paulalikestuff

[paulalikestuff]

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

Summary: Cassie meets the one person she never thought she would. This is the aftermath of everyone who cares about her doing all they can to support her through it.

Word count: 7.7k

Story info: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, dad!Frankie, angst: mentions of child abandonment, otherwise fluff fest (domestic, this is the official introduction of Cassie's SO). Cassie is in college now.

A/N: This has been a year and a half in the making. I got a request around the time I wrapped Shared Breaths about it. I've toyed with the idea for a long time, not wanting to give Penny (Cassie's bio mom) more attention than she deserved and not wanting to have this be a repeat of Family Museum. It's gone through many rewrites, so many that I couldn't fit it all in one story so there will be a Part II. This is a special one though, as it also introduces Cassie's SO. More about this in the notes at the end. As always, this isn't beta'd, I'm not a native speaker. I hope you enjoy, as with anything SB but especially the trauma of Frankie's past, it's my baby. Take care of it.

Part II - Main masterlist | Series masterlist

Cassie feels numb, walking back to her dorm. Mind still reeling, unaware of her surroundings or the people breezing by her on campus in the early evening. Body shivering and she knows it’s not because it’s cool on this late summer night. She knows it’s not because her hair is wet from her post-swim shower either.

Constant glances she throws behind her shoulder to make sure that she’s not followed, the strap of her gym bag digs into her shoulder and it’s oddly grounding. A buzzing in her ears, head full of swirling thoughts and recollections burning through her mind. Searing hot in how loud they’re nagging her. Impossible to ignore, her hand shakes to unlock her dorm room until she’s safe inside and locks it again.

Heavy breathing to try to control an erratic heartbeat, from walking fast, from fleeing. From trying to make sense of what just happened to her, that she didn’t imagine it all but it’s just too much. It’s everywhere, closing on her, even as she’s alone, her roommate out somewhere. Everywhere even behind her eyelids when she screws them shut. That face imprinted in her memory even as she presses her palms to her eyes to suppress it. An epic failure.

How it can’t be real, doesn’t seem real, and yet.

Her phone shakes in her hand as she dials home, the only escape she can think of.

You’re the one who sees her picture light up Frankie’s phone in your office and the one who picks up.

“Hey, Peanut! Dad’s trying to fix the printer but you’re on speaker!”

“Hey, Cass!” Frankie speaks up from underneath the desk, much better language than his curses earlier at the piece of technology which according to the store was obsolete years ago and that frequently breaks down to prove you both just that.

“What’s up?” you ask, shuffling so that your husband can crawl back up to you. It’s a treat when she unexpectedly calls, she’s so busy usually.

“Hey, I—I just needed to hear your voices, that’s all.” Cassie shrugs to herself, lying on her bed, picking at her blanket, her soft reminder of home and the people that she needs. The chaos she can hear through the speaker of pens rattling and children playing somewhere in the house. Bickering and the sounds of the guitar her sister has decided she wanted to learn to play.

There’s an edge to hers, her voice, which gives her away, though. You can hear it in her hesitation, in her tone. In the way Frankie frowns as he rises back up to stand by your side and the phone in your hand.

“What’s wrong, warrior?”

“I was—I’ve just come back from practice and something, something happened. She—she was sitting on that bench, you know, she called me Cassandra, which was fucking weird to begin with,” she starts rambling, pouring all her worries out, and once she does, she can’t stop. “She was waiting for me outside of the pool complex and she said she wanted to talk to me but I don’t know, she gave off those weird vibes, you know and I don’t—”

“Wow, sweetheart, slow down. Who’s she? Who are you talking about?”

“My—,” you hear the deep breath she takes on the other side of the state, your own heart clenching to listen to her confusing tale without being able to reach out to her physically. Frankie’s body twitches next to you and you’re so used to the kids being loud in the house and the backyard that it all suddenly fades and there’s only your daughter that matters. The grown one who’s spitting her next words through the phone. “She’s not dead, Dad. You know how you told me you didn’t know if she was? Well, she isn’t.”

This time, Frankie’s body goes full rigid, frozen and as you glance at him, you notice how his hands ball into fists as he slowly comes to understand what she means, who she’s talking about. There’s fury and shock that radiate out of him and bounce off you. Off the palm you rest on his back, muscles clenched but he doesn’t startle. Doesn’t move. Almost doesn’t breathe.

“What?” he manages to grunt, nostrils flaring.

“Yeah. She was there. Tonight.”

“Did you talk to her?”

“I didn’t want to but she didn’t give me a choice. She was there, couldn’t really avoid her.” Cassie picks at her blanket, all the memories it brings, comfort and love and it feels good, talking to her parents. Telling them all this, even if it’s with a shaking voice. “She said she saw me in that feature article that newspaper did about the team. When school started again, remember?”

Of course you do, you’ve printed it from the newspaper’s website to pin it to the fridge and Cassie even went out of her way to send you all a physical copy by mail. She was so proud of it.

“And yeah,” she continues, “she was there and she wanted to talk to me but I—I told her to leave me alone, to get lost.” To fuck off is really what Cassie said. And as the minutes since the altercation pass, she still can’t feel bad for being rude. She’s very well entitled to it. “But I—are you guys still there?”

She pauses when she realizes there has been no reaction. None that she can see at least.

Because Frankie has been reacting all right, the only hint that he’s been hearing her his fleeting eyes, panicking, trying to find a solution that doesn’t exist and trying to focus and stay in control. Because he can’t break down, not when Cassie doesn’t seem to be. That’s not what she needs right now. She needs support. No word that he can utter yet, mouth dry and he’s thankful for you. Always will be.

“We are,” you speak up for you both. “We’re…processing. Cassie, sweetheart, how are you feeling? Are you okay?” Even if you understand it may be a futile question. “Where are you now?”

“Back in my dorm. Yeah, I think I’m fine?” Cassie hasn’t even thought about how she’s been feeling yet. Too busy putting as much distance as possible between herself and the intruder. She knows her body isn’t feeling the way it usually does after swimming. She doesn’t feel that exhaustion or that ache. Instead, there’s a knot in her guts but she can’t say what is twisting it. She doesn’t even know how she should feel. It’s not like there’s a guidebook for these situations. “She’s nothing to me, she’s a stranger. I told her that. I told her I have a mom already.”

“And a damn good one at that,” Frankie says through gritted teeth, nodding to himself. Cassie hums her agreement and you reach for your husband’s hand, squeeze it.

“Thanks, Muffin. Gosh, Cassie, sweetheart, I feel terrible, I wish we could be closer, I wish I could give you a hug right now.”

“No, it’s okay, hearing your voices is enough.” And truly, it’s soothing. If she closes her eyes, she can almost ignore the persisting image and replace it with her parents’ faces. “It’s just, I don’t know, it—I wasn’t expecting that. It was kind of a shock. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Well, of course it was. I’m sorry.”

Cassie shrugs to herself again, not that you can see it. You can hear the sharp breathing and the sighs.

“Is there anything we can do to help? Even from home? We can stay on the phone if you’d like?”

“Well, I was supposed to meet Max for dinner but I’m not really hungry anymore so—”

“No, you should definitely do that still,” Frankie cuts her off. “You should be with someone who cares about you.”

And try to get some food into her because it must be the shock speaking. He knows his eldest and if there’s one thing that never fails it’s how ravenous she is after swimming. So it breaks his heart even more that she’d turn down dinner. Especially since she’s always raving about how good the cafeteria is at her college.

You’ve never met Max, not yet at least, but you’ve seen the pictures of their summer vacation together, you’ve heard lots since they’ve started dating last fall and there’s one thing you know, it’s that Cassie is deeply happy in that relationship so if you two cannot be there physically with her, if someone else can, it will soften the blow of distance.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

“Often,” you try to joke but neither Frankie nor Cassie react. He’s bracing himself on the desk now, knuckles turning whiter with how hard he’s gripping the edge. What he does react to is your palm back on his back, rubbing soothing circles and when he glances at you, there’s so much misery in his eyes, at a total loss of what to do that you press closer.

“We love you so much, Peanut,” you say for the both of you and Frankie nods, not that his daughter can see it but she knows. “We’re here for you, if you need to call again after dinner, at any time, you do. We’ll keep the phones on. Even if it’s the middle of the night. Even now. We can stay on until you have to go. To talk about anything.”

There’s a long beat of silence before Cassie speaks softly, quirking an eyebrow in her room.

“About what Suzy is playing?”

“Oh, boy, don’t even start with that. We have no idea. We’ve printed her some sheet music,” what probably made the printer break down, “but we hardly know how to read them, least of all her, so I guess she’s just making it up as she goes.”

“It sounds….terrible,” Cassie dares admit, scrunching up her nose, and when you chuckle at the truth, this time she does too.

“It truly does. But no one has complained yet, if you don’t count your brother.”

“Is she taking lessons?”

“I think she’s going to, soon. There’s a new music class at the community center and we’re going to go check it out this weekend.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is. Oh, and the other day, we had fish fingers for dinner but they were shaped like dinosaurs. You’d have liked those. They were rather good, weren’t they?”

“Yeah.” Frankie nods sharply, not that he can quite make out what you’re talking about. The sound of your voice is indeed enough. Calming.

“You guys had fish fingers?”

“Well, they were for the kids and we were going to have salmon.” The treat that it would have been, to find it on sale at the grocery store but your children had other ideas. “Except they thought it was more interesting to eat pink fish than dinosaur-shaped one and they decided it was actually good so we traded.”

“Those guys.” Cassie shakes her head and there’s disbelief in her tone, effectively distracting her for a while. “Trading dinosaurs for anything.”

“I knew you wouldn’t approve.”

“Sometimes there’s chicken nuggets shaped like that here. Maybe they have them tonight.”

“You should definitely go find out.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Her phone has been buzzing with text notifications, Max wondering where she is and Cassie can admit that she’d rather stick to their original plans than be by herself. She wants the distractions. Talking with her parents, thinking of dinosaurs. Bitching about professors and the nacho cheese dispenser which is always out of order. Seriously.

“Thanks for picking up,” she sighs.

“We will always pick up for you. Always. You can call or text whenever you need to, okay? We mean that. We love you and we’re here for you, even if we can’t be there.”

“I know. I love you too.”

“Love you, Cass,” Frankie chimes in, the fog in his brain clearing and he’s so upset, so numb that he can’t just reach out to her and hug her close. “So, so much.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

It echoes in his mind when the tone goes dead and she’s truly gone, no longer on the phone with you both. On the brink of collapse by your side, chewing around his thoughts, eyes glued to his home screen in your hand and then it’s gone too, the phone digging in his back when you pull him in for a tight hug and you don’t let go. Even less when he hugs you back and crushes you to him.

“That fucking bitch!” he snarls in your neck, words dripping with contempt and hate. Everything he never once displayed with you when talking about Cassie’s biological mother. Something has to give tonight. “How—how dare she? How—how can she even begin to think it’s okay to—to just show up like that and—”

He’s shaking in your arms, your big hunk of a husband, so strong and yet so vulnerable right now, like he’s always been whenever this part of his life was mentioned and you don’t even know what to say, what could make it better because it’s a situation you were never expecting to experience. Not after almost twenty years of her being gone. But you know it’s as much of a shock for him as it was for Cassie.

“How could she think that it would be—did she even think about Cass—well of course she didn’t! She has a fucking poor track record of thinking about her. Jesus fucking Christ!”

“I feel so helpless, she’s there and we’re here and she said she was okay but do you think…?”

“I don’t know. She’s pretty strong but she’s got to be upset, I mean, I am and I’m so fucking furious, I’m—Sorry, that’s a lot of swearing,” he stops himself, remembering the open office door and the little children running havoc in the house. Shrieks in the living room.

You smoothe your hands down his back. Up and down. Enough to feel the tremors running along his spine. His fingers twitch on your clothes, nails digging into them and your skin underneath them.

“You’re allowed tonight, Muffin. You’re okay. Do you need to take a break? Some time to yourself to regroup? I can handle them on my own if you need to.”

He kisses your neck, your cheek, rests his forehead against yours and dives into your caring gaze, where you could stay forever. All the peace and comfort you exude and he craves. Especially right now.

Until the choice is taken away from him by the sounds of broken cords and a crash.

“No! Papá!” Suzy shrills.

Then a thud and a long wail.

“Stop! Mama!”

Frankie sighs right in your face, lingers one second longer.

“Duty calls.”

It’s a welcome distraction actually, to shake his head and stride right out to the living room, tugging you along, his hand squeezing yours before he lets go and claps his hands loudly. Twice.

“All right!” One more time when it hasn’t stopped the kids. “Hey! Hey! What’s all this? Why did the music stop?”

Cushions are on the floor and Suzy’s on the verge of tears, snuggling right in your arms the second she sees you, seeking comfort as well. Shaking and hiccuping in her botched explanation. Not that it takes a genius to understand what’s happened, her brother grumpily mumbling about her lack of musical talent, shuffling awkwardly on his feet before Frankie cuts him off.

“Ah, Mat, no. We talked about that.” He’s quick to shut down whatever excuse your son was trying to make up for interrupting his sister. “You don’t have to enjoy everything that Suzy plays but you cannot be mean about it. Remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Now apologize, please.”

“But, I—”

“Don’t test me tonight.” Frankie grits his teeth, tone cold which would make even you obey him at once.

“She pushed me first,” Mateo nonetheless explains and Frankie sighs, tilts his head towards the little girl who peeks at him from behind wild hair and your hand smoothing it.

“Suzy?”

“….sorry.”

“Good. Thank you. Mat?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“We don’t push people, Bee, you know that. Someone could get hurt,” you say quietly and she rubs her face against your pants to acknowledge that she’s heard you. Wipe her tears more like.

“And you know,” Frankie sits so close to your son on the couch, grabbing the instrument he was still holding, “if you don’t like her music, you can always put on your headphones. Or you can go somewhere quieter. To your room.” Frankie glances at his watch, Mateo sulking still, no sign that he’s actually listening. “As a matter of fact, I think it’s high time everyone went to their room and to bed.”

And it’s true. It’s later than you usually herd them both up to their bed. They’re cranky. Both about to gang up against him and protest though. And forget they were fighting minutes ago. But Frankie is quicker. Used to this. It’s almost part of your routine at night.

“So, chop chop, teeth and bed, up you go!”

“And hair,” Suzy mumbles to remind him and Frankie pauses, ruffles the messy one on her head, which makes her squeak and burrow closer into your hug.

“I almost forgot about that, good catch, guapa. Go with Mama?”

She nods against you, sitting dutifully on her bed in front of you, wide smile now, missing a couple of teeth, whenever she tries to turn around to talk to you properly, giving you a distraction as well. Blissfully unaware of adult troubles and beyond happy to tell you about the new song she decided she wanted to try and play, the same one that kid’s band she likes was playing in their latest video.

Enough chattering which makes it easy to give her your full attention as you brush tangled curls. Enough so that you don’t worry too much about her sister. Not until Mateo and her are both somehow quiet in dark rooms and your mind drift off to Cassie again.

Mile and miles away that she is, only some sparse texts since she’s called to let you know there weren’t any chicken nuggets, unfortunately. And that they’re heading back to her dorm to watch one of her favorite movies together so she’ll be okay tonight.

It’s a bit of a relief, to know she won’t be by herself that much, if not at all, she’s a big girl after all. Grown-up and more and more independent but still Frankie’s little girl. His baby and he’s buzzing for the rest of the night. Restless, trying to go work in the garage but hands shaking. Restless in how he paces downstairs before you somehow convince him to go to bed, even if you both know you won’t be able to fall asleep quickly. If at all. Steady glances to your phones and waiting for the screens to light up.

Except they don’t and you don’t even realize you fell asleep. Maybe it was in the middle of your conversation with Frankie, maybe it was during a long lull when you were gazing at each other in the darkness of your bedroom. Maybe it was when his cold feet finally turned warm under the sheet and it felt cozy there, despite the turmoil in your mind.

You realize you fell asleep when there are gentle fingers brushing your face, following your jawline. Grazing your hairline, your ears, your chin. Rugged, warm finger pads. So gentle and careful and then Frankie’s voice. Hoarse yet hushed. Fanning over your face and that’s when you realize you fell asleep: when you wake up.

“Hey, honey.”

“What’s—,” you clear your throat, blink, “did she call? What time—”

“No, she hasn’t called. But I’ve been thinking.”

Not sleeping at all, watching you instead. The frowns and the sighs and he’s surprised you’ve managed not to be awoken by all the tossing and turning he’s been doing. Everything so loud in his head. Grating like sandpaper. So close to spiraling, unable to settle. Because everything is unpredictable now. Who knows where she is. Who knows what she’s going to do next? He can’t rest. Not while he’s here and she’s in the same city as his daughter and it’s not like he doesn’t think Cassie can hold her ground, apparently she has, but he just can’t grapple with the situation and it’s twisting his stomach. Opening wounds he’s worked so hard and so long to seal. Bursting at the seams of his heart and making him sick. Bile rising in his throat. Distress. Anger. Rage even.

Frankie exhales slowly, rubs one warm thumb on your cheek.

“I—I can’t stay here. I can’t stay here and do nothing for her. It’s making me sick. I—I can’t sleep and I need to see her. Cass. I know it’s not ideal with the kids but...yeah.”

He watches, gauges your reaction. The sleep fading and the way your fingers close around his. How your lips press gently against the center of his palm.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

Another kiss to his palm before you push yourself up to sit and he follows. The metal of the headboard is chilly against his bare back. He watches you play with his fingers on your lap. Yawning before you speak again.

“Frankie, baby. Of course it is. To be honest, I—I want to go, too, but yeah, the kids.”

And out of the two of you, it’s a no-brainer who should drive down to your daughter.

“Thank you.”

In the darkness, you watch how somehow his shoulders seem to relax, even if your eyes are still blurry with sleep. How he scratches at his chin and worries his lip. You gently trace the lines in his palm with the pad of a finger.

“Can I ask you something though?”

“Sure.”

“Can you wait a bit before going? Can you try and get some slee—”

“I don’t think I can. And I mean, if I leave now I could get there by—”

“It’s the middle of the night, Muffin.” The numbers on the nightstand by his side the only light in the bedroom in the dead of the night. “What good will it do if you get there and she’s sleeping? You don’t want to wake her up.”

“I—no, you’re right.”

“I know. Even if you can’t sleep, can you try and get some rest? I can stay awake with you. I just—I need you to be careful on the road.”

He rubs at his eyes in the darkness, and then he’s gripping your hand again, an anchor to ground him. Reminding him of all the good things in his life and all his priorities and tethering him to his senses when his thoughts are a swirling chaos.

“Okay,” he sighs, his jaw locked under your lips when you kiss him thank you.

His arms stay strong in your embrace when you settle back into bed, your head tucked under his chin. Whispers for a while, plans and reassurance. Not much rest indeed but somehow enough so that Frankie doesn’t feel any exhaustion when he sits in his car later on, leaving you undisturbed in your sleep once again.

Driving towards the pinker hues in the sky. Night sky giving way to dawn, whatever’s playing on the radio in the small hours of the day filling the enclosed space. Fingers tapping on the wheel, drumming on his thigh. A heavier weight dropping on his shoulders as miles roll by. More and more cars on the road joining him as life slowly awakens. Young people milling about on campus once he’s found a parking spot. A text to you to tell you he’s made it because he knows you’ll worry until you’ve heard from him.

Frankie has never visited Cassie’s new dorm for this year, she moved in by herself, but you’ve all seen the video she made for her siblings when they begged her to show them where she’d live this time. So it’s not that hard to find his way to the new building. To the new floor. To find the colorful door with the bright mushroom stickers on it.

Especially when there are people he recognizes coming out of the room at the end of the hallway.

“Wait! Hold up!” he speaks up, hurrying to them, busy college kids hardly paying him any mind on their way to their first class. “Hey, Polly,” he greets Cassie’s roommate and she stills for a second, her hand on the doorknob, door still half open. She frowns, as if he’s a figment of her imagination, out of place.

“Mr Morales? Hi? I didn’t know you were visiting today! I—I’m sorry, I have to go? I’m already late to class. I’ll see you later?”

She waves to the other girl that Frankie has only ever seen in pictures and videos but he would recognize the short blond locks streaked with blue anywhere. The hairstyle was a hit with Suzy from the very first picture she saw.

Frankie’s a bit out of breath now, heaving, having climbed too many stairs too fast that he misses how she cocks her head at him, too, studying him, backpack swinging on her shoulder, one foot in the doorway to keep the door from slamming shut.

“You must be Max,” he eventually manages to say and she nods. “Hi.”

“Hi but I—Mr Morales, did you—did you just come all the way from Tampa? Like, does Cass—”

“I had to.” He sucks in a breath, nods to himself. “She’s in there?”

“Yeah but she’s still sleeping. She—she didn’t have the best night.”

It breaks his heart to hear what he was hoping wouldn’t happen even if he’s been bracing for it. At least she’s getting some sleep, how ever poor it may be.

“I’m actually relieved you’re here,” if not astonished, Max can’t even fathom that someone would do something like that from so far away. Drop everything in the middle of the night to come comfort their daughter. “I didn’t want to leave her but I have a class, too, and a—”

“No, of course. Of course, you should go. I’ll stay with her. Thank you for looking after her, though.”

“Sure.”

She gives him a tiny smile, her foot pushing the door a little more open to let him through. Frankie is almost shutting the door close after him to shield Cassie from the noise before he remembers, in the fog of his brain.

“And Max?”

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s not ideal but it’s very nice to finally meet you.”

She looks down at the hand offered for her to shake. A sentiment she has to echo. Strange to say the least. Not how she thought her morning would go. Not how she thought her night would go either.

She shakes his hand, smiles again, almost forgets it’s been sprung on her, meeting her girlfriend’s dad like that. No time to be nervous at all.

“Nice to meet you too.”

“Maybe I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

Another polite smile and then she’s off, too, a busy morning ahead.

Sort of a mess in the little space Frankie steps into. A similar set-up from Cassie’s dorm last year. Two doors for two separate bedrooms and a couch which has seen better days and a small table in the middle. A fridge and an array of mugs, textbooks, pens and clothes scattered everywhere. A messy pile of shoes by the door and mismatched cushions around him when he sits down. The entire couch seems to sink with him, no support at all. There’s one discarded half-open yogurt on the window sill that he scowls at.

Sunshine from outside and barely any sound as he waits. Rubbing his eyes. Yawning. Listening to the muffled footsteps up and down the door, giggles and curses. Doors slamming. He’s pretty sure he dozes off himself at some point, eyelids heavy and an uncomfortable crack in his neck that wakes him right up once he suddenly hears bare feet shuffling closer to him.

He curses, groans and straightens up, struggling to stand up as Cassie’s door squeaks on its hinges and she pads out, blinking in the morning sun. Squinting at him once she notices she’s not alone. Speechless, startled.

“Dad?”

“Hey, warrior.”

“What? How? What are you—What about work—what—”

“Don’t you worry about that. Family always comes first.” Even if he’s shot a text to work to let them know he needed some emergency PTO and it’s not like he was asking for permission, he’s so far away already. But he’s been working there for so long, he’s one of the senior employees now, he’s sure it won’t be a problem. If it is, it’s not his problem right now and he couldn’t care less about the consequences. “I just—after you called I couldn’t sleep and I—I just had to see you.”

Frankie watches how her shoulders drop tremendously under her ginormous hoodie and how her whole body seems to give up on pretending that she is fine. Because Cassie sighs loudly, a long exhale that empties her lungs of all the pent-up anxiety and her eyes fill with tears. Her dad can’t see them with how she hurries to him and his open arms and his hug but he hears the wobbles rising in her throat and he feels the grip she anchors herself to his jacket with.

“Oh, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“You’re okay, sweetie, you’re okay,” Frankie promises in her hair, rocking her on her feet and shushing the sobs and the sniffles.

“Thank you,” she repeats quietly, her head on his shoulder once he’s made her sit down on the couch by his side. She’s heaving still and it’s so reminiscent of that time when she was younger and she asked him where her birth mother was that his heart seizes with fresh pain that she’s been put in this situation again.

“Of course. D’you want to talk about it?” She shakes her head no, shudders against him. “Okay. You’re okay. We don’t have to talk, it’s all right.”

“How did you get in?” Cassie asks instead.

“Max let me in.”

“Oh.”

She tenses against him involuntarily, because they’ve never met before and her dad has a history of being quite protective of her, quite judging of the people she dates, even if she can count on less than the fingers of one hand the number of people she's dated. And she hates to admit it but that guy in high school who ended up dumping her the moment she said no to him? Her dad was right in the end, to be skeptical of him. Not that Cassie is about to admit that to her father.

“She’s a good one,” Frankie thinks out loud. Even if he doesn’t know much about her, apart from the tidbits of information Cassie has told them in passing, when recounting their adventures together. But she’s stayed the night, worried and supportive and that’s enough for him to trust her. To see how much she cares about his daughter.

And his words, spoken in the quiet of the morning, they make Cassie relax against him.

“I know.”

“I’m happy for you, warrior.”

“Thank you, Dad.”

She hugs him closer, seeking warmth and love and unexpected presence, wet eyelashes blinking in the sun. A chill on the sole of her feet before she tucks them under a cushion. Crinkles in Frankie’s jacket when she settles better on the couch.

“Oh, I forgot. They must be cold now, but I got you these when I stopped on the road. They’re not dinosaur-shaped though.”

Surprisingly, unexpectedly, Cassie hears herself laugh when he fishes a bag from his pocket. Oil stains on it and as she peers in it, a handful of chicken nuggets. She could cry again. She sniffles and snorts.

“I got you ketchup too.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She’s hesitant at first, nibbling on one under his gaze, a strange breakfast for a stomach still in knots but one nibble turns into two and then she swallows the entire thing. Munching loudly, going for a second one. There’s a dollop of red on the corner of her mouth that has Frankie’s hand twitch by his side but she’s too fast, licking it from her finger. Smiling a bit at him and he does, too, even if with the way he’s frowning, it must resemble a grimace more than a warming sight. But he’s here, next to her, he’s come to her, he’s brought her food and comfort and it does calm her restless heart a little.

Not much, but a little.

“She doesn’t look like me,” she says eventually, picking at the last snack in her hand and Frankie sits up straight, ready to listen now that she seems ready to talk about last night. He sucks in a breath.

“She doesn’t?”

Cassie shakes her head no again.

“No. She doesn’t even look like the pictures you’ve shown me.”

“Well, those were taken almost 20 years ago so—”

“I know that but she—I don’t know.” She shrugs. “I don’t know what I expected. I mean, what I expected was to never see her ever, you know, but she just looked—she looked, like, so well-put together, you know? I don’t know. Like she has her life under control. She even gave me her—”

Cassie scoffs then, bitterness dripping around the salty taste the chicken has left in her mouth. A sour edge coating how much she despises the person she’s talking about.

“—she gave me her business card. Like, she has business cards. Her life is so under control she has business cards! Gave it to me if I wanted to be in touch with her, talk more, and why, Dad? Why would she do that? She’s—she’s—I really wish she were dead. It was just easier when I thought she didn’t exist at all but now I know she does, she’s right out there!”

She flings her arm around, shaking from her fingers to her shoulder, tremors in her voice again and a fury in her eyes Frankie has rarely seen except when she was angrily shouting at him during teenage fights.

He tries to squeeze her shoulder, bring her back to him. At an actual loss about what to do. She won’t let him, or she doesn’t see it, flailing and scratching at her arm the way she does when she’s overwhelmed and upset.

“—she’s in the same city and she could come back to see me at any time and I don’t—I don’t want that, Dad! I don’t! It’s not fair!”

“I know, I’m—I’m so sorry, warrior. So sorry this is happening to you.”

He’s been worried about all that too. Amid the shock of learning she’s alive and around, who knows how long she’s been, if she’s ever left the state, so many questions that last night has made resurface from his past. Worried that Cassie might bump into her again, Miami is a big city but she knows where Cassie goes to school, knows where she goes to practice, and Frankie doesn’t know her. Not that much when they were younger, not at all today. Who knows what she might do. And it’s making him sick. Not knowing. Not being around to support his daughter all the time.

“Do you still have that card?”

“Yes.” Cassie doesn’t even understand why she took it. She doesn’t care about the phone number on it. She should just toss it. She should have tossed it right away.

“Can I see it? I wanna check something.”

“Sure.”

It’s a slick rectangle of glossy plastic that Cassie hands him from her gym bag under the table. Fancy with intricate lettering. The position that she holds in whatever firm she works for. A last name which doesn’t match the one he remembers from his daughter’s birth certificate. Another question joining those that will probably be left unanswered.

He turns it over, studies it carefully.

“These aren’t Miami phone numbers.”

“They’re not?” She perks up at the new piece of information.

“Nope and I—that’s an out of state address. Look.”

“No, I’m good.” She shrinks back away from him.

“Okay.”

“What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know.” Frankie rubs his chin. “Maybe she’s traveling for work? Who knows. But she probably doesn’t live here so I’d say the chances of seeing her again are pretty slim, if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t. I don’t want her in my life. I have you and I have Mom. But she’s nobody, she doesn’t exist in my life. She never has.”

“And she doesn’t have to. You don’t have to reach out to her again if you don’t want to. It’s only up to you. She didn’t pressure you, did she?”

“I don’t think so? I don’t remember. I—I don’t think I let her talk much,” Cassie admits. Last night is kind of a blur in her mind, with the blood pulsing in her ears and the shock and anger that overcame her. She can’t really recall what was said.

“Whatever you decide, whatever you want to do, you know we’ll always be here to help and support you. You’re in charge. If you decide you change your mind and you want to see her again,” his heart thuds at the idea, anxiety gripping his guts and making his jaw tighten and yet he powers through, “we can come with you. We’re here for you. You hear me? We’ve got you.”

Fat chance of that, Cassie thinks. That she’ll ever change her mind. She mumbles a yes nonetheless.

“I gotta admit, though,” Frankie continues, twirling the business card and then putting it far away on the table, out of reach, “it’s a bit of a relief. To know she probably lives elsewhere.”

“Yeah.”

“I was—still am, to be honest, I was so mad when you called last night,” he says through gritted teeth, glancing at her. “To think it’s okay to spring that on you like that, to just reappear like that with no warning, no nothing, to just—fuck. It’s been 20 fucking years, she better have a good reason to—who does that, who—”

He balls his fists, an attempt at bottling his anger but it’s still spilling. Hot and blinding until Cassie tugs on his arm and nestles under it again. Snuggles close to him. Helps him regulate and probably doesn’t realize it. Or maybe she does. She knows how much her biological mother leaving him –them – affected her father in the past.

“She really fucked us both up, uh?”

The rebuke should be easy, to mind her language. Already on the tip of Frankie’s tongue but what comes out instead is a dry chuckle at the truth. It’s not like he’s been setting a good example right about now after all.

“She did. But we’ve got each other and that’s what matters. I love you, warrior. You’ll be okay.”

Except Cassie doesn’t see how. Because she may not live around, if she was there last night, probably still somewhere in the city today, who knows how often she visits. How long she stays. And even if she manages to evade her, if she stays away, not hearing from the child she abandoned, she’s out there somewhere. Cassie knows she exists now. She’s no longer just someone on faded photos or a name on official documents. She’s an actual person who abandoned her and her dad and who has a full life of her own. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be dwelt on and yet someone who’s forced herself on Cassie.

She could be sick, drowning in the possibilities of an uncertain future. She has no idea how to face it all. In a way, blissful ignorance from when she was little was almost a blessing. Less of a headache. She’s had a terrible night of broken and suffocating sleep, she doesn’t feel rested at all even now. Her head is pounding.

Not even the kiss that her dad drops to her hair can lessen it. But it’s nice nonetheless. His warmth and his strength. How he squeezes her shoulder, brings her closer and listens to her sighs and her shaky breaths.

It’s gentle then, the way he curls locks of hair around his fingers, brushing her back from time to time as he does. A comforting touch from years ago that used to ground her and settle her. It still does and this time, when there are tears threatening to flood her eyes once more, it’s more from gratitude and sheer disbelief that he’s actually here with her.

“Did you do something new to your hair?” Frankie asks after a while. Almost a sacrilege to break the comfortable silence which is surrounding them both. She’s gotten quieter, blinking surprised eyelashes at him when she looks up. “It looks…lighter. It’s nice.”

“I didn’t dry it or brush it last night, that’s what’s new,” Cassie scowls, pushing herself up. It’s a tangled mess, she can just feel it. “That’s gonna be a pain.”

“D’you want some help with it?”

“I’m 19, Dad.” She throws him a pointed look from behind her shoulder as she drags her feet to her room again and Frankie can hear her rummage in her things. He’s the one frowning at her reminder now.

“I know, sweetie. Believe me, I know.”

“But yes, please.”

She hands him the hairbrush, a sad smile on her face and tensed shoulders in front of him when she plops back on the couch and lets him get to work. Nothing but his sorry that break the silence when he encounters a rough patch from time to time and she winces at how it tugs at her scalp. Practiced touches otherwise that relax even Frankie, to fall back into old habits from when she was little and nothing could hurt her because her dad was always by her side and he always had her back. How safe she’s always felt. How lucky she feels right now, that he’s always been there for her.

Even when he was a pain, even when he stuck his ground and even when she said things she didn’t mean to him.

“What do you want me to do with it?” Cassie shrugs at his question, lulled by the soothing rhythm of the brush and his hands. “I’ll braid it,” Frankie decides for her, taking his time. Humming some tune from the shows that Suzy watches on repeat and which are forever stuck in his head now. Tunes of home. “There. All done.” He finishes with another kiss to the top of the braid.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cassie twists to look at him, a bit more relaxed, fiddling with the scrunchie he’s used to tie it all up, playing with her hair. Some things never change.

“Thank you for being here. I can’t believe you’re actually here. You must be so tired.”

“I’m not gonna lie, it’s pretty rough right now.” Frankie rubs his hand down his face. He’s pretty sure if he closed his eyes for a minute, he’d end up falling asleep now. “But I’ll be fine. Nothing that coffee can’t cure.”

“There’s a diner a few streets away. They have some mean pancakes, too, if you want.”

“Better than mine?”

He cocks his head, smirking at her, and in the midst of her sadness, her anger, her feeling of being lost, he notices the hint of mischief shining through. Dimmed but there and that’s worth a sleepless night.

“...different.”

“D’you have any classes today?”

“Yes but I’m not going. I wasn’t planning on going even if you hadn’t come. Not after—I couldn’t focus, I don’t think. I’ll get someone’s notes, I’ve done the reading anyway.”

“Tell you what then. Why don’t you get changed, get ready and we go get some proper breakfast? We’ll take it from there afterwards. How does that sound?”

Because her stomach has been growling more and more, probably awakened by the chicken nuggets, what a pity there were so few of them.

“Good. It sounds good.”

“Brilliant.”

“I’ll go get some shoes.”

“Oh, and Cass? I don’t know what’s her schedule like, if she’s free or not, she said she had to go to class, but if you want, you could ask Max to come with.”

“Oh, I—”

“I mean, we were a bit rushed earlier, didn’t talk much. You don’t have to ask her if you don’t want to but I’d love to get to know her more. Food’s on me.”

Her shoulders slump as she considers it. He’s met her already after all, Cassie realizes and she can’t shield her girlfriend from her dad’s scrutiny forever. At least he’s offering and he seems genuine, he may not even pester her with questions that much, given the circumstances.

“I’ll ask her,” she decides eventually, staring at him pointedly. “But no embarrassing questions or stories if she says yes.”

“What are you talk—”

“I’m serious, Dad. Please.”

“When have I ever done that?” he asks, palms up in surrender and Cassie rolls her eyes, huffs. Slings her purse over her shoulder and her chest.

“Just all the time?”

“I’m looking out for you, that’s all.”

“I know but you don’t need to. Not with her. I’m a big girl, Dad.”

“You’ll forever be the baby who tried to eat butterflies to me, Cass,” he quips and there’s a flash of how done she is with him already when she whirls around, just in time to catch his grin and to realize he’s teasing her.

Frankie makes a grand show of zipping his lips and tossing the key, wiggling his eyebrows and it makes her snort, how silly he is. A bit cringe, always, but bent on making her feel better even when he’s running on little to no sleep, even when he can barely make sense of all the thoughts and questions in his mind.

Doing everything he can to cheer her up. Not enough to make her forget what is happening in her life but enough to distract her for a while.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics, thank you!!

A/N: I'd always wanted to have a triptych story about important questions Cassie would come ask her parents when she was a teenager and one of these questions would have been about love and all the feelings she was starting to feel. I may still write this, who knows, but I actually like it better to have Max introduced like this (although it had been hinted at in Tough Times), that her parents know about her already and that we don't need to see the conversation to know that they support and love their daughter no matter what (you know dad!Frankie will be a pain no matter who his daughter chooses to date anyway!)

If you've enjoyed this story, please consider reblogging to spread the love. Comments and questions are always loved. I have no ETA on Part II but it's a fluff fest and will have way more of Miss and the little kids. Also, Lettuce!!

Part II - Main masterlist | Series masterlist

[paulalikestuff]

i want you, i need you, i love you (4)

harry castillo x reader

series

word count: 12.8k

warnings: no y/n, 28 year age gap, female reader, fluff, smut.

It had been three weeks.

Three weeks since the gallery night.

Since the bath. Since her in his robe. Since the moment she stepped into Harry Castillo’s penthouse and changed everything.

And somehow, despite the chaos, despite who he was, despite who she was—they hadn’t combusted.

They’d settled. Sort of. Not into a relationship. Not into anything that had labels or expectations.

And she wasn’t in any rush to be branded. But they were something—and whatever it was, it had slowly started bleeding into the rest of their lives.

He gave her a key on a Tuesday. He didn’t make a big deal out of it.

Just set it on the kitchen counter next to her takeout container, glanced up and said, “So you don’t freeze your ass off waiting for me if I’m not home.” That was it. No smile. No explanation.

Just Harry being cold and mean in the most absurdly tender way.

She didn’t say thank you out loud, but she kissed the corner of his mouth that night a little longer than usual. And he didn’t pull away.

They didn’t talk about what they were. They didn’t need to. But the rhythms were there.

He kept orange juice stocked in the fridge because she liked it. She started leaving hair ties on his bathroom counter. And a pink razor in his shower. He bought the cereal she liked. She figured out how to work his espresso machine before he did.

And they saw each other constantly. Not every day—he was still Harry Castillo—but almost.

He texted her at odd hours. Late nights when he couldn’t sleep. Early mornings when he was at the gym at an inhuman hour and saw something that reminded him of her. Articles. Memes.

Yes memes.

Photos of outrageously overpriced apartments that had bathtubs with built-in fireplaces and chandeliers.

He had sent one at 2:13 a.m.

Old man Harry ❤️👴: Would you complain if I bought this?

You: If you bought it and never invited me over, yes.

His response came five minutes later

Old man Harry ❤️👴: You have a key. I’d be forced to.

And that was that.

She didn’t stay over every night. But when she did, she found herself waking up warm. Not just physically—but emotionally. And that scared her more than anything else.

Because Harry Castillo wasn’t easy.

He was brooding. Quiet. Obsessive in ways that only became clear the longer she knew him. But he was consistent. And that? That mattered. He didn’t lie. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t sugarcoat anything. And slowly—slowly—she started letting him in.

It wasn’t until the second week that he found out about her jobs. Plural.

She had just finished showering in his bathroom—wet hair down, wearing one of his button-downs, no pants—when her phone lit up on the bed.

Marco (Flowers): u good to deliver that midtown order today or should I send Gio?

Harry saw it. He blinked. Then stared at the screen like it had personally offended him.

When she stepped out, towel in hand, humming softly to herself, she stopped dead in her tracks.

His eyes were locked on her phone.

She froze. “What?”

Harry lifted it. “Who’s Marco.”

“…Someone I work for.”

“You work where.”

She sighed, already knowing this was going to be a thing. “A flower shop. I help with deliveries sometimes.”

Harry’s jaw clenched. “Since when.”

She arched a brow. “Since always?”

“You never told me.”

“You never asked.”

That made something flicker behind his eyes—sharp and cold and maybe a little unhinged. He set the phone down carefully, then reached for his own.

“Harry—”

“I’m not mad,” he muttered, typing something.

She squinted. “You’re typing like you’re mad.”

“I’m not—” he cut himself off. “I’m just trying not to throw my phone at the fucking window.”

She blinked. “Jesus. Okay, calm down.”

“How many jobs do you have.”

She hesitated. And that was his answer.

He looked up. “How many.”

“…Three.”

“Three?”

She nodded.

Harry exhaled sharply, standing up so fast the chair scraped against the floor. “You said you were a server.”

“I am.”

“And?”

“I bartend on weekends. And I do flower deliveries during the day sometimes. Under the table. It’s not a big deal—”

“It is a big deal.” His voice was low now. Controlled. Furious. “You work three jobs and walk home late at night and don’t tell me?”

Her brows lifted. “You’re not my boyfriend.”

“Don’t—” he snapped, pacing now. “Don’t do that. Don’t turn this into a thing. I’m not trying to control you. I’m trying to understand why the hell you think it’s normal to exhaust yourself until you collapse.”

She stared at him. He looked like he wanted to punch a wall. She softened, just a little. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

He stopped pacing. Turned to her. “It matters,” he said, quietly now. “It matters to me.”

And that? That shut her up.

Because Harry Castillo didn’t say things like that. Not unless they were true. The next morning, he asked for the addresses. All of them. She refused at first.

“You’re not picking me up from work.”

“Why not.”

“Because you’re Harry fucking Castillo. You don’t drive. You don’t do Midtown traffic.”

He stared at her. Said nothing.

Then pulled out his phone and typed something. An hour later, she got a notification from Find My iPhone.

Old man Harry ❤️👴 has requested your location.

She stared at it. Then looked up. He smirked.

“Add me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“I’ll come find you anyway.”

“You don’t even know where my flower job is.”

“Not yet.”

She groaned, shoving his arm. “You’re insane.”

“I don’t want you walking home.”

“I have legs.”

“You have shit shoes.”

“I—”

Harry raised a brow. “Let me take care of you.”

That was it. Just a soft command from a cold man who didn’t beg.

She rolled her eyes. But she added him.

The first time he picked her up, it was raining.

Not the soft, aesthetic kind. No—it was New York level chaotic. Sideways sheets of water, umbrellas flipping inside out, cars honking like they were allergic to patience, subways getting flooded by the second.

She was soaked. Her hair plastered to her forehead, her phone dead, her hands freezing.

And then? A black BMW pulled up to the curb. The window rolled down. And there he was. Driving.

She stopped in the rain and blinked. “You…drive.”

Harry stared at her, unimpressed. “Get in.”

“I thought you were allergic to steering wheels.”

He rolled his eyes. “I took a car from my old place. Get in before you drown.”

She slid in, dripping onto the leather seats. “This feels illegal.”

“Your shoes are illegal. What are those, socks with holes?”

“Don’t start.”

He tossed her a dry sweatshirt from the backseat—his, of course. “Put this on.”

She did. And the car smelled like him. From then on, it became a thing. Not official. Not daily. But often enough that she started waiting for it. Harry would show up outside her server shift around 11:15 p.m., texting her with a simple

Old man Harry ❤️👴: Here.

Or he’d pull up to the bar on Fridays, leaning against the hood like he hadn’t spent the day managing millions of dollars and threatening CEOs. Sometimes he brought coffee. Sometimes just a dry shirt and a scowl. But he always showed. And she never had to ask.

Their nights together stayed the same.

Mostly.

She’d enter the penthouse quietly. Leave her shoes by the door. Sometimes he was already home, waiting with dinner or a clean towel or just himself—half-dressed and reading on the couch wearing his glasses that make him look like an even bigger old man.

Sometimes he got home after her, muttering about meetings, his voice hoarse, jaw tense from hours of pretending he didn’t want to text her every five minutes.

But they always ended the night the same way. In bed. Tangled. Quiet. Bodies pressed close under too many sheets and not enough words.

He never said he missed her. But he texted her at 3:07 p.m. once after a brutal meeting with the board...

Old man Harry ❤️👴: This room is full of people who make me want to kill myself. You would’ve made it bearable.

She smiled when she read it. Didn’t respond right away. Let him sit in it. Later that night, when she curled up beside him, he didn’t say anything. Just wrapped an arm around her waist like a reflex.

On Sunday mornings, they got bagels. It started accidentally. She had mentioned a craving for egg and cheese one night in passing, barely awake, face pressed into his chest.

He said nothing.

Then the next morning? Bagel. Wrapped in foil. Sitting on the counter.

She blinked at it.

“Did you—”

“I didn’t want to hear you complain later,” he muttered.

So now it was a thing. Bagels on Sunday. No talking until coffee. Her in his oversized shirts. Him in sweatpants with his hair pushed back, watching her read something on her phone while chewing with her mouth open.

“You’re disgusting,” he’d say.

“You’re in love with me,” she’d fire back.

He never answered. Just stared. Like maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t wrong.

Three weeks in and they still weren’t a couple. Not in public. Not in labels. But in the way he made her tea when she lost her voice. In the way she slipped notes into his briefcase. In the way he bought her new socks and refused to acknowledge it.

They were something. Something real. Something building. And neither of them wanted to name it yet. But maybe they didn’t have to.

Because Harry wasn’t used to letting people stay.

And she?

She had the key.

And Harry knew he was fucked.

It was raining. Again.

Not the romantic kind, either. Not the bullshit people wrote about in novels. This was relentless New York rain. Cold, gray, street-soaking, ankle-wrecking rain. The kind that blurred the skyline and made everything feel too still and too loud at the same time.

His office windows, floor-to-ceiling and usually pristine, were streaked with water. He could barely see the city through them. Which was probably for the best. Because if he could see the Lower East Side right now, he might actually snap and send a helicopter.

He hadn’t heard from her since she’d texted around 9 p.m., after he dropped her off.

You: Frances is being dramatic tonight 🙄

That was it. No follow-up. No photo. Not even a meme. Just that. And now it was past 1 a.m.

Harry leaned back in his chair, phone resting facedown on the edge of his desk, his thumb twitching with the impulse to check it again.

He didn’t. He wouldn’t. He already had. Fifteen times.

“Frances,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tightening.

Across the room, Danny—half-asleep on the leather couch, legs kicked up on the coffee table like he owned the place—perked up.

“What?”

Harry didn’t look at him. Just ran a hand through his hair, glaring at the window like it had personally offended him.

“She texted me earlier. Said Frances was being dramatic.”

Danny blinked. Then grinned. “Ooooh.”

Harry sighed. “Don’t.”

“Do you know who Frances is?”

“I assume…someone in her building?” Harry said, like it was obvious. Like that didn’t already make his throat itch with jealousy.

Danny sat up, cracking his neck. “You assume Frances is a neighbor?”

“Yes.”

“You sure Frances isn’t her ex?”

Harry froze. Very still.

Danny raised a brow, voice far too casual. “I mean. Sounds like something you'd say about someone you know well. Like an ex.”

“Don’t,” Harry warned again, but it was too late. The image was there now.

Frances. Laughing on her couch. Feet on her coffee table. Touching things that didn’t belong to him. Sleeping in a bed that did.

Harry’s jaw ticked.

“Maybe she’s a woman,” he said, but it didn’t land. Not when the image had already nested behind his eyes. Not when the silence that followed made him feel like a kicked dog.

Danny yawned, stretching. “Well, if she comes back tomorrow limping, we’ll know.”

Harry looked up so fast the pen in his hand dropped.

Danny cackled.

“Kidding.”

“Get out.”

Danny didn’t. He just flopped back down, arms behind his head. “You’re unwell.”

Harry didn’t argue. Because he was. He was so far gone he could feel it in the base of his spine. He’d sent the whole team home hours ago—mid-pitch.

He couldn’t focus. Couldn’t finish the goddamn Italy paperwork. The Italy contract—the Italy contract—was sitting open in front of him. A landmark deal.

A decade in the making. Acquisition of a sustainable architecture firm based out of Florence. Tens of millions. Possibly more, if the valuation shifted after Q2.

He was supposed to fly out on Thursday. There was a dinner with the lead architect, a walking tour of the property grounds, some presentation on green luxury Harry couldn’t pretend to care about.

They’d blocked out four days. Harry had almost signed it. Almost. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her in Italy.

He wanted her in a sundress and sunglasses she bought at a corner shop. He wanted to take her to restaurants where no one knew who he was—where they’d drink wine that tasted like cherries and share plates of pasta so good she’d groan with her mouth full.

He wanted to watch her tan—really tan—on a hotel balcony in nothing but one of his button-downs and sunscreen.

He wanted her bare legs kicked up on the dashboard of a rented car while he drove with the windows down and her hand on his thigh. He wanted her bored at a vineyard tour.

Wanted her to lean in and whisper something filthy in his ear just to see if he’d blush.

He wanted to fuck her in a hotel shower with the windows open, the Tuscan hills in the distance and her moaning into his neck like it was a prayer.

He wanted to fall asleep with her in a bed that smelled like citrus and sex, the sound of her breathing syncing with the rain on the villa roof.

He wanted to live with her. Just for a week. Just enough to make it real. To prove it wasn’t some New York fantasy.

Danny cleared his throat.

“You’re still here.”

Harry didn’t look up. “So are you.”

“Because I’m trying to get you to finish the Florence paperwork.”

“I will.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Maybe.”

Danny stared at him. “You’re going to see her, aren’t you.”

Harry didn’t answer. He stood.

“Jesus,” Danny muttered, grabbing his jacket. “You’re in love.”

Harry grabbed his own coat. “Drop me off.”

Danny blinked. “It’s 1 a.m.”

“I know where she lives.”

Danny didn’t argue. He just followed. They always got in separate cars. Harry always took the backseat. But tonight, he climbed into the passenger seat of Danny's Mercedes.

Danny glanced over. “You nervous?”

Harry didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. The rain kept coming down. The roads were slick. The city lights blurry. But when they pulled onto her street, Harry felt it—

That low thrum in his chest. That ache. Because he knew this block. Knew it like a scar. She wasn’t just a girl he saw now. She was a rhythm in his life. A piece of the architecture.

Danny pulled up to the curb. Parked. Then turned, lips twitching.

“Good luck,” he said. “Maybe Frances wore her out.”

Harry shot him a look that could’ve killed. Danny just sent him a smirk. And Harry stepped out into the rain.

The air was sharp with that metallic wetness unique to New York downpours. Streetlights flickered against puddles. A pizza box floated past the curb like a makeshift raft.

And still—Harry didn’t rush. He took his time walking.

Her street in Lower East Side, uneven pavement, corners that smelled like cigarettes and Chinatown egg rolls—was familiar now.

He knew the rhythm of her block. He knew that the laundromat two doors down always had one broken dryer. He knew which deli overcharged for grapes.

And he knew the exact slab of sidewalk where she told him she once tripped while texting him. It was cracked slightly, a jagged edge of concrete peeking up like a warning. She’d texted him from the pavement, too.

You: You made me fall, jackass. I was smiling too hard.

That text had stayed in his phone longer than it should have.

He passed the bodega next. The one she claimed had the best dried mangoes in the city. She’d once spent thirty minutes ranting about the owner’s theories on aliens and glitter. Yes glitter.

Now Harry found himself slowing in front of the doors. Peering in. Wondering if the guy knew her name. Wondering if he knew about him.

By the time he reached her building, his shoulders were soaked. His shirt clung to his chest, collar sticking. His suit jacket was definitely ruined. But he didn’t care. He needed to see her. He hit the buzzer.

Once.

Twice.

A third time.

Nothing.

Then—finally—crackled static.

“…Hello?” Her voice was sleepy.

“It’s me.”

A pause. Then—

“Harry?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

More static. Then a muffled, rustling sound. “It’s—uh—4C. Come up.”

The buzzer rang. The door clicked. He took the stairs. She didn’t have an elevator. Of course she didn’t.

By the time he reached her floor, his heart was hammering for no reason. The hallway smelled like weed and soup dumplings. The walls were covered in scuff marks, and someone had drawn a crooked heart on one of the exit signs.

4C had a little sticker on the door. A cartoon ghost holding a margarita. He stared at it for a beat. Then knocked.

She opened the door in one of his shirts—his black one, faded from too many washes—hanging off one shoulder, loose like a dress. Her legs were bare except for cotton boxers with tiny strawberries on them. Her hair was pulled up messily. She looked flushed. And sleepy. And worried.

“You’re soaked,” she said immediately, pulling him inside by the lapel of his jacket. “Jesus, Harry.”

Her hands were already working to unbutton his coat. “Why didn’t you text? I thought you were working.”

“I couldn’t focus,” he said, watching her.

“You’re going to get sick,” she muttered, peeling the jacket off his shoulders, tugging at the sleeves. “Come here—hold still—”

He let her work, silent. She was warm hands and furrowed brows and concern in motion.

Once the jacket was off, she yanked at his tie. “This too.”

He raised a brow. “Undressing me already?”

“You showed up looking like the stock market,” she muttered, rolling her eyes.

He smirked.

She disappeared for a second, then tossed him a pair of old gray sweatpants.

He caught them. Eyebrow raised. “You keep men’s sweats on hand?”

She groaned. “They’re Maya’s ex’s. Don’t get excited.”

He stepped into the living room fully now. And froze. Because for the first time, he was seeing where she lived.

Where she lived when she wasn’t with him.

The apartment was small. Lived in. Cluttered—but in a way that made it feel warm, not chaotic. Like every single thing inside of it had a story.

The living room was split between two mismatched couches—one thrifted velvet, the other beige corduroy with a sag in the middle. There were throw blankets in every texture imaginable—fleece, knit, faux fur.

The coffee table was covered in books, old takeout menus, half burnt candles in jars labeled sandalwood, fig, vanilla.

The walls were cluttered with art—some of it clearly Maya’s, some vintage posters, The Virgin Suicides, Before Sunrise, Blade Runner, Patti Smith’s Horses album, and a random framed photo of a pigeon wearing sunglasses.

The fridge in the kitchen was a museum of magnets and notes. There was even a shopping list written in red marker on the fridge door. It read

oat milk

cheez-its

limes

incense

Maya’s weird vegan yogurt

tampons

trash bags

candles (sex ones, not funeral ones)

wine

frozen waffles

cat food

Harry blinked at the last item.

“You have a cat?”

She paused. “...Yes?”

His jaw tensed. “Frances?”

She frowned. “What?”

He turned to her, eyes sharp. “You said Frances is being dramatic tonight.”

She blinked. Then laughed. Actually laughed. And pointed behind him.

Harry turned. And saw a large, grumpy-looking tabby cat perched on the windowsill. Staring at him with narrowed eyes like it knew he’d imagined something inappropriate.

“That’s Frances,” she said, snorting. “She’s named after Frances McDormand. She’s 16 and hates everything exept my heating pad.”

Harry stared at the cat. Then back at her. Then at the cat again.

“You thought Frances was a man?” she said, grinning.

“I thought Frances was your ex.”

She covered her mouth to keep from laughing louder. “You showed up in the rain to confront me about an elderly cat?”

Harry sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Shut up.”

She kissed his cheek. “You’re a mess.”

He looked around again. At her world. At the chipped mugs on the dish rack—each one different. One said World’s Okayest Bartender, another had a faded drawing of a walrus. The scarf hanging from a coat hook was purple velvet, half-unraveled at one end.

There were keys on a lanyard that read BOSTON UNIVERSITY, and a half-full tote bag with a produce sticker still stuck to the bottom corner.

The shelf by the entryway overflowed with mail, cracked sunglasses, a tiny hand-painted dish full of bobby pins, and a single, slightly burnt birthday candle shoved into a chunk of ceramic shaped like a frog. The coffee table had three coasters but none of them matched. There were stickers slapped across the side of the fridge—Protect Roe, Biden Harris 2020, Elvis is Alive and So Am I.

In the bathroom, he passed by the open door and caught the faint scent of her perfume mixed with rosewater toner and humidity. The mirror had streaks of lipstick.

Tampons sat on the counter beside an open tin of bobby pins. Dry shampoo. A chipped compact. An old mascara wand lying next to her makeup bag that looked like it had seen war. A pack of pink razors balanced on the edge of the sink like it might leap to freedom any minute.

The hallway wall had a row of hooks, all cluttered—coats, purses, canvas totes, one very fluffy pink bathrobe, and what looked like a dog leash even though she didn’t own a dog. The floor creaked in the middle.

And her bedroom—

Her bedroom was even more intimate. Twinkly lights looped around the ceiling like a soft halo. One strand flickered near the corner. The walls were covered—Cléo from 5 to 7, Velvet Underground, a retro ballet poster, another that read Prince's Purple Rain.

Dried lavender hung upside down beside a Polaroid photo strip taped above her dresser mirror. The dresser was cluttered with rings in tiny dishes, perfume bottles in varying levels of emptiness, tangled necklaces, and an open book of poetry facedown like she’d been reading and got distracted halfway through.

The bed wasn’t made. Worn sheets. Muted floral comforter rumpled down to the foot. A stuffed lamb with one ear bent sat on the pillow beside a pile of soft, mismatched throw blankets. There was a hoodie—his—draped over the headboard.

Her nightstand was pure chaos. A cracked phone charger plugged into an extension cord wrapped in colorful washing tape. A half-eaten cookie. Lip balm. A lighter. A box of allergy medicine. A stack of receipts, one with eggs, incense, LaCroix, cat treats, cherry cough drops scribbled on the back. An empty glass, a hair clip, and a worn paperback with the corner folded as a bookmark—The Secret History.

There was an incense holder shaped like a tiny hand. And beside that, a photo of her and a little girl in matching sunglasses, both sticking out their tongues. It was soft. Lived-in. Completely her.

And absolutely the opposite of Lucy’s old apartment. Lucy’s world had been cold glass vases with eucalyptus branches, arranged like she Googled elegant minimalism. White couches no one could sit on. Art that cost thousands but said nothing. A color-coded closet and a bathroom that looked like a Glossier pop-up—sterile, spotless, unloved.

This? This was chaos and warmth and late night pizza crumbs and nail polish spilled on tile. This was home.

And for reasons Harry couldn’t articulate—didn’t dare admit even to himself—he wanted to be a part of it. Even if it scared the hell out of him.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said finally.

She wrapped her arms around his waist. “You didn’t. I mean, you did. But I’m glad.”

He buried his nose in her hair, breathing her in. Lavender shampoo. Something floral. Her. Frances meowed loudly, interrupting the moment.

She pulled back. “She wants food. Hold on.”

As she went into the kitchen, Harry stood in the middle of her room, still dripping slightly, holding borrowed sweatpants in one hand and the ghost of something warmer than he knew what to do with in the other.

He was fucked. So, so fucked. And he didn’t want to leave. So that night Harry stayed. The rain hadn’t let up.

It fell in steady sheets against her bedroom window—so constant it was starting to sound like static. Or breath. Or the thud of a heartbeat pressed against his ear.

She was in boxers and one of his shirts.

He was in borrowed sweatpants from a man who didn’t matter.

And they were brushing their teeth together in a bathroom that smelled like rosewater and lavender. She bumped into him twice. Once on purpose. Once not. He didn’t care.

He’d forgotten what this felt like. Being near someone. Really near.

Not polished. Not curated. Not part of some long game. Just… here. In a too small bathroom. In her world. She leaned into the mirror to swipe a lip mask on her lips.

He watched her. Like she was art.

When she turned, he was still staring.

“What,” she asked, mouth soft.

“Nothing,” he said, voice lower than he meant. “I just like looking at... you.”

They left the light on. Left the door cracked. The apartment was dark except for that glow and the warm flicker of the TV.

Her bed wasn’t big. A full, maybe. But it held them both. Barely.

She threw the comforter over them, then curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Her eyes were heavy, but she wasn’t ready to sleep. He shifted beside her, body pressed along the curve of hers. Not touching yet. Just close enough that the space between them buzzed.

And then she clicked on the remote. The TV was an old one—boxy, with a DVD player built into the side. It hummed softly as the disc spun.

He blinked. “Is that Sex and the City?”

She nodded. “Season four.”

He glanced down at her, a smile tugging at his mouth. “You have the DVDs?”

“I’m not a heathen.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I haven’t seen a DVD player in a decade.”

She shrugged. “You’re missing out.”

The episode began. Carrie was monologuing. Samantha was best dressed. Charlotte was earnestly hopeful. Miranda was eating Chinese food in bed.

She rested her head on his chest, her hand splayed over his ribs. He felt it everywhere. The rain thudded gently on the window. Frances padded into the room and began eating delicately from her tiny floral bowl in the corner.

Harry reached up and tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear. “She always eats this late?”

“She’s nocturnal. Like me.”

He hummed. “You’re soft at night.”

She smiled against his skin. “You’re not.”

“No,” he agreed, brushing her arm with his fingers. “But I want to be.”

She turned to look at him. “Why?”

“Because you are.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.

Her body shifted, draping over his. One leg between his. One hand under his shirt, splayed against his stomach. She wasn’t trying to start anything. She just wanted to feel him.

And Harry? He let her.

He rested his cheek against the top of her head. Closed his eyes. Let the scent of her hair—lavender and something distinctly her—anchor him.

He wanted to tell her right then. About Italy. About the dinner. The villa. The way he imagined her laughing while wine sloshed in her glass. The way he pictured her sunburnt and barefoot, dancing in a linen dress she’d haggled for at a street market.

He wanted to tell her he’d already asked Danny to add a plus one. Wanted to beg her to come. To wake up with him somewhere coastal and quiet, where he could watch her dip into cold water and wrap herself in a towel and ask him what they were going to eat next.

But instead—

He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Soft. Careful.

She sighed.

“Your heartbeat’s fast,” she murmured.

“You’re laying on my chest,” he said. “Of course it is.”

She smiled. “Mine too.”

Frances jumped up onto the bed and circled twice before curling against the back of Harry’s legs. Her fur was soft. Her breathing slow.

The rain pressed harder against the windows. The radiator clinked. The light from the TV flickered over the posters on the wall.

Onscreen, Carrie was questioning whether men were biologically capable of monogamy.

Harry whispered, “Jesus.”

She snorted. “Don’t take it personally.”

“I take everything personally.”

Her hand slid over his stomach again. A slow drag of her fingers, like she could calm something inside him. And maybe she did.

Because that night—

Harry Castillo slept in a tiny bed with a woman who wore his clothes and brushed her teeth with glitter-handled toothbrushes. He slept through the storm. He slept through Carrie’s voice.

He slept through the ache of every part of him that used to hurt.

Because in her world—this small, messy, beautiful world—he didn’t have to be the version of himself that scared people. He just had to be hers. And that was enough.

The morning soon came and of course he woke up first. 

She was still asleep when Harry stirred. Pressed against his chest like she belonged there.

Which—by now—maybe she did.

The light coming in through the bedroom window was soft and overcast, the kind of gray that made you want to stay under the covers forever. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, but the air still smelled like it—clean, cool, quiet.

Harry was warm. Ridiculously warm.

Frances was curled up on his feet again, the cat’s soft purring vibrating faintly against his ankle.

And her—

She was wrapped around him. One leg tossed over his hip. One hand curled beneath his shirt—her shirt—she decided to throw on him last minute before bed. Face pressed to his neck, breath ghosting over his pulse.

He hadn’t moved for hours. Didn’t want to. The bed was small, but it had held them both. Just barely. There was something absurdly perfect about that. About how they fit.

He let his eyes drift open, blinking up at the ceiling plastered with glow in the dark stars. He hadn’t noticed them last night. She’d stuck them up there, probably years ago, probably drunk, maybe high. They weren’t aligned properly—some clustered too close, others spread out too wide—but it made Harry smile.

It was so her.

Then—

The door creaked.

His eyes shot to it, his arm tightening around her instinctively. And there she was.

Maya.

In sweats, hoodie up, a tote bag slung over one shoulder and half a bagel in her mouth. She froze in the doorway, chewing slowly as she saw them both.

Harry blinked. She blinked back.

And then—

She smiled.

“Morning,” she said, voice casual, still chewing. “I got bagels.”

His brows lifted. “Maya?”

“Mmhm.” She stepped fully into the room, walked past the bed like this wasn’t completely surreal, and set a brown paper bag on the desk. “One’s egg and cheese, one’s veggie, one’s plain. I got a discount so I went wild. You're not vegan, right?”

“I’m not.” 

Maya nodded. “Cool.”

He opened his mouth to respond but then she stirred beside him.

She blinked. Then groaned. “Maya?”

“Hey, you.” Maya turned, already backing out. “Don’t get up. I’m leaving again. Nate broke one of the frames while carrying it up the stairs and I have to go reconstruct it before the opening or I’ll die. Eat your bagel.”

“Maya—”

“Love you, mean it.”

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her. Harry turned slowly. 

She rubbed her eyes. “That’s Maya.”

“She seems…unfazed.”

“She walked in on me giving my high school boyfriend a blowjob in this same bed,” she mumbled. “This is practically G-rated.”

Harry choked. “Jesus Christ.”

She grinned, finally stretching. “Sorry.”

He shook his head, still blinking at the door. “She left you a bagel.”

“She’s thoughtful like that.”

They sat in silence for a moment. The air was warm. The room smelled like her shampoo and toasted everything bagels.

She sat up, reaching for the bag. “You want half?”

“I want the whole thing,” he muttered, watching the way her sleep shirt—his shirt—slipped off her shoulder as she handed it to him.

She raised a brow. “Of the bagel or me?”

Harry took a slow bite of the sandwich, chewed, and swallowed before answering.

“Yes.”

She laughed—quiet and groggy—and curled back into the blankets beside him while he finished eating.

The disc in her old TV menu-looped quietly in the background. And that was when Harry realized—

He didn’t want to leave. Not this apartment. Not her bed. Not this mess of a morning that felt like something he hadn’t let himself hope for. He looked down at her, at the way she was nibbling the corner of a veggie bagel and letting cream cheese smear across her knuckle without noticing.

And that was it. That was the moment. He didn’t plan it. Didn’t rehearse. Didn’t run it through his head a hundred times the way he usually did with big decisions. Because this wasn’t business.

This was her.

“Come to Italy with me.”

She blinked. Mid-bite. Mid-smear of cream cheese.

“What?”

He set his half-finished bagel on the napkin beside them.

“I want you to come to Italy with me,” he said again, softer now. “I leave in three days.”

Her lips parted slightly, eyes searching his face like she was trying to find the joke. But there wasn’t one. Harry was deadly serious.

She swallowed. “You’re inviting me on a trip. To Italy.”

“It’s not a trip,” he said. “It’s a…thing. For work. Big contract. Private villa, vineyard dinner, all that bullshit. I need to be there to finalize some logistics.”

She blinked again.

“You want me to tag along to a work trip in another country?”

“I want you to be there.”

A pause.

“I want to see you sunkissed,” he murmured, voice dipping. “I want to watch you eat pasta with your fingers and lick sauce off your wrist. I want to soak with you in some overpriced marble tub with your legs wrapped around me, pretending we’re not real people.”

Her breath caught.

“I want you to hang off my arm and point at things in little shops and tell me they’re ugly and buy them anyway. I want you to fall asleep in my lap on a train. I want to hear what you sound like in another language.”

She didn’t speak.

Just stared at him.

“And yes,” he added, reaching out to brush a smudge of cream cheese from the corner of her mouth. “I want you there at the dinner. I want you in a dress with your hair up and that little necklace you always wear. I want to introduce you as someone who makes the rest of this shit feel worth it.”

She swallowed hard. Tried to laugh. Failed.

“You’re really pulling out the big guns, huh?”

He nodded. “I’m old. I don’t have time for subtlety.”

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then said, “Frances can’t come.”

He blinked. “The cat?”

“She’s bad on planes.”

He laughed—genuine and warm—and reached for her hand beneath the sheets.

“You don't need to pay for a flight,” he said. “I have a jet. I want you there.”

She looked down at their hands. His thumb tracing slow circles against her knuckles.

“Three days?”

He nodded.

“Do I have to wear heels?”

“Only if you want to kill me.”

She smiled. Bit her lip. Thought.

“Okay.”

Harry’s heart thudded in his chest.

“Okay?”

She nodded again, smaller this time. “Okay. I’ll come to Italy with you, old man.”

He didn’t grin. Didn’t smirk. He just leaned forward and kissed her hand. Soft. Simple. Grateful.

Frances leapt up onto the bed, meowing loudly.

“Guess she wants to come too,” she said, scratching behind the cat’s ears.

“She’s not allowed.”

“She’ll sue.”

“She can try.”

They laid back down—Harry still half-clothed, her shirt riding up at the hem—and just breathed for a moment. Rain tapped lightly against the windows again. The smell of warm bagels lingered in the air.

And Harry Castillo? For the first time in years, he wasn’t thinking about deadlines or numbers or failing. He was thinking about sunlit train rides. About her in linen. About the taste of wine off her mouth in a country that didn’t know who they were.

He was thinking about falling in love.

And maybe—

Just maybe—

She was too.

They didn’t move for a while after that. Just laid there in the warmth of her small, chaotic bedroom—bagel crumbs on the sheets, Frances purring between them, her bare leg draped over his thigh like it belonged there.

Eventually though, real life crept back in. It started with a stretch. Then a yawn.

Then her mumbling, “I should shower.”

To which Harry responded, “I’ll die if you move right now.”

But she did. Of course she did.

She slipped out of bed with that effortless, half-asleep grace, hair tangled, his shirt riding up over her thighs. She padded barefoot across the hardwood and vanished into the bathroom without another word.

Harry stayed in bed for another five minutes. Just… thinking. About Italy. About her. About the fact that she said yes. Then—he got up. Went to the kitchen to get water. That’s when he opened her fridge.

And paused.

It wasn’t empty, exactly.

Jars of random sauces. A half-used block of feta. Mismatched Tupperware with exactly two bites of leftovers. A dozen eggs, one cracked. A bag of spinach that looked like it had been forgotten in a war zone. Five different types of hot sauce. A single mini vodka.

There were ingredients. But no actual food.

And Harry?

Harry had spent the last decade with a private chef and a housekeeper. His pantry looked like an organic catalog.

This? This was something else.

She padded back into the kitchen, hair damp, teeth brushed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. “What?”

He turned from the fridge, holding up a sad little container of pickled onions. “This is your dinner?”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Sometimes I make pasta.”

“Out of hot sauce and… half a lemon?”

“Adds flavor.”

Harry looked at her like she was a war orphan. She grinned.

He shut the fridge. “We’re going to the store.”

“Harry—”

“I’m not letting you live like this.”

She leaned against the counter, playful. “You trying to domesticate me?”

He walked past her, smacked a kiss on her temple, and muttered, “Put on real shoes.”

They stopped at his penthouse first.

“I’m not going to the store in a suit,” he explained as they stepped off the elevator.

She looked him up and down. He had put his suit back on after she left it hanging up to dry overnight.

“You look like you’re about to close on a skyscraper.”

He loosened his collar. “Exactly. I want to buy produce, not acquire a hedge fund.”

She made herself comfortable while he changed. Shoes off. Feet up. Sitting sideways on his pristine leather couch with Frances curled beside her in her tote bag like a queen.

When Harry emerged again, everything shifted. He was in a navy fleece. Dark jeans. Clean sneakers. His hair was pushed back carelessly, and he looked—God, he looked like a boyfriend. Like a rich, brooding, ridiculously hot boyfriend who didn’t like other men looking at his girl.

Which he proved five minutes later.

The market was close. Not some chaotic Manhattan chain store.

This place was a little upscale. A little overpriced. The kind with hand-written chalk signs and fancy cheese displays and a barista in the corner who actually knew what cortado meant.

He parked on the street and opened the door for her.

She rolled her eyes. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

“So why do you?”

“Because if I don’t, some other asshole will.”

She blinked then laughed. “Jesus.”

Harry took her hand as they walked inside.

Casual. Like it was just a thing he did. But when two guys standing near the tomato stand turned to stare at her—eyes lingering a second too long—Harry’s entire body tensed.

She didn’t notice. But he did. Every glance. Every flick of attention. Every half-smirk and second look.

It wasn’t just because she was beautiful. It was the way she walked. The way she moved. The way she laughed when she picked up a can of whipped cream and shook it at him.

“You ever had this on strawberries?”

He blinked. “...No.”

She grinned. “Tragic.”

He didn’t respond. Just added two pints of strawberries and the whipped cream to their basket. She pushed the cart. He added things quietly as they passed them.

Olive oil. Sea salt. Fancy cereal she probably didn’t even like but the box looked pretty. Pasta made by a brand with an unpronounceable name. Parmesan wrapped in wax paper. Fresh basil.

He let her pick the bread. Watched her fingers dance over the loaves before finally choosing one with sesame seeds. He’d never cared what bread tasted like before. But now?

He wanted to watch her butter that slice and eat it on his couch with her knees tucked under her, wearing one of his shirts again.

They turned down the wine aisle.

She held up a bottle. “This one?”

He checked the label. “You like reds?”

“I like this red.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s twenty-one dollars.”

Harry raised a brow. “That’s not wine. That’s regret in a bottle.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and added it to the cart anyway.

He followed behind her, watching the way her fingers curled over the cart handle, the way she tapped her nails when she was thinking.

A guy walked past. Looked directly at her ass.

Harry moved instantly—slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her cheek like it was nothing.

The guy looked away. Quickly.

She leaned in, amused. “Was that possessive or horny?”

“Yes,” Harry murmured.

At checkout, she pulled out her wallet. Harry didn’t even blink. Just slid his card into the reader before she could open it.

“Harry—”

“You’re heading to a whole other county with me.”

“So?”

“So let me buy you fucking groceries.”

She sighed. “You’re annoying.”

“You love it.”

She didn’t respond.

Just kissed his jaw and whispered, “Thank you.”

They carried the bags back to the car, her arms full, the air still damp from the rain.

Frances meowed softly from her tote, swatting at the handle of the bread bag.

“Frances, if you break my focaccia, you’re not going to Italy.”

“She’s not going to Italy.”

“She’s gonna file a complaint.”

“She’s gonna stay with Maya.”

They both laughed.

Back at her place, they unpacked side by side. She tossed him a bag of spinach.

He raised a brow. “You’re gonna use this?”

“Maybe.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t judge me.”

“I am judging you.”

She elbowed him.

He stole a piece of her cheese.

Frances curled up on the window sill.

The kitchen smelled like basil and citrus and something that could have been the beginning of a life.

Harry leaned back against the counter. Watched her move. Watched the way her fingers brushed crumbs off the cutting board.

And he thought—

This. This was what he’d been missing. Not the girl. Not just her body. But the mundanity of it.

The way she stood barefoot while she put the yogurt in the fridge. The way she hummed to herself while sorting the pantry. The way her hand brushed his like it meant nothing—and everything.

He couldn’t remember what it was like not to want this. And maybe he didn’t want to.

It was the day before they left for Italy.

And Harry was folding her socks.

That alone would’ve been enough to send Danny into early retirement if he’d seen it.

Moments like this, when Harry Castillo, billionaire, former tabloid cryptid, was sitting on a floor of a cramped Lower East Side apartment, cross-legged, carefully rolling tiny pairs of white ankle socks into little cotton donuts and lining them up in the corner of a borrowed suitcase in her bedroom—made her feel happy.

So fucking happy.

“You’re doing it wrong,” she mumbled from the bed, half-asleep, cheek pressed into the duvet.

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re rolling them like they’re cigars.”

“They’re supposed to be tight.”

“They’ll stretch out.”

Harry didn’t look up. “They’re socks.”

“Yeah, and you’re acting like you’re assembling high-grade explosives.”

He smirked faintly, tucking another rolled pair into the suitcase. “I take packing seriously.”

She opened one eye. “You once told me you haven’t packed your own bag in five years.”

“That was before you made me human again.”

She blinked. He kept rolling socks. Like he hadn’t just said the most quietly devastating thing of all time.

Packing had taken hours.

Partly because she kept getting distracted and forgetting what she’d already folded.

Partly because Harry had brought over a suitcase from his place—one of those sleek matte black things with TSA locks and wheels that didn’t squeak—and she kept insisting it looked like a tiny armored vehicle.

“I can’t believe I’m borrowing your suitcase,” she’d muttered earlier that day, trying to cram a bathing suit and two sundresses into it at once.

“You didn’t have one.”

“I have a duffel bag.”

Harry looked horrified. “That’s not a suitcase. That’s a threat.”

She threw a sock at him.

He ducked, grinning.

She hadn’t traveled internationally in years. Her passport was expired until recently—she only renewed it because Maya begged her to.

The last stamp it had? San Francisco. Age 20. Two broke girls, a shared Airbnb, one near-death experience on a rented bike, and a night of crying on a beach with champagne from CVS.

Now she was going to Italy.

With Harry fucking Castillo. On his private jet.

And somehow, he still got excited watching her zip up a suitcase.

They barely slept the night before the flight. Too many nerves. Too many lists.

She kept checking her phone to make sure her passport was actually in her bag.

Harry watched her, amused. Said nothing.

Instead, he busied himself in her kitchen, making tea they didn’t drink and cutting fruit they didn’t eat.

He couldn’t sit still.

Not because of the trip.

Because of the envelope.

It had come two days ago.

A thin ivory card tucked inside pale pink stationary, his name written in looping gold script across the front

Mr. Harry Castillo + Guest You are cordially invited to the wedding of Lucy & John  Saturday, June 8th, 2025 2:30 PM Chatham Bars Inn Cape Cod, Massachusetts

There was a note scribbled at the bottom in faint pen.

In Lucy's writing. 

No pressure if you can’t come. We’d still love to see you.

Harry had stared at it for ten full minutes before tucking it under a file on his desk and pretending it hadn’t arrived.

He hadn’t told her.

Not because he was hiding anything. Not really. But because he didn’t want to bring Lucy into this. Into them.

Not when she was standing barefoot in his shirt, trying to find her phone charger and muttering about whether three pairs of jeans were “too many.”

Not when she called out, “Did I pack underwear already?” and he responded,

“Twelve pairs.”

Not when she looked at him across the room like he was something safe.

He would tell her eventually. Just…not yet.

The morning of the flight came quietly. It was still dark when the alarm buzzed.

She groaned. “What time is it?”

“2:30.”

“In the morning?”

“You agreed to this.”

“I was in love with you when I agreed. I’ve changed my mind.”

Harry smirked and sat up, sliding a hand through his hair. Frances jumped onto the bed and meowed directly into his face.

“She’s saying don’t leave me,” she mumbled into the pillow.

“She’s saying feed me.”

She rolled over and stared at him. “Do you always look like that when you wake up?”

Harry blinked. “Like what?”

“Like someone just photoshopped exhaustion and sex appeal.”

He threw a pillow at her.

By 3 a.m., Danny was downstairs in the car, already texting.

Danny: I’m not saying we’re late, but we’re late.

Danny: I have coffee. And donuts. And two kinds of Dramamine.

Harry grabbed the suitcase, double-checked her passport, triple-checked the address with Danny, and then took one last look around her apartment.

She was saying goodbye to Frances, promising her the neighbor would stop by and that Maya would be back by sunrise.

Harry just… watched her.

The way she knelt down to scratch behind the cat’s ears.

The way she whispered, “Don’t pee on my rug just to spite me, you little demon.”

He smiled to himself.

The car ride was quiet. Rain tapped against the windows.

She curled up in the back seat with his sweatshirt tucked under her chin. Harry held her hand.

Danny sat in the passenger seat, wisely keeping his mouth shut except to say, “It’s a beautiful jet, by the way. You’re gonna be insufferable about it.”

She looked up sleepily. “Is it big?”

Harry kissed her fingers. “It’s private.”

She grinned. “I feel like a Bond girl.”

The jet was waiting. Sleek. Immaculate. Tucked away on the private runway like something out of a movie.

She blinked when they pulled up. “That’s… ours?”

Harry nodded.

Danny sighed. “Yours. I still fly commercial.”

Inside, the cabin was pristine.

Cream leather seats. Soft lighting. A tiny bar in the corner already stocked with orange juice and sparkling water and espresso pods.

Harry showed her how to buckle the seatbelt. How to adjust the window shade. Where the snacks were.

She laughed. “Are you my flight attendant now?”

“Only on this airline,” he muttered.

Once they took off, she pressed her face to the window, watching the skyline disappear.

He sat beside her, legs stretched out, arm slung over the back of her seat.

Danny popped in once. Dropped off croissants. Said something about Italian cell service and their hotel driver. Then vanished again.

They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to.

He watched her fall asleep mid-sentence, lips parted slightly, hair tucked under her hoodie.

He didn’t move. Didn’t work. Didn’t check his phone.

Just… stayed beside her.

And for the first time since that ivory envelope arrived—

He didn’t think about Lucy.

Didn’t think about what might’ve been.

Didn’t think about anything but the fact that in a few short hours, they’d land in a city made of light and wine and ancient stone.

And he’d get to see her walk through it.

Get to hear her gasp at things he’d seen a thousand times.

Get to hold her hand while she ate gelato and pointed at pigeons and got overwhelmed in a market stall and accidentally bought a tablecloth because she thought the vendor was complimenting her hair.

He didn’t want anyone else there.

Just her. And maybe that was enough.

Maybe it had always been.

They landed at exactly 5:32 PM local time.

The air was different. Warmer, even in early evening. The light had a honeyed edge to it—soft gold and long shadows draped across the tarmac like something out of a postcard. The jet slowly came to a stop as she blinked blearily at the window, hoodie bunched around her waist, tank top loose and clinging. No bra. 

Harry glanced over at her, the edge of his mouth twitching.

"You’re going to give someone a heart attack the second we step off this plane."

She yawned. "Good. Let them die seeing something beautiful."

He almost smiled.

As soon as the door opened, the energy shifted.

Three black cars waited on the runway. Two assistants in pressed suits stood beside them, flanked by a driver and what looked like a security consultant in a tailored gray jacket. The woman in front stepped forward immediately, beaming like Harry personally discovered electricity.

One sign read: CASTILLO PARTY – VILLA LUMEN.

"Mr. Castillo! Welcome back. We’re honored. Truly."

Harry gave a brief nod, hand resting on the small of her back.

The woman turned to her next. "Mrs. Castillo, we hope the flight was comfortable. We’ve arranged everything at the villa. Please let us know if there’s anything else you need."

She froze. Blinked. But Harry didn’t correct her.

Neither did she.

He just squeezed her hip gently and muttered, "Let them think whatever they want."

The drive was smooth, luxurious, absurd.

The countryside blurred past—green vineyards, cypress trees, stone walls bathed in sunset. Their driver offered wine and chilled sparkling water in crystal-cut glasses. The seats reclined. The windows were tinted so deeply she could’ve fallen asleep again without anyone noticing.

But she stayed awake. Watching Harry.

Watching the way he relaxed by degrees, slowly, as the city disappeared behind them.

When they pulled up to the villa, she nearly forgot how to speak.

It was unreal.

Terracotta walls. Ivy-covered balconies. Lavender blooming along the path leading up to the entrance. White roses climbing up the columns. A view that stretched over the hills for what looked like miles.

Inside, everything smelled like lemon and clean linen. Marble floors, arched windows, a winding staircase made of stone.

Their hosts didn’t linger.

Just offered soft words, a bow, and a smile before vanishing with the promise, “Dinner will be served at eight. You are encouraged to rest until then.”

She just stared, slowly spinning in a circle, looking at every detail of the place.

"They put us in the west wing," Harry muttered, fingers lightly brushing her back as they were led upstairs.

"We have wings now?"

He looked at her. "We have whatever the fuck we want."

The bedroom made her stop walking.

A carved wooden bed stood in the middle, sheets white and impossibly soft. The balcony doors were open, a breeze dancing in. Beyond them—vineyards. Hills. A sky slowly turning the color of ripe apricots. 

There were flowers on the nightstand.

A bottle of wine already uncorked.

Macarons in a glass bowl.

She lets out a sigh, closing her eyes as she makes her way out onto the balcony. 

"Is this a honeymoon suite?" she whispered.

Harry didn’t answer.

He stepped behind her instead. Hands on her waist. Lips grazing her neck.

"Come here."

She turned in his arms, breath catching. His eyes were darker than usual, jaw tight. There was something restless behind it. Something feral.

"You’re quiet," she murmured.

He studied her face. His hands slid under her tank top.

"You smell like a fucking dream."

She arched a brow. "That’s not an answer."

"I haven’t touched you in days."

Her stomach clenched.

"I noticed."

He kissed her.

Hard.

Like he was angry at himself for waiting. Like he’d been hungry for weeks. Like her mouth was the only thing that could make him human again.

Her back hit the stone and he lifted her onto the bench, hands gripping her thighs, dragging her tank top down, mouth never leaving hers. She gasped when the cold air hit her chest—bare, sensitive—and he groaned deep in his throat.

"Fuck," he muttered, pulling back to look at her. His eyes were locked on her breasts, his thumbs brushing over them like he was memorizing. "You’re so fucking pretty. You don’t even know."

She bit her lip. "Then show me."

And he did.

He kissed down her throat, down the center of her chest, sucking, licking, dragging his teeth along soft skin until she was squirming. Until her thighs squeezed around his hips. Until she said his name like it meant something.

Then—

He dropped to his knees.

Right there.

On the balcony.

The breeze blew gently around them, the smell of lavender and wine in the air. Her tank top was shoved up, her shorts already pushed down her thighs. She slowly slid down the bench.

And Harry looked up at her like she was something sacred.

"Keep your eyes on me."

She did.

She watched him lick a stripe up her slit, slow and deliberate, like he was tasting something rare. She cried out, legs shaking, hands grasping for the stone railing behind her.

He groaned again. "You taste like everything I’ve ever wanted."

His tongue was relentless—circling, flicking, sucking. His grip on her thighs was bruising, grounding her, holding her open like he couldn’t get enough.

She tried to speak. Failed.

He slid two fingers inside her—slow at first, curling perfectly—then fast, then deeper, fucking her open while his mouth devoured her.

"You gonna come for me, baby?"

She whimpered.

He sucked harder.

"Say my name."

She did.

Over and over.

Until she shattered.

Until her legs gave out and he had to catch her.

He stood, scooping her up like she weighed nothing, carrying her to the bed and laying her down gently.

Then he kissed her again—messy, hungry, licking her taste off his lips and moaning like he was drunk.

"I can’t stop," he muttered. "You do something to me. You ruin me."

She pulled at his shirt. He let her.

Let her undress him like she owned him.

And when he pushed inside her, slow and deep and all at once—

It wasn’t just fucking.

It was worship.

It was raw, reverent, almost painful in its intensity. He braced one hand against the mattress and the other curled around the back of her neck, holding her gaze like he couldn’t bear to look away. Like he needed to see every twitch of her mouth, every blink, every gasp that left her lips as he thrust into her again and again, steady and deep and so achingly deliberate.

She breathed his name like a prayer, fingers tangled in his hair, lips parted with pleasure. Her body arched to meet every movement, desperate to be closer, to swallow him whole.

Harry moved like he was etching something permanent into her—like he wanted to mark her from the inside. His mouth brushed her cheek, her jaw, her lips between every breathless exhale.

"You feel like heaven," he rasped. "You feel like mine."

She whimpered at that—at the way he said it like a truth carved into stone.

He kissed her again. Slower this time. Tongue teasing her mouth open as his hips rolled in a rhythm that was almost cruel in how good it felt. Like he knew exactly how to undo her.

One of her hands slipped down, tracing over his side, his back, clutching at him as if to make sure he stayed there. As if she couldn’t take the chance he’d pull away.

And he didn’t.

He never faltered. Never let her go. Just kept moving—fucking her with care, with need, with that terrifying depth he never shared with anyone else.

She tightened around him, legs trembling, her voice breaking as she said his name, pleaded, begged.

He whispered into her mouth, "I’ve got you. Come for me. Right now. That’s it—fuck—just like that."

Her body arched, then shattered beneath him.

And he followed.

A low groan ripped from his throat as he spilled into her, thrusts faltering, his whole body shaking from the force of it. His forehead pressed to hers. Their breath tangled. Their pulses frantic.

He didn’t move for a long time.

Didn’t say anything.

Just held her.

One hand cupping the side of her face, the other stroking her waist in lazy, absentminded circles.

Eventually, he pulled back just far enough to look at her—eyes heavy, mouth soft, expression unreadable.

Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered, "Thank you."

She blinked. "For what?"

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t need to.

He just kissed her shoulder, slow and reverent, and stayed there.

Outside, the Tuscan night whispered around them—

Soft. Endless. Real.

The air inside the villa was thick with the ghost of everything they’d just done. Her skin still tingled. Her chest rose and fell in slow, steady waves. She was sprawled across the sheets, hair a mess, limbs boneless, skin flushed with afterglow and the faintest imprint of the linen texture pressed into her back.

The room still smelled like sex and sunlight.

Harry was quiet beside her.

Not cold. Not distant.

Just...quiet. Like the kind of silence that comes only after something tectonic. Like he was letting the earth settle. Like something had cracked open and they were both just standing in the new air, breathing it in.

His thumb moved absently along her waist, tracing lazy circles. He was still half-hard, still close, but not demanding more.

Not yet. He just needed to be here. In it. With her.

She rolled over onto her side, tucking her face into the crook of his neck. His skin was warm and smelled like wine and her perfume and faint lavender from the villa sheets. Familiar and new at the same time.

Neither of them said anything for a while.

She let her fingers trail along the curve of his chest, nails faint, almost ticklish. She counted the moles across his sternum. He hummed at that, deep in his throat, then exhaled slowly, one big hand sliding up to rest on the back of her head.

“You’re going to be late,” she mumbled against his collarbone.

“No, I’m not.”

“You have a dinner.”

“I said what I said.”

She laughed quietly. “Harry.”

“I don’t care if we show up looking like we just fucked.”

“We did just fuck.”

“Exactly.”

She nudged his rib with her knee. “You have to shower, old man.”

He groaned. “You’re the reason I’m sweaty.”

“You’re the reason you’re grumpy.”

He cracked one eye open. “You wanna say that again?”

She kissed the corner of his mouth. “Shower. Now.”

Eventually, they moved.

Reluctantly.

Limbs tangled as they rolled off the bed. Her thighs ached. She was sore in the most decadent way. Her body felt loose and tender and entirely his. He offered a hand as she stepped down from the mattress—mock-gentlemanly, fake regal—and she accepted it with a smirk and a dramatic curtsey.

The bathroom was all marble and glass. Golden light spilled in from the balcony, painting the countertops in warm hues. The shower was massive—big enough for two, maybe three. Probably four if they stacked right.

She turned the water on.

He watched her.

Always watching.

When the steam curled around their bodies, she stepped in first. Hot water sluiced down her back, her shoulders, her spine.

She sighed as it hit her skin. A low sound. Almost grateful. Almost reverent.

Harry followed.

No words. Just hands.

Big hands. Careful hands. Hands that had held her like she might vanish, that had gripped her thighs and touched the softest parts of her like they were sacred. Like she was.

He grabbed the soap first.

Rubbed it between his palms, lathered slowly. Then—gently, reverently—dragged his hands over her back.

Her shoulders. Her arms. Her stomach. Her hips. Down to the back of her knees.

She didn’t speak.

Didn’t need to.

He washed her like she was precious. Like she was something ancient and delicate and holy. He kissed the top of her spine. The curve behind her ear. Rinsed her hair with long, slow strokes. Massaged her scalp until she leaned back into him, humming.

She returned the favor.

Lathered his chest. His arms. Dragged the soap down the deep lines of his stomach with slow, teasing fingers. She worked the shampoo into his hair, watching his eyes flutter closed. When she got to his thighs, he groaned.

“Behave.”

She didn’t.

He pulled her close, water cascading over their bodies, their skin slick and clean and flushed with something almost unbearable.

She reached for a cloth and gently wiped behind his ears.

“I’m not your child.”

“You’re acting like one.”

He grabbed her waist and yanked her flush against him.

They stayed like that until their fingers pruned.

Then—finally—they dried off.

She wrapped herself in one of the impossibly soft robes from the villa.

Harry did the same, though his looked comically small on him. She giggled when it barely covered his thighs.

“Say a word and I’ll throw you into the courtyard.”

“Promise?”

He rolled his eyes. “I have international security clearance. No one would know.”

Back in the bedroom, the air had shifted. Still warm. Still gold-lit. But now it felt like transition. Like preparation. Like a pause before the world returned.

The suitcase sat open on the bench at the foot of the bed. A half-folded silk dress draped over the edge. His suit jacket hung on a chair.

“Unpack?” she asked.

He nodded.

They worked together.

Unpacking side by side.

She folded his shirts. He folded her underwear.

Her fingers danced over his cologne bottle, the one she always associated with him. She set it gently on the nightstand beside a small glass of water. He didn’t say anything, but he glanced over. Noted it.

He placed her hairbrush beside the bathroom sink, untangling a few of her strands caught in the bristles.

She rolled her socks and tucked them into the drawer. Folded her pajamas. Lined her skin care in a neat row.

He lined his ties on the shelf like a ritual. Stacked his cufflinks in the tray she passed him.

They shared the space. Merged into it. No questions asked. No territory claimed.

She hung up her dresses into the villa wardrobe. He adjusted the hangers. Steamed the back of her dress when she wasn’t looking.

She noticed his charger cable was frayed. She pulled one from her tote and handed it over without a word.

He opened a small velvet box and revealed a delicate necklace he’d packed for her without telling her.

“Wear this,” he said simply.

She blinked. “You packed jewelry?”

“You didn’t.”

Her lips curved.

The moment lingered.

Then—getting ready.

She stood at the vanity, pulling a comb through her damp hair. He stood beside her, shaving. Both in their robes. Moving in tandem. Like they’d done this a hundred times before. The kind of rhythm you can’t fake.

She did her makeup slowly, lip balm first, then liner, then a whisper of mascara. A little blush.

He adjusted the collar of his shirt beside her, fingers methodical. Buttoned his cuffs. Straightened his sleeves.

She reached for perfume. He paused, watching.

“You use that every day huh.”

“I do.”

He leaned down. Smelled her neck. “Still there.”

Then he asked if she could spray some on him.

She smiled.

He walked into the closet to grab his belt. She watched the way his robe opened slightly as he moved, the lines of his body still lingering with the softness of their morning.

Then—clothes.

She slipped the silk dress over her shoulders. It was pale. Bare-backed. Barely structured. The kind of dress you wore in Italy when you weren’t sure if you were someone’s date or someone’s downfall.

Harry froze when he saw her in it.

She turned.

“Too much?”

His jaw flexed. “You’re not changing.”

She smirked.

He moved closer. Adjusted the straps like they were made of glass. Tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. Let his thumb brush her collarbone.

“You’re going to make this very hard for me.”

“You invited me.”

“I didn’t know what I was inviting.”

“Yes, you did.”

He said nothing.

Just buttoned his shirt.

Put on his watch.

Slid into the jacket like he was donning armor. Sharp and deliberate.

She watched from the bed.

Hair pinned up now. Lipstick barely there. One heel dangling from her foot. Legs crossed like temptation.

“You look mean,” she said.

“I am mean.”

She grinned. “But you smell nice.”

He offered a hand. She took it.

They stood in front of the mirror together.

Perfect opposites.

Dark suit. Soft silk. Sharp jaw. Warm smile. Something dangerous, something beautiful.

Together.

They didn’t say much after that.

Just breathed.

The dinner.

Work.

But for now—

It was just them.

But not for long.

Because at exactly 8:17 p.m.—fashionably, just barely, late—the knock came.

Three soft raps on the thick villa door, followed by a polite, accented voice calling, "Mr. Castillo? Your guests are seated. The drinks are being served."

Harry exhaled slowly. A breath through his nose. One final glance at her.

She looked unreal.

Silk dress. Loose updo. That faint smudge of color on her lips that made his mouth twitch every time he looked too long. Her necklace—the one he picked—rested delicately on her collarbone like it belonged there.

He didn’t say anything.

Just offered his arm.

She took it.

And down they went.

Dinner was being served under a pergola lit by strands of woven golden lights. The villa’s courtyard stretched out before them like something out of a dream—white linen table, wine glasses already half-full, the sound of crickets humming in the background.

Candlelight danced across bottles of olive oil and bowls of olives, and the scent of rosemary and garlic wafted from a nearby kitchen. Cicadas buzzed low in the distance, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the rustic stone tiles.

There were twelve seats.

Ten already filled.

Harry’s partners were an intimidating mix—Italian, British, and New York-bred tycoons with slick smiles and suspiciously quiet watches. Their wives, dressed in silk and linen and quiet diamonds, turned when Harry and she arrived—eager, observant, their eyes already cataloging every detail.

Like predators sizing up a rare animal at the watering hole.

Lorenzo and Marcella sat closest to the head. Lorenzo was tall, leonine, late fifties, with thick white hair and a voice like a cello. Marcella wore a linen suit and pearls, her Italian accent soft and theatrical. She was always watching.

Next to them—Livia and Paolo. Livia had a sharp chin, a sharper voice, and a body that looked sculpted from Florence marble. Paolo wore a navy suit that screamed Milan, his cufflinks catching the candlelight.

And at the far end, Francesca and Luca.

Francesca looked like a Donna Tartt character. Blunt bob, smudged eyeliner, a cigarette nearly lit. She wore a sheer black blouse over a vintage slip and held her wine glass like it was an accessory. Her smile was the kind that knew secrets.

Luca barely spoke. Just watched. Calculating.

And then there was Danny. 

"Harry!" Marcella called, standing with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "We were starting to think you’d eloped."

Harry rolled his eyes. “You’d know. It’d be on the news within the hour.”

There were polite laughs. The kind that had more teeth than warmth.

He pulled out her chair before taking his own. It was a subtle motion. Protective. Possessive. Deliberate. A quiet claim staked in linen and candlelight.

Francesca’s eyes sparkled.

Marcella tilted her head. “And this is…?”

Harry rested one hand on the back of her chair. "My girlfriend."

Silence.

Then—

Marcella blinked. "Girlfriend?"

Livia raised a brow. “That’s new.”

Paolo chuckled. “She’s beautiful. Young, too. You’ve been holding out on us, Castillo.”

Harry didn’t smile. Just picked up his wine.

“She’s not a secret. She’s just not your business.”

Marcella laughed, waving her hand. “You know us. We’re nosy. Besides, the wives are all dying to know. We have a betting pool.”

“Jesus,” Harry muttered, under his breath.

Francesca leaned over to her. “Don’t mind them. They’re all bored and drunk on red wine and old money.”

She smiled.

“I’m Francesca,” the woman said. “And you—are fascinating.”

The meal began.

Plates of antipasti. Olive tapenade, roasted tomatoes, shaved fennel, slices of prosciutto that melted on the tongue. Tiny burrata drizzled with balsamic. Warm focaccia with rosemary. Bowls of almonds and figs.

It was decadent without trying to be. Effortless luxury.

Harry stayed quiet for most of it. Sharp-eyed, tense-shouldered. Only relaxing slightly when she brushed her leg against his under the table. She could feel the energy buzzing off him—wary, protective, always watching.

She found herself in conversation with Francesca quickly.

Books.

They talked about books.

“I just reread The Secret History,” Francesca said, swirling her wine. “Still makes me want to commit academic murder.”

She grinned. “I always wanted to be Bunny. Not in spirit. In wardrobe.”

“Tragic prep chic.”

“Exactly.”

Harry glanced over at that. Quiet approval in his gaze.

Francesca lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around her in elegant swirls. “Who are your favorites?”

She shrugged. “Zadie Smith. Donna Tartt. Ottessa Moshfegh, but only when I’m feeling unwell. Lately I’ve been reading a lot of Didion.”

Francesca beamed. “You and I are going to get along dangerously well.”

Livia leaned in across the table. “How did you two meet?”

Harry stiffened.

She opened her mouth.

He beat her to it.

“Page Six is going to run that story in a week. Ask them.”

More laughter. More glances. More eyes like spotlights.

Marcella pressed on. “It’s just surprising, Harry. You’re not… known for romance.”

He smirked. “I’m not known for a lot of things I am.”

Paolo raised his glass. “Is she moving in?”

Harry stays silent, starting to scowl at Paolo.

“Soon?” He pushes. He keeps on fucking pushing.

Harry didn’t answer. But his hand brushed hers under the table.

Francesca spoke instead. “Let them be. Love doesn’t have a lease agreement.”

Marcella sipped her wine. “But surely it’s serious. You brought her to Italy.”

Livia leaned in again. "And what’s the age gap, if you don’t mind me asking?"

Harry’s jaw ticked.

“I do mind.”

Marcella laughed, shaking her head. “We’re just curious. You know how it is. Older men and beautiful women. It’s a tale as old as time.”

“She’s not a tale,” Harry said flatly. “She’s a person.”

That shut them up.

For a beat.

Then—

Lorenzo, quiet until now, finally spoke. “And what about Lucy?”

The table paused.

Her stomach dropped.

Harry didn’t blink. “What about her.”

Lorenzo shrugged. “Just surprised to see you here with this girl, that’s all. I'd thought you'd be reeling from shock over Lucy sending you an invitation to her wedding.”

How did he know.

How the fuck did he know?

She froze next to him.

Her hand stopped rubbing his out of comfort. 

Harry’s jaw ticked. “We haven’t RSVPed.”

Marcella’s eyebrows rose. “Wait. You were invited?”

“Apparently.”

“Wow,” Livia said. “That’s bold. Isn’t she marrying that waiter?”

“John,” Paolo supplied.

“Oh, right. The bohemian.”

“She's not my girlfriend anymore, so stop bringing her up.” Harry said. Cold. Even.

Livia raised a brow. “But she was.”

Silence.

He stared down at Livia. “She isn’t now.”

She didn’t say anything.

But her body went still.

Francesca noticed. She shifted slightly, nudging her foot against hers under the table. A quiet, unspoken solidarity.

The conversation moved on.

Sort of.

She laughed at something Francesca said about poetry readings and obscure authors who only write in lowercase.

But inside—

Something tightened.

He hadn’t told her.

About the wedding.

About the invite.

About any of it.

She smiled. She clinked her wine glass. She even leaned into his arm when dessert was served—some kind of lemon tart with burnt sugar and pistachio.

But something shifted.

Just slightly.

A hairline crack in the evening.

Not enough to break it.

Just enough to notice.

Francesca asked her if she’d read Bluets.

She nodded. “Three times.”

They talked about heartbreak. About writing through pain. About how nobody writes yearning like Nina LaCour.

Harry kept his hand on her lower back. Gentle. Present.

But she wasn’t fully there anymore.

When Harry looked down at her later—when the stars came out and the wine dulled most of the tension in the room—he noticed it too.

Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes.

He wanted to ask.

But didn’t.

Because he already knew why.

[paulalikestuff]

baby fever - pedro pascal.

---

Pedro doesn’t expect much when he knocks on your brother’s door that night—just a quiet evening, maybe a movie with you, stealing kisses while your niece dozes off. He doesn’t think twice when he lets himself in, greeting your brother’s dog, making his way down the hall.

But then he hears it.

A tiny, giggly voice belting out something off-key, followed by yours—so much sweeter, effortlessly in tune.

Pedro’s brows lift. Curious, he peeks into the living room, and the sight nearly knocks the wind out of him.

You and your niece, standing on the couch like it’s a concert stage. She’s gripping a cheap, plastic microphone with a little speaker attached, absolutely screaming some kids’ song while you crouch beside her, harmonizing with exaggerated emotion. When the song reaches its big, dramatic note, she throws an arm around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

Pedro’s heart aches.

Not the bad kind of ache, no. The full, overwhelming, what-the-hell-is-this kind.

You laugh into her hug, pressing a noisy kiss to her cheek before pulling back just enough to dramatically whisper into the mic, “One more song, superstar?”

“YES!” she shrieks.

Pedro huffs a quiet, stunned laugh, leaning against the doorframe. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything cuter in his life.

And he’s seen you every day.

You’re so good with kids. It’s not just your niece—kids have always adored you, gravitating toward you like you’ve got some secret superpower. Maybe you do. Maybe it’s the way you actually listen to them, how you talk to them like they’re people instead of tiny, sticky creatures.

And they love you for it.

Including this one, who is now aggressively trying to hand you a plastic tambourine.

“Sing, sing, sing!” she chants.

You take the tambourine with a dramatic sigh. “I don’t know, I’m getting so tired…”

“Nooo, you have to!” she whines, tugging at your arm. “One more song, pleeease!”

Pedro watches as you pretend to consider it, tapping your chin.

Then you grin. “Alright, one more. But only if we dedicate it to Uncle Pedro.”

At the mention of his name, he startles slightly, his heart already pounding from just watching you.

Your niece gasps, delighted. “He’s here?!”

Pedro barely has time to brace himself before she spots him and launches off the couch. He catches her just in time, huffing out a laugh as she clings to him.

“You came!” she cheers, like he’s a celebrity she wasn’t expecting at her show.

“Wouldn’t miss it, superstar,” he teases, ruffling her hair. Then his eyes flick to you, still sitting on the couch, looking at him with that knowing little smirk.

Oh, you know what you’re doing to him.

He clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “Heard there’s a concert going on?”

Your niece gasps. “YES! And we’re gonna do one more song just for you.”

Pedro grins, setting her down. “An honor.”

She scrambles back onto the couch, immediately picking the loudest song possible. You pat the space beside you, inviting him to sit.

He does. And then he spends the next three minutes watching his entire life flash before his eyes.

Because shit, it’s not just you and a kid singing a dumb song. It’s you, loving this tiny person, making her feel important. It’s her looking at you like you hung the moon.

And Pedro feels something shift inside him. Something that shouldn’t.

Because you’ve already talked about this.

No kids. Not ever.

It was one of the first big conversations you had in your relationship. He brought it up early, just in case, because he didn’t want to get attached if your futures weren’t aligned.

You were clear: you loved kids, adored them. You just didn’t want your own.

And that was fine.

Is fine.

Except right now, Pedro’s heart is doing something stupid, something dangerous, something that makes him feel like maybe he wants things he shouldn’t.

He swallows hard.

You notice.

You always do.

After the song ends, your niece finally starts to wind down, yawning as she curls into your side. Pedro watches as you brush her hair back, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Sleepy?” you murmur.

She nods dramatically. “But I wanna sleep with you.”

Pedro laughs, leaning in. “What, am I chopped liver?”

She giggles but doesn’t let go of you, tucking her face into your neck.

You meet Pedro’s gaze over her head, and—shit.

You know.

Of course, you do.

You hold his stare, a soft little smile playing on your lips. Then you whisper, “Help me put her to bed?”

He nods wordlessly.

Together, you tuck her in, smoothing her blankets, whispering goodnight. And when you step back into the hallway, closing her door behind you, Pedro finally lets out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

The silence lingers for a beat before you cock your head at him. “So.”

He exhales. “So.”

You cross your arms, looking way too pleased with yourself. “That was a lot of heart eyes back there, Pascal.”

He groans, rubbing his face. “Don’t.”

“I saw you,” you tease, stepping closer. “All soft and melty.”

“I was not melty.”

“Oh, you were. Don’t even try to deny it.” You press a finger to his chest, grinning. “You were sitting there, watching your entire life flash before your eyes.”

Pedro lets out a defeated laugh, tipping his head back against the wall. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

He sighs, tilting his head to look at you. “Yeah, I do.”

Your teasing expression softens. “I know.”

He tugs you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Don’t worry,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m not about to change the plan on you.”

“I know that, too,” you say, squeezing him back.

And the thing is, he won’t.

Because he meant it when he said he was fine with your decision. He still is.

It’s just…

“Just what?” you ask softly, reading his mind again.

Pedro chuckles against your temple. “It’s just really fucking beautiful to watch you like that.”

You hum, pleased. “Well, lucky for you, I have an adorable niece who thinks you’re the coolest guy ever.”

“And what about her aunt?”

“She thinks you’re alright.”

Pedro laughs, pulling back to kiss you. “Good enough for me.”

----

[paulalikestuff]

It's In The Formula

Reed Richards x Sue Storm

Summary: Reed's been working late in his lab again, consumed by an equation he can't solve. His wife Sue decides to take his mind off it for a little while.

Pairing: Reed Richards x Sue Storm (Written as they are physically portrayed, by Pedro & Vanessa)

Word Count: 4.7k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️🌶️ “You tell me I’m doing well, and then, you try to kill me.”

Warnings/Triggers: Husband & wife dynamics/loving relationship/these two are crazy for one another/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/oral, M receiving/some mild dirty talk/Sue is a little dominant/schmoozy, schmaltzy love/Sue has her powers/there's no stretching of the penis here.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ.☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

I write for me, and I share with you. If this story isn't to your taste, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: So, these two are living rent free in my head now apparently... 🫠 And I couldn't help myself to throw in a little Herbie. 🤖

MAIN MASTERLIST | REED RICHARDS MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The stew bubbles low in the pot, sending hearty ripples across the surface.

Sue stirs keenly, watching the way the goulash clings to the spoon before slipping back, folding into itself like something alive. She blows a slow, measured breath, before pressing the wooden spoon to her lips.

The taste blooms on her tongue—deep, rich, the smoky heat spreading through her mouth like a slow-moving current unfurling all its secret flavours.

A tinkering behind her. A soft, mechanical chime. Herbie stands at attention, blue light pulsing in the dimness.

The taste lingers, but it’s missing something.

"Needs more paprika," Sue mutters, tilting the spoon in thought. 

A click. A couple of beeps. Herbie extends an arm, the spice jar pinched between his metal fingers. "I anticipated this," he says, his voice smooth, clinical, yet somehow tinged with self-satisfaction.

Sue smirks as she takes it from him. "Of course you did."

She shakes the fine red dust into the pot, stirring, watching the colour deepen.

Herbie tilts his head slightly, his light glowing. "The stew’s flavour profile is now optimised to your preference, Sue. However, my calculations indicate a nine point three per cent probability that you will still add more salt, thus cancelling out the latter paprika addition."

Sue raises a brow. "And what’s the probability that I throw this spoon at you?"

A pause. The soft click of internal processing. "Significantly lower, but not impossible," Herbie concedes.

Sue lets out a low chuckle at her automatic sous chef for the evening as Herbie takes the bread out of the oven. The herby scent of rosemary seeps into her, comforting, grounding.

"You've finished setting the table?" she asks, wiping her hands down her apron.

"Plates. Forks. Napkins. Wine glasses. All in place," Herbie reports, his voice smooth and unerring.

Sue nods, satisfied. 

A quiet beep. A flicker of blue light again. Herbie lets out a low whistle.

“Where’s Reed?” She asks, noting the time.

Herbie whirs. “Reed is in the lab.” A pause. “He is working on the formula.”

Sue turns, arms folded, a knowing smile curling at her lips. "Still?"

Another pause. Another click. "Yes," Herbie confirms. “Nine hours, twenty-six minutes and thirteen seconds to be precise.”

Sue smiles softly, knowing exactly how lost Reed gets when his mind latches onto something—how the rest of the world fades away, how time becomes irrelevant, how even she can become secondary to whatever puzzle has taken hold of him.

She’s seen it before, countless times. It’s who he is, how he’s built. Reed doesn’t just think—he dives, he drowns, he becomes whatever problem he’s trying to solve.

And yet—she also knows something else.

That no equation, no theorem, no universe-bending discovery has ever unravelled him the way she can. That no matter how deep he falls into his own mathematical mind, there’s always a moment where she pulls him back, tips the scale, becomes the one variable he can never quite account for.

So she smiles, patient, indulgent, but always knowing.

“Can you put this away for me, H?” She hands Herbie an open bag of flour. 

He lifts it carefully, but he miscalculates—just enough for the bag to wobble. In an instant, it tips, and the entire contents spill out in a soft puff; a white cloud expanding outward. It envelops Herbie entirely—his smooth, metallic body now lost in a haze of flour.

"I believe," Herbie says in his calm, detached voice, "that was not ideal."

Sue shakes her head, chuckling and untying her apron. "You're lucky you're otherwise useful."

Herbie's response is immediate. "Reed says the same thing."

Sue wipes her hands once more, and adjusts the length of her sapphire dress hemmed at her knees.

"Well," she murmurs, "I'll just have to go fetch him myself."

She steps away, but pauses in the doorway. Herbie’s servos clicks softly as he approaches the pot and stirs the stew, his movements perfectly fluid, perfectly precise.

"Make sure that doesn't burn please," she instructs, voice softer now. "And clean up your mess."

"Acknowledged," Herbie replies.

Sue steps into the bathroom on the way, the faint scent of the rich stew still lingering, mixing with the humid warmth of the house.

Her reflection looks back at her—eyes a little too wide, hair a little too messy. The day clings to her but she’s far from tired. Her fingers brush against the edge of the counter, cool beneath her touch.

She reaches for a lipstick and pulls the cap off, the snap sharp and clean. She presses the worn bullet to her lips, the velvety pink sliding across the curve of her mouth in a smooth motion.

The colour blooms against her pale skin, a jolt of something sweet. She watches herself in the mirror as she applies it, parting her lips, stretching, filling in the spaces between the lines.

Her fingers move through her hair next, tugging at the strands, lifting them, letting them fall again in that careful chaos. She fluffs it—just enough—letting it frame her face, messy but intentional, full but languid.

She presses her lips together, testing the colour with her dress, the shape, smiling because she knows Reed absolutely loves this colour on her.

The smile becomes a grin. The grin of someone who’s just become aware of her own power, of the heat that blooms over her body, between each heady breath.

She straightens, one last look in the mirror. Perfect.

Stepping out into the hall, the cool air against her skin, she heads toward Reed. His lab door is ajar, the faintest sliver of light spilling into the hall.

Sue lingers for a moment, watching the shape of her broad husband through the gap. His body is poised in front of the long, slate-black chalkboards that stretch across the expanse of the room, a maze of squiggly equations, symbols clumsily twisting over themselves in a tangled logic only he understands.

Reed is full of quiet intensity—shirt sleeves creased and rolled to his elbows, collar loose and unbuttoned, tie discarded somewhere on his desk behind him. His forearms are dusted in white chalk, thick fingers twitching as he scrawls.

The chalk scrapes in hurried bursts, his mouth moving, sounding out numbers like incantations.

“No, no,” he mutters, shaking his graying head.

A sharp exhale. He crosses something out, rewrites, underlines twice and steps back, dark eyes scanning, devouring.

“The rate of change—damn it. It should—” He stops, writing something new, faster now, his shoulders tense with it. “Yes. That works. No—no, wait.” He exhales again, dragging a hand down his face, smearing chalk across his cheek. “Think, Reed, think.”

His body is taut, coiled with frustration, his mind drowning in the sums—but beneath it, she sees it. The way his fingers tighten around the chalk, the restless way he shifts his weight, the slight part of his lips as he huffs.

He hasn’t been calm for days. It clings to him—the gnawing need to solve this, to break it open and lay its insides bare. She’s watched it consume him, watched the tension creep into his spine, tighten the muscles in his jaw.

The equation has wrapped itself around his thoughts like a vice, sinking deeper, pressing harder, refusing to let go. And she knows it’s been keeping him awake at night, too.

She’s felt it in the way the bed shifts when he finally lies down, hours after her, his body still restless, his mind still turning, still churning. She’s found him exhausted, up in his pyjamas in the middle of the night, running calculations even as sleep tries to drag him under, a mind too full where there should be peace.

Sue presses her lips together, watching him now, the way his eyes flick over the board, frantic, hungry, desperate. He’s chasing something pivotal, something just beyond the reach of his genius, and she can feel it—how it’s eating at him, how it’s unraveling him piece by piece.

And she can’t have that. Not with her Reed. Not like this.

So she steps closer. Because if he won’t let it go, then she’ll make him.

“Dinner’s ready,” she says, voice smooth, lingering.

“I’ll be a minute,” he mutters, not turning to face her. Still frowning at the chalkboard as he tries to figure it all out.

Her eyes roam the tops of his shoulders and the expanse of his upper back. His intelligence has always been sexy. But his physical being does things to her.

It’s in the way his body moves, all long, lean lines—strong, but with a grace that catches her off guard every time. It’s in the way his hands, usually so steady and calculating, tremble ever so slightly when he’s lost in thought, or excited during his eureka moments.

She can see it in the subtle flex of his muscles, the way his chest rises and falls with his rapid breathing, how his shirt clings to his frame just enough to hint at the tautness of his body.

She bites her lip, unable to help herself, as her eyes devour him. She follows the lines of his neat, yet scruffy jaw, the curve of his sun-kissed neck dotted with freckles she wants to kiss all over again. She wants to be closer, wants to feel the heat of him, the weight of him crushing her.

“I made your favourite,” Sue sways, stepping fully into the lab.

“Sounds wonderful, honey.” He says, writing again.

His attention is focused, zoned in once more. His mind is locked in a cycle of problem-solving so deep, so consuming, that not even the rich scent of his favourite meal can pull him away.

So, she gets inventive.

Her fingers drift behind her, slow, unhurried, finding the small metal tab at the top of her dress. She hooks it between two fingers, pausing for a moment, just long enough to feel the anticipation bloom low in her core.

Then, she pulls the zipper down.

The metal teeth part inch by inch, exposing the warmth of her back to the cool air of the lab. The fabric slackens, sliding slightly off her shoulders.

Still, Reed doesn’t notice.

Sue exhales softly, the ghost of a delicious smirk twitching at the corners of her lips. She lets the dress slip a little lower, the neckline loosening, the fabric skimming over her collarbone, her shoulder, baring just enough skin to tantalise.

The chalk pauses—just for a fraction of a second, the smallest hitch in his movement. A hesitation. A crack in his focus. But then it resumes, his hand writing again, the problem still demanding his full attention.

Sue hums, just barely, an exasperated sound vibrating at the back of her throat.

Fine. If that’s how he wants to play it.

She takes another step forward, letting the air shift, letting him feel her presence now. Close enough that he has no choice but to register the beguiling scent of jasmine and vanilla curling around him.

For a moment, Reed is frozen. His focus stunts. His brilliant mind, so intent on its calculations, halts, diverted by the movement, the scent worming its way into his nostrils.

He glances down, just briefly, his eyes catching the dark sapphire fabric now discarded at his feet, momentarily confused.

The way his pulse jumps—just barely—when his eyes finally flick to her. For a second, he stills. The lab is dim, the glow of the encroaching night outside casting everything in blue-gray light. And there she is, standing so close to him, her naked body backlit, her breath slow, measured.

The soft edge of an amused smile plays at her lips, enough to entice a bewildered crook of his own. His grip on the chalk tightens. His throat bobs with a swallow. He exhales through his hooked nose, a poignant, yet quiet thing. His molten eyes drag over her, as if memorising every inch of her.

She smiles, as she watches him, aware of the shift in him—the sudden rupture in his focus, the avalanche of equations rolling into desire.

“I... just need—” he starts, but the words feel useless. The numbers feel different now, blurred at the edges.

Sue tilts her head coyly. “What do you need?”

She observes him like a newly discovered specimen, drinking it in, the delicious unravelling of a mind too often caught in calculations and cold logic. She knows the exact moment he loses the equation—when his eyes falter, his lip twitches under his moustache, his Adam's apple bobs, just for a fraction of a second.

It’s instinctive, involuntary, a stagger in his discipline that widens as the alluring warmth of her skin seeps into the air between them.

And he feels it, god, he feels it. That tension, that heat simmering just beneath the surface. Like something left on the stove too long.

“I, uh…” Reed swallows again, his eyes raking over her collarbone, her lips, the firm swell of her bare breasts. His fingers jerk, he wants to touch them so badly.

Sue leans in, just enough, for him to taste her breath as it brushes across his flushed cheeks.

“Do you need me to help you with something, darling?” she whispers, the words thick with intent.

Reed blinks, his heart thumping loudly in his chest, his cock straining wildly. He just stares at her, his breath coming in shallow bursts, unable to tear his gaze away.

And Sue knows exactly what this is doing to him.

“You…” he starts, but he can’t finish. He's just caught in the web she’s woven around him, unable to move, unable to look away.

Unable to think straight at all.

Her voice is low, almost a purr. “Reed,” she breathes, her voice tinged with something darker, something that slithers and hisses. “Do you want me to help you with this?” She cups his cock over his slacks, thick, throbbing.

He gasps, lips parting, pupils dilating as she massages slowly. “Oh, god…” Reed sighs, head lolling back against the chalkboard.

It feels so good, too good—the way she touches him. As though she knows exactly where to go, exactly what will make him shiver, what will make him forget everything else on the entire planet.

He closes his eyes, the urge to pull her closer, to bury himself in the wet heat of her, too overwhelming to ignore.

“You’ve been working so… hard,” she squeezes for emphasis. “Time for a break, I think.”

Slack-jawed, Reed can only nod with her, dumbfounded as she fondles his dick over his slacks that’s filling fatter with blood by the second. His balls ache profusely, they feel heavier they’ve ever felt as she teases and strokes over the swell of them, rousing him to feral levels of want.

She unbuckles his belt, zipper pulled down and reaches in, massaging slowly, up and down, up and down, around his smooth shaft.

“That feel good, hmm?”

He can only hum when she runs her thumb over the sticky, weeping slit on his head, making his legs practically buckle.

“Y-you know, these walls are p-paper thin,” Reed stutters as she pumps him.

“Then you’d better not scream too loudly,” she smirks, then she drops his slacks and crouches down.

Her tongue flicks out and strokes up the underside of his flushed head. A rosy pink that matches her lipstick almost too perfectly. He’s already squirming, his thighs shaking.

She eyes him as she licks over the tip. God, those eyes, all sultry and innocent looking as she mouths over him, tasting the salt before running her tongue down that thick, swollen shaft before teasing his balls.

“Sue,” he groans, his voice trembling under the sound of his own ragged breathing. “You’re killing me.”

The back of his head smears the chalk equations on the board behind him as he lolls against it, already feeling completely boneless before she’s even begun.

“Fuhhhhccckk…” He whines, puffing out his cheeks as she takes him into her throat.

She loves it when he gets like this—flustered. When the unshakable, hyper-focused Reed Richards, the man who can untangle the universe’s greatest mysteries, suddenly forgets how to string together a mere, coherent sentence. When the genius, the scientist, the ever-rational thinker, finds himself completely undone by the feel of her lips suctioning around the base of his dick and leaving a lipstick kiss print there.

“Honey, t-that feels so-oh, oh... good,” he hiccups, his fingers winding in her hair, his other hand white knuckling onto the ledge of the chalkboard.

It takes everything he has not to come right down her throat then and there as she sucks him deeper. Her eyes sparkle up at him, redoubling her efforts and tonguing around more of his length expertly.

He’s flabbergasted, looking down at his gorgeous wife taking him so well, pressing her nose into his groin with hollowed out cheeks, and gulping around his wet, sticky length.

She pulls off of him and grabs him by the collar, turning him so quickly that he’s seeing stars. She pushes him back against the desk as she kisses him, sucking on his bottom lip as his hands squeeze her bare ass, kneading the ripe flesh there as he tastes himself bubbling around her tongue. 

“Ah-ah,” she chastises him and reaches for his tie. “No touching, handsome.”

Groaning, his teeth sink into his lip as she winds the silk of the tie around his wrists. 

"I want to ride you." Sue states, and he rumbles out a delicious noise in agreement.

She pushes him back, laying him flat on the desk, hands above his head and restrained. All his papers are pushed off in haste, and she yanks his slacks all the way off before straddling him. 

“Let me touch you,” Reed whines, eyes fixated on the hard buds of her nipples, and he can't help but his lick his lips. “Please, honey.”

“Not yet,” she teases. Her eyes trail all over his stacked chest, his shirt revealing a thick, golden collar bone that makes her mouth water. She runs her fingers down the middle before yanking the shirt open and sending buttons scattering everywhere.

“Look at you, completely under my mercy, Reed.” Sue sighs with a triumphant smirk. “I could do anything to you right now and you couldn't do a thing to stop me.”

He nods keenly. “I'd never stop you. You can have me any way you want. Mm... shit, that feels—”

"Yes?" She grinds her slick pussy up and down his thick, veined shaft, watching as he shudders. "That feels what?"

"That feels really fucking good. Oh, you're so wet." He hisses.

“I’m going to make you feel me, all of me,” she purrs, gasping as her clit catches on his shiny head. 

She reaches down and holds his cock upright, and he can all but watch as she slides almost all the way down.

“Yes, I’ll take it,” he pants. "I'll take it all, oh god, Sue!"

“Mm. I have to work my way onto this cock,” Sue moans, “you’re so thick.”

“You like it big and thick, don’t you, honey?” Reed gulps.

Nodding, she licks her fingers, sucks them into her mouth, then swipes them over her clit. She shudders and bucks, wet squelches sound off lewdly as she rolls her hips forward.  

“Oh, just like that,” she whines, throwing her head back as she sinks further down on him. Feeling the burn of the stretch around him that always leaves her wanting more. “Mm, Reed… feels so good.” 

“Love it when you take me. Take what you need, use me. I’m yours, I'm yours.” He practically begs. 

The sounds of the desk creaking and squeaking underneath them echo around the lab. Her hips work and gyrate as she rides, back and forth making him lose his damned mind, emptying it of equations and math until he can’t think of anything else except for how good it feels when her cunt clenches around him. 

The pens inside the pen pot, that haven’t found their death on the floor yet, clatter around inside it crazily, as if caught in some frenzied, uncoordinated dance. Each tap and jostle sends them bouncing off one another, the sharp click of plastic against plastic like a staccato beat to a song only they can hear.

“Harder,” he whispers, losing himself in the wet, warm vice fluttering around his cock.

“Reed, darling. I’m so close already.” She shimmers and pulses, the effect ghostly, otherworldly.

Her invisibility isn’t complete—she lingers at the edges, the soft glow of her form flickering in and out. The air bends around her, distorting, warping, as if reality itself can’t quite decide whether to hold onto her or let her slip away entirely.

Reed sees it—sees her, even as she vanishes in pieces, the soft curve of her shoulder fading, the swell of her breasts hazing before reappearing in the low, moody light of the lab. The outline of her pink-stained lips is the last thing to go, a smirk lingering before even that melts into nothing.

Then she comes back, whole and writhing, lips parted, eyes closed as she rides him harder. 

“I’m going to... Mm, I'm gonna come,” she whimpers, her voice trembling with anticipation and excitement. “Ah, I’m going to come so hard on your cock!”

He can only take it as she starts convulsing, her small shudders making her body tense fully and her back arch.

“Oh shit, Reed! I’m coming!” She wails, her nails digging into his skin. 

“Honey, come for me!” He growls enthusiastically. 

It’s like sparks in her chest, neurons firing in rapid succession, sizzling, fizzing, lighting up her insides. It starts deep, somewhere behind her ribs, a pulse, a shudder, then spreads outward in a slow, devouring wave. A tremor that catches in the spaces between breath and bone, between thought and sensation.

It’s the iridescent shimmer on a bubble’s fragile membrane, that thin, kaleidoscopic skin reflecting impossible colours—alive, shifting, on the verge of bursting. It’s the flicker of a dying bulb, the way it flares too bright for a single, blinding moment before vanishing into darkness.

It’s the sharp, tight pull beneath her abdomen, something winding, coiling, drawing itself inward only to release again in a surge of fire and motion. It spills into her limbs, into the tips of her fingers, into the hollow of her throat. It’s the way her blood feels hotter, thicker, bubbling beneath her skin, threading through her veins like a current too strong to contain.

It’s urgency and anticipation, the weight of something inevitable pressing in from all sides. A collision before the impact, the brief, breathless pause before lightning splits the sky.

“Reed! Oh God, Reed! Don't stop! Yes!”

He continues to fuck her through her orgasm; hips bucking to meet hers, feeling himself become more and more saturated in sweat as he works her up all over again. Sending her dizzy and hungry for him, to squeal and cry out; her voice becoming hoarse as she loses her breath around her pants and moans.

“Untie me, please. I need to touch you!” He grunts. 

She reaches forward releasing him, and as soon as his hands are free, they clamp onto her hips and hold her steady. She’s beyond words now, her body wracked as her orgasm tears through her. All she can do is moan and cry out, her voice bouncing off the walls as she comes hard, soaking all over him. 

"I love watching you come," Reed puffs and grips her tighter. "More!"

It’s like his bones elongate, his body stretching, unfurling, drawn to her in a way that feels less like movement and more like inevitability. As if his very structure isn’t his own anymore, as if he was always meant to shape himself around her, fit into her perfectly.

Limbs coiling, pressing, folding them into something seamless, something whole. He imagines the way he could knot them together, weave their bodies like thread through fabric, tie them in a perfect bow—tight, unbreakable, infinite.

It isn’t just closeness, not just touch—it’s fusion. The dissolution of boundaries, the erasure of where he ends and she begins. His skin hums with it, his breath lost in hers, the lines between them blurring until there’s nothing left but heat, pressure, the soft, slow tension of something that has no intention of ever coming undone.

She’s the missing equation that completes his formula. The unaccounted variable, the flaw in his logic that doesn’t break the pattern but completes it. Reed has spent his life solving, calculating, reducing the world to numbers and sequences, mapping the universe in precise, unshakable truths. But her—she's unsolvable.

She’s the paradox he never anticipated, the theorem that refuses to be proven but still feels right, is right, in a way that numbers never could be. Without her, the equation is incomplete. The universe remains unbalanced.

With her—everything makes sense. It's in the formula.

“You’re so beautiful,” he grunts as she presses her clammy forehead to his, losing her energy as she and her orgasm part sweet ways once it floods through her and leaving her spent.

Reed wraps his muscular arms around her back, crushing her into his chest as their mouths connect. She feeds him satiated moans and he consumes them, swallowing them down whole.

She’s carved into his bones, etched deep, as if she’s always been there, part of his structure, his foundation. If someone were to break him open, split him apart like the pages of an old book, they'd find her name written in the marrow, in the spaces between each vertebra, looping through his ribs like a secret inscription.

It’s molecular.

She’s written in his DNA, coded into him at the most fundamental level, woven into the double helix that defines him. Imprinted in the blueprint of his being, as undeniable as gravity, as unshakable as the laws of physics.

She isn’t something he learned, something he chose—she’s something inherent, a constant, a fixed point in a universe of shifting variables. Without her, he would still exist, technically, but not right. Not whole.

Because she’s not just with him. She’s in him.

“Oh, Sue, honey, I’m gonna come. Shit, I’m gonna come.” Reed pants, his voice choking, barely held together anymore. Everything in his body rushes towards the end of his cock and he can't hold on.

“In my mouth. Come in my mouth.” Sue demands.

He feels her scurry down his legs, and the warmth of her mouth encases the ruddy, pulsing head of his dick just as he bursts. She groans in delight as she tastes herself around him before he spills thick and plentiful into her mouth. She savours the creamy taste of him, letting him settle on her tongue before swallowing.

She smiles up at him, dreamlike and sparkling with a satiated wonder, and he thinks this is what it must be like to meet God. If there is one. And if there isn’t? Then she’s proof that the universe doesn’t need one. Because what else could divinity be, if not this?

He reaches down and runs his thumb over her lips, a small pearly sheen of his semen coating them before she sucks his thumb into her mouth with a devilish wink and a satisfied hum.

“You’ll be the death of me.” Reed remarks with a sleepy, blissed-out grin.

“Nonsense. You're Mr Fantastic.” Her eyes dart to the smudged chalkboard, and she winces at his lost equations. “Oops.”

“Not to worry, they’re all up here,” he taps the side of his gray streaked temple. "Well, they were before I was distracted."

She climbs up his body, the soft press of her legs against his side, the desk rattling underneath them. Her hands reach up, framing his face, and his eyes close instinctively, his breath held in anticipation, caught somewhere between wanting and needing.

"A good distraction, I hope." Sue whispers.

"The very best distraction." Reed smiles.

She presses her lips to his, soft at first, a lingering kiss, coaxing him to melt into her arms where nothing else matters. Not equations. Not unanswered questions. Just the press of her lips, the soft brush of her skin against his, and the slow, undeniable pull that tugs them closer, knotting them together in a way mere physics never could.

He grunts softly as his tongue tastes hers and can’t help but squeeze her bare behind again.

“I love you,” he says, nuzzling his nose against hers.

“I love you, too,” she says, pulling away from him just enough to kiss the end of his nose. “Come on,” she giggles, her breath still warm against his skin, “Herbie’s probably burned the kitchen down by now.”

“That damned robot,” Reed chuckles. "I'll need to tinker with his chip again if he's not careful and..." His eyes catch the chalkboard from his horizontal angle on the desk, and then it clicks.

He sits bolt upright, eyes wide as Sue reaches for her dress.

He hops off the desk, in nothing but his crumpled shirt, ass cheeks flexing as he strides towards the board and rubs his fingers over some of the previous chalk lines.

He picks up a new piece of chalk and quickly finishes a few sums.

"Aha!" He cries. "I got you, you fantastic son of a bitch!" He lightly punches the chalkboard in triumph.

"I knew you'd work it out," Sue winks as Reed beams back at her with rosy cheeks.

But the smile on his face isn’t just for the android he built or the thought of his favourite stew, or for the equation he just solved after weeks and weeks of it puzzling him to no end.

No, it’s because of her, his gorgeous wife. His inspiration. His one. The love of his life.

And how, even in moments when logic and chaos collide, she always seems to find a way to make him see the equation from a completely new angle.

Thank you so much for reading and I really hope you enjoyed these two lovebirds. Please let me know your thoughts and I'd really appreciate a re-blog too. Thankies! 🖤

MAIN MASTERLIST | REED RICHARDS MASTERLIST

[paulalikestuff]

'I have zero chance of getting into a relationship in 2025.'

Defeatist, sad, boring

'I have as much chance of dating Pedro Pascal as I do dating anyone else.'

Hopefully, exciting, topical.

[paulalikestuff]

Tangled in Paradise: Chapter 3

my masterlist ~ previous chapters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Joel Miller, I do not pretend.”

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Seriously, Joel?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyebrows shot up. “What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And God, did he move.

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

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

Shit, he was sexy.

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

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

Joel ignored her, his focus entirely on you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine,” you mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you asked, eyebrows shooting up.

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

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

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

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

Just a peek, you thought.

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

Oh. My. God.

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

And then you saw his cock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then your breath caught.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you asked, your eyes widening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[paulalikestuff]

Tangled In Paradise: Chapter 2

previous chapter

my masterlist!

smut in the next chapter promise... heheheh

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

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

Joel’s arms were wrapped around you.

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

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

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

He was warm. So, so warm.

And it felt too good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had to move. You needed to move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you moved.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell just happened?

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Joel noticed everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This was going to be a long, long day.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A circle.

A letter—maybe the start of your name.

A heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

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

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

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

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

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

Joel moved closer, his strokes smooth and deliberate, until he was just inches away. Reaching out, he brushed a wet strand of hair from your face with his fingers, his touch light and careful.

“There,” he murmured, his voice low and warm, his eyes meeting yours. “Now I can see you better.”

Your cheeks heated, though the cool water around you did little to hide it. “Thanks,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joel’s grin softened into something quieter, more sincere, before he turned, treading water as his gaze drifted over the expanse of the ocean. “This is somethin’ else,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of wonder.

“It’s amazing,” you agreed, your heart still racing from more than just the swim.

He tilted his head toward you, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Did you see that one fish? The big striped one?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah. It looked like it belonged in a painting.”

Joel chuckled, his deep laugh sending ripples through the water around you. “I’m startin’ to think maybe I should stick with you. You’re good luck.”

“Oh, please,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “Pretty sure it’s the other way around.”

Joel moved closer again, his shoulder brushing yours as you floated. “Guess we’re both lucky, then.”

The weight of his words lingered in the air between you, their meaning deeper than the casual tone he’d used. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you, suspended in the gentle sway of the ocean.

“Hey!” Maria’s voice called from a few feet away, shattering the spell. “You guys coming to check out the reef, or are you just gonna float there all day?”

Joel grinned, his attention flickering briefly to Maria as she swam off before turning back to you. His grin softened into something smaller, more intimate as he moved closer, the water rippling gently around him.

“So,” he said, his voice low and warm, “what d’you think?”

“Huh?” You blinked, distracted by how close he was, his brown eyes catching the light in a way that made it hard to think straight.

“You think Tommy’s gonna do it here?” Joel asked, his lips tugging into that crooked smile you were beginning to recognize as trouble.

“Here?” you replied, wrinkling your nose slightly as you glanced around. “Hell no. It’s too wet.”

Joel’s laugh rumbled deep in his chest, his shoulders shaking slightly as he tilted his head back. “Too wet, huh? That’s your expert analysis?”

You rolled your eyes, though a grin tugged at your lips. “What? It’s not romantic if you’re dripping saltwater all over someone during a proposal.”

“Guess you’ve got a point,” Joel drawled, his eyes narrowing playfully. He leaned in just slightly, the space between you shrinking. “Still think you’re gonna lose our bet, though.”

You raised an eyebrow, your pulse quickening as his words lingered in the air. “You underestimate me, Miller.”

“Do I now?” His voice dipped, teasing but softer, his gaze locking with yours.

The warmth of his nearness, the way the water seemed to hold you both in a weightless bubble, made it hard to respond. Before you could think of a clever comeback, Tommy’s voice cut through the moment.

“Joel!” Tommy called, his tone carrying over the gentle sound of the waves.

Joel blinked, the spell between you breaking as he turned toward his brother. “C’mon!” Tommy shouted, gesturing toward the reef where Maria was already pointing excitedly at something underwater.

Joel turned back to you with a soft sigh, his grin returning as he treaded water. “Guess I’m bein’ summoned.”

“Better go, Miller,” you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

He paused for half a second longer, his eyes flicking over your face as if trying to memorize something. Then he nodded, a teasing light back in his gaze. “Don’t fall too far behind.”

With that, he pushed off the water, his strong strokes propelling him toward Tommy and Maria. You watched him go, your heart still racing in your chest, the weight of his words and the closeness of his presence lingering in the space he left behind.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The sun hung high in the sky, its golden warmth wrapping around you as the canoe gently rocked over the glittering water. The rhythmic sound of Joel’s paddle slicing through the waves filled the air, steady and uncomplaining.

You had given up paddling long ago, letting your oar rest across your lap as you leaned back slightly, soaking in the breeze and the ocean’s soft lull. Part of you expected Joel to tease you, to make some snarky comment about how you were letting him do all the work, but he hadn’t said a word.

No complaints, no jokes. Just the quiet strength of him paddling, propelling the canoe forward with ease.

You cracked an eye open and turned your head slightly to glance at him. He was focused, his brow furrowed in concentration, the muscles in his arms and shoulders flexing with each stroke. You wished you could see more, the way his body worked with the motion, but the angle of the canoe kept it out of view.

With a soft sigh, you let your eyes close again, the warmth of the sun and the gentle sway of the canoe lulling you into a drowsy haze.

“You tired?” Joel’s voice broke through the quiet, low and gentle.

“A little,” you admitted, cracking one eye open again to meet his gaze.

You hesitated, feeling a twinge of guilt. “Sorry for not helping,” you murmured, your voice soft. “My arms feel like they’re gonna fall off.”

Joel’s grin softened into something warmer, and he shook his head. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for. I gotcha.”

The steadiness in his voice, the way he said it so simply, made your chest ache in a way you didn’t quite understand.

“I mean it,” he continued, his gaze flicking briefly toward you before returning to the horizon. “You did good out there. Deserve a little break.”

You bit your lip, the unexpected sweetness of his words leaving you momentarily speechless. “Thanks, Joel,” you said quietly, your voice almost lost in the sound of the waves.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

As the canoe bumped gently against the shore, Joel hopped out first, his feet sinking into the warm sand as he steadied the vessel. Without a word, he turned back to you, extending a hand.

“C’mon,” he said, his voice soft but firm, the sun catching the faintest sheen on his tanned skin.

You placed your hand in his, and he helped you step out carefully, his grip steady and sure. His other hand hovered near your waist, ready to catch you if needed. Once you were firmly on the ground, he let go, but only long enough to reach for the clasp of your life vest.

“Hold still,” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your shoulder as he unfastened the straps. It was effortless, as though it was a role he’d naturally assumed—quietly taking care of you without needing to be asked.

The thought sent a strange flutter through your chest, and for a moment, your brain slipped. You wondered—just for a second—if this was what it would feel like to actually date Joel. To have him by your side, steady and dependable, with those fleeting touches and that easy charm that always seemed to catch you off guard.

You shook the thought away quickly, biting the inside of your cheek. Get a grip. You’re just really, really lonely.

Kai’s voice brought you back to the present. “How was it, my beautiful couples?” he asked, standing from where he’d been lounging on the sand.

“It was amazing, Kai,” Joel said, stepping forward and returning the smile as he handed over the paddles.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, Joel,” Kai said, nodding approvingly.

Before you could excuse yourselves, Kai tilted his head and smiled. “Now,” he added, “would you two like a photo together?”

“Oh, you don’t need to—” you began, waving it off.

“We’d love that,” Joel cut in smoothly, pulling his phone from his pocket and handing it to Kai.

You glanced at him, your cheeks warming, but before you could protest further, Joel stepped closer, his hand finding its way to your waist as if it belonged there.

“Alright,” Kai said, holding the phone up. “Three, two, one—Hawaii!”

You managed a smile, though you couldn’t help noticing how natural Joel’s arm felt around you, the weight of his hand grounding and oddly comforting. As the shutter clicked, you glanced up, only to catch Joel looking down at you instead of the camera, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners with the hint of a grin.

Kai passed the phone back, nodding in approval. “You two make a very beautiful couple,” he said earnestly.

“Thanks, Kai,” Joel replied smoothly, his tone casual but warm.

You, however, were less composed. “Uh, thanks,” you murmured, feeling the heat creeping up your neck as you avoided Joel’s gaze.

The two of you leaned in to look at the photo, and your stomach flipped at the sight. Kai had captured the perfect moment: Joel’s arm around your waist, his head tilted slightly toward yours, the both of you glowing against the backdrop of the sparkling ocean.

It wasn’t just a good picture. You did look like a couple—a beautiful one. The realization hit you like a wave, and for a second, you wondered if Joel was thinking the same thing.

But before you could say anything, Joel’s voice broke the quiet. “Not bad,” he said, his tone light as he nudged your shoulder gently. “Might be my new favorite photo.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

And as you walked back toward the resort together, his hand brushing against yours just enough to make your heart skip, you couldn’t help but wonder if Kai’s words had struck a chord in both of you.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

Joel hummed beside you as he carried your things, his steps easy and unhurried, like the weight in his hands didn’t bother him at all. The sound of his voice—a low, rhythmic hum—mingled with the ocean breeze, setting an oddly calming pace to your walk back to the hotel.

“What you gonna do now?” he asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

Maria and Tommy had peeled off, deciding to check out the local markets, leaving the two of you with no agenda for the afternoon.

You lifted a hand to shield your eyes from the sun, the heat making everything shimmer. When your gaze met Joel’s, you noticed the way his brown eyes glinted in the light, warm and inviting, as they always seemed to be.

“Hmm,” you mused, drawing out the sound as if you were deciding right there on the spot. “I was thinking about lying by the pool. Maybe tanning, reading a book...” You glanced at him, trying to gauge his reaction. “What about you?”

Joel grinned, his free hand tucking casually into the pocket of his shorts. “Oh, you know, might hit the gym, grab a drink at the bar...”

Your chest dipped slightly at the answer, disappointment creeping in before you could push it away. “Oh,” you murmured, dropping your gaze to the ground. “Okay.”

Joel’s chuckle pulled you back. He nudged your shoulder with his own, the gentle touch a small spark against the heaviness of your thoughts. “I’m jokin’,” he said, his grin softening into something warmer. “I’ll come with you—if that’s alright.”

The pang of disappointment evaporated, replaced with a warmth that spread through your chest. You gave him a small smile. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Alright, then,” he said with a shrug, his grin widening just enough to make your heart skip.

When you reached the pool area, the sight before you was nothing short of breathtaking. The infinity pool stretched out like glass, its edge merging seamlessly with the endless turquoise ocean beyond.

Lounge chairs lined the perimeter, neatly arranged under gently swaying palm trees, their shadows swiping lazily across the stone. The faint sounds of waves crashing in the distance mixed with the chatter and laughter of other vacationers, creating a soft, serene buzz.

You picked a pair of loungers near the edge, the view too stunning to resist. Settling onto one, you adjusted the straps of your swimsuit, feeling the sun warm your skin as you leaned back. Joel took the chair beside you, sprawling out with an ease that made you almost envious.

For a blissful moment, everything felt perfect.

Then your stomach betrayed you.

A loud, unmistakable growl broke the silence, echoing louder than it had any right to. Your eyes widened in mortification as you sat up slightly, adjusting your sunglasses in an attempt to hide the heat creeping up your neck.

Joel turned his head toward you, his brow lifting in amusement. “Shit, darlin’, you hungry?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. But your stomach growled again, as if determined to betray you.

Joel chuckled, a low, warm sound that rumbled in his chest as he sat up. He reached for his wallet from the side of his lounger, flipping it open with ease. “Tell that to the noise that just escaped ya.”

“Joel,” you groaned, tugging your sunglasses down slightly to glare at him.

“What?” he teased, leaning over to grab a menu resting nearby. “What’re you in the mood for?”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at him through the lenses of your sunglasses. “What do you wanna eat?”

He shook his head, his grin widening. “Nuh-uh. Your choice, roomie. They’ve got all kinds of stuff.” He scanned the menu, his finger trailing down the list. “Fish and chips, calamari... nachos.”

Your eyebrows perked up at the mention of nachos, and Joel caught it instantly.

“Nachos it is,” he said, closing the menu and standing up in one fluid motion.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said quickly, your voice softer now.

Joel leaned down slightly, his eyes catching yours over the edge of your sunglasses. His voice dipped, warm and steady. “Hey,” he said, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips. “Sit. Relax. Let me take care of it.”

And before you could argue further, he was off, striding toward the poolside café with a confidence that made it impossible not to watch him go.

You sank back into the lounger, letting out a soft breath as you adjusted your sunglasses. The sun was warm, the pool glittered like something out of a dream, and Joel was, well... Joel.

You couldn’t help but watch him as he walked toward the café, the sun glinting off his tanned skin, the slight roll of his shoulders with each step. There was something so effortlessly commanding about him—the way his muscles flexed, the easy grin he flashed to the staff, the way people around him seemed to light up as if his presence was a gift.

He was... perfect.

Your thoughts spiraled for a moment. How was this man single? There had to be a catch. Maybe he was secretly toxic. He had to be—someone this gorgeous, this charming, couldn’t possibly be real without some glaring flaw.

You sighed, shaking your head as if to physically rid yourself of the thoughts. But before you could dwell any longer, Joel was making his way back, balancing a large plate of nachos in one hand, a pink lemonade and a beer in the other.

The nachos were a masterpiece: a mountain of golden chips piled high with melted cheese, fresh guacamole, tangy salsa, sour cream, and a generous drizzle of jalapeño slices scattered across the top. The colors were vibrant, the steam rising faintly from the plate as Joel set it down on the small table between your loungers.

“Here we are,” he said casually, settling into the chair beside you and taking a swig of his beer, the condensation from the bottle leaving a faint sheen on his fingertips.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the food. “Oh my god, Joel. This looks so good.” You looked up at him, your voice softer now. “You seriously didn’t have to do this.”

Joel shrugged, leaning back in his chair as he rested the beer against his knee. “No big deal,” he said, his drawl warm and easy. “Can’t have ya starving on me, now, can I?”

You gave him a small, grateful smile before reaching for a chip, loaded with cheese and guac. The first bite was heavenly, the flavors bursting across your tongue.

Joel watched you with a quiet smile, his gaze soft as you hummed in approval. “Good?” he asked.

“So good,” you managed between bites, savoring the combination of salty, creamy, and tangy.

Joel chuckled, his laugh low and warm. He took another sip of his beer, leaning forward slightly. “So,” he said, his tone shifting into something lighter but curious, “tell me more about you.”

You blinked, glancing at him as you wiped your fingers on a napkin. “What do you mean?”

Joel tilted his head, his brown eyes crinkling at the corners with his grin. “I mean, I’m sharin’ a bed with you for a week, and I don’t even know your last name. Feels a little backwards, don’t ya think?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “Alright, fair point. What do you wanna know?”

“Everything,” he said simply, his grin fading into something softer. “Start with the basics. Where’re you from? What do you do? Why’d you say yes to this trip?”

You hesitated for a moment, taken aback by how genuine he sounded. Most people didn’t actually care when they asked questions like that, but Joel’s gaze was steady, curious, like he really wanted to know.

“Well,” you began, settling back in your chair. “I’m from a small town—like, really small. The kind where everyone knows everyone and nothing exciting ever happens.”

Joel nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “Yeah? What’s that like?”

“Comfortable,” you admitted. “But also... stifling, sometimes. You grow up wanting to see more, do more. So I moved for college, and I’ve stayed in the city ever since.”

Joel hummed, swirling his beer in his hand as he leaned back. “Makes sense. So, what do you do now?”

You smiled, feeling a little shy under his steady gaze. “I work in marketing. It’s not the most exciting thing in the world, but I like it. I like the creativity of it, I guess.”

“That’s somethin’,” Joel said, his voice thoughtful. “Creativity’s important. Bet you’re good at it.”

You blushed, ducking your head slightly. “What about you?”

“Me?” Joel shrugged, his grin returning. “Construction, mostly. It’s hard work, but I like it. Buildin’ somethin’ from the ground up, seein’ the results. Feels good.”

You nodded, your gaze drifting to his hands—strong, calloused, capable. It suited him.

“And this trip?” he asked, his voice pulling you back. “Why’d you say yes?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “Honestly? Maria begged. And I figured... why not? New Year’s in Hawaii sounded better than sitting on my couch with a bottle of wine and Netflix.”

Joel’s grin widened. “Yeah? Glad you came?”

You glanced at him, the warmth in his eyes making your chest tighten. “Yeah,” you said softly, almost to yourself. “I think I am.”

Joel nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he reached for a chip. “Good,” he said, his tone easy but laced with something deeper. “Would’ve been a shame if I came all this way and didn’t meet you.”

Your heart stuttered, but Joel just leaned back, popping the chip into his mouth as if he hadn’t just said something that turned your world on its head.

“So, huh,” Joel began, his voice teasing as he leaned back in his chair, one hand lazily holding his beer. “Wine and Netflix, huh?”

You laughed softly, pushing your sunglasses up onto your head. “I know. It’s sad.”

Joel shook his head, his lips curving into a lopsided grin. “Not sad. Just... surprised, I guess.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, tilting your head at him.

Joel shrugged, taking another sip of his beer. “Figured someone like you—smart, funny, beautiful—would have somethin’ a little more exciting lined up for New Year’s Eve.”

You blinked, his compliment catching you off guard. Heat crept up your neck, but you tried to play it cool. “Well,” you said, fiddling with the edge of your napkin, “I’m not exactly the club-and-kiss-a-random-stranger-at-midnight type.”

“Right,” Joel said, nodding slowly, as if that explanation made perfect sense. His brown eyes lingered on you for a beat too long before he added, “No one waitin’ for you back home, then?”

You hesitated, just long enough for him to notice. “Well, there’s someone...” you started, glancing at him.

Joel froze mid-motion, a loaded nacho hovering just shy of his lips. His face fell ever so slightly, but he recovered quickly, brushing a crumb off his shorts in what you could only describe as a casual panic.

“Oh,” he said, feigning nonchalance. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Girl,” you corrected, your voice light but deliberate, watching as his brow furrowed slightly. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, the flicker of confusion that followed.

“Girl?” he repeated slowly, leaning back in his chair. For a moment, he seemed to falter, his lips parting like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how. Was he reading this all wrong? Were you—

“Mimi,” you said, your lips quirking upward into a grin. “My cat. She’s waiting for me back home.”

Joel blinked, the realization dawning slowly before he groaned, his head falling back against the lounge chair. His hand scrubbed over his face as he muttered, “You’re somethin’ else.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and genuine. “Well,” you teased, crossing one leg over the other as you leaned back, “how about you? I’m sure there’s plenty of ladies dying for a handyman like you.”

Joel’s lips quirked into a crooked grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. He shrugged, the movement slow and deliberate. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I mean... I want the whole thing, y’know? Wife, kids, family... dog—or cat,” he added quickly, his gaze flicking to you with a playful glint.

You smiled, your chest tightening at the earnestness in his words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said, his tone softening as he looked out at the infinity pool, the water reflecting the golden light of the sun. “But I just... never really met anyone I could imagine that with. Someone who made it feel... right.”

You nodded slowly, your hand wrapping around your glass as you thought about his words. “I get that,” you said, your voice just as quiet. “It’s not easy, finding someone who fits.”

Joel turned his head to look at you, his brown eyes warm and searching. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Exactly.”

For a moment, the air between you felt lighter, Joel’s grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright,” he said, his voice warm and playful, “lemme see some pictures of this famous Mimi.”

“Really?” you asked, perking up instantly as you set your drink down and grabbed your phone. “She’s the cutest, Joel. I swear.”

His grin widened, boyishly charming, as he gestured for you to hurry. “C’mon, show me. Prove she’s worth all the hype.”

You unlocked your phone and began scrolling through your photo album, your excitement bubbling over. “Okay, okay—here she is, napping on my bed.” You held up the screen to show a photo of Mimi sprawled out on her back, all fluffy fur and tiny paws in the air. “Tell me that’s not the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.”

Joel tilted his head, squinting at the photo like he was studying it carefully. “Alright, she’s cute,” he admitted, nodding. “Kinda got that ‘queen of the castle’ vibe, though.”

“She is the queen,” you said, laughing. “I basically live in her house, not the other way around.”

He leaned closer, resting his chin in his hand, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “Lemme see more.”

You swiped to the next picture. “Oh, this one’s from Halloween, I dressed her up as a pumpkin.” You burst out laughing, showing him a photo of Mimi looking unimpressed in her bright orange costume, one paw sticking out awkwardly. “She hated it.”

Joel let out a laugh, throwing his head back slightly before shaking it in disbelief. “A pumpkin? Poor girl looks like she’s plannin’ an escape.”

“She was so mad,” you said through your laughter, scrolling to another. “But she got over it after I gave her some treats.”

He reached out to gently take the phone, his thumb brushing yours in the process. He studied the picture, his grin turning into a full smile. “She’s got that ‘why do I put up with you’ face. Kinda reminds me of someone.” His eyes flicked up to meet yours, teasing.

“Ha, ha,” you said, snatching the phone back, though the corners of your mouth betrayed you with a grin. “She’s the best. I don’t care what you say.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the golden light of the sun catching in his eyes as he tilted his head, a smirk playing on his lips. He crossed his arms loosely over his chest, looking so effortlessly charming it made your stomach flip. He took a slow swig of his beer, his gaze lingering on you.

“Well,” he drawled, the word lazy and teasing as it hung in the air. “She’s definitely a cute cat.” He paused, his lips twitching like he was holding back a grin. “Takes after her mother.”

Your heart stuttered at his words, the way he said it so casually yet with a warmth that felt like a soft caress. You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the heat creeping up your neck.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep until Joel’s voice pulled you back into reality. It was low and soft, with just a hint of that Texan drawl, like a tether pulling you gently from your dream.

“Shit,” he murmured, his phone in his hand as he swiped at the screen. “Hang on.”

You cracked one eye open to see him putting the call on speaker.

“Joel, where the hell are you guys?” Tommy’s voice rang out, exasperated. “You’re gonna be late to the massage thing, and Maria’s about to freak.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, unfazed. “Relax, Tommy,” he drawled. “We’re by the pool. We’ll be there in five.”

There was a dramatic sigh on the other end of the line. “Alright, fine. Just hurry up,” Tommy said before hanging up.

Joel chuckled, slipping his phone back into his pocket. He turned to you, leaning over slightly to poke your arm. “Hey, sleepyhead.”

You blinked, sitting up slowly as the sun’s warmth wrapped around you. “Hey,” you murmured, your voice still groggy. “I forgot about that massage thing.”

Joel shrugged, his gaze steady on yours. “We don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” he said, his tone softer now. “We can stay here, or you can take a nap back in the room ’til dinner.”

The unexpected sweetness of his offer made your chest tighten. Joel, with his teasing and his smirks, had a quiet way of surprising you. When he wasn’t being a massive pain in the ass, he was... well, kind of amazing.

You shook your head, brushing away the thought. “No,” you said, sitting up straighter and adjusting your sunglasses. “We should go. Maria will revoke bridesmaid duty if I flake.”

Joel chuckled, standing and offering you a hand to help you up. “Well, look at that,” he said, his grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Me, the best man. You, the bridesmaid. Perfect little team, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, letting him pull you to your feet. “Alright, Miller,” you said, adjusting your towel as you smirked up at him. “Keep it moving before Maria comes down here and drags us both to the spa.”

Joel laughed, the sound deep and warm as he grabbed his things. “Whatever you say, boss.”

As the two of you walked back toward the hotel, his shoulder brushing against yours every so often, you couldn’t help but feel that Joel had a way of making even the smallest moments feel like something more.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The couples massage was located on the hotel’s lower level, tucked away behind a serene courtyard surrounded by lush greenery and gently trickling fountains. The space was dimly lit with warm, golden light, and the air smelled faintly of lavender and eucalyptus.

Soft instrumental music played in the background, a mix of delicate piano notes and ocean waves, designed to lull anyone into relaxation. The atmosphere was undeniably tranquil, though the idea of “intimacy workshops” had you teetering on the edge of amusement.

You sat cross-legged on a plush mat, the fabric cool against your skin as you tried—and failed—to maintain a serene expression. Joel sat beside you, his broad frame and long limbs making him look out of place. To your other side, Maria and Tommy were already fully immersed, Maria’s posture perfect and Tommy nodding earnestly along with the instructor’s every word.

“Hello, couples,” the instructor began, her voice smooth and calming, though there was a distinct theatrical quality to it. “My name is Linda, and I’ll be guiding you through today’s couples massage and connection experience.”

You shot Joel a quick glance, and his eyebrow quirked ever so slightly. He didn’t say anything, but the subtle twitch at the corner of his mouth spoke volumes.

Linda continued, her tone dipping lower as if she were sharing a secret. “Before we begin, I’d like us to take a few moments to breathe and connect. This exercise will ground you before embarking on this intimate experience with your partner—an experience even more profound and vulnerable than sexual encounters.”

Joel shifted beside you, leaning just close enough that you could hear him mutter under his breath, “Oh, this’ll be good.”

Your lips twitched, and you bit down on a laugh as Linda began a series of deep breathing instructions. You could feel Joel’s eyes on you, though you refused to look at him, knowing you’d lose it completely if you did.

“Now,” Linda said, her hands clasped reverently in front of her. “I’d like you to turn and face your partner.”

You shifted on the mat to face Joel, your knees brushing his as you settled in. His brown eyes met yours, warm but slightly hesitant, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to make of this.

“Next,” the instructor continued, her voice almost hypnotic, “place your palm against your partner’s chest.” She demonstrated the motion, and you watched as Tommy and Maria eagerly mirrored her, their hands pressed against each other’s hearts, smiling like they were in a rom-com.

Joel hesitated, his hand hovering slightly as he glanced at you. “We don’t have to,” he said quietly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“It’s okay,” you assured him, offering a small smile.

You placed your palm on his chest, the warmth of his skin beneath your hand sending an unexpected shiver through you. Joel’s breath hitched just slightly before he placed his hand on your chest. His movements were careful and deliberate as he tried—unsuccessfully—to avoid brushing against your breasts.

“Perfect,” the instructor cooed. “Just like that.”

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh at how absurdly intimate this was for two people who weren’t actually a couple.

“Now,” the instructor continued, her voice dipping even lower, “I want you to look your partner in the eyes. Really look at them. And I want you to tell them one thing you love about them.”

You couldn’t help it—you let out a quiet laugh, glancing down briefly before meeting Joel’s gaze again.

“You or me first?” he asked, his lips curving into a small smile that softened the tension in his jaw.

“You first,” you said, your voice light but steady, as if daring him to make it through without cracking a joke.

Joel chuckled softly and glanced down briefly, like he was gathering his thoughts, before his eyes lifted to meet yours again. This time, they were softer, more serious, and the weight of his gaze made your chest tighten.

“I love…” he started, his voice a little quieter now, “how passionate you are about the things you love.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the sincerity in his tone cutting through the playful air between you.

Joel smiled faintly, “It’s... somethin’ special. You’re somethin’ special.”

You blinked, your heart doing an unsteady flip as his words settled over you. For a moment, you forgot you were in a room full of people. Forgot about the absurdity of the exercise, the spa robes, the instructor’s soothing voice.

The instructor’s voice broke the moment. “Now, let’s hear from the other partner.”

You cleared your throat softly, trying to steady yourself as Joel’s lips quirked up in that signature lopsided grin. “Your turn,” he teased, his voice lighter now but no less warm.

You took a deep breath, letting your fingers press just slightly against his chest as you looked him in the eye. “I love…” you began, your voice soft, “how steady you are. How you just... take care of people without even thinking about it.”

Joel’s grin faded into something gentler, his eyes searching yours.

“And I love,” you continued, a small, nervous laugh escaping, “how you manage to make me feel like everything’s going to be okay, even when we're doing stupid shit like this.”

Joel’s smile returned, but this time, it didn’t have the teasing edge you were used to. It was softer, quieter, and it lingered in a way that made your chest ache.

“Alright,” the instructor said, breaking the spell. “Beautiful work, everyone. Let’s move on to the next step.”

Joel’s hand fell away from yours, but not before his thumb brushed against your skin one last time, sending a small spark up your arm.

As the instructor continued with her directions, Joel leaned in slightly, his voice a low murmur just for you. “Guess I was right,” he said.

“About what?” you whispered back, your brow furrowing.

His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned. “We do make a pretty good team.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You sat perched on the massage bed, your legs dangling slightly, the fabric of the soft robe brushing against your knees as you glanced toward Joel. He stood a few feet away, his broad shoulders stiff, his hands tucked into the pockets of his robe as if grounding himself.

Linda’s cheerful knock interrupted the silence, and she stepped into the room, her warm smile as calm and collected as ever.

“Hello, my couple,” she greeted, her hands clasped together. “You two said some lovely things during our meditation earlier. Truly heartwarming.”

You exchanged a quick glance with Joel, a small, nervous smile tugging at your lips. His mouth curved into something similar, but there was a tension in his jaw that betrayed him.

“Now,” Linda continued, her tone dipping into something softer, almost reverent, “I won’t be here while you massage each other. As I mentioned, this is an intimate, spiritually sexual experience—something meant to connect the two of you without distraction.”

Joel shifted slightly, his weight moving from one foot to the other, but his expression remained impassive.

“But,” Linda added, her gaze flicking to you, “I will give you some instructions before I leave.”

“So, you, darling,” she said, gesturing toward you, “will go first. Once I leave, you will remove your robe so that you are completely naked.”

The words hung in the air like a grenade. Joel choked on his own breath, a sharp cough escaping as his hand flew to his mouth.

You shot him a look—part exasperation, part mortification—but his ears were already tinged red, and he avoided your gaze like it might burn him.

Linda, blissfully unaware of the chaos she’d just unleashed, continued smoothly, her attention now shifting to Joel. “And you, sir, will dip your hands into our coconut oil, freshly made right here at the hotel.”

Joel’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze firmly fixed on the bottle of oil on the table as though it might offer him salvation.

“You’ll slowly rub the oil over your lover’s body,” Linda explained, her tone so serene it almost felt cruel. “Take your time, connect with her energy, and once you’re done, she will do the same for you.”

The air in the room felt like it had been sucked out entirely, replaced with something heavy and stifling.

Linda clasped her hands together once more, her smile bright. “Any questions?”

“No,” you and Joel said in unison, your voices flat and clipped, as if any further elaboration might tip you both over the edge.

“Wonderful,” she beamed. “Enjoy.”

And with that, she swept out of the room, leaving the door to click softly shut behind her.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Joel shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes darting to everything in the room except you. You stood from the chair, crossing your arms over your chest as you took a shaky breath.

“Well,” you said finally, your voice breaking the tension. “That was... thorough.”

Joel snorted softly, the sound low and nervous. “Yeah. Thorough’s one word for it.”

You bit your lip, glancing at the table where the coconut oil sat, the small bottle practically mocking you. “We don’t have to do this,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out. “If it’s too weird, we can just... tell Maria it was great and skip the whole thing.”

Joel shook his head, his hands falling to his hips as he finally looked at you. “No, no. It’s fine. I mean...” He hesitated, his lips twitching into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “If you’re okay with it.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the way he always seemed to check on you first, even when he was just as thrown off. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “I’m okay with it.”

Joel nodded slowly, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Alright, then.”

You hesitated, biting your lip as you glanced at your bag in the corner of the room. “Um,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll just... put my bikini back on, if that’s okay?”

Joel’s head snapped up, and he nodded quickly, turning around so his back was to you. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little rough. “That’s fine. Take your time.” He closed his eyes for good measure, his broad shoulders stiff as he stood there, hands shoved into the pockets of his robe.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” he added, the words coming out quieter than intended.

“Okay,” you murmured, slipping out of the robe and pulling your bikini from the bag. The fabric felt even smaller now, the strings tangling briefly as your hands trembled, but you managed to tie it securely before lowering yourself onto the massage bed.

“Alright,” you said, your voice steadying. “I’m ready.”

Joel turned around, and for a moment, he just stood there, his breath catching in his throat.

You were lying on your stomach, your head resting in the cradle of the massage bed, the curve of your back dipping perfectly into the arch of your hips.

The tiny bikini left little to the imagination, the soft lines of your body glowing under the warm light of the room. Your legs stretched out, bare and inviting, the faint sheen of the day’s sun still clinging to your skin.

“Christ,” Joel muttered under his breath, the sound barely audible but heavy with something unspoken.

The scrape of the oil bottle against the table broke the silence, and you turned your head slightly, your voice hesitant. “If it’s weird, Joel... we don’t have to do this.”

“No,” he said quickly, already pouring the oil into his hands. The scent of coconut filled the room, warm and heady. He rubbed his hands together, his palms slick and shiny, before stepping closer to you. “You deserve to feel good,” he murmured, his voice dipping lower. “Lemme take care of you.”

“Okay,” you whispered, your body sinking into the bed as his words wrapped around you.

Joel hesitated for just a moment, his hands hovering above your shoulders, the heat of them palpable even before they touched your skin. When his palms finally met your back, you let out a small, involuntary sigh, the tension in your shoulders melting under his firm, deliberate touch.

His fingers pressed gently into your skin, moving in slow, steady circles as the oil warmed beneath his hands. The strokes were careful at first, almost tentative, but as he worked his way down the length of your spine, he grew bolder, his touch firm but never rough.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely breaking the quiet.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your eyes closing as you let yourself relax. “Feels good.”

Joel’s hands moved lower, tracing the dip of your waist before pausing just above your hips. He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to keep his focus on the massage and not the way your body responded to his touch.

“You’re all tense here,” he said, his thumbs pressing gently into the muscles at your lower back.

You let out a quiet laugh, muffled by the chair. “Probably from carrying Maria’s bags all day.”

Joel chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Yeah, well, remind me to give her a hard time about that later.”

As he worked his way down to your legs, his hands slowed again, his touch almost reverent. His fingers glided over the curve of your thigh, his grip steady but light enough to send a shiver through you.

“You okay?” he asked again, his voice softer now, like a tender whisper in the space between you.

“Mm-hmm,” you hummed, the word slipping from your lips as your breath hitched, caught somewhere between a sigh and a smile. His hands were moving lower now, fingertips brushing over the length of your calves, the pressure just right—enough to soothe, to make you feel weightless, like you were melting into the touch.

You sighed softly, the tension in your muscles melting away as his hands moved upward, past the curve of your thighs. His touch slowed as he reached the soft curve of your ass, his palms hesitating, hovering just above your skin. His fingers trembled ever so slightly, a crack in his otherwise steady confidence.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your voice muffled by the towel but still soft, reassuring. “You can touch me.”

Joel didn’t answer. Instead, you felt the pause in his movements, the faint hitch in his breath. A beat later, he nodded—not that you could see it, but the gesture was almost palpable in the quiet room. Then his hands resumed their work, more deliberate now, his touch gaining confidence as he warmed the coconut oil between his fingers before pressing it into your skin.

His hands kneaded gently, working against the plush curve of your ass with a focus that had your breath catching. The oil slicked his palms, his thumbs pressing in circles that left heat blooming across your skin.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low and thick, carrying a rasp that gave away his attempt to stay composed.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, a soft sound of affirmation as you melted further into the table. The feeling of his touch was too good to put into words, his hands coaxing every ounce of tension from your body.

Joel’s throat cleared, the sound subtle but unmistakable. Even without seeing his face, you could tell—he was flustered. The confidence in his hands was undeniable, but it wasn’t unaffected. “You’re, uh… good at this,” you murmured, your voice soft, carrying that teasing lilt he always seemed to draw out of you.

Joel chuckled, a low, almost sheepish sound. “Yeah, well... I’ve had my fair share of massages,” he replied, though there was something strained in his voice, a crack in his usual charm.

“Course you have,” you replied, a soft laugh muffled by the towel beneath your cheek.

Joel’s hands stilled for a beat, the faintest hesitation in his movements before he gave you a light tap on the curve of your ass—a gentle, playful signal he was done. He stepped back, wiping his hands on the towel with deliberate slowness. “Alright,” he said, his voice finding its usual teasing edge. “That’ll be forty bucks.”

You sat up, the warmth from his hands still lingering on your skin as you gave him a mock glare. “Wow, Miller. You drive a hard bargain.”

Joel shrugged, though you didn’t miss how his face had reddened—not from the sun this time. He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding interest in the corner of the room.

“Well,” Joel muttered after a pause, his voice a little rougher, “Linda wasn’t wrong. This... this is a helluva lot more intimate than I was expectin’.”

You smirked, shaking your head as you adjusted your robe. “It is meant for couples, Joel.”

His laugh was quiet, but it carried that boyish charm that made your chest ache in ways you couldn’t explain. “Yeah, I guess it is,” he admitted, his hand gripping the towel tightly as if grounding himself.

You tilted your head, catching the edge of his silhouette as he stood to the side. “Your turn?” you asked, your voice tinged with challenge, even as your breath hitched.

Joel exhaled, the sound coming out heavier than usual. “Yeah,” he said, though his voice was laced with something deeper, something just shy of restraint. But as he reached to shrug off his robe, the sharp sound of his phone ringing shattered the moment, slicing through the serene atmosphere like a knife.

“Shit,” Joel muttered, his brows furrowing as he glanced at the phone like it was a personal betrayal.

“You brought your phone into our romantic couples massage?” you teased, raising a brow even as you fought back a grin.

Joel groaned, shaking his head in apology as he read the screen. “It’s work,” he said, apologetically. “I’ll be right back, alright?” His gaze lingered, even though you weren’t looking directly at him, his concern evident in the warmth of his tone. “You okay in here?”

You nodded, adjusting your robe as you lay back down. “I’ll manage,” you smiled.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of blissful indulgence. After the massages, you’d all retreated back to the suite, letting the warm, languid haze of relaxation linger as you lounged until dinner. That evening brought another spread of incredible food, paired with cocktails so colorful and ridiculous you half-expected umbrellas and sparklers to spontaneously combust.

Now, hours later, the four of you had settled in the suite’s spacious living room. The night had softened into something cozy, everyone in their pajamas, legs draped lazily over furniture like you’d been here forever. Maria and Tommy were being sickeningly cute, giggling and whispering as though they were the only ones in the room. You couldn’t even pretend to roll your eyes anymore—it was almost too sweet to ruin with sarcasm.

Joel, seated next to you on the plush sectional, was a different story entirely. As you absentmindedly scrolled through your phone, you felt a nudge against your leg. His finger.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head to look at him. And there he was. Why did he have to look so good even now, sitting around in sweats like it was nothing? His dark hair was tousled from the shower, drying in lazy waves that made him look annoyingly effortless. His face held that crooked smile, the one that whispered he knew exactly how charming he was.

“Nothin’,” he said, the word dripping with an easy drawl. But the gleam in his eye betrayed him. He leaned closer, voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper that sent a flicker of something through your chest. “Got an idea.”

Before you could even ask what he meant, he stood, clapping his hands together as if he’d just unveiled some grand revelation. “Alright, listen up,” he called, his voice commanding enough to even break Maria and Tommy out of their loved-up haze. “Let’s play a game.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, already sensing this was going to be interesting. Joel had that mischievous glint—the one that promised he was about to be the most entertaining (and insufferable) man in the room.

You smirked, leaning back into the couch as you folded your arms. “Alright, Miller. What’s this genius game of yours?”

“Never Have I Ever,” he revealed, his voice rich with amusement.

Maria immediately let out a groan, her head falling dramatically against Tommy’s shoulder. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound spilling out before you could stop it. Across the room, Tommy looked as though Joel had just announced the most cryptic game in existence. His brows knit together in utter confusion. “Which one’s that?” he asked, looking to Maria for clarification.

Maria sighed, straightening up just enough to explain. “The one where you have to drink if you’ve done whatever the person says.”

Tommy nodded and Maria eventually admitted defeat. “Fine,” she said, smirking at Tommy. “Let’s do it. And when Joel gets embarrassed about some deep, dark secret, I’ll be the one laughing.”

Joel just laughed, that low, rolling chuckle that always seemed to stir something in the air. “Don’t worry, Maria. I ain’t embarrassed by nothin’.”

His words hung in the space between you, and for just a moment, you swore they carried a weight meant just for you. Whatever this game was, Joel had already decided to win—and somehow, you had the distinct feeling you were his favorite opponent.

Joel had stretched himself out across the couch directly opposite you, legs sprawled casually, one arm draped over the side. His fingers idly tapped against the armrest, the faint rhythm keeping time with the teasing grin that hadn’t left his face since the game started.

You, on the other hand, were curled up on the couch, one leg tucked beneath you as you balanced a throw pillow against your side. The soft lighting of the suite painted everything in warm, golden hues, casting Joel in a glow that only made his messy hair and lazy smirk look even more unfairly good.

Maria leaned forward from her spot beside Tommy, perched on the edge of the couch like she was about to unveil a scandalous secret. “Alright,” she declared, clapping her hands together with a little too much enthusiasm. “I’ll start.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced between the three of you, clearly savoring the attention. “Never have I ever… bought an engagement ring.” Her voice was sweet, her tone feather-light, but it was clear she was watching Tommy like a hawk.

You couldn’t help but laugh, a quick, startled sound, and Joel joined in almost instantly, his low chuckle rolling over the room. Across from you, Tommy froze, his jaw tightening as he blinked at Maria like she’d just thrown him into a firing squad.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Joel interrupted, holding up a hand in mock protest. His grin widened as he shook his head at her. “No playing dirty Maria."

Maria pouted, though it was obvious she wasn’t even remotely sorry. She leaned over to press a quick kiss to Tommy’s cheek, her smile softening just enough to make him sigh in relief. “Fine,” she relented, sitting back with a playful shrug. “No fun, though.”

Maria tapped her finger against her lips, her eyes narrowing with mock concentration. “Okay, okay. Let me think of something good. Hmm…” Her gaze drifted upward dramatically, as if the perfect idea might be hiding somewhere on the ceiling. Then, a mischievous spark lit her expression. “Alright, I’ve got it. Never have I ever… gotten a speeding ticket.”

The room erupted into movement. Without hesitation, Tommy, Joel, and you all grabbed your drinks and took a shot.

Maria gasped, clutching her chest as if the revelation physically wounded her. “Oh my god,” she exclaimed, her voice heavy with dramatic flair. She leaned back against the couch, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m surrounded by criminals. Actual delinquents.”

Joel snorted, the sound warm and genuine, before pointing a finger at her. “Don’t act so innocent, Maria. Bet you’ve sweet-talked your way outta plenty of tickets.”

Maria smirked, leaning her head on Tommy’s shoulder with a sigh. “That’s the beauty of being me, Joel. I don’t need to break the law. I just make everyone else do it for me.”

You laughed, shaking your head, but Joel’s attention had shifted again. His gaze flicked back to you, lingering with that quiet intensity that always made your pulse quicken. “What about you?” he asked, the question easy but his tone soft. “What’d you do to earn yours?”

You rolled your eyes, waving him off. “Nothing exciting. Speeding on an empty road late at night. Wasn’t paying attention.”

Joel tilted his head, his grin turning softer, like he was imagining it. “Let me guess. Windows down, music up, thinkin’ you owned the road?”

You flushed, caught somewhere between exasperation and amusement. “What, do you think I’m in a car commercial?”

Before Joel could respond, Tommy leaned forward, setting his drink down on the table with a deliberate thud. “Alright,” he said, straightening up like he was about to make a grand declaration. “So, I just say somethin’ I haven’t done before?”

“Yes,” Maria replied with a roll of her eyes, her tone dripping with playful exasperation. “It’s not that complicated, Tommy.”

“Alright then,” Tommy said, his grin turning sly as he glanced around the group. He hesitated just long enough to make everyone squirm before finally saying, “Never have I ever… had a threesome.”

The room fell silent for a beat. Your cheeks burned instantly, but your glass remained firmly in your lap, untouched. You didn’t dare glance at anyone, though you could feel Maria’s amused gaze sweep across the group like a spotlight.

“Jesus, Tommy,” she said, shaking her head. “Of course, you’d ask that. God, you’re insufferable.” She didn’t raise her own glass, though her smirk said she wasn’t entirely shocked by the question.

Your eyes darted toward Joel without thinking, and there he was—cool as ever, downing the shot like it was no big deal. The way his throat moved as he swallowed drew your gaze for a moment longer than you intended, and when his eyes met yours, there was a flicker of something in his expression. Mischief.

Maria caught it too, her eyebrows shooting up. “Well, well, well,” she drawled, her attention now fully on Joel. “Do tell, Miller.”

Joel shrugged, the movement slow and deliberate, as though this was the most boring revelation in the world. “What’s there to tell?” he said, setting his glass down on the table with a faint clink. “I was in college once.”

Tommy let out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat. “College, huh? That your excuse for everything?”

Joel smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a way that felt maddeningly deliberate. “Ain’t an excuse,” he said simply. “Just a fact.”

You rolled your eyes, finally finding your voice. “College Joel sounds wild,” you quipped, hoping the humor would help you ignore the faint flutter in your chest.

“Wild?” Joel repeated, his voice dropping slightly, that teasing lilt still present. “Nah, just… open to new experiences.”

You nearly choked on your own breath, your cheeks warming further. Maria snorted, clearly entertained. “Alright, lover boy, settle down,” she teased, giving Tommy a playful nudge. “Not everyone’s interested in reliving their glory days.”

Joel just chuckled, his gaze flicking back to you for a brief second—enough to send a flicker of heat through your chest. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, his voice low enough that it felt like it was meant just for you. “I keep things pretty tame these days.”

Your lips twitched, threatening a smile, but you didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you crossed your arms over your chest and leaned back into the couch, refusing to acknowledge the way his words had your heart racing just a little too fast.

Joel leaned back in his chair, his fingers drumming lazily against the armrest as his gaze flicked to you. “Alright,” he said, that unmistakable drawl curling around his words. “Your turn, roomie.”

You hesitated, your drink balanced precariously in your hands as you glanced around the group. What urged you to ask the next question, you weren’t entirely sure.

“Never have I ever…” you started, your voice softer than you intended. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening before you forced the words out. “…cheated on my partner.”

The room went still, the playful energy from earlier cooling into something quieter. Everyone exchanged glances, searching for the first telltale movement. Maria’s brow furrowed slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line, but she didn’t reach for her drink. Tommy fidgeted with his glass, his fingers tapping the rim, but he didn’t raise it either.

Your eyes drifted instinctively to Joel. He hadn’t moved—his drink rested untouched on the table beside him, though his expression had shifted. The teasing smirk was gone, replaced by something subtler, quieter. His gaze locked with yours, and for a moment, it felt like the room had disappeared entirely.

“Well,” Maria said finally, her voice breaking the silence. She let out a breathy laugh, the sound more nervous than amused. “Guess we’re all saints tonight.”

Tommy chuckled, the tension easing just enough for him to lean back against the couch. “Speak for yourself. I just don’t have the energy to juggle that kind of drama.”

Maria rolled her eyes, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “That’s because I’d kill you if you tried.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

As the hour wore on and the room grew warmer with the haze of alcohol and laughter, Maria leaned forward again, her cheeks flushed from too many drinks and her grin entirely unfiltered. “Alright,” she said, giggling as she held her glass aloft. “Never have I ever…” She trailed off, dropping her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, as though the walls had ears. “…had sex in public.”

The words hung in the air, ridiculous in their delivery yet potent enough to catch everyone’s attention. You blinked, unsure if you’d heard her right, before glancing instinctively across the room—straight at Joel.

His dark eyes met yours, holding your gaze for a second longer than necessary. And then, as if compelled by some unspoken agreement, you both raised your glasses and took a sip.

His eyebrows shot up, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he watched you. You lowered your glass slowly, your expression unreadable as you caught the knowing smirk curling at the corner of his lips. Across the room, Maria and Tommy exchanged looks, their jaws dropping in perfect sync.

“Really?” Maria said, incredulous, her gaze darting between you and Joel like she was trying to piece together a puzzle she hadn’t known existed. “You guys? That adventurous?”

You shrugged, leaning back into the couch with what you hoped passed for nonchalance. “What?” you said, your tone light but your pulse racing. “You guys that vanilla?”

Tommy groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Maria’s scared of gettin’ arrested,” he muttered, his arm draped lazily over her shoulder.

“I am not!” Maria protested, though her voice carried a guilty edge. “I’m just… cautious! There’s a difference.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and lazy, drawing your attention back to him. He had that look again—the one that made you feel like he was two steps ahead of everyone in the room, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze locking on you with an intensity that sent heat crawling up your neck.

“So,” he drawled, his voice slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every word. “Where exactly we talkin’,? Public covers a lotta ground.”

Your breath caught at the way his eyes lingered on you, heavy with curiosity and something else you couldn’t quite place. His question hung between you like a dare, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he waited for your answer.

You shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the way his gaze pinned you in place made it nearly impossible. “You first,” you said, your voice steadier than you expected.

He chuckled again, leaning back in his chair with an ease that only added to the tension. “Fair enough,” he said, his fingers tapping idly against the rim of his glass. “Parking lot. Middle of the night. No one around… or so we thought.” His eyes sparkled with amusement, but there was an edge to his tone that made your stomach flip.

“Your turn, roomie,” he said, his voice softening.

You hesitated for a moment, considering your options, before deciding you weren’t going to let him win this little game. “A rooftop,” you said simply.

Joel’s eyebrows rose, genuine intrigue flashing across his face. “A rooftop?” he repeated, the drawl in his voice making the words sound heavier than they should. “Well, now I’m impressed.”

You shrugged again, pretending his reaction didn’t send a thrill down your spine. “It had a view,” you added, your tone light, though your heart was racing.

Maria’s jaw dropped as she stared at you in disbelief. “A view?” she repeated, laughing. “What the hell—were you guys starring in some indie film?”

“Hey,” you said, raising your hands in mock defense, the grin on your face belying the heat already rising in your cheeks. “Some of us like a little risk.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his lips curving into a slow, deliberate smile that sent your pulse into overdrive. He tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he was only now starting to piece together. “And to think,” he said, his voice low and almost teasing, “I thought you were a good girl.”

The words hit you like a jolt, and you swore the air in the room shifted. Your laugh faltered, your expression softening as his gaze held yours—steady, unflinching, and far too intense for the playful tone he’d taken. Heat flushed your skin, your cheeks burning under the weight of his words. “Guess you don’t know me that well,” you shot back, your voice quieter now, almost breathless.

His grin deepened, his eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite name but couldn’t look away from either. The space between you felt charged, every glance and pause stretching into something heavier, something unspoken.

“Alright,” Tommy cut in abruptly, breaking the moment with a question that came out far louder than necessary. “Never have I ever… faked an orgasm.”

The tension snapped like a rubber band, and you laughed, the sound spilling out before you could stop it. Maria groaned, shooting him a look that could only be described as incredulous, but Tommy didn’t seem fazed. He leaned back, his drink in hand, clearly directing the question at his girlfriend.

You raised your glass without hesitation, taking a deliberate sip. Maria followed suit, rolling her eyes as she did. Across the room, Joel and Tommy remained still, their drinks untouched as they looked between you and Maria.

“What?” you said, shrugging as you set your glass down. “It’s part of the package that comes with being a woman.”

Joel’s dark eyes shifted to you, his expression unreadable for a beat. And then, with the same effortless drawl that always seemed to unravel you, he said, “Think you’re sleepin’ with the wrong men sweetheart.”

The casual delivery of his words only made them hit harder, your stomach flipping in response. You met his gaze, half tempted to shoot back a witty retort, but the way he looked at you—like he was waiting for you to prove him wrong—left you speechless. Your lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out, and his grin only grew.

Tommy, thankfully, was too distracted by Maria to notice. “Wait, wait,” he stammered, his brows knitting together as he turned to her. “With me?”

Maria shrugged, clearly unbothered by the question. “Well… maybe in the beginning,” she admitted, her voice light, though the color in her cheeks betrayed her. “But then, you know, I told you what I liked, and it got better.” She trailed off with a small smile, patting his leg as though that explanation would suffice.

Tommy looked positively scandalized, his mouth opening and closing like he couldn’t quite decide how to respond. “I… Jesus, Maria…”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as you stood, your drink still in hand. “Alright, alright,” you said, your voice cutting through the awkward energy like a blade. “I think we’ve learned enough about each other for one night.”

Maria laughed, waving you off as though you’d ruined her fun. “Oh, come on, don’t act so prudish now.”

“I’m not being prudish,” you shot back, arching a brow at her before turning toward the rest of the group. “I just don’t think I can handle any more of this conversation.”

Joel followed suit, standing up and stretching lazily, his movements unhurried and easy, like he had all the time in the world. “Bedtime?” he asked, his voice warm and low as he looked at you.

“Yeah,” you nodded, surprised by how soft the question sounded coming from him. It caught you off guard—sweet in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, draping an arm over your shoulders as though it were the most natural thing in the world. His touch was casual but warm, sending a spark of heat through you as he guided you toward your shared room. “Goodnight,” he called back to Maria and Tommy, who were still sprawled out on the couch.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The suite was quiet now, the late hour wrapping everything in a soft stillness as you stood in the bathroom brushing your teeth. You leaned against the counter, the rhythmic sound of bristles against enamel the only noise, when the door suddenly opened behind you.

“Hey?!” you exclaimed, your voice muffled by the toothpaste in your mouth. “What are you doing?”

And of course, it was Joel—shirtless, sauntering into the bathroom like he owned the place. Which, technically, he kind of did, given that you were sharing the space. But still.

“I’m brushing my teeth,” he said simply, grabbing his toothbrush and squeezing toothpaste onto it, as if this were the most normal thing in the world.

You huffed, your indignation melting into a bemused smile as he began brushing, standing shoulder to shoulder with you in front of the mirror. You caught his reflection, his gaze flickering to yours, and for a moment, the quiet intimacy of it made your breath catch.

“You can’t just walk in here like that,” you said, your voice laced with mock annoyance as you bumped him lightly with your hip. “I could’ve been naked.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat, his voice muffled by toothpaste. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

You froze, your cheeks burning as his words hung in the air, casual but heavy with implication. He didn’t even look at you, his attention still fixed on the mirror, but the corner of his mouth twitched with the faintest hint of a smirk.

You spat out your toothpaste, rinsing your mouth hurriedly to avoid giving him the satisfaction of seeing your reaction. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, turning to leave the bathroom, but before you could make it out, Joel’s hand shot out, wrapping gently around your arm and pulling you back.

“Hey, hey,” he said, his voice softer now, his touch firm but careful.

“What, Joel?” you asked, your irritation more for show than anything else.

“You’re sunburnt,” he said, his tone matter-of-fact as his thumb pressed gently against the bridge of your nose. The touch was warm, almost tender, and you froze under the unexpected intimacy of it. “You need more sunscreen tomorrow,” he added, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

“Oh,” you murmured, caught off guard. Your voice came out smaller than you’d intended, and for a moment, you just stood there, blinking up at him as his hand dropped away.

Joel spat out his toothpaste, rinsing his mouth quickly before following you into the bedroom. The silence between you felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken. You climbed into bed, pulling the sheets over yourself, and turned to find him leaning against the doorway, watching you with an expression that was impossible to read.

He crossed the room slowly, settling onto his side of the bed, his movements unhurried as he adjusted the pillow beneath his head. Then, his voice broke the quiet, low and quiet in the darkness.

“Were you telling the truth during that game?”

Your heart stuttered, and you turned your head toward him, the question catching you off guard. His gaze was steady, searching, as if he was weighing your every move, your every breath.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice soft, though you already knew exactly what he was asking.

“About… not cheatin’ on anyone.” His words were careful, deliberate, but there was something raw in the way he said them—like he wasn’t just making conversation.

“I was telling the truth,” you said, your voice firmer this time, though your chest tightened under his scrutiny. “Why?”

Joel was quiet for a moment, his eyes dark and thoughtful as they lingered on you. “Just wanted to know,” he said finally, his tone light but his expression anything but.

You exhaled softly, the tension between you palpable in the quiet of the room. “And what about you?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

He smiled faintly, his gaze softening as he leaned back against the pillows. “I was tellin’ the truth too,” he said simply. And yet, the weight of his answer lingered, like there was more he wasn’t saying.

The soft light from the bedside lamp painted shadows across his features, accentuating the scruff of his beard, the faint curve of his lips, and the honey in his eyes that seemed to draw you in without effort.

He shifted then, turning to face you fully, propping himself up on one elbow. The way his hair fell slightly across his forehead and the way his dark eyes studied you made him look effortlessly handsome, almost boyish—but the intensity in his expression reminded you there was nothing boyish about Joel Miller. “Have you ever been cheated on?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but there was an edge of something raw beneath the question.

You turned to face him, mirroring his position, your elbow digging lightly into the mattress as you studied him in return. “Yeah,” you said softly, your voice carrying the faintest thread of vulnerability.

Joel’s jaw tightened for a moment, his gaze flickering as though the answer hit closer to home than he’d expected. “You?” you asked, your voice quieter now, unsure if you wanted to hear his answer.

He nodded, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Yeah,” he replied simply. The word was heavy, but he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he exhaled deeply, running a hand through his hair. “Fuckin’ sucks,” he added after a moment, his voice tinged with frustration.

“Yeah, it does,” you agreed, your tone softer, though the memory of it stung like a distant ache.

Joel’s gaze lingered on you, something tender flickering in his eyes. “Well,” he said, his voice lightening slightly as a small, crooked smile tugged at his lips. “Their loss.”

You laughed at the simplicity of his words, though the warmth in your chest spread faster than you expected. “You think so?” you teased, your smile breaking through despite yourself.

“Definitely,” Joel said, his tone firm, like it wasn’t even up for debate. His eyes held yours, steady and sure, and for a moment, the humor in his words melted into something deeper.

And then, as if he couldn’t help himself, Joel tilted his head slightly, his voice dipping lower. “And, uh…” he began, a small smirk playing on his lips. “The other questions—you were tellin’ the truth?”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before the realization dawned. Your cheeks flushed at the confessions from the game – rooftop sex and faking orgasms – but still you nodded. “Yes, Joel,” you replied, your tone exasperated but amused.

Joel leaned back slightly, his smirk growing into a full grin. “Bet it was the one who cheated who couldn’t make you cum,” he said casually, as if he were commenting on the weather.

“Joel!” you exclaimed, sitting up slightly, your eyes wide as you stared at him in shock. Your heart pounded in your chest, your cheeks blazing as his words sank in.

“What?” Joel said with a shrug, hugging the pillow tighter against his chest as he watched you, entirely too pleased with himself. “Every time I’m with a girl, I make sure she, you know…” He lowered his voice into a whisper, clearly teasing you for your reaction to the word, “…cums first.”

Your jaw dropped, your face burning so hot you thought you might combust on the spot. “Joel,” you hissed, your voice caught somewhere between disbelief and mortification. “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

Joel, of course, was completely unfazed. If anything, the flush creeping up your neck only seemed to spur him on. He leaned back on the bed, one arm tucked under his head, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who’d just dropped that bombshell.

“You’re all red,” he said, his voice laced with amusement. “For someone who’s had sex on a rooftop, I wouldn’t think you’d get this flustered. Don’t act so innocent.”

“Oh my God,” you murmured, covering your face with both hands as though that might somehow make this entire interaction disappear.

Joel’s chuckle was low and rich, rumbling through the air like a warm summer storm. “I’m just sayin’,” he teased, tilting his head slightly as his gaze never wavered from you.

You took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of composure. “Well,” you said after a moment, your voice steadier now, though you still refused to meet his eyes. “Some guys don’t have the same… sexual mindset as you, Joel.”

That got his attention. His eyebrows lifted slightly, his grin growing even more amused. “Sexual mindset?” he repeated, his tone dripping with curiosity. “Do tell.”

“I’m serious,” you said, though the heat in your cheeks betrayed you. You shifted on the bed, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket as you tried to explain. “In a perfect world, sure, you always, you know…” You paused, struggling to find the words.

“Climax,” Joel supplied smoothly, his voice casual, though the way his lips twitched made it clear he was thoroughly enjoying this.

You groaned, throwing him a glare. “Yes, fine. Climax. But sometimes that doesn’t happen. That’s just life.”

Joel shook his head, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious as a scoff escaped him. “You’re so wrong,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You blinked at him, “What?” you asked, sitting up straighter. “You’re the sex guru now, telling me I’m wrong?”

“Damn right, I am,” Joel replied without missing a beat, propping himself up on one elbow to face you directly. The soft glow of the bedside lamp caught the curve of his jaw, the flicker of intensity in his dark eyes. They locked onto yours, steady and unflinching, the playful edge in his voice shifting into something deeper, weightier. “It ain’t just about sex. It’s about listenin’. Payin’ attention to her, the way her body responds. And, you know, communicating if somethin’ doesn’t feel good.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded into the background. It wasn’t just the way he said it, like it was the simplest truth in the world—it was the conviction in his voice, the quiet confidence that hinted at experience, understanding. Your mind wandered briefly, unbidden, to the women who’d been lucky enough to have him like that, to be cared for in the way he described. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening.

“So,” Joel said, his grin returning, softer this time but no less teasing. “What’s the deal? You were datin’ this asshole who couldn’t make you… climax,” he said, the word slow and deliberate, his eyes glinting with amusement. “How’d you, you know, relieve all that tension?”

“Joel,” you groaned, pulling a pillow over your face as heat rushed to your cheeks.

Joel laughed, the sound low and warm, rumbling through the quiet room. “C’mon now,” he said, nudging your side. “I’m curious.”

You sighed into the pillow, debating whether to say anything at all. But somehow, his easy grin and relaxed demeanor loosened something in you. “I… I had a toy,” you admitted finally, your voice muffled as you refused to look at him.

Joel froze for half a second before letting out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “No way,” he said, incredulous. “He must’ve been really shit if you had to go out and buy a toy.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, still hiding behind the pillow.

But Joel wasn’t done. He leaned back, running a hand through his hair, his grin widening into something downright smug. “Poor girl,” he said, his voice tinged with mock pity. “Deservin’ better than that.”

Your hand shot out to shove his shoulder, but your embarrassment only seemed to amuse him more. “So what,” you said, emboldened now, “you’re telling me every girl who’s been with you has… you know.”

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Hell yeah, that’s what I’m sayin’.”

“Come on,” you said, raising an eyebrow at him. “Statistically, that cannot be true.”

He shrugged, completely unfazed. “Darlin’, you can’t fake that kinda pleasure.”

You made a face, skeptical and a little exasperated, but he didn’t stop. His voice lowered slightly, turning serious again, though the teasing edge still lingered. “I’m serious. It’s really not that hard. Every time I’m with a girl, she…” His grin returned, slow and deliberate. “…climaxes. More than once.”

You stared at him, caught somewhere between disbelief and begrudging admiration. “Wow,” you replied finally, your tone flat but your heart racing. “They must be doing something different in Texas.”

Joel chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief as he shifted closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. “Well, you know what they say…”

“Huh?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the proximity suddenly making it hard to think.

“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” he said, his grin widening into something downright devilish.

Your jaw dropped, a laugh bursting out of you despite yourself as you shoved his shoulder again. “Oh my God,” you muttered, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

Joel just leaned back, watching you with a satisfied smile, like he’d won something you hadn’t even realized was a game. But then his expression softened, the teasing edge melting away into something warmer, something far more sincere.

“But seriously,” he said, turning slightly to face you. His tone was low, thoughtful, the kind of voice that made you stop and listen. “You deserve the best. Someone who gets you, who takes care of you. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ that.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. They weren’t flirtatious or laced with mischief—just simple, raw honesty that hit deeper than you expected. You swallowed hard, your heart skipping a beat as you tried to find the right words.

“Thanks, Joel,” you said finally, your voice softer now. You managed a small smile, the sincerity in his words settling into your chest. “You too.”

A flicker of something passed through his expression—something almost vulnerable, though it was gone as quickly as it came. He gave you a faint smile, one that felt quieter, more intimate. “Goodnight, roomie,” he said, his voice soft, almost a murmur.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you replied, the words catching slightly in your throat.

You turned over, pulling the blanket higher, but you couldn’t shake the weight of the moment. Even as the room grew quiet and the only sound was the faint rustle of sheets, Joel’s words lingered in your mind, warm and steady, as if he’d etched them directly onto your heart.

Tag List

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@paulalikestuff @valkyreally @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @roguestargazer @somedayheaven @rh1nestonecowg1rl @itzraven101 @ickearmn @pascalbaby @demonsasss @stardew-sweetheart @aliastrinity @fitzwlliamdarcy @diedorleft @pastelpinkflowerlife @vie-is-punk @yazsos @insidethegardenwall @pasc4lfuzz @sweeteresita @tuquoquebrute @anadjarin @sarahhxx03

[paulalikestuff]

Tangled in Paradise

my masterlist here!

Ahhhh here is chapter 1 of my new mini-series!! I am so freakin excited for you guys to read it, i've had so much fun writing it - to everyone waiting for my other stories thanks so much for being patient and i promise i will get to them! enjoy and let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in the next chapters xx

The marble counter was cool against under your skin, a welcome relief from the lingering heat of the day. You perched on the edge, scrolling through your phone with one hand, the other holding a burrito that was rapidly becoming your favorite part of the evening. Mimi, your cat, stretched luxuriously beside you, her fluffy tail flicking in idle disinterest as she basked in the low glow of the kitchen light.

Your thumb idly swiped up, Instagram reels flitting past like a mindless parade. A stupid AI-generated meme caught your attention—something ridiculous but hilarious enough to make you snort, burrito in hand.

The sound of a FaceTime notification cut through your laugh, your phone vibrating in your palm. The screen flashed with Maria’s name, her photo—a sunny candid of her grinning at a picnic—lighting up the display.

You swiped to answer.

Her face appeared, as vibrant and glowing as ever, framed by the golden light of her apartment. “Hey, girl!” she chirped, her voice carrying the kind of energy that made you suspicious.

“Hey, you,” you replied, taking a bite of your burrito mid-sentence. “Shouldn’t you be packing for your honeymoon in Hawaii or something?”

“It’s not a honeymoon,” Maria groaned, her eyes rolling so dramatically they could’ve done a full lap.

“Sure,” you drawled, giving her a knowing look. Maria and Tommy had been dating for a year and a half, and if anyone was going to get engaged in an annoyingly picture-perfect way, it was them. “But seriously,” you added, “don’t you leave in, like, two days?”

“Yeah, about that…” Her voice trailed off, her expression shifting to something between sheepish and conspiratorial.

You froze mid-chew. “Oh no. Are you guys okay? Don’t tell me you—”

“No!” she interrupted, waving her hands at the camera as if to swat the idea away. “God, you’re such a cynic.”

“Cynicism comes with being single,” you shot back, gesturing vaguely to your burrito.

She laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Okay, so here’s the thing,” she said, leaning closer to her screen. “I have… a situation.”

“Go on,” you said, intrigued now.

Her sigh was long and theatrical. “For some reason, I let Tommy book our trip.”

“And?” you prompted, taking another bite.

“And the idiot accidentally booked a couples package,” she said, dragging out the words like they physically pained her.

You blinked, unfazed. “I don’t get it. You guys are a couple.”

“No, no,” she said, shaking her head so fast her hair whipped around her face. “He booked it for two couples. Four people.”

You nearly choked on your burrito, a laugh bursting from your chest. “Classic Tommy,” you said, grinning. “So? What’s the big deal? You’ve got a million couple friends. Pick one.”

“I’ve been asking around!” she huffed. “But everyone already has New Year’s plans, and the package is non-refundable.” She gave you a pointed look, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“Oh no,” you said immediately, holding up a hand. “If this is going where I think it’s going—”

“Would you want to come?” she asked, her tone overly sweet. “You’re my best friend. You’re legally obligated to say yes.”

You stared at her, incredulous. “Maria, in case it wasn’t painfully obvious, I’m single.”

“I know,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That’s why Tommy was going to ask his brother Joel to come along. That makes four people. Problem solved.”

You paused, brow furrowing. “Joel, huh?”

Maria nodded eagerly.

You thought about it for a moment. Joel. You didn’t know much about him—just snippets from Maria here and there. He worked with Tommy in construction, lived in Texas. You didn't even know what he looked like.

“I don’t know…” you hedged.

“Oh, come on,” Maria whined. “You’re not doing anything for New Year’s, and you know it. You’re just gonna sit at home, watch Bridget Jones’s Diary, and drink cheap wine with Mimi like you do every year.”

You glanced at Mimi, who stretched lazily, her tail flicking as if to agree. Maria wasn’t wrong.

“Plus,” she continued, her grin widening, “once we get there, you guys can do whatever you want. Hawaii! Beaches, cocktails, hot guys—live your best life.”

You sighed, the temptation starting to outweigh your resistance. A free trip to Hawaii with your best friend? Sand, sun, and maybe a chance to flirt your way into a memorable New Year’s Eve?

“Prettyyyyy please?” Maria hummed, drawing out the word in a way that made you laugh despite yourself.

“Okay,” you said finally, shaking your head. “I’m in.”

Maria let out a squeal of victory, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re the best! I’ll text you the details. Pack something cute!”

As the call ended, you set your phone down and looked at Mimi, who yawned lazily in response.

“Well,” you said, leaning back on the counter. “Looks like we’re skipping Bridget Jones this year.”

Hawaii, you thought. The idea felt distant, unreal. But as you glanced at the empty corner of your apartment where your suitcase sat gathering dust, you had a feeling this trip might just change more than your New Year’s plans.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

Hawaii was breathtaking. The kind of beauty that made you forget how much your neck hurt from the long flight or how unreasonably sweaty you felt in the tropical heat.

You leaned your head against the open window of the taxi, letting the warm wind tangle through your hair as you gazed out at the scenery. Endless shades of green blanketed the mountains in the distance, framed by the electric blue of the ocean stretching out to the horizon. Palm trees lined the road like an army of dancers frozen mid-sway, their fronds whispering in the breeze.

Maria sat beside you, her voice animated as she gave Tommy a play-by-play update on your whereabouts. “Yep, we’re just pulling in now,” she said, twisting her body slightly to look at the approaching hotel. “Alright, bye, love you!”

You turned to her, sticking a finger down your throat in mock disgust.

“Shut up,” she said, rolling her eyes but smiling anyway.

The taxi turned into a long driveway lined with torch-lit paths and vibrant hibiscus flowers in full bloom. As the hotel came into view, you couldn’t stop yourself from leaning closer to the window.

It was like something out of a movie—a sprawling, open-air building with white stucco walls, wooden beams, and a terracotta-tiled roof. The entrance was framed by a massive archway, beyond which you could see a lush courtyard with fountains trickling water that sparkled in the sunlight.

A uniformed staff member waved the taxi forward, and your jaw nearly dropped as you took in the full view. The lobby was entirely open, its vaulted ceilings soaring toward the sky. Just beyond it, you could glimpse the infinity pool that seemed to spill directly into the ocean. The smell hit you next—salt air mixed with plumeria and something faintly sweet, like coconut.

“This is insane,” you said under your breath.

Maria beamed. “Right? This is so much better than the photos.”

The taxi slowed to a stop, and the driver hopped out to help you with your luggage. You tipped him generously and offered a polite “Mahalo,” feeling strangely self-conscious about whether you pronounced it right.

“Tommy already checked us in, so we can go straight to our room!” Maria practically bounced on her toes as she grabbed her carry-on. “Eeeeek, I’m so excited!”

“Me too,” you said with a grin, taking it all in. “And to think, you’ll be leaving here engaged.”

“Hey,” she said, giving you a mock glare. “Don’t jinx it.”

As you approached the entrance, a small group of staff members greeted you with warm smiles. A woman wearing a flowy dress in bright tropical prints stepped forward, holding a pair of leis made of fresh flowers. She draped one around Maria’s neck first, then yours, the cool petals brushing your collarbone as she said, “Aloha, and welcome.”

“Aloha,” you replied awkwardly, still feeling like an outsider in this slice of paradise.

Another staff member offered you both chilled glasses of pineapple juice, the condensation slicking your fingers. You took a sip and practically melted. It was fresh and sweet, with just the right amount of tartness.

“This is heaven,” Maria whispered as you followed the bellhop toward the elevator.

You couldn’t argue with her.

Everything about this place felt surreal—the golden light filtering through the palms, the faint hum of ukulele music from somewhere in the distance, and the soft roar of waves crashing against the shore. It was the kind of place where time seemed to slow down, urging you to forget the rest of the world existed.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

“So,” Maria began, standing beside you in the elevator, glancing down at her phone. “Since it’s already…” she trailed off, squinting at the screen. “Five o’clock, how about we settle in, freshen up, and then have dinner around 6:30?”

“Sounds good,” you agreed, leaning back against the elevator wall, the faint scent of hibiscus and sea salt lingering in the air.

The elevator chimed softly, announcing your arrival at the designated floor.

You followed her as she led the way down the long, carpeted corridor, passing room numbers etched into sleek gold plaques.

“Aha!” she exclaimed, stopping in front of Room 712. “This is us.”

Us? you thought, a flicker of confusion crossing your face. But you let it slide, figuring she meant she and Tommy.

Maria slipped the key card into the slot with a practiced flourish, and the door opened with a soft click. You stepped in behind her, expecting a hotel room. Maybe a nice one—Maria had said Tommy splurged—but this wasn’t a room.

It was a suite.

No, not just a suite—a goddamn palace disguised as a hotel suite.

Your breath hitched as you took it all in. The entryway alone was larger than your living room back home, its polished marble floors gleaming under warm recessed lighting. Beyond it, the suite opened into an expansive living space with floor-to-ceiling windows that framed an unbroken view of the turquoise ocean. Sheer white curtains swayed gently in the breeze from the open balcony doors, where plush loungers and a private hot tub overlooked the horizon.

To your left, an oversized sectional couch sat in front of a sleek flat-screen TV, its armrest stacked with neatly folded, resort-branded towels. To your right, a dining table made of dark, glossy wood was set for four, complete with fresh flowers and an ice bucket chilling a bottle of champagne.

“Shit, Maria,” you breathed, turning to her with wide eyes. “This is insane.”

“I know!” she squealed, grabbing your hands and bouncing up and down like a kid at Christmas. “We’re gonna have the best time!”

You were about to ask where you’d be staying when a familiar voice cut through the moment.

“Hey, baby,” Tommy called, appearing from one of the adjacent rooms. He grinned as he walked over, pulling Maria into a hug and kissing her lightly on the lips. “I thought I heard you. How was the flight?”

“Good,” she replied, resting her head briefly against his shoulder before pulling back to gesture around the suite. “This is incredible, Tommy.”

“Yeah, guess I didn’t fuck up too bad, huh?” he said with a grin.

She rolled her eyes, but her smile softened.

Tommy’s gaze shifted to you, his grin widening. “Hey, darlin’. How’ve you been?”

You returned his smile as he pulled you into a friendly hug, the scent of sunscreen and a hint of aftershave clinging to him.

“Good, Tommy. You?”

“Better now that I’m in fucking Hawaii,” he said with a laugh, gesturing around dramatically.

You laughed, too, feeling some of the tension from the long day begin to melt away. Tommy had always been easy to like—funny, respectful, and completely devoted to Maria. He had that older brother vibe with you, always quick to check in and make you laugh when you needed it.

“So,” you said, glancing around. “Do I have a room key or something?”

Maria and Tommy exchanged a quick glance, his arm still draped casually around her shoulders.

“Oh,” Tommy said, scratching the back of his neck as he turned to Maria. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, the first twinges of unease creeping in.

Tommy gestured around the suite. “This is it. The suite. We’re all staying here. There are two big rooms—come on, I’ll show you!”

Before you could even react, Tommy had slipped his arm around yours, steering you further into the space like an overenthusiastic tour guide.

“Maria—” you started, but he was already pointing things out.

“Look at this place!” Tommy exclaimed, his voice brimming with the kind of excitement that made it hard to stay mad at him. He pointed at the sprawling living room like a proud real estate agent. “Big-ass TV, private balcony, minibar—it’s nuts. And wait ‘til you see the bedrooms. King-sized beds, the works.”

You shot a quick glance over your shoulder, catching Maria hovering by the door. She met your glare with a sheepish shrug, mouthing a silent sorry, her lips curving into an awkward half-smile.

Sorry? That was all she had to say?

Tommy was already leading you deeper into the suite, his arm draped comfortably around yours, blissfully unaware of the rising irritation simmering beneath your polite nods.

“Over here’s the kitchen,” Tommy said, gesturing to a sleek, open-concept area with dark wood cabinets, marble countertops, and stainless steel appliances that gleamed like they’d never been touched. “I mean, not that we’re cooking or anything, but still—pretty sweet, huh?”

You nodded absently, still reeling from the revelation that this wasn’t just their setup—it was your setup, too.

“And here,” Tommy said, stopping in front of a door, “is one of the bedrooms.” He swung it open with a flourish.

The room was absurdly gorgeous. A king-sized bed dominated the space, dressed in crisp white linens with a soft, seafoam-green throw draped across the foot. The headboard was made of rich, dark wood, its edges carved with delicate floral patterns that gave the room an understated elegance. Floor-to-ceiling windows opened to a private balcony, where you could already hear the gentle crash of waves in the distance.

“Not bad, huh?” Tommy grinned, leaning against the doorframe.

“Not bad?” you echoed, unable to hide the hint of sarcasm in your tone. “Tommy, this is ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously awesome,” he corrected, winking.

You let out a breath, forcing a smile as you turned back toward the living room. Maria was still hovering by the door, clearly trying to avoid eye contact.

“Maria,” you hissed, your voice low but sharp as you made your way over to her.

She plastered on an innocent smile. “What?”

“What do you mean what?” you whispered, glancing back to make sure Tommy wasn’t listening. “You didn’t think to mention we’re all staying in the same suite?”

She shrugged again, this time with exaggerated nonchalance. “I didn’t think it was a big deal! The place is huge. You’ll hardly even notice.”

“Hardly notice?” you repeated, your voice rising slightly before you caught yourself. You took a calming breath, lowering your tone again. “Maria, I thought I’d have my own room. My own space.”

“You do have your own space!” she insisted, gesturing toward the suite with a grin. “Look around—it’s basically a mansion. And Tommy said the other bedroom is just as nice as this one.”

“Maria,” you started, pinching the bridge of your nose.

She cut you off with a dramatic sigh, stepping closer to loop her arm through yours. “Look, I know this isn’t what you were expecting, but come on. It’s Hawaii. The suite is incredible. We’re gonna have an amazing time.”

“I didn’t realize me and Joel would be sharing a fucking room together!” you hissed, keeping your voice low but sharp.

Maria waved a dismissive hand, her expression almost too breezy. “It’s fine. Joel’s a gentleman. He’ll sleep on the couch or something.”

“Oh, so I’ll just be the bitch who forced a man to sleep on a couch during his vacation?” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Maria winced, but only slightly. “You’re being dramatic.”

You raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Am I?”

She stepped forward, placing her hands on your shoulders, her expression softening into the kind of pout that had gotten her out of trouble since you were in college. “Please,” she murmured, drawing out your name like a plea. “It’ll be fine. Joel’s easygoing. And think about it—how much time are you really gonna spend in the room? You’ll barely even notice.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but she cut you off again. “Plus,” she added, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, “I’m getting engaged this week. You can deal with this, right? For meee?”

Her eyes were wide and imploring, and despite every bone in your body wanting to say no, the guilt crept in like an uninvited guest. You sighed heavily, running a hand through your hair.

She was right. You could deal with it. Worst-case scenario, you’d take the damn couch yourself. It was a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things… right?

“Okay,” you said finally, the word coming out like a reluctant exhale. “Okay. Yeah. Fine.”

Maria’s face lit up like the Fourth of July. “You’re the best! I owe you one,” she said, pulling you into a quick, triumphant hug.

“Oh, you owe me big,” you muttered, your voice muffled against her shoulder.

She pulled back, grinning. “I promise, this is gonna be the best trip ever. You’ll see.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You stepped into the room you’d be sharing with Joel and let out a long sigh. It was gorgeous, of course, just like the rest of the suite—spacious, luxurious, and dripping with the kind of elegance that made you feel like an imposter just by being there.

The centerpiece was a king-sized bed that dominated the room, its crisp white linens layered with soft, seafoam-green pillows that practically begged you to sink into them.

A pair of matching nightstands flanked the bed, each topped with sleek glass lamps that cast a warm, inviting glow. Across from the bed, a low, polished dresser supported a large flat-screen TV, and the far wall was made entirely of glass, leading out to a private balcony. Through the sliding doors, you could see the ocean stretching endlessly, the sound of waves crashing faintly in the distance.

It was beautiful. It was serene. And it was yours… and Joel’s.

Sharing a room with a stranger wasn’t exactly how you imagined this trip starting, but it wasn’t like you could back out now.

You smoothed down your clothes and stepped out into the suite’s living room. The evening light poured through the massive windows, painting the space in shades of gold and orange. Maria and Tommy were curled up on the couch together, her head resting on his chest as they laughed softly at something he’d said.

“Hey, lovebirds,” you called, leaning against the arm of the couch.

“Hey!” Maria greeted you with a bright smile, sitting up slightly while Tommy offered you a quick nod.

“So, uh…” you began, shifting awkwardly. “Is Joel—?”

“Oh, yeah,” Tommy said, interrupting you as he sat up straighter. “The idiot missed his flight.” He shook his head, though there was no real malice in his voice, only amusement. “But he’ll be here soon.”

“Ah,” you said, nodding. “Okay. I think I’m gonna take a shower in the meantime.”

“Alright,” Maria replied, stretching her legs out across Tommy’s lap.

But just as you turned to head back to your room, Tommy’s voice stopped you.

“Oh, hey,” he said, his tone softening as you glanced back. “I think you two will really get along.”

You tilted your head, raising an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Yeah,” he continued, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “I know it’s a weird situation—sharing a room and all—but Joel’s… he’s a good guy.”

You nodded slowly, unsure of how to respond but unable to stop the flicker of curiosity sparking in your chest.

“Well,” you said finally, “I guess we’ll see.”

Tommy grinned, leaning back into the couch as Maria nestled closer to him.

You turned and headed for your room, the sound of waves and the low murmur of their voices fading behind you. As you closed the door, you couldn’t help but glance at the bed again. Sharing a room might be awkward, sure—but it might also be the most interesting part of this trip.

And something told you that Joel Miller wasn’t the kind of man you could easily forget.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The shower was as luxurious as the rest of the suite, a spa-like haven of sleek stone tiles in earthy tones that stretched from floor to ceiling. The water cascaded from a wide, rain-style showerhead above, warm and steady, like a soothing tropical downpour.

Built-in shelves held miniature bottles of fragrant shampoo, conditioner, and body wash, each scented faintly of coconut and vanilla. Soft recessed lighting bathed the space in a warm glow, and a small, fog-free mirror was cleverly positioned above a polished stainless-steel bench.

You hummed softly, the sound mingling with the rhythmic patter of water as you worked shampoo through your hair. The gentle steam wrapped around you like a cocoon, loosening the knots in your muscles and leaving your skin dewy and warm.

This was paradise, you thought, your hands scrubbing at your scalp. For the first time in months—years, maybe—you felt truly relaxed. No deadlines, no responsibilities, just the soothing rush of water and the faint scent of the ocean wafting through the cracked bathroom window.

“Hey!” Maria’s voice rang out from the living room, muffled by the sound of the shower.

You turned the water pressure down just enough to hear her better. “Yeah?”

“Tommy and I are gonna head out and grab a coffee. Do you want anything?”

“Ooh! An iced vanilla latte please!” you shouted back, your voice echoing slightly off the tiled walls.

“Got it!” she called. “We’ll lock up behind us.”

“Okay!” you yelled, adjusting the temperature slightly.

A soft click of the door signaled their departure, the quiet settling over the suite like a warm blanket. You were alone now, the world outside reduced to the distant hum of waves and the steady rhythm of water hitting the tiles.

You sighed, working conditioner through the ends of your hair, letting the tension in your shoulders melt away. This was perfect. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this kind of peace—a moment entirely yours, untouched by worry or distraction.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The bathroom was warm and hazy with steam, the scent of coconut and vanilla lingering in the air as you wrapped a fluffy white towel around yourself. Your hair dripped in lazy rivulets down your back, and you ran a hand through it, reveling in the feeling of complete relaxation. This was bliss.

You barely registered the muffled sound of the suite door opening, or the faint, low rumble of a man’s voice calling, “Tommy?” from the living room. Even if you had, it would have been drowned out by your impassioned rendition of Smooth Operator, your voice echoing off the bathroom tiles as you gave yourself over to the moment.

Joel Miller—unknowingly your temporary roommate—entered the shared room with his eyes glued to his phone, his brow furrowed in mild annoyance. His thumb scrolled idly as he typed out a text to Tommy, Where the hell are you? He muttered something to himself under his breath, the deep, low timbre of his voice carrying a faint Texas drawl.

Completely oblivious, he walked toward the bed, not noticing the neatly folded pile of your clothes sitting on top of it, or your travel bag perched on the dresser. His focus was laser-sharp on the glowing screen in his hand, his frustration apparent in the slight clench of his jaw and the furrow of his dark brows.

You didn’t hear him.

He didn’t see you.

Not until you pushed the bathroom door open, a plume of steam rolling out ahead of you as you stepped into the main room.

And there he was.

Standing by the bed, his broad shoulders filling the space as effortlessly as the sunlight spilling in from the balcony. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his scruff-lined jaw shifted as he frowned down at his phone. He was gorgeous.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat.

Joel, still engrossed in whatever was on his screen, didn’t notice you at first. Then, slowly, his head lifted—like he sensed your presence—and his eyes landed on you.

The moment stretched, silent and charged.

And then you screamed.

Like, actually screamed.

Joel jumped, his phone nearly slipping from his hand as his wide eyes shot up to meet yours. “Jesus Christ!” he barked, his voice rough and sharp, like gravel. “What the hell—”

“What the hell?” you shrieked back, clutching your towel tighter as your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

Joel held up his hands, palms out in a gesture of surrender, his phone dangling precariously between his fingers. “Hey, easy! I—” His words faltered as his gaze flickered—briefly, too briefly—to the towel clinging to your body before snapping back to your face. His cheeks flushed slightly, though his tone remained gruff. “I didn’t know you were… here.”

“You didn’t know?” you sputtered, taking a defensive step back toward the bathroom door. “What are you even doing in my room?”

Joel frowned, gesturing vaguely at the space around him. “Your room? Pretty sure this is my room too.”

Your jaw dropped, words failing you for a moment as your mind scrambled to process the situation. “You—you’re Joel?”

His brow lifted slightly, his mouth twitching into what might have been a smirk if the situation weren’t so absurd. “That’d be me,” he said, his voice dipping lower.

You groaned, dragging a hand down your damp face. “Of course. Of course this is how I meet you.”

Joel crossed his arms, leaning slightly against the edge of the bed as he regarded you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Look, didn’t mean to scare you, alright? Figured this room was empty when I didn’t see Tommy’s stuff.”

“Well, it’s not empty,” you shot back, your cheeks burning. “Clearly.”

“Yeah, I got that now,” he said dryly, his lips quirking into something dangerously close to a smile. His gaze flickered briefly to the bathroom door, then back to you, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “You, uh… wanna put on some clothes before we keep yellin’ at each other?”

Your face burned, heat flooding your cheeks as the reality of the situation hit you. You were still standing there, dripping wet and wrapped in nothing but a towel, completely exposed in every possible way.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, tightening your grip on the towel.

His eyebrows shot up, and damn it, he looked smug about it. That stupid little smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, his arms crossing over his chest in a way that only made him seem more amused.

Before you could say anything else—or throw something at him—Tommy burst into the room, Maria trailing close behind, both of them wide-eyed and holding coffee cups.

“Hey!” Tommy shouted, his voice loud and panicked. “Are you alright? We heard screaming—”

He froze mid-sentence, his gaze bouncing between you, half-naked and flushed, and Joel, standing entirely too casually by the bed.

Maria’s hand flew to her mouth, barely stifling a laugh as she took in the scene, her eyes dancing with poorly concealed amusement.

“Maria!” you snapped, your voice a sharp plea as you clutched the towel tighter around you.

Tommy, meanwhile, didn’t miss a beat. He grinned, his worry evaporating in an instant as he stepped toward Joel. “Hey, big bro,” he said, pulling Joel into a quick hug, completely unfazed by the tension in the room.

“Hey,” Joel replied, his voice smooth and easy, like this whole situation wasn’t absolutely mortifying.

“How was your flight?” Tommy asked, stepping back as if this were the most normal reunion in the world.

“Good,” Joel said, shrugging as he turned to Maria. He leaned down to kiss her cheek, his tone softening just slightly. “Hey, Maria.”

You stood there, utterly stunned, your mouth slightly open as the three of them exchanged greetings like you weren’t standing there, soaking wet and humiliated in the middle of the room. It was laughable. It was absurd.

Maria caught your desperate look and cleared her throat, nudging Tommy. “We should, uh…”

“Right,” Tommy agreed, glancing at the coffees in his hands. “We should get outta your hair.”

Joel, however, didn’t move right away. His gaze flicked back to you, slow and deliberate, his dark eyes dragging over you in a way that felt both infuriating and electric. He tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening.

“See you soon, roomie,” he drawled, the emphasis on the word sending a jolt of annoyance through you. He finished with a wink that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t care to analyze.

You barely managed to hold back a growl as he turned and followed Tommy and Maria out of the room, their laughter trailing behind them. The door clicked shut, leaving you standing there, still clutching your towel and feeling like the universe’s favorite punchline.

“Great,” you muttered to yourself, glaring at the door. “This is just great.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

You sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, staring at the crisp white linens like they might hold the answer to your predicament. For thirty long minutes, you debated your options, none of which seemed remotely appealing.

Option one: walk out there and pretend like nothing happened, even though Joel’s smug face was now burned into your memory. Option two: stay in this room for the rest of the vacation, surviving on room service and spite. Option three: book a flight home and disappear into the dead of night, leaving Maria to deal with the fallout of her matchmaking debacle.

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands.

Your phone buzzed, the soft ding breaking the silence. You picked it up, already bracing yourself.

Maria: You gonna come out or stay in there forever?

You sighed heavily, typing back a quick response. You: Maria, this is so embarrassing.

Her reply came almost immediately. Maria: It’s not. Can Joel come and get settled? The poor guy.

Poor guy? Was she kidding? Poor you!

You sighed again, the sound loud and dramatic even to your own ears. Fine. If Joel needed to get into the room so badly, you weren’t going to be the one standing in his way. You: Yes. He can.

Maria’s response came with an infuriating kissy-face emoji that made you want to hurl your phone across the room.

A sharp knock on the door startled you out of your spiraling thoughts.

And then the knock came again. And again. And again.

You rolled your eyes, standing up and calling out, “Yes?”

“Hey, it’s Joel,” his voice came from the other side of the door, deep and slightly muffled. He kept knocking.

Still knocking.

“Can I come in?”

“Yes,” you shouted, exasperated.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“Are you clothed?”

You threw your hands in the air, your irritation bubbling over. “Jesus Christ!”

He laughed softly through the door, the sound aggravatingly charming.

You stormed to the door and yanked it open, ready to let him have it—but the words caught in your throat when you saw him. Joel stood there, hand still raised mid-knock, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He was leaning slightly against the doorframe, his broad shoulders filling the space effortlessly, and the playful glint in his eyes told you he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Just makin’ sure,” Joel said, his tone easy as his gaze flicked over you, his eyes pausing briefly on your flushed cheeks before settling on yours. There was a teasing glint in his expression, the kind that made your pulse do a little stumble.

You stood there, arms crossed, doing your best to meet his gaze without faltering.

He tilted his head slightly, his brow lifting as he watched you.

“What?” you asked, your voice sharp, defensive.

“You’re, uh…” he gestured toward the doorframe with a small tilt of his chin, “kinda in the way.”

“Oh.” You blinked, flustered, before stepping aside. “Come in.”

Joel stepped past you, his eyes scanning the room with a low whistle. “This place is insane,” he said, his voice warm with genuine awe. “Fuckin’ worlds away from Texas.”

You almost smiled, thankful he didn’t make the whole towel incident more awkward than it already was.

He turned to you then, leaning casually against the edge of the dresser, his arms crossing over his chest. “So,” he began, his voice dipping into something dangerously close to playful. “I see you claimed the right side of the bed.”

“Is that a problem?” you shot back, mirroring his crossed arms with your own.

“Nah.” Joel shook his head, his lips quirking into that same infuriating smirk. “I should be closest to the door anyway.”

You frowned. “Why?”

“In case a murderer comes in,” he said simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What the hell?” you asked, staring at him.

“What?” He gave you a look, like you were the one being unreasonable. “Us men gotta think about these things.”

You were about to reply—maybe point out how absurd he sounded—but the words died on your tongue as Joel casually reached behind his neck, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and shrugged it off in one smooth motion.

Your breath caught.

He stood there, completely unbothered, the golden light from the balcony casting shadows across the toned muscles of his chest. His skin was sun-kissed, his shoulders broad and strong, with a faint trail of dark hair running down his stomach. It was like something out of a magazine—effortless, masculine, and almost unbearably unfair.

You gulped, suddenly forgetting how words worked.

Joel caught your stare, his mouth twitching into that damn smirk again. “What’re you doin’?” you managed, your voice higher than you intended.

“What does it look like?” he replied, tossing his shirt onto the back of a chair like he owned the place. “Seriously, if you’re gonna freak out every time I take my shirt off, we’re gonna have a problem.”

You blinked at him, floundering for a response.

“We’re in Hawaii,” he added, gesturing vaguely toward the balcony as if to drive his point home.

“I know that,” you snapped, crossing your arms tighter, though the heat rushing to your face wasn’t helping your case.

Joel grinned, shaking his head as he grabbed a towel from the dresser. “I’m gonna go take a shower,” he said, his tone light, teasing, like this was all some game he was enjoying far too much.

You stood there for a moment after Joel disappeared into the bathroom, the faint click of the door echoing through the room. It was ridiculous how your heart was racing, how the heat lingering in your cheeks wouldn’t budge no matter how many deep breaths you took.

You shook your head, muttering to yourself as you crossed the room. “Unbelievable. Insufferable.” You tossed a glance at the bathroom door, half-expecting Joel to stick his head out and throw another one of those infuriating comments your way. But all you could hear was the sound of the shower turning on, the steady stream of water muffling whatever he might be saying to himself in there.

You tried to focus on something else, anything else. You unpacked a few things, neatly folding your clothes into the dresser drawers, your movements quick and sharp. But your mind refused to stay on task, wandering back to the way Joel had just… shrugged off his shirt like it was nothing. Like he didn’t notice—or care—how good he looked doing it.

Your lips pressed into a thin line as you shoved the last of your shirts into the drawer. You’d met plenty of flirty guys before, but there was something about Joel—something about the way he seemed so at ease, so himself, that made him impossible to ignore.

The bathroom door opened, and Joel stepped out, a cloud of steam following him like it was part of his aura. He was shirtless, of course, a white towel slung casually around his waist, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. His damp hair curled slightly at the ends, darker now that it was wet, and he was rubbing the back of his neck as though he hadn’t just walked out looking like a whole damn Calvin Klein ad.

You froze, your hand still on the drawer handle, and for the briefest second, you considered looking away. But Joel caught your gaze before you could, his lips curving into that easy, teasing grin.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt your unpacking,” he said, his tone warm and playful. “Figured you’d need the bathroom soon.”

“I—uh—yeah,” you stammered, mentally kicking yourself for how pathetic that sounded.

Joel’s grin widened, and he leaned casually against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. “Y’know,” he drawled, “you don’t have to look so nervous. I don’t bite.” He paused, tilting his head slightly, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Unless you’re into that.”

Your mouth fell open, and you snapped it shut again almost immediately. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, pushing past him toward the bathroom.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in hues of amber and crimson, its golden light filtering into your room through the slightly ajar door leading to the suite’s main balcony. From outside, you could hear Maria, Tommy, and Joel’s voices carrying on the ocean breeze—easy laughter and teasing banter.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, your back resting against the edge of the bed. The large mirror propped in front of you reflected your half-done makeup, the bronzer brush in your hand hovering mid-air as you muttered a curse under your breath. You were running late—distracted by the events of the afternoon.

Behind you, the bed was a mess of organized chaos: two dresses—one slinky and black, the other vibrant red—lay sprawled across the sheets, along with a carefully chosen collection of jewelry. Your music played softly from your phone on the floor, and you hummed along absentmindedly between swipes of blush.

What you didn’t notice was the sound of the balcony door sliding open, or the way Joel sauntered into the room like he had all the time in the world.

He wore a pale linen shirt, unbuttoned at the collar and rolled up at the sleeves, paired with beige shorts that hung low on his hips. The soft golden light of the setting sun kissed his skin, highlighting the faint sheen of the humid evening air. His hair was perfectly tousled, like he’d just run his fingers through it, and he carried two beers in hand, the bottles clinking softly as he moved.

“Hey,” he said casually, his deep drawl breaking through your concentration as he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed behind you, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight.

You jumped slightly, your eyes darting to the mirror where you caught his reflection. Your gaze locked with his, and for a moment, the air in the room felt heavier, smaller. “Hey,” you replied, suddenly hyper-aware of the blush brush in your hand and the faint flush already spreading across your cheeks.

Joel leaned back slightly, one elbow propped on the mattress, his expression easy but his eyes sharp as he studied you. “Didn’t mean to scare ya,” he said with a faint grin, holding out one of the beers. “Beer?”

You shook your head quickly, turning back to the mirror and dabbing more blush onto your cheeks, as if that could somehow cool the warmth rising to your face. “Oh, no thank you. Can’t stand the taste of beer.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, twisting the cap off one of the bottles with practiced ease. “Can’t stand it?”

You laughed softly, glancing at him through the mirror. “Nope. I don’t get how anyone likes it.”

He chuckled, taking a swig before setting the untouched bottle on the nightstand. “Guess that means more for me.”

The silence between you settled, not awkward but charged, the kind of silence that felt heavy with words unspoken. Joel’s gaze drifted to the bed beside him, his fingers brushing over the fabric of the red dress before he glanced back at you.

“So,” he began, his tone teasing but gentle. “Which one are you plannin’ on?”

Your hand froze mid-swipe, and you turned to face him fully, your lips parting slightly. “I, uh…” You looked between him and the dresses, suddenly feeling shy under his steady gaze.

Joel tilted his head, his grin shifting into something softer, more crooked. “C’mon, roomie. You gotta pick. Red or black?”

You hesitated, biting your lip. “I was leaning toward the black one,” you admitted, though you weren’t entirely sure why you felt the need to explain.

Joel nodded thoughtfully, his fingers brushing the fabric of the red dress again before he picked it up, holding it out as though inspecting it more closely. “Black’s classy. Safe,” he said slowly, his voice quieting. “But…” He paused, swallowing hard enough that you noticed. “I think red.” His usual confidence faltered for a fleeting moment, his gaze flickering to you briefly before returning to the dress. “Red would look, uh… really good.”

Something in his voice—almost awkward, but sincere—made your chest tighten. “Okay,” you said softly, turning back to the mirror before the moment stretched too long. “I’ll think about it.”

Joel nodded, setting the dress back down just as your timer went off on your phone. You swore softly, rushing to finish your blush. “Shit, I swear I’m almost done,” you said, glancing at Joel apologetically.

Joel stayed exactly where he was, his gaze still on you in the mirror, his voice warm and easy. “Hey,” he said. “Take your time. We’re not in a hurry.”

You hesitated, meeting his eyes through the reflection. “You sure? I don’t want to hold everyone up.”

Joel shook his head, his grin softening. “We’re in Hawaii. Ain’t no rules about bein’ late here. Besides, worth the wait.”

Your chest tightened again, and this time, you couldn’t quite hide the faint smile pulling at your lips. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“No problem,” Joel replied, leaning back on his hands. “I’ll, uh, let you get ready.”

His gaze caught on something on the bed, and he reached out, picking up the delicate necklace you’d set aside. “Oh. Did you need help with this?”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” you said quickly, shaking your head.

“It’s really no problem,” Joel said, already standing and crouching down behind you.

The warmth of him was immediate, his presence so close that you swore you could feel the faint brush of his breath against your neck. “Here,” he murmured, his voice lower now. “Hold still.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you lifted your hair, exposing the back of your neck. Joel’s fingers were surprisingly gentle as he fastened the clasp, his touch lingering for just a second longer than necessary.

“There,” he said, his voice soft as his hands dropped back to his sides.

You turned slightly, catching his gaze in the mirror. His eyes lingered on yours, and for a moment, neither of you said a word.

“Perfect,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest. “Thanks.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The hotel grounds were even more breathtaking at night. The warm glow of lanterns lined the stone pathways, their soft light spilling onto lush tropical plants and casting flickering shadows on the ground. The air was thick with the mingling scents of saltwater and frangipani, and somewhere in the distance, the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore carried through the warm breeze.

Maria and Tommy walked ahead of you, their hands interlocked, their laughter soft and easy. Maria wore a flowing emerald-green dress that seemed to shimmer as she moved, her hair styled in loose waves that framed her glowing face. Tommy leaned toward her as she said something, his smile wide and unrestrained as he brushed a kiss against her temple. They looked like something out of a postcard—effortlessly in love and perfectly matched.

You and Joel followed behind, your steps falling into an unspoken rhythm. His hands were tucked casually into the pockets of his shorts, the rolled sleeves of his linen shirt revealing the golden tan of his forearms. The easy sway of his stride gave him an air of confidence that felt completely natural, like he didn’t even realize the effect he had on people—or maybe he did, and just didn’t care.

As you passed beneath an arch of twinkling string lights, Joel glanced over at you, his dark eyes catching the light for a brief moment before his lips curved into a small, knowing smile.

“So,” he drawled, his voice low enough that only you could hear. “You listened to me, huh?”

You glanced up at him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “What?”

He nodded subtly toward your dress, the red fabric clinging to your figure in all the right ways. “The red,” he said, his grin turning slightly crooked. “Told you it’d look good.”

You felt your cheeks warm under his gaze, the heat crawling up your neck despite the cool evening breeze. You glanced down at the dress, brushing invisible lint off the fabric as you tried to steady your voice. “Thanks,” you said lightly, tilting your head just enough to give him a sidelong glance. “Guess you’ll be my fashion advisor for the trip.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and rich, like a melody you didn’t realize you wanted to hear on repeat.

“Careful now,” he said, leaning closer as his voice dropped just a fraction. “You let me make too many decisions, and next thing you know, I’ll have you in cowboy boots and denim shorts.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not a chance.”

“Never say never, roomie,” he teased, his grin widening as his arm brushed yours for a fleeting moment.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence for a few beats, your steps in sync as you followed the soft glow of lanterns illuminating the path. Maria and Tommy’s laughter floated back to you from up ahead, their silhouettes framed by the soft flicker of string lights.

“So,” Joel said after a moment, leaning slightly toward you as though he were sharing some grand secret. “Tommy thinks Maria has no clue he’s gonna propose.”

You glanced up at him, your brow furrowing. “Seriously?”

Joel nodded, his grin growing more playful. “Yep. Poor guy’s convinced she hasn’t pieced it together.”

“She’s got a hunch,” you said knowingly, the corners of your mouth quirking into a small smile.

Joel let out a warm laugh, the sound easy and genuine. He leaned a little closer, his voice dipping just enough to feel more personal. “So,” he began casually, though the teasing edge in his tone gave him away, “you, uh… got a boyfriend or something?”

Your steps faltered slightly, and you turned to look at him fully, raising an eyebrow. “Joel,” you said, your voice dry but amused. “If I had a boyfriend, do you think I’d be here on a couples trip, with someone who is not my boyfriend?”

Joel blinked, his lips parting as he realized how ridiculous the question was. “Oh,” he said quickly, his grin softening into something sheepish. “Right. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you replied, brushing it off with a wave of your hand.

Joel’s smile returned, his gaze flicking over you with an almost curious warmth. “Just find it hard to believe,” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, more sincere.

You blinked, caught slightly off guard by the shift in his tone. “Oh, come on,” you said, rolling your eyes to cover the sudden flutter in your chest. “Does that line usually work for you?”

Joel’s brow furrowed, his expression turning playfully indignant. “What line?”

“The cheesy pickup lines,” you shot back, your lips curving into a smirk.

“I’m being serious,” he said, his tone dipping into something earnest, though the teasing glint in his eyes remained.

“Mhm,” you replied, your voice laced with mock skepticism as you tilted your head at him.

Joel let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head as though genuinely disappointed. “Wow. So cynical,” he said, his grin returning as he leaned slightly closer, the heat of his gaze brushing over you. “Bet you’re a real hit at parties.”

Before you could fire back a retort, Maria’s voice called out from ahead, cutting through the night air. “Guys, hurry up! We’re gonna miss the live music!”

Joel turned toward her voice, then glanced back at you with a grin that was all charm and mischief. “Better pick up the pace,” he said, his drawl warm and teasing. “Wouldn’t wanna get left behind and have to serenade you myself. Though, fair warnin’—my singin’ ain’t free.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you quickened your step. “Lucky for you, Joel, I’m not paying to hear whatever cowboy karaoke you’ve got up your sleeve.”

Joel chuckled, falling into stride beside you. “Careful,” he said, his voice low and playful. “Talk like that, and you’re gonna hurt my feelin’s.”

“Somehow, I think you’ll survive,” you replied with a grin, your heart skipping as his gaze lingered on you just a moment too long.

As the two of you caught up with Maria and Tommy, the warm glow of the hotel lights and the faint hum of music ahead set the perfect stage for the night—and for whatever this thing between you and Joel was slowly becoming.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

“Holy shit,” Tommy murmured as you all stepped into the restaurant.

And honestly, he wasn’t wrong.

The place was stunning, a picture of understated luxury that somehow felt warm and inviting rather than intimidating. The open-air design let in the salty breeze, while woven lanterns hung from high wooden beams, casting soft, flickering light across the room. The walls were draped with lush greenery, accented by vibrant tropical flowers that seemed too perfect to be real. Somewhere in the background, the faint hum of live music blended seamlessly with the rhythmic crash of waves.

“This place is insane,” Joel murmured beside you, his deep drawl laced with quiet awe as his gaze swept across the space.

You glanced at him, catching the way the soft lighting brushed over the angles of his face, highlighting the faint scruff along his jaw and the warm brown of his eyes. “Not bad, huh?” you said with a small smile, your voice teasing.

He nodded, his lips curving into a slight grin. “Guess Tommy finally got somethin’ right.”

A waiter appeared, all effortless poise as he greeted you with a warm smile. “Right this way,” he said, motioning for you to follow.

The four of you trailed him through the restaurant, past tables filled with couples leaning into quiet conversations and groups laughing over cocktails. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across polished wood and crisp white tablecloths, giving the whole place a dreamy, golden hue.

The waiter led you outside to a terrace overlooking the ocean, where more lanterns were strung across the open space, their warm light mingling with the silver glow of the moon reflecting off the water. The sound of the waves was louder here, blending with the distant strum of a ukulele from the live band.

Maria and Tommy slid into one side of the table, their fingers already interlocking as they settled in. Joel, without hesitation, pulled out a chair next to yours and gestured for you to sit.

“Ladies first,” he said, his grin softening into something almost gentlemanly.

You gave him a small nod, sinking into the seat. He followed, sitting beside you with the kind of ease that made it seem like he’d been doing this for years.

“Here are the menus,” the waiter said, placing them delicately in front of you. “And the drink menus.” He offered a quick, practiced smile. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

As soon as he disappeared, Tommy leaned forward, flipping open the drink menu with wide eyes. “This place has everything,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Maria laughed, resting her chin on her hand as she glanced at her boyfriend. “Don’t get too excited. You still have to pay for it.”

“Worth it,” Tommy replied, already scanning the cocktails.

Beside you, Joel leaned back in his chair, his arm resting casually along the back of yours. He opened his menu with one hand, but his attention wasn’t on it—it was on you.

“See anything you like?” he asked, his voice low, teasing.

You glanced at him, your brows furrowing slightly. “The menu just got here.”

“Not talkin’ about the menu,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening just enough to make your pulse skip.

“Jesus,” you murmured under your breath, shaking your head and focusing hard on the menu in front of you.

Joel laughed, the sound warm and rich, as he grabbed a menu for himself. “Relax,” he said, flipping lazily to the drinks page, his eyes scanning the options with a faint smirk.

After a moment, he leaned closer, angling the menu so you could see it too. His shoulder brushed yours, the warmth of his presence impossibly distracting. “Hey, look,” he said, pointing to a section of colorful, overly elaborate cocktails. “These all sound fancy. Perfect for you.”

You arched an eyebrow, glancing at the names—everything from Tropical Temptation to Hibiscus Bliss. “You think I’m a ‘fancy cocktail’ kind of person?”

Joel’s grin grew wider. “I dunno. Thought you might enjoy somethin’ a little sweeter. Balance out all that sass.”

You rolled your eyes, but before you could fire back, Joel straightened in his seat, his gaze lighting up with a spark of mischief. “Hey, let’s play a game,” he said, turning to face you more fully.

You frowned, your curiosity piqued despite yourself. “What kind of game?”

He leaned in closer, his voice dipping low as though sharing a secret. “Simple. I choose your drink, you choose mine.”

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes suspiciously. “How is that a game?”

Joel chuckled, resting his elbow on the back of your chair as he met your gaze head-on. “Because,” he said, his tone slow and deliberate, “it’s a test of trust.”

“Trust?” you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded, completely unfazed by your skepticism. “Yep. You trust me not to order you somethin’ ridiculous, and I trust you not to screw me over with, I dunno…” He gestured toward the menu. “A Pink Flamingo Paradise or somethin’.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out of you, shaking your head. “You don’t strike me as a Pink Flamingo Paradise kind of guy.”

Joel smirked, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual confidence. “I’d rock it, though.”

You snorted, your fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the menu as you debated. “Alright, fine,” you said, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. “But if you pick something gross, I’m holding it against you for the rest of the trip.”

“Fair,” he replied easily, his grin never wavering. “Same rules apply.”

You both turned back to your menus, scanning the options with newfound purpose.

Joel glanced at you, his tone teasing. “What’re you thinkin’? Something with an umbrella in it?”

“Maybe,” you shot back, smirking. “What about you? Something boring like beer?”

“Boring?” Joel placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense as he leaned back in his chair. “You wound me.”

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, shaking your head as you glanced back at the menu. After a moment, you settled on a drink, pointing it out to the waiter with a confident nod. Joel followed suit, his choice quick and deliberate, though the glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t about to let the game end there.

“All right,” Tommy said, leaning forward and slapping the table lightly. “We gotta get serious about this food situation. There’s too many damn things on this menu. What’s everyone thinkin’?”

Maria laughed, nudging his arm. “You’re acting like we’re solving world hunger, babe. Just pick something.”

Joel glanced at his brother with a faint smirk before turning his attention back to you. But this time, his playful demeanor softened, his gaze shifting to something quieter, more thoughtful.

“You got any dietary stuff I should know about?” Joel asked, his voice lower now, almost tender.

You blinked, momentarily caught off guard. His tone was so different from the usual teasing lilt you’d come to expect—gentle, sincere, like he genuinely cared about the answer.

“Uh, no,” you said after a beat, shaking your head. “Nothing like that.”

Joel nodded, his expression relaxed but still warm. “Good to know,” he murmured, his eyes lingering on yours for just a moment longer than necessary before he turned back to the menu.

You swallowed hard, the faint warmth of his attention leaving a subtle flutter in your chest.

“Okay,” Tommy said, clearly oblivious to the moment as he squinted at the menu. “What the hell is a coconut lime mahi-mahi? Am I supposed to know what mahi-mahi is?”

“It’s fish, Tommy,” Maria said with a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes fondly. “You’ve had it before. Remember that time we went to the seafood place in Austin?”

“Oh,” Tommy said, nodding. “Right. That was good.”

Joel chuckled, his voice breaking the small bubble of tension that had lingered between you. “Y’know, Maria,” he drawled, leaning back in his chair, “you’re gonna have your hands full with him.”

Maria grinned, clearly unfazed. “Already do.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

This was fun, you thought, glancing around the table as laughter spilled into the warm night air. The conversation flowed effortlessly, Maria and Tommy trading playful jabs while Joel chimed in with his dry, easy humor. For the first time in a while, you felt completely at ease, the tension of earlier moments melting into the atmosphere of good company and golden light.

The food arrived before you even realized how much time had passed, the waiter placing each dish with practiced elegance.

Tommy, true to form, had ordered something hearty—a perfectly seared steak topped with garlic butter, its aroma rich and mouthwatering. He leaned back in his chair, eyeing it like it was the centerpiece of a grand feast. “Now this,” he declared, picking up his knife and fork, “is what I’m talkin’ about.”

Maria, ever the balance to his bold choices, had gone for a delicate seafood linguine, the pasta glistening with olive oil and white wine, studded with shrimp and fresh herbs. “You’d better share,” Tommy teased, eyeing her plate, but Maria only swatted his hand away with a laugh.

You had chosen a grilled snapper, its crispy skin drizzled with a tangy mango salsa and paired with a vibrant side of coconut rice. The bright colors and tropical flavors made your plate look like something straight out of a magazine.

Joel’s choice was classic and unfussy—a plate of barbecued ribs slathered in smoky sauce, with a side of roasted potatoes and charred corn on the cob.

He caught your gaze as he picked up a rib, a mischievous glint in his eye. “What?” he asked innocently, though his smirk betrayed him. “You were gonna judge me no matter what I got.”

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I wasn’t judging. Just… admiring your commitment to the messiest thing on the menu.”

“Gotta live a little,” Joel replied, his tone light but his gaze lingering just long enough to make your heart skip.

The laughter continued as everyone dug in, the clinking of silverware and the hum of the nearby live music weaving seamlessly into the scene. Soon after, the waiter returned, a tray balanced expertly in his hands.

“For the lady,” he said with a polite smile, setting a vibrant, colorful cocktail in front of you. It was topped with a slice of fresh pineapple and a tiny pink umbrella, the drink itself a swirl of coral and gold hues.

Your jaw dropped slightly as you stared at it. “Oh my god,” you said, biting back a laugh. “What is this?”

Joel leaned in, his grin widening as he inspected the drink. “That,” he said, his voice full of mock-seriousness, “is a Sunset Paradise.”

You shot him a look, your lips twitching as you tried to hold back your laughter. “Are you kidding me? You picked this?”

“Hey, I thought it suited you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes dancing with mischief. “Sweet, colorful… a little over the top.”

You shook your head, picking up the glass and taking a small sip. The flavors burst on your tongue—pineapple, passionfruit, a hint of coconut rum. Damn it. It was actually good.

“Alright,” you admitted reluctantly. “Not bad, Miller. Not bad.”

Joel’s grin only widened.

“And for the gentleman,” the waiter continued, placing Joel’s drink in front of him with a subtle flourish.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped you as you stared at the delicate martini glass, filled with a pale pink liquid and garnished with a single orchid flower floating on top. “Oh, this is perfect,” you said, barely able to contain yourself. “Joel Miller, enjoying a Hibiscus Bliss.”

Joel narrowed his eyes at you, his lips twitching as though he was fighting a laugh of his own. “You’re enjoyin’ this way too much,” he muttered, picking up the glass with exaggerated care.

“Go on,” you teased, leaning forward on your elbows. “Take a sip. Let me see you savor that hibiscus.”

Joel held your gaze, his grin slowly breaking through as he raised the glass to his lips. He took a slow, deliberate sip, setting the glass down with a satisfied sigh. “Not bad,” he said, his tone deadpan. “Real sophisticated.”

You burst out laughing, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair. “I can’t believe you’re pulling this off.”

“Darlin’,” Joel said, his grin turning cocky as he leaned slightly closer, his voice low enough that only you could hear, “I could pull off anything.”

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

The four of you sat back in your chairs, the plates cleared and glasses now reduced to condensation-rimmed remnants of colorful cocktails and beer. The warm buzz of good food and drinks settled over the group, and you realized with a start just how comfortable you felt.

Somehow, throughout the course of dinner, you and Joel had drifted closer. His arm rested casually along the back of your chair, and though he wasn’t quite touching you, you could feel the faint pull of his presence—the warmth radiating from him like he was the sun itself.

“Alright,” Joel said, his voice soft and low as he turned to you, his grin creeping in at the edges. “Now you gotta rate the drink I picked for you. Outta ten.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think, though the teasing glint in your eye gave you away. “Hmmm…” you hummed, dragging it out just to watch his brow twitch in anticipation. “I’ll give you a… seven.”

Joel leaned back, letting out a low hum of approval. “Seven, huh? Above average. I’ll take it.”

You smirked, leaning slightly toward him. “And now you?”

He glanced at the remnants of his Hibiscus Bliss, the delicate pink drink looking comically out of place in his hand, then back at you with an exaggerated frown. “Five.”

Your jaw dropped, and you straightened in mock offense. “A five?”

Joel nodded, his lips curving into a crooked smile as he took another sip. “Yeah, and that’s me bein’ generous.”

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, shaking your head, but you couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out.

In front of you, Maria and Tommy were leaning into each other, their voices softer now, heads close as they shared a quick peck. Maria’s laughter was light and sweet, blending with the faint strum of live music in the distance. The two of them were completely in their own world, whispering and exchanging smiles like the honeymoon phase had never ended.

Joel’s voice cut through the moment, low and warm as he leaned closer to you, his breath brushing your ear. “Let’s make a bet.”

You turned to him, your brows arching in curiosity. “I’m listening.”

He angled himself toward you, his grin widening just enough to make your heart do an annoying little flip. “Whoever’s right about when Tommy proposes gets to make the other person do whatever they want.”

Your brows furrowed as you studied him, skeptical. “That’s not fair,” you said, shaking your head. “He’s your brother. He’s probably told you everything he’s planned.”

Joel raised a hand, his expression softening into something almost boyish. “Swear to God, he hasn’t said a thing. I got no clue when he’s gonna do it.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, searching for any hint of deception, but Joel just held your gaze steadily, his grin turning a little smug, like he knew you were about to give in.

“So?” he prompted, his voice a touch lower now, coaxing. “You in?”

You hesitated, glancing back at Maria and Tommy. The way they were leaning into each other, so completely at ease, made you think it had to be soon. And honestly, the thought of beating Joel at his own game was too tempting to pass up.

“Alright,” you said finally, turning back to him. “I’m in.”

Joel’s grin widened, and he leaned back in his chair, his arm brushing yours ever so slightly as he settled into the space between you. “Good,” he said, his tone laced with satisfaction. “Don’t worry, roomie. I’ll go easy on you when I win.”

“You mean if you win,” you corrected, your voice sharp but playful.

Joel chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement as he raised his glass in a mock toast. “To fair play,” he said, his drawl warm and teasing.

You clinked your glass lightly against his, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. Whatever this was—this slow, teasing back-and-forth—it was addictive, pulling you in like a tide you didn’t want to fight.

⋆🌺˚.⋆ꪆৎ.🐚⋆❀˖°

When you arrived back at the suite, the quiet hum of the evening enveloped the four of you. The buzz of laughter and conversation from dinner had given way to the heavy weight of exhaustion. Maria and Tommy murmured their goodnights as they veered off to their side of the suite, their soft laughter fading behind the sound of their door closing.

You and Joel walked to your side in silence, the tension between you as palpable as the warmth of the tropical night. You could feel his presence behind you, his steps slow and deliberate, and you swore you could feel his gaze burning into your back. You tried to ignore it, focusing on the cool tiles beneath your bare feet as you reached the bedroom door.

Inside, Joel moved toward the bed, dropping his phone onto his side with a casual thud before sprawling back against the pillows. His arm rested lazily above his head, the glow from his screen illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw and the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You grabbed your pajamas and headed toward the bathroom. The cool splash of water on your face was grounding as you scrubbed off your makeup, brushed your teeth, and slipped into something more comfortable. But even as you tried to settle your thoughts, you couldn’t shake the image of Joel, relaxed and at ease, sprawled out on the bed like he owned it.

When you emerged, Joel’s eyes flicked up from his phone immediately, locking on you like you’d just stepped into a spotlight. His gaze traveled over you briefly—too brief to feel invasive but long enough to send heat rushing up your neck.

“What?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended as you set your things on the dresser.

“Nothing,” he said easily, his lips curving into a faint smile as he stood, grabbing his own bundle of clothes. “Just didn’t realize bedtime was a fashion show.”

You shot him a glare, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. “Go brush your teeth, Joel.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked past you, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. “Yes, ma’am,” he drawled, disappearing into the bathroom.

The door clicked shut behind him, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. “Christ,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing the glass of water from your nightstand and taking a long sip.

You settled into bed, plugging your phone into the charger and pulling the covers up to your chest. The clock on the nightstand blinked 11:03, and the suite was quiet except for the faint sound of the ocean outside.

Just as you were starting to relax, the bathroom door swung open, and Joel strolled back into the room like it was nothing—barefoot, shirtless, and in a pair of low-slung pajama pants. His hair was damp, his skin still warm and golden from the day, and he was entirely, maddeningly unbothered as he crossed to his side of the bed.

Without a word, he threw himself onto the mattress, the springs creaking slightly under his weight as he flopped down with an exaggerated sigh.

“Jesus, Joel,” you muttered, your voice sharp as you stared at him.

“What?” he asked innocently, propping himself up on one elbow to meet your gaze. “I live here too, roomie.”

You gestured vaguely toward him, your eyebrows lifting. “Could you maybe warn someone before… doing that?”

Joel tilted his head, clearly biting back a grin. “Doin’ what?”

You waved your hand in his direction, exasperated. “Showing up half-naked like some—some—”

“Some what?” he interrupted, his voice low and teasing as his grin finally broke free. “Greek god? Movie star? Go on, I’m listenin’.”

You groaned, throwing your head back against the pillows. “You’re insufferable.”

Joel chuckled, the sound low and warm as he turned his head to look at you, his grin teasing but his gaze soft. “And you,” he emphasized, his drawl stretching the words as though savoring them, “are too wound up.” He rested one arm behind his head, the picture of lazy confidence as he continued. “Good thing you’re on vacation, or you might just explode.”

You turned your head to glare at him, though the twitch of your lips betrayed you. “Gee, thanks, Joel.”

“Just statin’ facts,” he said easily, his smirk widening as he stretched out across the bed like he owned it. “Bet you’re one of those people who makes to-do lists for their time off.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “I do not.”

Joel raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Right. So you didn’t already plan out tomorrow?”

You hesitated, pressing your lips together, and Joel laughed, the sound rumbling and warm.

“Knew it,” he said, his voice laced with triumph. “C’mon, roomie, you’re supposed to be relaxin’. Let me guess—early morning hike? Sunrise yoga?”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing the corner of the blanket and pulling it higher up your chest. “For your information, I was thinking about hitting the beach. Maybe snorkeling. Normal vacation stuff.”

He tilted his head, his gaze flicking over you briefly before meeting your eyes again. “So, what time we headin’ out?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Tomorrow,” Joel said, his voice casual but his grin edging toward mischievous. “You’re plannin’ it, right? Guess that makes me your plus one.”

You stared at him, your mouth opening slightly before you caught yourself. “You want to come with me?”

Joel raised an eyebrow, his tone turning mock-serious. “You expect me to leave you unsupervised in Hawaii? What if you trip over a rock or somethin’?”

You sighed, shaking your head but smiling despite yourself. “Fine. But only if you promise not to complain the whole time.”

“Me? Complain?” Joel said, his brows lifting in mock offense. “Never.”

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head at him, but before you could retort, his gaze shifted, softening as it settled on you.

“Serious question,” he said, his voice dipping just enough to make your heart falter for a beat.

Your eyes snapped to his, the teasing grin on your face fading as your breath hitched slightly. “What?” you asked, wary of his tone.

Joel tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment before he said, deadpan, “Do you snore?”

Your heart stopped, then restarted with a kick of disbelief. “Joel.”

“I’m serious,” he continued, his brow furrowing like this was some grand existential question. “I can’t do snorin’. It’s a dealbreaker.”

You glared at him, though the faint blush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “I do not snore.”

“Good,” Joel said, nodding like he was checking something off a list. “Because sometimes… pretty girls do weird things in their sleep.”

“Stop,” you said, your voice sharp but your cheeks betraying you as they burned.

Joel grinned, his gaze lingering on your face a moment too long as your blush deepened. “Just sayin’,” he added with a soft chuckle, clearly enjoying himself.

You shook your head, trying to ignore the warmth pooling in your chest, but before you could respond, Joel’s expression shifted again—his grin fading into something gentler, more serious.

“Also,” he began, his voice quieter now, “if you want, I can, uh, sleep outside. On the couch.” He gestured vaguely toward the suite’s living area, his tone so casual it almost masked the sincerity in his words. “It’s no big deal. I know you weren’t expectin’ this whole… shared bed thing.”

The offer caught you off guard, the sweetness of it pulling you up short. Joel—so cheeky, so infuriatingly confident—was looking at you now with an openness that you hadn’t expected.

You breathed in slowly, your gaze dropping for a moment before meeting his. “No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine.”

Joel raised a brow, his lips curving faintly. “You sure?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “As long as you stay on your side of the bed.”

His grin widened, that playful spark returning to his eyes. “Good,” he said, his tone lighter now. “Because, truth is, I really didn’t wanna sleep on the couch. It looked lumpy.”

You laughed softly, your chest loosening as the tension faded. “Wow, such a gentleman.”

Joel leaned back against the pillows, his grin turning smug but somehow still boyish. “Told you. I’m full of surprises.”

You shook your head, a quiet laugh escaping you, though the warmth in your chest betrayed your amusement. Settling back onto your side of the bed, you pulled the blanket up to your shoulders, the faint scent of clean linen and something distinctly Joel filling the air.

The room was quiet now, the low hum of the ocean outside mingling with the soft creaks of the suite as it settled around you. Despite the space between you, the warmth of Joel’s presence lingered, stretching into the silence like something unspoken but understood.

“Night, Joel,” you murmured, your voice soft and a little shy as you closed your eyes.

There was a pause—a small, almost imperceptible beat—and then his voice came, low and warm, carrying the faintest trace of a smile. “Night, roomie’.”

[paulalikestuff]

Mutual Agreement IV

I know it has been a good while but this week i was too tired to write anything.

Marcus x f!reader (Lucius older Sister)

Rater M (just in case)

Warning (age-gap, mentions of death, mentions of possible abuse)

Marcus x f!reader

Mel = honey

Carissima = dearest

Vita mea = my life

I was almost mid-day when Marcus came back home and you still were naked and asleep hugging his pillow under the furs. Marcus entered the villa and the main maid updated him with on the state of the house and yours. "Dominus, domina is still asleep in your room, her maid wanted to wake her up to see how she was but she wouldn't wake up. Her sleep is too deep." Marcus was nearing the fountain where a small blood stain lingered. "Get someone to clean this i don't want her to see it, i'm planning to bring her down after she wakes up. It is normal that she is asleep still because of the stress of last night and the medicine." The maid nodded and went to fetch a slave to clean the blood off the floor. "Send a tray for my wife and I to break our fast, don't knock just open the door." He spoke loudly and walked up the stairs to his room where you were steering. He reached the door and opened while removing his breast plate, sword and leaving it near the water basin near the window.

"It is time to wake up mel." He whispered into your ear while kissing your cheek. Finding out that she hadn't been safe at his state made him understand that it was time to try and have a real marriage. "Open your eyes and let me see the stars" he continues to whisper into your ear when the door opens and your maid enters bringing the tray, Marcus nods and your maid leaves smiling looking at you both. His mind is racing looking to see your eyes open and wanting to

You can feel a warm big hand on your naked back and a light kiss on your neck making you move and wake up. "Where..." you don't finish your sentence when you see Marcus at eye level and that is when your dream comes back and you smile. "Marcus... what time is it?" you whisper and held his hand while peeking out of one of your eyes. "It is past mid-day... it will be good for us to break our fast in bed and i would like to take you and have a walk around the garden and maybe pick some fruits from the back end of the villa... what do you think mel?" You blush and try to cover yourself while sitting on the bed leaning your back on the headboard.

You look at him confused due to the endearing nature of the nickname you only nod as he brings the tray and starts to feed you pieces of bread with cheese and small pieces of fruit with wine. "Thank you for last night Marcus... i don't know what would have happened..." you don't finish the sentence when he shoves a piece of fruit into your lips. "I told you and your mother and your father that I will protect you with my life if i had to. This is more than a promise or an oath mel, from here on out we will make this marriage work if you'll have me." He whispers and you look at him with teary eyes while biting your lips. "Are you certain Marcus?" He grabs your hand and kisses it while whisper and look at him.

Marcus is completely set on his ideas, he wants a family, a wife and children again in his life. After the death of Aurora his first wife, his child in her womb and then your mother he thought love was not for him. After what happened and his conversation with Darius early that morning he came around and wanted to give an opportunity to your marriage to have and give you a family where both of you could be happy. "I am mel, from here on out i will make this life and this marriage what we always wanted. I know i wasn't the best at the beginning of our relationship but i understood that we are here together for a reason. It might be fate, your mother interceding for us, the gods or all at once but i understood that we deserve an opportunity at what we want to make out for this."

You feel tears rolling down your cheeks while you nod and hold his hand while he wipes your tears away and kisses your cheeks. "I will make it up to you for all the time i wasted..." You don't let him finish when you kiss him and hold his hand "It was the situation, misunderstandings and life. We can make up the time we waisted now that we can." you smile and lean your head on his shoulder while he kisses your temple and holds your hand. "Now that you have accepted me mel, it is time for you to stand up and for us to part. You need to walk and distract yourself." He says while reaching for one of his clean tunics for you to wear. "From now on, you will sleep here with me and you will wear my clothes unless we go out, i will not miss a moment to let people know you are mine." Marcus kisses your cheeks while putting the tunic on you and kissing the top of your head. You smile feeling the fabric on your body and smelling him on you. He reaches out for your shoes and slips them into your feet after standing up grabs your hand and you start walking into the corridor and then down the stairs into the main patio.

You have been so engrossed on avoiding Marcus for weeks on end that you haven't been able to appreciate the patio and the small changes in it. The ivy around Juno's statue full of pink and white flowers with hummingbirds flying around her. There were a few pots with greenery and the pool with all the fishes and aquatic flowers. You had been so resented with life that this time was a new beginning for your relationship with Marcus and for yourself as a person. You were holding hands and walking around taking in all the view when you heard a loud noise coming from the back of the villa. Marcus grabbed your hand tightly and pulling you behind him as a peacock appeared and as it spreads its feathers you hear the rushing of water coming from the fountain. "Juno" you whisper and the feather falls off the peacock while it makes a slight nod and leaves.

Marcus looked at the animal since he was aware that only the emperors had them and high members of the senate. "Have you seen it around here before?" you shake your hand while you leave his grasp and walk up to the far end of the pool to grab the feather. As you take it one of the servants closes into Marcus to whisper something and he nods. "Carissima, i have a horse ready for us to go deeper and bring some fruits." Marcus reaches for your hand the one is holding the feather and kisses it while taking you towards the stallion he rides. He helps you up and then sits behind you while holding your hips and the reins. "You know, i had a dream with my mother and she was fine, not like when she passed and that rings ease to my soul and heart." you say and look back at him.

"She was looking after you last night my love. Maybe that is why she visited on your dreams." You nod and he kisses your neck while you start reaching the fruit trees. You see oranges, tangerines, apples, figs and berries of all kind. The horse has two baskets on its sides and as Marcus brings the horse close to the trees you start reaching to them and picking some fruits and throwing them into the baskets. "Do you think we have enough for now mel?" "i think we do... Marcus... you call me mel and it feels like its a dream. I thought about it for so long that now that it is happening makes me think is a dream."

"If it is a dream my lady i will make it so that each one of your dreams come true. I will take it upon myself to make the rest of your life the best you ever had." He whispers into your ear and kisses your neck as turns the horse around and back into the villa. "I spoke with Darius this morning and he made me see my mistakes to the approach i had to our relationship. He opened my eyes about you and the reason behind accepting the marriage and my way to protect you was avoiding having a relationship with you. I wanted you to be free if i died in war so you could marry again and chose to whom you gave yourself completely."

"You have always been the only one Marcus. From the first moment i saw you with my father and helping my mother hide Lucius years ago. I knew you were the one and maybe that was the reason behind my mother asking you to marry me." Marcus looks back at you as you reach the pool and a servant take the baskets and walks into the kitchen while other takes the stallion back into the stables. "Your mother used to be perceptive of people and what it happened around her. She married us off because she knew of your feelings for me and she knew i could take care of you while making of this house a home." He says while kissing your hand and taking you into the bench neat the statue of Juno. There you kiss your hand and place it into her feet while mouthing "thank you".

"There is a saying that i will have to go to Numidia and take the city for the emperors. If it is true as Darius told me, it will take us a few months to come back from Africa Nova." he says kissing your hands and looking at your eyes. "I know Marcus, they are growing more delusional with time. We need to do something about it, bring the dream my grandfather and my father wanted for Rome." You look at him with pleading eyes. "I have been taking with Darius about it, i have 5,000 men completely loyal to me that will serve the cause of freeing Rome and bring back the democracy. It would have to be after i return from Numidia, but i started the planning since last year with my people." You smile and hug him with looking at the statue. "You will come back but let's not think about that since we don't know if you are going."

Marcus knew it was a thing of days for the emperors to send a messenger with the news for him to sail. "let's hope it takes more than what i think so we can start to create our married life." he says while standing up and taking a flower from one of the pots to put it on your hair. You started thinking where would you place the feather while playing with it. "I need to make an offering to Juno to thank her for her {the confirmation of the dream and promise to you} protection yesterday and Mars to take care of you vita mea when you go to war." H e knew you were not so much of a religious person but the situation of yesterday deserved the action. "I think that it is a good idea, i can go with you after breakfast tomorrow. We can take some of the fruits you picked for Juno and some grains and salt for Mars, the sacrifice will be made before we leave at the encampment." Marcus was completely set on going with you and make his own offerings to the gods to keep you safe of anything that meant to come and harm you while he was away.

Your maid reached to you and whispered that she had placed a bath for you to take and relax before dinner. You nodded she left as you stood up and kissed Marcus' cheek. "I think it is time for me to clean myself before dinner and for you to take care of whatever Darius needs, he has been waiting for you at the gate." you whisper and slowly walk towards the stairs while he sees you swaying your body making him want to go after you.

"Darius... have they sent you as messenger?" Making reference to the news about Numidia from this mornig.

"The have General, we need to leave in 3 days time, it will take us around 3 weeks to reach Numidia, whatever time we need to take the city and 3-4 weeks to come back." Marcus is surprised by the news and nods to his friend. Darius takes off and Marcus walks back into his office waiting and starting to write letters for people in case something happens to him in war to take care of you.

Well i think it is a long one and i hope you like it!!!

Reblogs are appreciated as well as likes and comments.

Thanks for reading!!!

[paulalikestuff]

ONE NIGHT EARLY

a secret santa surprise for @talaok ! ✨ as part of @pedrostories' #pedrostoriesgift24 event ✨

RATING: Explicit (18+) | PAIRING: Joel Miller x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 2.2k | CW: Established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff, brief reference to canon-typical violence / danger / the end of the world, but you're safe.

SUMMARY: You vow to find out where Joel hides his Christmas gifts while he's away on patrol.

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It has to be here somewhere.

In the three since you moved in with Joel—hell, even in the two years before that—you have never found your Christmas present before the day. The man’s determined, sworn to his secrecy. Takes great pride in catching you snooping around, digging, scurryin’, as he once muttered under his breath, shaking his head with that charm and smirk you can’t help but fall for. Every year, you swear you’ll find it, and Joel just crosses his arms with a shrug, cheek dimpled and eyes dark with affection, and tells you good luck, darlin’, confident you won’t.

This year, though. This year will be different because for the whole week leading up to Christmas, Joel is away with Tommy on patrol and you have the house to yourself. Seven days of freedom to pry and stick your nose where it probably doesn’t belong.

It takes you two days to tear the house apart. Every dish yanked from his cupboard, every shirt and worn pair of jeans thrown from the closet, every pocket turned out—you flip the mattress and unbundle his socks and rip the covers off all the couch cushions and find fuck all. One old, oxidized penny. Dust bunnies, dryer lint, wood shavings. Spent matches, a bullet case. A fossilized receipt robbed of its printed contents.

You spend two more going through everything again. The place is a dump; when Ellie swings by to borrow his guitar she lifts one eyebrow at you from the doorway, weary of the tornado you’ve left scattered across the first floor. Says, “Good to know four days is all it takes for you to lose your shit.”

“I’m not losing my shit,” you say, one hand waving dismissively as you climb the stairs. 

Quick on your heels she mutters, “Whatever you say, grandma,” just loud enough for you to hear. 

When she’s gone, you take a deep breath. The living room is a slaughter, more disastrous than the aftermath of any raiders or weather event. Couch cushions stand mountainous and stripped naked, the carpet’s rolled up against one wall, all the charcoal and half-spent logs have been scraped from the fireplace onto the floor. You’ll admit that might not have been strictly necessary, but you’ve looked everywhere, checked everything, and uncovered zilch. No gifts. And at the very least, Joel has—with his handsome, freckled, silvered face proud and smiling—conceded that his hiding spot is in the house. Doesn’t stash nothing at Tommy’s or in Ellie’s garage. It’s here. Somewhere. Driving you up the goddamn wall.

It’s not like you even know what you’re looking for, but you’ll know when you see it—of this you are sure.

Room by room, you reassemble the house, shuffling all the knick-knacks you’ve each cautiously assembled in this bizarre second chance at a life into their proper positions. His carvings are your favorites, and you rehome them on their shelves with care. You slide the few photographs each of you into line on the mantle, behind the string lights. It ain’t the same as the world that for nearly thirty years has been dead and gone, but now and then you get flickers of that long-absent comfort. The day the Christmas lights go up in Jackson. The snowmen built by your neighbor’s kids in the street. Jars of homemade strawberry jam. 

Ellie and Joel playing guitar, his deep timbre humming along to her clumsy chords. 

The tight squeeze of your chest when his boots croak the porch and you know he’s finally home. 

The softness of his face first thing in the morning, scarred and weathered, kind. All the long tresses of his graying hair slumped out of place.

As you restore the house’s comfort and clutter over the shrinking days of his absence, you recheck and recheck and recheck and continue to come up empty. At night in the black veil of your shared bedroom, you sleep on his side of the bed with your face crushed in his pillow, breathing him in. 

On the 24th, you wake prepared to wave the white flag when he returns in the evening. You’re going to pout about it, but you’ll give in. Surrender to the superiority of his stupid, squirrelling mind, and admit once and for all that he’s bested you. You have no fucking clue where he hides his gifts. He wins. But you sulk as the day bleeds by, and more than once catch yourself affixed with a frown as you trudge through the crunch of Jackson’s snow-packed streets. As you groom the horses due for the next patrol shift and eat your dinner in the mess hall across from folks you’re only half listening to as they regale you with tales of their day, too distracted by the scrape of spoons against bowls and the emptiness of your hands.

Greedy, that’s what you’re being. Wanting all of him for yourself. You just miss him. You hate when patrol stretches this long, leaving you alone with your cloying worry.

After the sun has set and bowls have emptied, Jackson goes blue. All the snow piled to frame the gravel roads glitters with fresh frost and ice. On your way back to the house, you watch your shadow slide and flicker as you pass beneath the warmth of streetlamps. Someone down the road has a window open, letting the notes of their piano ribbon through the air. 

Even with all the lights and the chatter that tonight could bring fresh snow to the valley, you can’t help but feel a hollowness that you’ve only managed to shake when Joel’s around and the two of you are alone. It’s not all the time, but it happens—a magic you’d believed impossible before you stumbled across this Eden half-dead and were brought inside. Impossible until you met him, and everything latched into place. 

You’ve loved before. Almost got married once, in the world that’s gone. But there’s no comparing how it felt to fall slowly, clumsily into Joel. 

You’re not sure when he’s due to return tonight. Hopefully soon.

Shedding layers as you tread into the hollow house, you light a weakling’s fire in the hearth you know he’ll tease you for, then ascend to your bedroom to change, flicking the light on upstairs so he knows, whenever he gets back, that you’re home. Waiting for him, empty-handed but no less relieved. But as you cross the gold-lit bedroom, a floorboard near the foot of the bed wheezes strangely. This whole house croaks and groans just like everything in Jackson—that sure ain’t new—but this sound is different. You’re not sure you’ve heard it before. Not sure you’ve ever stepped in this exact place.

A grin slips sharp across your face at the smell of victory. You kick back the corner of the rug to bring your heel down hard against the board beneath it, and pop. Up comes the plank, perfect as a seesaw, revealing the black cavern beneath. 

In the shadowed hideaway, a small box lies in the dark beneath the floor.

There it is.

But all the world beyond this room, this box, disappears the moment you set it in your palm.

You don’t hear the porch steps’ announcement, nor the turn of the latch. You don’t hear the squealing door or how the heavy footsteps soften as he removes his boots to leave outside. Not even your name, often intoxicating on his tongue, reaches you in the bedroom—nor when he repeats it on the stairs. 

You’re too busy staring at what you’ve found after all you’re searching.

Then Joel’s in the doorway behind you, and you wake from what you’ve just now begun to believe must be some strange dream.

“Stubborn,” comes his voice, and at the sound you smack the box against your chest to hide it as you whirl around, still on your knees. Stupid you know. Useless. He can see the rug peeled back and the hole cut out of the floor, slender as a piano key. He knows you’ve won.

Broad in the door’s wooden frame, pink-cheeked and snug in his leather coat, Joel stands with the frosting of fresh snow clinging to his hair. He’s been growing it out, to your great pleasure, letting all his silver and curls go free. “I didn’t—” you start to say, but the words thin out and crumble. Your head’s not on quite straight, your heart not yet settled. Eyes still nickel round with shock.

You hadn’t considered how he might react if you succeeded. Maybe he’ll be mad. Take it back. 

But as you stare up at him, all bambi, Joel shakes his head and one snow-dotted curl slips out from the shell of his ear. As he rights it, his scarred hand rising, you see the dirt under his nails in the warm light. The stain on the knee of his jeans. You see too his lips, plush and touched by winter’s aridity, as they twitch in one corner, curling into his cheek. Curling up. Smiling as his eyes hold yours, not mad. Not shy. He’s been inside long enough now that there’s a fifty-fifty chance that the color in his cheeks might even be a blush. 

“Are you mad?” you ask, your voice soft enough to call a whisper.

He shakes his head again, steps over the threshold, and amber light from the lamp falls over him like Midas, turning him from man to gold. One step more and his mouth pulls wider, cuts that wink in his cheek you can’t help but stare at. “Course not,” he says gently. “Knew you were lookin’. Y’can have it one night early.”

It probably doesn’t mean what you think it means, but you’re surprised to discover you’re hoping as you swallow hard, blinking some of the shock from your eyes. He’s here; you ought to get up and hug him—welcome him home, your person here, safe and whole—but you’re too scared to move. Terrified that any flinch will make the box and its contents disappear. 

“Is this for me?”

Wry, he rolls his eyes. “Think you know it is.”

“I feel bad,” you say. “I got you a shirt.”

He’s generous enough to chuckle, and the low, earthy sound of it strikes flames along the column of your neck. “Could use a new shirt,” he says, smirking a little. “This one needs a wash.”

“Shut up,” you chide, but the words come out weak. He’s not allowed to joke right now because if you laugh, you might start to cry.

“Darlin’,” he says too softly. That’s the tone that makes honey of your insides, cruel in the gentle way it asks you to let him in.

Though your vision starts to puddle, you wrestle the feeling back. “S’pretty.”

The slightest nod. Then he unzips his coat to lay over the armchair in the corner of the room and you watch him, pinned to the floor despite the ache in your knees. “Was hopin’ you’d think so,” he admits with his back to you, the blades and muscles in his shoulders and back sliding gracefully beneath his flannel like waves on a lake. Antithetical to the thunder of your heart, Joel moves with a patience you can’t quite believe. In no rush at all, like you’re not holding what you’re holding in your shaking hands. Like some little band of metal doesn’t mean what it did before the world bit the dust and fell away.

The question sits like an icicle on your tongue, slowly melting, pooling behind your teeth. 

Joel lumbers back, the soreness of his body just barely visible in his bow-legged stride, to sit on the edge of the bed just behind you. The mattress squeaks. One hand cards through his hair. Slow is his next breath. Steady. But on the exhale, you swear you hear the tiniest shake, a tiny tremble. 

Realization strikes down at you like lightning: electric and tingling, zipping skull to spine to fingertips, blinding and white. He’s nervous. 

Which means the ring in your hand isn’t just a ring.

Lamblike, you force yourself to your feet, then to his side. The mattress mouses as you sink against his side. Igneous is his body against yours—such a familiar warmth. Rigid and walled to all but a few. Open to you, in moments like these, when he lets you glimpse the whole of him in his eyes and you swear you might be capable of reading the thoughts straight from his mind. Joel nudges his arm harder to yours, and you see the question coming before it slips from his tongue. You see it brewing in the gilt of his eyes just as clearly as you hear your own answer ricochet in your head. 

You don’t cut him off, jump to yes. Instead you lower your hands from their hold against your chest at last, letting the box sit in your lap, open to his regard. Evening lamplight makes ice of the clear stone set squarely on its ring, and the heat of his breath kisses your cheek as he leans in to mumble,

“Y’gonna make me get down on one knee?”

dividers by @saradika-graphics!

NOTE: I am officially moving away from tag lists as they've gotten lengthy (thank you for that <3) so please follow @foxglovenotifs and turn on notifications to get alerts for future updates!

[paulalikestuff]

Mutual Agreement

ok here i come again... its late at night so im just writing this so i wont forget and i might edit later.

Marcus x f!reader (Lucius older Sister)

Rater M (just in case)

Warning (age-gap, mentions of death...)

f reader 26

marcus 45-50

Years had passed since you mother died, 10 to be exact. Lucilla was the sweetest and protective person you knew until Geta and Caracalla came to power and sent her to get killed just to make a statement to the Roman people. By then she had put Lucius in a safe place since he was the last male heir to the Roman Republic. At the moment your mother died you were 15 and by decree of the emperors you were to be wed to general Marcus Acacius to have you both under their control.

At age 20 you knew you were in love with Marcus, it hadn't been like you thought it was going to happen since he had only been polite and had limited your interactions to simple common courtesies when he was in the state. You were the Domina of the house and you were aware that things could change every so often when he was in campaigns. The last one made it so hard on you that at the moment Marcus' second in command sent a letter detailing his current state after being badly injured. It took months for him to recover, the moment you saw him pale and drained from his natural olive color made you almost faint if it hadn't been for a servant near you how held you as the General was brought into his room.

You made sure he was safe and comfortable by tending him yourself. you cleaned and changed his bandages, prepared his food and remedies as stated by the medics. you were completely drained by the 3 month mark when Marcus tarted getting better and being able to do more by himself. Servants and centinels alike inside and outside the villa spoke and tried to reason with you about the toll the situation was taking care on you. Listening was one thing but doing as their said was another. you knew they were worried but it was your duty as wife and domina of the villa but because that situation made you think about how frail life was and how much you can lose. not material things but Marcus even though he never said anything about your relationship and tried to keep it as platonic as he could to keep you safe from the evil twins who ruled Rome.

It had been 6 years later since you made yourself aware of how much you loved Marcus and how many women around you were wedded and had families. Women even younger than you had at least 2 children and by now people started talking. You didn't notice but you had started to play with your tunic near the section of your belly. Thinking about having children with Marcus made you smile and even imagine little children running around the villa but you knew that was never going to happen since he kept you at arms length.

Marcus was well aware of your change of attitude and how you saw pregnant women or women with children walking around the streets or when they ended up at the villa -being the wife or daughter of a senator who was married and pregnant-. These women always made the same questions "when are you having children?" or "are you planning on having children? it has been too long since oyu married the General". it was a nightmare even more when you had political affairs in the villa or you had to attend.

Today was one of those days when women had attended to your villa, at least 6 senators and their families were present and 2 of those women were heavily pregnant. The situation made it even worse since you were bombarded by questions about the topic and all the hormones were not helping. You were trying to make the most out off the situation and hold yourself and your emotions from show and tell these women how much you wanted to be a mother but your husband had never touched you.

The reunion ended and everyone left leaving you to manage the staff and then go to your room, as you were getting out off your clothes and letting them fall, you were able to see your slim figure on your mirror and started to imagine what would it be to be a mother if it was at leas only one time. as you caressed your empty belly you were mentally praying to the gods for help to at least know what physical comfort felt like with a man. The moment you heard a goblet fall, the candles near the bed blew and you could hear a soft voice saying "I have seen your heart dear daughter of Juno, your petition will be delivered." Right after that you could hear loud noises outside near the main garden and the son of iron clashing with each other.

Part 2 most likely tomorrow or Monday

[paulalikestuff]

Healing, hurting.

Jackson!Joel x wife!reader

not my photo; unsure of the original creator- pls let me know if you do, so I can tag them! i just found this on X and filtered it. :)

Tags/Warnings: TLOU2 SPOILERS (kinda) Angst, injuries, regret, implied caretaker fatigue, brief mention of a brain injury, Joel is implied to have some brain damage, (shaky hands, trouble caring for himself) canon-typical angst

pairing: Jackson!Game!Joel x wife! Reader (reader is described to be around his age, but nothing too specific.)

Summary: A little blurb where Joel survives Abby’s attack and becomes dependent on you :,).

wc: 852- just a baby!

He’s miserable.

He’s cold, he’s hot, he’s shaking and makes the most heartbreaking whines of pain when you try to move him.

Cruelty. It feels like fucking cruelty keeping him here. You need Tommy’s help to drag him into the bathroom, to sit him down on the stool you put in the shower for him. Then the hiss and defeated moan that escapes him when his side hits the cold tile.

It’s too much.

At first, you barely let him sleep. It’s a brain injury, right? If he sleeps, he dies. That’s what Ellie pleaded with you over.

Don’t let him sleep, don’t let him die. Please.

But now he sleeps. The first time he spoke, he begged to rest. His voice scratchy and hoarse. He was hurting so bad. Let him rest, let him sleep this shit off.

So he sleeps, impossibly hard; snoring so hard he’s made himself cough a few times. But you don’t sleep. You stay awake and when the snoring stops, your finger slips under his nose to check. You pull away only when you feel the deep exhale pass your fingertips.

He’s shaky. His hands tremble when he does the smallest thing; his favorite coffee cup ending up on the floor being the first time he cried over all of this mess. It wasn’t very obvious that he was crying, just that his head hung in shame and a few tears rolled down his worn cheeks. He can barely hold a spoon or a fork, and that’s become your job, too.

You’re his wife.

He should be taking care of you.

He tells you that through a soft spoken grumble every now and then. Usually when you’re feeding him, when you’re wiping a dribble of coffee from his greying beard.

Or sometimes when he’s sitting up in the shower, watching with wet hazel eyes as you clean him so gently.

“S’my job, honey.” Joel’s voice is mumbly and soft, Texan accent only thickened by his exhaustion.

“In sickness and in help goes both ways.” You argue every single time. He grunts and lolls his head to the side, resting it against the tiles. It’s the hurt side, the side where she hit him over and over again with that thing. So when it hits the tile he flinches and groans.

But there he lies; beside you in your shared bed. The bed that used to scoot and crack against the wall, old age be damned. The bed you ached to climb into at the end of a long day and find him waiting for you. He was always sitting up with his readers on the tip of that scarred nose, reading a book about space to keep up with Ellie.

Now he’s lying on his back, shivering until you add another blanket. His pillow is stained a deep reddish brown from the first night he was like this. You’ve washed it several times, but blood’s a hard stain.

The mangled scar from the attack stretched from the side of his head, his poor ear chipped- landing right beside his eyebrow. It was less angry now, turning a deep shade of pink as it finally healed.

His leg was another story, wrapped thick with gauze and splinted with two wooden planks your brother in law brought for this alone.

It soaked through the bandages less now, though.

He stirred, coughed, let out a grumble and slowly shifted his head to see you. You were beside him just like always, except this event had left your age lines deeper and your eyes darker. Guilt pulled his seams taut; he’s your husband. He shouldn’t be like this.

He spoke very little, as it was a much bigger effort now.

“What, Joel?” You softly murmured, lifting your gaze to meet his. His head seemed to tremble as he shifted, his chapped lips slowly parting.

“Nothin’, honey. Jus’ grateful t’have you.” He mumbled and gave a small nod, a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

He then coughed, grunting in annoyance as the fit calmed down.

“When I ain’t like’is anymore.. me n’you. Walkin’ to the grand Teton together. Gon’ have a camping trip.” He closed his eyes and chuckled softly, smiling to himself.

“Alright, Joel.” You breathed, sitting up on your elbow to press a kiss to his scarred temple.

“Don’t.. worry bout’ infected or nothin’. I’ll keep ya safe.” He added, his hand slowly lifting to gesture as he spoke.

“We’ll skip the resort, huh?” You teased. His eyebrows raised and he nodded, letting out a stronger laugh.

“Yeah. ‘Specially if they got a golf course.” He chuckled and peeked over at you through tired eyes.

“Joel Miller!” You patted his arm, making him smile and laugh again.

You then snuggled into his side, sharing some of your warmth with him beneath the multitude of quilts and fleece. He grumbled and shifted a bit, getting comfortable himself. With your chin resting on his shoulder, he turned his head, kissing your forehead. His lips lingered there and he nuzzled his face against your head.

“Love you, honey. More’n you know.”

[paulalikestuff]

Kinktober 2024: October 13th

Day 13: Pregnancy // Aftercare // Roleplay

Javi Gutierrez x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Pregnancy kink, body worship, breeding kink, vaginal sex, dirty talk

|| Kinktober List || 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.

He had never thought he would be here. Had hoped for it, but had always felt that it was an unachievable goal, even with all the money and ‘power’ he once had. 

Javi Gutierrez had to give up the riches, the homes and the collectables but he had found himself. Found success in screenwriting, found love, found the life he had always dreamed about. 

The pregnancy kink had been a surprise, but it was good that you did not seem to mind him losing his mind over your body as it changes with his baby growing inside. 

Waking up aching for you, his cock is already hard, pressed against your hip. Curled into your body because you are sleeping better on your back these days with the growing swell of your stomach preventing you from moving too much at night. 

You are gorgeous and there are times when he has to jerk off to keep from hounding you too much for sex. He knows that your libido isn’t as high as his is right now and he doesn’t want to bother you. 

Everything about you is sexy. From the way your hair and nails seem to thrive, to the way your breasts have started to get bigger, you are his ultimate fantasy. 

Secretly, he even loves when the baby kicks him. His hands slide over your stomach while he worships you and when the baby is active, he feels slightly guilty about the idea that he is horny while he should just be in awe of the life you are creating together. That is something he won’t ever say out loud. 

You don’t ever tell him that he can’t touch you, which is a good thing because he wants to touch you all the time. From rubbing your belly or caressing your breasts, he is obsessed with having his hands on you. Even if it is just a small little stroke of your skin before he has to pull away. 

Fatherhood had once frightened him. He had imagined all the ways that he would fail, you and the baby, that he could morph into his father or even worse - his cousin. That he would ruin this baby’s life and yours as a result of his own shortcomings. 

You have changed that for him. You have shown him that he will be an excellent father, your faith in him allowing him to enjoy this even more. Adoring every single change that this pregnancy has brought to your body and your relationship. His phone is filled with pictures from nearly everyday from the first day you found out you were pregnant to last night. 

He has attended every doctor’s appointment and asked questions, read books and tried to plan as best he can for what is to come. He had been obsessed with movies but now that was replaced with pregnancy. 

He wants more of this, more of you pregnant. If it were safe, he would want to keep you this way. Just full of his babies, happy and healthy. He’s already made some comments about having another, keeping the siblings that you have already planned close in age. 

“I love you.” His voice is soft, affectionate as he whispers in your ear. Hands gentle as they slide over your rounded curves and admire that hardness of your belly. The swell of it as it houses your child. 

“Hmmm.” Your sleep smile breaks across your face as you open your eyes. “I love you too.” You murmur softly. “You’re horny.” You observe, making him hum in embarrassment, even as he rocks his hips against you. 

“Always, for you.” He admits, being completely honest about that fact. “Can I have you this morning?” 

He will always ask, it’s just who he is. Respect and care are woven into the very fabric of his being and it shows. It doesn’t stop you from turning towards him for a kiss, or shifting so he can pull closer to you despite your belly. 

“You want to fuck your pregnant wife?” You’ve noticed, it’s hard not to when Javi has suddenly become super sexual. You had a robust sex life before, but this has been on top of your normal lovemaking. 

Javi groans, cock twitching. “Yesssss.” He pants, caressing your stomach again. “I want to fuck my pregnant wife.” You grin, shifting to sit up so you can pull the thin nightgown over your head. “I want to stay on my back.” 

That’s the position Javi loves the most. He can see you. Watch your tits bounce and your stomach between the two of you while he carefully rocks into you. He can also make sure that you can cum too. He loves to watch you cum, rubbing your clit while his cock is stuffed into your body. 

He is so gentle as he moves over you, the proud smile on his face reflecting that broadly. Spreading your thighs and his fingers slide between your folds to make sure that you are wet. You always are for him, something about you that he adores. 

The moment he sinks into you is magical. His groan loud and full of lust as he inches inside you. Watching as he sinks into your pussy and feels your walls clench down around him. 

“God, I love you baby, you are so perfect.” He moans softly, watching your face, your stomach, his cock. All of it perfect and making him throb inside you. HIs fingers find your clit, rubbing soft circles. 

He makes you feel beautiful, he worships you. He is good and he loves your changing body, doesn’t mind the weight, the stretch marks, he loves it all. He loves everything about being a father-to-be, about your pregnancy. 

“Fuck me, Javi.” You beg, watching him and enjoying the way that he looks over you. “After we have this baby, I want you to put another one in me.” You tell him breathlessly, making him groan and twitch inside you. 

“Fuck baby, you’re gonna make me cum, talking like that.” Javi huffs, chest heaving as he looks down at you. He has discovered he has loved seeing you pregnant, and apparently you like being pregnant. 

“Good.” You smirk and clench down around him, watching his breath catch and his face contorted in pleasure. “Cum for me, and we can do this all over again after you feed me breakfast.” 

“Anything you want.” He promises, rubbing your clit just a little harder. “But you will cum for me first. I have to take care of my girl.” 

You know he will, he’s so good to you. Getting you pregnant and falling in love with you being that way. Javi will be a perfect dad and you will get to enjoy this over and over again, as many times as you want to have kids. 

[paulalikestuff]

Joel Miller coded

[paulalikestuff]

Pedro serving looks in the new trailer

[paulalikestuff]

Thank you for the Husband Javi series. This family is absolutely incredible. Would you ever write about their miscarriage in between Lucas and Ines? It would definitely add to and shows strength of the bond between wife and Javi.

Loss

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N:  This was done with utmost respect and care. If anything in this piece is unrealistic and tasteless, I take full responsibility. Please read the tags.

Summary: You wake up to a nightmare.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Miscarriage, loss of a child, heavy angst, grief, child in distress, description of vomit, description of blood, brief mention of loss of a parent, hospitals, the inherent suffering and guilt of being a mother, hurt/comfort, somewhat happy ending

Word count: 5.4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58943479

Loss

It is a known fact that you easily stir from your sleep when Javier is out of your reach, always needing to feel his skin on your own in some way even if it is just your fingertips touching him. It is why you are confused about being woken up by your body in the early morning hours when Javier’s hand rests so gently on your shoulder as he snores beside you. On top of it, having a toddler in the room next door makes you sleep through the night whenever you can. 

Lucas doesn’t need you right now. Javier is right there. There’s a hint of anxiety in your mind because the only explanation must be that something is wrong and your brain is yelling at you to figure out what. You sit up carefully, fumbling slightly as your hand searches for the light on your nightstand. You flick it on.

However, it is not the sight of red that makes your heart skip a beat. It is that you feel it; you are sitting in a pool of your blood, its dampness cold and clammy underneath you as it has soaked through your sleep shorts only to stain the sheets in a dark, crimson color. Where it comes from hasn’t clicked yet but when you throw the covers to the side, the realization of what is happening creates a drop in your stomach that is nauseating. 

Your heart sinks at the thought of what is lost and your breath catches in your throat before you let out a wreaking sob, frantically scooting back on the bed until you are pressed into the bedframe and wanting to get away from what feels like a bodily crime. Your hand is on your belly, your breathing so fast that it is dizzying. 

Beside you, Javier stirs from his sleep when his mind registers the noises coming from you. He blinks a few times in his barely-awake state, confusion evident on his features, until the realization hits him as well and his eyes widen. 

He sits up immediately and flicks on the lamp on his own bedside table, “Fuck, baby. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m losing it,” you breathe so rapidly that you are about to throw up, trying to abstain from looking at the trail of blood you have made from moving around on the bed, “I’m losing the baby. Javi, I— I’m losing my baby. I’m lo— I’m losing my baby.”

Javier is out of bed not a moment after, having walked around it to stand by your side. He puts a firm hand on your shoulder, demeanor having changed to show that he is completely in control of the room. He squeezes you, “Hey, heyheyhey, hey, baby. Eyes on me, mi amor (my love).”

You raise your gaze to him, your wet eyes huge like a doe’s from the panic in your body. You sound so frail as you talk, your voice filled with nausea, and Javier feels like he could punch a hole into the Earth for you, “I’m not pregnant anymore. I’m— my baby. I’m not… Javi.”

“Honey, we gotta get you out of bed, okay?” Javier tries to hold his own tears at bay. He swallows a little too often, still struggling with the disorientation of being abruptly interrupted in his sleep. You take his hand when he offers it, and he gets you onto your feet, “That’s it, there you go. We have to get you to the hospital. They have to take a look at you. We don’t know anything yet.”

“I know but… I think I do know,” you are sobbing on the spot, barely comprehensible as you do it but you still follow when he starts guiding you down the stairs. He wraps you in your longest coat, gets the car keys, and walks you to the truck all the while praising you with each step.

“But the car seats,” you cry, trying not to gag from the whole situation, “I’m bleeding.”

“Fuck the car seats, baby,” he reassures, stroking his hands up and down your shoulders, “Listen to me. I’m going to get Lucas. I don’t want to leave you here all alone but I need to get him, okay?”

You nod with a whimper, so brave in this moment of peril that it floors him a little. How do you manage to think of anyone else when you are experiencing the most horrific thing? He unlocks the car for you and makes sure you get inside alright. 

“Five minutes,” he says, holding up his hand for show in case your ears are ringing like his are. Then he staggers back into the house with the most neutral expression he can force onto his face. Upstairs, Lucas is sobbing loudly in his nursery as he has sensed that his parents have gone. He is holding onto the railing of his bed, screaming his head off from anxiety but Javier feels nothing but relief at the sound because then at least he is alive and breathing. Who knew those little lungs could make such noise? 

He hurries to his son’s side and scoops him up into his arms, cooing soothing words at him as he moves through the house like he is treading water. Lucas doesn’t seem convinced and Javier doesn’t blame him, frustration building up in his chest as his son cries until he feels tears escaping his eyes as well. 

“I know, mijo (my son), I’m sorry we left, I’m so sorry,” he says with a shaky breath, passing the car with guilt in his chest to cross the neighbors’ front lawn. He knocks frantically on the front door, waiting impatiently while bouncing Lucas to make him settle even if it’s to no avail. 

The Correas, the elderly couple, who live next door open the door with bleary eyes, startled by the noise at three in the morning. Mrs. Correa looks at Lucas with sympathy but then frowns in concern at the lack of color on Javier’s face. 

“You alright, son?” Mr. Correa asks.

“I need to—“ Javier catches the swear that bubbles up in his throat but he doesn’t manage to keep his sob in. He bounces Lucas desperately but he still shrieks, “My wife needs to go to the hospital. I know it’s late but we really need your help. Can you take him? I know it’s a lot to ask for—“ 

They exchange glances of concern but then Mrs. Correa nods and her husband squeezes her shoulder with a little smile, “Of course, dear. Anything to help.”

Javier passes his son to them, and they already start comforting him with soothing words during his wailing for his parents. Javier hears him even as they close the door, bombarded with the image of his tiny frame being wracked by fear and confusion every time he blinks. He feels it coming as he approaches the car again, the burning sensation in his throat that makes him run to the nearest bush and empty his guts into it, coughing up bile because he hasn’t eaten since dinner time. He isn’t a father of two anymore. Was he ever? He can’t figure out where definitions start or end. This is worse than anything he felt back in Colombia.

Back in the car, you’ve gone numb. Javier finds you sitting in the backseat with your knees against your chest and your arms clutching around them. He swallows at the sight of the red stains on the car seats, the red on your palms too. You look so small as he glances at you in the rearview mirror, wrapped in yourself with your eyes distant as if you’re trying to make yourself disappear. He wants to say something but he is at a loss for words, figuring that he might make it worse if he tries to comfort you in a situation that is unable to be comforted. 

However, as the car takes off and he drives you towards the hospital, things seem to make everything worse on their own accord. You suddenly gasp on the backseat, clutching at your lower belly as your pelvic floor starts to cramp up. Any hope that this might have just been bleeding is squashed because you know instantly that your body is trying to reject something. 

Javier reaches behind his seat to take your hand in his own, feeling your clammy palm and trying his hardest to not let it show how helpless he feels, “I’m almost there, okay? They’ll get you something for the pain, baby. They’ll take care of you.” 

You nod with gritted teeth, feeling like the rest of the drive is longer than an eternity. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes like hours in this fog of pain mixed with grief. You don’t know when you’ve started crying again but tears drip down from your chin, landing on the coat that you try to drown in. 

When he’s finally pulling into the hospital’s parking lot, you’ve laid down on the backseat with tears streaming steadily down your face until they dampen your hair. You can barely breathe every time sharp pains in your pelvic floor crash over you like a wave, causing you to whimper like a wounded stray. 

Javier slams the door behind him as he hurries to help you out of the backseat. His heart hammers in his chest as adrenaline rushes through his veins. He remembers this feeling from his time in Colombia, the dizzying high from being on guard and ready to fight, but he didn’t actually think that he would ever experience it again. 

“C’mon, baby, just a few steps, attagirl,” he coos as he walks with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you hanging onto him for support as you tremble. He was, however, never quite this gentle in Colombia. 

The automatic doors to the emergency room slide open and Javier can’t see anything for a few seconds due to how bright the lights are. He manages to get your staggering body inside, barely making it to the nurse at the front desk before she calls for assistance and a wheelchair. 

Two nurses help you into the chair, already asking questions that quickly blur together and follow each other so rapidly that he cannot comprehend what is being said, hearing nothing but the adrenaline-infused blood rush in his ears. You answer mechanically, something that frightens him too, your mind seemingly trying to process the reality of what is happening while he feels in the middle of it, overwhelmingly aware. 

They wheel you to a private examination room, helping you undress, and then onto a table. Javier follows helplessly behind, making himself known by saying your name so you don’t fear that he has abandoned you in all this. He holds your hand tightly while watching a middle-aged doctor enter the room, a serious expression on his face as the both of you cry silently. As the doctor does a quick scan of your belly, Javier tries to hold onto you, feeling as if you’ll fall apart if he lets go.

Your doctor is silent for a while, his mouth a thin line as he moves the stick around on your stomach. He looks like someone who hopes for better things than what he sees on the screen, uncomfortably quiet and drowned out by the whirring of the ultrasound machine. Eventually, he swallows thickly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “There’s no heartbeat.”

The words hit Javier like a punch to the stomach, knocking the breath out of him. His vision blurs with tears, and he hears a wail of grief escape your lips, raw with anguish and absolutely heart-wrenching.

He keeps hearing the sentence inside his head, feels his knees start to tremble so much that he has to grip the edge of the table you’re lying on until his knuckles are white if he doesn’t want to collapse to the floor. Your wailing is unbearable, cutting through him until everything hurts and bile starts rising in his throat again. He swallows it down despite the burn, trying not to think of how robbed he feels; there’s laughter and sibling rivalry that won’t be happening now. 

In front of him, the doctor is holding his hands in front of himself, palms clasped tightly together as he gives you a moment. He looks down at nothing in particular, looking like someone counting the seconds until it is okay to open his mouth again. Javier doesn’t want him to say a single goddamn word.

But he speaks again, and Javier tries not to want to punch a hole through him. “We need to act quickly. Your wife—“

Javier glares at him. He turns to you, “Mrs. Peña, you’re losing a lot of blood, and there’s a risk of infection. We need to perform a procedure to remove everything from the pregnancy to ensure your safety and recovery.”

You look to the doctor, swallowing thickly through the tears, and then glance at Javier. He leans in to rest his forehead against yours, holding your hand as it rests in your lap, “They need to take care of you now, okay?”

“Don’t leave me,” you beg quietly, breaths shaky.

“I’m right here, I’m not leaving,” he replies, brushing his thumb over your knuckles repeatedly, trying to ground you. You nod slowly and look so small, “I love you so much, baby. You need to let them take care of you for me.”

“Okay,” your voice is barely there, weak and frightened. 

The medical team works quickly after that. A nurse puts an IV into your arm and gives you something for your anxiety, causing you to half-doze off while they wheel you out of the room. 

Javier walks down the hallways of the hospital until he cannot follow you anymore, his hand slipping from yours as you are wheeled into an available OR. When the doors close behind the team of medical professionals following you, the reality of what they’re going to be doing to you crashes over him like an avalanche. It is unbearable. Each second feels worse than the last. 

A kind nurse touches his arm, makes him flinch, but then she apologizes and tells him the directions to the waiting room. His feet take him there without him quite knowing how but when he finally collapses into a chair against the wall, he doubles over and buries his face in his hands. A shaky breath leaves him in the colorless room, his thumbs pressing into his eyes until fireworks go off behind his eyelids. There’s the sound of the clock on the wall ticking quietly and then there’s the sound of his violent sobs, his chest burning as he finally allows himself to let devastation consume him. 

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He has never felt this kind of fear, not even when he was fighting for his life in Colombia, and never knew the outcome of the dangers he faced. This isn’t the same terror that ambushes and flying bullets coming from machine guns brought along because back then, he knew - and still knows - how to act to keep himself safe, to get out of there alive. But back then, there was nothing to lose and if tragedy was upon him, it was only him arriving home in a casket. This is new and the fear suffocates him because there’s no clear enemy to fight, no escape route or strategy that can save him from watching his family suffer. His instincts tell him to return the fire but there’s no fire to return. All he can do is sit idly with the feeling that he can’t fix this, can’t protect you or him from the hurt. All his instincts from the chaos of Colombia are useless here. 

Instead, he just feels like he did when he sat through the funeral of his mother at barely ten years old. This fact makes him reach into his pocket and fish out his work phone to dial the number of his father’s landline with the intention of getting told what to do, his inner child screaming for the soothing words and guidance of his parent. 

Chucho Peña answers groggily on the fourth ring, “¿Bueno?”

“Papá…” Javier breathes quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He feels his throat constrict as tears well up in his eyes again and how the words suddenly feel too hard to speak. 

Chucho knows something is wrong from the way his son trails off and suddenly his voice comes through the receiver again, sharper and fully awake, “¿Qué pasa, hijo? (What’s going on, son?)”

Javier swallows hard around the lump in his throat, his nose prickling, “I’m calling from the hospital. We— we lost the baby, Dad. There was so much blood. I didn’t know what to do.”

There’s a moment where he can only hear his father’s hitched breath, the older man seemingly trying to process what he has just been told. He clears his throat, “Lo siento mucho, Javi (I’m so sorry, Javi). You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

“But I am sitting here and I am doing nothing,” he answers bitterly and a tear rolls down his face again just when he thinks he has it under control. 

“Javier, listen to me,” Chucho commands, his voice still soft even when he is stern, “Some things we have no power over. Losing your mother taught me that. You don’t have to fix it, mijo (my son). You just have to be there.”

Javier wants to throw up at the mention of his mother. He shudders in his seat, trying to push down the flood of tears that threatens to repeat itself as before he made this call. He doesn’t want to think about his mother, doesn’t want to experience loss that same way again. All he wants is to fix it, “It’s not enough.”

“It is enough. She doesn’t need anything more from you, and even if this feels like it overshadows everything, you’ll find something to fight for. For me, it was you. And for you, it’ll be your family. Lucas. And her.”

“Fuck,” Javier’s throat tightens again as his thoughts turn to Lucas. He had barely been able to say goodbye before rushing out of the house, and the guilt of seeing his tiny, devastated face is going to keep hurting for a while. “I left him next door, Lucas, I mean. He was screaming for me, Pop, and I just left him.”

Chucho’s voice softens even further in reassurance, “You did what you had to, mijo (my son). He’s safe. Do you want me to get him? I can be there by morning. I can take care of him, handle things at the house so you can focus on her. Whatever you both need, Javi. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I don’t want to bother you, Papá. It’s late, and—”

“Javier,” Chucho interrupts, the gentle sternness returning but when he continues, Javier swears he can hear his voice wavering even as he tries to be strong. “You’re not bothering me. You are my family. You’re my son, and you need help. I’ll be there if you need me. Say the word, and I’m on my way.”

A nurse taps Javier on the shoulder. He looks up at her and she gives him a gentle smile as soon as she sees the tear streaks on his face. She speaks softly, “Your wife is recovering from surgery. Everything went smoothly. You can go see her now, I’m sure she’ll wake up any moment.”

“Papá,” he speaks into the phone after mouthing a ‘thank you’ to the nurse, sighing softly, “She’s out of surgery. I gotta go see her now.”

“You want me to go get Lucas?” Chucho asks as a final question.

“If it’s not too much trouble then—“

“It’s not,” he reassures steadfastly, “Hang up. I’ll make sure everything is okay at home. Te quiero tanto (I love you so much).”

“Te quiero también (I love you too),” Javier replies and hangs up. He pockets his phone and pushes himself to stand, walking to the front desk to get your room number, and then practically runs down the hallway to get to you faster. 

He enters the hospital room after bracing himself outside the door. You’re lying underneath the dimly lit lights in the ceiling that are supposed to be soothing but have lost their charm. Javier has never seen you actually sleep soundly in a hospital room, barely saw you do it when you had Lucas because you didn’t like the cold, sterile interior. He doesn’t like seeing it now because he knows you’re not sleeping on your own accord, especially does not like seeing it accompanied by the steady beeping sound of a heart rate monitor. 

He carefully drags a chair across the room to sit by your bed, dropping down into it with a small sigh from finally being at your side again. You don’t move by the little noise, and he recalls the nurse telling him that the drugs might take an hour or so to wear off enough for you to wake. 

“I’m here, mi amor (my love),” he hears himself whisper, taking your hand in his own and resting his body against the white mattress. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to doze off while still being completely aware of the room around him. He had no idea that sleep would overtake him as soon as he saw you, all the tension of wondering if he ever was going to again seeping out of his body. 

The clock tells him that half an hour has passed when he jolts awake but it only feels like barely a minute, his poor back killing him from leaning forward in the chair. Your fingers twitch in his hand - a sign that you’re waking up - and the pace of the pulse monitor’s beeping increases. He straightens to watch your eyes flutter beneath your lids before you blink a few times to adjust to the lights. Confusion clouds your face for a moment before the memory of what has happened hits, and Javier sees the pain flood back in without being able to do anything. He squeezes your hand, trying to offer some comfort, but it feels useless against the weight of what you’re about to remember.

“Hey,” he says quietly and you turn your head to the sound of his voice. He is sure that he looks tired, bags under his eyes, “I was waiting for you to wake up to me.”

When you don’t say anything, he reaches out to gently run a hand over your hair, his thumb occasionally rubbing against the spot between your eyebrows, just like he has come to love it when you do it. He soothes you whilst you try to find out what is happening, speaks quietly and gently, “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“Where’s Lucas?” You don’t register the question, voice cracking as you speak and Javier is sure you are distracted by the lack of life in your belly. He swallows thickly as you talk, “We left him. He—“

“He’s fine. He’s with the neighbors. I made sure he’s safe,” he pauses to press a kiss to your forehead before resting his head where his lips have been, “He’s okay, baby. Pop will get him in the morning. You don’t have to worry about him.”

It’s as if the fact that you don’t have to be strong for your son makes your face crumble. You breathe shakily as tears start to well up in your eyes. For a moment, it looks like you cannot breathe and then you sob. 

“It’s my fault,” you tell him through tears.

“What? No… no,” Javier feels disoriented by that statement, pulling back to let you see him shaking his head, “No, baby. Why on earth would you say that? Of course, it’s not.”

“I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve known something was wrong, but I didn’t, and now— We could’ve seen a doctor—”

“No,” Javier interrupts firmly. He takes your hand to stress his words. He suddenly feels strong in your hour of need despite his own tears having started to fall from his eyes, “No, don’t do that. This wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. You did everything you could, everything you were supposed to do for our baby.”

He watches tears slide down your cheeks until they drip down from your chin, some of them even sliding down into your messy hair. He pushes the chair back when he gets up from his seat, the legs on it scraping loudly across the floor. 

You are inconsolable even when he moves onto the edge of the bed, one leg stretched out on the mattress and another dangling over the edge, so he can plant his foot on the floor. He holds you gently, crumbling the sheets by wearing his usual jeans in bed, and rests his lips against the top of your head. 

“Hey hey hey,” he shushes you softly and rocks you as much as he can without disturbing your IV, “You have already given me - us - a beautiful boy. You are so good to me.”

You quiet down a little at that but there seem to be no words to describe how you feel. You whimper at his words and shake your head, and it makes him ache to make all of this go away. 

“Yes,” he stresses, reaching for your hand to hold it against his mouth. He kisses it repeatedly, opening your hand like a flower to kiss your palm too, “I love you both so much, and I love our baby. Even if they weren’t ready to meet us.”

“How can you love me when I can’t even—“

He shushes you gently, cooing at you as he would his son whenever he is in distress, “You are not hard to love, baby.”

“Yes, I am,” you sniffle.

“No, you’re not,” he sniffles, feeling a tear drip onto the covers, his hand still clutching yours to ground the both of you, “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. You and I are forever, you know that.”

And this is where your cries intensify because you had never expected to find anyone who would do this for you, say these things to you. You weep and kick and scream for your baby in the small hospital bed, and Javier holds you through it all, not wavering once.

Silence fills the room when you miraculously feel empty of tears even if it’s brief. You breathe deeply into the quiet room, not sure what to do from now on because it feels too surreal to imagine going home.

“We can try again soon,” Javier says eventually. 

“It’s going to take a while,” you reply. 

“Then it will,” he reassures, reaching up to run a hand over your hair and kissing it too. 

“Okay,” you sniffle. 

“Okay,” he repeats and then pulls you close so you can bury your face in his chest. He rests his palm on the back of your head, cradling you gently, “Now we’re just gonna lie here and you are gonna let me protect you from everything in the world. Just for a moment.”

You let him and he lets you cry quietly into his shirt whilst he coos at you. The only other sound is the sound of the hospital; its continuous, rhythmic beeping, and the sound of squeaky shoes worn by nurses that pass by outside. Javier rests his cheek against your head. He can tell you feel soothed by the way he breathes quietly against you, the steady and reliable sound of his heartbeat, and his chest moving up and down. 

— 

The sun has gone down enough over Chucho’s ranch that everything has a golden hue. You kiss and hug goodnight and then head to the car, an SUV that has replaced the truck a few months prior. You are walking a few steps in front of Javier, dangling the key for Lucas to take because he has asked to press the button to unlock the car. Your son snatches the bundle and runs along excitedly, watching the car lights with fascination as they blink when he pushes the button. 

You grin over your shoulder at Javier who smiles back at you. On his strong arm, Inés is fast asleep with her legs dangling with each step he takes as he carries her to the car. Her mouth hangs open, her eyelids flutter just slightly, and sometimes, she grabs at her father’s shoulders without waking up. She wears her new sandals, the ones with sunflowers on them that she begged you to get for her when you were last out shopping with her. Javier carries her so gently. You look at the sky behind them, feeling a tug in your heart. 

It’s been four years since you lost their sibling. However, there’s a feeling of peace within you now, even if that night in the hospital is always with you, lingering just beneath the surface. Now, instead of a sharp constant ache, it has dulled into a grief that sometimes knocks on memory’s door and you answer it by letting Javier hold you a little tighter in the house that has become your home even more. 

Lucas crawls into the backseat and confidently clicks his seatbelt in, having neared that age where he desperately wants to show you how much he can do by himself and grins with a ¡Mira, Mamà! (Look, Mom!) to win your praise. He has grown so much since that night, doesn’t even remember it that much but you have talked to him about it a few times when he has caught you in your grief, mostly back when it was a fresh wound to your heart and tears would sneak up on you out of the blur. It’s rare that he’ll mention it now but he knows he has two siblings; one here with him and one that he didn’t get to meet. 

You had been so afraid of letting him carry the weight of your grief, trying to find the right words that would not overwhelm him but seeing him grin at you out of the car window, you know that you have done just fine. You wave at him with a big smile and knock on the window as you pass by it to see his excitement bubble over in a little laugh. 

You sense that Javier lags behind and when you turn around, you see him cradling Inés in his arms as she only blinks a few times but doesn’t fully wake. He is quiet as he coos down at her, cupping the back of her small head and kissing her head with a smile. He loves her, there’s no doubt. You think back to how scared you both were after losing the baby, unsure if you could go through it one more time if it were to end up in tragedy again. But here she is, your precious daughter, peacefully asleep in her father’s arms who will do anything for her safety.

He meets your gaze as he walks up to you and smiles enough to make his eyes crinkle. You offer to take your daughter but he shakes his head, so instead you walk to the side where Inés’ car seat is and open the door for them. 

Your husband carefully lowers Inés into her seat beside Lucas, and you catch the way his fingers linger, brushing her cheek as he fastens her in. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, her little mouth still hanging open, completely at peace.

When the both of you are in the car - you in the passenger seat - Javier puts a hand on your thigh. He squeezes it, rubbing a soothing circle with his thumb, “¿Estás bien? (You okay?)”

You nod, glancing back at the kids in the rearview mirror before turning to him with a soft smile, “Estoy bien, te prometo (I’m okay, I promise).”

He looks at you for a moment, searching your face like he always does, making sure you’re truly okay. When he sees the truth in your eyes, he leans over the control center to kiss your lips like he has a million times before, “Good.”“Keys, mijo (my son),” he then says and Lucas hands him the car keys when he is asked, stretching dramatically to reach his father’s hand and looking curiously when Javier inserts it in the ignition and starts the car, “Let’s go home.”

.

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[paulalikestuff]

Poison🩸🌧️

got the feels and wanted to write about it

Ship: Old!Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader 🩸

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 786

Warnings: disease, injury, blood, aging, kind of age gap? (they're roughly the same age but reader doesn't show it), grief

Your nose scrunched as it was hit by the all-too familiar scent that followed Logan like a shadow. Acrid, sharp, deadly. Seeped into his blood from his metallic bones, poisoning him. Killing him. Leeching his life and healing mutation to where he was a husk of the X-Man he once was.

It was 29 years to the day since you’d met him. When he'd woken up, terrified, on that chrome stretcher and nearly choked you to death. The blood flowing through his thick arms pumping by your ears and only proving what you’d hypothesized: his blood wasn’t normal.

Logan’s blood ran thicker than every other person’s. Tasted more metallic, more iron in his blood than the rest of the mutants that filled Charles Xavier’s mansion. You had always found Logan’s blood to be tricky to manipulate. Whether it be to stimulate his healing or to form the thick ichor to your desire, it just didn’t want to cooperate.

That same difficulty faced you now as you kneeled in front of your and Logan’s shared bed. The room rattled as another freight train barreled by outside. Dusty picture frames swinging on rusted walls, bottles of medication bouncing on wire shelves, creaking bed groaning under Logan’s weight.

You held a clean rag to a shotgun blast in Logan’s gut. His blood had soaked through two others just like it, now lying in the dented bucket at your feet. A vein in your neck strained as you focused on healing the wound.

“It’s no use, doll. I’ll be fine,” Logan grunted. He tried to wave you off with a withered hand. You smacked it away from your face. A low hum rumbled his chest.

“Shut up, old man,” you said. That earned a rough chuckle from his chapped lips. You glanced up at him from where you knelt between his knees.

If pure reverence was an expression, what painted Logan’s face in broad strokes fit the bill. Crows feet bunched around his hazel eyes, smile lines deepend by his close-lipped smirk, graying eyebrows turned up at the edges. He ran a calloused hand along your unaged cheek.

“Beautiful as the day I met you,” he whispered softly. Grief struck you in the chest like a wooden stake. 

It wasn’t fair. Logan’s adamantium skeleton sucked the life from him, making him age and decay, while you remained the same. Wrinkle-less, youthful, bright-eyed. You would pump your youth into him if you could. 

But you couldn’t.

All you could do was prevent the inevitable. Prevent what once seemed impossible, yet hung over you like a thick fog.

Logan ran his thumb under your eye, collecting a tear that spilled from your clouded eyes. You blinked up at him as a thick lump formed in your throat. Words unspoken passed between the two of you. Adoration, understanding, sorrow. Leaking from the hot tears spilling from your eyes and into Logan’s leathery skin. 

“I love you,” you breathed into his palm. You gave it one last attempt, healing the wound in his stomach. You could just barely feel the edges closing and the skin knitting together. The ligaments running through your neck and shoulder tensed under the effort.

“Love you too, doll,” he replied, using the hand not on your cheek to smooth down your strained muscles. Thinning fingers ran down your shoulder, passing over his borrowed flannel and your bare skin, then wrapped around the hand held to his gut. He laced the digits with yours, “Give it up. I’ll heal the old-fashioned way.”

A sigh rattled your lungs, anguish pooling in your chest like an oil spill. You let Logan drag your hand away from his stomach and to his face. Your crimson-stained fingers traced along the tough skin of his jaw.

“Always taking care of me,” he mumbled. Kind eyes ran across your pained expression. 

He tucked his fingers under your chin and brought your mouth to his. Plump, full lips met chapped skin. You poured your devotion into the kiss, licking into Logan’s mouth and clutching at his white tank top. His fingers dug in your silken hair.

It wasn’t perfect. It never was, when it came to Logan. Nearly thirty years of being together had taught you that fact. He was messy, rude, rough around the edges. Not to mention metal-clawed and built like a fridge.

And yet, despite it all, he was yours. You woke up next to him every morning, went to bed with him every night, much like you’d done ever since you met. Your lives were so intertwined it was hard to tell where you stopped and he began.

You knew, decades after Logan was gone, you’d treasure your intimate connection like nothing else.