wild week in Miami, and exactly zero patience for anything that didn’t include her bed, her mama’s cooking, and uninterrupted sleep. Her duffel bag was still digging into her shoulder when she stepped through the front door, kicked it shut behind her, and caught sight of him. A stranger.

“And you are?” she asked coolly, letting the bag thud to the hardwood floor beside her. He looked up without urgency, as if he hadn’t just been caught trespassing. His eyes met hers, cool and amused, and then that smirk unfurled—slow, deliberate, dangerous. “Joe,” he said, standing just enough to offer a handshake she didn’t bother accepting. “You must be Chris’s sister.” She didn’t like the way he said it, like it was obvious, like he’d known all along that she’d walk through that door and try to put him in his place. She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Yeah. And you must be the reason my brother keeps canceling plans.”

“Guilty,” he replied with a one-shoulder shrug, lifting the Gatorade for another sip. “We’ve been working out. Grinding.”

“You say that like you deserve a medal.” He grinned wider. “You’re kind of intense, huh?” Her eyes narrowed. “And you’re kind of everywhere. Why are you even in my house?” He gestured vaguely toward the kitchen like it was his own. “Chris told me to come through. Said y’all had leftovers and AC.”

Of course he did. Typical Chris—inviting people over like he signed the mortgage. Y/N exhaled sharply through her nose and muttered something half-formed under her breath as she turned and walked away. She didn’t bother saying goodbye. Didn’t slam the door either. That would’ve been too much like admitting he got under her skin. That was day one.

Day two came with more noise. Joe was back again, this time in the backyard with Chris, both shirtless, sweating, and talking trash as they shot hoops on the cracked old driveway court. The ball thudded against the pavement, laughter echoing off the fence like they owned the whole damn block. Y/N sat at the kitchen window, sipping iced tea and watching him through narrowed eyes. He moved like he knew people were watching—too smooth, too casual. She tried to pretend it didn’t bother her, but every time he shot and scored, he’d glance toward the house like he knew she was there.

Later, as she passed through the den on her way to the laundry room, he was already inside again, toweling off his hair, sweat making his skin shine. He noticed her before she noticed him. “Hey,” he said, voice easy. “You always this quiet, or just when I’m around?” She didn’t break stride. “Just when I’m trying not to say something rude.” He chuckled. “Fair enough. But I’m growing on you. Admit it.” She shot him a withering look. “Like mold.” But the corner of her mouth betrayed her. A twitch. A flicker of something she’d later swear wasn’t a smile.

Over the next few weeks, Joe Burrow became a constant—an irritating, charming, unavoidable presence in her summer. He was always there. At the house, in the kitchen, on the porch, in her damn peripheral vision. He was loud and opinionated, always challenging her, poking fun at her playlists, calling her bougie when she refused to drink anything but bottled water. He teased her like he’d known her for years, and when she pushed back, he only seemed more entertained.

And slowly, so slowly, her annoyance stopped feeling sharp and started feeling... complicated. She hated the way he could disarm her. The way he noticed things—like when she was tired, or when her curls started to frizz in the heat. The way he asked questions like he meant to listen, not just to respond. She hated that she started answering him.

One night, near the end of July, they were alone on the porch. The air was thick with humidity, and the cicadas screamed like they were trying to drown out the silence. Joe leaned back on the porch swing, his knee brushing hers just enough to make her glance down. “You ever gonna let up on me?” he asked softly, almost without a smile. She didn’t answer right away. Took a sip of her lemonade. Watched the stars.

“Depends,” she said eventually. “On what?” She looked over, eyes catching his in the half-dark. “On whether you’re worth the effort.” That night, he didn’t smirk. Just looked at her like he didn’t mind waiting for her to figure that out.

It started, as most disasters do, with a smirk. But it was the way he looked at her after the smirk—the patience, the pull, the quiet confidence—that would be her real undoing. And she would spend the rest of that summer pretending she hadn’t already lost.

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It didn’t get better after that.

If anything, it got worse. Joe had a presence—a kind of quiet, natural magnetism that didn’t ask for attention, but somehow demanded it anyway. He didn’t chase the spotlight. The spotlight just had a way of following him around like a loyal dog. He walked with this relaxed confidence, shoulders loose, laugh easy, eyes sharp—like he’d read the room three moves ahead and was already halfway through winning the game. And the thing that drove Y/N insane was that everyone else fell for it.

Her mama, who didn’t like any of Chris’s friends on principle, made sure Joe had sweet tea in his hand and a second helping on his plate. Her aunties treated him like he’d married into the family already—pulling him into hugs and blessing him over plates of ribs like he was too skinny. Her little cousins followed him around like ducklings. The neighborhood barbers waved at him from their porches. And at every family barbecue, birthday party, and impromptu Sunday gathering, Joe Burrow made himself at home like he'd been carved into the family tree generations ago.

He showed up, laughed too loud, charmed everybody without trying, and somehow always ended up sitting next to her. And he had the nerve—the absolute gall—to be attractive. Y/N knew he knew it, too. The smirks. The slow blinks. The way he’d push his hand through his hair after a game like he knew people were watching. Like he had some ESPN highlight reel playing behind his eyes.

“Quarterback Barbie,” Y/N muttered one Saturday afternoon, narrowing her eyes at the window. She and her best friend, Londyn, were camped on the living room couch, half-watching reruns of Girlfriends while trying not to melt in the Southern heat. Outside, Joe was in the yard, shirtless again, tossing a football back and forth with Chris. His skin glistened under the sun, golden and infuriating. His shorts hung low, just enough to make Y/N look longer than she meant to. Londyn followed her gaze, squinting. “Barbie? Girl, he looks like he sells out every aisle in Target. That man is an action figure.”

Y/N scoffed and flopped back against the cushions. “He’s arrogant. He thinks being good at football makes him a philosopher.” Londyn raised an eyebrow. “What’d he say this time?” “He told Chris that pressure doesn’t make diamonds—it just reveals what was already there.” “…You sure he didn’t steal that off Pinterest?” “Doesn’t matter. He said it like he invented the thought.” Y/N huffed and rolled her eyes so hard it gave her a headache. “And then he had the nerve to wink at me.”

Londyn laughed. “You are kind of obsessed.”

“I’m observant,” Y/N corrected sharply. But she knew what the real problem was. It wasn’t just the charm or the looks or the casual way he seemed to own every room he walked into. It was the fact that Joe Burrow never let her win. Never gave her the satisfaction of the last word. He wasn’t intimidated by her sharp tongue or her raised eyebrow. He didn’t back down when she got snippy—he leaned in. Met her snark with smirks. Matched her sarcasm beat for beat.

He challenged her. And worse? Sometimes, he won. She remembered one night in particular, a few weeks into summer. They were standing on opposite sides of the kitchen island, a lazy Friday night where Chris had gone upstairs and left them alone with the hum of the ceiling fan and the clink of ice in their drinks. “You’re not even that clever,” she’d said coolly, trying to shake him off like a gnat at a picnic. He didn’t flinch. Just leaned on the counter with both hands, a slow grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And yet,” he said, “I keep living in your head rent-free.” Her jaw clenched. Her heart stuttered. She blinked—once, twice—then turned and walked away without a word. Infuriating. Absolutely, irredeemably infuriating. And still, somehow… always back again the next day. Like clockwork. Like gravity.

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There were moments when she told herself she hated him. Like really, truly, viscerally hated him.

Like when he played Spades with her uncles and actually held his own. Or when he brought her mama flowers “just because,” and she giggled like she was seventeen. Or when he made a joke about her favorite movie, and she bit back a laugh so hard it hurt her stomach. But those were just surface-level wounds. The real blow came on a late Thursday night in July, after everyone had gone home and the backyard was quiet, littered with red Solo cups and citronella candles burning low.

She’d stepped out to get some air and found him sitting on the porch steps, alone, head tilted back to the sky. “You ever think,” he said, not looking at her, “about how some moments feel like the start of something before they actually are?” She paused, thrown by the softness in his voice. “What?” He turned then, looking up at her. His eyes were tired. Honest. That golden-boy shine dimmed by something real underneath. “I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “I was just thinking... Sometimes, you meet someone, and everything after that starts to shift. You don’t even realize it until you’re already deep in it.” Y/N sat beside him slowly, unsure of why her heart was beating like it had something to prove. “That’s either really deep,” she said carefully, “or really manipulative.”

Joe laughed under his breath. “You’ll figure it out.” She didn’t answer. Just looked out at the yard, her arms crossed against the chill creeping in from the night. She hated that he always had a way of saying things she’d be thinking about days later. And in that silence—between the candles, the sweat, the laughter that still lingered in the air like perfume—she realized something that made her chest ache: This wasn’t the start of a crush. It was the start of a problem. And Joe Burrow was going to be the kind of problem she couldn’t walk away from without limping.

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Over the years, the clashes got louder—and more public.

They were no longer just private spats whispered behind closed doors or snide remarks tossed in passing. Now, their arguments echoed through crowded rooms, crackling with a mix of frustration and something unspoken, something neither wanted to admit.

It was at a Fourth of July barbecue, the sun high and the scent of fireworks already thick in the air, when Y/N, fed up with Joe’s constant smirking and effortless charm, finally jabbed, loud enough for half the yard to hear, “Hey, Football Ken, ever thought of using that big brain for something other than charming your way out of a conversation?”

The words hung in the air like a spark before the fireworks started—a sharp, pointed challenge. Joe turned toward her, grin widening as if she’d just handed him a prize. “Football Ken?” he repeated, voice teasing. “I like that. Fits me better than ‘Quarterback Barbie,’ don’t you think?”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t back down. “At least Barbie’s not afraid to get a little dirt on her hands.”

Laughter bubbled around them from the crowd, but the heat between Y/N and Joe was something else—something sparking just beneath the surface, far from friendly.

Weeks later, at Chris’s graduation dinner, the tension flared again, this time over plates of roasted chicken and mashed potatoes, the whole family gathered in a warm, crowded dining room lit by soft chandeliers.

Joe leaned back in his chair, elbow resting casually on the table, eyes locked on Y/N with that infuriating smirk. “You know,” he said, voice low and deliberate, “you’re way too pretty to be this annoying.”

Y/N’s fork paused mid-air. The words weren’t exactly a compliment, but they landed somewhere uncomfortable—half-flattery, half-insult, all of it charged.

She didn’t say a word at the table, but later, in the quiet sanctuary of her room, she iced him out. No texts. No smiles. No acknowledgment.

For two weeks, she pretended he didn’t exist.

But Joe had a way of creeping back into her life, slipping through the cracks like sunlight on a cloudy day. And even when she tried to shut the door, it never stayed closed.

Because their fights weren’t really fights.

They were matches.

Each argument was less about winning and more about something neither wanted to name. Something electric, simmering just beneath the surface, pulsing between them with every jab and retort.

In those moments—when their voices raised and eyes flashed—there was a buzz that neither could deny. A heat that made their skin prickle and their words sharper, as if the tension was charging the air itself.

They both pretended it wasn’t there. They both pretended they didn’t want it.

Until this trip.

Until Turks & Caicos.

Because now? The rules were different.

Gone were the watchful eyes of big brothers and cousins, the familiar rhythms of family dinners and backyard basketball games. There were no protective glances, no snide comments from Auntie, no shared history to lean on or fight over.

Just saltwater, relentless sun, and the endless stretch of sand beneath their feet.

And the heat—both from the sun and from something far more dangerous—wrapped around them like a second skin.

They found themselves closer than ever before. Too close, maybe.

Nights bled into mornings, filled with the taste of cold drinks and the sharp tang of sea spray. They joked, they fought, they laughed, but in the quiet moments—when the music slowed and the stars came out—they felt the space between them shrink until it almost disappeared.

Y/N caught Joe’s gaze more times than she could count, the challenge and the invitation tangled in the depths of his eyes.

And Joe? He moved with a confidence that was new—less cocky, more deliberate—as if the game had changed and he was playing for keeps.

For the first time, Y/N wasn’t sure she wanted to walk away.

Because maybe this time, the match wasn’t meant to end in fire.

Maybe it was meant to burn.

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The sun was beginning its slow descent into the Caribbean horizon, casting the sky in soft layers of burnt gold and rose-petal pink. Warm breezes whispered through the palms that framed the luxurious villa perched high along the cliffs of Turks & Caicos. Below, waves crashed rhythmically against jagged rocks, a steady, soothing soundtrack that blended with the distant thump of bass from Bluetooth speakers scattered throughout the property.

Y/N sank deeper into the plush lounger beside the infinity pool, a glass of rum punch untouched at her side, beads of condensation rolling slowly down the glass. Her skin glistened in the fading sunlight—cocoa-rich and kissed by salt and sun—while the vibrant orange bikini clung to her curves like it was made just for her. She looked radiant, glowing, but behind her dark sunglasses, her eyes betrayed something else: a simmering annoyance she was trying very hard to hide.

Across the pool, Joe Burrow stood shirtless, leaning against the marble ledge as he laughed with her brother Chris and a couple of the other guys. His toned torso was on full display, muscles flexing with casual ease, the backwards baseball cap holding his sun-bleached curls in place. He looked like the poster boy for Midwestern football—white boy swagger, golden retriever grin, and that unmistakable quarterback arrogance all wrapped into one.

God, he was exhausting.

Y/N’s lips twitched into a scowl as she muttered, “Why does he always have to be like this?”

Londyn, stretched out beside her in a sage-green bikini and clearly enjoying the show, took a slow sip of her own drink and smirked. “Like what?”

“Like that,” Y/N said, tilting her head toward Joe with the straw of her drink. “Cocky. Loud. Always trying so hard to prove he’s the most important person in the room.”

Londyn’s eyebrow rose in amused disbelief. “He’s just tossing a football and laughing.”

“Exactly,” Y/N snapped. “Loudly.”

“You’re obsessed,” Londyn teased, drawing the word out with a teasing smile. “You talk about him like he personally ruined your life.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “He’s annoying, not a villain.”

“Please.” Londyn leaned closer, lowering her voice playfully. “You hate how fine he is, and you hate that you can’t stop noticing it.”

Y/N shot her a side-eye glare. “I’ve seen better.”

Londyn didn’t miss a beat. “Have you, though?” She nodded toward Joe, who had just run a hand through his damp hair. His muscles flexed with a grace that was borderline criminal. “’Cause from where I’m sitting, he looks like an Olympic event.”

“Yeah, the Arrogance Games,” Y/N muttered, just as Joe happened to glance their way.

And then he started walking over.

“Oh God,” Y/N hissed under her breath. “Here comes the circus.”

Londyn sat up, grinning. “I’m gonna go check on the charcuterie in the kitchen.”

“You’re abandoning me?”

“I’m giving you two a moment,” she said over her shoulder, voice light and musical. “Try not to kill each other. Or do. Whatever gets results.”

Y/N barely had time to shoot her a death glare before Joe was standing right beside her lounger, his shadow falling over her and instantly cooling the air—and raising her irritation.

“You look comfortable,” he said, voice low, thick with that teasing, easygoing drawl he always used when he wanted to get under her skin. “Didn’t take you for the lounging type.”

She looked up at him slowly, tilting her head just enough to meet his gaze from beneath her sunglasses. “And I didn’t take you for the literate type. Guess we’re both learning new things.”

Joe chuckled, clearly amused. “You’ve got claws today. That’s cute.”

“I’m always like this. You just happen to bring out the worst of it.”

“Really?” He leaned in slightly, that playful spark igniting in his ocean-blue eyes. “Because I think I bring out your best.”

“In your dreams.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His grin deepened, slow and knowing. “You’re in those, too.”

She sat up straighter, voice low and sweet—honey over broken glass. “Don’t call me sweetheart.”

Joe crossed his arms, chest stretching like he knew exactly what effect he had on her. “What should I call you then? Trouble? Princess?”

“You should call me someone who’s way out of your league.”

“Funny.” He glanced down at her, his eyes lingering just a fraction too long before snapping back to hers. “I don’t remember joining a league I couldn’t dominate.”

His words landed somewhere between infuriating and intoxicating.

Y/N rose, brushing past him as she grabbed her drink from the table, her hip grazing his towel-covered thigh. She heard the quick catch in his breath—felt it—like a secret.

“What, no comeback?” Joe asked behind her, amused, curious.

“I’m pacing myself,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s a long trip.”

“Plenty of time for you to fall in love with me, then.”

Y/N turned back, blinking slowly. “If I start showing symptoms, I’ll seek immediate medical attention.”

Joe took a step closer. The space between them shrank until it was almost unbearable. His voice dropped an octave, almost serious this time. “Or maybe you don’t hate me as much as you pretend.”

She swallowed the tightness rising in her throat. “I don’t pretend anything. I say exactly what I mean.”

“Yeah?” His eyes flicked down to her lips for the briefest second before locking with hers again. “So when you call me insufferable, you mean it. And when I say you’re sexy when you’re mad… I mean that, too.”

Her breath caught. Just for a second. Just enough for him to know.

Then he stepped back with a wink, like he hadn’t just dismantled her whole afternoon with a smile and a few maddening words.

“See you at dinner, Trouble.”

And just like that, he was gone—back to the boys, laughing as if none of it had happened. As if he hadn’t just left her heart racing in his wake.

Y/N sank back onto the lounger, eyes drifting out toward the sea, trying to ignore the heat pooling low and the erratic rhythm pounding through her veins.

This vacation was supposed to be a break. A reset.

But Joe Burrow had a way of turning everything into a game of one-upmanship.

The problem now?

The rules were changing.

Less clothing. No expectations. Fewer people around to intervene.

And all that tension—years of it—was starting to feel like something else entirely.

Something dangerous.

Something delicious.

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The villa was quiet—too quiet for a house full of young, restless people on vacation. The kind of quiet that felt less like peace and more like the calm before a storm. Y/N stepped lightly into the open-concept kitchen, still clad in her bright orange bikini top and loose, linen pants that fluttered gently with each step. Her skin still glistened with droplets of pool water, catching the soft overhead light. She was on a simple mission: find a snack, steal a moment of solitude, maybe reclaim a sliver of peace.

But what she found instead was Joe.

He stood at the fridge, shirtless, the faint sheen of sweat clinging to his broad shoulders from some recent workout or sprint. His posture was casual, as if the house—and the entire damn island—belonged to him. One leg propped up against the counter, a bottle of water dangling from his fingers. His sun-bleached curls were still damp, and that familiar, infuriating smirk played on his lips.

He turned just as Y/N stopped in the doorway, his eyes lighting up with that signature mixture of cocky amusement and something unreadable.

“Don’t worry,” Joe said without looking away from the fridge, voice smooth and teasing, “I didn’t finish the last mango slices. Thought you might come stomping in demanding ‘equal fruit rights.’”

Y/N blinked once, caught off guard. “Wow. You always talk this much when no one’s asking?”

He took a deliberate, slow sip of water, lips curling into a grin. “Only when I know it pisses you off.”

She rolled her eyes and stepped around him, reaching for the Tupperware on the counter. Her hand brushed his damp arm, and a quick jolt shot through her like she’d just touched a live wire. She jerked her hand back reflexively.

Joe caught the movement and raised a brow. “So jumpy.”

“Maybe I just don’t like being touched by sweaty quarterbacks with God complexes,” she shot back, voice sharp.

He leaned against the counter, smirking like he owned the moment. “Please. You’ve been looking at me like a snack all week.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’ve been looking at you like a hazard label Burrow.”

His grin widened, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Careful, Y/N. You keep saying my name like that, and someone might start thinking you’re catching feelings.”

She slammed open the Tupperware lid with a flourish. “You’re not even the best-looking one here.”

Joe’s brow shot up. “Oh? Who is?”

“Malik,” she said, popping a slice of mango into her mouth.

Joe laughed—a deep, throaty sound that twisted something inside her, something she wasn’t ready to admit. “Good to know I’ve got competition. I’ll be sure to flex harder next pool day.”

Y/N turned away, muttering under her breath, “Please don’t.”

He followed her steps over to the kitchen island, leaning across it like a predator who knew his prey wasn’t going anywhere.

“You always get this defensive when you’re into someone?” he asked, voice casual, teasing.

Y/N blinked, lips parting slightly between bites of mango, then narrowed her eyes. “You’re projecting.”

“I’m observant.”

“You’re annoying.”

“You’re glowing.”

The word caught her off guard. She froze for a fraction of a second.

Joe’s voice softened, losing that cocky edge, almost honest now. “You’ve been glowing since the moment we got here.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “Don’t do that,” she said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Say shit like that and pretend it doesn’t mean anything.”

Joe tilted his head, curious. “What if I’m not pretending?”

Her breath hitched. She stepped back, heart pounding against her ribs like a warning drum. “Then you’re worse than I thought. Because you don’t get to push me one second and pull me in the next.”

For the first time that afternoon, Joe’s confident smile faltered, his eyes flickering with something like vulnerability.

“You think I’m pushing you?” he murmured, voice low, tight.

“You don’t see how you look at me? Like you’re daring me to cross the line.”

She met his gaze, jaw clenched tight.

“And maybe I am,” she admitted, voice barely more than a whisper. “Maybe I’m just waiting to see if you’re actually man enough to do it.”

They held each other’s eyes across the cool marble island, breaths shallow, chests rising and falling in sync with the charged silence between them.

Then, like a thunderclap shattering the moment, Chris walked in.

“Yo, y’all seen my speaker? I swear I left it out here—oh.” He froze, glancing back and forth between Y/N and Joe. “Am I interrupting?”

“No,” they said simultaneously—too fast, too loud.

Chris blinked, confusion painting his face. Slowly, he backed toward the door. “Right… I’ll just… yeah.”

As the door clicked softly behind him, the silence thickened and grew electric once more.

Y/N turned sharply on her heel. “I need air.”

Joe’s voice followed her through the sliding glass doors onto the patio, rich and low. “Take all the time you want, princess. I’m not going anywhere.”

The breeze caught her hair as she stepped out into the fading light, heart pounding against her chest—not just from the heat, but from the way he made her feel. The villa might have been quiet, but inside, the storm was just beginning.

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It was past midnight, and the villa had finally settled into a rare stillness. The buzz of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the distant laughter that had filled the rooms all evening had dissolved into a hush. Ocean waves crashed rhythmically somewhere beyond the open balcony doors, their constant pounding a steady reminder of the wild world just outside the sanctuary. A ceiling fan hummed lazily in the living room, stirring the humid island air into a soft, comforting breeze. Most of the group had retreated to their bedrooms, the quiet punctuated only by the occasional creak of settling wood and the faint rustle of restless sleep.

Y/N padded barefoot into the kitchen, her steps light against the cool tile floor. She wore a cropped tank and soft cotton sleep shorts, her curls gathered loosely in a pineapple atop her head. She wasn’t even hungry; the kitchen was just the easiest place to be when your mind refused to shut off. Her thoughts buzzed, electric and relentless, still stinging from her earlier confrontation with Joe. Her skin felt charged, as if his words had left an imprint on her nerves.

She reached for a glass and filled it from the water dispenser, the cold liquid a brief anchor. Leaning against the counter, she let the cool tile press into the backs of her thighs, hoping to calm the heat rising inside her.

“Could’ve sworn I just saw a ghost.”

The voice cut through the quiet like a knife, smooth and smug, perfectly familiar.

Y/N didn’t bother turning around. “Should’ve just kept walking.”

Joe stepped fully into the room, bare-chested as always, the dim light tracing the lines of his sweat-damp muscles. His gray sweatpants hung low on his hips, and a half-drunk bottle of water dangled loosely from one hand. He looked effortlessly golden, like he’d been carved from sunlight and sass. Unbothered. And God, how much she hated that about him.

“I figured the kitchen was neutral territory,” he said casually.

“Only if you’re not breathing,” she muttered.

He smirked, the expression that both infuriated and intrigued her. “You always this hostile when you’re wearing pajama shorts?”

She turned slowly to face him, one brow arching. “You always this irritating when there’s no one else around to witness it?”

His grin deepened. “I think you like it.”

“I think you’re delusional.”

Joe took a deliberate step closer. Just one. Not enough to cross the line, but enough to tighten the space between them.

“Come on, Y/N,” he said low, voice teasing but laced with something else. “You gonna tell me what your real problem with me is?”

She crossed her arms, keeping her cool. “I already told you. You’re cocky. Arrogant. You walk into a room like it owes you something.”

Another step. Closer.

“And you walk in like everyone should drop to their knees just because you showed up.”

She snorted, a short laugh that was half-mockery, half-defiance. “Please. You wish.”

Now he was right in front of her, just the width of the counter separating their bodies. His voice dropped to a dangerous, smooth murmur.

“No, Y/N. You wish.”

Her heart skipped a beat—once, twice.

“And what exactly do I wish?” she challenged, folding her arms tighter.

Joe tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mischief and something raw beneath the surface. “That you'd give in.”

She scoffed, incredulous. “To you?”

He shrugged casually, like the idea was no big deal. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong.”

“That’s not what your eyes said earlier.”

Y/N gripped the edge of the granite counter, nails pressing into the cool stone to keep herself grounded. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Joe’s voice softened to velvet, nearly a whisper now. “I have to be, because you’re full of something else—lies, maybe. Or denial.”

“You think you know me?” she asked, stepping forward, chest nearly brushing his. Heat radiated off him in waves.

“I know you like a challenge.”

“I know you like being a problem.”

His mouth twitched into a slow, knowing smile. Breath feathered just above her lips.

“Maybe I like being your problem.”

Her eyes flicked down—just a moment—to the curve of his mouth. A mistake.

His smirk deepened, cocky and confident. “You gonna hit me? Or kiss me?”

She gritted her teeth. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Too late.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and electric. Her heart hammered against her ribcage, a frantic rhythm she couldn’t control. His gaze traced the line of her jaw, dipped to her lips, and held.

Suddenly, Y/N stepped back, breaking the tension. “Goodnight, Joe.”

He didn’t stop her. Didn’t reach out. Just watched, an unreadable look in his eyes as she walked away.

But his voice followed her through the quiet villa, soft and sure.

“Eventually, princess,” he said just loud enough for her to hear, “you’re gonna stop running.”

Y/N didn’t look back.

But if his smirk could have spoken, it would’ve said everything.

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The villa was still wrapped in the quiet of early morning when Y/N finally woke. The world outside was just beginning to stir, the first gentle brush of light stretching across the horizon in slow, deliberate strokes. Coral pink melted into soft lavender, bleeding into a deep, golden orange that kissed the edges of drifting clouds like they’d caught fire overnight. The air was cool and fresh, still holding the crispness of night but carrying the unmistakable promise of heat to come.

She lay still for a moment, letting the hush settle around her like a soft shawl—an unspoken permission to linger in this peaceful pause before the day demanded attention. Her room was cool, the curtains pulled back just enough to frame the breathtaking sunrise like a painting hung especially for her.

Glancing over, she saw Londyn still asleep, curled beneath the soft sheets, the slow rise and fall of her chest steady in the early light. Y/N shifted carefully, unwilling to disturb her. She slipped quietly from the bed, bare feet brushing the cool tile floor with practiced ease.

The early morning hush wrapped around her like a protective layer—no noise from the others, no playful teasing, no smirks from Joe. Just silence. Just space. Just her.

In the small bathroom, she dressed wordlessly, the soft rustle of fabric the only sound. A black triangle bikini—simple and sleek—settled against her skin, the kind of black that gleamed with hints of blue when hit by the sun. She pulled a loose, cropped rash guard over it, slate gray, knotted at her waist, sleeves pushed up just past her elbows. The fabric was light, perfect for a morning by the sea.

She stepped back and gathered her curls into a high, effortless puff—half-tamed, half-wild. Reaching for the leave-in conditioner, she spritzed just enough to tame the frizz, fingers working slowly and deliberately through the thick coils. Her reflection caught the soft gold of the sunrise spilling through the window, framing her face with a quiet radiance. She looked like she belonged to this morning, to the gentle warmth, to the ocean itself.

Quietly, Y/N stepped out onto the patio where her surfboard leaned against the wall, the wax cool and textured beneath her fingertips. The fins were already prepped, the leash coiled neatly, the fresh wax lines promising traction and glide. She’d been waiting for this moment all night—this chance to escape into the waves, to lose herself in the rhythm of the ocean.

Her feet sank slightly into the soft white sand as she made her way toward the beach, the grains cool and inviting beneath her toes. The shoreline stretched out before her, deserted except for a few early gulls dipping low over the tide, their calls sharp and free. The breeze stirred the palms lining the coast, carrying the salt tang of the sea mixed with a subtle sweetness from the tropical blooms near the villa.

The waves rolled in slow and steady, soft peaks that held just enough curve to carve a perfect ride. The ocean was calm, welcoming.

She waded in slowly, water lapping gently at her legs, the coolness a sharp contrast to the warmth already building in the air. One arm cradled her board, steady as she moved past the breakers. When she paddled out beyond the white foam, the world quieted down to just the sound of her breath and the soft splash of water. Time slipped away, replaced by the endless pulse of the tide beneath her.

No Joe. No snarky comments, no heated looks, no unspoken challenges simmering beneath every word.

Just the ocean. Just the waves. Just Y/N.

Her heartbeat slowed, settling into the same steady rhythm as the rise and fall of the sea. The salty breeze teased at her skin, and the sun climbed higher, warming her shoulders and casting sparkles across the water’s surface.

Here, she was nobody’s sister, nobody’s sparring partner, nobody’s conquest or annoyance. Here, there was no tension, no game to play.

She was simply Y/N.

Strong.

Sure.

Whole.

When Y/N finally emerged from the water nearly two hours later, the beach had transformed subtly under the growing light of day. Her hair was damp and wild, streaks of salt clinging to sun-kissed curls that tumbled messily around her shoulders. The ocean breeze tangled them further, whipping strands across her glowing cheeks and collarbones. Her skin held the warm flush of the sun, cheeks tinged a soft rose, and her limbs hummed with that unmistakable satisfaction—deep and whole—the kind only earned through movement, solitude, and moments that belonged entirely to her.

She padded barefoot up the sand toward the villa, the grains cool beneath her feet as she moved slowly, savoring the final taste of salt and sea on her skin. The world around her was beginning to stir.

Voices carried softly on the breeze—the low murmur of sleepy conversations, the familiar sound of laughter threading through the morning air. Somewhere close, the faint scrape of a speaker being set down, the first notes of a playlist drifting out, promising the start of something lively and loud.

Y/N reached the villa steps and paused, pulling a towel from her bag. She wrapped it around her shoulders, then shrugged it off to rub at her damp hair. The linen shorts she’d tossed in her bag earlier were soft and cool as she tugged them on, the fabric falling loosely around her thighs.

From the corner of her eye, she caught movement—the others gathering, stretching, waking fully to the day ahead. Chris’s familiar teasing voice floated up from the living room. “Alright, who’s ready for round two of this vacation chaos?”

Londyn laughed, her tone light and bright. “I swear, this trip is just getting started.”

Y/N smiled faintly but didn’t move toward them. Instead, she ducked into her room just as the noise outside grew louder, the sounds of plans being made, jokes exchanged, and the inevitable excitement of a group ready to seize the day.

She closed the door behind her softly, letting the cool shade wrap around her. Let them go. Let them be loud. Let them fill the house with energy and noise and all the wild anticipation she didn’t want to be a part of right now.

Because she’d already done what she came for.

She’d found peace. That rare, precious silence that hummed beneath the chaos.

She sat by the window for a moment, watching sunlight spill across the tiled floor in gold slivers. The quiet was a balm to her restless thoughts, a breath held just for herself.

But deep down, beneath the calm, a flutter of unease stirred. She didn’t know then how fragile this peace was. How quickly it might shatter.

Because on this trip—this tangled, unpredictable escape—nothing would stay quiet for long.

Not with Joe Burrow still out there, grinning like he owned the island, and the magnetic pull between them growing heavier with every passing moment.

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The villa was quiet. For once.

Y/N stirred slowly from her nap, the haze of the post-surf glow still lingering in her limbs. Her body ached in that deep, satisfying way—muscle-deep and honest—that only came after catching waves at sunrise. The ocean had given her something she hadn’t even realized she needed: silence. Space. Peace.

She shifted under the soft weight of the linen curtains, the muted light filtering through like a gentle reminder that the world outside was waking up, but here—inside—time still moved slower. Y/N pushed the covers off, the cool tile of the floor meeting her bare feet, grounding her. She wrapped herself in a thick towel, the edges still damp from her swim, her black bikini underneath clinging slightly to her skin.

The distant sounds of the group were faint, drifting through open windows and doors—laughs, the shuffle of feet on tile, the clatter of a paddleball being set up on the beach. The others had left for the day, eager for beach games, paddleball, maybe a little day drinking. But Y/N hadn’t joined them. She’d chosen this—this stillness, this solitude.

She moved quietly through the villa, careful not to disturb the lingering calm, and stepped out onto the patio.

The sun was climbing now, soft rays stretching across the pool’s shimmering surface, turning the water into liquid glass. The tropical breeze carried hints of salt and flowering jasmine, the island’s invisible signature.

And then she saw him.

Joe.

He was already there, sprawled out in one of the lounge chairs by the infinity pool, shirtless as usual. His gray athletic shorts hung low on his hips, the waistband slouching just so. Sunglasses rested on the bridge of his nose, hand pushed up into those signature messy curls. Between his fingers, a lit blunt dangled, smoke drifting lazily into the warm morning air.

He looked up as she stepped outside. His eyes swept down her body slowly, deliberately, like he was cataloging every inch, every detail.

Y/N froze for a moment, caught off guard, then narrowed her eyes.

“Are you serious?” she asked, voice low but sharp.

Joe exhaled a smooth cloud of smoke, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Good morning to you too.”

“You couldn’t go with the rest of them?” she pressed, stepping closer.

He shrugged, as if it were no big deal. “Didn’t feel like it.”

Y/N crossed her arms, staying rooted to the spot. “I stayed behind for some peace.”

He took another hit, blowing out the smoke slowly. “And I stayed behind for some quiet.” His voice dropped into a teasing drawl. “Funny how we both failed.”

She rolled her eyes and stormed past him, deliberately choosing the lounger farthest from his. “Don’t talk to me.”

Joe laughed softly, the sound teasing. “Didn’t plan to. But you’re doing enough talking for both of us.”

Y/N dropped her towel with a dramatic huff, the black bikini underneath glistening faintly with salt and moisture. She settled onto the lounger, then grabbed the bottle of sun cream and began rubbing it into her legs with more force than necessary, the movement sharp, almost defensive.

Joe watched her over the rim of his sunglasses, amusement lighting up his eyes. “You always this grumpy after surfing, or am I just lucky?”

“Just you,” she snapped without looking up.

He smirked. “Cute.”

“Don’t.”

He didn’t stop, obviously enjoying the game. “You know, you walk around like you’re untouchable.”

Y/N’s head tilted slightly, still not meeting his gaze. “Uh-huh.”

“But then you spend all morning chasing waves like you’re trying to drown.”

She paused, her fingers halting their work for a second. “You been watching me surf?”

“I don’t have to,” he said easily. “You always come back like you left something out there.”

A long silence stretched between them. The kind that makes the air thick enough to cut with a knife.

Joe’s voice softened, losing its edge but keeping that teasing undercurrent. “What are you trying to escape out there, anyway?”

Y/N finally lifted her sunglasses, the bright sunlight catching the hard line of her gaze. Her expression was unreadable, guarded. “Wouldn’t you love to know?”

Joe smiled slowly. “Yeah. Actually, I would.”

Her defenses flickered, if only for a moment. Her lips parted, searching for a retort, but nothing came.

The air shifted, heavy and charged.

“You always gotta mess with me?” she asked, quieter now.

“Do I mess with you?” Joe shot back, meeting her eyes with an unflinching stare. “Or do I just get under your skin because you hate that I see through the act?”

Her body tensed, a flicker of something raw flashing in her eyes. “I don’t have an act.”

Joe tilted his head, amused. “Yeah, you do.”

Suddenly, Y/N stood, heat rushing to her cheeks and neck. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Joe chuckled, leaning back in his chair, looking utterly relaxed. “You keep saying that, but here you are. Talking to me. Again.”

She scoffed. “Only because you’re in my space.”

“You’ve never complained about me being too close before.”

Turning to face him, her anger flared. “You think everything’s a joke.”

“No,” Joe said, voice steady, unexpectedly serious. “I think you want everything to be a joke. Because it’s easier than admitting this whole hate-me thing might be bullshit.”

His words hit like a wave—slow, inevitable, and crushing.

Y/N stared at him, cheeks burning, throat tight.

Then, with a dry laugh, she turned back toward the sliding glass door.

“I’m going inside.”

Joe’s voice followed her, low and challenging. “You always run when it gets too real?”

She didn’t look back.

But before the door shut behind her, her voice came, low and dangerous.

“I’m not running, Joe. I’m saving us both the trouble.”

And just like that, she was gone.

Leaving Joe alone with his blunt, the lingering curl of smoke, and the very real weight of something neither of them was ready to admit.

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The storm rolled in fast, like it had been waiting just beyond the horizon, biding its time. One moment, the sun was blazing—its harsh light beating down on the sand and palm fronds—then the sky cracked open with a deep, reverberating rumble. Clouds gathered swiftly, dark and swollen, like an ominous warning overhead. The wind picked up, whipping through the palms with a fierce urgency, tugging at stray beach towels, rattling the villa’s open doors and shaking loose bits of dried leaves.

Y/N had just started making her way back from the shoreline, the sand still cool beneath her bare feet, the salt air clinging to her damp skin. Her curls were heavy with salt and sun, tangled and wild in that perfect post-surf kind of way. The first fat drops of rain hit her bare shoulders, startling in their suddenness.

“Shit,” she muttered, arms instinctively wrapping around herself to guard against the chill and the surprise.

Behind her, the rest of the group had already packed up and scattered, their quick laughter and hurried footsteps echoing as they sprinted barefoot back toward the house. But Y/N wasn’t anywhere near the main stairs—she’d wandered farther down the property, toward the villa’s secluded lower side where the private cabana stood nestled just beyond the infinity pool. Built into the trees, it was cozy and half-open, draped with gauzy white curtains that fluttered wildly now in the rising wind. Thick cushions lay scattered on the daybed inside, perfect for lounging beneath the stars—but hardly designed to shelter anyone from an unexpected tropical storm.

Still, it was closer than the villa.

She broke into a quickened pace, sprinting up the stone path, feeling the raindrops multiply, cold and heavy against her skin. Just as the downpour exploded in earnest around her, she slipped inside the cabana, pulling the curtain closed behind her with a sharp snap to keep the worst of the rain at bay.

Safe. For now.

But the relief was fleeting.

Y/N spun around—and stopped cold.

Joe was already there.

He was lounging against the daybed, shirtless as usual, his skin gleaming damply from the ocean. His gray shorts clung to his hips, and a towel hung lazily over his shoulders. In one hand, he held his phone, scrolling idly, the other draped casually at his side. His gaze lifted when she entered, one eyebrow quirking in amused surprise as the storm swallowed the world outside.

“You’re kidding me,” Y/N breathed, still catching her breath.

Joe’s smirk was slow, lazy, unapologetic. “You always find a way back to me, don’t you?”

She shook out her curls, rainwater dripping down her neck and shoulders, and crossed her arms defensively. “Back to you? Please. If I’d known you were in here, I would’ve risked the lightning.”

He chuckled, eyes glinting with mischief. “You say that like I’m some kind of threat.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. “Get over yourself.”

Joe stretched an arm, patting the open space next to him on the daybed, not even bothering to move. “We’re gonna be stuck here a while. Might as well make yourself comfortable.”

She bit back a retort, unwilling to give in. “I’d rather stand.”

He looked her over slowly, that same smug grin curling at his lips. “Suit yourself.”

The storm settled in around them, relentless now—rain hammering against the cabana’s roof, thunder rolling and echoing across the island like a primal drumbeat. The air grew thick with humidity, charged with an electricity that seemed to hum louder between them than in the storm itself.

Y/N’s skin prickled, nerves tingling in a way she hadn’t expected. A gust of wind swept through the cabana, yanking one of the curtains open with a sudden flap. Without thinking, she reached up and tied the curtain closed, her arm brushing lightly against Joe’s shoulder as she leaned forward.

He didn’t flinch.

“You always this tense around me?” Joe asked, voice lowered—soft but sharp.

She turned her head slowly, eyes flashing with something fierce. “You always this in love with your own voice?”

He laughed—a low, easy sound that slipped through the storm’s roar. “Nah. I just love how defensive you get every time I’m near you.”

“Defensive?” She scoffed, crossing her arms tighter. “You mistake boundaries for being defensive.”

Joe’s gaze locked on hers, unblinking. “And you mistake fear for dislike.”

That caught her off guard.

She turned fully to face him, the heat between them crackling and electric.

“Fear?” she echoed, voice barely above a whisper. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

Joe stepped closer, voice dropping to a low murmur. “I think you’re afraid of what happens if you stop pretending you hate me.”

Her chest tightened and her heart did a reckless little flip.

He stood there, calm, deliberate—towering just inches from her. She didn’t back away.

“If I didn’t hate you,” she said, voice cool but steady, “I’d still find you annoying.”

“And if I didn’t think you were a spoiled, impossible brat,” Joe whispered, eyes locking with hers like a challenge, “I’d have fucked you by now.”

Her breath hitched, the storm fading into white noise behind the sudden sharp pulse between them.

Thunder rumbled again, deeper this time, shaking the cabana with a primal energy.

“Fucked me?” she breathed, fighting the way her pulse jumped. “Why haven’t you, then? Scared I’ll bite?”

Joe’s voice was a near-whisper now, thick with unspoken promise. “I want you to bite.”

Silence stretched—tense, fragile, heavy—until it felt like it might snap under the weight of everything left unsaid.

Y/N stared at him, every nerve alive, every muscle taut with anticipation. The rain made everything outside feel distant—like the world had shrunk down to just the two of them, caught in this charged, suspended moment.

Slowly, Joe leaned in, his mouth hovering just inches from hers.

But he didn’t close the distance. Didn’t kiss her—not yet.

Instead, his breath feathered over her lips as he murmured, “Tell me to back off. Say you don’t want this.”

Her lips parted slightly. Her body screamed to close the gap, to take the leap, to finally surrender.

But instead, she stepped back. Barely. Just enough to break the spell.

“I think the rain’s letting up,” she said, voice steady but her heart pounding like a drum.

Joe exhaled slowly, a mixture of frustration and amusement flickering across his features. “So that’s a no?”

Y/N met his gaze, her eyes flicking down to his mouth for a heartbeat longer than she meant to.

“It’s a not yet.”

And then, without another word, she slipped out of the cabana, barefoot and flushed, disappearing into the soft rain like a challenge—one Joe was damn well going to have to answer.

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By the time Y/N finally made her way back to the villa, the storm had softened to a gentle drizzle, the rain’s ferocity replaced by a steady, quiet tapping against the roof and the tiled patio. The sun, hesitant but persistent, was beginning to edge out from behind thick, smeared gray clouds, casting a soft, diffused light that made the wet world glisten with a fresh kind of promise. The air hung heavy and warm, saturated with the scent of wet earth, salty ocean spray, and the lingering heat of the day—thick and almost overwhelming, like her thoughts.

She paused for a moment on the stone step, taking it all in—the smell, the dampness clinging to her skin, the way the humidity made her curls coil tighter at the nape of her neck. Her muscles still hummed from the earlier surf, and her heart was beating a little faster than usual, tangled up in the memory of the storm and the sharp, electric tension in that cramped cabana.

Then, quietly, almost reverently, she slipped inside.

The villa was alive with its usual post-storm energy, but somehow it felt like nothing had changed. No one had even noticed she’d been gone—no questions, no teasing, no worried looks. The kitchen was buzzing with music, a soft reggae track with mellow beats that mingled with laughter and the clinking of glasses. The guys were setting up drinks on the outdoor bar, flipping bottles and mixing cocktails like the storm had been nothing more than a passing annoyance.

And then she saw him.

Joe.

He had followed minutes later, slipping in almost unnoticed. His shirt was back on now, the damp curls sticking to his forehead, his shorts still clinging a little wet. A water bottle was cradled loosely in one hand, but it was the way his eyes found her that made her pause—like a reflex he couldn’t control, like a silent admission she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear.

Their eyes met just for a fraction of a second—brief but charged—and Y/N caught it out of the corner of her eye as she passed down the hallway. There was something unsaid, heavy and electric, hanging between them like an invisible thread pulling taut.

Neither of them spoke.

Not then. Not now.

She kept walking, heart hammering, the air thick with everything that had almost happened—and everything they both knew was still waiting.

Joe didn’t follow her, but his gaze lingered longer than it should have, tracing the curve of her neck, the line of her jaw, the way her damp hair caught the light.

And in that silent exchange, the world between them grew louder than any words could be.

Y/N moved through the living space with measured steps, damp curls brushing against her bare shoulders. The floor beneath her feet was cool and solid, grounding her. She let the door to her room close softly behind her and leaned for a moment against the frame, catching her breath.

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That night, the villa was alive again, humming with a different energy. The storm had passed hours ago, leaving behind a sky thick with stars and a breeze that carried the salty tang of the ocean. The balcony was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the lanterns strung overhead, their light casting warm pools onto the wooden floorboards. Music thumped low in the background—a steady, rhythmic pulse that seemed to breathe life into the night.

Laughter bounced off the walls, carefree and loud, as if the storm and everything it brought with it had been nothing more than a bad memory. Glasses clinked, voices rose in teasing challenges, and the clatter of ice in tumblers mixed with the occasional shout from the guys daring each other to feats of ridiculous bravery.

Y/N sat beside Londyn on one of the wide, cushioned benches pushed against the railing, the fabric soft and cool beneath her bare arms. In her hand, a brightly colored cocktail swirled with crushed ice and a tiny paper umbrella. She took slow, deliberate sips—more out of habit than thirst—as she nodded along to whatever story Chris was spinning, his hands slicing through the air with animated exaggeration.

But her focus wasn’t really on him. No matter how hard she tried, her gaze kept drifting—again and again—to the other side of the balcony.

To him.

Joe stood a few feet away, casually leaning against the railing, a glass of amber liquid cradled in one hand. His posture was relaxed but deliberate, the kind of easy confidence that made it impossible to look away. He was deep in conversation with Malik and Cam, his voice low, the way he laughed soft but genuine. Yet every so often, just like Y/N, his eyes would break away from the group, scanning the balcony until they found her.

It wasn’t obvious. There was no smirk this time, no teasing glance or cocky grin lighting up his face. He didn’t throw her a line or flash that aggravating, knowing smile she was so used to. Instead, he just looked. Quietly. Intently.

Like he was waiting.

Still waiting.

And that subtle patience rattled her more than she wanted to admit.

Y/N pulled her legs up onto the cushion, curling into herself, tucking her knees close like a shield. She let the heat rise to her cheeks and tried to hide it behind her glass, pretending to study the tiny umbrella spinning lazily in the condensation. She could feel Londyn’s eyes on her—steady and curious—before a gentle nudge to her ribs brought her back.

“You good?” Londyn asked, her voice soft but direct.

Y/N blinked and forced a smile. “I’m fine,” she said too fast, too sharply, as if saying it louder would make it true.

“Mhm,” Londyn murmured knowingly, not buying it for a second. “You’ve looked like you’ve been in a trance since the rain stopped. Like you’re somewhere else entirely.”

Y/N didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her mind was spinning in circles, replaying the moments she had just lived—and the ones she hadn’t.

She could still feel the heat of Joe’s breath near her mouth, the almost imperceptible shift in his tone when his voice had gone low, serious, like the teasing mask had slipped away and something real had peeked through.

It would’ve been so easy to give in.

To close the gap and let the night swallow every word of caution.

And God, she almost had.

Her fingers tightened around the glass, knuckles white beneath the soft glow of the lanterns.

Because what she wanted to admit—what she wanted more than anything—was that maybe the line between hate and something dangerously close to desire wasn’t as clear as she’d convinced herself.

But for now, she sat quiet, the pulse of the music and the hum of voices swirling around her like a secret she wasn’t quite ready to share.

Later that night, after most of the group had retreated to their rooms, the villa had settled into a softer kind of quiet. The laughter and chatter had faded, replaced by the occasional distant murmur of late-night conversations or the faint clink of bottles being set aside. Y/N slipped away from the fading warmth of the living room and stepped out onto the lower patio alone, the cool night wrapping around her like a secret.

She tugged the hoodie tighter over her tank top, the fabric a comforting barrier against the lingering dampness in the air. In her hand, her phone glowed dimly, its screen a small island of light in the darkness. The breeze was gentle now—soft and salty, carrying the scent of the sea and the earth after rain. The storm had washed the sky clean, leaving it stretched wide above her, a deep, velvety black sprinkled with stars that shimmered like scattered diamonds above the swaying palms.

Y/N closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp air, trying to breathe in peace and exhale the tangled mess of thoughts swirling inside her.

She needed space—distance—from him, from the weight of whatever they were becoming. The tension that had coiled between them all day, the pull she could no longer ignore.

Leaning back against the smooth wooden railing, she let herself relax for a moment. The quiet felt fragile, precious.

Then—

The sliding door behind her whispered open.

She didn’t have to look.

She knew.

“Figured I’d find you out here,” Joe said softly, stepping close enough for his presence to press against her skin like a silent question. His voice was different now—less cocky, less teasing. It held warmth, and something steadier, deeper.

Y/N didn’t turn around. She kept her gaze fixed on the darkened horizon where the ocean met the night. “Guess we’re still magnetically cursed,” she muttered, voice low, almost to herself.

He came to stand beside her, close but careful, not touching. Just enough so she could feel the space between them shrink, the air crackling.

For a long moment, neither spoke. The world seemed to hold its breath with them.

Finally, Joe broke the silence. “I meant what I said,” he said, voice calm but full of quiet intensity. “Back there. In the cabana.”

Y/N’s jaw tightened. “I figured.”

He shifted, his profile outlined by the faint glow of the villa’s outdoor lighting. “You gonna keep pretending none of this is real?”

She slowly turned to face him, the shadows playing over her face, her eyes sharp but hesitant. “It doesn’t have to be real, Joe. Maybe it was just the storm. The heat. A moment.”

His mouth twitched—a half-smile, a flicker of something unspoken. “Then why haven’t you stopped thinking about it?”

Her breath caught. She froze under the weight of that question because the answer was too true, too raw.

She hadn’t stopped thinking about it.

He was right.

But the words stuck in her throat.

Instead of answering, she pushed off the railing, stepping back from the edge and turning away.

“Goodnight, Joe,” she said softly, trying to keep her voice steady.

He didn’t move to stop her.

Nor did he reply.

He just watched her walk away—her silhouette illuminated by the soft porch light—his hands clenched at his sides, heart pounding hard as if he’d run headfirst into a storm far fiercer than any weather could bring.

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Night had settled over the villa like a velvet curtain, the stars scattering across the sky in pinpricks of silver. The villa’s back patio was alive with soft laughter, flickering candlelight, and the low hum of music weaving through the salty air.

Everyone had migrated outside after dinner—wine glasses in hand, barefoot, sunk into plush patio cushions and oversized loungers around a large teakwood table. There were lanterns and string lights overhead, and the scent of grilled pineapple and lime lingered in the air.

It was Chris, unsurprisingly, who suggested the game. “Alright, alright. Let’s shake the night up a little,” he said, grinning like the chaos agent he was. “Truth or Dare. But let’s make it adult. If you don’t want to answer, you drink. If you don’t want to do the dare? Drink twice.”

Groans, laughs, and a few “oh nooo”s rippled through the group.

Y/N sat cross-legged on a floor cushion, her long legs glinting under the soft light, curls piled on top of her head, a glass of sangria in hand. She wasn’t buzzed yet, but the warmth in her chest told her it wouldn’t take much.

Of course, Joe was directly across from her. Reclined, smug, arms resting behind his head like he owned the villa and the Caribbean. His eyes caught hers and stayed there just long enough for her to feel it in her gut.

She looked away first.

Chris clapped his hands. “Let’s go in a circle. Londyn, you’re up. Pick your target.”

Londyn, already tipsy and devious, didn’t even pause. “Y/N.”

Y/N groaned dramatically. “Wow, I see how it is.”

“Truth or Dare?” Londyn grinned, eyes gleaming.

“Truth.”

Londyn leaned forward like a predator. “Have you ever had a crush on anyone in this group?”

Y/N blinked, then smirked. “Absolutely not.”

“Not even a little?” Londyn pressed.

“Nope. Not even a fantasy. I have standards.”

The group laughed, and Y/N’s eyes darted—just briefly—to Joe, who raised one eyebrow and sipped his beer slowly, watching her over the rim.

Your move.

“Alright,” Y/N said, recovering smoothly. “My turn.”

She scanned the group, ignoring Joe at first—intentionally—before landing on him like a heat-seeking missile. “Burrow.”

He grinned. “Truth.”

“Have you ever hooked up with a teammate’s sister?”

Chris groaned. “Hey!”

Everyone laughed, and Joe’s eyes flicked to Y/N with pure mischief. “Not yet.”

The group lost it. Groans, hoots, someone even dropped their drink.

Y/N blinked, eyebrows lifting in surprise before she scoffed, face heating as she rolled her eyes.

“Cocky much?”

“Just answering the question,” Joe said with a shrug. “You asked.”

“Ugh,” Y/N muttered, taking a sip of her drink to cool the flush rising up her neck.

The game rolled on—more dares, more truths, more drinks. Someone dared Londyn to do a body shot off her boyfriend. Chris admitted to crying during The Notebook. There was an arm-wrestling dare that ended in spilled tequila and a lot of yelling.

But the real game was being played in glances.

In the way Joe’s eyes lingered too long. The way Y/N’s legs shifted under his gaze. The way their banter had gone from jabs to something darker, deeper. More aware.

And then it circled back.

Joe looked across the table at Y/N, resting his elbow on the cushion, fingers lazily tracing the rim of his beer bottle. “Your turn, Trouble. Hit me.” he said. “Truth… or dare?”

Her eyes narrowed.

The group leaned in.

“Dare,” she said coolly. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of hesitation.

Joe’s smile was slow, dangerous—like the sun rising over open water, steady and unstoppable.

“I dare you,” he said, voice wrapping around her like silk and heat, “to give someone in this circle a lap dance.”

The reaction was instant. Screaming. Cackling. Gasps.

Chris groaned. “Bro, what? That’s my sister!”

Joe just raised a hand. “I didn’t say me. She can pick anyone.” But his eyes? His eyes never left her.

Y/N blinked. She wasn't drunk enough for this. But the adrenaline rushing through her veins said she wasn’t backing down, either.

“You’re a menace,” she muttered.

“I just follow the rules,” Joe said, the ghost of a grin on his face. “And I dare you.”

She took a long, slow sip from her drink. The sangria was sweet and cold, and it gave her just enough nerve to lift her chin and say, “Fine.”

The group whooped.

“Oh no, she said fine—this is happening!”

Y/N stood, slow and deliberate. She glanced around at the circle, locking eyes with a few friends who suddenly looked very nervous they’d be chosen.

But when her gaze fell back on Joe, lingering for a second longer than necessary, something in the air tightened.

She walked over—not to Joe, but to Chris’s teammate Malik, who immediately choked on his beer.

“Don’t make it weird,” she said with a grin, already moving to the music that had kicked up just enough to make the moment feel real. A sultry beat thrummed from the speaker nearby—something low, smooth, and filled with just enough bass.

The lap dance itself was playful. Just enough hips, just enough tease to send the group into hysterics. Malik kept his hands in the air like he was being held at gunpoint. “I’m respecting boundaries, I swear!” he shouted through laughter.

But Joe?

Joe didn’t laugh.

He watched. Jaw tight. Thumb slowly running along the condensation of his beer bottle. His eyes didn’t flicker from her—not even once. Not when her hips rolled, not when her shirt slipped off one shoulder, not when she threw a glance over her shoulder just to see if he was watching.

He was.

When she was finished, she dropped into a mock curtsy. Malik fanned himself dramatically.

“I feel like I need to Venmo you for that,” he joked.

Y/N just laughed and made her way back to her seat.

But she didn’t sit.

She walked right back to Joe. Stopped in front of him. Leaned down—close enough that he could smell her perfume and salt skin—and whispered so only he could hear:

“Jealous looks good on you, Burrow.”

Joe’s jaw flexed. “I’m not jealous.”

“Sure you’re not.”

She turned to walk away, but his hand brushed against hers as she passed—just for a moment.

It was nothing.

It was everything.

The game moved on, but the fire didn’t die down. Not between them.

Something had changed again. Something sharp and tempting.

The next time their eyes met, there was no pretense of hate. Just heat.

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The sun had melted into the horizon nearly an hour ago, leaving behind a purplish haze streaked with deep indigo and the faintest flickers of gold—a last breath of day surrendering to the approaching night. The villa glowed softly in the dusky light, its warm yellow lamps flickering like fireflies against the encroaching darkness. The Caribbean twilight breathed a slow, sensual rhythm over the landscape, and the gentle rustle of palm fronds whispered secrets in the breeze.

Y/N floated on her back in the still, glassy pool, the cool water soothing against the warmth her skin had gathered from hours beneath the sun. The submerged pool lights cast a gentle turquoise glow, wrapping her in an otherworldly shimmer. Her curls fanned out around her head like a dark halo, drifting weightlessly with the rhythm of the water.

Nearby, Londyn lounged on a bright pink inflatable, her legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, a drink cradled in one hand. Her oversized sunglasses were pushed back into her voluminous curls, despite the fact that the sun had long since dipped below the horizon.

The night felt easy. Breezy. Calm. At least, on the surface.

“I swear,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely rising above the water’s soft lap, “I don’t know if I wanna go out tonight. I’m still tired from last night’s truth or ego death game.”

Londyn laughed, tilting her glass with a sly grin. “You mean the one where Joe practically undressed you with a dare?”

Y/N groaned, splashing lightly at the water. “God, don’t remind me. I should’ve picked truth. I forgot that man has no boundaries.”

“Oh, he has boundaries,” Londyn said, raising a brow playfully. “He just likes breaking yours.”

Y/N sighed, letting her head sink a little beneath the water before resurfacing. “He’s… exhausting.”

Londyn smirked knowingly. “Uh-huh. And yet your eyes have found him every five minutes since we got here.”

Y/N flicked her gaze sideways, voice dry, “I have peripheral vision. And trauma.”

“Mm-hmm,” Londyn said with mock seriousness, “It’s giving sexual tension with enemies-to-lovers potential. But hey, I’m just the observer here.”

Before Y/N could respond, a burst of deeper voices drifted down from the upper balcony—the unmistakable sounds of the guys. Chris, Malik, Zane, and, of course, Joe. They were gathered there, the faint scent of a joint weaving through the warm air.

Chris’s booming laughter echoed across the courtyard, Malik telling some outrageous story that had them all howling, and Joe’s unmistakable low voice cut through, dry and teasing, laced with something that sounded suspiciously like mischief.

Y/N glanced up, just for a second.

Joe was leaned casually against the railing, one arm propped behind him, a lit joint dangling from his fingers. His head tilted back slightly, as if he were staring up at the stars, lost in some careless reverie. The villa’s golden lights warmed his skin, highlighting the planes of his chest and the loose curl of damp hair falling across his forehead.

And somehow, despite all that, he was watching her.

Their eyes met.

Not with the usual smirk or a roll of the eyes.

Just... a look.

A long, easy moment where neither of them looked away first.

Londyn nudged Y/N sharply with an elbow.

“Girl.”

“What?” Y/N snapped, cheeks tightening.

“I saw that.”

Y/N turned quickly, scowling. “You saw nothing.”

“I saw a mutual eye undressing. That man’s soul just took its shirt off,” Londyn teased, laughing quietly.

Y/N dunked her head under the water, then surfaced with a splash, shaking out her curls and wiping them back with her hands.

“I’m ignoring it,” she said, voice firm but playful. “Whatever it is. He’s just... antagonistic.”

“Mmm,” Londyn mused, eyes twinkling. “Antagonizing your lower half, maybe.”

Y/N didn’t reply.

Because honestly? She wasn’t entirely sure how to name what Joe was doing lately.

It wasn’t just teasing. It wasn’t just annoying. It wasn’t even the casual flirting guys did when they were bored.

No.

It was sharper, hotter—like he meant it, but didn’t want her to know he did.

It was dangerous.

Trying to shake the thoughts loose, Y/N changed the subject.

“So what’s the actual plan for tonight?”

“Club in town,” Londyn answered, stretching her arms lazily above her head. “Chris says it’s right on the beach. DJ, fire pits, open air under the palm trees—the whole vibe. You’re coming.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t,” Y/N countered, smirking a little.

“Good,” Londyn said with a sly grin. “Because you need to wear that little black dress you packed. The one that shows off your legs—and your attitude.”

“I packed that to not wear around Joe.”

“Exactly. Which is why you need to.”

Y/N sighed, but it was the kind of sigh that held a secret smile. “You’re a bad influence.”

“I’m your best influence,” Londyn shot back.

Above them, the guys’ laughter and teasing continued, a playful soundtrack to the darkening sky.

The pool lights beneath Y/N glimmered against her skin, casting soft, shimmering patterns that made her feel both exposed and safe.

Tonight would be loud. Sweaty. Full of music and too many drinks.

And something deep inside her told her the tension between her and Joe—the electric undercurrent neither of them wanted to fully name—was about to break the surface.

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The villa was alive with energy.

Music pulsed through the halls, ricocheting off polished marble floors, slipping beneath doors, and threading between conversations like a heartbeat. Doors slammed in rapid succession—some with purpose, others in frustration—while the sharp staccato of heels clicked down corridors like applause. Drawers were yanked open and slammed shut, zippers hissed, perfume bottles clinked on countertops. The air, thick and heavy with the scent of coconut oil, jasmine perfume, warm cologne, and anticipation, clung to the skin like silk.

It was the kind of night that buzzed in your bones.

Y/N stood barefoot on the cool tile of the guest room, facing the full-length mirror mounted to the closet door. The little black dress—the one she’d promised herself she wouldn’t wear—now hugged her body like a confession. It was the kind of dress that didn’t just fit; it knew her. Smooth, satiny, slipping over her curves with thin spaghetti straps that barely held on, and a draped cowl neckline that whispered scandal without shouting it. The hem kissed mid-thigh, short enough to make her question everything, tight enough to make her forget why.

Behind her, a soft gasp.

“Damn,” came Londyn’s voice from the doorway, smooth as velvet and twice as dangerous. She leaned against the frame with casual elegance, one hip cocked, the other wrapped in a sangria-colored jumpsuit that showed off more than it covered. Strategic cutouts revealed toned skin and just a hint of tattoo ink. Her curls were piled high, gold bangles sliding down her forearm as she folded her arms. “Joe’s going to combust when he sees you.”

Y/N met her gaze in the mirror, arching one brow. “That is not the goal.”

Londyn scoffed, stepping into the room as though she owned it. “Lying doesn’t suit you. Especially not when your lip gloss is literally called Heat Wave.”

Y/N turned back to the mirror with a sigh, brushing her fingers over the curve of her waist before adjusting her gold hoops. They caught the overhead light and glinted like secrets. “It’s not about him.”

“Right,” Londyn drawled, picking up a clutch from the dresser. “It’s about you looking like a walking thirst trap for self-care purposes. Got it.”

Y/N tried to suppress the laugh threatening her lips, but it bubbled up anyway—light and warm like the first sip of champagne.

She smoothed the front of her dress again, more for something to do than anything else. Her reflection stared back, eyes wide, lips glossed, cheeks just a little flushed. There was something different in the air tonight. Not just the sticky sweetness of the island heat, or the low hum of reggaeton from the speakers downstairs, but something beneath it. A pressure building, coiling. Like the quiet just before a storm cracks open the sky.

Maybe it was the tension she’d been pretending not to notice. Maybe it was Joe—his sideways glances, his fingers brushing hers when they passed the bottle of rum, the way his jaw tightened when she laughed too loud with someone else. Maybe it was the fact that she’d started to want those reactions.

Or maybe… maybe she just wanted to feel wanted again.

Y/N grabbed her lip gloss from the vanity and dabbed a bit more onto her bottom lip, tapping it in with her finger. “Let’s just get through the night without me throwing a drink in his face. That’s the goal.”

Londyn gave her a look that bordered on affectionate exasperation. “Or sitting in his lap again.”

A groan escaped Y/N’s throat before she could stop it. She turned from the mirror and flopped back onto the bed, the dress riding up even higher. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Nope,” Londyn said brightly, walking over to steal one of Y/N’s earrings from the tray. “Not when it’s my favorite memory of the trip so far.”

“That wasn’t even on purpose,” Y/N mumbled into a pillow.

“Oh, sure. You accidentally ended up straddling him in the middle of a truth-or-dare circle while everyone else mysteriously disappeared into the kitchen. Sounds totally accidental.”

Y/N sat up, cheeks burning. “I was drunk.”

Londyn waved that off like it was irrelevant. “So was he. But he didn’t exactly push you off, now did he?”

The silence that followed was short but loud.

Y/N looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together. “It’s complicated.”

Londyn’s voice softened. “Is it, though?”

Before Y/N could answer, a knock sounded at the door—three short taps, tentative. Then Joe’s voice, muffled but unmistakable. “You guys almost ready?”

Y/N froze.

Londyn raised an eyebrow and mouthed, combust, before sauntering toward the door with the grace of someone who had seen this play out before—and couldn’t wait for the encore.

“Coming!” she called back brightly, then turned and winked. “And so are you, probably.”

Y/N grabbed the nearest throw pillow and chucked it at her. “Get out!”

But she was laughing now, breathless and flustered and full of something dangerously close to hope.

Whatever tonight held, it was already burning at the edges.

And she was ready to walk straight into the fire.

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Down the hall, the bathroom was still wrapped in the humidity of a recent shower, steam curling along the edges of the mirror like ghosted breath. Joe stood shirtless in front of the sink, towel slung around his shoulders, water droplets trailing from the ends of his damp curls. He dragged the towel across the back of his neck one last time before tossing it aside and running a hand through his hair—half styling, half frustration.

His eyes flicked to his reflection. Jaw freshly shaved, curls soft and wild, a chain glinting faintly at his collarbone beneath the open top buttons of a fitted black shirt. The sleeves were rolled just enough to show forearm, the slim-fit pants hugging narrow hips and long legs. It was a clean, calculated kind of effortless.

He didn’t hear Chris until the bedroom door creaked open behind him.

“You wearing that?” Chris asked, already dressed in tailored navy slacks and a crisp white tee under a beige linen jacket. He was fiddling with the clasp on his watch, not looking up.

Joe turned slightly. “Why? Too much?”

Chris glanced at him through the mirror, then shrugged with a knowing smirk. “Nah. You just look like you’re trying to impress someone.”

Joe tilted his head, letting the corners of his mouth tug into a smile. “Maybe I am.”

Chris groaned, pointing a warning finger at him. “Don’t even say it. I already know who you mean. I don’t need the visuals, man. That’s my sister.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Chris moved past him, grabbed his cologne from the dresser, and gave himself two quick sprays. “Just... keep it cool, alright? You two are already like a slow-motion car crash. Painful to watch, impossible to stop.”

Joe leaned against the doorway, his grin deepening. “And yet, she hates me so much she can’t stop looking at me.”

Chris rolled his eyes but didn’t bother arguing. They both knew it was true.

The air shifted then—something small, intangible. Joe felt it settle across his chest like weight and static. That same pressure he’d felt building all day, low and slow. Something was coming. Or maybe, someone.

He caught himself glancing down the hallway again, toward the direction of her room.

The thing about Y/N was she never just entered a space. She claimed it. Without trying, without speaking, without even knowing. She had that rare kind of gravity—pulling people in, spinning them around, leaving them dizzy and pretending they weren’t.

A few minutes later, they stepped out into the shared living space of the villa, where the rest of the group had already congregated. The bass-heavy playlist thumped from a speaker perched on the kitchen counter, setting a rhythm that reverberated through the tiled floors. Glasses clinked, laughter echoed, and the faint scent of lime and tequila hung in the air like a prelude to trouble.

Malik was pouring drinks, Londyn was touching up her lip liner in the reflection of a wine glass, and a few others danced lazily in the center of the room—more warm-up than performance.

Joe scanned the room casually, but his attention was half elsewhere. That feeling was back—the anticipation, the hum under his skin.

And then—

She walked in.

Time didn't stop, but it sure as hell slowed down.

Y/N rounded the corner like she owned it, hips swaying with an ease that had nothing to do with seduction and everything to do with self-assurance. Her black dress clung like a secret meant for a whisper, stopping just above the thigh, spaghetti straps framing bare shoulders, gold hoops catching every flicker of light. Her curls bounced with each step, her glossed lips curled in a faint, unreadable smile.

She didn’t look around for approval. She didn’t have to.

Joe’s chest went tight. His jaw flexed, subtle but not unnoticed.

Beside him, Malik took a sip of his rum and coke and nudged his shoulder. “You alright, bro?”

Joe didn’t answer. His gaze hadn’t shifted. His eyes were locked on her like gravity didn’t give him a choice.

She saw him—of course she did. Her eyes caught his across the room, holding for a second too long before she turned away with a casual indifference that was far too deliberate. Like he wasn’t worth the breath it would take to acknowledge him.

But Joe knew her better than that now.

He was fluent in Y/N’s brand of disdain-disguised-desire.

She drifted toward the bar cart without a word, her perfume—coconut, jasmine, and something that smelled dangerously close to nostalgia—wrapping around him like a memory. Joe followed, just a step behind, like a shadow she hadn’t shaken.

“Dressed up for the club,” he murmured, leaning in close, voice low and rough like gravel over silk. “Or just trying to get under my skin again?”

She didn’t flinch. Didn’t even glance his way as she picked up the tequila, poured a generous shot, and tossed it back like it owed her something.

“You’re not that hard to get under,” she said coolly, licking the salt from the rim and then her bottom lip. “Just push your buttons and watch you twitch.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and laced with challenge. “You say that like you don’t love it.”

She set the glass down, finally meeting his gaze, her eyes dark and steady. “I love a lot of things.”

Pause. A beat thick with implication.

“You’re not on the list.”

He stepped in, close enough to feel her exhale, to see the way her pupils flared for just a fraction of a second.

“Not yet,” he said softly.

Her lips parted—maybe with a comeback, maybe with something else—but before the moment could tip over into something messier, louder voices cut through the tension.

“Alright, party people!” Chris clapped from across the room, drawing everyone's attention. “Vans are waiting outside. Let’s hit the club before Y/N changes her mind and starts judging our playlist again.”

“I will judge your playlist,” Y/N called back, smoothly shifting away from Joe, though not before brushing past him deliberately. “With my whole chest.”

People began gathering bags, sliding on heels, adjusting outfits in mirrors. The energy swelled again, chaotic and electric, the pre-club buzz at full tilt.

Y/N grabbed her phone from the counter, slid it into her clutch, and walked past Joe one final time, pausing just long enough to glance over her shoulder.

“You coming?” she asked, her voice light, almost teasing. “Or are you just gonna stand there and fantasize?”

Joe blinked once, jaw twitching as a smirk curved his lips.

He was already following.

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The club was alive—a throbbing, feverish organism made of sweat, smoke, music, and movement. It pulsed underfoot, around shoulders, between breaths. Heat pressed in from every direction, wrapping itself around the crowd like a second skin. Despite being open-air and perched along the edge of the beach, the ocean breeze barely made a dent in the haze of bodies swaying to the beat.

Palm trees lined the perimeter, their fronds backlit by a canopy of string lights that crisscrossed the ceiling in golden zigzags. Above the dance floor, spotlights cut through faint mist from the fog machine, strobes and colored filters turning the night into something dreamlike and cinematic.

The DJ towered above the crowd like a preacher on a pulpit, hands lifted in command as Afrobeat and Caribbean mashups bled seamlessly into each other, making hips roll and drinks spill with every bass drop. The rhythm wasn’t just heard—it was felt, deep in the chest, through the bones, in the curl of toes inside open-toed heels.

Y/N was on her second tequila sunrise, the glass slick with condensation, ice clinking softly between sips. Her hoops caught the light with every turn of her head as she danced in the center of their group beside Londyn, both of them glowing with sweat and joy and just a hint of chaos. Y/N’s black dress—already dangerous when she first slipped it on—now clung to her like it had been molded to every curve, every breath. She moved like the music lived in her, fluid and effortless.

Londyn spun, laughing, her sangria jumpsuit glittering under the club lights. “You better dance, girl!” she shouted, twirling toward Y/N and catching her by the wrist.

Y/N grinned, moving with her, hips circling to the rhythm, curls bouncing against her shoulders. The alcohol had warmed her veins, and the music had made her limbs loose, but even as she laughed and spun and let herself sink into the night…

She felt him.

He hadn't touched her. Hadn’t said a word.

But she felt him.

She didn’t have to look to know where Joe was. The gravity of his presence pulled at her nerves like magnets under skin. Her body knew before her mind did—spine going tight, breath catching in the base of her throat, a subtle shiver that had nothing to do with the breeze.

He was watching her.

Again.

Joe stood just outside their circle with Chris, Malik, and a couple of the others, casually sipping from a shared bottle of rum. One arm draped over the back of a lounge chair, the other curled loosely around the bottle, condensation dripping down onto his knuckles. His shirt, once crisp and fitted, now clung to his torso—damp with sweat, open at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. His curls had dried in loose, wild waves, falling over his brow in a way that made him look both relaxed and reckless.

But it was his eyes that made the air feel heavier.

They hadn’t left her all night.

He hadn't flirted. Hadn’t smirked. Hadn’t spoken.

And that—that was worse than anything else. Because it was deliberate. It was restraint. It was him letting her feel the full weight of his attention without doing a single thing.

And God help her, it was working.

Londyn leaned in, voice pitched low as the DJ faded into a transition. “He hasn’t stopped looking at you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, throat dry. “I know.”

Londyn raised an eyebrow. “You gonna dance with him? Or just keep pretending he doesn’t exist?”

“I haven’t decided,” Y/N replied, her voice more honest than she meant it to be. But her body had already made the call.

Her heart pounded in her ears, louder than the music. Louder than anything else.

Then the beat shifted.

The DJ let the tempo dip, trading speed for something slow and sultry. The first notes of “Essence” slid into the air like honey, and the entire club shifted with it. Movements slowed. Eyes found eyes. Hands found waists. The rhythm didn’t just call people to dance—it dared them to be bold.

Y/N swayed instinctively, letting the song take her. It was the kind of track that slipped under skin, that invited heat and tension and something like closeness but not quite touch.

And then—

He moved.

Joe handed his drink off to Chris without a word and stepped onto the edge of the dance floor. He didn’t rush. He didn’t strut. He just moved, like he had all the time in the world and none of it to waste.

Y/N felt him before she saw him. Her breath caught.

He stopped in front of her, just far enough for plausible deniability. Just close enough to undo her.

She raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “You lost?”

Joe’s mouth curved, slow and smug. “You tell me.”

The chorus floated between them, blurring the crowd into nothing.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t even reach.

He just moved with her. Subtle. Steady. A gentle rock of shoulders, his feet in time with the beat, his eyes locked on hers like she was the only one in the room. It was an invitation wrapped in silence. And he wasn’t begging her to take it.

He was daring her to.

The tension was unbearable.

“Fine,” Y/N muttered, stepping closer, her body already aligning with his like they’d done this a hundred times.

It started as a tease. A slow sway. Her hips rolled in time with his, circling but never quite touching. Her hands hovered at her sides, deliberate in their distance. She wasn’t giving in—not yet.

Joe’s eyes dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes.

He still didn’t reach for her. But the energy between them crackled like live wire.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmured, leaning in just enough to be heard, his voice gravel and honey against her skin.

Her smile was dangerous. “You think I’m scared of getting burned?”

His expression didn’t shift, but his eyes darkened. “No,” he said, finally stepping forward—just enough to let their bodies touch, chest to chest, hip to hip. “I think you want to see how hot it gets.”

Her breath hitched, sharp and involuntary.

Their movements slowed, hips in sync now, every sway a promise not yet kept. Joe’s hand hovered at her waist—still not touching, but close enough to make her ache. She could feel the warmth of him like sunlight through fabric.

Around them, the club blurred. Music, sweat, bodies, lights—it all faded. All she felt was the press of his chest against hers. All she saw were his eyes, heavy-lidded and burning.

“Still think I’m arrogant?” he asked, dipping his head until his mouth brushed the shell of her ear.

Y/N exhaled hard. “Still think I’m a spoiled brat?”

He laughed, low and wicked. “I think you’re dangerous.”

“Good.”

She turned before he could say more, walking away without looking back, her hips swaying like a challenge.

Joe stood there for a long second—jaw clenched, hands flexing at his sides, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. He watched her disappear into the crowd, the beat still thrumming through his ribs.

He hadn’t won.

Not yet.

But the game? The game was on.

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Y/N had just started to cool off.

Not physically—her skin was still warm with sweat, tingling from the press of bodies on the dance floor and the ghost of Joe’s breath against her collarbone. But mentally? She’d pulled back. Just enough to find the surface again. To breathe. To reclaim a little control before the heat between them dragged her under for good.

The crowd had shifted naturally, like tides around her, and now she stood near the bar tucked beneath a lazy, whirring ceiling fan. The breeze barely touched her damp skin, but it was enough to slow her heartbeat. A tall glass of ice water dripped condensation onto the back of her hand, and she held her phone up with the other, using the dark reflection of the screen to reapply her lip gloss. Routine. Familiar. A small ritual to ground herself.

Her heart still hadn’t settled. It was beating too fast, too loud, like her body hadn’t caught up to the lie she was trying to tell it.

Whatever had happened out there—on that dance floor with Joe—it had felt like a pivot point. Like something inside her had shifted without warning, dangerously close to something real.

Then—

“Excuse me.”

The voice was low. Smooth.

Y/N turned, blinking once before letting her expression settle into mild curiosity.

The guy was tall, easy on the eyes. Brown skin, a smile with just enough charm to disarm, and arms that suggested dedication in the gym. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, revealing a glimpse of chest and a gold chain that caught the bar lights every time he moved.

“I saw you dancing earlier,” he said. “You had the whole floor pressed.”

Y/N arched a brow. “Is that your line?”

“Not usually.” He laughed, easy and warm. “But it’s the truth.”

He leaned a little closer, keeping a respectful distance that told her he knew how to read the room. “Can I get you a drink? Or is that guy you were dancing with gonna swing if I try?”

Y/N felt heat prickle up the back of her neck. Not from nerves—but from the quiet, hot awareness that Joe was watching her. She didn’t have to look to know. She felt it in her skin, the same way she’d felt it all night.

“He’s not my guy,” she said, voice steady.

The stranger grinned, eyes lighting up. “Even better. Then you’re not taken.”

She should’ve walked away. Should’ve taken the compliment, finished her water, found Londyn, and called it a night. But her pride was louder than her common sense.

Maybe it was petty.

Maybe it was toxic.

Or maybe it was just that Joe had made her feel too much too fast, and she needed to remind herself that she still had the upper hand.

So she smiled. Just a little. “I’ll take a rum punch.”

“Coming right up.”

As the man turned to flag the bartender, Y/N leaned against the bar and let herself be seen. She laughed a little too loudly. Let her fingers graze his forearm when he handed her the drink. Sipped slowly and maintained eye contact just long enough to suggest interest. She even let him guide her gently back toward the dance floor as the DJ shifted into a remix that vibrated through the soles of her feet.

She wasn’t drunk. She wasn’t careless.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

And so did Joe.

Across the club, he stood with Chris and Malik, his eyes glued to the scene in front of him. The bottle in his hand hung slack at his side, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack.

Malik caught the tension first, lifting an eyebrow. “She good?”

“She’s fine,” Joe said. The words came out clipped.

Chris followed his gaze—and groaned. “Don’t tell me you’re catching feelings now.”

“I’m not.”

“Your face says otherwise, dawg.”

Joe didn’t answer.

Because watching her? Watching her laugh like that, all soft and easy, her hand on another man’s shoulder, swaying to the beat like she hadn’t just been pressed against him minutes ago?

It did something to him.

It burned.

And worse than that—he could see it in her eyes, the way she flicked them up to meet his through the crowd, just once. A tiny, smug, dagger-sharp glance. Daring him.

Let me go. Or do something.

Joe’s chest rose once, slow and deep. Then he handed the bottle off to Malik without a word and stepped forward.

He cut through the crowd with surgical precision. Didn’t rush. Didn’t scowl. Just moved like a man on a mission.

Y/N didn’t see him coming until he was there, slipping between her and the man in the gold chain like he belonged in that space—and had every intention of reclaiming it.

He didn’t touch her.

He didn’t need to.

He just looked at the guy, voice low and even. “You done?”

The man blinked, thrown. “I—uh…”

“She’s with me.”

Y/N’s brow rose slowly, sharp as a blade. “Excuse me?”

Joe still didn’t look at her. “Appreciate the drink. You can go now.”

The guy looked between them, confused but not interested in a scene. “Alright, man. Whatever you say.”

He turned and disappeared into the crowd, shaking his head.

Y/N stepped directly in front of Joe, arms crossed over her chest, fire in her eyes. “What the hell was that?”

Joe’s jaw flexed. “What are you doing? Dancing with him like that?”

“I didn’t realize I needed clearance,” she snapped. “Did you wanna pencil me into your schedule?”

He took a step closer, frustration radiating off him. His eyes dropped to her lips for half a second before locking back on hers. “You know what you were doing.”

“And so do you,” she shot back, voice rising. “You don’t get to flirt with me like it’s a game, then act like I’m supposed to sit in a corner and wait for you to figure out if you mean it.”

The music throbbed around them. The lights pulsed. The air buzzed like the space between lightning and thunder.

Joe stepped in—closer than before. His voice was low, almost rough. “I do mean it.”

The words hit her like a wave. Her breath caught, mouth parting on instinct.

Joe leaned in, mouth brushing just behind her ear. “You gonna keep pretending you don’t feel this too?”

Her stomach flipped.

She could lie to herself all day. Could convince everyone else that she was just playing the game.

But this?

This wasn’t a game anymore.

Y/N looked up at him slowly, eyes shining in the dim light. “You sure you’re ready for what happens if I stop pretending?”

Joe’s hand hovered near her hip. Still not touching.

But God—so close.

“I’ve been ready.”

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The bathroom was too small, too warm, too full of them.

Y/N wasn’t entirely sure how they’d gotten there.

One moment, she’d been standing on the edge of the dance floor, staring up at Joe with her chest tight and her fingers clenched, the weight of everything unsaid pressing against her ribs. The next? His hand was in hers—firm, calloused, insistent—pulling her through the haze of music and lights like there was no turning back.

They’d slipped past the crowd, past the bar, through a shadowed hallway drenched in pulsing neon. The thud of bass had followed them like a heartbeat, fading with every step until—

Click.

The door shut behind them.

And suddenly, the world narrowed to four walls and him.

The music was muffled now, a low, thrumming pulse barely bleeding through the painted concrete. Fluorescent lights buzzed above them, harsh and unflattering, illuminating a room covered in graffiti, chipped tile, and fingerprints of strangers. One long mirror stretched across the sink wall, cracked slightly in the corner. The air smelled of citrus soap, cheap cleaner, and something else—something warm and familiar lingering in the space between them.

Joe leaned against the door, his chest rising slowly, his curls still damp from sweat, his lips parted just slightly. He said nothing. Just looked at her.

His gaze dragged down her body like he’d finally allowed himself to see her out loud. And Y/N felt it—all of it—like a match struck too close to skin.

She crossed her arms, if only to keep them from trembling. “You seriously dragged me into a bathroom?”

Joe’s mouth tugged into a slow, infuriating smirk. “You’re the one who couldn’t stop looking at me all night.”

“Oh, please.” She rolled her eyes, ignoring the burn in her cheeks. “You were orbiting me like some desperate planet with no gravity of its own.”

He pushed off the door, each step deliberate, measured. “You used to hate me.”

She tilted her chin, voice sharp. “I still kind of do.”

His eyes dropped to her mouth, then back up. “You sure about that?”

Y/N opened her mouth—probably to throw something smart and cutting—but the words never made it out.

Because he was right there now. Inches away. The air crackled between them, thick with something unsaid and impossible to ignore. Every nerve in her body lit up at once, screaming warnings she had no intention of obeying.

Joe reached up, fingers brushing the bare skin of her arm. Light. Questioning. He didn’t grab her—just hovered. Waiting for her to move. To lean away.

She didn���t.

She wasn’t sure she could.

Their lips collided.

There was nothing soft about it. Nothing tentative.

It was heat and hunger and years of unresolved tension crashing into one kiss.

He kissed her like he was claiming territory. Like her mouth was a dare he’d finally accepted. His hands found her waist, drawing her closer, pressing their bodies together in one messy, breathless line. She responded just as fiercely, fingers curling in his shirt, yanking him down like she was done pretending this didn’t matter.

Her back hit the bathroom counter with a muted thud. The edge bit into her hips, but she didn’t care. Joe’s hand flattened against her lower back, his hips anchoring her in place. They were all tongue and teeth and stifled gasps, the kind of kissing that erased everything except want.

Every insult, every near-miss, every petty fight over nothing at all—it was here, in this kiss. It was the chaos they’d danced around for years finally setting fire to itself.

And she wasn’t running from it.

Not anymore.

When she pulled back, her chest was rising too fast. Her lips felt swollen, her gloss long gone. Her hands were still twisted in his shirt, like her body hadn’t caught up with the fact that they'd stopped kissing.

Joe looked wrecked—in the best way. His curls wild. His lips red. His breath uneven. And his eyes?

His eyes were on fire.

He touched her face like he was trying to memorize it, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip with maddening slowness.

Then he grinned.

Not cocky.

Not cruel.

Just Joe—unapologetically smug.

“Funny,” he murmured, his voice a dark purr, “you used to hate me… and now you can’t take your eyes off me.”

Y/N arched an eyebrow, breath still shallow, her fingers slipping from his collar to his chest. “No,” she said dryly, “I’m just watching your ego inflate in real-time. It’s like a science experiment.”

Joe laughed then—low, unguarded, a real sound that filled the room like it belonged there. And God, she hated that it made her smile.

“Keep talking,” he said, stepping closer again, eyes locked on hers, “and I’ll have to shut you up all over again.”

Her smirk was slow and deliberate. She tugged him down by the collar of his shirt until their mouths hovered a breath apart. “Try me, Quarterback Ken.”

And he did.

His hands were everywhere at once.

A firm grip on her hipbone.

A thumb pressed to the small of her back.

Fingers tangled in her hair.

She let her eyes fall shut, let her head tip back, let him kiss down the line of her throat like a man starved. He bit her pulse, soft and deliberate. Her fingers curled against his shoulders, holding him close. He traced her jaw with his mouth, his teeth, his tongue. Every touch felt like a promise.

His hands skimmed up her thighs, and she wrapped her legs around his waist. He lifted her, like she weighed nothing. Like she was an extension of him.

He set her down on the bathroom vanity, fingers steady against her hips.

And then he stepped closer.

So close that her legs were bracketed around him, her back arched toward him, her hands gripping his shoulders.

“Fuck, Y/N…” His mouth found the skin below her ear. She could feel the vibration of his groan against her throat. His lips traced her jaw. Her neck. Her collarbone. He kissed the hollow at the base of her throat, like he couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. “You have no idea how long I've thought about having you like this."

She leaned back, bracing her hands on the counter behind her. “And how is that?” Her voice was low, a little uneven.

He didn’t answer at all.

He just kissed her again.

And again.

And again.

She was gasping into his mouth. Her fingers were in his hair, on his shoulders, gripping his shirt. She felt desperate and hungry and alive. Like he was unraveling her with his hands, his mouth, his words. Like everything she was—everything she wanted to be—was caught in the friction between them.

She kissed him harder, deeper. She nipped at his lip. He groaned, the sound caught between her teeth. Her hands slid down his chest, feeling every hard line, every shift of muscle. She didn’t want to just touch him.

She wanted to wreck him.

To ruin him for anyone else.

She felt his smile against her mouth. “You think I can’t take it, Y/N?” His voice was dark and familiar. His mouth hovered over hers. “You think you’re gonna win?”

She bit his lip harder, her fingers curling into his shoulders. “I already have.”

His mouth found her neck again, tracing a line down her throat, across her collarbone. His hands gripped her waist like he owned it. He licked the spot where her shoulder met her chest, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to taste her. Like he wanted to own that, too.

His tongue traced the edge of her dress.

His teeth dragged over her skin.

His breath was warm on her chest.

And suddenly, his hands were moving faster. Less careful. She felt the straps on her dress sliding down, one by one.

He pulled her dress down, fingers tracing the lace edges of her bra. “Fuck,” he breathed, his voice rough, “look at you.”

She wanted to kiss him again, to taste him again. She wanted to feel him everywhere.

She tugged at the bottom of his shirt, and he reached back, peeling it off in one easy motion. His chest was broad and toned, his arms sculpted.

Y/N’s fingers trailed over his shoulders, over his chest, down his stomach. Every inch of him was firm, defined. She felt his muscles flex beneath her touch, his breath hitch at the brush of her nails.

He reached for her waist, lifting her easily. She wrapped her legs around him, feeling the warmth of his skin, the strength of his body. She kissed him again, her hands in his hair, her nails scraping down his back. He groaned into her mouth, the sound low and hungry. His fingers dug into her hips, pulling her closer. She felt him hard and wanting against her, and her whole body tightened with need.

She ground against him, slow and deliberate, and his fingers flexed against her skin.

“Y/N…” He was breathing her name, his voice rough and uneven. His fingers were slipping under the edge of her bra, teasing the lace, testing her skin. She arched into him, her mouth on his, her tongue in his mouth.

“Off,” she breathed, tugging at her bra. “Help me get this off.”

He smiled against her mouth. Then he reached behind her, his fingers working deftly at the clasp. The straps fell away, and Joe drew back, his eyes dragging down her chest, her stomach, her legs.

He licked his lips. “Shit, Y/N.”

She smirked. “Like what you see, Quarterback?”

He didn’t answer. Just stepped closer, his fingers tracing along her body until they reached the bottom of her breasts.

He stopped there, his eyes catching on the metal bars that pierced each nipple.

“Fuck,” he breathed.

His mouth closed over one breast, sucking softly, teasing her nipple with his tongue. Y/N gasped, her head falling back, her fingers tangled in his hair. She felt the edge of his teeth against the metal piercing, the soft suction of his mouth.

His hand slid up her other breast, fingers teasing her nipple, pinching lightly, sending jolts of heat through her body.

She arched into him, wanting more. Needing more.

“Joe…” Her voice was breathless, begging. Her hips rocked against his, searching for friction. “Please…”

He switched sides, sucking her other nipple, teasing it with his tongue, his teeth. His hand slid down her stomach, slipping beneath her skirt, tracing the edge of her panties.

She was already wet for him, already aching. He stroked her through the lace, his touch light, teasing. She rocked into his hand, her breath hitching.

“Joe…”

He looked up at her, his eyes dark, his mouth red. “What do you want, Y/N?"

Before she could answer, his hand was tracing up her thighs again, teasing along the line of her panties. She parted her legs, letting him explore, letting him take what he wanted.

His fingers slipped beneath the edge of her skirt again, only this time, he realized she wasn't wearing any panties at all.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his finger tracing her slit, feeling her wetness. “You weren’t wearing any panties this whole time?”

She kissed him, her tongue sliding into his mouth. “Maybe I was hoping someone would notice.”

He groaned again, his finger slipping inside her, his palm pressed to her clit. He pumped in and out, his movements slow and deliberate. His thumb circled her clit, teasing her, driving her crazy.

"My little slut to ruin." He crooked his finger inside of her, hitting that spot that made her see stars. She gripped the edge of the vanity, her body shaking, her orgasm building. He added another finger, pumping faster now, his thumb pressing harder, circling relentlessly.

His eyes never left hers. He watched her fall apart, her head thrown back against the mirror, her mouth open in a silent scream.

He could feel her tightening around him, could feel her essence dripping down his wrists.

He was taking and taking and taking.

Then he slid his other hand up to her throat.

Squeezing. “Look at me.”

Y/N’s eyes blinked open, glazed over in the neon glow.

“Talk so much shit…” He leaned in, his lips brushing hers, his fingers still moving inside her, still driving her crazy. “Now look at you.” His voice was rough, ragged. His eyes were wild, his mouth wet, his body pressed to hers. “Legs wide open for me. So close to cumming on my fingers.” His thumb pressed hard on her clit, and she cried out. “Hate me so much, don’t you, baby?” He pumped his fingers faster, his grip tightening around her throat. “Yeah, you do.”

And then she was cumming, her body shaking, her moans filling the air.

Joe didn’t let up, not even when she begged him to stop, begged him for mercy. He kept fucking her with his fingers, drawing out every last drop of her pleasure.

When he finally pulled away, he was breathing hard, his eyes wild.

“Turn around,” he ordered, his voice rough. “Hands on the counter.”

She obeyed, hopping off the counter on wobbly legs, turning to face the cracked glass. Her hands shook as she pressed her palms against the cool surface.

She saw him in the reflection then—his eyes dark, his chest heaving, his hand moving over the bulge in his pants. His eyes locked on hers in the mirror.

“Spread your legs,” he growled.

She did, widening her stance, arching her back, offering herself to him.

His fingers gripped her hips, hard enough to bruise. She could hear the rasp of his zipper.

And then he was pushing inside her, his cock thick and hard. He filled her completely, stretching her, taking her breath away.

She whimpered, her fingers sliding down the mirror. “Joe…”

“Shit, you’re tight,” he hissed, his fingers digging into her skin. He pulled back slowly, then thrust in again, hard and deep.

She cried out, her eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck…”

He started to move, his thrusts slow at first, then faster, harder. He gripped her hips tightly, using her for his own pleasure, taking what he wanted from her body.

His breath was hot on her neck, his groans filling the air. She could see him behind her in the mirror, his eyes closed, his jaw clenched, his curls wild.

“You feel so good…” He leaned forward, his chest pressing to her back, his lips brushing her ear. “So fucking good, Y/N. Just like I knew you would.”

She moaned, her eyes opening to meet his in the mirror. “Joe… please…”

He grinned, his eyes wicked, his thrusts relentless. “Please, what? You want me to stop?” He kissed her neck, his tongue tracing her skin. “You want me to keep going?” He sucked on her pulse, hard enough to leave a mark. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

“I want… I want you to fuck me harder,” she gasped, her body rocking with his thrusts.

He laughed, the sound dark and cruel. “Beg for it.”

“Fuck me harder, Joe.” Her voice was a breathless whine.

He obliged, his thrusts becoming brutal, his grip on her hips punishing.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his mouth on her shoulder, his teeth scraping her skin. His pace was brutal, unforgiving. Y/N swore she could see her life flash before her eyes.

She swore she could feel him in her fucking guts. Ruining her. Making her his. Making it so she’d never want another man after him.

“You like that?” He nipped at her earlobe, his breath hot against her skin. “You like it when I fuck you like this?”

“God, yes…” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the sound of skin on skin.

He reached around, his fingers finding her clit again. He rubbed her in tight, fast circles, his cock still pounding into her, his mouth still on her skin.

“Fuck, yes…” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the sound of skin on skin.

 “Don’t stop… please, don’t stop…”

And then he stopped.

She whined, pushing her hips back against his, trying to get him to keep moving.

“What was that?” he asked, grinding against her, his lips on her neck. “You want more?” He licked up to her ear, biting the lobe lightly. “You want to cum on my cock?”

She moaned, her head falling forward, her arm bracing her against the mirror. “Joe…” Her voice was small, broken.

He gripped her hips tightly, keeping her still. Then he reached up, tangling his fingers in her curls, pulling her back up. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low, his breath warm on her ear. “Say my name, baby.” He thrust into her once, hard. “God, look at you. So fucked out. You wanna cum, don’t you? Beg me for it.” He grunted, his hips snapping forward. “Look at yourself and beg me to let you cum.”

God, he was so fucking mean.

And she loved it.

He knew she did, too, when her pussy fluttered around him.

“Please…” she whispered, her eyes finding his in the mirror again. “Please let me cum. Please fuck me harder. Need it Joey, need you to make me cum.”

He grinned, his eyes flashing. “That’s my girl.”

And then he started to move again.

Hard.

Deep.

Unrelenting.

His thrusts pushed her forward, her breasts brushing the mirror with every movement. She could see herself in the reflection—her eyes wild, her hair a mess, her lips swollen and red.

She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly fucked.

And she was.

She was close, so close. She could feel it building inside her, a wave of pleasure about to crash over her. Joe’s thrusts were fast, brutal. His grip on her hair tightened, pulling her head back, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror.

She was a mess, a fucking mess.

And she’d never felt more alive.

Her eyes rolled back, her moans growing louder. She was close, so close.

“Please…”

“Please, what?” His voice was rough, his breath hot on her skin.

“I’m gonna cum…” She could barely speak, barely think. Her body was trembling, her legs shaking. “Oh, God… I’m gonna…”

He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing hard and fast.“Do it,” he growled, his fingers pressing harder, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Cum for me, baby. Show me how much you fucking hate me.”

And she did, her body shaking, her screams echoing off the walls.

Joe kept thrusting, drawing out her pleasure, taking everything she had to give.

When she finally collapsed against the mirror, he wasn’t done with her yet.

He spun her around, lifting her up and slamming her back against the wall. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his neck.

He fucked her hard and fast, his eyes locked on hers, his mouth claiming hers in a brutal kiss.

He broke away, his lips moving to her neck. “You’re mine, Y/N,” he growled against her skin. “All fucking mine.” He sucked on her throat, biting down hard enough to break skin. She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Say it,” he demanded.

“I’m yours,” she whimpered. “Oh, God, I’m yours…”

She was close again, her body tightening around him. He felt it, too, his thrusts becoming erratic, his breath ragged.

“Fuck,” he hissed, burying his face in her neck. “I’m gonna cum…”

“Inside me…” Her voice was a desperate plea. “Cum inside me, Joe…”

He groaned, his fingers digging into her thighs. “Fuck…”

And then he was cumming, his cock pulsing inside her, his body shaking. She clung to him, her lips on his shoulder, her nails leaving marks on his skin.

When it was over, they stayed like that for a long moment, their bodies pressed together, their breathing ragged.

Finally, Joe lifted his head, his eyes meeting hers.

There was something soft in his gaze, something almost vulnerable. But it was gone in an instant, replaced by his usual smirk.

He leaned in, kissing her softly, gently. His lips lingered on hers for a long moment before he pulled away.

“Still hate me?” he teased.

She grinned, her fingers tracing his jaw. “More than ever.”

His eyes flashed, his smirk widening. “Good.” He kissed her again, hard and quick. “Me too.”

He pulled out of her, grabbing a paper towel, wetting it and wiped up her thighs and and pussy silently.

They cleaned up in silence, avoiding each other's gaze. Y/N straightened her dress, adjusting the straps. Joe pulled on his shirt, his movements quick and efficient.

When they were both presentable again, Joe cleared his throat. “I should get back out there.”

She nodded, her voice quiet. “Yeah. Me too.”

He hesitated, his eyes flicking to hers. For a moment, she thought he might say something. Might try to…

But then he just nodded, turning for the door. He paused at the threshold, his hand on the handle. He didn’t look back.

“Next time, baby, wear panties. Might make things more interesting.”

And then he was gone.

The club was still throbbing with life when Y/N emerged from the narrow hallway that led to the bathrooms. Lights flashed in dizzying patterns, strobes cutting through fog and darkness like lightning in a storm. The music shook the walls—bass-heavy, hypnotic, the kind that could make a heartbeat fall into step. It should’ve felt the same as before. Familiar. Fun.

But everything felt different now.

She moved slowly through the crowd, weaving between bodies slick with sweat and glitter. The air was thick—alcohol, perfume, electricity—and yet she couldn’t shake the sense that she was floating outside herself. Like her body was still in that bathroom, pressed between cool tile and the heat of his mouth.

Joe fucking Burrow.

The name echoed in her mind like a drumbeat. Her enemy. The guy who had spent the last four years being a thorn in her side, a smug bastard with a talent for pushing her buttons and a face infuriatingly too handsome for his own good. He’d made a sport out of mocking her, teasing her, always toeing the line of cruelty.

And yet tonight—tonight—she fucked him. She’d let him tear down every wall she’d built between them and touch her like he’d been waiting for it. Like he’d known exactly what she needed and had decided, in that small moment behind a locked door, to give it to her.

She wasn’t sure if she hated herself more for letting it happen—or for how badly she already wanted it to happen again.

Her heart was still pounding. Her skin still thrummed with the memory of his hands. Her thighs still ached in a way that made her feel unsteady on her heels.

She spotted her friends near the bar, laughing and dancing, entirely unaware that their night had just split in two—before and after.

Londyn saw her first, waving her over with a cocktail in one hand and the other raised above her head, dancing to the beat.

“Y/N!” she called out over the music, grabbing her wrist as she arrived. “Where the hell have you been?”

Y/N tried to play it cool, smoothing down her hair and forcing a casual smile. “Bathroom.”

“That long?” Londyn narrowed her eyes. “You were gone for, like, twenty minutes.”

“Line was insane,” Y/N said, shrugging as she reached for someone’s abandoned drink on the bar. “Girls doing their makeup, taking selfies, talking about exes—you know how it is.”

Mia gave her a skeptical look, but let it slide. “You missed it. Jade spilled a whole tray of shots and then tried to flirt her way out of paying.”

Y/N laughed, grateful for the distraction. But even as her friend leaned in to continue the story, her mind drifted. Back to the stall. Back to Joe.

His hands gripping her hips. His mouth trailing down her neck. The smug whisper in her ear: Still hate me, sweetheart?

God, yes. She hated him more than ever.

And yet, she could still feel the ghost of his touch. Could still hear the quiet growl of her name from his lips as she came undone in his arms.

Her phone buzzed in her purse. A jolt of anticipation ran through her as she reached for it, pulling it free and lighting up the screen.

A message.

Joe: bathroom door locks. for next time.

Her breath caught.

There it was. The confirmation she hadn’t dared admit she wanted.

Next time.

Her fingers hovered over the screen, trembling just slightly. Then she typed, the words spilling out faster than she expected.

Y/N: next time? that confident you can get it again, QB?

She bit her lip, hesitating for only a second before hitting send.

Almost immediately, the three dots appeared.

Typing.

Then they vanished.

Then came back.

Joe: baby. you're gonna be begging for it. and when you do, I’ll be ready. ;)

Heat bloomed in her chest. Damn him. He always knew exactly how to get under her skin—and now, under her clothes.

Londyn glanced over, catching the flush in her cheeks. “Who are you texting?” she asked, sipping her drink with narrowed eyes.

“No one,” Y/N said too quickly, slipping the phone back into her purse.

“Uh-huh,” Londyn said with a smirk. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The I-just-did-something-I-shouldn’t-have-but-it-was-so-good look.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help the grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You’re imagining things.”

“Sure,” Londyn said, clearly not convinced, but dancing again before she could press further.

Y/N turned back toward the dance floor, needing something to anchor her. Needing air, or space, or just a second to think.

And that’s when she saw him.

Joe.

He was leaning against a wall across the room, half-shadowed by a speaker tower, arms crossed over his chest like he owned the whole damn place. His shirt was wrinkled, hair just barely tousled—evidence of what had just happened between them. But what struck her most was the way he was looking at her.

Not smirking. Not mocking.

Watching.

Like she was a puzzle he hadn’t finished solving. Like he was already planning what he’d do the next time they were alone.

Their eyes met, and the world shrank.

The lights dimmed. The music faded. The crowd blurred into shapes and shadows.

There was only him. Only that look. That promise.

She hated how it made her feel.

She hated how much she didn’t care.

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Bed Of Electric Flowers (18+ Vox x Reader)

Vox x Reader Rated: Adult Content: Established long term relationship, Sex pollen trope, sex toy use, female masterbation, Vox's glowstick dick, way too many tv details, Male receiving oral, cowgirl, vox blue screens, missionary.

Summary: A unexpected floral arrangement is delivered to your door as you're trying to ignore the lingering absence of your flat faced boyfriend. When Vox returns home and finds you in a compromising position, he's eager to assist even without a clue as to what has you so worked up.

AN- Header done in part by the wonderful, amazing, fantastical @redvexillum (I could cry it looks so good- that’s a lie, I *am* crying) 

Join Us at VoxTek today! A discord server dedicated to Vox and the rest of the Hazbin crew.

The ringing of your doorbell startled you out of the tv trance you had been in for the last few hours. Vox was working late, as was typical, and you deserved to have a couch potato night with popcorn, trash tv and, comfortable pajamas that you may or may not have stolen from your boyfriend’s drawer. 

“Delivery,” A voice called from the intercom at the door. 

As was building policy, the delivery person left the item on the table by the door as soon as you acknowledged them and left. You were not expecting any deliveries at the moment but it wasn’t uncommon in the slightest for you boyfriend to send gifts and trinkets on a whim. 

At times it felt like he was trying to buy your affections. You knew that simply was just how Vox was. It didn’t help that in the past he had had partners who had to be bought to forgive his long work hours and dedication to maintaining his position, both in life and in death. 

You didn’t need gifts and jewelry but that didn’t stop him from getting them for you. 

What you needed was his time and fortunately, that was more often than not what he had in short supply. Vox worked hard and he worked a lot. That left you alone a lot of the time. You loved him though and because of that love, you were committed to making it work. 

Opening the door, you found a vase full of the most beautiful blue and purple flowers you had ever seen. The arrangement contained some you knew from life, some you had only seen in death and some you’d never seen before at all. It was clearly an expensive arrangement, flowers from up top came with price tags few in the Pride ring could afford. 

The simple gesture warmed your heart and made you smile, though it wasn’t needed. No matter how many times you told him though, the gestures would never stop.

You had always loved flowers and while Vox thought it was silly since they would just wilt and die, it wasn’t uncommon for him to indulge you when he’s realized he had been away for longer than you liked. 

You hummed as you carried them inside, setting the vase on your nightstand after clicking the TV off. It was getting late and it was clear Vox wasn’t going to come by again tonight if he sent flowers. May as well get your beauty sleep, right?

You ran your hand along the back of your neck as you brushed your teeth, wiping the sweat away. The weather in Hell was predictably hot and sometimes the AC couldn’t keep up, even in Vox tower. It seemed like tonight was going to be one of those nights. 

After a look to the comfortable embrace of your bed, you turned on the shower. The cooling sheets would help but lowering your body temperature first would help you get off to sleep even more. 

Slipping out of the old fashioned button down shirt and loose shorts, you stepped into the shower. The water was warm but not hot as it ran down your back and soaked through your hair. It felt nice. Really nice. 

If you closed your eyes, it almost felt like Vox’s hands running over your body instead of the water. Your mind ran away with that thought. Soon you were standing in the water, imagining the feeling of his firm hands running along your curves. If you tried hard enough, you could feel the way his screen would warm the back of your neck. 

The shower wasn’t helping cool you don’t in the slightest. 

With a sight, you shut off the water and reached for a towel. There was no one in your apartment to hand it to you, to make some thirsty comment about how good you looked wet. 

You decided you were just lonely. 

That was why you were restless. That was why you were hot all over. It had been two weeks since you had seen Vox and even longer since the two of you had last had sex. It wasn’t for the lack of attraction or desire, you were just at that comfortable stage of a relationship where when you’re tired and busy, quality time was more important. 

You were just tired, lonely and horny. That’s all. 

You wiggled your until your slightly damp arms made their way into into Vox’s button up sleep shirt. Every time you slipped into one of his shirts, it made you smile. It always reminded you of the way he would complain about how he missed the ease of a pull over shirt. All his tshirts had wide necks, comically so to accommodate his head.

It smelled clean, laundry fresh and not like his cologne. The only thing in your apartment that smelled like him was his pillow on your bed. The smell was fading on that too. He had been gone far too long, once again. But that wasn’t new. It was the same old routine, just getting longer each time he was away.

He was gone more often than he was there even though he had claimed to have all but moved in. You told yourself that you were okay with it. He worked a lot, often sleeping in his office for a little bit here or there instead of coming home. 

Self pleasure wasn’t something you had particularly enjoyed but desperate times called for desperate measures. You were restless and heat settled into your core that simply wasn’t disappearing. Falling face first onto your bed, you let out a sigh. 

“Vox,” You whined as you rolled onto your back, “I miss you.” 

Silence answered your confession. He didn’t zap into the space with a loud, “Hey, hey, hey!” He didn’t didn’t even walk through the front door. He didn’t come home. Not that you expected him too.

Alone, again. 

Your hand snaked down your body, slipping into the pair of Vox’s shorts you wore. May as well indulge, you decided. You were so horny and it’s not like Vox was there to take care of you. 

As you caressed your clit, you thought about texting Vox. If you called him, would he come? Or was he in a meeting? With a sigh you decided it didn’t matter. You were so horny but you could take care of yourself. It wasn’t worth interrupting his work. 

Your flinger ran lower, gathering slick from your opening to pull up to your clit. You were far more sensitive than you expected, gasping at each teasing pass of your fingers over the bundle of nerves. Normally you wouldn’t be so wet, so sensitive without something or someone to get you going. 

Your finger slipped inside you easily. You were so wet and though you knew what you liked and how you liked it, you struggled to bring yourself close to your orgasm. Each caress left you gasping for breath and yet all it did was make you want more. 

A second finger slipped inside as you palmed your clit, trying to find that place inside you that Vox was so good at hitting. It was no use. 

Minutes ticked by as you were left panting and writhing under your own touch as nothing seemed to be good enough.

With a groan, you pulled your fingers out from your core, smearing slick up your mound as your hand went to rest on your lower abdomen. You were so horny, it wasn’t fair. You shouldn’t be so horny. 

In the back of your mind, you knew something was wrong.

Reaching into your nightstand you grabbed the small box inside. Within the box was the long smooth vibrator and the perfectly average dildo you’d had for longer than you cared to admit. It didn’t get much use and wasn’t worth upgrading. 

The reality was, you hadn’t had much need for them after you had fell into a relationship with Vox. Before Vox, you simply had your old trusty tools to get yourself off quickly and move on with your nights. 

As the vibrator came to life with the press of a button, you slipped the length easily into your sopping hole. The vibrations had your back arching as they moved through your insides. You moaned as you thrust it in and out slowly, ensuring it was coated with your slick before letting it run up to your clit. 

Again you tried to bring yourself to orgasm and yet all you managed to accomplish was working yourself up even more, making yourself more desperate as you clenched around nothing. You rarely had to go through this much effort to satisfy yourself and yet you still couldn’t get there. 

“Fuck,” you whined, grabbing the dildo and running the soft plastic along your slit to coat it with your slick. 

You were so wet and so sensitive and yet nothing was enough. The dildo filled you, slipping inside with the ease of a good fit. It didn’t stretch you or fill you the way Vox did but it felt good enough to have something to clench around. 

Working it in and out, you moaned. It wasn’t enough. You added the vibrator to your clit, holding it in place as you worked yourself over with the dildo. It still wasn’t enough. 

Rolling onto your stomach, you pulled your knees under your chest as you tried to fuck the dildo into you the way Vox would when he took you from behind. Closing your eyes, you tried to pretend it was Vox fucking you but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough. 

“Vox,” You whimpered, imagining his hands on your hips. When you couldn’t will the dildo inside you into being Vox’s, you tried to imagine it was his hands holding the vibrator against your sensitive clit. You tried to tell yourself it was his hands working the dildo in and out of your weeping hole. 

It didn’t stretch you the way Vox did. It didn’t fill you the way vox did. It didn’t call your name the way Vox did. 

“Please, Vox.” You whimpered, eyes closed as you tried so hard to bring yourself to the peak that still eluded you. Tears gathered in your eyes as you worked the dildo in and out, your arm sore from the repeated movements. “Miss you. Need you. Want you, Vox.” 

~~~~~<3

Vox walked into the dark apartment and glanced around, the dim red light of the windows filtered in through the privacy screens combined with the light from his screen to allow him to see his way. 

You hadn’t waited up for him but that was alright. It was late and you deserved your rest. He was mildly disappointed though, having wanted to spend some time with you. There wasn’t anyone he could blame for it though. He made his bed, may as well lay in it. 

He had been working too much lately, he knew that. The fact that you were so accommodating, so gracious about his work schedule was something he never wanted to take for granted. He had been, though. He knew that and he knew he needed to make it up to you. 

Dimming his screen, he tossed his jacket on the barstool next to the kitchen island and made his way through the space. It had been your apartment but in his heart, it felt more like home than his own penthouse did. That was why he never pressured you to move up into it with him or to find a better place. 

This was a space where Vox could just be Vox, not the King of the Tower. 

A sound caught his ear, one that he didn’t expect to hear. Turning toward her bedroom, he followed the sounds of soft sighing and squelching. It was the sounds of sex. 

His heart pounded in his chest, blood pumping hard through his audio processers. He had spent too much time away and if what he feared was happening was actually happening, he couldn’t blame you. He wouldn’t blame you. 

Would he kill the man? Without a doubt. Would he be hurt? Sure. But he wasn’t sure he could bring himself to blame you. You wouldn’t have been the first to get tired of waiting for him and go on to find another to fill the place he so often left vacant. 

Opening the door, he wasn’t prepared for what he saw. 

You were on the bed, on your knees and head down. Your ass was up, legs spread as you worked a pale pink dildo into your sopping cunt. Each weak thrust squelched as you gasped softly. A vibrator was held weakly in your hand, pressed against your clit from below. 

Your eyes were hardly more than slits, distracted by what you were doing. His presence wasn’t noticed as you softly called out his name again and again. 

There was no one else. There was no other man. You hadn’t replaced him, at least not with anything with a heartbeat. The attempt to replace him artificially was clearly unsuccessful. 

He knew you were not one that often took pleasure into your own hands. That wasn’t to say he had thought it never happened, just that he knew what was in the boxes in your nightstand just as much as he knew they had a lot of dust over their lids that had begun to build up. 

Never did he expect to walk into the bedroom and see this. The sight made his knees weak as he stumbled to the bed. The emotional whiplash of the last few minutes had his mind fuzzy and heart pounding. 

He wished he could smell the room. Did it smell like sex? Did it smell of your juices? 

You didn’t notice he was in the room even as he fell to his knees at the foot of the bed. Reaching out with trembling hands, he longed for the feeling of your skin under his touch. He was too entranced by the way you worked the dildo in and out of your wet cunt. 

When his hands made contact with the back of your thighs, you jumped. The dildo slipped from your hand and the vibrator fell to the bed as you turned to look over your shoulder at him. Vox couldn’t help but reach out, steading the dildo that was slowly was slipping from your hole. 

“Vox?” you whimpered as he pushed the dildo deeper. 

“What have you been up to?” Vox slipped the dildo out before pushing it back in again, fucking you with it again and again. “You seem needy. Been thinking about me?” 

“Please,” you whined, rocking your hips back into the dildo, “Please Vox. Need you.” 

“Alright,” Vox slipped the dildo from you, watching intently as your hole twitched, seeking the feeling of being filled. Rising from his knees, Vox set himself on the edge of the bed to toe off his shoes. “Let me-”

“Need you,” you whined, crawling across the bed to join him. 

You ran your hands along his back, moaning at the strong muscles under your hands. Pressing your naked front to him, you reached around to caress his chest and abdomen. You ran your hands across him, feeling the way he leaned into your touch. 

“You’re making this hard, dollface.” 

“I’ll make this harder,” you said, reaching down to palm his cock through his pants. 

He was already hard, straining against the fabric prison he was in but you were determined to make him even harder. Breasts pressed tightly against his back, you worked his pants open and pulled him free before he had a chance to protest. 

The slight glow to his erect member was always one of the most beautiful sights. You loved that you could always find your way to him in the dark. His hips twitched, jumping under your hand as you caressed his length. 

“You gonna let me get undressed?” Vox’s voice glitched out for a moment, bright blue light flashing to bathe the room for a short moment. “I’m a bit overdressed still and you’re being distracting.”

“I need you,” if asked, Vox would say you poured around his side as if you had become liquid. 

“Be patient,” Vox ordered as you all but curled around him, mouth drawing close to his glowing cock while he worked his tie free from around his neck. 

You licked at the head of his cock, tongue greedy for the taste of him. His hands trembled as you wasted no time pulling his cock into your mouth, working to take him as deep as you could. 

“Fuck,” Vox’s fingers curled, claws slipping into your hair as he fought the urge to push your head down on his cock. 

Your pace was slow and greedy as Vox leaned back. He could see the curve of your breast , the soft lines of your body and feel your overwhelming warmth as you bobbed up his shaft until he couldn’t stand it anymore. 

His palm pressed against the back of your head, forcing your head down his length until the head of his cock pressed tightly against the back of your throat. You gagged on him, throat spasming around his length as you fought for breath. He let your head up so that you could gasp a breath, sputtering and coughing before he shoved your head back down again. 

As soon as he let you up again, you started crawling around him. Before he had a chance to think more about getting his clothes off, you were in his lap. With knees on either side of his hips, you kissed at where his neck peeked out from his open collar. 

“What are you-?” Vox’s voice was choked off as you sank down on his cock, sighing at the way his larger size stretched you in a way your little dildo didn’t.

You shifted your hips as you sank lower and lower, all but purring into him as your weight settled into his lap. Your hips rocked, rising and falling ever so slightly as you let your body adjust to the significant increase in size from your little dildo, letting him stroke every spot deep inside you. 

“Please,” your lips moved against the soft column of his neck, tongue tracing the line between his dark blue skin and the collar of his shirt. “Need you, Vox. Need you so bad.” 

“You have me, doll.” Vox’s hands grip your hips as his voice distorts, static snow covering his screen for a moment. “Fuck, you have me.” 

You rose up off his cock until only his head was kissing your entrance. After a moment, you sank again, slowly. You bounced as his hips and thighs made contact with you again. Each time you repeated this process, you did it a little faster.

You were fucking yourself with him just as you had fucked yourself with the little pink dildo. Each time his cock filled you, it was so much more satisfying than anything you had been able to achieve yourself. 

Bouncing on him, you panted and gasped. Vox’s screen bathed your face and chest in a soft blue light as he sat, gripping your hips and watching you. His attention was divided, split between watching your cunt swallow his cock, staining his pants with your slick and the way your breasts bounced with every thrust. 

His audio input was flooded with the sound of your sopping core squelching around his cock and your panting breath, cries of his name on your tongue. He struggled to focus on you as the fans in the back of his screen kicked on. 

“Hold on,” his voice was garbled and his screen flashed bars and blue, “Babydoll-” 

Vox’s screen went blue, too bright as was his default setting. The message “Error 34.420 virus found: Came too fast, damn Babygirl” was written in bright white on the screen as his torso fell back, hitting the bed with a soft thud. 

You kept riding, working yourself on him as his cock twitched inside you, painting your walls with the seed that was so unique to him. In the dim light of your bedroom, if someone had been looking in on their private moment, they would see the slight glow from his cum around your opening, coating his shaft as you lifted yourself off of him and smearing it onto his pants as you let yourself slip back over his length. 

“Error 404 message not found cowgirl position too good,” Displayed on the screen. 

Hiding your face from the bright light in his shoulder, you whined as you continued to ride him. Vox was nothing if not able to please, remaining hard inside you even as his systems came back online. 

It wasn’t enough, nothing felt like it was enough. 

Grinding against him, you fucked yourself with him as his systems processed. Tears pricked at your eyes and as you struggled to find the right way to stimulate yourself on his cock to make the fire burning in you lessen and bring the orgasm you so badly wanted to surface. 

Something was wrong with you and you knew you needed Vox to fix it. He was the only man in all of Hell that could fix it. 

His face went dark for a moment before coming to life again with a bright spark that grew and extended across the screen. It pulsed with his heartbeat for a moment before fading to reveal his bright eyes blinking to life with a deep moan. 

His fingers twitched against your hips as he finished booting up and returning to life. Strong hands and hard claws gripped you, running up and down your back as you fucked yourself onto him. 

“Doll,” His voice was thick as his nails lightly scratched down your back. “You good?”

“I need-” 

“What do you need, Baby?” As more systems came online again, he began trusting up into your lazily. “Tell me what I can do for you?”

“I want to come.” You whimpered as his arms tightened around you. “I get so close but I can’t. Please. Please make me come.” 

He leaned up, shifting your weight back into his lap as he pulled your face from his shoulder with a fist in your hair. You bumped your head on the corner of his screen but you hardly noticed the pain. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last time you too a blow from his sharp edges. 

Vox kissed you deeply, static lips parting yours as he drank up your moans. He maneuvered you as if you weighed nothing, lifting you and placing your back on the bed. Your hand traveled down your body, fingers caressing your clit as you watched him lean back to admire the view. Arching, you writhed under his eyes, gasping as you fingered your sloppy hole, not giving a thought to the slightly glowing cum spreading on your fingers.

“Please, Vox. It’s so much- so much better with you inside me. It hurts less. Please, I need you back inside. Vox.” 

Clumsily, he kicked out of his pants. He shrugged his shirt off next as he covered your body with his. He wrapped your legs around his waist, mouth leaving electric kisses along your breasts as he lined himself up again.

“I’m right here, Doll. I’ve got you.”

He slipped in easily, spreading your walls around him. He groaned as he sank until his balls were flush with you. Your arms wrapped around him, clinging to him. Nails dug into his thick blue skin. 

He wasted no time, beginning to thrust into you immediately, slowly at first but becoming quicker as you urged him on. You begged, pleaded as his pubic bone brushed against your clit with each thrust. 

Vox grabbed your hip with a hand, grip so strong his claws indented your skin. You only whined, ignoring the very real risk that his sharp claws would puncture your skin, placing all your trust in him to not hurt you. 

He hiked your hips up, snaking his hand under your lower back to do so, changing the angle of your body. This new angle forced the head of his cock to push and drag harshly against the front of your walls, bulging slightly against your abdomen. Harshly, be bullied the spot inside you that he knew would reliably have you seeing stars. 

He was not disappointed in the slightest with your reaction. Your mewls and gasps only encouraged him to continue, hitting that spot faster, harder. 

Leaning back, he pulled your hips up higher. You were spread out on the bed, hands gripping his strong forearms at times only to flop down to the bed when he would hit your core just right. 

“Vox,” his name was a prayer you couldn’t stop saying, “Please. So good, you make me feel so good. Want to cum so bad. Want to- need to.” 

“I’ve got you.” 

Vox’s claws dug into your skin, holding your hips tightly, allowing him to hold your hips and core suspended in the air as he rose on his knees, thrusting into you harshly. Your upper back and shoulders rested comfortably on the bed as you looked up at him through lust glazed eyes. 

Parted lips gasped his name as he gave you what you wanted. Your breasts shifted with every violent thrust into you. Your toes curled and fingers twisted into the blankets. The dim blue light of his screen reflected off your skin, highlighting every curve, including the ever so slight bulge as his cock continued to push out against you with each thrust. 

Vox’s hands were one of your favorite features. They were strong and powerful, yet capable of such sweet and gentle touches. There was another thing they were capable of. His claw rubbed against your clit, your lower back supported by his hand splayed under you. 

“Want to feel you cum, Babydoll.” Vox panted, fans whirling as he maintained his body temperature. 

Warmth spread over his fingertip before it shifted, static tingling over the sensitive bundle of nerves. Every thrust into you was paired with a rise in the static tingling against your clit. 

“Please,” tears rand own the sides of your face as you felt the way your slick dripped down your body, running up your back. Never had you been so wet. Never had you been so needy. Never had Vox gone more than one round with you but if you could think straight, you’d be thankful to know he could.

“Going to make you come undone,” Vox promised, smile and eyes both wide as he took in the fucked out state you were in. He didn’t know what had you so worked up or why, but he knew it was just for him. You were just for him. 

“Going to make you see stars. Going to make you- fffuck.” He groaned as your walls began to flutter and tighten around him. You were so close now. “Fuck baby, you feel so good. Fucking made for me. So needy, so fucking hot just for me. Just for me.”

You grabbed at your breast with a hand, pinching your nipple as he pulled your hips higher. He loomed over you, filthy words falling from his lips even as he looked down at you with love clear in his eyes. 

Reaching out for him, you ran your other hand along his chest as he folded closer to you. His heart thrummed under your fingers until your arm was too weak to support itself. Your hand flopped to the mattress above your head, spreading yourself across the bed just a little more as Vox watched you say his name as if it was the most important thing in the world. 

“Cum for me,” he begged. “Come on Babygirl. Want to feel you cum on my cock. Fuck. Fuck. Fucking cum like only I can make you.”

The static spread from your clit as he spike, dancing over your body in powerful little blue arcs of power, leaving the most pleasant zaps in their path. Each little zap stole your breath. Soon they concentrated on every place Vox knew you loved most. 

They tingled and zapped your nipples. Electric power danced over your throat, making muscles twitch as you failed to control your breathing. 

So close now.

The electricity ran over her legs and across her abdomen, tightening every muscle against her control. Blue sparks lit up the space between your bodies in little blue flashes as it played over your clit, Vox’s hand no longer needing to make contact with it to keep it stimulated. 

“Fffffuck,” His screen was glitching now, bars shooting across the surface and distorting his face as you clenched tightly down on his cock. 

Your back arched and twitched, fingers gripping whatever they could reach as your body convulsed around him. Each contraction of your cunt had him moaning, voice glitching as much as his screen as he fought to stay present and ride out your much sought after orgasm.

You screamed his name as the twisting pressure crested and white hot pleasure burned every nerve ending in your body as it snapped. Vox fell forward, holding your hips tightly as he fucked you through it. 

“So good,” He praised in that garbled voice that told you how close he really was again, “Such a good fucking doll. Fucking came so hard for me. Feel so good. Squeezing me so good. So good.”

He fell to his side, pulling you onto your side as your body continued to flinch and clench with every ounce of stimulation he gave you. His screen was glitching more as your begging shifted into words of praise and thanks, basking in the sweet relief and aftershocks of your orgasm. 

“Babygirl,” Vox said, “Doll, I’m- I’m going to- going to cum agai-” 

His screen went blue as you felt his cock twitch with the force of his second orgasm. More cum painted your insides as fans ran at high speeds. Fingers gripped you, holding you close enough to feel his thundering heart under his dark skin while his hips rocked against you. 

“Error Code 34 Message not found. Please reboot.” Displayed on his too bright screen when you glanced up at your lover as he stilled, finally feeling spent and at peace. “Orgasm over ride. System Vox.exe has stopped working due to overuse. Vox.exe Unresponsive. Please reboot.” 

You fell asleep to the soft sounds of your boyfriend, the powerful tech overlord rebooting slowly with you tucked into his arms and under the hard edge of his screen.

~~~~~<3

Vox blinked the sleep from his eyes as he leaned over the coffee machine, willing the pot to fill faster. He was tired, his muscles were sore and he didn’t get nearly enough sleep but it was worth it. 

Whatever the hell had gotten you in that mood last night, he needed to figure it out and repeat it. He had woken after just four hours of sleep and sacrificed his early morning work in favor of scrolling through your history. 

Was it invasive? Probably. He wasn’t known for respecting privacy. It couldn’t have been something he did, he hadn’t been around. While he clutched the first cup of coffee from the second pot, he again went over what you’d been watching and found nothing that would have made you so desperate for him. 

He found nothing in your message history either, with him or anyone else. There was nothing in your reading history, your internet tabs. Nothing. 

There was equally no trace of whoever had sent you the flowers he was currently fondling. He found no record of you purchasing the flowers for yourself so someone had to have sent them. 

He was just getting ready to dig into finding out who when the buzzer on the door rang. 

Opening the door, he almost dropped his mug at who was on the other side of the door. “Val?” 

“Vox?” 

“What are you doing here?” They asked in unison, both demons not really used to interacting with the other in the early morning hours. Wide eyes blinked nakedly, both sets exhausted. 

Vox hadn’t seen Valentino awake before noon unless he just hadn’t gone to sleep yet and even that was a rarity after five.

Valentino hadn’t expected to find Vox casually dressed on one of the lower, cheaper floors of the tower. 

Vox crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe and drinking casually from the black mug in his hand. He crossed his ankles as he narrowed his eyes, “It’s my girlfriend’s unit. Why are you here?”

Val’s big bug eyes blinked at Vox, processing the information slowly. “My… My flowers were delivered to the wrong floor.” 

Vox relaxed instantly, easy smile returning to his face as he disappeared inside. He reappeared with the flowers in hand. “I wondered where they came from.” 

“Right,” Valentino looked from the flowers Vox deposited in one of his sets of hands and back to his partner. “And you’re… feeling okay?” 

“Sore,” Vox laughed, “Been a long night if you know what I mean.”

“Right.” Valentino blinked again, “Right.” 

“Been busy,” Vox nodded, “She was feeling a bit extra needy.” 

“I’m sure she was.” Valentino said, looking down at the flowers again. “Was there a cover for the blooms?” 

“Not that I saw,” Vox shrugged. 

“Vox?” You called from in the room, his too big button down draped over your frame as you made your way over to him, sleepily wrapping your arms around his chest as you pressed your front against his back. “Is everything alright?” 

“Just some business,” He answered before looking back at Valentino. “This stays under wraps.”

“Right,” Valentino said again as Vox shut he door in his face, leaving Valentino alone to figure out how to get through the tower and back to his studio with uncovered sex flowers. He had to find a way without having half the employees dropping their pants and starting an orgy before the cafeteria had even ended breakfast service. 

Valentino looked down at the flowers, enjoying the way their pollen made his spine tingle. His power mingled with them to keep him under his own control but he hadn’t expected to find Vox unaffected but it sounded like his girl was. 

For a moment, Valentino lingered at the door, considering telling Vox before changing his mind. It wasn’t his business. 

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I want mama leech to beat up mama roseheart

But in all seriousness, I want mama Ashengrotto and mama Spade to talk about how much they love their boys and how proud they are of them (bonus points if you have the boys being bashful/embarrassed)

I remember seeing a fan art where Mrs. Rosehearts nags Mrs. Leech about her "indecent" outfit (because she's a mermaid; she's not used to concealing and constrictive clothes)... and then Mrs. Leech calls Riddle's mom an "old bitch" or something 😭Mr. Leech has to step in before the two throw down.

Decided to go with the second prompt because I'd like to avoid (physical) fights on NRC Family Day if possible! ^^

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

"There's this really cool on-campus cafe, mom. Here, I'll take you there for dinner--my treat!"

Well, he had stayed true to his word. His butt was planted in a cushy, plum- colored booth, Dylla seated across from him. She swiveled her head around every few seconds, her glossy mouth agape as she took in her new aquatic surroundings. The jellyfish fixtures overhead, the glass partition separating salt water and seaweed from the eatery, the bar with its shelves of rare tea along one wall.

And their waiter?

"A-Ashengrotto-senpai," Deuce greeted him nervously, "you're working the floor today?"

The merman had shockingly dressed down, casting off his hat, scarf, and the dorm leader's jacket he draped over his shoulders. He was in a violet bowtie and simple white button-down shirt, his sleeves rolled up past his elbows, suspenders and a cummerbund accentuating his slight waist. A lightweight, flexible look for squeezing through tight spaces and sliding dishes onto tables before darting away to the next task.

"Yes." His clear blue eyes flicked up from his notepad. With a bare hand, Azul indicated the crowded restaurant. "As you can see, the Mostro Lounge is quite busy today. Normally I work in the back and oversee the establishment--but on days like this, a manager must be willing to roll up his sleeves and walk the talk."

"Oh, it's nice of you to step up like that!" Deuce perked up. "Your parents don't mind you being busy...?"

"Let us say it is a family affair." Azul removed the pencil from behind his ear and tapped it on his note pad. "Now then, do you and your sister need more time to decide what to order?"

"Sister!!" Dylla gasped. "Ahahahah, you didn't tell me your classmates were so funny, Deuce!"

"M-Mom...!!"

"Oya, have I made a mistake?" Azul's lips pulled back into a smirk. His words were slick and sweet--perhaps overly so. "I could have sworn that this beautiful, vibrant young lady was your sister. Your age doesn't show one bit, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you. Deuce-san and I go way back."

"Really?! He didn't really mention you in his calls back home. It was mostly about Ace-kun, Yuu-kun, and Grim-kun... Was I missing something?" Dylla asked, shooting her son a questioning look.

He gulped. Sweat started to bead on his forehead. "E-Er... Ashengrotto-senpai helped me study for the fall finals," Deuce said vaguely. No deals, no anemones, no indentured servitude mentioned.

"Did he? What a helpful senpai!! It sounds like you're keeping real busy between the tutoring and the part-time job."

"You humble me, Mrs. Spade! I wouldn't be able to run as successful of an operation as I do without the support of the rest of my team." Azul's grin grew. "And, of course, without Deuce-san's own efforts. I commend him for his commitment to the pursuit of academics."

"I know, right?" Dylla belted out a laugh and smacked her son--hard--on the arm. "Deuce is the hardest working man I know!! He did so much to turn his life around since his middle school days, went completely clean. It brings a tear to this old lady's eyes."

Deuce was peony at this point, flushed with pride and embarrassment. “I-It wasn’t much,” he mumbled, bashfully scratching his chin.

"Oh, you don't say... I'm intrigued. I would love to hear more about these tumultuous middle school days," Azul purred, leaning forward--his pencil and notepad at the ready, "and how Deuce-san has changed since then."

Cheeks lit aflame and cherry red, Deuce piped up. "M-Mom, PLEASE!! W-We're here to eat. We can't keep holding up Ashengrotto-senpai when he's got so many tables to wait on."

"My bad, kiddo! Can you fault your mom for wanting to chitchat with your classmates?" Dylla chuckled, shuffling her menu. "... I'm just glad you have so many good friends and reliable upperclassmen looking after you at school."

"Reliable upperclassmen? That sounds like my Azul for you. He's always been one to lend a hand to a poor, unfortunate soul in need--takes after his grandmother in that respect."

The octopus merman stumbled, almost dropping his writing implement. A full-bodied woman in a sleek jet-black gown emerged from the sea of guests and wait staff. She ferried a wicker basket piled with warm bread rolls, which she laid out before the Spades with a smile.

"Fresh out of the oven," she chirped, "and complimentary for Family Day, so eat up!"

"M-Mother," Azul sputtered--and was it Deuce's imagination, or was his senior's calm slipping? "I thought we had agreed you would stay in the kitchen and allow me to handle the front."

"You hadn't come in for a while now to pick up the bread rolls for this table, so I thought to come out and deliver them myself. Can't keep the customers waiting, you know!" Mrs. Ashengrotto wagged a finger at him, as if telling off a misbehaving dog.

Deuce and Dylla took a deep whiff of the rolls. They smelled rich and hearty of wheat fields and butter on a warm summer's day. The steam from the basket rolled up, coloring their faces pink and causing them to salivate.

"You made these yourself? They smell so good!" Dylla clapped her hands in delight as she plucked up a roll. "I can only make basic egg dishes! Baking is a whole different set of skills."

"I dabble a bit here and there! Baking is primarily a human thing, dear--but when Azul came back from his land boot camp, babbling about all this 'baking' nonsense, I knew I had to try it with him."

Azul had frozen, his eyes wide with panic. "I think that's enough sharing, mother!"

"So Ashengrotto-senpai was a diligent worker back then too..." Deuce clenched a hand into a fist. "That's so impressive!"

"Isn't it? Azul absolutely loves to learn new things! Didn't have many friends in his youth, so he'd study the day away curled up in his little pot--"

"Aaaaaaah, MOTHER...!" Azul yanked away from her and, placing both hands on her shoulders, attempted to steer her away. "I think I heard a new order being called in! You should tend to that this instant!"

"Wait, I didn't get to finish hearing the story!!" Dylla protested. She had a mouthful of bread, so her pleading was somewhat garbled. "What was that about a pot?!"

“H-Hold on, mom…! Sit down and chew your food first, or you might choke!!”

Their shouts mingled with the noises of the lounge. People, both children and parents alike, sipping slow jazz and eating up the underwater atmosphere, the air spiked with salt. Somewhere along the way, their voices were lost, becoming one with the group—like the many waves of the ocean weaving together in a larger body.

Mothers and sons, the bonds tight as that of the moon and its serene sea.

[guillotinesandroses]

The Perfect Person; Ace Trappola + Nonbinary Reader

As of late he has found himself distracted. Usually this level of absentminded pondering was reserved exclusively for boring classes to pass the time, as it should be. Now it seeps into his routines, getting him in trouble more often as he slips up at tricks he normally pulls off without a hitch. The pattern was obvious, the one person with the audacity to trip him up so badly walking right next to him. Thoughts of the Ramshackle prefect are the thing keeping him up at night. 

"What's on your mind, chicken?" You smile but before he can fawn over the teasing expression, he stops himself. 

Snapping back into reality, he bristles, leaning over to you. "Who are you calling chicken?" 

"We had plans for today, didn't we? Releasing a bunch of snakerats into your dorm... but you didn't show up and I had to wrangle twenty angry noodles by myself." 

"Should've gotten Juice to help you. I was stuck in detention." 

"Could've told me about that." 

He continues to lie and deceive, trying so hard to keep it cool. The time spent with you splits into two categories: days where your presence is home, and moments where it is heaven. Only in those moments does he feel he does not belong. After all, as much as he hates to admit it, he is nothing special, at least compared to the kind of student body NRC has. 

You are surrounded by powerful royals, wealthy businessmen and celebrities. Although he loves himself and likes to think he is confident, lately it has been getting to him. What chances would he have if someone like, say, Malleus Draconia, was to court you instead? Of course he could still win against a crown prince, totally, but the competition sure is stiff. Anyway, he should not be thinking about this at all in the first place! 

He wants to train and surpass his upperclassmen, not get caught up in thinking about his love life! He already gave dating a shot in middle school. That ended horribly. Romance is a pain, having friends is better. He keeps repeating the same things to himself, only to stumble on the same stupid thoughts. 

Instead of someone else saving you, what it were him? The precious prefect, fawning over his strength, staring with stars in their eyes as he looks over his shoulder with a grin. He ponders what kind of teasing remark he should throw your way after saving the day. Getting a little too distracted, his mental stumble turns into a physical one. You catch him instead and grin as he frowns, conversation moving on as he brushes it off. 

The thoughts are quick to catch up to him as he tries to keep his small frown from deepening. He hates the idea of repeating past mistakes. He is better than that. What if things don't work out between you two? What if he freaks out and ghosts them? 

He would lose his entire friend group in the process. This time the one he would like to date is a close friend of his. That means there is no risk of getting bored of you. However, the stakes are much higher because it is you. He does not want to lose his friends, and he does not want to lose you. 

Would confessing to you be jeopardizing all you have built together? Should he be honest like a good friend should? He knows which option is more like him, but just as much as his loyalty urges him to confess, he cares much more about keeping you around as a friend than romancing you. He hates the way he hesitates, it isn't like him at all to dawdle like this. The thoughts and urge to spill out his feelings burn up inside of him as you settle in Ramshackle with him. 

For once, you are there alone together. Failing to ignore his thoughts, he does his best to keep up with your playful jabs. By the Seven, he adores the way you tease him back. If this feeling could be everyday for him, forever, he would welcome that reality in a heartbeat. Luckily, in this moment it is reality, as you prepare some homemade hamburgers together. 

After a well-deserved meal, the best thing to do is play some card games. He knows how much you hate his habit of cheating at them, but he cannot help himself! Your reactions are far too cute to pass up on. 

"You're way sloppier about your cheating than usual. What's on your mind?" 

He's been caught. He swallows, then chokes down his nerves, might as well go for it. "I want you to make me your boyfriend, alright? Figured I should just spit it out before I change my mind. So, what d'ya say about a date next Wednesday?" 

When you laugh, he expects the worst. "I was wondering when you'd admit it." 

Oh, it's even worse than he thought. "What d'ya mean by that?" 

"I noticed the way you looked at me a while ago. You're usually so honest... I figured you'd ask me when you were ready. What'd you have in mind? I've always liked the thought of a picnic date." 

"Uh... yeah, I've had plans for a while," he stammers, trying to smile with confidence. "You're gonna be so impressed, you have no idea how I'm gonna sweep you off those feet." 

You chuckle, asking, "then why'd you take so long to ask?" 

He pauses, his pride and honesty battling before his nature wins and he lets out a small sigh. "Frankly... the way you've been hanging around all those rich kids worried me just a bit. I mean, when you're comparing yourself to big names like that, it's tough not to feel like one those low-tier cards. Not that I have, really, but you get what I mean." 

"Hm... well, the ace can be viewed as below two..." you trail off, plucking the ace of hearts from the deck with a smile, "...but it can also be seen as the card of highest value depending on the game. I know which one I would pick." 

He blushes, averting his gaze. "You're so cheesy... what're you trying to be, a pick-up artist?" 

"I don't know... maybe I should be though? That seemed effective." 

"You wish. No one would buy your books or courses." He grins as you jab back at him, floating on cloud nine. He should have just trusted his gut from the beginning and speak his mind like he usually does. Truly, he is amazing and perfect as he is, isn't he? 

[kael-writ]

Is global warming giving you heat waves you aren't used to? Some tips from someone used to them:

- CHECK IN ON THE OLD FOLKS. Elderly people and vulnerable people like the mentally ill, disabled, and children, as well as pets, can and do die in heatwaves. Others can too, but particularly the vulnerable. Make sure they are cool!

- KEEP AN EYE ON THE KIDS. Kids get hotter faster and cant always tell they're overheating, but you will see them getting flushed red in the face, and they will become grumpy and tired. Give them lots of water, put them in a hat and sunscreen, let them play in the sprinklers or a kiddie pool. Let them have popsicles! There's more low sugar options now. Get them to take a little break for a book.

- LOOK OUT FOR THE HOMELESS! Give out water, fruit, sunscreen, cold packs, tarps and tents, umbrellas, transit cards, cash, and information in different languages on cooling centers.

- dont leave ANIMALS outside in the heat with no water or shade! Give them a trim if they have thick coats not meant for this. They should only be outdoors if the house is hotter, and if there is shade outside, same as you. If you're hot, so are they. Leave water out if you know there are strays out without a good water source.

- if you can get AC, do it. Ive seen some UK people say its hard and/or they're against it. But sorry, this is your health and safety. Heat waves kill vulnerable people every year. There are safer ways to offset global warming than torturing and endangering yourself.

AC is best in a small room, most people cant afford to cool the whole house so they might just have it in a bedroom or somewhere strategic like that. Some people put it in a central common room alternatively and fan it into nearby smaller bedrooms.

Be careful installing it, ideally with help from a friend and carefully study all the instructions. You dont wanna run into problems like dropping it out a window or forgetting to clean the filter, and they're heavy to carry too. There are also different kinds like floor units.

To save money/energy, you can turn it off at night and/or use energy saver settings. It can zap electricity and throw the breaker so be aware of if you can run other stuff like a microwave or not.

- if you cant get AC there are ways to DIY. A bowl of ice in front of a fan for example. Some people know how to DIY a pretty decent swamp cooler, I haven't done it but Ive seen instructions online.

If you are more fortunate, see if any poor people you know in need will let you buy them an AC and/or fans. Or let someone you trust who is in need hang out at your home. If they're proud, invite them for company.

- During the day, if you need, go to cooling centers and places like libraries, and help vulnerable people to do so.

- Windows closed in the day to keep out heat, open at night to let in cool.

I know your instinct is to want fresh air, but that air aint fresh. Use fans to push the air OUT the window, or if you want it a little open, open the TOP, so rising heat escapes.

A second fan on your body can feel good, but you dont want to be blowing hot air into your home.

At night when the temp drops, open those windows (and turn the fan to blow in) to cool off!

- Use fans strategically to keep air moving! Like I said, blowing hot air out, but you can also have multiple fans keeping air circulating inside your home.

- during the day use a heavy curtain or shade, if availabsle, to cover the window, this keeps the sun out and from heating up the room.

- Sunscreen! And yes, darker skinned people need it too. Even if you like to tan. Reapply regularly, especially considering water and sweat.

- cover your body outside with light fabrics if you can. Unfortunately a lot of Western fast fashion fabrics like polyester and acrylic are bad for heat. Meanwhile in hot places like India and the middle east, you find more light breathable fabrics like 100% cotton.

I think a lot of Westerners from the North don't understand how cooling wearing *more* clothes can be! Because so much of our clothing is designed for Winter. but different clothing does different things!

Yet another reason to not be a racist asshole and to actually learn from other cultures.

- Cover your head and face. ie wear a broad brimmed hat. Ever since I got my keffiyeh to support Palestine I cant imagine getting through Summer without one. It covers my bald head from getting burnt and cools down my face.

- drink lots of water! Especially if you're an alcoholic or caffeine addict. Flavored water is fine. Watery fruit is great.

- if you dont have AC and your home is very hot, especially a British home designed for warmth, the outside may be cooler! These little rooms can trap heat. So go outside with sun protection and hang out in the shade. Put your feet in a little tub of water.

- Put a cold wet towel across your body. Lay or sit on a cool surface, ie not a thick blanket but a cool sheet.

some surfaces like cement absorb and transfer heat in the sun more than others (and same with cold).

- go swimming or take a cold shower or bath.

- use a cold compress or ice pack.

- Put your pillowcase in the freezer for a bit.

- make ice cubes!

- food like cheese and fruits that you may usually keep out, you may wanna refrigerate now

- you can insulate cooler spaces to make them retain that cool better with closed doors or blankets over entries. NOT if this is a hot room, but if you have AC or something that keep that room cool.

Sometimes if you have a little hot bedroom next to a common area that is cooled you may alternatively want to put a fan at your door and blow the AC in. I did this when my roomie had AC but I didnt.

As kids we used to just camp out in the cooled area, whether that was a common area or our parents' room.

- basements are cooler. Heat rises! So hanging out in the basement can help!

- REST! The heat is wearing down your body! take a nap in the shade or AC when you are relatively cool.

limit strenuous activity. Take it slow. (eta: You're not being lazy, you're being SMART and careful!)

- If you can take off work or school, and your home is cool, do it. Or if they are cool and your home isnt, go. See if you can go earlier in the day and leave later, in fact.

- be aware of signs of HEAT STROKE! confusion/delerium, nausea, irritation, flushed face, high temp, headache, rapid heart beat. Cool the person down ie with water and monitor in case you need emergency services.

- eta: skin care tip! you may have areas like your thighs or under breasts that you may want to keep it extra clean and dry and use powder (corn starch works well). Especially if you're prone to skin issues and rashes, like if you're diabetic, a lot of sweat can cause issues. jock itch cream can work on other parts of your body like the underboob area if you do get a rash (talk to the pharmacist). With a rash, you dont want MORE moisture or to lock in moisture but to keep it dry. Wearing fabric like shorts that keep your thighs from rubbing together can help.

- also be prepared to do laundry more often!

[vrystalius]

Can you write a fic between Genya and fem!reader where they go on a date in the Kimetsu Academy Universe? I LOVE YOUR WRITINGG

Genya would be way too shy to…

…ask you out on a date in person. So instead, he leaves a handwritten letter on your school desk.

(Kimetsu No Gauken Universe, pre-established relationship, fluff, Genya is aged up)

— Genya has been saving up the coupons for the shooting stand for almost a year. Normally. He’d spend all of these coupons to annihilate the stand’s targets, and then get all of the winnable items and give them to Tanjiro and his other friends, or his siblings (except Sanemi, he keeps scolding him about prioritising shooting over school and math, so no teddy-bear for him!).

— But this year, Genya wanted to invite you, his first girlfriend, to accompany him to the festival. Like a date of sorts.

— Yes, you are his girlfriend, but that doesn’t mean that Genya still gets extremely nervous and embarrassed around you. He just gotten used to holding your hand without evaporating!!

— So, with Tanjiro’s help, Genya wrote a small, cute letter inviting you to join him on the festival. He even got his two little sisters to decorate the card with him. Only the highest grade of holographic kitten stickers were getting put on that card!

— On the day of the festival, you and Genya mostly stood by the shooting range. Genya is the shooting-ace of the school, and just like last year, he crushed every single target.

— But everything Genya won went straight to you. At the end of the evening, your hands and arms full with charms, trinkets, plushies and small toys. The stand owner had to give you two large bags to carry them all.

— Genya and you took a small break after almost wiping the whole stand, grabbing some fruit slices and sitting down on a cool patch of grass. Genya only ordered watermelon for himself, while you ate whatever you liked.

— He admired you quietly. Your hair looks so perfect, your face is so gorgeous, your style looks so cool and your hands… he just wants to hold them. Genya can’t believe that you really like him. Maybe you’re just playing him?

— After the sun set, Genya gave you his hoodie. You didn’t even need to say that you were cold, he just wants to make sure you don’t even have the chance to start freezing.

— After making a small round around the carnival, Genya wanted to return to the shooting stand one last time to use his last coupon.

— But instead of him shooting, Genya offered the coupon to you. He felt guilty for barely doing anything else in the carnival. You are just watching Genya shoot the whole time, surely you were bored.

— You held the wooden gun in your hand and clumsily tried aiming it. Genya noticed you struggling, so he stood behind you, assisting you with holding the gun.

— He actually didn’t really help. Genya was even more shaking than you were, with being so close to you and his breath literally tickling your neck. His heart was racing so fast and his whole face was heated up.

— You ended up winning a small watermelon charm as a pity price. You gifted it to Genya as a small thanks for the nice time you had.

— While walking you home, Genya and you were holding hands. He was incredibly nervous and his head was spinning. You were holding his hand! HIS hand! Breathe, breathe… This is fine!

— After walking you home, carrying the bags plushies and toys for you and making sure that you went inside safely, Genya attached the watermelon charm onto his phonecase. He’ll swear to cherish this until the end of time!

— After going home himself, his little siblings, especially his two little sisters, complained and whined about how Genya didn’t bother to bring any plushies home. How dare he? They used all of their best holographic stickers on that stupid card…

— Sanemi noticed how happy his little brother seemed after going out with you. He wanted to scold Genya for coming home this late, but he saved that for tomorrow. His little brother just seems so happy right now, Sanemi doesn’t want to ruin it.

💠

Thank you for requesting dear anon! I hopes you enjoyed it. Fun fact, I have a (life sized) cardboard cutout of Genya, a figurine of him AND a cosplay. Just recently I visited an event in cosplay and made sure to make lots of pictures with Sanemis and Genyas. One Genya even gave me one of his 3D-printed bullets, since we were the only Genya cosplayers. It was very fun! I also have two parts of the Kimetsu no Gauken, I still have to scavenge for the third one.

Make sure to EAT, SLEEP and DRINK enough!

Take care or yourselves <3