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godmadeaterribleerror · 6 months ago

Text

Falling Into Me

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Smut (p in v, fingering, oral f receiving), angst, loss of virginity, light fluff, feelings :(, real bad self-image issues

Summary/Warnings: You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you.

You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Author's Note: This might be the horniest thing I've ever written. Enjoy <3!

Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan

Word Count: 8.9k

You haven’t slept in three days, and it’s starting to be a problem. But you can’t afford to sleep. You can only drink staler and staler coffee, sit at the motel table, and pretend this is a case that, somehow, you’re going to solve. That Dean isn’t grumpier than usual, and Sam doesn’t constantly look like he’s going to kill the next person that dares to have an incorrect idea. It’s why you volunteered for the next round of interviews. You don’t want to be there when one of them snaps and kills the other, and while you wouldn’t love to return to the room and find it covered in blood, at least then you’d have an excuse to call it.

You wouldn’t call it. You’d work the case until it was done, because that’s what you do. And Sam and Dean won’t kill each other, because they’re Sam and Dean. That said, you are expecting a pouting Dean to pacing back and forth outside the room as he waits for you to return, and a grumble about how Sammy said he was being annoying and needed to walk it off. You’re more than prepared to give him a sympathetic smile and ask him if he was being annoying. And he’ll probably protest that he wasn’t, and you’ll raise your brows, and he’ll admit he mighta been drumming really loud while eating the chips.

It’s not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. There’s no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything you’ve ever seen. It’s men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously aren’t, because Bullets don’t remove the heart from the body. But it’s not werewolves, because werewolves aren’t clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. There’s a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because it’s closer and closer to another evening where you won’t have caught this asshole and another person will die.

And it’s become really easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because he’d purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Sam’s rabbit food, you’re mad at Sam because he said you were bad at poker—and you are, but what the fuck—and Dean’s mad at you because-

Dean’s not mad at you. You and Dean don’t really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than you’ve ever understood anyone else, and it’s the perfect amount of alike that you’ll lend him grace you wouldn’t lend anyone else—including yourself—but you don’t see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.

And you think Dean sees something similar in you. It’s why you’d been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadn’t punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. He’d just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Sam’s ear.

So you hadn’t really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.

But he hadn’t. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy.

Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. “Sammy found it!” He grins at you almost manically, and it’s a little adorable. “We can finally fucking leave.”

“I might have found it,” Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. “And we can’t leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-“

“Obviously, dude, but that’ll be soon, instead of in a million years.” Dean looks to you for agreement. “I mean, c’mon. You guys can’t really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Good coffee.”

Dean glares at you. “The coffee tastes like ass and you freakin’ know it-“

“Dean.” You give him a flat look. “Do I actually get to know what the monster is?”

Sam sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I already don’t love it, it’s a monster that’s killed like, ten people-“

“Worse than that.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s sorta like a dragon.”

You, very suddenly, don’t feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. “Like a dragon?” You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Or a dragon?”

“Like a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.”

Sam shoots Dean a glare—not happy being thrown under the bus—and mutters, “It’s a unicorn.”

You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. “It’s a what.”

“Unicorn.” Sam mumbles. “They’re, uh, looks like they’re real.”

“But not Pinky Pie and Disney.” Dean adds, turning Sam’s laptop for you to read. “Real fucking assholes.”

“They hunt virgins.” Sam explains. “To bond with. And it’ll kill anyone who falsely lures it.”

“Stab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.” Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. “And it looks like it’ll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so that’s why there’s no pattern. You’re able to fuck, you’re fair game.”

“Oh, cool.” You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.”

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.” Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. “It’ll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it won’t be able to tell until it gets the person’s heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who it’s hunting tonight.”

“But,” you glance at Dean, who’s grinning as you start to put it together. “It is hunting tonight.”

“Hunts every night.” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. “And we don’t know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town ’till one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.”

“Split up?” You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. “That’s, um, shouldn’t we stick together? If it’ll go after anyone?”

“Not everyone.” Same shrugs. “Low, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it can’t tell immediately.”

“So we just need a bunch of whores?"

Dean snorts. “Well tonight,” he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isn’t helpful right now. “We’re the whores, Sweetheart. We’re safe, and we’re going to kick some unicorn ass.”

It’s a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually you’d laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you can’t really think of right now, because there’s bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.

“How do we, uh,” your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. “How do we kick a unicorn’s ass.”

“Well, we’re looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.” Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. “Anything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.”

“And, um,” you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. “What’s gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?”

Sam sighs. “They, uh, they seem to use them.”

Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. “Use them-“

“Their purity. Use their purity.” Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Dean’s head.

“That’s...” Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. “Shit.”

Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like it’s trying to escape your chest.

“And after?” You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. “After they’re used?”

“Well, they’re not ‘pure’ anymore.” Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. “So, uh, stab.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. “Stab.”

Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. “Are feelin’ okay-“

“I’m fine.” You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you can’t seem to find enough spit to choke on. “Let’s get the unicorn ass.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Sam doesn’t look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing you’re not barreling towards a fight.

But only a little easier.

Because you’re fucked.

Virginity is a funny thing. It’s just a social construct, but it’s a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work.

And you hadn’t meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation you’re not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something that’s now a question of why? Why is it never you? You’re not ugly. You’re even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they won’t believe you and it’ll all feel worse. You’re even pretty enough that you’ve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.

So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away.

And Sam and Dean will never know. You’re already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when they’re obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them off—She’s like my little sister—but Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and won’t look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. You’re honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an you’re not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like there’s no way someone could’ve possibility survived as a hunter like this.

And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that he’d love to uncover with only his hands and mouth.

You’ve got secrets. Dean can’t have them—because they’re a liability and you’re not looking to lose him forever—but you really wish he’d just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think he’s always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.

You’re a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like they’d rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time you’ve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.

It’ll be over by tonight. All three of you know what you’re looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you won’t have to do any explanations about why you’ve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you won’t end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That you’re really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldn’t be able to stomach the presence of-

“You here all by yourself?”

Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think it’s Dean. It’s deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but it’s not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Dean’s never had. It’s a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.

“I’m, um,” you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’s running late.”

Not-Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?”

You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. “Not my boyfriend. And I’m actually…” You trail off, your eyes falling on the man’s own glass. The clear liquid inside. “You drinking vodka?”

“Am I- Oh, sure.” The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. “Here’s to not-boyfriends-“

“Can I have some?”

You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. “Nah, sweetie, you don’t want this, it’s some strong stuff-“

Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder.

As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining.

Fuck.

“I, um, I’m gonna go call my friend.” You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. “He should’ve been here a few minutes ago, and I’m worried-“

“C’mon, you haven’t even told me your name.” Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. “Bet I can guess, if you give me a hint-“

“No, it’s fine, my name is, uh…” you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. You’d charged it before you left.

“Your name?” Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. “I’d really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-“

“I was never given a name!” Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Dean’s eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar that’s a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.

Like a monster.

Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now you’re alone, you don’t have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you can’t afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You can’t hide, it can hear you, and you can’t go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short.

You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you.

And it’s too quiet. You can’t hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You don’t want to be used. You don’t want to be alone. You just want Dean, where’s Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didn’t you tell him the truth, why can’t you think of anything else but Dean, where’s Dean-

There’s something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you can’t contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-

“Get the fuck back, you son of a bitch!”

A loud bang cuts through the air—making you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yours—and it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. That’s his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.

“Fuck, never should’ve left you, but I didn’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think he’s talking to himself more than you. “Did the asshole touch you anywhere I can’t see?”

You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Dean’s shirt. Maybe Dean’s shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you don’t have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if it’s your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.

“Shit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Sam’s on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-“

“Didn’t touch me.” You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay? You think, fuck-“ Dean’s arm—bigger, warmer, maybe actual Dean—loops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. “Need you to hold onto me, got it? We’re goin’ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?”

They fly open, almost on command, and it’s Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and it’s really Dean.

And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.

“You’re gonna hold onto me.” He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. “I’ll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-“

“Dean, I’m fine-“

“And,” Dean barrels on, as if he didn’t even hear you. “We’re going to have a chat. You’re, I can’t-” he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. “Just hold on.”

He sounds pissed. Dean’s rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and he’s going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he won’t look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Dean’s rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but you’re just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. You’re just wrong.

All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.

“Why’d you come back?” You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.

“You were actin’ really weird.” He grunts. “Didn’t sound like yourself. Weren’t laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.”

“I could’ve just been-“

“Don’t.” He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. You’re complete exposed below him, under his glare, and he’s going to see something he hates. Something you don’t have a name for that you’ve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.

But Dean’s attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. It’s confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.

And Dean’s still looking at you.

“I didn’t,” you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. “You’re not injured.”

You shake your head.

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Dean, I-“

“I’m asking the questions.” Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. “Why the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.”

He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Because it was hunting me.”

“Unicorns only hunt virgins.” Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. “You’re not-“

“I am.” You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. “Sorry.”

“Why would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldn’t you tell me and Sam-“

“Tell you and Sam what?” You scowl at the ceiling. “That I’m untouched? Pure? Boring-“

“That you’d be in danger!” Dean all but roars, and you don’t flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if it’s spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. “I don’t give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didn’t trust me enough-“

“It’s not about trust, Dean,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. “And it’s not like you tell me everything-“

“I do! I’ve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-“

“That’s not the same!” You’re pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Dean’s. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. “This isn’t your business-“

“It’s my business if it’s gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-“

“Helped me?” You scoff. “I don’t need your help with this, Winchester, I’ve come to terms with it-“

There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like you’d kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. “To terms with virginity?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. “Nobody wants me, it’s not a big deal-“

Dean snorts. “There’s no damn way you’re that stupid-“

“I am not stupid-“

“Yeah? Cause you’re a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.”

It’s your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. “What?”

“You,” Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. “Are a fucking idiot if you think that there’s not one damn person on the planet who wants you.”

“But-“

“Nah. No freakin’ buts.” He’s closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. “I’ve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, I’ve-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Shit, there’s just, there’s no way-“

Your face twists back into a scowl. “Fuck off, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you believe me-“

“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. “And I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didn’t want it, but you’re just- Shit-“

“Dean,” your voice is soft, a little breathless, and can’t help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I know,” he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. “I’m not, I just gotta,” his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. “Sam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?”

You blink. “Wha-“

“It takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,” his voice drop, deeper than you’ve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. “Looked kinda like me.”

“I, um, I don’t-“

“Do you want me?” Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans.

“I’d, I mean, I’m not-“ You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. “Yeah, I think, but you’re not-“

“I’m not what?” He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. “Not interested?”

“Yeah?”

“Wrong.” Dean’s hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. “So incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw ya’. But you didn’t seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didn’t-“ He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before he’s even touched bare skin. “Do you? Want me?”

“I already said-“

“You said yeah.” He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. “Need you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.”

Dean’s face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldn’t lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if you’d be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now.

“I want you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted you. But I’m not, it’s not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,” you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. “But I’ve never, um, you know-“

“You’re not takin’ care of anything.” He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. “We’re doing this, it’s gonna be about you.”

“Oh.” There’s a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. “Okay.”

“If you really wanna,” his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. “Next time, I’ll let you go to town on Little Dean.”

You can’t stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Dean’s own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. “Little Dean?”

“Compared to the rest of me, yeah.” Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. “But trust me, gorgeous. Ain’t nothing little about him.”

Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle.

“You want me, babygirl?”

You nod, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg.

“Need you to say it-“

“Yeah.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”

A grin splits over Dean’s handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. “I’m gonna need to get you ready, so just,” he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. “Stay there, look pretty, and let me work.”

You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. It’s all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What’d I say about stayin’ there-“

“I, um,” you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. “I’ve done other stuff. Just so you know. And I’ve done things to myself-“

“I bet you have,” Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. “Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-“

You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. “Please, Dean, just-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.

“So wet for me already,” he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. “Ready?”

You’re not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as it’s Dean doing it, you’re good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.

Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Dean’s eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where he’s touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.

“Dean,” you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. “Please, shit-“

“That feel good, babygirl?” Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. “You like me teasin’ you? Playin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy until you’re soaked- Fuck-“

You start to grind on Dean’s hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didn’t need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-

“Shit, you’re dripping.” Dean’s movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. “I gotta taste you, Sweetheart, c’mon.”

His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. “Need you hold on, pretty girl, we’re gonna get you out’a these.”

You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place you’d wish to be in the world.

Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Dean’s chest.

“Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You’re,” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldn’t allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.

You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and you’re high. He’s not even inside you yet and you’ll never have enough. This isn’t more than what you’ve done before, but Dean’s ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and you’re starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.

He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. It’s heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chest—now pressed against your stomach—and all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.

“Shit.” He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. “Goddamn, baby, you’re responsive.“ A wide, smug grin overtakes Dean’s face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. “I’ve been waiting for this.” He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. “God, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-“ Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. “You’re making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, you’re sexier than a fucking dream.”

His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Dean’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like he’s never seen anything better.

“Dean,” you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. “Oh my god, Dean, please-“

“Such pretty sounds,” Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. “Let’s see if we can make some more.”

Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. It’s almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. You’re right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-

“Fuck, I’m-“ You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. “Close, Dean, I’m close, please-“

He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but you’ve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him.

Dean’s towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body.

“I wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.” He grunts, and you can’t really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. “Shit, looks like we’re already halfway there. You got any words for me-“

“Dean, please.” The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if he’d commanded them. “Please, I need you, need you so bad-“

You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. “Fuck, Sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and there’s a moment before he speaks again where you worry you’ve ruined it. That you’d shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you-

“I’m sorry-“

Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I dunno, I’m just not-“ You swallow. “I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to say-“

He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. “You,” he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. “Are fuckin’ amazing at this.”

You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.

“I’m the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. You’re so,” he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish he’d use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. “And I get to do this for you, and I’m not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.”

“I almost came.” You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. “But you stopped me.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m plannin’ to make that up to you. If you still-“

“I want it.” You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. “Please, Dean, I really want it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You guide Dean’s lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash he’s put on himself. “I want you.”

It works. Something flashes in Dean’s eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.

“Wanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. I’m clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber you’re gonna need to keep yourself going while I-“

“No!” You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. “I mean, I’m clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-“

Dean raises his brows at you. “Lady stuff?”

“It kinda helps with period cramps and-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. “Fuck, Dean, please just fuck me-“

“You mean like this?” Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Fuck ya’ like this, baby?”

You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. “Shit, that’s, Dean that’s good, more-“

“More, baby? You need more already?” His grin is shit-eating, and you’d hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than you’ve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasn’t rending your limbs only putty in his arms.

“Dean, please-“

You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. There’s a long moment where it’s only Dean’s warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.

“Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He kisses right behind your ear. “Feel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ good-“ He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-“

You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.

Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks you’ll vanish if he doesn’t mark you with his touch.

Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Dean’s moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until you’re fully impaled on him—his cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzy—then repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-

“Dean,” you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. “Fuck, Dean, go faster, please-“

He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that’s made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you don’t understand. “You sure-“

“Yes.” You’re practically whining, scratching at Dean’s skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. “Please, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-“

He shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna hurt you-“

“Not gonna-” you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. “You won’t hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-“

“I’m-“

“You said,” you force your eyes to stay on Dean’s, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.” You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. “Fuck me.”

A low, primal noise leaves Dean’s mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move again—ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and body—but he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-

“So fucking good, babygirl.” Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesn’t matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and that’s the whole world. “Look so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-“ He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. “Wanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-“

“Yes,” you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know you’re going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. “Feels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-“

“Beg-“

Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. “Please, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-“

“Shit, baby, you’re-“ Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-

Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace.

“Cum with me.” He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. “C’mon, baby, cum-“

Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—pure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skin—and Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.

Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man it’s inside.

As the man had been.

You’re not sure what he’s going to be now.

“That, ah,” Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. “That do it?”

You smile against him. “If you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-“

“No, I mean was it,” He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. “Was it good. For you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah. Really good.” You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. “It was awesome. Good, uh, good job?”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. “You were pretty fucking awesome yourself.”

There it is. You were pretty awesome. And he’s still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.

“You said, um,” you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you can’t bear to look at his face right now. “You said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-“

“Did I mean it?”

You nod nervously, and Dean’s whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, and—when you still don’t look at him—hooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his.

“Look.” He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and that’s it. He won’t stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay-

“I get it,” you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. “You don’t need to explain-“

Dean’s grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because you’d have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didn’t even need all of Dean, you’d just have really like more.

“You get it.” He raises his brows, and you nod again. “Sweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explainin’ part before you say anything.”

“I, um-“

“See, I’m a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?” He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. “But, if you’re taking applicants for long-term dicks, I’d have to be dumb not to apply. I’m never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. “So, um, you mean-“

“If you’ll have me,” he mutters. “I’ll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers you’ve got.”

“Offers,” you swallow. “For long-term dicks?”

He shrugs—tracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyes—and it might be your turn to make the move.

“Dean.” You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. “I’d really like you being my long-term dick.”

He frowns. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that-“

You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a moment’s hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.

Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expression—all affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breaths—until he finds what he’s looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin.

“If you’re lettin’ me,” he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. “I think I’ll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.”

“I’m letting you.” You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. “But we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.”

“Boyfriend?”

You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something he’s adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time you’ve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at him—unfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nerves—you think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldn’t make you tell him no.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Boyfriend’s good.”

Dean’s grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. It’s a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.

And you and Dean have never had either of those things.

But you’d really like to and find them. And if it’s with Dean, you really think you could.

End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)

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Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

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joelsrose · 6 months ago

Text

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’.”

CHAPTER 2 IS OUT HERE

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jenanigans1207 · 1 year ago

Text

My headcanon is that being healed by grace is painful for everyone except Dean. Not significantly painful, but maybe with a little sting or a bit of a burning sensation. Human bodies aren’t typically fit to carry grace, after all, so it’s just a little uncomfortable to be healed by it, even if it’s worth it.

But for Dean? No pain at all, not when it’s Cas’s grace. I think the moment Cas tagged his soul when he saved it from hell, Dean’s soul latched onto Cas and his grace. So every time Cas heals him, Dean’s soul recognizes the grace and welcomes it as familiar, and friendly, and has no problems with it being there.

Which is one of two reasons Cas touches Dean when he heals him but doesn’t touch anyone else. Because Dean can handle it, because it doesn’t hurt Dean, because Dean’s body and soul both welcome it instead of fear it. (The other reason, of course, is just so he has an excuse to touch Dean).

I also headcanon that this is only the case for Cas’s grace because Dean’s soul finds comfort in it, and if any other angel were to try and heal him, he would experience the same discomfort as everyone else.

#destiel #destiel headcanon #deancas #headcanon #spn #supernatural

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seresinhangmanjake · 9 months ago

Text

Different is Better

Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: Javi invites your ex back with Storm Par amidst the flirtation between you and Tyler.

Notes/Warnings: This was a combination of requests, so it's not exactly what everyone asked for, but I got it as close as I could, sp hopefully it satisfies in some ways. Allusion to smut. Cursing probably. Scott sucks (sorry to the Scott lovers), Javi sucks a little too (sorry to the Javi lovers).

Words: 2850

Tyler Owens Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

The second the Storm Par team finishes settling on the schedule for tomorrow, you remove yourself from the rest of the chasers in the parking lot, Wranglers included, and press your back into the outer wall of the motel. Perfectly out of sight and free to feel how you want without judgment.

You can’t breathe around him. You can’t think properly. And damn him for fucking loving it. Damn the smirk that slices into your skin. Damn fucking Javi for requesting his participation on the team after swearing up and down that he wouldn’t. Damn him for not warning you, forcing you to spend the last half-hour since his arrival in wild discomfort.

It had been so good without him. The best chasing you’d done in years. Relaxing, free from tension despite the chaos of rolling into the heart of unpredictable weather. In his absence, you chased with excitement; you chased with that tingly zingy feeling in your gut; you chased with a pounding heart, with hands shaky not from nerves but from raw, untainted energy shooting throughout your entire body.

The last two months of chasing renewed your love of the craft and proved more than anything that Scott has been—and still is—a soul-sucking, life-draining leech….to you, anyway.

But everyone already loves him, just short of instantly obsessed with him, especially the females of the group who neglect that ‘award-winning’ personality he’s managed to display in only thirty-two minutes. Shamefully, it almost makes you wish the team Javi assembled had fewer young college girls and a heck of a lot more mature, determined women. They would easily see past his looks and recognize that his intelligence does not surpass that of anyone else on the team. He is not some rare, fascinating, genius savior who has come to solve all of the data-collecting problems the team’s been having; he’s just an extra helping hand that, frankly, you firmly believe you don’t need.

But no…as has been the case each time you’ve worked together since you ended your little college fling—or whatever the fuck it was—he gets to be Mr. Perfect, and you’re stuck as the angsty bitch who whines over him being here.

“So…that’s the guy, huh?” Tyler asks as he rounds the corner and joins you under the cover of near-darkness.

He practically shines under the damaged streetlamp’s thin, flickering light. You’re not looking at him, but you don’t have to be to see that much clearly. He glows in your peripherals, and with another step closer to you, your heartbeat stumbles within your ribcage.

Tyler is the one thing you credit for reviving you. What started as a less-than-friendly rivalry changed when you accepted a challenge to chase with his crew one day, and though Javi was displeased, you were too curious about Tyler’s methods to turn him down.

With one ride in his truck, the spark you thought had long died reignited. Now you have a respect for Tyler that the rest of your team does not. Respect…and a bit more.

Though you would never abandon your team, you became increasingly hooked on the idea of chasing with Tyler again, and it was so stupidly obvious. And with that obviousness, an unspoken essence of sorts developed between you. A forbidden attraction you’re both aware of but have yet to fully act on, though not for lack of trying.

You take turns almost breaking that final barrier—heavy breathing, noses nearly brushing, lips a hairs-width away from connecting, but something always gets in the way: his team, yours, the weather. But not this time. Cock-block of the day? Scott Miller.

Tyler’s eyes stay on your cheek as he stuffs his hands into his front jean’s pockets. “I didn’t know that was your type.”

When you look at Tyler, your brows knit at the disappointment on his face. He offers a smile, but it’s far less convincing than what he is capable of, like he didn’t even bother trying to give you one of his good ones. And you’ve seen a good smile from Tyler Owens. It can knock anyone off their feet.

“It isn’t,” you tell him as you turn your attention back to the miles of grass in front of you. At night, under such little light, the eye gets tricked and the blades blend into a vast span of blackness, like a giant hole in the ground just a few feet away. One you might consider jumping into it if you could.

“I mean, it was,” you continue, “but not anymore.”

He nods. “You have to work close with him?” he asks, though he already knows the answer.

“Unfortunately.”

Tyler blows out a breath. His hand runs through his hair before his head falls back against the brick wall of the motel, eyes closed and chin tilted toward the night sky.

“Fuck,” he mutters.

“Yea.”

Cicadas fill the following silence. Lightning bugs sprinkle throughout the space around you, thriving in the intense humidity that adds a thin sheen to your skin. You can see him thinking. Questioning. His fingers tap against his clothed thigh and your stomach clenches with dread. The last thing you want—the thing that would crush you—is Tyler sizing up whether or not you are worth the trouble of an ex even cockier than he is and more arrogant than you once believed him to be. One thing Tyler and Scott have in common: the adoring attention from young women. You’ve heard the stories from Lilly and Boone, and at any point, Tyler could tip his hat in adieu and return to his many fans to seek the encounters you’ve been hoping to share with him.

Tyler turns his head to you. “You still like him? At all?”

“No,” you answer, trying not to be offended by the question he has a right to ask. To you, it’s absurd, insulting. To him, it’s covering his bases and understanding what, if anything, he is getting in between by pursuing you, or considering pursuing you. “The way he approaches relationships mimics the way he approaches chasing,” you continue. “Controlling, nit-picky, demanding. I couldn't stand it.” He’s nothing like you, you want to say, but for some reason, don’t.

Your heart’s discomfort eases with the slow spread of a smile across his face. You step toward him. “Look, Tyler, I know we haven’t really talked about us, but I–”

“There you are. I was starting to think I ran you off.”

The intruding voice snatches your attention and Tyler immediately pushes off the wall, positioning himself closer to your side. “I'm not sure you're threatening enough for that,” he says.

Scott smirks, one eyebrow arching. “And you are?”

“Tyler,” he says, reaching out his hand in a play-nice gesture. “Owens.”

Realization dawns on Scott. “Oh, of course,” he replies, a mocking grin forming as he accepts the handshake. When he takes his hand back, he crosses his arms and cocks his head to the side. “Your reputation precedes you. How many followers have you managed to stack up by playing around for entertainment?”

“Subscribers,” Tyler corrects. “A mil.”

“Must be validating after failing to make it professionally.”

Your gut twists, fists almost clenching, but you restrain yourself from showing his effect on you. “That’s not why he does what he does,” you scold your ex sternly. Tyler’s head whips to you. You can just barely detect the gentle smile on his face.

Scott hums, nonchalantly advancing closer to hover over you. His eyes penetrate like lasers into yours. “You know, you should really think before you fraternize. You wouldn’t want to make us look bad,” he says, running a knuckle down your cheek. You flinch away from his touch and he grins. “That’s all,” he says. “Good night, you two” And then he turns on his heel and returns from where he came.

“Charming,” Tyler sarcastically snips. “I see the appeal.”

—

He fucking left you behind.

You were trying to finish up his job after he failed to properly secure Javi’s tech, but as you were doing so, the tornado’s size grew and its speed picked up and it was headed right for you. Scott screamed at you, panicked in a way you’ve never heard before, but when you weren’t quick enough for his liking, he slammed your door and drove off, leaving you to looming disaster.

If not for Tyler, you’d be dead. He spotted you in his crew’s attempt to flee, and though it was an insane risk, he came for you, leaping out of his truck and grabbing you as he yelled for Boone to take the wheel.

He practically threw you into the back seat before crawling in after you and wrapping your shivering body in his arms.

“Tyler, man, I don’t know if we’re gonna be able to outrun it!” Boone called back, eyes darting between the blurry road in front of him and the rearview mirror.

“Then drill us into the fucking ground!”

And that’s where you stayed, huddled together, your face in his neck as the storm tried to tear you apart.

—

Are you out of your fucking mind!” Tyler shouts, stomping through the parking lot of the motel refuge.

To your relief, the small, aged structure was out of the tornado's path, if just barely, and in the aftermath, the owner offered free rooms to those in need. Except for Boone, who holds you steady as Tyler storms off, the Wranglers pass out whatever shirts and food they have available, providing what comfort they can.

Javi inserts himself between Tyler and Scott, his hands up to keep Tyler back. “Woah, woah, calm down.”

“He could’ve fucking killed her!”

Javi’s concerned brow settles from shock. “W-What?” he asks. “What are you talking about?”

Tyler’s as vicious as a lion, his teeth bared, claws out as he tries to side-step Javi to get to Scott, who has backed up a step. “He left her out there!”

You can see the Adam’s apple bob in your ex’s throat. His composure is on edge. He’s never been called out before, not even by you. “She was being stupid.”

“She was doing your job!”

Scott scoffs as Javi blinks, trying to adjust to the rapid-fire information being thrown at him. He’s never been good at an onslaught of facts, needing that adjustment period for things to properly sink in. He’s careful that way. It’s his methodical mind. He takes his time with his planning, and that extends past his inventions. “Look, everyone’s safe. Everyone’s tired. Let’s just get some rest and we can deal with this tomorrow.”

“You’re letting him stay? After what he did?”

“Right now, no one has anywhere to go,” Javi explains, and though true, it doesn’t mean Scott has to remain here now that the threat is gone. Javi’s eyes dart past Tyler’s shoulder to your shaken form. He sighs an exhale that deflates his entire chest, his eyes close, and he shakes his head. He brought this on. He knows it. Scott was a mistake, and while it wasn’t Javi who put you in danger, you don’t mind him absorbing some of the guilt of what happened. “Just…take care of her.”

Tyler huffs and says, “That’s more than you people do,” before turning around and coming for you. Boone passes you off with a nod. Tyler’s arm goes around your body, his hand rubbing up and down your bicep. You wonder where he stored the rage so quickly, but you appreciate that he didn’t set any of it aside for you. After all, you’re the reason he almost died. You’re the reason his friend almost died. Just because it was not a potential consequence of your choices, the stress of near death can keep anyone on edge. But not Tyler, apparently. He has other priorities.

“Come on,” Tyler says. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” And he guides you to your room, the very same one you’ve been tempted to invite him to since your first chase together. You didn’t imagine this was how he would come to join you.

—

Tyler’s jaw slackens when you exit the bathroom in a small towel that barely covers your body, and he quickly rises from where he is sitting at the end of your mattress, wiping his palms on his jeans as if to remove the moisture collected there. His eyes go wide, but they can’t seem to meet yours, his green orbs trailing up and down your body.

“They’re a bit short,” you tell him.

“Yea, I, uh,” His hand runs over his hair down to his neck. “I know,” he says, instantly conjuring the image of a bare Tyler, water droplets covering his skin, a measly towel wrapped around his waist held together by one hand; a hand that, if removed, would cause the towel to drop to the ratty carpeting. “Do you, um…you need anything? I can try to get you–”

“No,” you stop him. “I’m alright.” A beat passes, and then he nods and blows out a breath. “Thank you, for saving me. You didn’t have to risk yourself like that.”

His eyes find yours then. “You can’t possibly think that I wouldn’t.”

“I know you’re kinder than most. Braver than most. But you’re not stupid, and saving me was a bit–”

“Don’t say that. I’d do it again,” he says. When he steps toward you, the towel suddenly feels much smaller. You feel exposed under his gaze, but to your surprise, not embarrassed. Scott had a way of making you feel less than in what seemed like a thousand different ways, but not Tyler. His eyes marvel. “And again.”

You take a deep breath, releasing it slowly out your nose.

“Are you still shaken up?” Tyler asks you.

You shake your head. “Not really.”

He stops directly in front of you. “Can I finally kiss you then?”

Your lips part. The towel falls, not necessarily with intention, but you can’t hold the thing up and wrap your arms around his neck at the same time. And, right now, one is more important than the other.

Tyler tastes like the cola from your fridge that he must’ve had while he waited for you in the shower. His teeth nibble at your bottom lip, and you open for him. His hands settle on your bare waist for what seems like all of two seconds before they’re sliding lower, squeezing flesh, and pulling you in closer. Your fingers pick at the buttons of his shirt, the first few coming free.

“You sure about this?” is muffled out between kisses.

You pull apart just long enough to say yes before you’re kissing him again, helping him out of his clothes, and falling into bed together.

—

A knock wakes you. You turn over under Tyler’s arm and, careful not to wake him, rise from the bed. You grab his shirt off the nearby chair and pull it over your head, then slip on some sleep shorts before heading for the door.

Javi smiles when he sees you, a sense of relief allowing the muscles to release their tension in his body. “Hey,” he says before his eyes fall down to your—Tyler’s—shirt. He raises a brow.

You shrug. “I like him.”

Javi clicks his tongue. A modest sign of disapproval. “Right, well…I just came by to apologize and let you know that I kicked Scott off the team. He left about an hour ago.”

You hum in acknowledgment. At least you’ll avoid the drama of your ex figuring out you ‘fraternized’ with the leader of the other team. Being storm chasers, dramatics runs through your blood, and it’s not as if Tyler would shy away from any remarks Scott may throw at him or you, but this just happens to be one issue you’d rather not waste the energy on. It’s not his business, anyway.

“Thanks, Javi.”

“I really am sorry,” he says. “I never would’ve imagined he’d–”

“I know. Me either.”

Javi sighs in the silence that follows, then he says, “You sure about Owens?”

You nod. “I’m sure about Owens.”

“I guess we can’t be on opposite sides then, can we?”

“That would be nice,” you say. Javi gives you another smile. “They’re not so bad. I mean, I know they do stuff…differently, but they don’t leave anyone behind.” When a twinge of guilt flashes across his face, you say, “It wasn’t your fault.”

You can’t tell if he believes that’s how you truly feel, but as you nod in reassurance of that statement, he nods with you.

“Ok,” he says.

“Ok,” you repeat, and then with one final grin, Javi disappears down the hall.

You close the door and strip yourself of the clothes you’d thrown on to get back into bed. Tyler’s still asleep. His breathing is soft, even, comforting, and luckily, your spot beside him has maintained its warmth from where you’d been laying all night.

“I’m sure about you, too,” he suddenly says, voice groggy and eyes remaining closed. He lifts his arm, and you tuck yourself back into his embrace.

#tyler owens x reader #tyler owens x you #tyler owens #twisters #glen powell #tyler owens fic

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dduane · 4 months ago

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Erotica and anniversaries

...The big E, first. Here she is. Isn't she lovely?

...Right there upstairs at the Library of Congress, on the second floor. (I noted at the time we passed through some years back—and continue to smile at the memory—that her artist has included his copyright statement right there, to make sure no one misses it.)

...Anyway, where were we? ...Oh yeah: the local takes on erotic writing and smut.

This subject seems to come up every couple of years. What nudged me into revisiting it this time was the notes off a comment to a post earlier today, responding to someone working on an explicit-leaning AU, and discussing the writing of (story) bibles for projects.

Anyway, the notes:

#love that the advice was not just 'stick to porn' or 'don't write porn at all' but 'ah yes; common problem; let me explain to you how to write a series bible'

Well, disclosure here: in my case, it can't really be otherwise. :)

Let this act as everybody's sort-of-biennial reminder (if needed) that I'm not going to be caught condemning people for writing smut, as I've written it myself. (And continue to do so when the mood moves me.)

The post from very nearly two years ago, discussing the issue in more detail, is over here. As you'll see if you read it, there were some folks who experienced brief episodes of cognitive dissonance on learning I was a cheerful writer of explicit material. Some of the surprise was probably due to the fact that a lot of people see me—mostly due to the relatively-higher profile of the Young Wizards books—as primarily a writer for younger readers.

But that's not how I got started. My (1979) debut novel centers a universe where the following exchange between two of the protagonists appears—they then being wrapped up in blankets and afterglow in the wake of a prolonged and enthusiastic post-reunion shag:

A soft chuckle in the darkness. “Lorn, remember that first time we shared at your place?” “That was a long time ago.” “It seems that way.” “—and my father yelled up the stairs, ‘What are you dooooooooing?’ “—and you yelled back, ‘We’re fuckinnnnnnnnnnng!’” “—and it was quiet for so long—” “—and then he started laughing—” “Yeah.”

Nor was this a one-off. This book and its sequels contain a fair number of passages in which human (and occasionally non-human) sexualities, both in the abstract and the experientially concrete, take center stage. And the mode in which they're expressed and discussed is intended for adults. Those sequences can probably be described as at least borderline erotica. (I certainly try had to be as graceful about such passages as I can, when and where it's appropriate to be.)

With this in mind, it's worth repeating what turns up in that earlier post, which came off a query to a ficcer about "how do you feel knowing that people may be jerking off to your work?":

I'm an entertainer. Writing's a form of entertainment. (And not just for the readership: for me, too.) To be aroused by art one's experienced is (almost by definition) to be entertained, I'd say...

Other people's art in these modes certainly is entertaining for me: and I desperately hope mine is for other people. (Almost all my more explicit writing is published only pseudonymously, which from my point of view is just fine. There's a fair amount of writing work out in the world that [for contractual or other business reasons] doesn't have my name on it. This is just more of the same.)

(Per that, adding here again my own tags from that earlier post:)

#and no I'm not going to let on where the smut is#why would i deny anyone the delights of the search#and of being repeatedly mistaken#while possibly finding smut writers who're better at it than i am#:)

Anyway, finally: from that earlier post—on nearly the thirty-eighth anniversary of something happening to me that would, just a year before the event, have seemed wildly unlikely—this note, unusually apposite because of what today is, and what's coming tomorrow.

I consider erotica—and its more casually-dressed (or undressed…) cousin, smut—to be perfectly legit forms of literary expression; ones that can soar to unexpected heights if you’re willing to put in the work. The sexy-stuff-writing muscle requires periodic exercise if it’s to remain viable and/or useful. So I exercise it. And being a 70-plus-year-old person who sometimes creaks audibly when she walks has done absolutely nothing to decrease my interest in the subject—the brain being, after all, the biggest sex organ, and the one least vulnerable to the depredations of time. If anything, nearly fifty years of experience (and more than three and a half decades of marriage to @petermorwood) have added… let’s just say nuance. 😏

So, happy Valentine's Day to all those who choose to celebrate, in whatever mode.

And to the Man Upstairs:

...See you in a few, sweetie. :)

#nuance #:)#ETA: adding #the hottest author jacket pic EVAR

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aromanticofficial · 7 months ago

Note

shocking news, The aroallo guy is here to talk abt being aroallo. everybody gasp

anyways. i wanted to explain why aroallos are so "sensitive" about our identity and place in the aspec community.

the aspec community has a sex negativity problem. this is obvious. the amount of "sex bad" takes that are boldly labelled "aspec experiences" instead of what they actually are (puritan culture) is enough to make anyone who actually experiences sexual attraction feel more than unwelcome in the aspec community.

aside from that, there's also the erasure. aromanticism is always treated as a subcategory of asexuality. there's this constant underline to every mainstream-ish discussion of aromanticism that basically comes down to the inherently aroallophobic idea that "not all aces are aro, but all aros are ace". it's not that anyone says this out loud; it's that everyone seems to imply it subtly, everyone seems to believe it without even thinking twice about it.

aside from that, there's the lack of representation. name an aromantic character. chances are, you've just named an aroace character. and even in the very very rare case of a character being canonically aromantic but not canonically asexual (e.g. carpenter from the silt verses), the fandom still treats them being asexual as canon. fandom treats aromanticism as something that must only exist within asexuality, not as its own separate identity.

our fellow aspecs spew aroallophobia at us in a misguided attempt at humor (i've gotten several asks from aroaces telling me i "should" be aroace), our posts are mistagged as asexual when we make it extremely clear they're just about being aromantic (and when we point out that we don't like that, we get called control freaks. true story), the aromantic tag is filled with posts just about asexuality, allos either call us emotional abusers and imply we objectify people by simply experiencing sexual attraction, or imply that we're just afraid of attachment and that they can "fix" us.

the absolutely jarring truth of being an aroallo on tumblr dot com is making a post about being aroallo and immediately getting ten anons telling me i'm "no better than a straight man", "an aroace in denial", "an emotionally abusive predator", or just a slut, while at the same time someone comments on my post "you're making up an issue that doesn't exist" "why are you so mad about this" "you wanna be a victim so bad"

whew. okii that's all. hope that clears stuff up for non-aroallos out there /gen

what they said

#aromantic #aro #official aro post #official aromantic post #mod cale #queuepid was wrong #ask #thermodynamic-comedian

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slushycoookie · 1 year ago

Text

My Husband Has a Symbiote! Pt.5

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5

Relationship: Miguel O'Hara x AFAB! Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Content: Lactation kink, pregnancy sex, childbirth, MINORS DNI!!!

Summary: In the final stage of your pregnancy, you find out a new thing your husband likes.

A/N: This will be the "last" part of this mini-series. I'm leaving it open-ended just in case I have another one in me. But count this as complete! I appreciate anyone who's been reading! (And I totally forgot to make a tag list. I will do that next time I do a series.)

“Aww, you shouldn’t have!” You hold up the hundredth spider suit onesie designed for an infant.

Miles' small smile was something you couldn’t be upset at, “It's no problem. But there's more.” He points to the tissue paper, causing you to look deeper inside. You gasp at the hand-drawn baby book. It's colorful and bright with a story about how a young spider made her way to find her family.

“Miles! This is adorable.” You squeal with excitement, holding it up for Miguel who was watching from afar with a smile. You motion Miles over to proceed to kiss his face with gratitude. Miles accepts your appreciation before politely pulling away.

“You're welcome.”

“My turn!” Another spider jumped in with another present.

For some reason, you've never pictured yourself having a baby shower. At HQ, out of all places. Plenty at Spider Society wanted to give you gifts to celebrate the baby. Which mainly consisted of their spider merch for babies.

Others were thoughtful. Hobie gave you a few CDs of punk music for the baby. He said it was supposed to help with developmental growth. Pavitr and Gwen collaborated on buying some baby toys. It was mainly stuffed animals. Somehow you also noticed the stuffed version of their spider personas in there. And Margo gave a few video games that also helped the development of the baby. Although these weren't going to be used until your child was big enough to hold a controller.

You were ecstatic to have a large circle who loved and cared for you genuinely.

“Oh, you're…leaking.” A spider pointed out. You looked down and your blouse was getting stained by milk droplets from your breasts.

Miguel was immediately by your side with a few wipes, “We can stop if you want-”

“I'm ok.” You said, “It's just a little milk.” In fact, it's been happening occasionally throughout your third trimester. Milk staining your shirts, preparing for your baby. Your husband lingered by your side for a moment and you caught him glancing at your breasts. Probably out of concern.

After getting home from the baby shower, Miguel insisted you relax on the couch. Making you watch him carry endless boxes from the party through the portal, setting them inside the house.

“I guess we don't have to worry about getting baby clothes for a while, huh?” You joked, losing count on how many baby spider onesies you all received.

“I'm not having our daughter just wear clothes that look like spider suits.” Miguel sighed, looking amongst all the boxes. Trying to figure out where to put them. You stood, ready to come to his aid. “I got this, baby. Go sit and relax.”

“I've been sitting all day.” You reminded him. “I need something to do.” You picked up a marker and started to go through what was in each box and label it. The two of you agreed to keep a few boxes in the house and put the rest in the garage. ‘It's what they're for’ as your husband would say.

It was a comfortable silence while you two dove in the boxes. After spending all day surrounded by people who constantly congratulated you, giving you stuff you needed, it was nice to enjoy the quiet. You two were pretty much ready for the due date in a couple of weeks. Miguel was not going to stand being underprepared if he couldn’t help it.

The boxes were almost done, your husband paused and honed on your breasts. “It's happening again.”

“God.” You huffed, going to the nearest bathroom. Quickly grabbing some paper towels. You understood that you had to produce milk for your baby, but it was getting a little annoying.

“Shut up.” You heard your husband say. It caused you to peek out from the doorframe in question.

“What was that?”

“Nothing!” Miguel quickly said, “It's just Ravage.”

You blinked, decided to not indulge and went back to cleaning yourself up. You were actually surprised by Ravage's willing cooperation throughout your pregnancy. The alien was still insatiable though and you were hesitant at first. Once the doctor reported that you should expect to have a healthy pregnancy, the symbiote was on to have sex a lot. Not letting a baby bump stop them from getting what they want..

It was actually nice though since your hormones have been off the charts. If you even looked at Miguel, you'd get horny. Not caring where you were at all. As long as he fucked you.

“Need some help?”

Miguel asked, standing by the door with a washcloth in his hand. He closes the door to the bathroom to create some more privacy like you two didn’t have.

“It's ok.” You try to decline but he takes away the paper towels, tossing them in the trash.

“It's not. Let me.” He dabs the warm, damp cloth on your breast. A much better feeling than the coarse texture the paper towel gave. You didn’t protest, knowing he was going to care for you in any way he can. But you watched his eyes.

They were honed in on your breasts. As if he was under a spell. Enraptured by the rag soaking up the milk droplets from your nipples. You held your breath, worried that if a small gust escaped you, it would break him from his trance.

“I think you're good.” Miguel snaps himself out of it, shooting you a small smile.

“Are you okay?”

“I'm ok. Why?”

You weren't sure whether to bring up what you just saw. Maybe it was your hormones acting up again. “Nothing. Nevermind.” You reassure him with a kiss.

While getting ready for your due date, you wanted to get ahead on things. You spoke to Jess on some breastfeeding tips. You figured it would be a good idea to ask since you've been leaking every five minutes.

The spider woman helps you on how to hold the baby, demonstrating by holding the air. You were listening to what she was saying, but you wondered if it would be better to have a visual aid.

“I would show you with Gerry, but he's a bit old to be breastfeeding now.” Jess laughs, “But I think there's something that could help.”

She shows you the breastfeeding dolls. Designed to do exactly what the name says. A baby with its mouth partially opened, giving you ample amount of practice to hold your baby correctly while they're feeding. And you could customize the baby too.

You quickly bought one, excited when it arrived a few days later. You undressed your fake baby from the plastic, eager to try it out.

With the help of Jess’ advice and a few diagrams from the pamphlet that was with your baby, you practiced. Holding the child close to your chest, making sure the mouth was positioned correctly so your not real kid was fed. How convenient that while you were practicing, milk started to leak from your nipple again. Into your fake baby's mouth.

“What are you doing?”

You turn from your position on the couch to see your husband, back from work. His face twisted in question. “Practicing. Wanna see?”

“Practicing what?” Miguel hesitantly walks over, answering his question as he sees you and the fake baby. “You need to practice breastfeeding?”

You nod, still cradling the child in your arms. “I want to make sure I get it right. I don't want to mess it up.”

“You won't mess it up.” He sits beside you, “I know you won’t.”

“Thanks. But I just wanna make sure.” You go back to pretend feeding your baby. Miguel is still next to you, watching you practice. It wasn't weird, you figured he wants to see how it works.

“And you need a fake baby to practice?”

“Yes, Miguel.” You give him a quick kiss to make him hush and you think that works but…

“This baby doesn't have fangs. Our baby might.”

You purse your lips, “I know. We already talked about the genetic make-up of our kid.” It was concluded that there was a strong chance your daughter would have fangs and red eyes. Since the percentage of spider genes in your spouse was 50/50. But you didn’t care. You'd love your daughter if she had eight eyes.

“Then maybe you should practice with something that has fangs.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion, “The baby design options were not that detailed. And we don't know any babies with fangs. Not that I'm saying to steal a baby, I'm just-”

Miguel takes the fake baby from you, placing it behind himself. Your eyes follow his movements when he turns you to face him.

“I have fangs.”

You blink, “They retract.”

“So?”

“So, I'm not going to breastfeed you.”

“Why not?” He looks at your chest again, still exposed from your practice. Milk leaking out once more.

You force out a chuckle, “Mig, you don't want to drink from my boob.”

“I didn't say that. Why are you implying that I don't want to taste?” His thumb presses against your nipple, drops of milk pouring down his digit. “It's food that helps feed our baby. It's not dangerous or anything.

You bite your lip as he flicks your nipple to watch the milk pour out. You didn’t want to admit out loud that seeing him like this was sexy.

“Is this you or Ravage being like this?”

Miguel leans forward, his body right above yours, “This is me and Ravage.”

“Oh.” Your face starts to get hot, “How long have you two been like this?”

“Since you started leaking. I'm not proud of the unnecessary thoughts I've had.” He ducks his head in embarrassment. But you couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that your husband wants to suck on your tiddy.

“I don't mind.”

Miguel groaned, his hands gripping the couch. “Sure you don't. I feel like a…pervert.”

“You're not a pervert.” You reassure him by resting a hand on his cheek. “You're just…discovering something new.”

“That's putting it lightly.” Miguel starts to push away, shutting himself down from what he craved deep down. But you didn’t want him to make him feel ashamed. You wanted him to do it.

By taking his arm, you make him stay. Removing your shirt, ignoring the milk dripping down to the underside of your breast. You keep calm as Miguel’s eyes darken at the sight of you. Licking his lips at the sight of the liquid. “Do it. It's ok.”

He bends down after your permission, capturing a breast between his lips. Miguel sucks, his body rumbling at the taste of your milk. Because of your hormones, everything was dialed up to 11. The sensation of his lips on you was enough for your wetness to stir down below. An embarrassing whimper escapes you, while you clutch at him in need.

Miguel makes sure both of your breasts are tended to by licking a strip of excess milk up from your other breast. His groans fill the open space and your ears.

“You taste delicious.” He compliments after getting the remaining droplets from your skin. “Our baby will love it.”

You notice his bulge amongst his pants, “You're loving it too.”

Miguel’s hand dips inside past your sweatpants and underwear. The lightest touch amongst your folds makes you croon as he feels your wetness. “So are you.”

Miguel became relentless once he started tasting your breast milk. The two of you played it under the guise that you were practicing when this was nowhere near that. Whenever you two were alone and you started leaking, instead of using a tissue, he used his mouth. Collecting every ounce of milk that came from your nipple.

It was addicting.

Your husband taking turns with the symbiote, tongues lapping at your nipples, tasting every single drop. Satisfied for the day. Especially when it came during sex.

You wondered if your belly would be in the way but Miguel took care of that. Using his strength to make sure he did all of the work, not you.

He would secure you by gripping your thighs. Spreading your legs just right before lifting you up and sinking you down on his gigantic cock. You refrain him from taking his symbiote form while having sex during the last trimester, unsure if his larger length would affect the baby. But his normal body was more than enough.

You'd whine while taking him as he lazy thrusts up into you. His face buried in your chest as he did so. Sucking on any drop of milk, groaning with his movements. Your arousal coated his cock, easy for him to slip and slide right in. And then a sense of satisfaction waved over your body once you were finished.

You had to enjoy these moments while you still can.

Your due date was coming in a few days. In a perfect world, Miguel would stay by your side. Watching over you and ready to go once the big day arrived. Instead, there was an influx of anomalies popping up in different dimensions. Leaving your husband to take care of it.

Plans had to change. He connected his watch to yours so he'd be informed when you call him for the big moment. He promised to pick up right away. You noticed his annoyance of the change of plans, knowing he didn't like not being nearby while you were like this. But you took it in stride. Soon, your baby girl will be here in your world.

Miguel had to go once more, kissing you goodbye along with the usual spiel of what to do when your water breaks. You decided to do a once over the baby’s room for the fifth time this week. A wide range of emotions consumed you, from excitement to fear. You want to be a good caretaker for your daughter. But you didn’t want to mess it up. All the self-help parenting books in the world wouldn't help you with the real thing.

A strange rush of fluids went through your lower body, staining your pants and the floor in the baby's room. Did your water just break?

Sharp pains riddle your stomach as you lean on the crib for support. The baby was coming. You tried to call Miguel through your watch, taking slow, deep breaths. You weren't going to panic. You two had planned for this.

He wasn’t picking up.

You could hardly move. Any attempt committed shockwaves across your entire body. You can't have the baby here, by yourself in the baby room. So you called Lyla.

“Heyo! What can I do for ya-oh that's not good.” Lyla says while watching your hunched state.

“Where's my husband?”

The AI shows you a bunch of screens you couldn't understand at the moment. “Tech issue while on a mission. Margo and I are working on it but communication is currently difficult.”

“H-How long will it take?” You were hoping for a good answer, anything to soothe your worries.

“ETA is ten minutes for all communications to be back online.”

That was definitely something you were not looking for. “In ten minutes, I'll be having this baby-” You groan, a contraction hitting you. “I-Is it possible…to tell Miguel that our baby is coming?”

“I can but it'll be delayed. He won't get the message right away due to his location.”

“Would anyone get it at HQ?”

“Oh yeah, there’s no issues there.”

“Who's at Spider Society?”

Lyla did a scan. It was quick but in your current state, she took forever. “Ben is.”

“Will the message be delayed if you reach out to him?”

“No, he should get it instantly.”

You told Lyla to send messages to Miguel and his left-hand man. You knew your spouse was going to be upset that he missed the start of what would change both of your lives. But you don’t think you could wait for him any longer. With all the strength you could muster, you grab the baby bag and place it on your shoulder. It takes everything you can to maneuver to the living room so Ben could pick you up quickly.

To your relief he was there in a flash, blue eyes darting around to get a clear look at the situation.

“Hi, Benny.” You gave him a weary smile, “Can you get me to the hospital?”

He quickly nodded, putting the baby bag across his shoulders. “I can't wait to tell Miguel I came to the rescue. You think he'd give me a metal?”

“Maybe.” You pat his shoulder as he gently picks you up, positioning you tight as he goes through the portal.

Your husband made sure there was a maternity ward and a birthing center in the building. Making sure you get top-notch level care throughout your pregnancy. Right when Ben takes you in, Miguel picks right up.

“Are you okay? Lyla told me the baby's on the way.” Before you could answer, you whined, a contraction stopping your words completely. That was enough to answer his question. “I'm coming. Just breathe like in those exercises we saw, okay? Like this.”

He starts breathing through the watch in a certain rhythm and you follow it as your doctors put you in a room. You lean against the hospital bed, the nurses helping change you into a gown.

“I really need you here, Miggy.”

You didn’t want to admit that you were scared. You had nine months to overcome your fear but now that you’re facing it, you wanted him there.

“I'm coming. Don't worry.”

True to his word, Miguel is in the delivery room not long after. Still in his suit but instantly by your side. You felt much better by his presence, gripping his hand as the birth of your baby began.

The entire labor was eight hours. You were doped up with medication so you couldn’t tell. The trials and tribulations of pushing, Miguel holding your hand to help you through it all. Thank goodness for his spider strength. It was hell, you weren’t sure if you wanted to get pregnant again after this. But it was all worth it for your baby girl.

Gabriella was beautiful with her brown skin, gentle red eyes and curly brown hair. Almost a spitting image of her father. A person you two made together after going through constant efforts of conception.

Miguel wipes his eyes, unsuccessful at holding back tears of joy. “She's beautiful.” He kisses your daughter's head and then yours.

Ravage comes out, the symbiote getting a good look at the sleeping baby in awe. “She smells. Like baby powder.”

“She does.” You press your nose to your daughter’s head, taking in that new baby smell. “Thanks, Rav. For helping us have this baby.”

The alien gets taken back. You wanted to express your gratitude, knowing your baby wouldn’t be here without them. “You are welcome.”

“We’re not letting you babysit though.” Miguel says, making it clear.

“At least until Gabi's older.” You clarified.

Ravage hums, “Fine. As long as we can have intercourse again.”

Miguel fights the urge to pinch his nose while you giggle. “Of course. Don't worry about that.”

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara smut #miguel fanfic #slushycoookie writes

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genderkoolaid · 6 months ago

Note

Just saw a post on my dash claiming you're a terf psyop because some terf on Twitter has the same username as you. I just wanted to warn you in case you haven't seen it yourself. You two having the same name is the only evidence given in the post. Nothing else. And I frankly don't believe it for a second. But other people are spreading this and seem to be accepting it as the truth. And I think it's messed up, and I'm worried about you. You don't have to respond to this at all btw; I just wouldn't have felt right about seeing this and not telling you.

Well this is wild lmao. I'm presuming both of these are talking about the same person.

—

Obviously that is not me. Mostly because I am not in fact a TERF (or from the UK). I chose "genderkoolaid" to be ironic because transphobes use that phrase.

But also because, if I was a TERF psyop, why in the world would I use the same URL for both my secret evil psyop account and my blatant TERF account?

She seems to have developed an entire conspiracy theory around transandrophobia in which she starts with the idea that everyone who talks about it is a secret TERF, and works backwards to twist anything anyone ever says into being proof of her conspiracy:

—

^ Her pinned post is... something!

Anyone can find the worst posts in the transandrophobia tag and use it as proof the whole thing is transmisognistic, because obviously transmisogyny remains a widespread problem and no space or group is exempt. But she doesn't even use those, really. Any post that talks about how transmascs suffer from misogyny, or just suffer in general, is apparently saying trans men are women and should detransition.

It's wild that she seems to understand that radical feminism relies on this man bad/woman good binary, AND that TERFs target trans men for conversion therapy, but does not seem to understand that... this is not that?

It's only somewhat included in the first screenshot, but the third image in that trio is an image with Joan of Arc which many of you have probably seen:

... which does nothing but contrast claims about masculinity with a person whose murder was justified because of their invalid masculinity. But of course, by masculinity we must REALLY mean... cis womanhood! That makes sense!

She also apparently believes that me describing myself as FTMTX is code for me being a detransitioner:

—

Like, this is genuinely just conspiracism & exorsexism. She seems one step away from claiming TMRAs are all Satanists kidnapping children.

To give her credit for one thing, though: She tags these as "broeddels" which, while useless as a term, is a very good pun.

Don't harass this person, primarily because harassment is bad but also because it seems like she is not in the best space and is obsessing over this as a result.

& if you want to actually support trans women, consider raising awareness of Rue, a Black teenage trans girl who recently survived a stabbing in Houston.

#m.#ask box

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stuckinmymind22 · 26 days ago

Text

On The Run (part three)

ngl i wasn’t planning on putting this out until next week but im in a good mood today so here you go 🤠

part one | part two

🚨🚨🚨MARINEFORD SPOILERS🚨🚨🚨

shanks x afab! reader (she/her)

tags: lovers (intimate) to lovers (romantic)

tw: use and misuse of alcohol, drunk sex (both parties), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it babes!!!!)

wc: 17.6k (i am a woman of the people)

a/n: we got smut baby!!!!! i promised this one would be lighter than the last and it really is i swear, it's v cute and has a lot of shenanigans and just interactions with the crew (who are becoming meddlesome lol)

also i am trying out a way to write slurred speech and i think it's readable but in case it isn't i have a cheatsheet nearby the examples

summary: after a hard night of nightmares, you feel embarrassed to be around shanks and avoid him, at least until the crew stops at an uninhabited island for the night and does what they always do (party). you and shanks are naturally drarwn to each other and with the help of alchohol you become stuck together at the hip.

WARNING: DRINK RESPONSIBLY!!!!! ALCOHOL IS A POISION! It can and will kill you. If you’re drinking like this you’re either seeing a dr or whatever higher power you believe in. Im just not having a guy who can do oneshot kid tap out so fast.

The next morning, you woke in Shanks’ bed and thanked the stars that he had already left the room. After last night, you weren’t sure if you could face the man now — possibly ever again. You ran your hand through your hair roughly as you came to terms with what had happened.

You were pretty sure that you had cried yourself to sleep in his arm. The idea of anyone seeing you in the state you had been in mortified you to say the least. What the hell had gotten into you? It had been bad enough relying on him after you were shot, but now you had gone and bothered him with your emotional problems too? Recalling how he had treated you, by just being there, created a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest, one you were not prepared to deal with in the slightest.

Truthfully, you were disappointed in yourself. Getting any deeper emotions involved was a bad idea waiting to happen, but you did it anyway. You already liked the man, how could you not? He was charming, handsome, a hell of a lover, and above all else, you were comfortable around him. It was dangerous. He was dangerous.

You had just sent yourself down a slippery slope. And for what? You were still rattled to your core by the memories that had resurfaced. You were still a complete fucking wreck. It didn’t help that you were in intense physical pain either. You groaned as you placed your feet on the ground — your body hurt like hell, it was like you had, well, gotten shot, which was an accurate assessment.

What you knew is that you had to stay away from Shanks and you had to get the hell out of his room. And shit — you had come in there without any pants. In distress and under the cover of night, you supposed it hadn’t mattered to you then, but the sun was bright through the room’s window, and neither excuse worked anymore. You considered taking the risk and running back to your room, but that idea was thrown out when you heard footsteps approaching. Fearing the worst, you prepared yourself to come face to face with the man you were hoping to avoid, but the steps stopped shy of the room. You were in the clear, at least for the moment.

Reconsidering your options, you scanned the room and noticed a discarded pair of pants — that’d work for the time being. You were grateful that his pants were cropped; if they were full length for him, they’d be a tripping hazard. Your ambition to dash back to your room died instantly when you opened the door and made eye contact with Hongo. It seemed like the doctor had been looking for you, and, well, he found you — it was unfortunate that he’d caught you leaving his captain’s room. First thing in the morning. Clad head to toe in the man’s clothes. Great, that didn’t have any other implications at all.

Before you had been given the chance to explain yourself, someone else came down the hallway. Of fucking course it would be him. This morning kept getting better, didn’t it?

“So we’re sharing closets now?” Shanks asked you with a goofy grin. He knew the whole outfit was his, not that he had any issue with that. The obnoxiously loud print of the pants made it hard to mistake them for anything but his own. “Cause if we’re doing that, I wanna borrow that one shirt.” You knew exactly what top he had been talking about. It made your tits look incredible, and, incidentally, you got the best tips wearing it. If you hadn’t been so flustered you would’ve made a comment about how he’d be the prettiest thing on the ship.

“I’m gonna give ‘em back. Just not tryna walk around in my underwear,” you said, forcing your composure. The pants you would return but that shirt was now yours. It was really comfortable, and because it was so loose it didn't put any pressure on your injury like the rest of your clothes did.

“You totally could if you wanted to,” the captain responded cheekily. You glared up at the man. Shanks raised his hand in defense, but the look in his eyes told you he wasn’t done. “All I’m saying is you wouldn’t hear any complaints from me, I appreciate a nice view.”

You would throw something at him if you could. Was he really flirting with you now? Out of all times? Had he even noticed Hongo, who looked like he was trying and failing to not be uncomfortable, standing less than three feet from you both? You knew the doctor had already come to his conclusions of what he’d seen, which you’d have to dispel later, but this fucking man wasn’t making it easy.

“Fuck’s sake,” you mutter, squeezing between the men to get to your room and put on your own damn pants.

“What’s up?” You asked Hongo. To your relief, Shanks was already gone by the time you had finished changing. “Uh—“ Hongo started, sounding uncomfortable. “While you’re healing, you should refrain from…{strenuous activities.” You groaned and covered your face; you’d forgotten about that. You did have a history with Shanks, so you really couldn’t fault Hongo for thinking as much. Honestly, you would’ve laughed at how uncomfortable he was if it hadn’t been so damn embarrassing. Once you had regained your composure, you explained to the doctor what had happened the night before.

~~~~~~~

After you had gotten your wound checked and redressed and obtained the all-clear, you went to wander the ship, looking for something to pass the time. You had realized that you weren’t even sure how far away you were from the next island, so you made a mental note to ask about that sooner rather than later.

You had successfully evaded Shanks at least three times on your stroll before you stumbled into Lucky Roux talking to an apprentice. His signature smile broadened when he saw you. “There ya are. Saved you some food,” the head chef told you. It was midmorning, well after breakfast, so you’d figured any food would be long gone. Your surprise must’ve shown because Lucky clarified, “Figured you’d be hungry. Come on, let’s get ya fed.”

The smiling man let you into the kitchen where you had found Yasopp looking through cabinets. The sniper snapped his head to the door when it had opened, pausing in his actions. “Hey friend, was just lookin’ for ya,” the sniper played off, unsuccessfully. Lucky Roux didn’t look remotely fazed at catching his friend and fellow officer very obviously about to raid the pantry. Instead, the happy-go-lucky man ducked under the doorframe and entered the kitchen like normal.

Lucky pulled out the plate he had saved and went to head the food back up. It was an unusual move for the man, not that you would know that. The two men started to talk about nothing in particular (they loved to do that) as you looked around the galley curiously. It was almost too small for the size of the crew in both number and height — the poor cook’s head was dangerously close to the ceiling with only mere inches to spare.

The reheated food was passed your way, pulling you from your observations. You took it eagerly, hoping up onto a counter to eat, placing the plate on your lap. After a few bites, you asked the question that had been on your mind, uncaring that your mouth was partly full. “So when we gettin’ to the next island?”

Lucky Roux, who had found the rack of meat he’d been missing, responded to you in kind. “Two to three days. Depending on wind,” his words were garbled on account of his mouth being stuffed, but you’d understood them.

Two to three days? You could do two or three days.

“Hol’ on, Luck. Next one’s deserted, ‘member?” Yasopp interjected. “Oh yeah,” the cook said, taking another large bite of meat.

“Well shit. Hope that’s not where you’re planning on leaving me then,” you joked. Your deal with Shanks had been just to bring you to the next island, but you also knew he wasn’t the type to leave you stranded somewhere. {Maybe that was why you liked him so much.}

The two men shared a look that went unnoticed by you. The senior officers had been made aware of Shanks’ intention to ask you to join the crew, but it seemed that you hadn’t been made aware of that. It was entirely possible that you had turned down the offer as Yasopp initially had many years before. However, if that were the case, they would expect the yonko to be in a much more sour mood. It was likely that he had yet to broach the topic with you. Either way, it wasn’t the officer’s discussion to have with you. Despite being the easygoing, fun-loving pirates they were, the crew harbored a deep respect for their captain. If he hadn’t talked to you about it yet, they weren’t going to bring it up.

“Let me try that again. How far’s the next inhabited island?” You rephrased your question, unaware of the silent conversation the men had just had. “Now that, I do not know. Gotta be at least twice as long though,” Yasopp answered.

“Ain’t that the one with the shitty marine outpost?” Lucky asked. “Oh shit. Think you might be right,” Yasopp agreed. “Let’s go find Building Snake; he’d know.” Both men went to leave, but when you made no effort to move, the snipper took it upon himself to ask if you were coming. You raised your half-eaten plate in response, which was met with a theatrical huff, but they chose to stay with you.

“Why’d ya wanna know in the first place?” The marksman questioned. If you had learned one thing about these two back at the bar, it was that they loved to talk. You swallowed your food before you responded, “Was just curious.” Gathering more food on your fork, you continued, “I only asked Shanks to get me to the next island. Didn’t expect it to take that long, though.”

“Ya don’t gotta sound so disappointed,” Yasopp frowned, crossing his arms. “Yeah! And on the bright side, you got us,” Lucky Roux chimed in. The cook threw his arm around Yasopp, throwing the snipper off balance while he pulled him in. You smiled and shook your head before taking your final bite. It wouldn’t be too bad, you realized.

Hopping off the counter, you went to wash your dishes in the sink. “Don’t worry ‘bout that. Come on,” Lucky urged you. You followed the boys (grown-ass men) out the door, departing on an adventure you didn’t know you were partaking in. It seemed that neither Yasopp nor Lucky had any idea where the ship’s navigator had been “hiding.”

Unfortunately for you, you had yet another run-in with the one man you were hoping to avoid. You tried to hide behind Lucky Roux’s hulking frame when Shanks approached your team, but your cover was blown damn near instantly. “Sorry, Captain, on an important mission. No time to talk,” Yasopp said, pulling you out from behind the chef by hooking his arm around your shoulder. “Ain’t that right, Princess?”

You were too busy glaring at the sniper to notice how Shanks’ nostrils flared and his gaze hardened at the action. The men you were with, however, did not miss it, and later they would tease him about it.

“Call me princess again and I’ll fucking kill you.” Yasopp only grinned brighter at your threat. Glares came at him from both sides, but he stayed standing tall. “See? We’re very busy.” Shanks rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. There wasn’t anything specific he’d been trying to talk about so he just dropped it, offering a nod and walking away. Once you were no longer in his presence you let go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Did ya see that?” Lucky said to Yasopp, looking happier than usual. “Yeah I did. I knew we were onto somethin’,” the man responded. You gave them both a questioning look and they went quiet, but their smiles proved that you had something to do with whatever they were talking about.

After another couple of minutes of an unfruitful search, Yasopp took to yelling out the navigator’s name. A man nearby winced at the sudden noise — you thought he was one of the swabbies, but you weren’t sure. “Too much to drink, Buddy?” Yasopp questioned, roughly clapping the man on the back. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Sun’s miserable enough, don’t need your ass yelling in my ear too.” The quip made the senior officer let out a boisterous laugh, making the poor, deeply hungover man grimace. You did your best to hold back your laugh out of consideration — you had been there before.

Once you found Building Snake, the ship’s navigator, you learned that the upcoming island was indeed two to three days away. You also learned that it was dangerous and best to stick near the ship. Many years back, there had been a failed attempt to settle it, which had left a rotting and unusable port behind. The bad news was that the island after that (the inhabited one) was at least a week out.

Being faced with such a long trip between viable ports reminded you of all the provisions the pirates had taken before they’d left your island. It wasn’t your island anymore… it couldn’t be. That realization put a damper on your mood. Noticeably so. It was hard to come to terms with the fact that your life had been majorly and fundamentally altered for the second time. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that everything you had had been ripped out from under you.

You had hoped to ignore it until it went away, it was what you did best, but it was in times like this where you were forced to face it. It was Building Snake that asked if you were okay and you put on a smile and told him you that other than being shot, you were fine. But you weren’t fine. In all honesty, you couldn’t wait until the booze came out.

~~~~~~~

That night, you found yourself playing cards with some of the crew, a new favorite pastime of yours. The sky had been growing darker faster than the sun was setting. A card you had just placed down got caught in the wind and was lifted from the table. Shanks, who had happened to be walking by, caught the card mid-air. “Careful, don’t wanna lose that,” he laughed, passing the card by to you. You didn’t have the time to get stuck on that gesture because the waters rapidly became choppy and the clouds above you swirled. A storm was forming.

Like a well-oiled machine, the crew dispersed, knowing exactly what to do. You quickly stored all the cards away before they could become victims of the wind, standing up to do so. A rough wave hit the Red Force, seawater splashed onto the deck as the ship was thrown about. Despite all of your time on dry land, your sea legs were still strong. While you were able to stay upright through the ordeal, others weren’t as lucky. You saw someone get wiped out by the abrupt off-kiltering of the vessel. With the others all occupied, you rushed over and pulled the man to his feet before the next wave came.

Orders were barked out, and you escaped the path of the storm far faster than it had seemed. Once past the storm’s edge, you heard a chuckle beside you. “I was just thinking it’d been too boring,” the man you had helped up earlier said. “I’d forgotten how violent the sea can be,” you responded in kind. You looked around you; water was still pooled in low spots on the deck, slowly being bailed out, and crates and tables had been knocked around. It seemed like you were lucky that no one had gone overboard.

A laugh of relief echoed throughout your body. Your hair completely drenched, soaked clothes molded against your body. From across the deck, Shanks turned to the sound instinctively, his easygoing smile slipped into a more serious look as he scanned your body. Confused, your eyes followed his gaze down. Great, you’d forgotten you were wearing an off-white shirt, but that thought didn’t stick in your mind for long when you saw what he’d been looking at.

There was red.

“Well, shit,” you muttered. The immense amount of seawater and rain had diluted your blood down to a bright red, almost pink stain. Somewhere in the chaos, you had torn a stitch or two and managed to reopen the injury. You had fucked around and you had found out — Hongo was going to give you so much shit for this. You applied pressure to the wound, scanning the men for the doctor.

“Alright, let’s go stitch you back up,” Hongo said, touching your shoulder. He had appeared behind you, as if the thought of him alone had made him materialize. You nodded and started walking towards the infirmary. The doctor followed close behind. Unusually close, uncomfortably even.

“The fuck are you doing?” You questioned the man, turning your head back to look at him. “Your scar,” he responded quietly. You hadn’t even thought about that. The now near-clear fabric of your shirt was practically plastered to your body, which would make the raised brand more noticeable. “Thank you,” you whispered, continuing on your way, this time faster.

Shanks’s eyes never left you as you moved about, baring the brief, harsh stare directed at the doctor. “Careful, Captain, you’re starting to look jealous,” Yasopp said as he walked by, earning himself a glare that only made him laugh.

Shanks wasn’t jealous; he was just…concerned.

~~~~~~~

Ever since Yasopp had made the off-handed remark about him being jealous, Shanks had been stuck on the idea. Now it was well into the night and Shank lie perfectly awake, all of his thoughts circling around you. What was it about you that had him hooked?

All your past interactions had been replaying in his head as he attempted to pinpoint what was different. Something he really liked about you was how you only ever saw him as “Shanks,” not as a yonko, not as a captain, not even as a pirate, just as a man. It was refreshing. Even though you were fully aware of who he was before he’d opened his mouth, somehow, his reputation hadn’t proceeded him with you. He remembered meeting you.

On the crew’s way back from Marineford, after both Edward Newgate and Portgas D. Ace had been laid to rest, the Force was caught up in a nasty storm, leaving it in crucial need of repairs. It was decided to head to the closest island to get supplies. When Whitebeard’s Jolly Roger was spotted still flying high in the harbor, Shanks knew he had to take a different approach than normal.

Not wanting to cause problems with the locals, only Shanks and Beckman departed the ship. The rest of the crew could join once the captain could prove that they posed no threat to the inhabitants.

By the time the two men had made their way up the hill and found the town, it appeared to be deserted. Doors and windows were tightly closed, which was a stark difference from the lively streets they had seen through the spyglass. This might be harder than Shanks had thought.

The sole sign of life was the sound of whistling. Following the noise, the pirates found the one and only place open for business. The only person there was the most breathtaking woman Shanks had ever seen, sweeping the floor while whistling.

As if you had sensed their presence, you looked up from your task and smiled at them. “Took you a while. Shore’s not that far, I was starting to think you had left,” you spoke loud enough for the pair to hear you from outside. Even your voice was beautiful.

“You boys coming in or you sightseeing? Fair warning, it’s a bad day for tourism. Rumor has it there’s pirates.” Shanks smiled over at Beck; he liked you already. The captain sauntered into the bar with his first mate close behind him. Without being asked, you poured out two drinks, saying they were on the house. It wasn’t exactly the kind of hospitality Shanks had been expecting after finding the town on lockdown.

“So Shanks,” you said, looking him in the eyes with no sign of being intimidated. It both surprised and amused him that you had jumped to first name basis before he could even introduce himself. “What brought you to this little corner of the world? Feels like it’s quite a ways from where you belong.”

“Well damn, Darling, I thought we started with introductions before jumping to questions,” Shanks joked, watching the smile that pulled on your lips. “You’re right. Go ahead,” you apologized, waiting for the captain to introduce himself. Shanks chuckled at your behavior, eyes sparkling with glee.

From there, you had been the one to reassure the townspeople that everything was alright and that the pirates meant no harm. You’d pushed the mayor to talk with the yonko and to work out a new arrangement for the island’s protection.

Shanks couldn’t help it; he’d been drawn to you almost instantly. He would linger at the bar longer than needed just to see more, and the more you had talked, the more he enjoyed your company. You had never complained about his prolonged presence; in fact, you had always looked as excited to see him as he was to see you.

Then there was also the fact that you were so beautiful, and he was a man of the flesh after all.

At least he had been.

Before you, it had been a while since he had been with anyone. The (shocking) truth was that he could probably count the number of people he’d been with since earning the title of “Emperor of the Sea,” and it wasn’t a lot. Sure, part of the reason was that he was constantly busy, but the big reason was how others treated and viewed him.

It was damn near impossible to want someone who only wanted you because of your name. And worse, on the opposite of the spectrum, were the people who were clearly afraid to tell him “no.” Both were consequences of power that he’d never thought about before, and neither were things he could stomach. If chasing his ambitions meant he had to sacrifice sex, then he would, no matter how much he liked sex, and he really liked sex.

Somehow, you fit into neither category. Shanks recalled how once you had made a jab at him and he’d joked that not many people would dare to speak to him that way. You had looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Like a person?” That moment had stayed vivid in his mind — he didn’t even remember what had been said to prompt the interaction, but those three words and your confused face were burned into his head.

From that point on, you had him wrapped around your finger in a way that neither of you could comprehend. It hadn’t been interest in a traditional sense (at least that’s what he thought); he’d known that there was no point in an actual relationship with you or anyone. Yet, he couldn’t get enough of you.

Not even the long last night on the island, when you had both thought it was the end, had satisfied his fill of you. He’d known that as soon as he woke up the morning after to an empty bed and a note with a short thanks {for all that he had done}. But that was just the name of the game, and he knew that.

Initially, he had chalked all of it up to lust; given his track record, it would make sense that he’d be insatiable, but now he was starting to question it.

Ah fuck. He did like you.

There wasn’t any other conclusion to draw, but what the hell was he supposed to do now?

Shanks didn’t have any more time to dive into it before there was a knock at his door, and you stood there with puffy eyes. There was no point in worrying about the future when you needed him now.

~~~~~~~

It had taken three days for the cry of land to come. When the alert sounded, a childlike excitement grew inside you. You hadn’t realized how antsy you had felt stuck on board the ship; you might not’ve been able to take much longer. Avoiding Shanks had been hard work. The man was everywhere (it was his ship after all). The embarrassment you had felt your second morning on board, after you had spent the night crying in the captain’s arm, hadn’t dissipated— in fact, it had gotten worse.

The nightmares had continued to plague you, and while you spent your days steering clear of the redheaded man, you had found yourself at his door every night, and he welcomed you in every time. Come morning, the unspoken understanding of not mentioning the night would kick in, and you would go back to avoiding Shanks like the plague. You appreciated him for helping you when you needed it most, but you hated the way it messed with your feelings, which only made you distance yourself further.

As the island came into view of the naked eye, Shanks called the crew together to address the plan. He told everyone to stick to the beach in order to avoid a repeat of the last time (a story you didn’t know nor bother asking about). The captain declared that they’d be setting off in the morning, warning the men against getting too hungover. The rest of the time was free for them to do as they pleased, which apparently was code for a banquet. After the announcement, the captain delegated tasks to the crew in preparation for landfall.

You were only half paying attention to his words, knowing they didn’t really apply to you. Your focus instead rested on the speck of land growing closer. The lush green island stood out against the pale blue sky. Details became clearer, and the view was damn near breathtaking. The tall, towering trees were speckled with colorful patches, signaling that the island was in bloom. Segmented cliffsides set the boundaries of the land, and in most places, the island’s foliage butted up to the drop.

“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Shanks said, appearing next to you. The sudden interruption from your thoughts had you jump slightly, causing the man to laugh. It was quite rare for you to be taken off guard like that, but you’d been so lost in thought you weren’t paying attention to anything around you, which said a lot about your comfortability with the crew.

“Yeah,” you smiled up at Shanks. It had been days since he’d been blessed with the view directed towards him. He had to manually tear his eyes away to avoid staring. Tapping the railing you’d been standing at, he excused himself, citing “captain duties.”

As the Red Force circled the island, looking for a place to rest for the night, you started bouncing on your feet, growing antsy. So far, the majority of the coastline looked impossible to land on. The sun was bright and the air had grown hot; the sea started looking more and more tempting. When a strip of beach came into view you had started to weigh the pros and cons.

It had been a long time since you were in the sea, but you were a strong swimmer. You frequented a large lake near your town that took up half of the island, with tides that rivaled the ocean. The potential consequences meant nothing to you, you felt like you existed on borrowed time anyway, might as well have some fun. You checked where you were set to settle for the night and finalized your decision.

Removing your shoes and rolling out your shoulders, you climbed onto the railing and dove into the water before anyone could object. Shanks witnessed you jump into the sea and was left surprised. After the shock left, a smile grew on his face and he shook his head. He didn’t need to check to know that you were okay. Besides him, Hongo, who he had been talking to, shouted out a warning about infections, but it was in vain; you had already been in free fall before he had started.

“Let ‘er have her fun, Hongo,” Shanks told the doctor. “‘Sides, we got you, yeah? You wouldn’t let ‘er get an infection.” Somehow, it was a statement both showcasing the captain’s trust in his crew’s doctor and a warning to not let it happen — not that Shanks had noticed the veiled threat he’d made.

Avoiding the ship’s path, you swam ashore, reaching the sand. Even over a hundred meters [a/n: like a football field] away, Shanks heard your laugh ring out. A warm feeling in his heart formed at the sound. His eyes were locked on you, watching the pure joy radiate off of you. You looked beautiful.

“Boss,” Beckman said, touching the captain’s shoulder as he passed by, pulling him from the trance you had unwittingly put him in. Right, he had things to do. With one last look, Shanks went about his duties.

~~~~~~~

By the time the pirates had arrived at the island, you were halfway through building a fire pit. The emperor found your initiative charming. Truthfully, ever since Yasopp’s comment on his jealousy days ago, Shanks had been more aware of how you made him feel. He feared he really did like you a bit too much, but he refrained from acting on it — no matter how hard it was. The last thing he wanted to do was to put you in a situation where you had no out and felt like your back was to the wall, so he had kept his distance and had let you avoid him.

“Doll, you ain’t gotta do all that,” Shanks said, approaching you. With a sideways glance, you saw that he held your shoes to his side; the gesture made your stomach flutter. “Gotta get done, don’t it?” You replied, staying crouched over a pile of sticks you had been arranging. You were right, and you both knew that. “But not by you.” You huffed in annoyance, standing tall and brushing off your hands to look him in the eye. “Let me help. I’m not about to be some dead weight.” The look in Shanks’ eyes changed, softened. “Y/n, you’re not dead weight. You’re injured; there is a difference.” With a wave of his hand, two apprentices took over the job before you could protest.

“Now, think you forgot these on the Force,” he said, switching subjects and holding out your shoes. You were annoyed that you couldn’t be annoyed with him — not after he’d taken the effort to bring you something you’d left behind (in all honesty, you had not thought that move through). That feeling was short-lived when you heard your name being called.

“Oi! Y/n, c’mere!” Yasopp shouted. You took your shoes from Shanks and put them on as you walked over to the sniper with curiosity. Shank’s eyes stayed glued on you, as they often did. “Wanna do the honors?” He asked, extending one of his guns to you. The offer created a sense of pride in the captain’s chest; he was happy to see you be accepted by the crew like this, even though he knew you already had been.

You looked to the gun then back at Yasopp, confused. “It’s tradition to fire a shot at landfall,” he explained. That explanation only shifted your question. “If it’s tradition, why didn’t I hear you when you arrived at [ISLAND NAME]?”

“Wouldn’t’ve been wise,” Shanks said, coming to your side. “And we don’t really do it in populated areas; civilians tend to get scared of gunfire.” The notorious man smiled down at you in a way that could make glaciers melt. “But you should try it, Doll,” he encouraged, nodding to the gun extended your way.

Hesitantly, you picked up the weapon — it was the same one that you had used mere days ago when this whole mess or adventure had begun. “What do I shoot at?” You were smart enough to know what goes up must come down, so shooting blindly up in the air would be dumb. Shanks shrugged. “Up to you.” You turned around in a circle, looking for a target. “Just not at the ship,” he specified. You gave him a look. “I know better than that, Captain.” When was the last time you had called him that? He wondered.

Still facing the water, you shot the gun at a large fish right under the water’s surface.

“Typically we go for somethin’ on land, but that counts, I s’pose,” Yasopp said. “Well I just caught us dinner, so, you’re welcome,” you retorted, handing back the weapon. “That case, go get it ’n Lucky can cook it up,” he teased back.

Before you could commit to the bit, you heard your name being called again. “Don’t go in the ocean again, dumbass,” Hongo said from a few yards away. “Already gotta change your bandages ‘cause you ‘cided to go swimming,” he complained. To be fair, he had just finished checking and redressing your bullet wound less than two hours prior. And he had been using twice as much gauze as needed to cover the scar on your back to avoid another incident.

“Killjoy,” you pouted, but excused yourself to go get patched up by the doctor. Again.

~~~~~~~

Over an hour had passed and most of the pirates had settled out on the beach, very few lingering on the ship.

Some crates and barrels had been brought out with supplies for dinner and plenty of booze, and logs pulled from the forest for seating. The crew had reached the point where they were just killing time, all chores were done and dinner wasn’t for a while. Drinking seemed to be the preferred pastime, but there were still others doing various other antics.

It was midafternoon, the sun still high in the sky. Your clothes had long dried; the intense rays had made quick work of that, but the heat was borderline unbearable. You had found your spot in the shade, accompanied by some of the senior officers. All sat on miscellaneous crates and barrels. The past couple of days had taught you how much Yasopp and Lucky Roux loved to talk, and that still stood true. Peacefully, you had been listening to the two men tell you stories with such precession that it had to have been rehearsed.

“Yasopp never misses, ya know?” The chef said proudly, clapping his best friend on the back with one hand and taking a bite of the hunk of meat he held in the other. “He can hit anything. Any target you ask, you should try it.” You looked to the marksman on your left to see if he was willing to do so, but the man had already started loading a gun, exchanging his handmade rounds for standard ones. “Pick somethin’.”

You scanned your surroundings, looking for something that would pose a challenge but also visible. “See that fruit?” You said, leaning into him to point to a spot across the beach and in the trees. The fruit looked like it was juicy and would explode dramatically if hit, which would be fun. Yasopp grinned at you. “Watch this.” The shot rang out and the fruit blew apart in a violent display. You clapped and cheered excitedly, pointing to something else farther away. “Try that!” The same thing happened and you were just as excited.

It had been a long while since Yasopp had gotten that kind of excitement at his skill. While the display was novel to you, the pirates lived with it; it was ordinary to them. The crew, especially the senior officers, were all extremely powerful, but had been surrounded by each other for so long that the level of their skillsets was no longer impressive. Seeing your reaction was just as entertaining to the men as the marksmanship was to you.

The show had continued until the barrel had been emptied, twice. Even afterwards, you were singing the praises of the sniper. It hit you that they all were like that, with just as much interest you went around asking what they could do. Finding out that Lucky had developed a technique called “self-bowling,” you begged him to demonstrate and it lived up to its name.

“Heard you know how to use a sword,” Yasopp said after you had cycled through everyone in close range for their talents. You raised a brow. “Where’d ya hear that?” The sniper grinned, “You’re a loud drunk.” You should’ve known.

Two nights back, you had been dangerously near tears talking about how you missed Fluffy. Fluffy was the name of the blade your father had gifted you when you were a child, and not the name of some long-dead pet like it had seemed, but you had been just as attached as if it had been alive. It hadn’t left your side until it had been taken from you when you’d been kidnapped.

“Time for you to show us whatcha got,” Yasopp challenged, pointing to a sword nearby. The blade wasn’t too far off from what you had grown up with, but you could just tell by looking at it that the weight distribution wouldn’t be the same. “It’s only fair,” the sniper encouraged further upon noticing your hesitation, even enlisting others in his peer pressure tactic.

With a sigh, you stood up. “It’s been years,” you admitted, rolling out your joints before picking up the sword. You tossed it lightly to get a feel for it, and your assessment had been spot on, but it would work enough for a demonstration. Once you familiarized yourself with the blade, you grinned back at the group of men you were with. “Who's up?”

The confused looks brought your own brow up. "You telling me you wanted to see me swing a sword around in the air like a dork? I'm not doing that," you said while doing just that. "Now we fighting or am I going back to my drink?"

Yasopp called over an apprentice who wore a sword at his hip. You vaguely recognized him but didn’t know if you had met. He couldn’t’ve been much older than twenty, he had soft brown hair and his eyes were lit up in fear. The sniper introduced him to you as Dime, which made you wonder how he had earned that name, and instructed the poor guy to fight you. The young pirate looked conflicted, his eyes went from the senior officer to you to his captain and all over again. And again. While you understood his apprehension it bothered you.

“Should I be offended you think I can’t hold my own?” You asked, trying to force some humor into your voice. It wasn’t the kid’s fault, but you were incredibly sick of being treated like glass. Dime looked more panicked after your comment and started to stutter. Yasopp got what had been happening but was too busy trying to hide his laugh to help.

Lucky was the one who gave the poor apprentice a break. “Aye, Boss! Can we fight?” Despite the man staring directly at the scene, he didn’t answer as if he hadn’t heard the question. Truthfully, the second you had picked up the sword Shanks had stopped paying attention to the conversation he’d been a part of so he could focus on you. You were going to be the death of him. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

It took Lucky repeating himself for Shanks to register that he was being talked to. His eyes reluctantly left you to look at the chef. The captain shrugged. “It’s not my call. Ask her.” You smiled at his response, and his heart rate increased. He was becoming hyperaware of how you impacted him, and, at least for now, it seemed that everything you did affected him. He had respected your wish to maintain distance and to get his fix he had become an expert at stealing glances when you weren’t looking.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” you reassured Dime. “That’s not what I’m worried about,” the kid mumbled, likely not intending for you to hear it. His words made you laugh. “Believe it or not, but I know what I’m doing. Now stop being a coward and come at me,” you goaded him. With a level of reluctance the man complied. He had barely taken two steps before you had disarmed him, sword at his throat.

“It hurts my feelings when you don’t try,” you complained to the kid. The attack had taken him by surprise and he was frozen in place. “It’s not as fun either. Now grab your sword and let’s go again,” you instructed, lowering your blade.

“Can already tell you’re impressive,” Yasopp praised from the sidelines, a sentiment that Lucky Roux echoed. You turned to them and flipped your hair in a faux display of pretentiousness. “I was the best in the country at one point.” Your father had been an excellent swordsman and had taught you nearly everything he knew. “Which one?” The sniper inquired. “Doesn’t matter,” you dismissed, not willing to recall nor recount bits of your past. You shifted your focus back onto your opponent. “You ready for real this time?”

The next round took less than a minute. Shanks watched you the entire time. You were fast, but slightly clumsy with your movements as your muscles worked to recall techniques, but he was hooked. During your fight, you caught the captain’s eye, seeing how he’d been looking at you, and you winked. Fucking winked. Shanks almost choked on empty air. Were you trying to kill him? What made it worse was how you had won immediately afterwards.

“Rematch?” You questioned Dime, who agreed. You went three for three, after he had started trying. It was a brutal defeat that the kid took with more grace than you had been expecting. “I forgot how much I love this,” you said, nearly jumping in your excitement. You were more alive and animated than you had been in years, certainly more than any of them had seen you. “Anyone else wanna go?”

Behind your back, Shanks signaled for someone to take up your offer. You were elated when you had gotten another opponent. That was how you started cycling through opponents; after the third or fourth one, they came naturally. After you had proved yourself, it became a feat of strength to face you — but no one was able to defeat you. You were busy having the time of your life; the whole thing had reminded you of doing something quite similar as a teenager.

If he hadn’t been so entranced, or perhaps if he were wiser, Shanks would have walked away from the show, but he couldn’t. And he wouldn’t. He had thought your display with the Marines had been hot, but this made that pale in comparison.

It hadn’t been a question of if you would win, but how long it took you to. You were truly in your element. Sweat dripped down your face; your hair and shirt had become weighed down by the effort you’d exerted. Your muscles were already starting to ache, but the fatigue wasn’t going to stop you.

An hour in, the lack of a challenge started to bore you, and you started thinking of ways to make it more interesting. If he was anything like the legends, you didn’t stand a chance, but damn, you wanted to try. “Shanks,” you sang out, turning to the man who had you as his sole focus. You weren’t blind; you’d been cognizant that his eyes had followed your every move. What you weren’t aware of, however, was how it made him feel. You had never looked so captivating: the joy in your face, the sword in your hand, and the sweat on your brow. Everything about it made him want you more.

“‘M not fighting you, Doll. You’re not ready for me yet,” Shanks answered before you could ask. Frankly, he wasn’t ready to fight you either — if he could barely handle simply watching from a distance, how the fuck would he have enough self-control to witness it face-to-face?

“You’re no fun,” you said, turning away to find someone else. He’d only pointed out the obvious, but that didn’t mean you were happy about it. “I didn’t say never, just not now,” Shanks clarified. The addendum brought a smile to your face.

Someday.

Wait, were you even in a position to think about someday? You didn’t have much time left with him, there was no way you could progress that far that quickly, you were still injured.

Your thoughts were pushed away when a new challenger approached — a more senior member of the crew — and for the first time you were on even playing ground. The winner was no longer guaranteed, going back and forth between the two of you, but you had jointly called it quits after only a few rounds for dinner.

~~~~~~~

Later that evening, while the sun was still out and you were a few drinks deep, your mind started to get fuzzy. The alcohol in your system was providing a pleasant buzz, enough to stop worrying but not enough to lose yourself entirely, just where you liked to be. Once your cup had run dry a fourth time, you went back to the source for more. Near the barrel, the Red Hair’s first mate stood.

“Fun night?” Beckman asked you after you had lightly stumbled your way to him. It wasn’t even night, what was he talking about? “You guys sure know how to throw a party,” you laughed. Beckman lightly chuckled. “It comes from years of practice.” There was a pause before he spoke up again. “S’pose this is your first time out on the sea in a while.”

You weren’t sure what he was aiming for, but something was up. “Yeah. Sure as hell my first time sailing with a bunch of pirates willingly.” You used your mug to gesture to the crew who were scattered over the beach. Beck nodded, taking a drink. The casual implication that you had been held against your will on the ocean hadn’t gone past him, although the fact that you had let the information slip was beyond you.

“How’s your side?” You narrowed your eyes at the man, your suspicions mounting. “’S fine.” Beck nodded again. “What are you dancin’ around? Let’s cut to the chase.” Beck cracked a smile at your ability to see through it, even the way you had confronted him about it was familiar.

“You don’t need to avoid him. He’s not judging you.”

You didn’t need to ask to know who he was talking about, but your gaze followed his anyway. Shanks was standing a few feet away from the large fire you had helped create. His back was turned to you, but you could pick out that fiery red hair anywhere. From where you stood, his boisterous laugh echoed, and you watched as his shoulders shook. Something about the way you had been looking at the captain caused Beckman to lightly snort in amusement.

A part of you had considered lying and playing it off, but you knew that Beck was incredibly smart and wouldn’t have confronted you if he hadn’t known better. Plus, the second part of his statement interested you, although you weren’t sure how much you believed it.

You let out a heavy sigh and turned to face Beck. “The nightmares have been getting worse lately,” you started, your voice significantly quieter than before. “I can’t make it through the night on my own anymore. I’m a grown-ass woman acting like a child. Do you know how many times he’s held me as I cried my eyes out? Because I sure as shit don’t. It’s hard to look him in the eyes after he’s seen me like that. It’s easier to stay away altogether.” You would have to blame the alcohol in your system for your extreme honesty, but deep down, you knew you had simply wanted to get it out.

“The fact he continues to do it is proof in itself that he isn’t judging, ain’t it?” You hated that he was right; it made things more difficult.

“But that ain’t the real reason, is it?” Beck followed up as he casually lit up a cigarette like he hadn’t seen right through you. The truth was that you were scared. Scared of getting too attached. Your whole life had just fallen apart, and you couldn’t risk heartbreak on top of that. That was a danger you weren’t ready for.

“Is it that obvious?” You asked.

“No,” he smiled, relieving some of the tension in your shoulders. “I just have my ways.”

“That’s cryptic and not concerning at all,” you joked. Beck smirked a little — that was exactly what his captain would say. He’d been right about you; you were cut from the same cloth.

“You ever notice the way he looks at you?” Beckman asked after taking a drag from his cigarette. You put your attention back on the man who had captured your mind. He was staring right at you with the same soft eyes you found every night.

“Oh,” you breathed. A feeling of excitement started to bubble in your chest, but you were quick to squash it. You shook your head to release yourself from the spell he had you under. “It’s not a good idea,” you said, sounding almost defeated as you put your focus back on the man next to you. “I’ll be gone soon and I can’t do that to myself — or to him. This way no-one gets hurt.” Your eyes returned back to Shanks as if he was magnetic.

Beckman hummed, contemplating your words before he spoke. “Sometimes you gotta take risks. When’s the last time you tried living in the moment?” Then, yet again, he left you alone with his words.

~~~~~~~

You ruminated on the first mate’s words for a while, eventually coming to the conclusion that you were being unfair to Shanks. Going out of your way to avoid someone who was helping you, sheerly out of pride, was not how you had been raised. The question of whether it was worth the risk still lingered in the back of your brain. Maybe you could let yourself have the night. A little risk wouldn’t hurt, and you had always been one to gamble.

As an act of apology, you filled up another tankard before heading his way. The man liked his alcohol. Shanks was talking with Limejuice, another senior officer, with his back to you. When Limejuice started looking past his shoulder, he spun around to see what was behind him. And there you were, a few steps away, wearing a pretty smile.

You extended a cup of something his way once in arm’s reach. “That for me?” He questioned, eyeing your outstretched arm. You hummed and nodded in response. It was impeccable timing on your part, because the captain’s cup had just run dry. “Why thank ya, Doll,” Shanks grinned, accepting the new glass after setting his old one down nearby.

“How ya enjoying the island?” He asked you, grinning. You watched Limejuice slip away When Shanks’ attention had switched to you, almost as if he’d been giving you privacy. “I like it,” you nodded, trying to shake off the awkwardness. “’S gearing up to be one of the better nights I’ve had in a while.”

The redhead raised a brow. “One of? What else it competing with?” As far as he had been concerned, you had recently been plagued by sleepless nights, most of which he had borne witness to.

You hadn’t meant anything by the comment initially, but when he questioned it, you saw an opportunity. “Yeah, had a few good ones last week.” You masked your delight with innocent eyes. Closely, you gauged his reaction, finding humor in watching him piece it together.

What had happened a week ago? He wondered. Oh. Oh. That was when you had been seeing each other. Shanks coughed when he understood what you had been hinting at. He had been spending half of the day trying to get those thoughts out of his brain, and less than a minute into a conversation, you had brought them all back.

“Saw you earlier today,” he pivoted after clearing his throat. He quickly realized that thinking back to you using a sword was not the right direction to go in when he was trying to steer clear of those thoughts. You had caught onto the fact that his statement hadn’t been going anywhere and grinned. It was a rare sight to see the man flustered, something you had only managed to accomplish a few times before. “You were—you were impressive.”

Choosing to spare him, you took the innocent route, using humor to break the tension. “Now imagine what I could do at my full strength.” You were aware you had much more practice to do to get back to the level you had once been, but you had already decided you were determined to surpass your younger self when you had picked up the blade. “A force to be reckoned with, that’s for sure,” Shanks added, falling back into your standard dynamic.

“Oi! Lovebirds!” That call drew your attention. It wasn’t hard to know who it had been directed at. You followed the noise to find Yasopp snickering to himself. “‘Bout to start a game,” he continued, waving around a pouch of berries. “Want in?”

Glossing over the “lovebirds” comment, you couldn’t help but get the feeling that he was up to something, but you were willing to ignore it. A good game of cards always drew you in — especially when there was money involved. In the few short days you had been at sea, you had managed to more than double your starting funds gambling with the pirates.

You had been told that Shanks wasn’t one for cards, but you still jumped at the money to earn some easy money. Before you could apologize for ditching the man, he was already ahead of you. He spun back around, offering you his hand and a charming smile. “Come on, Doll. I hear you’ve been wiping the floor with them. Do me the honor of seeing it firsthand.” Unable not to, you grabbed his hand and tried to ignore the way it felt in yours.

Full of excitement, you pulled the emperor along as you rushed to follow Yasopp’s footsteps. You arrived at the makeshift table (a crate with miscellaneous logs and barrels as seats) where the usual culprits had gathered; Yasopp, Lucky Roux, Hongo, Limejuice, Dime, who was the first you had spared with earlier, and two other lower-ranking members you had forgotten the names of. Beckman sat at the table but didn’t always participate.

Grins greeted your arrival, but you didn’t connect them to how you had the captain of the Red Hair pirates in tow, smiling like a fool. You also missed the faint pout that formed on the man’s face when you dropped his hand to sit down.

“Cap’, you playin’?” Limejuice questioned. The redhead came to the card table less than once a blue moon. When it came to gambling, Shanks would rather wager than play a game of cards — it didn’t help that he (allegedly) had a bad poker face. There was also the fact that playing cards got a hell of a lot more difficult with only one hand, so he’d stopped playing; he didn’t miss it either.

“Can’t ‘member the last time you joined us,” Hongo commented. Shanks only smiled back at the men, in a significantly better mood than he had been in days.

“Boss, ‘m I dealing you in? Ow—“ Unbeknownst to you, the dealer, Lucky Roux, had just been kicked in the shin to quiet him. Yasopp faked an apologetic look, regretfully informing the captain that you had put them at the max amount of players, which likely meant that Beck (or someone else) was playing. The sniper did offer an alternative, suggesting that you two could play together.

“Whatcha say, Love? Can I join your team?” Shanks asked, sliding in next to you. At your hesitation, he released the puppy dog eyes and you crumbled. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the underhanded tactic, but secretly your heart raced at the idea — or maybe that was the alcohol, yes, that was it.

“Only if you get me more when I ask,” you said, nodding to your drink. It had been a while since you had drank like this and it probably wouldn’t happen again, so you had already chosen to make the most of it. It wasn’t on your dime, and you also knew your limits. “Deal,” he grinned in victory and moved in even closer to you.

Before the shuffling had finished, you had realized that all of your money was in your trunk, in your room, and a frown formed on your face. “What’s wrong?” Shanks asked, watching your expression fall. “I don’t have anything on me,” you told him, double-checking your pockets.

“I gotcha, Doll,” Shanks said, pulling out a full coin purse. You eyed the bag with skepticism, unsure if you should use his money. You hated owing anyone anything, especially money. Shanks spotted your internal turmoil and slid the berri your way. “If we’re a team, consider this our money.”

You glanced between the coins and the man, eventually meeting his eyes. “I pay you back and keep anything we earn.” Shanks laughed. “Sure, you can keep it all if you want.” That idea was promptly shut down. You knew you needed the money much more than he did, but you weren’t about to owe him more than you already did — you didn’t even know how to repay him for his kindness yet.

You grab a modest amount of coins from the sack, barely half of what the other players had pulled out, before you passed it back. If he was an insecure man, he’d be offended, but instead, he just looked at you amused. “You know I got more, right?” The man was a yonko, he was not going to flinch if you lost everything that he had on him. “And?” You raised a brow, prompting him to laugh again. “There’s no need to be stingy, take some more. Everyone else got twice as much as ya,” Shanks tried to reason, gesturing to the table.

“Okay,” you grinned, picking up the bag — only to put back a couple of coins and close it. Reaching over to Shanks, your fingers lightly grazed his exposed chest, and he hoped he hid the shiver your touch sent up his spine well enough. You opened up his cloak and returned the coin purse to where he’d taken it from. Patting his chest, satisfied that the money was secured, you whispered to him, “’s more fun this way.” You pulled back from him, wearing a satisfied smirk that only grew when you saw his expression. “Now watch and learn, Baby. Watch and learn.”

~~~~~~~

It turned out that you hadn’t thought this “team” thing all the way through. “Team” was doing a lot of heavy lifting because Shanks hadn’t contributed shit — beyond the starting funds. The two times he had tried, he’d given you advice so terrible it made you question if he knew how winning worked. He also was significantly more distracting than you had calculated, and not just because you could feel his body heat and hear his breathing (although that was a part of it).

While you were normally great at the game, you had been slipping up more than usual. Shanks kept leaning over and whispering things in your ear, mostly ridiculous commentary or dumb thoughts. In the beginning, you had been able to get him to knock it off with a short glare, but it never lasted long. He was so lucky he was funny. In his defense, it was hard to show irritation when you kept laughing. When he asked you about the anatomy of a sea king, you damn near kicked him off the team, but his pleading eyes had driven a hard bargain. You were annoyed that you weren’t as annoyed as you should be — you were almost enjoying it.

Remarkably, even embarrassingly, fast your team was standing on its last leg, barely able to afford to play. You had lost way more than you should have, but part of that was on you for following his advice. “I fear you might be a bad luck charm, Captain,” you teased solemnly. “How could you be so cruel, Darlin’?” Shanks said, dramatically placing his hand over his heart. He was also lucky he was cute. He may be a dumbass at times, but he was a cute one.

“Well, Darling, just look in front of you.” You gestured to the dwindling amount of coins keeping you in the game. His frown literally turned upside down. “I like it when you call me Darlin’.” You gave him a daring look. “Then earn it. Be quiet while I fix this mess.” “Yes, ma’am.”

To his credit, Shanks had managed to stay quiet for two rounds while you made a comeback. Then, you made the mistake of initiating a side conversation with him between hands, and you fell victim to his charm and brown eyes once more. To make matters worse, the sun was on its last legs of the night, and the golden hour’s light painted him like a god. It wasn’t fair. How could you not stare?

You were too sober to be thinking like that.

He paused, looking to you as if he was waiting for an answer — you didn’t even know what he had said. You held his gaze for a second too long; it nearly felt like you were drowning; you couldn’t think. A cough from across the table brought you back to reality, but that wasn’t too much better. Shanks was close, too close, too far in your personal space.

It was too much. Feeling his body heat, hearing him breathe, his scent surrounding you. God, the way he smelled, [DESCRIBE???? Maybe alcohol and sea salt, and a third secret thing], it was intoxicating. You needed a break.

Slamming back the rest of your drink, you passed the glass over to Shanks, telling him to get you more. “Yes, M’lady,” he said, complying quickly. You rolled your eyes but bit back a smile.

~~~~~~~

The only times you had made any advancement were when Shanks left to get you another drink, but every time he returned you lost your focus. Each time he’d come back, he would sit closer and closer to you until you were pressed up against each other. Alcohol itself made your body run hot, but being that close to him had been setting you ablaze — a distinction you chose not to make.

Feeling his every move and hearing his every breath did more to throw you off than any comment had. On more than one occasion, you had sent him off so you could breathe right for a moment. But all that alcohol was starting to catch up to you. Your head was fuzzy, which made the game harder to follow, even if Shanks’s fingers hadn’t been accidentally brushing against your thigh. The first time he had done it, you tensed up, so he leaned in to ask if you were okay, directly in your ear. Needless to say, you sent him away again, but that was a double edged sword.

As you drank, you cared less and less about the game, opting to humor the captain more and more. A part of you was shocked that you had managed to stay in for so long when you had been playing like shit. What you didn’t know was how there had been outside interference keeping you afloat, but even if you had known, you couldn’t have brought yourself to care. Shanks had taken it upon himself to match your level of intoxication because “you were a team,” something that’d made you giggle when he’d said it. Inside jokes that wouldn’t make sense to anyone, sober or otherwise, started to be developed between the two of you.

The last time you had sent him out for refills you knew he’d gotten distracted. Faint sounds of music started to make its way over to the cartable. Following minutes behind the sound, Shanks stumbled slightly on his way over to you. He, very haphazardly, set two half empty glasses — no doubt spilt on his way over — onto the table from behind you before he used your shoulder for support.

“Hey, Doll, wanna dance?” The man whispered into your ear — well, “whisper” was a relative term, anyone in a ten-foot radius could hear him. You grinned up at him at the offer.

“Yeah, get away from us. You’re gross,” Yasopp said, his smirk growing wider when he received the exact same glare from both of you at the same time.

Opting to ignore the comment any further, you craned your head up to look at the man now above you. “I don’t know why, but I gotta feeling you’re a bad dancer.” “I don’t think I can prove you wrong,” Shanks admitted. “’S okay, I kinda hate dancing.” You spun around to face him, still looking up.

“But as long as it gets us away from this sorry excuse of an audience, I’d be happy to,” you continued, emphasizing the jab. Shanks pulled you up, wearing a broad smile that matched your own. A hint of mischief twinkled in his eyes.

“Plenty of other things we could do ‘sides dance,” he said, offering his hand and pulling you to your feet. Someone at the table gagged at the comment. You sucked in your lips to stop yourself from laughing. Instead, you chose to make the situation worse. “We know a lotta ‘bout that, don’t we?” You pointlessly adjusted Shanks’ collar as you spoke.

Shanks decided to fully milk the situation and take it one step further. “Wanna refresher?” He said, swiping hair out of your face. You only wished you didn’t have your back to the table to see the reactions, but the shouting to get a room satisfied you enough. The compliant finally broke the dam, and both you and the captain burst out into laughter, creating a bit more space in between.

“Bye guys. Thanks for keeping us in the game,” you winked. You might be drunk, but you had noticed a hand slip a couple of berries into your pile moments before Shanks returned, and while they thought you weren’t looking. The rest of it you had put together. You turned back to grab the fresh, half-empty drinks that had just been sat down, then you ran back to catch up with vibrant redhead.

“They’re insufferable,” Yasopp complained in an exaggerating tone once you were far enough away. He was not so secretly happy that the meddling had been effective.

“What they are is idiots,” Hongo grumbled into his cards. Anyone could see that you liked each other. There were several comments in agreement before the matter was dropped and the card game resumed.

~~~~~~~

On your way out from the card table, Shanks realized that you had yet to meet everyone on his crew and took it upon himself to introduce you to every person he could track down. For at least the past hour, you had been making the rounds, learning names and promptly forgetting them. All while drunk, so a great first impression. But you couldn’t be bothered to care.

There were also plenty of people that you had met before, but each time you were introduced to a familiar face, you acted as if you had never seen them in your life. If they didn’t pick up on the act themselves, the look you gave them was enough to get them to play along. He was so excited to have you meet everyone, and you weren’t going to dampen that by revealing you’d talked to at least a third of his men.

As the alcohol flowed, the two of you had gotten closer and closer. It was in how you found yourself leaning into him as you sat or how he’d mindlessly swing his arm around you while talking. After a while, you both decided to plant it by the fire.

At some point, you had ended up sitting in his lap. How you had gotten there, you weren’t entirely sure, but it was comfortable, so you didn’t mind, and judging from the way he held you, neither did he. PDA had never bothered you all that much. In your eyes, if someone didn’t want to see it, they didn’t have to look.

You and Shanks exchanged stories. You weren’t sure what, but something had prompted you to open up about your past again, this time the good parts. You’d seen it before, but Shanks truly was a natural-born storyteller. He recounted some of his favorite and greatest adventures in a way that had you hanging onto every word — and not just because he was the one speaking.

On occasion, people would stop by to talk. It surprised you how common it was for someone to strike up a conversation with you as you sat perched on their captain’s lap. It also confused you every time, but you didn’t really mind. When it happened, Shanks would rest his chin atop your head, and his arm would tighten a little around your waist. He enjoyed watching you talk with his crew, almost like you belonged.

Once your cups ran bone dry, you made a move to stand but were quickly pulled right back onto Shanks’ lap. Before you could scold him or complain, he’d asked (instructed) someone nearby to get you refills. “That’s an abuse of power,” you said, and he grinned down at you. “Perks of being captain,” he said and booped your nose, bringing a smile to your face. Even inebriated, you saw through what he was doing; he wanted you to stay. But you left it alone — you also didn’t want the moment to end.

His trick had worked for several more rounds until the night had grown colder and darker, and suddenly, your little spot by the fires wasn’t so private anymore. You stood up out of the blue. In an attempt to stop yourself from falling, you grabbed onto Shanks’ head for support, which, naturally, caused the man to look up at you with a laugh on his lips. The tilt of his head almost threw you off balance.

“Careful now,” Shanks warned. You giggled at his concern. “I’m the carefullest,” you informed him, speech slurred. You tried to downplay the stumble you’d made taking a step back. Whatever you had been drinking had hit you harder than you had expected, you weren’t even sure what glass you were on. The last time you had been this sloshed had ended with you getting taken off the street, but you knew you were safe this time. For the first time in years you felt comfortable with where you were and didn’t feel the need to stay on edge.

“Come on, Darling,” you drawled out, extending your hand. “Let’s go exploring.”

~~~~~~~

The first place you decided to explore was over by the alcohol. You claimed that it was crucial for hydration on your quest as you gleefully snagged a few bottles of sake, three to be exact, before running off.

Shanks, who had been going one-for-one with you despite having a much higher tolerance, decided he had some real catching up to do. He grabbed an opened, but most full bottle (probably for the “reasonable drinkers” among the Red Hairs) and polished it off. Whatever it was had been much stronger than standard sake, but he appreciated the burn down his throat. Plus, once it hit him, you’d be even. The captain returned the now-empty bottle to where he’d found it and raced after you, quickly catching up.

“Where we going, Doll?” Shanks asked in amusement as you stood still in the middle of the beach. You started spinning around, searching for something. “I don’t know. But I’ll know it when I see it.”

It took a little bit of wandering for you to find a place you approved of, but Shanks happily watched your every move. Around a bend and out of sight of the ship and crews was where you had decided to stay. You sunk the bottles you had snagged into the sand for safekeeping before rethinking and grabbing one out.

With your teeth, you uncorked the bottle, but before the bottle reached your lips, you stopped with a pout. “What’s wrong?” Shanks questioned, mirroring your expression. In the time it took you to find a place, the drink he’d consumed beforehand had reached his veins. “I gotta pee,” you said, frown deepening, only for it soon to be replaced with a look of determination. “Gonna go piss. Be right back.” On your way past him, you shoved the opened bottle into the redhead’s chest prior to disappearing into the tree line.

Shanks laughed and shook his head, taking a swig of what you’d passed him. This was standard sake. Granting you further privacy, he turned to the sea. Salt air ran through his hair as he looked out at the open water. Somehow, his mind circled back to you — it was confusing how it always seemed to do that as of late. He had already accepted the fact that he liked you, but the extent remained unknown and unexplored. Days had passed since his realization, and the emperor still had no fucking clue what to do about it. For now, all he could do was live in the moment and see what was to come, and for that, he took another long drink.

Soon enough, you came rushing back to him, wearing a smile that could take a man out. Not slowing down, you ran directly into Shanks at full speed. Unexpectedly, you wrapped your arms around his torso and dug your chin into his chest to look up at him. "I don't think I've told you yet, but thank you." Sincerity sparked in your eyes.

He looked down at your face, unsure of what he should do. You had taken the man by surprise, and that was not an easy thing to do. Then, further throwing off his game, you buried your face into his chest.

You deeply inhaled the scent of the man who had captured more of your mind than you'd willingly admit; you never wanted to forget that smell. With time apart, it would be inevitable, but you wanted to cling onto the memory as long as you could — you were just greedy like that.

Before Shanks' brain could catch up to how you had your arms around him, you took a step back. As if it had been no big deal when he was sure that what had just happened would be permanently etched into his mind. What were you doing to him?

You pulled the bottle from the redhead's hand, realizing that a significant amount of the alcohol was missing. "You drank half of it," you frowned. The pouty complaint finally snapped him out of it. Shanks grinned. “Sorry, Doll, ya took too long." That hadn't been the case; it had functioned as more of a distraction from questions he could not answer than anything.

You scrunched up your nose in response, more playful than anything, but you still spun on your heel and went off to the water. His laugh rang out from behind you, and you covered the smile it brought with it by bringing the mouth of the bottle to your lips.

After a long swig, you looked out at the scene in front of you. Really looking at it for the first time. Wow. You stared in awe at the moon and how it reflected in the water. It felt so familiar. The way that the stars danced on the broken mirror of the water’s surface was stunning. You had a strong urge to get closer.

Temporarily setting down the sake, you kicked off your shoes and rolled your pants up for good measure. Grabbing the large bottle by the neck, you walked over to where the tide met the beach. The waves lapped over your feet, barely cresting the tops; the water was beckoning you in.

Slowly, you chased the ebbing tide. As you progressed further into the sea, it amazed you at just how clear the water was, well, had been before you kicked up sand walking. From behind, you felt Shanks approaching. He had preemptively removed his signature sword and cloak before joining you, not wanting it to become waterlogged.

You took one last sip of the drink, then extended your arm backwards, eyes not leaving the water. "Want any?" His fingers brushed against yours as he accepted the offer, and you pretended to yourself that the shiver it sent up your spine had been from the wind. The two of you stood side by side in silence.

Shanks had been trying his best not to stare at you, but under this light, it was difficult. It was difficult for him in general, but there was something unique about the glow of the moon and the way the water reflected its light back onto you that was mesmerizing.

"What?" You questioned with a smile after catching him looking. "'S nothing," he tried to dismiss. "Gotta be something. But 's 'right, you don't gotta tell me." You peeled your eyes off of him, returning them to the sea.

"Can't 'member the las' time I saw someone so 'cited 'bout the sea," Shanks admitted. The copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed had him dropping more syllables than usual. "Ya lived in a costal town. 'T's gotcha so int'rested now?" [1]

"I tended to avoid ports and beaches where I could. In my mind, sea's where the Marines are. I've missed it a lot, I grew up on the sea." You had been more honest with him over the past two weeks than you had been with anyone in years, possibly your entire life. But it felt natural. You knew you were going to miss him, deeply. Both of those things scared the ever living shit out of you.

There were too many people you missed, starting over time and time again was the hardest thing you have ever done. The first time you'd thought a lot about giving up entirely. You couldn't intentionally put yourself through that again.

But, you were letting yourself have this one night. For once you weren't going to let yourself worry about the consequences.

Turning your head from him, you blinked away the threat of tears before you grinned at him. "Almost drowned a couple times cause I'd go to the beach unsupervised like a dumbass. I was a menace as a child."

"You can be a menace now," he teased, thinking about how you were so completely and blissfully unaware of the turmoil you had stirred within him.

You laughed, wholeheartedly. "Fair enough." You started walking backwards, further into the depths of the sea. A hint of mischief sparkled in your eyes, drawing him in. "I'd like to think I'm a bit smarter now. Still, my hard work paid off. You up for a game of chicken?" You pointed to a large, oncoming wave, and without waiting for an answer, you fell down into the sea.

Shanks had followed your finger and saw what you had. Instantly, the man plopped down next to you, unintentionally splashing you and grinning as an apology. The water was nearing your shoulders but only met the bottom of his ribs. He might be too tall for this. You watched the wave closely and became delighted when you realized that it would stay tall enough to completely cover the redhead.

When the time came, neither of you so much as blinked. The wave crashed into you both, the surge of water having nearly a sobering effect. Spitting out the seawater from your mouth, you laughed with your whole body. It was dumb, but it was fun. You checked on Shanks to see water streaming down his face as he blinked it away. He beamed down at you. “I believe we call that a tie,” he said slowly to enunciate clearly. “That we do,” you conceded happily, holding his gaze.

Then, something happened, and the atmosphere shifted. It was no longer playful like it had been. The way you looked at each other had changed. You were suddenly a lot more aware of his proximity, and your tongue flicked out to moisten your lips. Shanks’ eyes followed the action but stayed in place. When he managed to move his focus back to your eyes, he found a new hunger lying within them.

This wasn’t going to end well. He knew that it would be a mistake, but damn if it wasn’t one he wanted to make. With the way you were looking at him, it seemed like it was one you wanted to make too. Shanks tried to reason with himself, tried to remind himself how messy things could become, but logic flew out the window when you started to lean in.

Following your lead wasn’t a bad idea, now that he had thought about it.

The permission you had given yourself earlier, along with the way drinking messed with your mind, created the perfect storm for how you had found yourself closing the gap. Shanks was doing the same. Before you could crash into each other like a wave, a tingle went up your spine.

“Oh shit, ‘nother one’s comin’. ‘Ome on, Darl’,” Shanks warned. Both of you scrambled onto the shore. The oncoming wave biting at your ankles as it died out. [2]

“Fuck, we’re all wet now,” you said after a moment, stating the obvious. Waterlogged fabric clung to your bodies, dripping onto the sand. “That — that we are,” Shanks smiled lazily. “I don’t think I thought this through,” you admitted and he laughed.

“Y’know how to build a fire?” You questioned. An idea was forming as you remembered seeing some excellent fuel for a fire on the outskirts of the tree line. Without the warmth of the sun you knew it would take forever for the fabric to dry out and you weren’t willing to stay in wet clothes for that long.

“‘Lieve it or not, I do got some ‘urvival skills,” the captain joked. “Then prove it handsome, help me make a fire.” With that you peeled your drenched clothes from your body, not noticing the way his pupils dilated. [3]

“‘at’s better,” you grinned, left only in your undergarments and the tightly wound bandages Hongo had applied earlier. A part of you knew that the doctor would be annoyed with your antics, but what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Putting back on your shoes you set off to collect firewood, leaving Shanks behind. The man shook his head, but followed you lead, removing his own wet clothing. [4]

It didn’t take long for the two of you to get a fire started. When the flames were born you laid out the clothes nearby to get them to dry faster. Once that had been done you laid down at the edge of the fire’s warmth, uncaring of how grains of sand clung onto your still damp skin. It was the perfect temperature; not too hot and not too cold.

Staring up at the stars, you felt Shanks join you. His presence contributing to the sense of calm you felt. For a moment, the two of you existed in silence.

You pointed up at a constellation, “See that right there? That’s the cat riding a horse.” The cat riding a horse? “What?” You smiled and repeated yourself. “Never heard of that one before.” “It’s an original,” you told him, sliding closer so that he could follow where you pointed. “Yep. See? There’s the horse, then you have the little kitty — he’s a true cowboy, got the hat, the boots, and even the lasso.”

He saw what you were seeing. “Well, I’ll be,” he grinned over at you, an expression you mirrored. “How’d ya find that?”

“Used to do it with my family all the time. Sometimes we’d make stories for ‘em, and that lil guy has epics about him. He’s one of the few I really remember. When I was first out on my own, I tried to use the lasso for navigation, and it worked a little, but I got lost more than I got to where I wanted to that way. Stole a log posse and that fixed the problem, but it hurt my pride. Kinda crazy that I wouldn’t know where to go without one. For all the time I’ve spent staring at the night sky, you’d think I’d at least know where the North Star is, but nope, no fucking clue.”

“’S a bit hard to see right now, but it’s way o’er there, at the edge of the sky,” Shanks answered, pointing to the horizon line where a small dot shone. “We're near’y too low for it. Down 'ere it's a lil bit tricky. There's not one specific point of reference to follow. 'S why most people rely a’mos’ entirely on the lo’ posse. But wayfin’in’ ain't imposs’ble on the Line, ju’ takes some knowledge." [5]

You had turned your head to look at the man, his face wearing a calm expression. It wasn’t fair that he was so pretty — it could be so distracting. Intently, you listened to Shanks as he talked, trying to behave like it was a natural conversation when you could easily get lost in his voice alone. You were realizing that Shanks had a hold on you that you had never seen before. Whatever that meant, you didn't know, and for the night, it didn't matter.

~~~~~~~

The two of you laid there and talked for what had to have been hours, finding your way into a game of connect the dots. Together, you painted pictures in the stars, creating your own, new, constellations and crazy stories to go with them. You could not recall the last time you had laughed this hard.

In all that time, your liver had been pulling its weight, your brain no longer foggy. Still, you were nowhere near sober, a familiar buzz going strong. Shanks seemed to be in a similar boat; his speech had evened back out, but there was still a slight flush in his cheeks.

At a natural lull in conversation, your eyes wandered the beach, catching on something shiny. Intrigued, you slowly crawled towards it.

Shanks had made the mistake of looking over at the movement in his peripheral and groaned audibly. In next to nothing, you were on all fours. Your ass looked incredible; you were not making this easy for him. The way you didn’t even have to try to have him wrapped around your finger should be concerning to him, but it wasn’t. Instead, he was trying to not let his mind fall into the gutter. Truthfully, he had been trying to for a while, but damn it was hard. Ever since that day on your island, you had been stuck in the back of his mind and fighting for the spotlight. He couldn’t help but be drawn to you. His eyes always found you first — something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by others, but he was fine with their teasing, because that was as much of you as he would let himself have. Until you made a move, otherwise it was all he could get.

“You good?” You called out, looking back at the noise. Quick on his feet, Shanks made up something believable. "Yeah, just hurt my back." He heard you snort before turning around. "Old man," you teased, and he rolled his eyes.

"Oooh!" You excitedly exclaimed. "I almost forgot about these." From the sand, you pulled out two bottles of sake before you turned around, heading back to where you were.

Damnit. Once again, Shanks had made the mistake of looking your way. The bra you wore felt like more of a suggestion than a viable piece of clothing. He had managed to ignore it up until this point, but it was hard to tear his gaze away. Why weren't you walking like a normal person? It felt cruel to do this to a man. The worst part was he doubted you even were aware of what you were doing to him.

When you returned to your spot by him, you passed him a bottle and planted the other nearby back in the sand for safekeeping. Shanks had sat up and became overly concentrated on opening it, but doing a shit job at doing so, you understood why though.

It hand’t been lost on you that his eyes kept slipping to your chest. All night you had been thinking about how you had almost kissed, imagining all the ways it could have gone, the way he’d been looking at you had been involved in nearly all of them. Seeing that desire reciprocated meant that you were now treading in dangerous waters. You wanted him badly, he was a desire you were growing desperate to indulge in.

He finally managed to open the bottle, and you witnessed him take the first sip. Only some of the booze had missed his mouth and landed on his chest. Your eyes honed in on the drop as it slid down his bare chest, and your throat went dry.

“You’re a dangerous man.”

Shanks, who assumed he’d imagined your tone, chuckled. “Darlin’, you know who I am.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You hadn’t even meant to say it out loud but now that it was out there, there was no going back. You were too far gone and you knew it. There was no lifeline, no way back out, but that was okay. All you wanted to do was go deeper anyways.

Shanks looked into your eyes and saw the hunger in them. His self-control was crumbling. He knew it wouldn’t be wise; he knew it would complicate things. The last thing he wanted to do was add more to your plate, but when you looked at him like that? He had been holding on by a thread, and now he was readying to let go.

Before anything could happen, approaching voices snapped him out of your heated gaze. Shanks was very much so annoyed that members of his crew picked that moment to show their ugly faces (affectionate). You looked just as annoyed as he was.

When the spell had been broken, your shoulders deflated. You plucked the opened sake from redhead’ hand and took a large gulp before setting it down between the two of you. Then, you crossed your arms over your chest. That was when Shanks became protective (possessive).

“Go away,” the captain said clearly, his voice audibly rougher than it normally was. His words had been for the men but his eyes were firmly locked on you. Your heart rate sped up and for a moment you almost forgot other things existed.

“Guess that’s where they are,” a voice you couldn’t quite pinpoint said under their breath. “Oh gross, they’re doing it, aren’t they?” That voice you did know, and at this rate you might strangle the sniper before you set sail.

Your annoyance did not go unnoticed. A quiet surge of energy filled the air, and it wasn’t their boss’, but they got the message. “Fuck, I was just joking. Now I’m not so sure.”

It was rare for you to leverage your will, but lowered inhibition and hot-headed desire did not have you acting rationally. “We’re leaving, sorry Boss, Y/n,” Yasopp announced loudly before he got hit on the head from the sound of it.

Shanks looked at you amused and proud, but you didn’t see it; you were too busy waiting for them to disappear. Eyes affixed on the bend until the voices died out and your privacy had been reinstated.

You knew that would be a bad idea, but that had never stopped you before. Once you were in the clear, you turned to Shanks with a smile. You had decided that it was worth the risk, at least for the night. “So, you wanna do it?”

“Do what?” He asked, confused. You just smirked at him in silence, waiting for him to put it together. He grinned devilishly when he figured it out. “Oh?” He moved in a little bit closer. “Wanna use your words, Darlin’, ’n ask me properly?”

“Shanks, wanna fuck me?”

"It'd be my pleasure." With that you crawled over to him, your whole body alight and it wasn't just the drink. "Been wanting to a while now," the redhead continued. You gave him a look of question. "Can you really blame a man?" Shanks said, gesturing at you, his lustful gaze covering the length of your body.

To hide your blush, you grabbed him by the neck and crashed his lips into yours. The familiar taste of him mixed with alcohol overwhelmed your senses and you grew greedy for more. strong taste of alcohol on his lips. Sensing your uptick in urgency, or perhaps just having some of his own, Shanks pulled you into his lap.

With greed, your hands roamed over his upper body where his skin was entirely exposed — you weren’t sure if you would be content until you had touched every square inch of him.

His arm around your waist anchored you to him while his tongue explored your mouth with familiarity. Hs hand snaked its way up your back, unhooking your bra. As soon as the clasp had been undone, you removed the fabric from your body like it had burned you. You didn’t grant Shanks the chance to appreciate the view he'd unlocked before you pulled him back to your face, chest to chest and lips to lips.

You kissed him like you needed him to survive, like you had been wanting to for days, just like he had. It damn near made him dizzy. He could live like this.

“Is it bad to say I missed this?” Shanks asked against your mouth when you had pulled back slightly to catch your breath. “I did too,” you admitted, starting to kiss and nip at his neck. He tilted his head, opening up his neck for your advancements. “Then it sounds like we got some lost time to make up for.” You nodded, still on his throat, moving your way up to that one spot below his ear you knew he loved.

“Shit,” he softly cursed when you had hit your mark, pulling you closer. He craved to have your lips back on his. Taking the initiative, he lightly redirected your mouth to his with his hand around your chin. He'd been thinking about this moment and if it would ever happen again for days, there was no way in hell he was going to mess this up.

While you were lost in his lips, Shanks slipped his hand underneath your underwear get a fistful of your ass. A sound of approval emanated from your mouth and transferred to his. One of your hands gripped at his fiery red hair and the other ran over the large muscles on his back. It took very little encouragement from him for you to move against him. Feeling his need grow underneath you as your lips were locked was exhilarating. You needed more, and so did he.

To your surprise, he stopped your hips, holding you still against him. Concerned, you pulled back and gave him a questioning look. Shanks smiled down at you, “Wait ‘ere a sec.” He gingerly moved you off of his lap and you watched his movements with curiosity. It didn’t take long for you to understand what he was doing.

Shanks had taken his cloak, which had been pooled in a pile, and laid it out flat; a makeshift blanket. Your heart squeezed at the gesture. Regardless of how you had been lying on the beach largely bare skinned for hours, he wanted to give you a barrier from the sand while he fucked you. When he had finished, he motioned down to fabric and looked at you with a lopsided grin. “Thought this might be better,” he said as you rose to your feet. What was he doing to you?

“You’re such a gentleman,” you told him. It was in jest, but you had meant it. As you spoke, you walked to him, dropping your panties along the way. You took pride in the way his eyes darkened further as he looked at you. As soon as you were within reach, Shanks grabbed you by the waist and pulled you flush against his body.

“I dunno ‘bout that,” he said, his voice deliciously deep. “What ‘m ‘bout to do to ya ain’t very gentleman-y.” He licked his lips in anticipation. The idea made you bite your lower lip. Using his thumb, Shanks coaxed your bottom lip from between your teeth while he firmly grasped your jaw, tilting your head all the way up. Then, he crashed his lips into yours, his tongue not far behind. Reflexively, you threw your arms around his neck, standing on your tippy toes to get closer.

The way Shanks kissed you, so messy and intense, was a direct contrast to the way he softly laid you down. Once you were on your back, he settled between your thighs. The powerful man above you took a moment to appreciate the view. “Always so pretty,” Shanks muttered to himself, but you’d heard it. The way he’d said it, coupled with how he was looking at you, set your body alight and your brain into overdrive. All of your complex thoughts died out the second he touched you again.

He left a series of sloppy kisses down you neck while his hand trailed roughly up your left thigh. At your hip, where the juncture of your skin and bandages lied, he paused. “Shit,” he cursed into your skin. Reluctantly, Shanks pulled back from your enticing body entirely.

“Y/n,” he said, looking in your eyes. When he used your name it was serious. “This ain’t gonna be too much, is it?” Shanks asked you, his eyes flickering down to the spot where you had gotten shot. You vigorously shook your head. Earlier in the day you had been scolded about “strenuous activities,” but right now, under this man, you didn’t give a fuck what the doctor had said. If you bled out right now it would’ve all been worth it to have had his hands on your body. A heated pool of desire had been brewing in your belly for a while — you needed him. “I’ll be fine,” you breathed out before he could ask you to use your words. “If I don’t do much it’ll be okay.” He didn’t look entirely convinced by your words.

“Please, I need you.” All of his resolve vanished. How could he say no to a beautiful woman under him, begging?

With a growl and renewed hunger, Shanks descended upon you. You welcomed him eagerly, leaning up to meet his mouth in the middle. Desperate to touch him, a hand of yours worked itself into his vivid red hair, and a small tug was enough to send him into a frenzy. The man might only have one hand, but you would never know it by the way it touched every part of you. Your other hand made the journey down the contours of his chest to his cock. It still wasn’t enough — it never was with this man.

Finally, he reached between your legs and a small smirk formed on his lips at what he found. “Oh lord,” he said, encouraging you to spread your thighs further with a nudge of his elbow. You were dripping. “Is that all for me?” His long fingers dipping into where you wanted him most, but only for a moment.

“Shanks, you know the answer,” you whined, followed quickly by a groan when he brought his fingertips to his mouth.

“Mmhmm,” he said in both confirmation and as a reaction to how you tasted. “Doesn’t change the fact that I wanna hear it.”

““Yes! It’s for you! Please!” You were at your limit, your pride was now gone. You’d do or say anything he asked at this point.

You watched him entranced as he freed himself from his underwear. Shanks grinned down at you and gave his hardened cock a couple of pumps, lining himself up with you, but he held back. “What’s for me, Doll?” If he didn’t start fucking you soon you might lose your mind.

“All of it! Me! I don’t know! I just. Need you—oh.” Apparently you had the right answer, because you were cut off by a moan when he sunk himself into you. Before you had adjusted to the stretch, your legs had locked themselves around his waist and your hands found his broad back. Shanks slowly rocked into you while you got reacquainted with his size. He watched your face closely, monitoring your reaction. When you opened your eyes and gave the slightest nod, he really started moving.

The way he was fucking you told you haw much he had been desperately wanting this too. That just made you even more turned on. What had started as gentle turned into something more wild, he was taking what he wanted and you were wanting more.

Shanks had taken it upon himself to adjust the angle of your hips and your eyes rolled back when he nailed into the spot that had you seeing stars. In the isolation, your moans were unrestrained and loud, the climbed in pitch and volume as you approached the edge, egging him on. Shanks was just as vocal, his heavy breathing, praises about how good you felt, and appreciative groans.

The lewd sounds and the overwhelming sensations were becoming too much and you came without warning. You were always so beautiful when you came, the captain thought to himself. Shanks continued to fuck you through your high. You clawed at his back, nails biting into his skin, needing something, anything, to keep you grounded. He let out a hiss when you reopened a nearly healed scab you had accidentally given him days before, but it only pushed him further. A few more thrusts before he pulled out and came over your stomach, breathing heavily.

“Holy shit,” you breathed out after a moment. Shanks laid down next to you. “Holy shit,” he agreed, his breathing still ragged. How could he forget this feeling? Was it new? Fuck if he knew.

You were still in too much of a high to think about the implications of what had just happened, all you knew is that he fucked you like no one else had before and you were going to miss it.

Regaining his composure, Shanks reached over and grabbed his shirt. “You ‘kay?” He asked as he started to wipe clean the mess between your thighs. “Better than,” you said, eyes shut in bliss. He laughed and moved to remove his cum from you, some of the liquid had seeped int the bandages, but he did what he could.

“Gonna walk weird in the morning if that’s what you’re askin’, but ’s ‘kay. Got an excuse anyway.” You told him wearing a big, loopy smile as hormones overpowered your mind. “What’s that?” He asked, rising to rinse his shirt off in the ocean. “Haven’t done this much exercise in years. Been a long while since I picked up a sword. Everywhere ‘ready hurt.”

“Don’t forget ya went swimmin’ too,” Shanks reminded you as he laid his shirt out by the dwindling fire. “Yeah, but I did that ‘nyways.” He had no idea that you regularly went swimming, learning that made him curious about what else he didn’t know.

“Can ya grab those?” You asked him as he passed by your panties. “Don’t want sand up my ass if I can help it.” God, he had missed talking to you. “Good goal,” he said, complying with your request before lying back down next to you on the edge of the cloak

Shanks pulled you into him and you let him. The both of you internally praying that you hadn’t just catastrophically messed things up, but deep down knowing that you almost certainly did. For the moment, however, nothing else mattered.

thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it 💕

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end a/n: there wasn’t supposed to be any smut in this but i was possessed or something i don't know, anyways i can make things messier this way so yay!!!

Lowkey think he only likes “captain” in terms of role play and not irl remember he is the most diplomatic yonko by farrrrrrr

tags: @screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms @eravariety