#website penetration testing

[websitesecurityqld]

Website Security Helper

Phone: 1800 921 554

Address: 110/108 Albert St, Brisbane City, QLD 4000

Website: https://websitesecurityhelper.com.au/

Specialist website security services for business owners wanting to protect their valuable asset. We understand the importance of your customers always being able to access your website.

Our 24 hour guarantee means that you will always be able to reach us 24 hours a day, and that we will have your website files cleaned within 24 hours or less in most cases.

Our head office is located in Brisbane, however we service customers right across Australia.

[code-dy]

Y'know what

Han Yoojin as a scam baiting vlogger, Sung Hyunjae as the managing director of a well-known Cybersecurity firm and Song Taewon as the overworked+underpaid head of the cybercrimes division of the Korea Central Intelligence Agency

[cypheroxide]

Building Your Technical Skills

Real world experience is more valuable than a piece of paper nowadays. Developing these skills can give you the level up you need to succeed in ethical hacking and cybersecurity.

The Key to Hacking You’ve mastered the fundamentals. Read all about phishing, SQL injections, and buffer overflows. Set up your home lab with Kali Linux ready to go. When it comes to actually developing those ninja hacker skills though, where do you start? What technical abilities will serve as your trusty tools and weapons as you dive into the world of ethical hacking? Mastering a few key…

[cxrrodedcoffin]

Dead of Night - Spencer Reid

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Spencer stumbles upon a secret dark fantasy of reader’s and does everything he can to be the one to fulfill it.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: This is the first time I’ve ever written anything with themes like this so feedback is definitely appreciated. Not proofread cuz this is long and I’m tired ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I fully understand if the themes included in this are not for some of my regular readers and I encourage you to scroll if you’re not comfortable with any of the following warnings.

TW: perv!spencer, dom!spencer, mask kink, knife play, blood, dubcon, kind of cnc but it’s emphasized repeatedly that reader initiates and is in control of what is taking place, unprotected sex, penetration, creampie, degradation (slut), pet names (doll, angel) religious imagery, gun mention, std testing mention, fem + afab reader, soulmate talk

Rating: R, 18+

——

You knew it was wrong, you’d seen just how easily Penelope was able to track someone down through their “anonymous” profile on websites just like this one, but your desires got the better of you, and you just had to try.

Your profile was nondescript, your age, a vague physical description of yourself, and a link to a meticulously detailed account of your wildest fantasies. After weeks of back and forth, chatting with a few equally nondescript profiles, you found the one that you really clicked with, the stranger you decided you’d let sneak into your window and do whatever he wanted with you. After an std panel and the agreement of your safe word, you decided to fully commit, sending this complete stranger your address and logging off for the night.

Even though you knew this was a stupid idea, you weren’t a complete idiot, you had plans in case anything went south, including placing your handgun in your bedside table for easy access if you, god-forbid, had to use it. Placing yourself in a high-risk situation was the whole point, and you couldn’t wait to see how it turned out.

You spent the remainder of your afternoon preparing, doing every grooming ritual you’d usually do before a date, but this time felt somehow more important. You didn’t even know what this guy looked like, and yet, you wanted to be the picture of beauty for him. It was silly, but you always pictured yourself the prettiest you’d ever been when you daydreamed about being ravaged by a stranger. You wanted to be completely irresistible in every way, and you were doing everything in your power to accomplish that.

As the sun finally set, your excitement levels began to rise, anxiously awaiting the arrival of your masked suitor. You opened the bedroom window just above your fire escape, the cool night air drawing goosebumps over your exposed skin, only a thin lace slip and matching panties adorning your frame. You crawled into bed, double checking your bedside drawer before pulling your comforter over your body, eagerly drifting off to sleep.

—

Spencer had been keeping a secret, one that he did not want you to know about, until today. A few weeks ago he’d stayed late to finish up some paperwork for the last case you’d been on, when his pen ran out of ink just as he was about to sign off the last document. He walked to your empty desk, reaching across it to grab a pen from the cup next to your monitor, when his arm brushed against your mouse, causing your display to light up.

He knew he shouldn’t snoop, but curiosity got the best of him, scanning through the title of each tab open on your browser until a certain website caught his eye. He went against his better judgment and clicked the tab, his jaw dropping upon viewing your profile, and with it, the graphic description of your sexual proclivities. His brain immediately cemented that information in his mind’s eye, fit to torture him for days after the encounter.

He couldn’t stop picturing himself fulfilling all of those desires for you, having to excuse himself to the bathroom several times a day to take care of the bulge in his pants just from being around you. He eventually bit the bullet, creating his own profile on the website and messaging you as an “anonymous” suitor, beyond pleased when the two of you hit it off. He felt bad not telling you, but this was a means to an end that would surely leave you both satisfied, and the devious part of him won out this time.

He did everything you asked, getting tested so he could fuck you raw, he was apprehensive about the risks of a potential pregnancy even without the fear of std transmission, but the way you begged so beautifully in your messages for him to creampie you was more than enough to convince him. The moment he got your message with your address, he went out and purchased a mask to conceal his identity just like you asked, and anxiously waited for nightfall.

—

The graze of fabric against your skin gently woke you as your bedding was pulled down off of your body, your mind clouded from the deep sleep you’d been sunk in seconds before. You rolled onto your back, starting to lift your head until a large hand clamped over your mouth, forcing your head back down onto your pillow. Your eyes widened, darting around the room before settling on the masked figure on top of you. You tried to scream against his palm, but the sound simply reverberated back against you, muffled by his strong grip.

His free hand made quick work of cutting off your slip, the thin fabric splitting easily against the blade of the knife in his grasp. You struggled underneath him, weakly pushing at his strong shoulders, feigning defense as the heartbeat in your cunt grew stronger by the second. You couldn’t believe this was actually happening, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making you feel almost high.

“Don’t fight it.” He hushed, holding the knife flush against your neck. You slowed your movements, settling for shifting your legs against his. He removed his hand from your mouth, freeing it up to gather your hands to pin them above your head as well as give you an opportunity to use your safe-word if need be.

He trailed the knife down your body, your chest heaving with shaky breaths as the blade scratched a small cut between your breasts, warm droplets of blood forming in it’s wake. He followed the curve of your body, leaving shallow kitten scratches until he reached your hip, using the tip of the knife to carve a heart into your skin. The sting of each movement set every nerve ending in your body on fire, the wetness pooling between your thighs increasing by the second.

He pressed his thumb to the wound, smearing the blood down to the waistband of your panties, using the digit to pull the fabric before letting it snap back against your skin. You gasped, your labored breaths growing more desperate as he brought the blade to slice the fabric, exposing your embarrassingly wet cunt.

“Look at how wet you are, you love this, don’t you?” The condescension in his tone felt almost half-hearted, and the more of his voice you heard, the more familiar he started to sound, but you couldn’t quite place why. You looked down at him, watching his every move as you tried to place him.

He set the knife on the bed, using his now free hand to yank his pants down, his hard cock slapping against his thigh. Your eyes went wide at his size, looking just long and thick enough to have you a little worried about being able to take him raw, but the thought of being stretched to your limits sent another wave of arousal straight to your core and helped quell that fear ever so slightly.

“If you don’t want this, just say the word.” His words dripped from his lips like honey, sickly sweet, and in that moment you had never felt more sure of your desire for anything in your life.

—

Spencer wondered if the way he was feeling was akin to that of religious psychosis, so engulfed in your very being that he ought to worship at your altar for the rest of his life, fit to carry out any act you requested of him.

His brain kept your description of your fantasy scrolling in the back of his mind, catering to everything you had written to a T in hopes of making this a night you’d never forget. The only thing at the forefront of his thoughts, however, was the intoxicating sounds you made every time he gripped or marked your skin. Each note sought to pull his focus, threatening his plan as it tempted him to lose control all together. He couldn’t do that, his conscience too righteous in its goal to keep you as pleased as possible.

He took his time, marking you just the way you’d requested, his cock twitching with every whimper that flowed out of you until he finally reached your core, the lace of your underwear glistening under the moonlight cast through your open window from how wet you were. He wanted to sink fully into you without a care in the world, but he had to make sure this was absolutely what you wanted. He was, to your knowledge, a stranger after all, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be uncomfortable in any way.

—

You frantically shook your head in acknowledgment, spreading your legs wider for him, ready for this tall stranger to finally be inside of you. Your eagerness spurred him on, a surge of confidence washing over him as he let go of your wrists, his large hands gripping your hips and pulling you further down the bed. He lifted your legs so your knees rested atop his shoulders, his rough movements making you gasp.

He brought his cock to your core, running the shaft through your slick folds before slapping the head against your clit a few times, the repeated hits making your hips jolt ever so slightly. He hummed low in the back of his throat, lining up his tip with your entrance before thrusting forward, bottoming out inside of you in one fell swoop.

“You’re so tight.” He grunted, one hand holding an iron grip on your thigh to hold your leg up, the other digging fingerprints into your hip. You gasped once more at the intrusion, feeling more full than ever before as he set a steady but unrelenting pace. Your gasp turned to crying moans, brows furrowed in awe at the way his cock stretched you so deliciously, prominent veins rubbing against the contours of your sensitive walls.

Each snap of his hips had his balls slapping against your ass, the lude sound mixing with his grunts and the wet squelching where your bodies met in the most intimate way, the decibel level in the room reaching an all-time high.

You bit your lip, trying to quiet yourself to at least somewhat lower the noise and not disturb your sleeping neighbors, but the absence of your desperate moans was not lost on him. His pace slowed, his left hand firmly gripping your chin to force you to look at his masked face. His eyes met yours through the thin slit in the dark fabric.

You knew those eyes, those big, soft brown irises, so comforting, yet darker than you recognized, pupils far more blown than you’d ever seen before. You knew him, but there was no way. Your mind must have been playing tricks on you, because there was no way that Spencer Reid would do anything this perverse, let alone with you.

“Louder, slut.” He squeezed your cheeks, forcing your lower lip out from under your bite.

“I-I’m not a slut.” You mumbled, barely above a whisper.

“Only a slut would leave her bedroom window open, practically begging a stranger to come in and fuck her.” This was far too brazen to be Spencer, you thought, a level of blunt confidence you’d never in a million years expect from him.

“I-I didn’t mean to.” You stuttered over your words, raising your voice in an attempt to half heartedly defend your actions.

“Well then, you should really be more careful next time.” He laughed, releasing his grip on your face before playfully slapping your cheek and increasing the pace of his thrusts, his now free hand finding your clit. His calloused thumb drew broad strokes over and over and over against your sensitive bundle of nerves, a knot tightening in your stomach as you drew closer and closer to your release. You turned your head, trying to bury your face in the pillow as you writhed underneath him, your body frantically looking for relief.

“Oh don’t be shy doll, let me see how much you’re enjoying this.” His tone was almost sing-song, clearly enjoying this just as much as you were. He pressed his body down closer to yours, almost pinning your thighs against your stomach, the change in angle forcing a borderline scream from your lungs, crying out strangled ‘uh’s with every stroke. You looked him in the eye, desperate to know if this deity above you could possibly be your nerdy coworker, and every interaction you’d had with him flashed before your eyes.

Every fleeting glance he took at your chest or your ass, the way he lingered behind you in the field, feeling his presence even when you couldn’t see him. You couldn’t think of a time he wasn’t around a corner when you turned it, always near whenever you needed his help on a case. You always secretly hoped he'd make a move sooner or later, but you never thought it would be anything like this.

He was omnipotent, knowing exactly how to make you feel things you’d never felt before, pushing your body to levels of pleasure you never thought possible. You thought you might disappear, your brain short-circuiting as you tried to make sense of everything, finally understanding why the French refer to orgasms as the little death.

Your walls fluttered around him, the sounds leaving you reduced to pathetic whimpers as your vocal chords grew strained.

“That’s it, cum on my cock, angel.” He groaned, his thrusts growing increasingly desperate. The pet name surprised you, but if he saw you as an angel, how fitting considering how godlike he felt to you in that moment. You could tell he was close, and if your orgasm was what would get him to cum inside you, then so be it. Your eyes glazed over, your hands clawing at his back as you chanted ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ like a mantra, wave after wave of euphoria washing over every nerve in your body.

—

Spencer was a man possessed, his primal urges leaving his mind completely uninhibited, so lost in your body that he thought he might need divine intervention to ever leave you.

He didn’t quite understand where the sudden dominant urge coursing through his veins had come from, but he didn’t care to dwell too much on the thought, content to fuck you into the mattress until you screamed his name.

He knew that wouldn’t happen, but he secretly hoped you’d realize who he was, wishing for nothing more than for you to want him for him. His heart felt like it may burst at the thought, the desire to be wanted as he was ever-lingering inside of it, that being the very motivation behind his lingering tendencies from the start.

As your heat contracted around him, he felt an embrace like no other, hoping the myth of twin flames to be true. If this connection wasn’t proof of it, how could he rationally explain anything? He knew the scientific reasoning behind it, but it didn’t feel like enough, such a finite explanation for a feeling so sempiternal.

He wondered if you felt the same way too, so lost in his every desire that he let himself dive into the delusion, using the pet name he wished he could call you every day for eternity.

Your chants and cries as you came set him free, his hips stuttering as he finally filled your aching cunt to the brim with his seed. He hovered above you, catching his breath, watching your expression soften as you rode out your orgasm, practically glowing.

When he finally snapped out of his lust-fueled haze, he fully remembered his role, pulling out of you and quickly scrambling to stand, fixing his pants and underwear. You had agreed to his departure after, and as badly as he wanted to hold you until you drifted off to sleep, he respected your wishes more than his wants. He walked to the window, lifting his leg to climb out of it when you cleared your throat, drawing his attention. He turned, seeing you sit up, hazy smile on your face.

“Thank you.” You sighed, and he gave a nod of acknowledgement before slipping out of the window and into the night.

—

When you awoke, you had a couple minutes of doubt in which you thought the events of the night before had all been a dream, until you moved to get out of bed and winced at sting from the shallow marks adorning your body and the dull ache between your legs. You smiled to yourself, before looking at your phone and realizing what time it was. You were going to be late, and panic set in when you realized you’d have to go to work in the makeup you’d fallen asleep in last night.

You rushed out the door, checking your makeup in a compact mirror in your car, wiping a small bit of smudged mascara off of your brow bone before walking into work.

“Fun night?” Derek quipped as you walked through the doors, always the first to poke fun at your perceived escapades.

“You could say that.” You laughed, setting your handbag on your desk before joining the team to walk to the conference room.

“What happened?” Penelope asked, almost panicked, taking your arm in her hand and pointing to the only visible cut on your body.

“Oh that’s nothing, I just scraped my arm on my car door.” You reassured, smiling at her. As much as you loved your best friend, she didn’t need to know the truth of your little white lie.

“You should really be more careful next time.” Spencer’s voice came from behind you, his hand gently resting on your hip before squeezing right where the heart shaped cut from the night before was inlaid in your skin. His words reverberated in the space between your ears as your brain processed what he’d just said.

Realization hit you like a semi truck, your lips parting in shock. Your suspicions had been correct, and you almost wanted to turn around and kiss then interrogate him right there. You couldn’t do that though, having a full work day in front of both of you.

Now you just had to figure out a time and place to broach the subject with him without completely humiliating yourself.

——

part 2 can be found here

tag list: @pleasantwitchgarden @lover-of-books-and-tea

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or spencer reid taglist :)

[tswhiisftteedr]

hi!!!! could I please request general nsfw headcannons for vox, val, and velvette (or just your favorite of the 3!)? maybe especially with a slightly bratty partner? thank you! :)

Behave Bitch! ☆ Headcanon + Oneshot

☆ Valentino x Bratty!Gn!Reader, Vox x Bratty!Gn!Reader, Velvette x Bratty!Gn!Reader, and Valentino x Bratty!Gn!Reader x Vox:

You go out of your way to fuck with them and test their patience, and this is how their repercussion would be.

Warnings: Mature Content, Explicit/Graphic Language, Praise & Degradation(Lots of of degradation), Oral Sex(Male Receiving), Penetrative Sex, Bad Spanish, Creampie, Possessiveness, Spanking, Choking, Dacryphilia, Bondage, Handcuffs, Blood, Biting, Electricity NOT PROOFREAD.

Words: Total — 13 806, Valentino(Hc + Oneshot) — 2419, Vox(Hc + Oneshot) — 2365, Velvette(Hc + Oneshot) — 3463, Vox & Valentino(Hc + Oneshot) — 5539

Note: So I may or may not be a total slut for the three of them, and especially a sucker for Val x reader x Vox action. Like how should I say it? Oh, yeah, I need them inside m— Hehsjsnsnjwns Awooga lol. *Bitch is used gender neutrally if you couldn’t tell. So 4 things, number one this Headcanons + Drabbles/Slight Short One shots, note that the example in the headcanons are just examples of scenario, and are unrelated to the drabble part, so don’t get confused when they mention one situation and then you read about another. Number 2, the type of reader was not precise so I went with gender neutral, so I’m sorry if the smut part isn’t the best as I am still lacking in writing experience to make something great with the lack of precise genitalia mention. But if you find it good, we’ll good for you! Also I used Google and translation apps when it came to the Spanish that Valentino employs, so I’m sorry to my Hispanic readers of the display of language is not to your liking. And lastly, I didn’t know how to write a slightly bratty reader, so I’m sorry anon if the reader is either not enough or too bratty. Personally I love a full on bratty, attention whore, whiny reader because that’s how I am.(If I was hot and got over my fear of being rejected, anyways-) That’s it for info about the fic!!

Author Note: As I am writing this, I am halfway way done with a lute one shot, but I must say, please stop requesting works. I put my request on pause, and I indicated that one both my Masterlist and rules, but seems that people are still confused because some of my older fics have ‘Request are open’ at the bottom. So please don’t request anything more, I have 34 request to start working on after I finish the lute one, plus I still haven’t started to work on chapter 3 for my Idia series. (12 of those request are actually Adam related, and one of them is a zestial one, where the requester offered to pay me for it, so it’s at the top of my list after this 💸💰. Though I still haven’t reach them because I want to finish my lute work first.) Also I am fucking pissed as I am written this, cuz I keep seeing clips of episodes 7&8 of Hazbin on tumblr, but I don’t have prime so I have to wait for stupid illegal websites to repost them. Like I am genuinely mad at the wait time, since my boys(Val and vox, my loves, my husbands, my #1 turn ones-) are in it. Worst part of it all I saw the clips of Vox literally thrusting into the air saying his hard and that the sight of Alastor bloody was better than sex. Like shit, did that make me horny. Like Vox, sweaty, you can take out that pent up energy from the build up excitement, I don’t mind if the other Vees are watching, Valentino can even join~ Hehsjjsjsjnsks. Update: I just watch the two episodes, and fuck were they good. Anyways I’m done, enjoy the fic cunts!

☆ more under the cut. ☆

ఌ︎ Valentino ఌ︎

Oh, you have no idea ‘what kind of gift you gave him with your behavior, Cariño~’

He takes pleasure in ‘putting bitches in their place,’ so feel free to be yourself, use that sharp tongue, but be prepared for the consequences without too much complaints. And he relishes in being the one to mete out repercussions.

Valentino's approach is straightforward; he often lets you play and act as bratty as you want while casually keeping an eye on you. ‘No need to worry; he's merely observing.’

He'd allow you to talk back, tolerating insults, while seated in the VIP section of one of his clubs, surrounded by smoke and flirting demons. All that set up to provoke you into further incriminate yourself.

Despite the condescending expression on his face, you didn’t have anything to about him, everything appearing ordinary, considering he was Val. Nothing seemed suspicious for a while... and then, ¡Bam!

You find yourself dragged into the club's private bedroom, now in a position where you're either tied up or bent over his lap/desk, enduring a session of intense spanking for being a 'good-for-nothing slut,' with degrading comments throughout.

Valentino opts for a paddle, well aware of the sharp sting it leaves on your skin.

Eventually, he transitions to using his hands, relishing in the visible aftermath of his touch—handprints and bite marks adorning your body.

As tears stream down your face, you apologize and plead to him ‘that you would be better, so please stop’ and that’s ‘ ‘s to much!’. He makes no effort to conceal his satisfaction, openly grinning at your vulnerable state.

Today unfolded like any other typical day in hell, as you paid a visit to your boyfriend on the set. Entering his studio, you hung back for a moment, observing Valentino directing the actors, his voice sexy as always but this time yet again fill with frustration.

Amidst the chaos, there were whispers among the staff about the planned star for the movie being decapitated and having to fill their role in with a newbie due to the lack of time ro wait for the actors regeneration, this bringing light upon the source of Val's frustration.

You pondered how much worse his temper would escalate if you followed through with your planned actions. However, that thought didn't weigh heavily on your mind, as you were determined from the get go to mess with him.

Emerging from the shadows and skillfully navigating the set while evading the cameras' gaze, you approached Valentino. Grinning, he remarked, "You came to entertain papi, how sweet of you, amorcito~" standing up and expecting you to jump into his arms.

Surprisingly, you kept walking, engaging in conversation with a crew member, casually flirting. Val struggled to process the fact that ‘not only did you ignore him, but you did so to chat with some nobody!’

Oh boy, was he pissed, yet instead of his typical inclination to abandon work for a tantrum. He had remained seated, continuing to provide screen direction to his actors.

Now that he was well aware of your actions, he had no intention of losing the little game you were playing. Throughout the shoot, he feigned indifference, though his teeth subtly gritted each time he caught a glimpse of you so close to that random sinner.

Despite Valentino's own lack of shamelessness when it came to sleeping around, he was still the ever so possessive and obsessive man. And having so hands-on with someone else, especially in his presence, drove him to the walls.

After 45 minutes of takes and retakes, Valentino directed his staff to wrap up for the day. Immediately afterward, he approached you, gripping your wrist forcefully enough to surely leave a bruise. He then ushered you into the elevator, ascending to his shared luxurious living quarters and, ultimately, his room.

Once inside, he roughly threw you onto the bed, using one arm to pin both of yours above your head, another around your neck, while the remaining two swiftly removed your clothes.

As he approached your ear, his breath on your face, he scornfully remarked, “You wretched whore, think you go and flounce around, letting some fucker feel you up! ¿You’re so desperate to get fuck, verdad, puta?“ His voice carried disdain for your actions, yet beneath it, pent-up sexual frustration lingered.

Now having you completely undressed, Valentino briefly pulled away to retrieve something from his nightstand. It turned out to be a pair of long, dangling cuffs, ideal for securing you to his headboard. And that's precisely what he did.

Bound to the bedpost, you tested your restraints with a subtle tug, ensuring they securely held you in place. You wanted to confirm if there was any potential escape route, making sure you were aware of all possibilities.

In an instant, you felt Valentino's hands on you once more, grabbing your chest roughly, squeezing them hard enough to cause some pain but not enough to leave marks. His fingers then dug into your sensitive flesh, leaving bruises visible through the thin layer of sweat forming on your skin.

His touch was cold and calloused, contrasting sharply with the warmth emanating from his body.

"You little slut," he growled, his accented words dripping with contempt. "You think you can just throw yourself at anyone, disrespect me like this?" With each harsh word, his grip tightened further, pinching your nipples cruelly between his rough fingers.

Despite the pain, a shiver ran down your spine at the prospect of what was to come. You knew exactly how much control he had over you now, and it was exhilarating.

"No, Val," you managed to croak out between gasps for air. "I didn't mean anything by it, really."

But your words fell on deaf ears; instead, Valentino's hand moved lower, cupping your hips roughly before squeezing them forcefully. "You fucking liar," he snarled, his voice low and menacing. "You’re lucky your body is good at satisfying my needs, otherwise I would have already shot your ungrateful bitch ass!”

With that, you observed as he let his tongue swirl around his fingers, that action was followed by him teasing at your hole. “Wait Val, are you not gonna use lube—“

“Lube? Are y’a kidding me? ¡Shut the fuck up, puta! You should be crying tears of joy that I’m even prepping your undeserving ass.” Was all he said, before his fingers divulged into your tight hole, letting his other hand paw at your bits teasingly before pushing in a third finger inside you. The sensation was both pleasurable due to his aphrodisiac like spit and painful as it was all so sudden, it also felt as if he was claiming ownership over your body once more. Tears begging to role down your face at the stretch.

"You’re such a fucking slut, getting off on this, aren’t you?" he asked, his voice husky with desire yet stern. "You like acting like a desperate bitch in heat and piss me just so I can punish you, isn't that right, mariposa~"

As he spoke, he began to thrust his fingers in and out of your heat, pounding into you relentlessly. Each thrust caused your hips to rock forward, meeting his rhythm eagerly. Slightly letting reach down further, just close enough for his tongue to scoop your tears.

You could feel your body responding to the invasion, your hole tightening around his fingers, begging for more. Despite the pain, it was becoming increasingly difficult to resist the pleasure building inside you.

"No! Stop, please, Val!" you pleaded, but it fell on deaf ears. Instead, he added another finger, stretching you wider. The sensation was both terrifying and arousing, pushing you closer to the edge of ecstasy.

"Eso es," he growled, his voice laced with lust. "tómalo todo, you filthy whore."

Just as you thought you couldn't handle anymore, he removed his fingers, leaving your hole gaping open and vulnerable. With a cruel chuckle, he stood up and unfastened his pants, revealing his massive harden cock, thick and veiny, throbbing with desire.

"Time to teach really you a lesson," he said, his eyes burning with hunger. "Get ready to scream, puta."

Without further ado, he positioned himself at your entrance, aligning his tip with it.

"N-no, please, Val—" you managed to utter out before he slammed into you without mercy, filling you up completely.

The sudden intrusion caused you to cry out even harder in both pain and pleasure. Your body shook violently as he started to thrust in and out of you.

Each powerful thrust pushed deeper than before, stretching you further than and further. Your moans turned into high-pitched squeals of mixed agony and pleasure, and your juices coated his member as he pounded into you relentlessly.

The bed creaked under the combined weight of their bodies, adding to the primal rhythm of your session. Your body bounced wildly with each thrust, nipples hardening further under the harsh treatment.

Your legs were spread wide apart, while your hands were still bound tightly to the headboard, rendering you helpless against his onslaught. You couldn't move, couldn't escape the intense pleasure building up inside you.

As he continued his brutal assault, your body adjusted to the his dick, becoming slightly accustomed to the stretching. Your walls tightened around him, milking him eagerly.

He groaned, his hips slamming harder against yours, his cock pounding deeper than ever. His hand reached up to grab a fistful of your hair, yanking your head forward forcefully, exposing your neck and throat.

"Open that filthy mouth," he growled, his breath hot against your neck.

You obeyed, parting your lips, and Valentino pulled back to spit directly into your mouth. The saliva was thick with frustration, a stark contrast to the usual sweet yet dominant taste of his kisses.

"Swallow it, bitch," he demanded, his voice full of desire. Your throat still constricted by one of his hands, yet you managed to swallow the bitter saliva, feeling it coat your tongue and throat.

The humiliation and degradation only served to heighten your arousal, your body quivering as his thrusts grew more frenzied. Your walls clenched around his shaft, urging him to go faster, harder.

"You like that, don't you? Of course you do!" he snarled, his grip tightening in your hair. "You love being treated like the worthless slut you are."

His words only served to fuel the fire inside you, your body shaking and writhing under his control. You couldn't help but whimper in response, your body betraying you with every moan.

Valentino continued to thrust into you, his pace relentless. Your eyes rolled back in ecstasy, ‘almost there’ you though.

Suddenly, Valentino pulled out, leaving you gasping for air, feeling empty and needy.

He quickly untied you from the headboard, dragging you onto your hands and knees, positioning you on all fours. His grip tightened around your neck, choking you just enough to make your vision blur.

"Don’t think I didn’t feel you clench around my cock, you ain’t cumming that easily," he hissed, his voice full of lust.

You nodded, trying to catch your breath, your eyes watering from the lack of air. He wasted no time, thrusting back into you, filling you up once more. This time, his thrusts were even more brutal, the angle hitting your g-spot with each plunge.

The choking intensified, making it even harder to breathe, yet you found yourself moaning louder, your body desperate for release. Your legs shook, struggling to hold you up as he continued to pound into you.

"You're mine, not any other overlord’s or fucking prince of hell, and certainly not that pathetic fucker from earlier, you hear me, Y/N?" he growled, his grip on your neck tightening.

You managed a nod, your voice strangled by his chokehold.

Valentino keeps his hold on your neck, as he brings one of his hand down onto your ass, leaving a stinging impact. The pain was a welcome distraction from the choking, making your moans turn into cries of pleasure.

He spanked you repeatedly, alternating between cheeks, leaving handprints on your flesh. The stinging sensation only served to heighten your senses, your body trembling with every smack.

"You're going to cum for me, slut," he promised, his voice low and menacing. "And you're going to beg for it." Following his words, the hand that was then on your neck was now grabbing at your hair.

Your body tensed, the pleasure building to an unbearable level. Your inner walls clenched around his shaft, milking him relentlessly as he continued to spank and thrust into you.

You couldn't help but comply, your voice hoarse from the choking. "P-please, Val, I need to cum!"

He chuckled darkly, his thrusts becoming even more frenzied. "I said beg for it, you filthy little slut!"

"Please, papi, I need to cum, please! I need so, so bad, ‘can’t think! I just need to come, please, please, please Val!" you begged,

Your voice breaking with the intensity of the moment. Valentino smirked, his thrusts growing even harder, slamming into you with all his might.

Your body was at his mercy, your orgasm building to a crescendo. You could feel the wave crashing over you, your insides clenching around him, milking his cock as he continued to pound into you. One of his hands playing with your front.

"Cum for me, you worthless bitch," he growled, his own release nearing.

You cried out, your orgasm overwhelming you, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you. Valentino followed suit, groaning loudly as he filled you with his seed, your body trembling as he came inside you.

He pulled out, leaving you panting and shaking, the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippling through your body. Valentino stood up, wiping the sweat from his forehead before lighting a smoke.

After taking some puffs at he grabbed your body once more, “V-Val??” You question in confusion, and the look he gives was so demeaning.

“Bitch, are y’a dumb? Don’t tell me you thought this was over already.” Was all he said before resuming….

Here you were, on the verge of passing out, body full of cuts, hand, teeth, and whip prints all over your body.

"You're lucky I love you," he muttered, his voice laced with a hint of affection. "But don't you ever fucking test my patience again, amorcito."

You nodded, with the both of you knowing that it was a lie, you would definitely act out again.

Finally, your body lulled to dreamland.

⌁ Vox ⌁

Listen, despite his constant complaints about everyone's incompetence and having to clean up after their mess, he finds himself unable to do the same when it comes to you.

But, ‘fuck, did he adores your brattiness.’ It's not that he particularly enjoys dealing with your attitude; rather, it's the journey to the aftermath of your actions that captivates him. Overall, the right to fuck all of his day’s frustration into you!

Take, for instance, a meeting—perhaps not the most crucial, but still relevant, especially as it is concerning one of his latest products on the market.

Suddenly, you would barge into the meeting room, whining about him not giving you enough attention and accusing him of being all about work.

He would sweet talk you into silence until the meeting concluded, but that didn't imply you felt obligated to completely behave. As the meeting continued, you ended up seated on his lap, grinding yourself on his crotch.

Immediately after the meeting concluded and the conference room was emptied, he would lock the door. Then bend you over the spacious table, he pressed your head against the cold wood and proceeded to unleash a waterfall of insults, flowing from his mouth kin to water from a faucet.

He would fuck you so intensely that the both of you would almost lost sight of the initial cause. Almost, though you might have blurred the memory, he certainly hadn't. So as soon as his workday concluded, he would take you once again in his private quarters.

Forcing you to ‘repent for being such impudent slut,' reducing you to tears with his rough handling and verbal abuse.

Today was an incredibly dull day in hell. Wandering around the pentagram on the Vees' turf, you had an escort by your side as per Vox's requirement for taking a stroll outside.

There seemed to be nothing to do, or at least it felt that way. You managed to grab a cup of coffee, but beyond that, nothing fun was available, entering clubs required asking Vox's for his permission first. This ensured that he could assemble a larger entourage to guarantee your safety when you wanted to partake in the activity.

Despite your inclination to fuck with him, you refrained, recognizing that would be too much on his already overworked heart – he'd be more worried than irritated.

Opting for a tamer approach, you aimed to provoke him and get under his skin. Your goal was to distract Vox from his work, shifting his focus to entertain you. Making him jealous seemed the most effective strategy in your eyes, and that's where your escort, a tall and attractive hellhound, entered the scene.

Aware that Vox had eyes throughout the pentagram, particularly in this area, you initiated your plan with this knowledge in mind.

You strolled with your arm around the hellhound, falsely fawning over his looks and intellect, toying with his hair and even embracing him—all visible to Vox. Despite his busy schedule, Vox always kept an eye on you through the multitude of screens around pentagram city. And the sight of you so cozied up with the hellhound, left him seething.

What intensified the situation was your final gesture. As you bid farewell in front of the Vees' tower, you made the hellhound lean down for a thank-you kiss on the cheek, this fuelling your boyfriend's rage and insecurities. After that, you simply entered the building, mentally preparing for the upcoming interaction with Vox.

As you exited the elevator, Vox stood right in front, evidently having anticipated your return. As you locked eyes with him, the flames of anger and jealousy practically radiated from his gaze. It seemed your somewhat sadistic display had made a number on him.

"Hey, Vox, baby. How's it going? I thought you were too busy to step out of your office," you nonchalantly remarked, playing the coy card. Before you knew it, one of his clawed hands circled your waist, while the other firmly grasped your chin.

"Yeah, I was one incredibly busy man this morning, busting my ass to keep this shit show afloat. However, my partner seems to be utterly indifferent to it all. It looked as if they couldn't care less, with the way they were all over that hellhound-nobody," he remarks, his hand at your waist pressing into your skin.

"Oh, what on sweet hell could you be referring to?" you playfully feign innocence, this only aggravating your boyfriend's frustration.

"Do play games with me, whore. You know exactly what you were up to, the fact have eyes everywhere, and despite today's incident, I won't fire that guy because he's loyal." His face inches closer to yours, "If you were so desperate for my cock that you went out of your way to mess with me, you could’ve said so baby~ And I would’ve had you sucking me off as I work. But noooo, you just had to be be a a fucking slut and piss me off. Now let's see where that misbehaviour gets you, bitch.”

Now, bent over his lap, bottoms off, you endure the consequences as he delivers hits to your behind, while he casually sipped on a glass of whiskey;

You flinched slightly at each slap, but didn't dare to yell or struggle. Instead, you bit your lower lip and whimpered softly, your body trembling with each impact.

Your mind raced with thoughts of how much you deserved this punishment, how much you craved it.

"Please, sir, stop, it hurt ‘so much!" you whimpered between each strike, your voice cracking with each word. "I'll be a good, I promise."

"You’ll be good? Ha! What a fucking joke. You're lucky I don't break your pretty little neck right here and now. But since you asked nicely, maybe I'll i won’t hurt you as bad, this once. Now stand up straight and face me like the disobedient whore you are."

Slowly, you stood up straight, your legs trembling slightly as you awaited his next move. "Thank you, sir."

"That's better," he said putting his drink down on the nightstand, his voice laced with distain yet also a hint of satisfaction. "Now, strip for me."

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether to push your luck or not. But then again, you knew better than to defy him twice in a row. Slowly, you took off your sweater, removing a layer of heat.

Next came the your top, you began to undo the buttons of your shirt, revealing your chest.

You stood there, naked and ass completely bare, feeling exposed and vulnerable yet somehow aroused by the power he held over you.

"Turn around," he commanded coldly. Reluctantly, you turned around, your ass wiggling seductively as you did so. "Now, get on the bed, all fours, and face the mirror."

You complied reluctantly, feeling your heart race with anticipation mixed with fear. You knew what was coming next, but it didn't make it any easier to endure. You could feel his presence looming over you, his heat radiating off his body.

"That’s it bitch," he praised, his voice dripping with false reassurance. "Now, spread your legs."

You widened your stance, exposing your parts to him, the scent of arousal filling the air around you. "That's a good whore," he complimented, his hand reaching out to grab your hair and pull your head back forcefully, so you would be looking straight at the mirror.

"Look at me," he growled, his eyes boring into yours through the reflection. "Do you understand what happens to misbehaving sluts like you?"

"No," you managed to croak out, your voice barely above the sound of your pounding heart. "I-I don't know."

"Then let me educate you," he said coldly, his hand reaching out to slap your ass hard enough to leave a mark. "This is what happens to disobedient whores like you." Meanwhile he had removed his other hand from your hair, using it it to play with your front, ‘how kind of him~’

With each slap, his hand left a stinging mark on your ass, making it throb with each impact. The pain mixed with the humiliation and arousal, making it difficult for you to think straight. You squirmed and whimpered, trying to escape the torment but knowing it was futile.

"Please, sir," you begged between slaps, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I'm sorry. I'll be good. Just give me something more, please."

"You're sorry now? Too late for apologies, greedy bitch," he spits. But after a moment of consideration, he seems to have a change of perspective. With a wide grin on his face, “Okay then,” he says, releasing you and getting himself confortable on the bed. “Crawl over here and worship my cock, and I’ll consider forgiving you."

With shaking legs, you crawled towards him, your eyes locked on his hardened member, throbbing with desire through the fabric of his expensive pants. You reached out and undid them, pulling down his boxers and wrapped your lips around the head. Taking as much of his cock into your mouth as you could.

"Fuck," he says a bit breathless, this followed by his hand roughly grabbing your hair and pulling your head back and forth, face-fucking you.

"That’s right, show me how much you want me, how much you need my cock inside you."

You moaned around his cock, sucking and slurping greedily, your tongue swirling around the head, trying to please him. Your hands reached up, grasping his thighs, leaving wrinkles on the fabric as you held on tightly.

"Good," he praised, his voice becoming more husky with desire. "Now, let’s go back to the previous position." He tells you, forcefully pulling you off his dick.

With that you had his hand at your hole, rubbing and teasing your entrance "Spread your legs wider, and besides that, don't move a muscle."

You obeyed, spreading your legs wider, exposing yourself fully to him. He continued to tease and torment you, spiting on his fingers, he then digs into your sensitive spot, making you moan and writhe in pleasure mixed with pain.

"Tell me you're mine, bitch, that you belong to me," he demanded, his voice low and commanding. "Tell me you'll do whatever I want, whenever I want."

"I'm yours, Vox," you managed to choke out, your voice cracking with each word. "I'll do anything you want!"

"That's better," he purred, his fingers leaving your hole and moving to your nipples instead. He pinched and twisted them mercilessly, causing you to arch your back and cry out at the painfully mix of sensation.

"Now, beg me to claim you as my own, not anyone else,"

"Please, Vox, claim me as yours," you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I'm yours, I belong to you. Take me however you want, whenever you want."

"Seems like your not completely braindead after all," he sorta praises, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Keep your legs open like that."

"Yes, Vox," you managed to mumble out, your voice trembling with fear and arousal.

“That’s it," his voice dripping with false affection. "You better be ready, because I’m still pissed."

Without warning, he grabbed your hair again, pulling your head back forcefully, exposing your neck to him. "This is for disobeying me earlier today," he growled, his sharp teeth shining in the light as he bit down hard on your neck. His teeth sank deep into your skin, sure to leave a mark.

As he moved to bite another spot, you writhed and squirmed beneath him, unable to escape his hold. His tongue darted out to clean up the blood that trickled down your throat. Meanwhile, his other hand reached between your legs one more, finding your front and playing with it vigorously, driving you wild with desire.

"You taste so fucking good, slut," he growled as his mouth was now at your lips, his voice hoarse with desire. "Don’t fucking play with me again like that what you did today, understand?"

"Yes, Vox," you managed to choke out between gasps, your body trembling with the combination of pain and pleasure. "I won’t.” A lie you were both aware of.

"That's a good bitch," he praised, releasing your neck and licking the mark he had left on your neck clean. His hands now solely focused on making you climax, in addition he would let out some electricity coarse through his and consequently your body.

Your body still trembling with the aftermath of his earlier assault, and his current touches weren’t helping you to stabilize. Your eyes rolled back as you felt close, ‘close to finally cumming.’

"Look at yourself, Y/N," he tells, his voice low and demeaning, well aware you couldn’t look at your self with the way we’re rolled back. "So fucking pathetic and needy for release… Beg for it.”

And so you did, "P-please, Vox... I need it so bad," you begged, your voice cracking with desire. "Please, let me cum."

His laughter reverberated in your ears as he continued to tease you mercilessly. "You want it so badly, don't you?" he asked, his fingers working faster and harder between your legs, more and more shocks divulging from him.

Your mind drifted away from reality as you felt the edge of orgasm getting closer and closer, your body tensing up in anticipation. "Please, Vox!" you cried out, unable to resist any longer.

"Do you understand now?" he asked, his voice laced with satisfaction. "Do you understand your place in this world and how you belong by my side only?"

"Yes, Vox," you managed to choke out, your voice barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing.

And a simple, “Cum.” was all it took for you to completely let go and the waves of pleasure take your body over….

You winced in pain while observing your reflection in the mirror. Bruises and bite marks adorned your body, and your swollen ass bore the aftermath of his restless assault. Dried tears stained your cheeks.

Then, Vox tenderly stroked your head, followed by a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Love you, babes, but don’t fuck with me like that again"

An ‘okay’ was all you had said before falling asleep.

✮ Velvette ✮

Despite possessing a sharp tongue herself, she has zero tolerance for sassiness or misbehavior. It's strictly 'her way or the highway, bitch!'

A single word out of place, and she'd swiftly grab your face, calling you out and issuing a stern warning to behave, unless you wanted to witness her truly angry.

Naturally, her warnings failed to deter you from persisting in your bratty behaviors; 'it didn't before, so why should it now?'

Turns out getting on Velvette bad side, wasn't as smooth sailing as your moment of unwarranted confidence led you to believe.

You might have casually stroll through her studio, engaging in conversation with her employees, consequently diverting their attention from work.

All this, despite their already tight schedule that you were acutely aware of, thanks to Velvette's hours-long bitching about it.

Nonetheless, you proceeded with your plan. In all honesty, given the hectic schedule leading up to the fashion show, Velvette had minimal time for you. Despite her efforts to squeeze out a few moments, the occasional 30 minutes a day left you unsatisfied.

If she wasn't going to provide the attention you craved, ‘you were determined to seek it elsewhere, easy peezy—‘ or so you believed.

Spotting you getting overly friendly with one of her models, she would forcefully pull you into a changing room, securing your wrist against the wall with one hand while using the other around your throat.

Insult would escape her lips as she vowed to in-still proper discipline in you in a more physical manner if simple phrases like 'I'm busy right now' failed to do the trick.

After leaving distinctive bite marks on your neck and collar, and leaving you with panting breath and puffy lips from an intense make-out session, she would resume her work. However, she would promise to teach you a lesson later that night as she exited the dressing room.

Honestly, among all three of the Vees, she was the only one with the decency not to do you in public.

"Today is already a mess, but you had to make it worse, you ungrateful bitch," Velvette exclaimed before storming out of her office, leaving you alone, bound, with vibrators attached to stimulate your body.

Now, how did it come to this? Let's rewind to 10:30 a.m.;

Velvette had overslept by an hour, throwing her entire schedule off, and in the world of fashion and social media, an hour is practically an eternity.

Despite consistently projecting an image of superiority, she was visibly rattled by being late. Knowing she couldn't control or turn back time, she relied on meticulous planning to leash the day. She's a bit of a control freak, if you hadn't noticed.

After a challenging morning of tackling voicemails and addressing urgent missed calls, Velvette managed to regain her momentum. Things were sailing smoothly until Valentino made an appearance.

Apparently, one of his employees had been shot in the face the previous night, resulting in a disfigurement that rendered them unable to participate in the planned movie.

Clearly frustrated, Valentino stormed into Velvette's studio to bitch about the situation, throwing things around and even ripping apart one of Velvette’s workers. This compelled her to call in a backup model, with rates that would disrupt her budget.

Not only did Velvette find this model too expensive, but she also disapproved of their overly flirtatious attitude.

And that's where you entered the picture, making her already lousy day even more exasperating. You had awakened about 10 minutes after Velvette, disturbed by her loud conversations on the phone.

However, it didn't bother you too much since your morning routine wasn't significantly affected by the late wake-up call. As Velvette's sugar baby and partner, she paid you to prepare home-cooked meals, be there to listen to her vent, and look good. As long as you weren’t the one who’s oversleep, you were in the clear.

In contrast to her hectic morning, yours unfolded at a slow and leisurely pace. You took your time with skincare and haircare, even savoring the breakfast you had prepared while Velvette rushed through hers to catch the elevator to her studio.

Despite disliking seeing her frowning and rushed in the mornings, you had held your tongue, aware that she wasn't in the mood to be told so. Besides, you couldn't help but smile when you noticed she had still laid out your outfit of the day despite her hurried state.

As half past noon approached, you descended in the elevator to her studio, carrying a warm lunch. Knowing she needed some persuasion to take a break from work and eat, even though she paid you to prepare her meals.

When she initially dismissed you upon your approach, it wasn't surprising. That was the usual routine. However, typically, after 15-25 minutes, she'd relent. Well, that was the norm. This time, an hour had passed, and she still adamantly refused to pause.

Bored and hungry, the usual scene of you two enjoying a shared meal and exchanging affectionate words was absent. Normally, you'd be showering her with praise, boosting her pride and motivation with each word. ‘This was how things were supposed to be,’ you thought, yet here you were, seated on a plush satin-covered chair in a corner of the spacious room.

Contemplating leaving altogether, considering nobody in the studio cared about your presence except Velvette, and she was currently too busy to notice. As you prepared to depart, a manicured hand rested on your shoulder.

"Well, hello there, sweetheart. What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone?" inquired the attractive woman with whom you soon found yourself engaging in conversation with. Unbeknownst to you, she was the backup model Velvette disliked but had to call in.

What you did know was that from her flirty attitude, to the fact she was feeling you up and the eye fucking she was giving you, that woman was definitely hitting on you.

You also knew you should have told her that you were with Vel, but after feeling ignored and abandoned since this morning, it felt refreshing to have someone finally pay attention to you.

Around 2:25 p.m., Velvette finally took a break from work, envisioning a moment to share lunch with you and perhaps find comfort in your embrace.

However, that dreamy scenario shattered when she looked your way and spotted 'that bitch Bridgette Bastia' not only flirting with you, her hand around your waist, but also eating away at HER LUNCH.

To make matters worse, Bridgette whispered things in your ear, leading to giggles.

Unlike Valentino, Velvette wasn't one to tear employees apart; she preferred the more elegant approach of firing them.

However, witnessing the girl cozying up to you fueled a desire in her to do something far less refined. She wanted nothing more than stab the chick to death(well, second death).

When Velvette confronted you about the proximity between you and the model, you had the audacity to respond with a cheeky "What's wrong, babes? Thought you were busy," accompanied by a sly expression and tone.

In a fit of rage, Velvette pushed Bridgette away and seized your wrist, forcefully ushering you into her office and slamming the door shut behind you;

"Today is already a mess, but you had to make it worse, you ungrateful bitch. Allowing that cunt to touch you so freely! Are you that much of a whore that you can't stand to not have someone laying their hands on you for a moment?" Velvette spat at you, accentuating her anger with a furious fist slam.

She yearned to make you suffer for intensifying her frustration, but hitting wasn't her style, and mere verbal assaults wouldn't suffice. That's when what she considered a brilliant idea struck her.

Utilizing her clothing transformation ability, she effortlessly rendered you completely exposed and bound with a mere swipe of her finger. Your once classy outfit morphed into an intricate arrangement of tied ropes, forming a captivating star-shaped pattern across your chest, in addition to a blindfold obscuring your vision, leaving you helpless in both movement and sight.

To escalate matters, she procured a vibrator from her office drawer and a ball gag she had used for a recent BDSM-themed shoot.

"You want to play the part of a needy slut, so I'll treat you as such," she whispered into your ear.

Following that, she attached the vibrator to your parts, setting it to medium vibration. It was intense enough to make your body react, but not strong enough to get you off.

"Behave until I return," she stated before departing, leaving you alone and exposed in the secluded offices.

Feeling the sensation of the vibrations consuming you, you clung to the hope that she was merely bluffing and would return soon.

Yet, you were well aware not to rely on that expectation. Once Velvette made up her mind, nothing you could say or do would alter her decision. ‘Knowing her, it wouldn't be surprising if she left you in that room until the end of her workday.’

As time passed the vibrations continued to pulse through your body, you couldn't help but feel a mix of anxiety and arousal. Velvette's actions were surprising but far from unpredictable. She had always been domineering and controlling, but this was on a whole new level.

You couldn't help but wonder how long you would be left like this, 3 hours had already passed by now, 2 more and the day would be over. ‘Did she forget you were in there, or was she intentionally keep you bound and stimulated to teach you a lesson?’

Your mind began to race with thoughts of escape. With your hands tied, it wouldn't be easy, but surely you could find a way to free yourself. The sensation of vibrator was becoming more intense with each passing minute, making it harder to concentrate on your predicament.

As you wriggled and squirmed, trying to find a way to release yourself, the door to the office creaked open. You tensed up, hoping it was Velvette, ready to release you from your captive state.

But instead, it was none other than Valentino, a cloud of red smoke surrounding him, and a smirk appearing on his face as he took in the sight before him.

"Well, well, look who we have here," Valentino drawled with his condescending smirk, his eyes inspecting your bound and stimulated form. "I guess you've managed to piss off our dear Velvette, huh? Serves you right. I've always known you were spoiled little bitch that didn’t know their place."

He sauntered over to you, his black heel boots clicking against the hardwood floor. "Thought you could get away with flirting with another woman right in her studio? You're a dumber than I if you thought she'd let that slide."

He leaned in close, his breath hot and rank against your ear. "She's got a mean streak, you know. You should have just waited patiently instead of pulling that kind of stunt. I’d keep my eyes peeled and my mouth shut from then on if I were you."

With that, Valentino turned on his heel and left the room, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving you alone in the room now filled with smoke with your humiliation and aching body…

About 10 minutes later Velvette stormed into the office, her face twisted in anger. She had received a text message from Valentino, no doubt gloating about the situation he had just witnessed.

Her eyes scanned the room, taking in the scene before her: you, bound and stimulated, with a look of both embarrassment and arousal on your face.

Velvette's lips curled into a sneer as she stepped into the room, a mixture of anger and amusement playing across her features. "What a fucking mess," she muttered under her breath, crossing the room to stand before you.

"I told you to behave, and this is what happens? Valentino gets a peek at your pathetic state," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She reached down and flicked the vibrators, making you flinch and moan softly around your gag.

"Oh, look at that, you're already soaking wet," she teased, her fingers tracing the contours of the vibrator attached to you. "I can't believe I have to deal with this. And here I thought you were smarter than that.”

Velvette couldn't resist the urge to taunt you further, her fingers gently probing your slick, throbbing intimates. She knew full well the effect it would have on you, and the way you squirmed only fueled her desire to humiliate you.

"You're so wet, darling. It's almost as if you enjoyed having Valentino see you like this," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "I'll make sure to tell him how wet you got from the embarrassment. Bet that moth fucker would love that, and so would you."

Obviously you weren’t into Valentino, and seeing like that you was the last you had wanted. So of course you violently shook your head in didn’t disagreement at the mention of her telling him more about your current interactions.

Thought being rendered Velvette’s pathetic bitch was hot, and an observer only reaffirmed the situation. ‘So maybe him walking in wasn’t ‘that’ unpleasant—‘

Her fingers danced against your most sensitive spots, eliciting strangled moans from you. "You're such a terrible liar, you know that? I can always see right through you," she continued, her voice a mixture of anger and arousal.

Despite your frustration and embarrassment, you couldn't deny the pleasure coursing through you with each touch from Velvette's skilled fingers. Her words and actions were cruel, yet they only seemed to heighten your arousal. As some sort of grace, she had removed the gag from you.

"It's not my fault he came in here," you whimpered . "I didn't invite him."

"Oh, please," Velvette scoffed, her fingers continuing their dance. "You're always looking for attention, always seeking validation from others. It's disgusting." Obviously she knew what she was saying was bullshit but it was fun taunt.

She increased the pressure, your body arching in response. "You should be grateful I haven't given you to him yet. He'd probably enjoy watching you squirm even more than I do."

Her words stung, but they also fueled your arousal. You knew she was right; you did crave attention, and Velvette's treatment of you only made it worse.

"Please, Velvette," you pleaded, your voice barely audible. "I'm sorry. Just let me cum please." Hours of stimulation plus the added stimulation had become to much for you, if you didn’t cum soon you would go crazy.

Velvette smirked at your plea, her fingers slowing down for a moment. "Oh, you want to cum, is that so?" she purred, stepping closer to you. "And what makes you thing you deserve it, huh? After your behaviour today, you’re gonna have to earn it."

She reached down and untying the vibration, removing it from your body altogether. "Now, you're going to eat me out and beg for me to make you cum. If you do a good job, I might just let you."

You felt a mixture of relief and panic as the vibrators were removed. While your body ached for release, the idea of pleasuring Velvette made you both nervous and excited, especially because your climax depended on it.

"Don't disappoint me," she warned, her eyes locked on yours. "I'm not in the mood for any more disobedience."

With a final glare, she stepped back, giving you room to kneel before her. Your heart raced as you watched her unzip her pants, revealing pretty pussy.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes flicking between Velvette's smirking face and the task ahead of you. You could feel the tension in your body, the need to cum be touched overwhelming. But you knew you had no choice but to obey.

Mustering your courage, you lowered your head, your tongue darting out to trace the edge of Velvette's lace panties. The fabric was slick with arousal, and you knew she was already wet for you. She removed the arrival clothing herself as you were still bound.

With a deep breath, you began to lick and suck, your hands in fist to bring yourself some security. Velvette's hands threaded through your hair, guiding you as you tasted her.

"That's it, slut," she hissed, her voice low and dark. "Show me how sorry you are."

You redoubled your efforts, licking and nibbling at her skin, flicking your tongue against her clit. Velvette's breath hitched, her fingers tightening in your hair.

"Fuck, that feels good," she growled, her body arching into your mouth. "But you still haven't earned your orgasm."

You knew she was right, and you concentrated on pleasing her, your tongue working in tandem. Velvette's moans grew louder, her thighs shaking.

"You're doing well, Y/N," she said, her voice a ragged whisper. "But you still have a long way to go."

Velvette's voice was sharp, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulled your head back. "Apologize for talking to that model," she demanded, her eyes like ice. "Admit that you were in the wrong,”

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. Saying the words would be humiliating, but you needed relief.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice breathy. "I shouldn't have talked to her. I was wrong."

Velvette's fingers loosened, her eyes narrowing. “Better,” she said, her voice still icy. "Now finish making me come, and maybe, just maybe, I'll let you cum."

You augmented your efforts, your tongue working with renewed vigor. Velvette's moans grew louder, her body trembling.

"You're close," you murmured against her folds, your own arousal reaching new heights, despite being the one getting dominated it was still hot to see her all shaky.

Velvette's body tensed, her moans growing louder as you brought her to orgasm. Her release washed over you, her juices coating your tongue and face.

"Good bitch," she panted, her body shuddering.

With that, Velvette pulled you to your feet, your bodies pressed together. Her fingers found your front once more, teasing you before starting to jerk you.

"Spread your legs," she ordered, her voice harsh. "I want a good view of your pretty body."

You complied, your heart racing. Velvette's hands played you like a fiddle, her gaze locked on your face.

"You're so wet," she said, her voice a mix of satisfaction and anger. "No wonder Valentino was so fucking smug about it."

Your body throbbed, the need for release growing stronger. Velvette's hands moved faster, her gaze never leaving your face.

"Beg me for it," she said, her voice low and dangerous. "Beg me to make you cum."

You hesitated, your breath hitching. Asking for her permission felt like a betrayal of yourself, but you needed relief.

"Please, Velvette," you whispered, your voice shaking. "I need to cum. Please let me cum."

Her fingers paused for a moment, her eyes locked on yours. "You're so desperate, aren't you?" she purred, her fingers resuming their pace.

She increased her pace, her hands toying with you with expert precision. Your body ached, your moans growing louder.

"Tell me how much you want it," she commanded, her voice a low growl. "Tell me how much you need to cum."

You hesitated, your face flushing, but you needed her permission.

"I need it, Velvette," you whispered, your voice trembling. "I need to cum so bad."

Her fingers slowed, her eyes never leaving your face. "You better make a good show, slut," she said, her voice tight. "Or I'll make you wait even longer next time."

Velvette's hands going faster, your body arching in response. You could feel the orgasm building, your breath coming in short bursts.

"That's it, Y/N," she growled, her voice low and dangerous. "Come for me."

With a final surge, you came, your body trembling as waves of pleasure washed over you. Velvette's hnads never stopped, her thumb brushing against your most sensitive part.

"That’s my good bitch," she said, her voice satisfied. "Now, I think it's time for a reward."

She pulled her fingers from your body, her eyes locked on your face. She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours. The kiss was rough, her tongue probing your mouth.

Velvette pulled away, her eyes still locked on yours. "You'll learn to behave next time, won't you?" she asked, her voice soft but firm.

You nodded, your body still trembling from your orgasm. As much as the experience had been humiliating and degrading, there was something thrilling about it, too.

"Yes, Velvette," you whispered, feeling both exhausted and satisfied.

With that she untied you, dressed you back up and sent you on your merry way to your shared room…

𝐕 Valentino & Vox 𝐕

Is one cock truly not enough for you, greedy whore~

Firstly, what possessed you to believe that engaging in any kind of relationship with both of them was an intelligent idea? Dealing with one is bad enough, but two? Are y’a crazy bitch?! (By the way, the bitch is me, I need these motherfucker to tag team me. Now that this is said, no more interruptions.)

Initially, this situation would be chaotic, not only due to the on and off relationship these two shared but now, you're also giving them attitude? ‘Who the fuck do you think you are?!’

The atmosphere would swiftly shift, with Val embodying his short-tempered self, and Vox grappling with frustration, both using you as some sort of stress reliever as they would fuck you until they were relaxed.

Picture this: Val once again enraged at an employee, Vox desperately attempting to pacify him. You entering the room, trying to innocently retrieving your charger left there this morning—‘nothing too troublesome, nothing to escalate their moods, right?’

Well, not quite. The catch is that your attire was entirely off the mark. Despite it being a Wednesday, the designated day for pink attire as Val had explicitly stated, your outfit missed the mark.

And it wasn't just Val overseeing your wardrobe; Vox had explicitly forbidden overly revealing clothing, especially when walking through the Vees' tower where anyone could catch an eyeful of you.

The burning question on both of their minds, as you discreetly attempted to grab your belongings and make your exit, was: 'Why the fuck were you in that skimpy red outfit?!' (It’s also that fucking radio demon’s color! — Vox)

It wouldn't take long for the situation to escalate into a heated argument. You asserting your independence, claiming the right to wear whatever you pleased, and their response insisting you belonged to them, hence you would dress as instructed. In addition, you would also insults their masculinity and critiques of their chosen attire for the day, as some sort of pay back.

Controlling your clothing marked an expression of their intense possessiveness. Despite its occasional annoyance, you found it fucking thrilling to be both their lover and plaything.

And as you would flip them off and attempting to leave the room, you'd feel a pair of clawed arms wrapping around you, digging into your flesh and forcefully pulling you back in. With that you would end up all tied up, and edge by those two shitheads. Malicious grins plastered on their faces.

If 'dressing like a depraved bitch in heat and act out,' was what you whole heartedly desired, then they would just have to mold you into a well-behaved little thing, one way or another.

Eventually, you'd be so thoroughly overwhelmed and overstimulated that the thought of defying them, or anything thought for that matter, would be far from your mind. But ‘hey, a win is a win!’

The day kicked off on a hot, particularly for your two Overlord boyfriends….

Valentino tenderly woke you with a kiss on your hair, while Vox used tender words to bring you back to reality.

"Y/N, sweetheart, time to wake up," Vox said, your body jerking awake. As you rubbed your eyes, Valentino left a trail of kisses from your shoulder to jaw. "We wouldn't want our sweet Y/N eating breakfast alone," he whispered into your ear.

You pulled away the covers, stood up, and let out a satisfied groan as you stretched. Continuing with your morning routine, you decided to spice things up when having taken a glance at your fully laid out outfit of the day.

Facing your fully clothed boyfriends on the heart-shaped bed, you sensually removed your pajamas, earning a whistle from Valentino and an open-mouthed stare from Vox.

Fully nude, you executed a reverse striptease, putting on your fresh clothes with the same sexed up attitude you just had when shedding yourself of your pyjama.

Once dressed, you completed your look, including jewelry, hair, skincare, and makeup. Slipping away to the kitchen, you avoided the customary morning kiss, leaving your lovers slightly irked.

Your deliberate avoidance continued at the breakfast table, and although they were busy, your actions left them with a slightly sour mood due to the absence of the usual morning ritual.

Meanwhile, you reveled in the small power trip of influencing the moods of these powerful men with such little actions.

Several hours had elapsed, and it was now lunchtime. Knowing Val, he was likely already enjoying his meal, while your TV-headed boyfriend, Vox, was likely too absorbed in his usual surveillance to remember the existence of food.

Being the thoughtful partner you were, you whipped up something delicious and nutritious, heading to the underground watching room before Vox could realize his hunger and order his usual unhealthy fast food.

Despite his argument that the food he consumed you considered ‘shitty’ was quicker and simpler to get a hold of, you knew the toll it took on his energy, sleep, and mood swings. So once you became close enough to speak your mind, you had 'aggressively kindly' nudged him toward a better diet;

As the lift platform halted, holding a picnic basket, you walked the catwalk towards Vox's chair. Catching him fixated on the screens with no food in sight, you leaned in and playfully said, "boo!" prompting a high-pitched scream from Vox, earning a smirk from you and a groggy reaction from him.

However, his demeanor swiftly changed as he received the first kiss of the day from you and noticed the basket in your hand, realizing it was likely a meal you had prepared to share.

Grabbing the basket, he placed it on his desk and pulled you onto his lap by the hips. You both began eating, with you feeding him – a domestic sight only accessible to you and the other Vees.

As you continued to feed Vox, you couldn't resist the opportunity to tease him. You started grinding your hips against his lap, feeling his growing erection beneath you. Your hand slid up and down his thigh, sending electric shocks through his body. He groaned into his food, clearly enjoying the attention.

After you finished our meal, you stood up, playfully caressing the edge of his screen and smirking at the eager expression on Vox's face. "You know what, Voxy? You seem mighty stressed to me, and I feel it’s only right for me to do something about it, right?"

His eyes widened in anticipation, and you could see the hint of a blush on his TV screen. you leaned in close to his ear, your lips grazing the monitor as you whispered, "You wanted that, don’t you?. emphasizing your words by grinding against him once more.

Vox couldn't help but moan softly at the thought of what you had planned for him. His eyes darted around the screens, trying to find a way to distract himself from the tempting proposition, but that did nothing to help his heighten arousal.

As you began to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, he bit his lip to stifle another moan. "I can't believe you're doing this right after lunch," he murmured, his voice trembling with desire. "You're going to be the death of me, you know that, right?"

You chuckled softly, a wicked glint in your eyes as you lowered yourself to your knees in front of him. Your fingers deftly undid the final buttons and pulled his pants down, revealing his already hard member. A smirk graced your lips as you teased him by trailing your fingertips along the length of his cock.

Vox's breath hitched, his eyes closing tightly as he tried to maintain control. You leaned in closer, the warmth of your breath causing him to shiver. "You're so hard for me, Vox," you taunted, but soon got to the task ahead.

You eagerly took Vox's length into your mouth, you tongue tracing the vein that ran down the underside of his member. You sucked him diligently, your cheeks hollowing as you bobbed your head up and down, your eyes locked on his. Vox's fingers threaded through your hair, his breath coming in sharp gasps as the pleasure washed over him.

As the sensations built, his hips began to buck, his moans growing louder and more urgent. Just as he was about to reach his peak, you pulled back, a wicked grin on your face. Causing Vox to let out a dissatisfied whine.

So with a giggle, you stood up, you kissed the side of his monitor and quickly took your leave before he could fully register that you had left him panting and desperate.

As he regained his senses, his mood was certainly not the best,— let’s just say he was pissed when he was force to take care of the erection you had caused.

Continuing with your day, it was now a quarter past four, and you knew Valentino was still shooting. With the same mischievous spirit you had when you visited Vox, you headed to Valentino’s studio.

Luck was on your side as they were on a 10-minute break, so Val wouldn’t be bothered by your sudden arrival. In fact, he seemed delighted to see you, welcoming you with a hug that involved all four of his arms.

In return for his affection, you gave him some of yours, expressing it with a soft, sweet, and brief kiss. But of course, the overlord of lust and depravity wasn’t satisfied with such a short gesture, especially considering the state you’d put him in since that morning with your little stunt.

With two arms propping you up and the others encircling you, he pulled you in closer, one hand lifting your chin to bring your lips together. And oh, what a kiss it was.

Your kiss was far from gentle; it was a collision of desire and intensity, fueled by primal instincts and raw passion. He drew you closer, if that was even possible, his hands gripping you fiercely as your lips met with a hunger that bordered on desperation. There was an urgency to your embrace, a need to consume each other completely. Your mouths moved hungrily against each other, teeth clashing and tongues dueling in a fierce battle for dominance—a battle that Valentino obviously won.

His touch was possessive, leaving trails of fire in its wake as he explored every inch of your skin with a roughness that sent shivers down your spine. You responded in kind, your nails digging into his back.

Your kiss was a whirlwind of passion and desire, leaving you both breathless and panting when you finally parted.

As he lowered you down, you felt slightly dizzy, ‘must be Val’s toxins’. It was then that you noticed some staff members had stopped their work just to watch you, and you couldn't help but shoot Valentino a glare after assessing the situation as ‘that bastard knew you were being watch but didn’t say shit so that his employee stopped, even a simple wave from him would’ve have done the trick’. However, he only chuckled in response.

Taking his place in his director's chair, he stared at you intently before patting his lap. “Won’t you stay with papi and watch? After all, you did spend lunch with Voxxy. Won’t you do this for me, cariño?” he asked, his request momentarily distracting you from your thoughts.

It took you a moment to comply, your mind still processing the mention of lunch with Vox. ‘Had Vox told him what you’d done? Probably not, knowing Vox wouldn’t admit to being played like a fiddle by you. Then how—oh yeah, Vox took a selfie while you were feeding him, and he likely sent it to Val.’

With that revelation out of your mind, you settled into Valentino’s lap, one of his arms around your waist while the other had already started traced patterns on your thigh.

As the shoot began, you decided that Valentino should also get some of your ‘special attention’. With that in mind, you started to roll your hips. However, Valentino was quick to stop you in your tracks, his hand on your waist drawing you closer while the one on your throat and another on your thigh roughly squeezed the flesh as a way to say ‘stop’.

You listened to his warning, for a moment... stopping for 5 minutes or so before starting again, earning a hitched breath from the tall moth. His hold became more aggressive, slightly bending forward to whisper in your ear, “You’re really testing my patience, mi amor, and I’d suggest you stop unless you want me to fuck you right here and there in front of everyone.”

But you replied coyly with, “I don’t know what you're talking about,” emphasizing your words with another roll of your hips.

Despite Valentino being a sex maniac, just like Vox, he had grown too possessive to let others see you in such an intimate position, not even as punishment. So his current threat was all bark and no bite, and you both knew it.

He quickly realized that you knew, which caused him to ‘tsk’ and sit back. The man was too prideful to admit you were affecting him to the point where he couldn’t focus on his work properly. So his plan was to wait it out, to wait until the end of the shoot so he could put you in your place.

But by now, you knew him and his work too well. So, 30 minutes before it was over, you got up, informing Val that you had to go on a ‘bathroom break’. Of course, he allowed it, playing the role of the unaffected and non-retaliating.

But the catch that Valentino hadn’t anticipated was, this wasn’t a bathroom break; you had just run away without him noticing, leaving him to take care of his hard one just like you had done with Vox.

You giggled as you sat on your bed, thinking about how he would react when the shoot finally ended and everything clicked. And since you were already long gone, for time efficiency, he would just move on to the next shoot instead of chasing after you.

After all, he was on a time crunch; he probably only had 20 minutes or so of a break to take care of himself, definitely not enough time to find you and fuck you.

It was now 6 p.m., and you were out and about with Velvette, having grown close through your relationships with the two boys. She found you fun, and you could say the same about her. So it wasn’t out of the ordinary when she sent a text to each of them that she was taking ‘their bitch out to party’. As usual, she didn’t listen when they told her not to; she wanted to party with her bestie, and their boyfriends definitely weren’t going to stop her.

So there you were, clubbing hard, singing along loudly, dancing your ass off, and drinking in a manner that was definitely overindulgent, but who cared? You weren’t going to die from it.

As you were chatting it up with Velvette, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you were met with quite the good-looking hellhound. He introduced himself as Marco and thought you were cute. He wanted to see if you could get drinks together, maybe exchange numbers. He was sweet and wasn’t forcing himself on you or anything, so you spoke honestly to him.

“I’m going to level with you, Marco,” you said. “Okay,” he replied.

“You seem like a very sweet hound, but I’m currently in a wonderful relationship with the loves of my life, or is it afterlife?—anyways, what I mean to say is thanks for the offer, but I can’t accept.” You rambled due to the alcohol already in your system, and Marco expressed that he understood and was happy for you.

But then an idea came to mind. “But could I actually ask you a favour, Marco?” you inquired.

“Sure, as long as it’s not too extravagant of an ask,” he replied.

“Never. Anywho, I was wondering if you’d be down to take a selfie with me, nothing too intimate, but you’d be holding me in it, like a really close hug. I want to tease my boyfriends, and that’ll definitely do the trick,” you told him.

He pondered for a second, then a “Sure, why not?” came out.

And so the selfie-taking proceeded. You followed through on your words, nothing but his hands around your waist. You knew that would get another rise from your ‘tv head and moth man’ when they saw your new Sinstagram post.

Were they going to do anything to Marco? No. You’d say something along the lines of ‘I’ll never forgive you’ and give them the cold shoulder if they did. Plus, they’d know this was just teasing, nothing more. If you had intended to make them furious, you would have kissed the guy.

Putting your phone down after posting the selfie with a couple of different pictures from the night, you soon felt it buzz. Looking at the notifications, they were texts from Vox and Valentino. But in your drunk and teasing mindset, you decided to ignore them, just shooting a glance at Velvette, which she understood meant ‘you can text them if they ask about me, but I won’t be doing it.’

She only rolled her eyes at that look but then chuckled at the thought of the state you probably had Valentino and Vox in, because those guys had some serious jealousy issues.

9 p.m. had hit, and you and Velvette had decided you were good for the night. So, calling your driver, you waited by the curb.

“You know they’re going to fuck the shit out of you for that little picture,” she said before taking a hit of her vape.

“Oh, I’m counting on it. That’s why I already left both of them high and dry separately today,” you replied. She looked at you, surprised for a second, then burst out laughing.

“Bitch, you’re crazy! That’s why I like you, though.” With that said, the car had finally arrived, and in about 15 minutes, you were back at the tower.

Velvette had shot you a teasing ‘good luck’ once you both had stepped out of the elevator on the last floor.

You took off your shoes before entering your room. Pushing the door open, you were met with your two boyfriends sitting on your bed, staring straight at you. They must have been waiting for your return.

"Well, well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence, Val. It’s our little professional photographer," Vox remarks, his tone laced with amusement and spite.

"Oh, indeed, Vox. It seems that truly adore the art, don't they? So much so that they’ll snap a pic at any given opportunity, regardless of who they're doing it with." Val adds, his words carrying a subtle innuendo.

"Oh please, it was just a hug," you retorted dismissively as you turned away from them, starting to change out of your outing clothes.

"Just a hug? JUST A HUG?!!" Valentino's voice rose with indignation. "That mutt was practically fucking you!" he exclaimed. Despite Valentino's tendency to exaggerate, he was jumping to the guns, Marco hadn’t even been groping you, but you refrained from pointing that out.

"That hellhound shouldn’t have been in your vicinity, point blank," Vox added, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Valentino's statement.

"You two are such babies, you should stop fussing over a little selfie already," you scoffed, turning your head to look at them as you removed your last article of clothing.

Retrieving a towel from your drawer, you mentally decided it was time for a shower. In their minds, however, they were planning to make you pay for that picture and for teasing them earlier in the day.

In your mind, you were now going to take a shower, seeking solace in the calming embrace of warm water. However, in their minds, they had already made a silent pact to exact retribution for the audaciousness you had when snapping that picture and your teasing behavior throughout the day.

As you reached for the bathroom door handle, on of Valentino's hand shot out and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back towards the bed. His grip was firm but not painful, leaving no doubt that you were not going anywhere until they had made their point clear. Vox stood up and joined him, a predatory gleam in his eyes as he towered over you.

"We'll show you what happens when you play with fire, brat," Valentino growled, his voice low and threatening. Vox nodded in agreement, his expression mirroring Valentino's anger.

Before you could protest or plead, they had you pinned down on the bed, your struggles met with their iron grip. Their faces hovered over yours, their anger palpable in the way their eyes burned with intensity.

Vox and Valentino started discussing strategies on how best to punish you for your transgressions, right in front of you.

"We need to teach them a lesson," Vox declared,"Something... memorable."

"Agreed," Valentino chimed in, tightening his grip on you as you tried to shuffle around "Something... painful."

"Yes, yes, something painful," Vox echoed, rubbing his temples in frustration. "We need to make sure they knows who the boss is here."

In unison, they nodded ominously, their plans solidifying rapidly.

"This is what happens when you toy with us, bébé~" Valentino hissed, his free hand reaching for a belt that he kept nearby. The sound of leather hitting flesh echoed through the room as he brought it down on your thighs, the sting of each blow making you yelp in pain and surprise.

Vox watched with approval, his own arousal growing as he saw the marks forming on your skin. He moved closer, his fingers tracing the lines that Valentino was creating.

"You see this, doll," Vox purred, his voice low and seductive, "you see what you make us do when you behave like a brat. We don’t like hurting you,” a lie. “but can’t just let you do whatever, we do not tolerate petty disobedience, I thought you’d knew that by now."

His fingers trailed down to your chest, playing your now perked nipples. You squirmed beneath their touch, a mix of fear and arousal coursing through your veins.

Valentino paused momentarily, the belt falling limply to the side. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered "Remember this, cariño. We may love you, but that doesn’t mean you got free reins to be a bratty ass bitch."

With that, he released you, stepping back to allow Vox his turn. The television-headed demon's gaze never left your face as he took the belt from Valentino, his eyes flickering with anticipation.

Vox cracked the belt across your ass, the sharp sting catching you off guard. You cried out, your body arching involuntarily as the pain seared into your skin. But then, an unexpected warmth spread through you, a strange mixture of pain and pleasure that you couldn't quite comprehend.

Valentino watched from the corner of the room, his eyes locked onto your reactions. As you writhed beneath Vox's hand, he began undressing, slowly revealing his muscular form. He wore nothing but a pair of black silk boxers that did little to hide his arousal.

Once naked, he walked over to you, his steps confident and assured. He picked up a pair of handcuffs from the nightstand and began to tie your hands behind your back, securing your mouvement firmly. As the cuffs tightened, a jolt of arousal was sent through you.

Vox continued spanking you, alternating between the belt and his open palm. Your skin turned a darker shade, a testament to your punishment. Yet, despite the pain, you couldn't deny the rush of lust pulsating through your veins.

Finally, Vox stopped spanking you, satisfied with the sight of your reddened cheeks. He stepped back, admiring his work, before whispering softly, "Such a bad little thing, aren't you? But don't worry, we won't leave you like this. We're going to give you what you deserve."

Valentino knelt beside you, his eyes glinting with desire. He gently stroked your hair, whispering soothing words into your ear, "It's okay, amorcito. It's all going to be okay. Just let go."

Their words, combined with the physical pain, pushed you further into a state of heightened arousal. You felt your body responding to their dominance, your core throbbing in anticipation.

Valentino stood up, motioning for Vox to join him. They exchanged a heated glance, their shared desire evident. With a nod, they moved towards you, Vox taking your legs while Valentino held your torso. Together, they positioned you on your knees, your ass lifted invitingly.

Valentino reached for a bottle of lubricant from the nightstand, pouring a generous amount into his hand. He rubbed it on your entrance, preparing you for what was to come. Your breathing hitched as his cool touch met your heated core, sending shivers down your spine.

Quickly after, Vox moved behind you, his erection hard and ready. He positioned himself at your entrance, pausing briefly to grab your hair and look into your eyes. There was a mix of fear and lust in your gaze, and he smirked, knowing he had you exactly where he wanted you.

With a swift thrust, he entered you, filling you completely. You gasped, your body adjusting to the invasion. His movements were slow and deliberate, each thrust pushing deeper inside you.

Valentino watched intently, his cock equally hard and ready. He practically couldn't wait for his turn, but first, he wanted to see the full effect of their domination on you.

Vox increased his pace, his thrusts becoming faster and harder. His grip on your hair tightened, his other hand holding onto your hip for support. Each time he slammed into you, your breasts bounced enticingly, drawing Valentino's attention.

"Look at them, Vox," Valentino said, his voice thick with desire. "See how much they wants this. How much they needs this."

Vox grunted in response, his movements becoming more erratic. He pulled you back, using your hair to lift your head, and you found yourself looking straight into his cyan-colored eyes.

"That's it, whore," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Take it like a good little slut."

Valentino joined in, running his hands over your body, pinching your nipples roughly. His touch was both tender and cruel, eliciting moans from you.

"You like this, don't you?" he taunted, his voice a soft purr. "You love when we’re mean to you, bitch~"

Vox then pulled you up into a chokehold, applying pressure to your throat. You struggled slightly, but the combination of pain and pleasure was overwhelming. Your body arched involuntarily, your climax approaching rapidly.

The pressure on your throat intensified, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Your vision blurred, your world narrowing down to the sensations coursing through you. Everywhere Vox touched felt electrified, every thrust of his hips driving you higher.

"Cum for me, bitch," Vox snarled, his voice hoarse with desire. Valentino continued to play with your nipples with his top hands, as his bottom ones took care your front.

Your release was imminent, the pressure building within you threatening to burst. You mewled, your muscles clenching around Vox, your orgasm washing over you like a tidal wave.

As you climaxed, Vox continued to choke you, his movements becoming wilder. You felt him swell inside you, his soon reached his climax.

Finally, he came, roaring your name as he filled you completely. He held you in the chokehold for a few more seconds before releasing you, allowing you to catch your breath.

Your breathing was hieratic as you felt your body plot down against the mattress. But to bass for you they didn’t intend on letting you rest.

Valentino stepped up behind you, his erection still throbbing. Without warning, he entered you from behind, his movements slow and deep. The sensation of being filled so so only after your first climax was quite the overstimulating one.

Without warning, Valentino pushed your head into the mattress, your face buried in the soft fabric. You gasped, feeling the sudden loss of control. He spanked you again, the sting mixing with the lingering ache from earlier.

"That's right, bitch," he growled, his voice rough. "Stay quiet. Take what I give you."

His thrusts became faster, his hips slamming into you with each movement. You could feel Vox's semen leaking out slightly, only to be replaced by Valentino's relentless pursuit.

Each strike of his hand echoed through the room, punctuating the sounds of your moans and their grunts. The pain and pleasure merged, creating a symphony of submission.

Valentino's fingers dug into your hips, gripping tightly as he pounded into you. Your body responded, moving with his rhythm, your inner walls milking him with each thrust.

Despite the pain, you couldn't help but enjoy the feeling of being owned, of being taken by these powerful beings. Their dominance over you was absolute, and it excited you beyond measure.

As Valentino neared his own climax, he tightened his grip on your hips, his thrusts becoming more frantic. Your body shook beneath him, your second orgasm building quickly.

"Come for me, slut," he demanded, his voice thick with desire. "Let me hear you scream!" He said as he pulled your hair, contradicting his previous statement about wanting you to be quite.

You complied, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your entire body convulsed, your nails digging into the mattress as you screamed his name.

Valentino roared, his release pulsing inside you. He stayed still for a moment, catching his breath before withdrawing slowly.

As he stepped away, you collapsed onto the bed, panting heavily. The room was silent, save for your labored breaths.

Before you could recover, Valentino had wrapped his arms around you, his chin resting on your shoulder. He entered you from behind, his size stretching you wide. Your body trembled, your nerves overwhelmed by the dual invasion.

Following suit, Vox positioned himself in front of you, his erection already hard once more. Without warning, he slid back into you, his length filling you from the front. You cried out, your body protesting the overstimulation.

"Shhh, calm down ‘bébé’," Valentino whispered in your ear, his voice husky with desire. "We're not done with you yet."

Vox started thrusting, his movements slow and measured. Valentino followed his lead, their rhythms meshing perfectly. Your body bounced between them, caught in a vice of pleasure and pain.

They didn't care about your limits, your protests falling on deaf ears. Instead, they reveled in your discomfort, their own desires guiding their actions.

Their faces were etched with concentration, their eyes locked onto yours. They seemed almost hypnotized, lost in the act of taking you.

As they continued to thrust into you, their movements became more synchronized. Their bodies moved as one, their hips slapping against each other. In sync, they leaned in, capturing each other's lips in a fierce kiss.

Tongues tangling, their passion was palpable. It was a display of obsession and possession, leaving you breathless.

But their focus wasn't solely on each other. With one hand, Valentino gripped your hair, twisting it gently. Vox reached around, caressing your chest roughly.

Their kiss broke, Vox shifting his gaze to you. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His tongue delved deep, claiming you as his own.

When he pulled away, Valentino took over, his lips crushing against yours in a brutal kiss. His hands wandered, cupping your face, and then moving down to your neck.

Between kisses, they continued to fuck you, their bodies merging with yours. Their actions spoke volumes - you belonged to them, and you should know better than to fuck with them.

With each kiss, your body grew more sensitive, your mind clouded with lust. Vox and Valentino fed off your reactions, their desire escalating.

"That's it, baby," Valentino murmured against your lips, his breath hot and heavy. "Let go for us." He said as he let his hands wonder down to your front to increased the sensation.

Vox nodded, his thrusts growing more forceful. "Yes, cum for us."

Between kisses, they increased their pace, their movements relentless. Your climax built quickly, your body shaking beneath them.

Finally, you came, screaming into Vox's mouth. Their thrust not relenting as they chased their own orgasm.

As Vox and Valentino neared their climaxes, their thrusts grew more desperate. Sweat dripped from their bodies, mingling with yours. Their gazes locked, a silent agreement passed between them.

With a roar, Valentino thrust deep inside you, his release spilling within you. At the same time, Vox claimed you once more, his cum joining lover’s.

You all panted heavily as they remained inside you, enjoying the aftermath of their conquest.

In the silence that followed, you lay between them, exhausted and spent.

Some ‘I love you’s were shared as you all drifted off, it looks like showering will a ‘tomorrow’ type of task…

Thanks anon for requesting!

©tswhiisfttedr. dn translate, or plagiarize.

Tip Me (Ko-Fi) & And support my art account @maviscarlettie

You can now commission me!

Reblogs help!!! (Request Are On Pause)

[honeydippedfiction]

Almost {JB9}

Part 8.2.

Navigation

Synopsis: While on tour for a string of international summer festivals, Y/N and Joe navigate the blurred lines between playful lust and something dangerously deeper. What began as sun-drenched hookups and teasing tension under Mediterranean skies shifts into something more intimate—more fragile—forcing both of them to confront feelings they’ve been too afraid to name. But as silence lingers and hearts inch closer, they’re left wondering: is almost enough, or is it time to risk everything for more?

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content (Graphic descriptions of sex, including oral sex and penetrative sex. Sensual, emotional, and intense in tone.), Strong Language, Emotional Vulnerability, Mild Public Risk, Relationship Angst / Vulnerability. MDNI🔞

WC: 34.2k

A/N: my heart hurts lil bro

Join my Taglists here or message me

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

Previous Next

The breeze off the sea was warm and thick with salt, carrying the tang of open water and the lazy sway of summer. The sky overhead was that impossible Mediterranean blue—too vibrant to look real, like it had been touched up by hand. The white stone walls of the villa glowed under the sun, casting clean lines of light and shadow across the terrace. Below, the infinity pool shimmered like a liquid mirror, the occasional gust of wind sending small ripples across its surface. Y/N was stretched out on a lounger, already halfway bronzed by the sun, her legs crossed at the ankles and one arm draped lazily over her stomach. Her oversized sunglasses caught the light just so, obscuring her eyes but not the curve of her smirk. The bikini she wore was sinful—barely-there lilac with gold accents, straps tied just tight enough to test Joe’s composure. And the sheer cover-up floating around her body like mist wasn’t helping.

Joe was doing his best to ignore her. Really, he was. He sat under the terrace’s shade, elbows on the armrests of a cushioned chair, tall glass sweating in his hand. Iced citrus water, no alcohol—not when they were headed onto a boat soon. At least, that had been the plan. But now he was reconsidering, if only to keep his sanity. Y/N shifted, sitting up slowly. Her curls were twisted up into a bun that looked effortless and expensive. She stretched her arms overhead with a soft, feline sound, the move arching her back just enough to catch his attention again. She caught him looking. Of course she did. She stood, letting the breeze catch the edge of her cover-up like it was part of the show, then padded barefoot across the warm stone tiles toward him. Her hips swayed deliberately. Joe’s eyes dropped to her legs, then shot back up like he was trying not to get caught.

“You’re really not gonna come?” she asked, voice sweet with mock disappointment. Joe didn’t even look up at first. Just sipped his water, mouth twitching. “Boats and I don’t get along. We’ve had this talk.” “You’ve never been on this boat,” she said, her tone shifting—lower, silkier—as she swung one leg over his lap and sank down into it without hesitation. Joe exhaled hard through his nose. His drink sloshed a little in his hand as his free arm automatically came up to steady her, resting against the warm curve of her thigh. “You trying to bribe me?” he asked, one brow lifted. “Convince,” she corrected sweetly, rolling her hips just enough to make his grip tighten. “It’s a persuasive argument.” Joe squinted at her, unimpressed but clearly weakening. “I’m listening.”

Y/N leaned in, her nose brushing his, breath warm against his lips. “Come out with us. Swim a little. Lay in the sun. Maybe...” She let her lips ghost along the corner of his mouth, “...watch me dive off the deck in this tiny little bikini you haven’t stopped staring at since I put it on.” Joe huffed a laugh but stayed silent. His hand was still on her leg. His thumb was moving now—circling slow just under the hem of her suit. She wasn’t done. “And,” she added, voice almost lazy now, almost dangerous, “if you come with me... I’ll ride you. On that boat. In the sun. Quietly.” Joe’s grip twitched. Y/N nuzzled his jaw, her words a whisper of heat. “Let you pull my bikini to the side. Sit on your lap like a good girl. All that rocking? Everyone’ll just think it’s the waves.” He swallowed. Audible. Her teeth scraped the edge of his ear. “You like that idea, don’t you? Me all wet and dripping while I fuck you slow and no one even knows.” Joe closed his eyes. “Jesus Christ.” She smiled, slow and triumphant, and pulled back to look at him. “Pretty please, Joey?” He stared at her. Silent. Suffering. Then: “I hate you.” Y/N beamed. “That’s not a no.”

Joe let his head drop back against the cushion, eyes squeezed shut in resignation. “If I fall overboard, I’m haunting you.” “Haunt me while I come,” she whispered, brushing her lips across his. He groaned and kissed her—quick and hard, like he needed to shut her up before she made him do something really reckless. When they pulled apart, she slid off his lap with a wink and started walking toward the path that led down to the dock. Joe watched her go, jaw clenched, eyes dark. He finished his drink in one long gulp, then stood and muttered, “Unreal.” She just laughed.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The boat had finally anchored just off the rocky Maltese coast, its sleek hull bobbing gently in the jewel-toned water that sparkled like cut glass. The cliffs in the distance loomed sun-drenched and jagged, worn smooth in places by centuries of wind and tide. Seagulls wheeled lazily overhead, and the only sounds were the rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull, distant laughter from the bow, and the occasional clink of a glass or shuffle of a towel being adjusted. It was peace. Stillness. The kind of moment people paid their entire lives for—and Y/N looked like she belonged to it. She stood barefoot at the edge of the yacht’s rear platform, toes curled just past the lip, the breeze tugging at the sheer wrap that floated from her hips. Her arms lifted, graceful and confident, and in one clean, practiced movement, she dove.

The splash was minimal—no wild flailing, no dramatic crash—just a clean slice through the glittering surface, her body gliding beneath like a ribbon of honey through sapphire. When she resurfaced, it was with a bright gasp and a laugh, curls slicked back with both hands, droplets running like glitter down her cheeks and shoulders. The sun caught every curve and glinted off her wet skin like it couldn’t help but worship her. Joe stood a few feet above on the deck, leaning against the railing with his arms crossed, posture taut but trying to seem casual. His black swim trunks clung low to his hips, chain glinting against his collarbone, sunglasses hiding his eyes—but not the stiff set of his jaw. He looked unfairly good up there. Golden and broad and sculpted, a whole billboard come to life. But despite the perfect view and the thirty-degree heat, there was one thing he was not doing.

Getting in that water. “Come on, Joe!” Y/N called, floating easily on her back. Her voice rang out over the stillness like a splash of champagne. “It’s beautiful out here!” Joe shook his head immediately. “Nah, I’m good right here.” Y/N let out a dramatic sigh, kicking lazily through the water as she approached the back ladder. “You’re so boring,” she teased. “I’m cautious,” he corrected, smirking slightly. “There’s a difference.” She reached the boat and held the ladder with both hands, arms flexed, her chest rising with every breath as the sun gilded her skin. But instead of climbing up, she simply floated there, looking up at him with a siren’s smile. “What’s a girl gotta do to get her beautiful, sexy quarterback into the water, hmm?” she purred, tilting her head just enough to weaponize the curve of her neck. Joe’s voice was firm. “I said I’m good right here, baby.”

But his gaze didn’t leave her for a second. She followed it—casually glancing toward the bow where Kayla, Carmen, and Drea were spread out on loungers, cocktails in hand and music thumping softly through a portable speaker. They were far enough that they weren’t paying attention. Too busy laughing and scrolling and posing for sun-kissed selfies. Y/N’s smile turned wicked. “Oh really?” she said sweetly, chin dipping. “So if I did this…” She reached behind her neck with one hand, tugging gently at the string of her bikini top. Joe’s posture changed immediately. Subtle, but instant. His arms uncrossed. His jaw flexed. “…you wouldn’t come in after me?” She undid the back tie next, taking her time. One slow pull. Watching him. Measuring the way his breathing changed. “Y/N…” he warned, voice low. She smirked—and with no more warning, tossed the bikini top up onto the deck.

It landed right at his feet. Joe looked down at the scrap of fabric. Then up. His eyes locked on the water just as she pushed back from the boat, treading deeper, her bare chest slipping in and out of view beneath the glassy surface. The sun kept catching on her skin in flashes, teasing just enough to drive him insane. She swam backward slowly, gaze never leaving his. “Guess you’re staying dry then,” she called over her shoulder, voice light, smug, victorious. Joe didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His hands twitched once at his sides. Then she turned, laughing to herself, and swam farther out toward the open water, graceful as ever, her silhouette gliding like she was made for it. Joe stared after her for one more second. Looked at the bikini top again. Then muttered to himself, “...Fuck it.” The sunglasses came off.

Y/N heard the splash before she turned. It echoed clean and deliberate across the quiet cove, a sharp punctuation in the still air. A grin curled at the corner of her mouth before she even looked. She already knew. When she twisted in the gentle current, she caught the unmistakable sight of Joe slicing through the crystalline blue with that coiled, effortless power she never got tired of watching. Broad shoulders broke the surface in smooth, controlled strokes. Water glistened as it ran down his chest, cascading over the lean definition of his torso like it belonged there. His curls were soaked and wild, clinging to his forehead, and his chain glinted at the base of his throat—catching flashes of sunlight with each ripple he cut through.

But it was his eyes that hit hardest. No sunglasses now. Just those intense, clear, hungry eyes—locked on her like a hawk circling low. Y/N treaded water leisurely, not bothering to hide the smirk tugging at her lips. “Changed your mind, Burrow?” she called, her voice soft and teasing, head tilted as she floated in place like some mythical siren. She spread her arms wide, skin gleaming in the sun, shoulders relaxed. At ease. Unbothered. Joe didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Each stroke brought him closer, silent and precise, like a predator zeroing in on its target. The sea folded around him like it knew better than to resist. When he finally reached her, his chest brushed hers in a slow, friction-heated bump beneath the surface.

“Took you long enough,” Y/N whispered, her breath catching when his hands found her waist under the water. But Joe’s grip wasn’t gentle. He tugged her into him with a quiet, unspoken demand. “You think you can just take your top off in the middle of the damn ocean and not get consequences?” Y/N blinked innocently, lashes fluttering. “Who said anything about consequences?” Joe’s fingers flexed against her hips, firm and possessive, and for a second he didn’t say anything. Just looked at her—wet and glowing, bare from the waist up, shimmering like something forbidden. His jaw clenched. His restraint cracked. “You think you’re slick,” he muttered. She leaned forward, lips brushing his jaw like a challenge. “I know I am.”

A muscle jumped in his cheek. Then, without warning, he surged forward, backing her through the water with relentless control until her spine hit the cold metal of the yacht’s submerged swim ladder. The sudden chill made her gasp, but she didn’t try to stop him. Not even a little. “Joe—” “Uh-uh.” His voice was a low growl, rough silk against her neck. “You wanna tease me in front of everyone? Toss your top and swim off like that?” His mouth found the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, then trailed heat down her throat, lips brushing slow and deliberate along her collarbone. His breath was ragged. His self-control thinner than paper. She felt him everywhere—arms caging her in, chest pressed tight, the unmistakable hardness beneath his swim trunks grinding into her through the gentle push of the tide.

One of his hands slid higher, skimming the curve of her slick stomach. Then up—higher still—until both thumbs grazed the undersides of her breasts with maddening pressure. The water shifted with them, warm and buoyant, but it did nothing to dull the charge rippling between them. Y/N’s breath hitched, her chest arching slightly above the surface, nipples stiff from the breeze and exposure. Sunlight danced across her skin, painting her in gold. She looked like temptation incarnate. And Joe looked like a man ready to burn the whole world down to taste her. “I’ll show you what happens,” he whispered, voice dark and thick with want, “when you try to play me like that.” Then his hips pressed forward—grinding up into her bikini bottoms with brutal intent. Y/N whimpered, her hands flying to his shoulders, nails digging into wet skin. Her head fell back against the ladder, lips parting in a breathless moan. “Joe…”

His hand dipped lower. Slipped beneath the waterline. And then he was inside her. Two fingers. Deep. Curling. Intentional. Y/N gasped, one hand clutching the metal rung behind her while the other fisted in his curls. The pleasure hit fast and sharp, her body clenching around him as he moved with that same unshakable rhythm she knew too well. “We don’t have long,” she whispered, broken and trembling. Joe kissed her temple, then the corner of her mouth. “Then come fast,” he breathed. “Come for me, right now.” She could barely breathe. Could barely think. His thumb found her clit with practiced ease, stroking her in tight, devastating circles while his fingers fucked her slow and deep beneath the water’s surface. “Joe—oh my God—” “Shh.” He kissed her again, tongue sweeping her lower lip. “You wanted attention. Now take it.”

She whimpered, grinding down against his hand as the pressure built fast and hot. Her body went taut, thighs quaking as her moans slipped into his mouth. “I swear—” she panted, “last time—I try—to play you—” Joe chuckled darkly, lips dragging over her jaw. “You’re a damn liar,” he murmured. Then her climax hit. Y/N came with a sharp cry that she smothered against his shoulder, legs locking around him as waves of pleasure rolled through her. He didn’t stop right away. He slowed, drew it out, letting the aftershocks hit one by one until she sagged against him, body limp, head tucked into his neck. The sea rocked gently around them. Joe finally pulled his hand free, holding her in place with both arms around her waist. She stayed there, trembling and dazed, chest heaving. “Jesus,” she whispered after a long beat, voice hoarse. Joe kissed her again—softer this time, slower. “You good?” She nodded against him, eyes still shut. A smile crept onto her face as her breathing leveled. “You’re not gonna finish?” she asked, lifting her head to meet his eyes, the tease still alive in her tone. Joe smirked, lazy and cocky and devastatingly calm. “We’ve got all afternoon, baby.” His hands skimmed down her hips again, slow and casual, like he wasn’t planning to unleash hell later. “I’ll collect later,” he said simply, already plotting. And this time? She knew he meant it.

Y/N climbed the ladder first, each step a careful balance between composure and the very obvious aftershocks still humming through her limbs. Water cascaded down her back and thighs in glinting rivulets, her bikini bottoms snug in place once more, though her top remained very much at the bottom of the sea—or, more likely, folded neatly in Joe’s memory forever. She grabbed the nearest towel and wrapped it around herself in one swift motion, tucking the corner beneath her arm, chest rising and falling a little too fast. Her cheeks were still flushed. Her legs, just slightly unsteady. But her expression? Smug. Satisfied. Glowing.

Joe emerged seconds later, hair soaked and clinging to his forehead, droplets chasing each other down his chest. His chain gleamed against sun-warmed skin, swinging with each step, and the grin on his face was damn near insufferable—smugness radiating off him like heat waves. He barely had time to grab his towel before—“Y’all good?” Kayla’s voice rang out lazily from the front deck, where she was stretched out like a damn goddess—sunglasses on, coconut drink in hand, sun hat tilted just enough to read ‘Don’t Ask.’

Y/N jumped, the towel slipping slightly. She clutched it tighter and groaned. “Kayla.” Kayla smirked without even glancing their way. “I didn’t hear much... but I saw everything. You know you could just bite him to keep quiet, sis.” Joe let out a low, surprised laugh, pressing the towel to his face in a useless attempt to hide it. Y/N shot her middle finger into the air without looking, her other hand gripping her towel like a lifeline. “You’re the reason I have trust issues.” “I’m the reason you’ve had vocal control lessons,” Kayla called back sweetly. “You’re welcome.” Y/N shoved at Joe’s shoulder as he passed behind her, mumbling, “You couldn’t wait until we were back at the villa?” Joe leaned in close, breath brushing her ear, his voice pitched low with maddening calm. “You threw your top at my feet, baby. That’s a challenge.” She turned her head slowly, squinting at him. “You are impossible.” He shrugged, unapologetic. “And you love it.”

They walked back toward the others, towels slung low, hips bumping lightly as they moved in sync. There was a rhythm between them now—unspoken, magnetic. Comfortable, but charged. Carmen and Drea didn’t say a word when they returned. They didn’t have to. Carmen raised an eyebrow without looking up from her sunglasses, while Drea slowly flipped the page of her magazine with the kind of passive-aggressive flair only true friends could master. “No comment,” Drea said flatly. “Plenty of judgment though,” Carmen added, taking a sip from her drink. Joe didn’t even flinch. He dropped into one of the loungers with a satisfied groan, arms stretched behind his head, towel barely clinging to his hips. “Best boat ride I’ve ever had.”

Y/N rolled her eyes dramatically but failed to hide the soft smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She took the lounger beside him, toweling off her arms and legs with a little more force than necessary, but her eyes kept drifting back to him. And his kept drifting back to her. Kayla, still sipping her drink like it was tea, called out again without looking up. “Next time just warn us. I would’ve made popcorn.” Y/N didn’t even lift her head. “I hate you.” “No you don’t,” Kayla sang, stretching like a cat in the sun. Y/N muttered something under her breath, but her shoulders had relaxed. Joe’s hand slid over and found hers beneath her towel, lacing their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. His thumb traced slow circles along the back of her hand, grounding her. Possessive, but gentle. Familiar. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t even think about it. And though the rest of the afternoon unfolded in lazy warmth—drinks passed around, photos taken on film, music thumping low from the yacht speakers—the air had shifted.

Something between them had shifted. It wasn’t the boat. It wasn’t the sun or the water or the friends lounging around them. It was the fact that, no matter how casual it had all started, no matter how many jokes were made or teasing thrown their way—Everyone could feel it now. There was something undeniable between Y/N and Joe. Bigger than flirtation. Bigger than lust. Something quiet but magnetic. Something blooming. Something watching. Waiting. And whether either of them wanted to name it or not… Everyone else already had.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Y/N padded down the narrow staircase into the yacht’s kitchen lounge, the hum of the boat beneath her feet a steady rhythm she barely noticed anymore. Her towel was still wrapped loosely around her frame, clinging to damp skin and the lingering heat of the sun. The air inside the yacht was cooler, a slight reprieve from the blazing deck above, and carried the faint scent of sunscreen, citrus, and something floral drifting from a nearby reed diffuser. Above her, the sounds of muffled music and bursts of laughter floated down from the upper deck—Carmen’s easy cackle, Kayla’s deadpan sarcasm, Drea yelling something about angles and the lighting being perfect.

She didn’t mind the noise. It felt distant, almost dreamlike, like background music to her own private moment of retreat. She stepped barefoot across the sleek wood-paneled floor and opened the mini-fridge, letting the cool air waft over her face for a second longer than necessary. With a small hum of satisfaction, she grabbed a chilled can of lemon soda, its condensation already slick against her palm. She popped the tab with a satisfying hiss and brought it to her lips, the tart fizz dancing across her tongue like a burst of electricity.

She turned to head back upstairs—but stopped dead in her tracks. Right there, by the back door, half-shadowed in a streak of sunlight filtering through the yacht’s tinted windows… Was her bikini top. Y/N blinked. Then squinted. There it was—exactly where she’d tossed it earlier in her not-so-subtle siren stunt. Still damp. Still twisted from the reckless way it had come off. Its bright color stood out like a bold confession against the pristine white of the floorboards, a splash of rebellion in an otherwise clean-lined space. A slow, wicked grin curved her mouth. “Well, well,” she murmured, walking over to it with the lazy confidence of someone who knew exactly the kind of power she wielded. She bent to pick it up, the towel slipping slightly from her shoulders as she scooped the fabric into her hand. She twirled it once around her fingers, shaking her head with exaggerated amusement.

“Found you, troublemaker,” she muttered under her breath, smirking as if the top itself had conspired against her. Her reflection caught in the chrome surface of a cabinet as she straightened up, and for a second, she studied herself. Wet curls. Sun-glossed skin. A towel wrapped around the kind of glow that didn’t just come from vitamin D. This was a woman who had been ruined in the sea... and was absolutely not done. She untwisted the top, slipping the straps back over her shoulders with muscle memory alone. The fabric was cool against her sun-warmed skin, sending a slight shiver up her spine. She tied the halter behind her neck, then the band across her back, fingers moving with practiced ease. But her eyes? Her eyes burned. Because this wasn’t over. Joe had collected earlier. And now? Now she was the one in debt.

With her bikini top finally back in place, she took another sip of her soda, rolled her shoulders, and let the towel drop just enough to show a hint of skin as she turned and headed toward the stairs—every step a quiet promise. He thought he could tease her, taunt her, win? Please. Y/N licked a drop of lemon soda from her bottom lip and grinned to herself. He was about to learn what a real encore felt like.

By the time Y/N returned to the upper deck, towel draped loosely around her hips and soda in hand, the sun had dipped just enough to paint the sky in soft golds and corals. Everything shimmered—sea, skin, sky. The mood on the yacht was easy and indulgent, the kind of calm that only came after hours of sun, laughter, and not-so-subtle flirtation. Kayla, Carmen, and Drea were already deep into another conversation, their voices lilting over the breeze as they lounged on oversized cushions near the bow. “I’m telling you,” Carmen said, lazily adjusting her sunglasses, “Mykonos has the best spa packages if we want post-tour detox. Mud wraps, body oils, champagne—whole nine.”

“Mmm, or Seychelles,” Drea chimed in, flipping through her phone with one hand. “I saw a resort there where they serve rosé on a floating tray while you’re in a private plunge pool.” “Okay, but Bali,” Kayla countered, sipping a drink the color of a ripe watermelon. “We disappear for a week, unplug, come back looking ten years younger and smelling like citrus and sin.” Y/N slid effortlessly into her seat beside Joe, nestling into the crook of his arm like she belonged there—which, increasingly, she did. She sipped her soda with casual ease, the cold bubbles tickling her throat as she listened with one ear and plotted with the other.

Joe glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his arm stretching lazily across the back of her seat until his fingers brushed her bare shoulder. His curls were still damp, his skin sun-warmed, and there was a trace of that smugness she knew all too well etched into the curve of his mouth. “You put it back on, huh?” he murmured, voice pitched low just for her. Y/N smirked without looking at him, keeping her eyes trained on the others. “Didn’t want to traumatize the crew,” she said, swirling the soda can idly between her fingers. Joe leaned in, brushing his lips just shy of her ear, his breath warm against her skin. “I prefer you without it.” She didn’t flinch. Just let the corners of her mouth curl into something more dangerous. “Keep talking like that,” she murmured, setting her drink down with care, “and I’m gonna make good on that promise from earlier.” Joe paused, turning to study her. “You’re serious?” She met his gaze directly. Cool. Calm. Feral underneath. “Oh, I’m very serious,” she said, voice like velvet laced with fire. “But I need the others distracted first.”

Almost on cue, Drea stood with a groan and stretched, arms overhead, her voice cutting through the air. “Okay. One more swim before we head back? Water’s perfect right now.” Kayla perked up immediately, grabbing her sunglasses. “I’m in. Carmen?” “Hell no,” Carmen replied, already reclined, arms crossed behind her head. “But I’ll tan while y’all act like mermaids.” Y/N turned slowly, deliberately, toward Joe. The glint in her eye could’ve rivaled the sun off the sea. “Guess it’s just us,” she said sweetly, watching the other girls climb down the side ladder one by one, squealing as they hit the water with practiced dives. Joe blinked, just once. “Wait, what are you—?” Y/N stood smoothly, letting the towel drop from her waist in one fluid motion. It pooled around her ankles like a curtain call. She straddled his lap again, just like she had earlier—only this time, her smile wasn’t teasing. It was a promise. A threat. A goddamn benediction. “I told you,” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Sunlight. Bikini. Quiet.”

Joe’s jaw clenched, hands flying to her hips like instinct. “You’re really about to do this?” he asked, already breathless, the pressure of her warmth sinking into him. Her smile deepened as she rolled her hips—slow, deliberate, maddening. “Payback’s a bitch, baby.” And then she was moving—grinding in a lazy rhythm that had nothing to do with mercy. The sun caught in the sheer fabric of her cover-up as it fluttered around them like a veil, casting soft shadows against their skin. They were shielded by the privacy panels on the upper deck and the noise of waves and laughter below. But up here? It was just the two of them. Her fingers found the waistband of his trunks again, slipping beneath it with sinful ease. Joe’s head fell back with a hiss, his grip tightening on her thighs. “You’re insane,” he muttered, breath catching. “And you like it,” she purred, pressing down just enough to make him twitch beneath her.

Far below, the splash of someone cannonballing into the sea echoed like background noise. “Keep it quiet,” she whispered, nipping at his jaw. “Wouldn’t want anyone knowing just how easy it is to break you.” Joe growled softly—low and feral—but didn’t stop her. Didn’t push her away. Because truthfully? He’d never felt more alive. And as she moved against him, sunlight warming their skin and the sea glittering all around, there was no mistaking what was happening between them anymore. This wasn’t just play. It was something deeper. Something more. And no matter how long this ride lasted… they were both already in too deep to turn back now.

Y/N straddled Joe’s lap with the kind of effortless confidence that made his brain short-circuit. Her thighs bracketed his hips, warm and sun-slick, and the stretch of her bikini left almost nothing to the imagination—though modesty had never really been part of the plan. Not with her. Not now. Not when his entire body was thrumming like a live wire. She leaned in close, her breath grazing his jaw, her lips hovering at the shell of his ear. “Be good,” she murmured, voice soft but dangerous. “And keep your hands behind your head.” Joe’s chest rose sharply, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. “Y/N—” “Shhh,” she interrupted, dragging her teeth lightly along his earlobe, a wicked grin playing at her mouth. “You got what you wanted in the water.” Her hips rolled, slow and sure, grinding against the thick length beneath his trunks. “Now it’s my turn.”

Joe’s fingers flexed where they hovered—instinctively reaching before curling back again. Resisting. Barely. But he did as he was told. He leaned back against the sun-warmed lounger, muscles taut, arms spread wide with his hands tucked behind his head like some kind of offering. The pose made him look even bigger, broader. Unfairly gorgeous. Y/N’s eyes trailed over the exposed stretch of him—chest rising and falling beneath a gold chain that caught the sunlight, sweat beginning to bead at his temples. She let her lips trail lazily down the column of his throat, leaving featherlight kisses there like warning shots. “You look good like this,” she said softly, words curling into his skin like smoke. “All obedient. All desperate.” Joe let out a strangled noise, something between a groan and a curse. Y/N’s grin only deepened. Her fingers dipped low again, teasing along the waistband of his trunks. She slipped past it slowly, nails grazing skin until she found him—hard, hot, throbbing against her palm. She wrapped her hand around him in a slow, devastating stroke.

Joe hissed, hips jerking. “Fuck—baby—” She leaned in close again, her lips barely brushing his as she whispered, “You can’t be loud, remember?” Her thumb circled the head in a cruel tease. “They’re right down there. You moan too loud, and Kayla’s gonna come up here and clown us both.” Joe’s eyes clenched shut, every muscle in his body pulled tight like a bowstring. She was playing with fire—and he was going to let her. Y/N braced one hand on his chest, lifting herself just enough to line them up. Her other hand guided him, the tip nudging against her as she slowly sank down. Inch by inch. Stretching. Filling. Her mouth parted in a silent gasp as he seated deep inside her, hips flush. Joe’s head thudded back against the cushion with force, a low groan escaping through clenched teeth. “Jesus—fuck—” “Shhh.” Her voice was a balm and a blade. She began to move—slow, deliberate rolls of her hips, every motion calculated to make him lose it. Her pace was steady, sensual, grinding down hard enough to make her eyes flutter, but never rushing. The sun lit her from behind, a golden halo on bare skin and shadows, her hands pressed flat against his chest for balance. Joe was wrecked. Completely.

His neck strained, jaw clenched, abs flexing under her palms as he fought to stay still, fought to obey. But it was hell—watching her move like that, feeling her squeeze him just right, her breasts swaying, lips parted in unspoken pleasure. “You’re trying so hard,” Y/N whispered, her voice thick with a heady mix of pride and lust. “Trying to be good. Trying not to fuck up my rhythm.” His eyes locked on hers, glazed and reverent. “I’m gonna lose it, baby—” Her smirk was pure evil. “Then lose it.”

She clenched around him—tight, hard, deliberate—and Joe’s restraint snapped like a frayed wire. His hands flew from behind his head, gripping her hips with a bruising intensity as he thrust up into her with a sharp, needy rhythm. His mouth dropped open, chest heaving, his release crashing over him in hard, shuddering waves. Y/N rode it out, still in control, still holding his gaze as his body bucked beneath hers. She kissed him through it—slow, sweet, grounding him even as he came apart. When he finally stilled, spent and panting, she let herself collapse forward against his chest, nuzzling into the curve of his neck. His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “I thought I was supposed to be in charge.” “You were,” she murmured. “Until I got bored.” Joe chuckled, arms wrapping around her waist as he dropped his head back again. “That’s so fucked up.” She smiled against his skin, her voice soft and satisfied. “Payback,” she whispered, “is a bitch.” And for a few quiet minutes—hidden in the sun-drenched stillness of the upper deck, with laughter echoing far below and the waves rocking gently beneath them—it was just the two of them again. No audience. No pretending. Just them. Exactly where they wanted to be.

They cleaned up in practiced silence, the kind that only came from two people used to toeing the edge of chaos. Y/N adjusted her bikini top, fingers deft as she retied the straps behind her neck and slipped her cover-up back over sun-warmed skin. Joe leaned forward on the lounger, one hand raking through his curls, the other tugging his trunks into something resembling decency again. His chest was still rising and falling a little too fast, skin flushed in the late-afternoon sun. She tossed him a cold bottle of water with a smirk. “You okay, quarterback?” Joe caught it one-handed, but barely. He cracked it open and took a long sip before dropping his head back against the cushion with a quiet groan. “You are dangerous.” Y/N leaned over and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek, her lips curved in that way that told him she was far too pleased with herself. “And you love it.”

He opened one eye, watching her with that dazed, blown-out look she’d learned to read all too well. Like he was halfway between speechless and completely obsessed. Like he’d follow her off the side of the boat if she asked. “I do,” he muttered, voice low. “Unfortunately.” Y/N just grinned and stood, slipping her sunglasses back on and smoothing the hem of her cover-up. There was a glow about her—more than sun or sweat or ocean spray. It was satisfaction, pride, power. Below deck, someone shouted, “Who took the last bag of chips?! And where’s the damn sunscreen?!” Y/N didn’t miss a beat. “On it!” she called back, tone bright and unbothered, already heading for the stairs like she hadn’t just rocked her man’s entire world in broad daylight. Joe didn’t move. He just sat there for a moment longer, staring at the spot where she’d been, blinking like he still wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened. The breeze tousled his curls, the sweat on his chest beginning to dry, and the gold chain around his neck glinted against his collarbone. He scrubbed a hand down his face, breath finally leveling out. “Payback, indeed,” he muttered. Then he smiled—slow and helpless—and got up to follow her.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The sun had melted into that magic hour haze—soft gold spilling across the sky like honey, staining the sea in swirls of fire and glass. The yacht bobbed gently in place, casting long shadows across the water. Every surface seemed to glow, from the white railings to the flicker of sunlight catching on Joe’s chain as he stood on the upper deck, a towel loose around his neck and a half-empty bottle of water resting in his palm. Down below, the world felt lighter. Laughter rang out over the waves—carefree, unfiltered. Y/N had swum out a little past the others, then spun around and nailed Kayla square in the face with a splash that sent her shrieking and cursing, sputtering through her laughter. “Bitch, I just got my lashes fixed!”

Y/N grinned, treading water with zero remorse. “And now they waterproof, you’re welcome!” Drea swam between them like a referee trying to restore peace at WrestleMania. “Can we not drown each other before dinner, please?” But Kayla was already lunging again, and Y/N disappeared beneath the surface, dragging Kayla with her in a squeal of chaos. Carmen’s voice echoed from the deck below, dry and amused. “I’m not diving in to save any of you. You knew the risks.” Joe didn’t laugh. He couldn’t. His lips curled, sure—but it was distant. Quiet.

Because all he could do was watch. Watch Y/N shimmer in the sun-drenched water. Watch her laugh with her whole body, toss her curls back without care, catch her breath like she had no idea someone a floor above her was hanging on every second of it. Every drop of her joy felt like it belonged to him and hurt to borrow at the same time. He didn’t even realize Carmen was beside him until she spoke. “You have feelings for her, don’t you?” Her voice was soft. Not accusatory. Not even surprised. Just steady. Like she already knew the answer and only wanted to hear him say it. Joe’s grip on the railing twitched. The words hit him like a slow-breaking wave—warm at first, then sudden, crushing. He blinked, like it would reset his composure. Like maybe if he played dumb, the moment would pass. “What?”

Carmen didn’t flinch. “You heard me.” Joe didn’t respond. Not right away. The muscles in his jaw clenched once, twice. He looked back toward the water like maybe Y/N would disappear if he took his eyes off her for too long. “She’s…” He exhaled. “We made an agreement. Keep it simple. No strings. Just fun.” He said it like a defense. Like a prayer. Carmen nodded slowly, arms folded across her chest. “And you were fine with that?” “I thought I was,” he said. Quietly. Like it hurt to admit. Down below, Y/N and Kayla were now trying to climb on Drea’s float at the same time, which led to all three of them toppling off into the sea with a chorus of screams. Drea’s laugh echoed like a bell over the water. Joe’s gaze didn’t waver. Not even for a second. “And now?” Carmen asked. He swallowed, the sound thick and heavy in his throat. “Now…” He hesitated. “Somewhere along the way, it stopped being simple. At least for me.” There was a long pause between them—long enough for the wind to shift slightly, bringing the scent of salt and sunscreen and something softer, like lemon balm and seafoam.

“She lights up around you,” Carmen said after a beat. “Even when she doesn’t realize it. You think that’s nothing?” “I think it’s fragile,” Joe murmured. “And if I say the wrong thing, it’ll break. And then I lose her.” Carmen tilted her head, studying him. “Or you keep pretending, and lose her anyway. To someone who does say something.” The possibility settled like a weight in Joe’s chest—sharp, unwelcome, real. He turned to her then, eyes shadowed beneath his lashes. “She wouldn’t.” Carmen didn’t move. “You sure about that?” Joe didn’t answer. Not with words. But his silence said enough.

Below, Y/N surfaced, water streaming down her back as she shook her curls loose and laughed again—her head tipped toward the sun, smile stretched wide like it had no end. Then, like clockwork, her gaze lifted. Right to him. Their eyes met. And for a moment, everything stopped. The sea. The sky. The laughter. All of it blurred into nothing as that quiet, charged line tethered them—an invisible pull that was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Joe’s voice broke through, barely more than a whisper. “I know her heart.” Carmen watched him closely. “And I know mine too.” He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t need to. Because whatever was between him and Y/N? It wasn’t casual anymore. And it never really had been.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The sun hung low on the horizon, casting the sea in ribbons of molten gold. It shimmered against every ripple, softening the edges of the waves and turning the ocean into a painter’s dream. The boat rocked gently in the distance, forgotten for now, while the girls floated a good distance out, limbs slack, hearts light from laughter. Salt clung to their skin like a second layer of glitter, evidence of the splash war that had just ended in a chaotic truce. Hair slicked back, bikini straps slightly askew, they floated like goddesses in the fading day—untouched by the world except for the water around them and the truths they danced around.

Y/N lay sprawled on a float, her arms trailing in the sea, fingers skimming the warm surface as she stared up at the sky. She looked peaceful on the outside. Serene. But inside? Her mind was tangled. Drea hung off the side of the same float, her tight coils half-drenched and clinging to her cheeks, sea spray dripping from her lashes. Kayla bobbed nearby on her own float, sunglasses perched low as she eyed Y/N with a smirk that meant trouble. It was Kayla who broke the silence first—of course it was. “Girl, don’t act all innocent,” she said, lifting her drink toward Y/N like she was making a toast. “We saw those movements up there.” Y/N blinked. “What movements?” Drea side-eyed her through the glare. “Don’t play dumb. You looked like a reverse cowgirl thirst trap on a luxury mattress.” “She said ‘luxury mattress’—I’m crying,” Kayla added dramatically, hand over her heart like she was offended on behalf of the yacht’s designer. “Honestly, I hope the crew’s getting hazard pay for witnessing that.”

Y/N groaned, dragging a wet hand down her face. Her cheeks were flushed, and not just from the sun. “It was payback, okay? He started it in the water.” “Started it?” Drea cackled. “Baby, he looked like he got hit by the holy spirit mid-stroke. That wasn’t just sex. That was divine punishment.” Y/N laughed despite herself, shaking her head, her body rocking gently with the waves. “Y’all are so dramatic.” “You’re lucky we’re your friends and not TMZ,” Kayla teased, tucking her sunglasses into her hair. “I would’ve gone viral with that quote alone. ‘NFL Quarterback Baptized by Boat Baddie in Quiet Revenge Romp.’” Y/N splashed water at her. “Shut up.”

But then they let it go quiet again for a while, drifting in lazy circles under the sunset. The kind of quiet that invites reflection whether you want it or not. Kayla was the one to break it—again. “So,” she said casually, flipping onto her stomach to face Y/N more directly, “when are you gonna put him out of his misery?” Y/N groaned louder this time, burying her face against the float. “Not this again.” “No,” Kayla said, suddenly sharp. “Exactly this again. Because this thing—this ‘oh we’re casual but we eye-fuck each other across rooms and don’t even look at anyone else’ thing? Has gone on for how long now?” “Y’all act like you’re married without the paperwork,” Drea added, floating closer with a lazy kick. “You dress him. He brushes your curls out of your lip gloss. And neither of you so much as blink at anyone else on tour.”

Y/N pulled her knees up on the float, arms wrapping around them. Her voice came quieter now. “It’s not that simple.” Kayla rolled her eyes. “That’s such a cop-out. What’s not simple? The part where he looks at you like the world starts and ends with you? Or the part where that man looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters—even when he’s got your pussy juice dripping off his lips?” Y/N gasped, wide-eyed. “Kayla!”

Before she could protest further, she lunged and dunked Kayla underwater by the shoulders. The screech that left her mouth before she disappeared was comically high-pitched. Drea burst into laughter, nearly tipping herself off her float. “Justice!” Kayla resurfaced seconds later, sputtering and wiping water from her face, coughing mid-laugh. “Okay, okay! You’re violent when you’re flustered!” Y/N flipped her curls back with exaggerated calm. “Maybe you shouldn’t talk shit.” “I wasn’t talking shit,” Kayla said, rubbing salt from her lashes. “I was talking truth. And Drea agrees.” Drea nodded, more serious now as she drifted beside them. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. And more importantly? I’ve seen the way you look at him. It’s not just sex, babe. It stopped being just sex a long time ago.” Y/N didn’t reply right away. She sat quiet on the float, watching the horizon—how the sun kissed the waves like it was saying goodbye. The breeze lifted the edges of her curls. Her voice came out small. “I can’t lose him.”

Neither of them interrupted. “If I say something,” she continued, her eyes still on the water, “if I mess it up… what if we change it and it all falls apart?” Kayla’s voice was gentler now. “And what if someone else comes along? Someone who doesn’t stay quiet about what they want? Someone who doesn’t tiptoe around the label and doesn’t leave space for confusion?” Y/N turned her head sharply. “He wouldn’t.” Kayla met her gaze evenly. “You wouldn’t. But him? You’re gambling on silence. That’s not a safe bet forever.” Y/N opened her mouth to argue.

But nothing came out. Because deep down, she knew. She knew she’d been holding her breath for weeks now—waiting for the moment things would either bloom into something real or dissolve into memory. She could feel it teetering on the edge, fragile and powerful all at once. “I just…” Her voice cracked a little. “I’d rather have him like this than risk not having him at all.” The silence that followed was soft. Heavy. Drea floated closer, bumping her foot gently against Y/N’s calf beneath the water. “I get that,” she said, voice kind. “I really do. But at some point, babe, you’ve gotta ask yourself something.” Y/N looked over. Drea smiled softly. “Is just having him enough… if you’re not sure he’s really yours?”

“Alright, mermaids,” Carmen’s voice called out from the upper deck—sharp, commanding, but not without warmth. “Dry off and get your asses back up here—we’re heading back to the villa.” The words rang across the water like a bell, clear and final. Y/N blinked, startled slightly as her float shifted beneath her with the lazy motion of the tide. She hadn’t realized how far her mind had drifted. How long she’d been floating not just on the sea—but inside her own thoughts. They pressed at the edge of her chest now, making it feel a little too tight, like the salt air had folded in on itself and settled in her lungs.

Kayla groaned dramatically as she began paddling toward the yacht, her arms moving just enough to keep from sinking. “Damn, and I was just starting to enjoy the salt scrubbing the sin off me.” Y/N smirked faintly, the corners of her mouth twitching. “You’ll need more than seawater for that,” she muttered. But the tease came out distant, hollow. Her voice didn’t carry the way it usually did. And her gaze had already drifted upward, to the soft curve of the boat's railing and the figure that had stepped just out of the shadows. Joe.

He was standing near the helm, towel slung loosely over his head as he rubbed at his damp curls. His posture was relaxed on the surface—lean, effortless, sun-glazed—but there was something different underneath. A quiet tension. His shoulders were set just a little too stiff, and the way he paused when he saw her—like he hadn’t expected to meet her eyes—spoke volumes neither of them had the language for yet. Y/N watched him, heart pinched. He hadn’t said anything in a while. Not since the water. Not since the ladder. Not since their hands had let go. Her float rocked slightly as she slipped off and began to swim toward the back of the boat, every stroke mechanical. Each pull through the water dragged against the weight in her chest—the echo of Kayla’s words still circling like a storm caught in the eye. What if someone else comes along… Y/N bit the inside of her cheek and climbed the ladder, one rung at a time. The water streamed off her in steady rivulets, catching the late sun like melted gold. Her muscles ached, not from swimming, but from holding something back for too long.

Once on the deck, she wrung out her curls, grabbing the towel draped across the nearest chair. The soft cotton clung to her salt-sticky skin, and for a second it felt too abrasive, too real. When she glanced up, Joe was already looking at her. They locked eyes—just for a second. A fleeting, charged second. But it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff. His towel was slung around his neck now, chain gleaming at his chest like fire struck from metal. The sun caught the gold just right, made him look almost surreal. But there was nothing casual about the way his brows pulled together, the way he studied her—not like a man watching a girl he wanted, but a man watching something he was afraid to lose.

And her? She knew her smile didn’t quite make it all the way up. It hovered halfway on her lips and then faded like a wave pulling back before it ever reached shore. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them had to. But everything between them felt too loud in the silence. Carmen bustled past a second later, clipboard in hand and focus locked on a checklist. “We’ve got fifteen minutes to dock,” she announced, barely glancing up. “Dry off, double-check your shit, and please don’t slip—Kayla, that means you.” “Y’all act like I’m the one who needs child supervision,” Kayla muttered as she flopped onto a lounger, towel wrapped like a burrito, cheeks flushed and voice syrupy with sun and drink.

Drea followed with a laugh and a shake of her head, already stretching her arms like she’d just left a dance floor. Carmen disappeared below deck barking something about playlists and sunscreen. And just like that, the noise returned. But Y/N wasn’t part of it. She sank onto the bench beside the railing, the sea breeze catching her damp skin in cooling waves. She dabbed herself dry, but her movements were distracted, her attention flicking sideways like a magnet pulled off-center. Joe hadn’t moved. He was still by the railing, now leaning with one arm braced against the rail, his bottle of water dangling from the other hand. He wasn’t looking at her anymore. He was staring out to sea. Quiet. Detached. Beautiful in that devastating way only he could be when he didn’t try. And still, that charged line tethered between them remained—tense and humming, vibrating beneath the noise and the wind and the quiet chatter of everyone else. Neither of them crossed it. Not yet. But something had shifted. Quietly. Irrevocably. The kind of shift that doesn’t break with thunder or lightning—but arrives like the tide: inch by inch, undeniable. A change you don’t notice until your feet are already underwater and the shoreline behind you is gone.

The yacht cut through the water with a steady, low hum, the engines pulsing beneath the deck like a heartbeat. The horizon stretched out ahead of them, a watercolor of pink and gold bleeding into soft blue, the last sliver of sun melting into the sea. Everyone else had slipped into the comfortable lull that always followed a day in the sun—Carmen curled up with her tablet under a blanket near the front lounge, Kayla half-asleep with a towel over her face, and Drea humming faintly to a playlist no one else could hear, legs draped over the bench beside her. But not Y/N. And not Joe.

They sat at the rear of the boat, tucked in the corner near the railing, backs pressed against the cushioned bench seats. The gentle rock of the yacht gave everything a soft rhythm, like a cradle being pushed by invisible hands. Y/N’s legs were folded up onto the bench, her towel loosely wrapped around her waist, arms crossed tight across her chest—not from the chill, but from something more internal. Contained. Guarded. Joe sat beside her, elbows on his thighs, a towel draped around his neck. His curls were still damp and a little unruly, and his skin had that sun-warmed glow—like someone who belonged outside, in motion, kissed by the sea. His posture was relaxed, but his jaw was tight. Every now and then, the boat shifted and their knees brushed. And neither of them moved away. They weren’t talking. They weren’t touching. But they weren’t not, either. There was something there in the silence—something with weight, with shape. Not loud. But felt. In the static hum between their shoulders. In the way Y/N’s hand would shift every few minutes, her pinky just barely brushing his. In how Joe’s fingers twitched when it happened—but never closed around hers. Never reached.

Because reaching meant choosing. Reaching meant admitting. And neither of them were ready for that. Y/N’s gaze drifted out across the darkening sea, her jaw set in quiet tension. The wind tugged gently at the ends of her damp curls, cooling the places where sunlight had once blazed. She could still hear Kayla’s voice—blunt and undeniable—echoing like a drumbeat in her mind: You haven’t even entertained anyone else in how long? That man looks at you like you’re the only thing that matters… Y/N exhaled slowly through her nose, biting the inside of her cheek.

Beside her, Joe finally broke the silence. “You tired?” he asked, voice low—gentle in the way you only speak when you’re afraid of what might come after the answer. She turned slightly toward him, her heart pinched, throat dry. “A little.” He nodded, not looking at her. “Long day.” She hesitated. “Yeah. Good day, though.” This time, he looked. Really looked. His head turned, eyes finding hers in the soft wash of sunset. “Yeah,” he murmured. “It was.” The space between them shifted—tightened. Their eyes locked for a second too long. The kind of look that says everything and nothing. The kind of look that should’ve ended in a kiss… but didn’t. They both looked away. At the same time. Too careful. Too aware.

Y/N’s hand slid against the seat as she shifted. Her pinky brushed his again. This time, Joe didn’t flinch. He didn’t move closer, but he didn’t move away either. His hand just… stayed. Right there. Still. Open. The quiet between them held. Thick. Loaded. And then the yacht dipped slightly, catching a soft swell, and their shoulders bumped lightly, the contact a whisper—but somehow seismic. Still, neither said a word. Neither leaned in. But neither leaned out. They rode like that—suspended in the stillness between what was and what might be. The sun dipped lower behind them, casting the world in amber and rose and a kind of fragile stillness that felt like standing at the edge of a decision. Back to the villa. Back to real life. Back to whatever the hell this was turning into. Because it wasn’t just sex anymore. It hadn’t been for a while. And if they both knew it… how much longer could they pretend not to?

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The sun had nearly set by the time they pulled up to the villa, casting long shadows across the cliffs and soaking the world in that last amber glow before twilight. The salt-crusted yacht bumped gently against the dock, rocking in a lullaby rhythm as the crew secured the lines. Everyone moved slower than usual. It wasn’t just the long day, the sea air, or the drinks. It was the way the sun seemed to press down heavier now, the way the breeze skimmed over skin like it was trying to soothe something deeper. They filed off the boat with sleepy steps and quiet chatter, shoulders pink from sun, limbs heavy from laughter and swimming. But something had shifted. Something unspoken but unmistakable. Maybe the others didn’t notice. But Joe and Y/N did. They hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words since that boat ride. No playful teasing. No smirking glances or brush of fingers. No secret smiles behind wet towels.

Just silence. Just a nod. Y/N wrapped her towel tighter around her body as they stepped onto the stone path, even though the air was still warm—thick with the scent of salt and jasmine. Her hair clung to her shoulders in damp curls, and her skin prickled with the echo of his touch from earlier. Joe followed behind, one step slower, his eyes cast downward, jaw clenched. He looked like he was walking through fog, each footfall heavier than the last. There was a distance now—not physical, not angry—but something more dangerous. Uncertainty. “Alright,” Carmen called as the villa doors opened with a sweep of coastal air, clipboard still in hand. “We’ve got a couple hours before food gets here. Go shower, nap, hydrate—just be dressed before dark, please.” Kayla let out a groan that sounded half-yawn, half-dramatic sigh. “Y’all ain’t gotta tell me twice. I’m sleeping in a towel if I have to.” The rest of the group laughed softly, peeling off like well-rehearsed choreography, everyone moving into familiar routines. Flip-flops slapped against the cool tile. Towels dropped onto bathroom floors. Somewhere upstairs, music began to drift—a lazy, beachy melody that barely cut through the hush that had wrapped around Joe and Y/N like a separate tide.

They stood just inside the door, the last ones left in the entryway. Still silent. Still distant. Still pulsing with everything unspoken. They paused at the bottom of the staircase, the wide wooden steps rising toward their shared room on the second floor. For a moment—just a flicker—it looked like Joe was going to speak. His eyes found hers, mouth parted slightly, that familiar furrow between his brows deepening. She held his gaze, waiting. But the words never came. He looked away. “I think I’m gonna grab a shower downstairs,” he muttered, voice low and rough, like it had been dragged across gravel. Y/N nodded once. “Yeah. Cool. I might lay out on the balcony for a bit.” “Okay.” The quiet between them stretched, awkward in its simplicity. And then they turned, walking in opposite directions—like two magnets forced to repel. Not angry. Not cold. Just… Off.

Like something had snagged between them, and neither of them knew how to untangle it. Y/N climbed the stairs slowly, towel still damp against her spine, her curls drying in loose spirals around her face. The air inside the villa was cooler, still humming faintly with leftover warmth from the day. She reached their room, pausing with her hand on the doorframe, and hesitated for half a breath—like walking through it might change something. Then she pushed it open and slipped inside. She didn’t turn on the light. The orange-pink haze of sunset bathed the room in melancholy, soft shadows reaching across the bed. Everything smelled faintly of sunscreen and sea breeze. She moved toward the balcony doors and opened them without a sound. The air outside was warm, hushed. The sea in the distance had calmed, the waves lazy and rhythmic now, the kind of silence that made everything else feel louder. She settled onto the lounge chair, curling her knees to her chest, chin resting on them. The towel was still wrapped loosely around her hips, but her upper body shivered despite the heat.

Not crying. Not spiraling. But feeling it. All of it. Kayla’s voice. Drea’s look. The sound of Joe’s breath when she teased him earlier. The way his pinky had brushed hers on the boat. The way he looked at her like she was the only thing left in the world. The way she hadn’t known how to hold it all. Below, she could hear the soft hiss of water through pipes—Joe’s shower. Her mind painted the scene easily: his towel slung over the hook, his head bowed beneath the stream, maybe one hand pressed to the wall, maybe wondering the same thing she was. What the hell are we doing? She blinked up at the horizon, where the last edge of sun kissed the water. Her throat felt tight. Her skin felt too warm and too bare. They’d crossed a line today. Not just the physical one. And even if no one else said it aloud… Something had changed. They could keep pretending. Keep toeing the edge, dancing between desire and denial. Keep using silence as armor. But silence wasn’t saving them anymore. It was just slowly pulling them apart.

The wind had picked up slightly, warm and fragrant from the sea, carrying traces of salt and something softer—jasmine, maybe, or bougainvillea blooming on the far side of the terrace. It stirred the curtains behind her and lifted the loose ends of her towel, coaxing goosebumps to rise along her arms despite the lingering heat. The sun was now a sliver on the edge of the horizon, an ember fading into seafoam. It threw long, molten shadows across the villa’s whitewashed walls, turning every surface gold and pink, like the whole world was holding its breath for what came next. Y/N sat curled on the lounge chair just outside the balcony doors, legs tucked beneath her, the oversized towel still cinched at her waist like armor—soft but firm, a barrier between her body and the world.

Between her and the ache she hadn’t been able to name until now. The silence had settled thick around her. Not peaceful. Not quiet. Just... tight. Like something closing in. She hadn’t moved in a while. Hadn’t spoken. Had barely breathed, it felt like. So she reached for her journal. It was wedged into the side pocket of her beach bag—worn leather, the edges softened from travel and time, corners curling with use. She ran her fingers across the cover once, then opened it and flipped past old memories—half-finished lyrics, voice memos jotted down as phrases, scratchy bars of melody no one else had ever heard.

She lingered over one page—something she’d written a month ago in Madrid. The ink had smudged from the sweat on her wrist. The lyric didn’t hit the same now. She turned the page. Then another. And finally landed on one that was clean. Her chest lifted on a slow, steady breath as she twirled her pen between her fingers. She could still hear the low hum of Joe’s shower below—the pipes shifting, a faucet squealing faintly, the whisper of water tracing down his back. The same back she’d pressed her hands to earlier. The same voice she’d tried to keep quiet with her mouth. The same man who hadn’t said a single thing since they came back. But his silence had spoken plenty. So now, hers would too. She clicked her pen. And began to write.

[LYRICS]

Title (TBD): “Almost”

You touch me like you mean it / but you never say the words

I kiss you like I need it / but I never let it hurt

We dance around the silence / like it’s safer than the fall

But lately when you look at me / I swear I see it all.

Pre-Chorus:

So tell me why we’re still pretending

When our hearts are in the room

Every brush of skin’s a question

I’m too scared to give to you

Chorus:

We're almost something / more than lovers

Caught between the lines we drew

I’m yours in the dark / but the light makes it harder

To say I’m falling into you

So I keep quiet / I keep control

But almost is breaking my soul

She paused there, pen hovering just above the page, lips slightly parted. Her eyes burned—not enough to cry, just enough to sting. The kind of sting that came from writing something too close to the bone. Something that felt truer than she was ready to admit. She sniffed and blinked the heat away. But her hand moved again. She wasn’t done.

Second Verse:

You laugh like we’ve got time / but I feel the clock tickin’

I see the way you hide it / in the space you never sit in

And when our hands brush by mistake / you always look away

But I swear you only do that when you’re scared of what you’d say

This time when she stopped, it was because she couldn’t go any further. Not yet. She set the pen down and sat back, shoulders sinking into the cushions as her head tipped toward the darkening sky. The breeze caught her hair and scattered it across her cheek, and she let it. It wasn’t a full song. But it was something. Raw. Real. And for the first time in weeks, she didn’t just feel the confusion as a fog in her chest. She had shape-shifted it into something tangible. Something she could look at. She had named it. Named the ache. The fear. The want. The almost. And maybe—just maybe—that was the first step toward figuring out whether this was the beginning of something more… Or the beginning of goodbye.

The balcony light had dimmed to a faint amber halo, its warm glow soft against the creeping dusk. Beyond the rail, the sea had darkened into deep indigo, swallowing the last traces of gold as the sun disappeared beneath the horizon. The wind, once a constant companion, had stilled completely—leaving only the hush of evening and the faint hush of waves lapping below. But Y/N’s pen hadn’t stopped. She sat curled back in the lounge chair, posture tight but focused, her journal balanced against one thigh. Her hand moved slower now, less precise. The final chorus sprawled across the page in looping strokes, her handwriting messier than usual, smudged where the side of her palm had rested too long against the paper.

Final Chorus (Revised):

We’re almost something / too close to name

One wrong word could burn the flame

So I bite my tongue / and play my part

But I feel your hands like a brand on my heart

And I’d rather be yours in shadows alone

Than risk the light and end up unknown

Almost is easy / Until it’s not

And silence is cruel / When it costs what you want

She stared at it, heart thudding a little harder with every word she reread. The lyrics didn’t just bleed truth—they screamed it. Every line carved from the tension she hadn’t been able to name aloud. Not to him. Not to herself. Not until now. A soft creak from behind startled her. The hairs on her arms rose before her head even turned. She already knew. Joe. He stood in the doorway of the balcony, leaning one shoulder against the frame. He’d changed—clean black T-shirt clinging to his chest, soft cotton shorts low on his hips. His curls were still damp from the shower, loose and drying in lazy coils. He smelled like cedarwood, soap, and the kind of warmth that never quite left her skin even after he did. His eyes met hers and lingered just a second too long. Not invasive. Just… searching. Y/N’s heart thudded. She snapped the journal closed in one quiet, instinctive motion and tucked it swiftly into the open side of her suitcase, masking the move with a folded hoodie tossed over top. Not to hide it. Not really. Just to protect it. To protect herself. “Hey,” she said softly as she stood, brushing invisible lint from the towel still looped around her waist. Joe nodded, his voice low. “Hey.” The air between them was taut—tight but not cold. Not angry. Just full of things left unsaid. Like stepping into a room where a conversation had been paused mid-sentence, and neither of them quite knew how to press play.

He didn’t ask what she’d been writing. She didn’t offer. Y/N turned toward the closet, fingers gliding along the hangers until she found the one she wanted—a soft, earth-toned dress, silky and light, the kind that clung in all the right places and swayed when she walked. She hadn’t picked it for him. Not deliberately. But she remembered how his eyes lingered the last time she wore it. Behind her, Joe shifted, his arms folding across his chest as he leaned into the doorframe. Watching. Not hovering. Just being there, like he didn’t quite know where else to stand. “I think dinner’s in like, fifteen?” he said, his voice gentle but edged with something uncertain. Testing the waters. Y/N nodded without looking at him. “Cool. I’ll be ready.” He hesitated then, weight shifting from one foot to the other. “You want me to wait?” Her hand paused on the hanger. She turned, eyes meeting his. And for a moment, she saw it. The softness. The effort. The way he was trying, even now, to leave the door open without forcing his way through it. Her chest tugged, aching in a way that was both tender and terrifying. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” she said quietly. It wasn’t rejection. But it wasn’t yes either. Joe nodded, jaw tight, and pushed off the doorframe. “Okay.” He left without another word. The door closed with a gentle click, the kind that somehow felt louder than a slam.

Y/N stood there, dress in hand, chest too tight for how calm the room looked around her. She stared at the door a moment longer, then finally exhaled—long and quiet. Not because she didn’t want him there. But because she did. Because wanting him—still wanting him—felt like standing at the edge of something too high, too far, and knowing the fall would ruin her if she jumped at the wrong moment. And for the first time, that want wasn’t thrilling. It was terrifying.

The long outdoor dining table was set under a canopy of string lights, each bulb glowing soft and golden like fireflies suspended midair. Their glow flickered in rhythm with the swaying palms, casting gentle shadows across stucco walls and the open courtyard. The air was thick with the scent of ocean salt and saffron, the heat of the day melting into something gentler—sticky-sweet and slow. Platters of seafood paella steamed in the center of the table, flanked by bowls of roasted vegetables, charred lemon halves, garlic bread, and fresh fruit glistening with condensation. Wine glasses clinked under candlelight, their contents shifting ruby and gold with each lift and sip. Y/N slid into her seat, the soft, earth-toned dress molding effortlessly to her curves. Her curls were pinned up, leaving the long line of her neck exposed, and her earrings caught the flicker of the string lights like little sparks. Across from her, Joe sat in silence—his fitted black shirt clung slightly to his skin, still warm from the shower. His curls were loose, jaw tight, and his eyes didn’t settle anywhere for long. He looked like a man with a full plate and an even fuller mind.

They hadn’t exchanged a word since she came downstairs. At first, the others didn’t notice. The music was low, the laughter easy, wine pouring freely. Someone cracked a joke about the boat ride. Kayla offered a dramatic retelling of her splash war defeat. Carmen teased Drea about using sunscreen for the first time all trip. The conversation flowed around them like water around a stone. But the imbalance didn’t stay hidden for long. Kayla noticed first. She sipped from her wine glass and tilted her head, eyes darting between Y/N and Joe. She squinted slightly, then leaned back in her chair, brows slowly rising. Drea caught the shift next. Her gaze bounced from Joe’s untouched shrimp to Y/N’s tense posture, her fingers tapping restlessly on the stem of her glass. They were always close at dinner. Always. Elbows brushing, legs tangling under the table, sharing bites, whispering things behind grins and smirks. But now? Now there was a space between them wide enough to feel.

Carmen leaned forward, resting her chin on one hand and lifting her wine glass with the other. "So… are you two fighting, or just trying out a new ‘cool detachment’ aesthetic tonight?" Y/N blinked, fork pausing mid-air. “What?” Joe looked up, his brows drawn, fingers curled around his knife. “We’re not fighting.” “No,” Kayla echoed slowly, tone dry. “You’re just… acting like strangers who’ve definitely seen each other naked.” The table broke into laughter. Drea snorted. Carmen nearly choked on her wine. Joe let out a shallow breath and scratched the back of his neck, his grin small and strained. “We’re just tired. Long day.” “Right,” Drea said, smirking. “Tired. That explains the complete disappearance of the sexual tension y’all usually radiate like a damn space heater.” “Okay, can we not turn this into a therapy session over seafood?” Y/N replied with a forced laugh, stabbing a piece of squash on her plate.

Kayla reached for a piece of garlic bread, tearing it slowly, eyes never leaving Y/N’s face. “I’m just saying… it’s weird vibes. Especially for two people who usually can’t go ten minutes without eye-fucking each other.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “We’re fine.” Joe echoed her with a quick, quiet nod. “All good.” But the tension hung there, heavy and obvious. The table shifted uncomfortably, then tried to move on. Carmen cracked a joke about booking a group massage. Drea made a comment about stealing wine glasses from every country they visited. Kayla slipped in a one-liner that made everyone laugh again. The conversation found its rhythm—but not without the occasional glance exchanged across the table.

Every time Y/N tried to laugh, it felt just a beat too late. Every time Joe picked up his wine, he drank like it might fill the silence stretching between them. That empty space between their chairs carried more weight than either of them could name. By the time dessert arrived—small flan dishes in ceramic ramekins, candles now melted to stubs—Carmen stood, stacking empty plates with a sigh. “Tension thicker than the flan,” she muttered under her breath. No one laughed that time. And Joe and Y/N didn’t look at each other at all.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The villa had finally quieted. The last echoes of laughter from the courtyard had faded into the night. Wine glasses had been cleared, dishes rinsed and stacked, the soft hum of conversation replaced by the occasional creak of cooling wood and the distant hush of waves brushing the cliffside. Drea and Kayla had vanished to their rooms after a sleepy goodbye, and Carmen had disappeared upstairs with a firm reminder tossed over her shoulder: “Six a.m. lobby call. Don’t be late or I’m leaving you.” No one argued. But Joe hadn’t followed. Instead, he lingered behind—drifting into the kitchen like he needed something he couldn’t name. The space was mostly dark, lit only by the under-cabinet glow and the soft spill of moonlight across the floor from the wide, arched windows. The scent of garlic, lemon, and red wine still hung in the air, mingling with the faint salt of the ocean drifting through the half-cracked door. He leaned against the counter, arms folded, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the veined marble like it might offer an answer if he stared long enough. He didn’t hear her footsteps until she was already there. Y/N stood barefoot in the doorway, her curls now loosened and falling around her shoulders, her makeup faded into something softer, more intimate. She hadn’t changed. The same earth-toned dress clung to her frame like it belonged there. Like it was meant to be worn when everything else had been stripped down. Her voice was quiet. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Joe didn’t look at her at first. Just shook his head once. “Didn’t try yet.” She stepped inside, slowly. The wood floor cool under her toes, the air heavier than it had been all day. Still warm, still scented like summer, but quieter now. Expectant. “You disappeared,” she said, not accusing—just observing. He finally glanced up at her. “Didn’t think anyone noticed.” “I noticed.” That landed with more weight than either of them expected. It sat between them, low and quiet, thick with everything they hadn’t said. Y/N crossed the room and opened the fridge, the cool air ghosting over her skin as she grabbed a glass bottle of water. She twisted the cap and took a slow sip, eyes never leaving him over the rim. Joe was still watching her—like he couldn’t help it. Like it hurt to look and hurt worse not to. She leaned against the opposite counter, one hip cocked, the bottle dangling from her fingers. “You okay?” she asked, softly now. “Yeah,” he said. But it wasn’t real. It was too even. Too careful. She raised a brow. “You’ve been off since earlier. Even before dinner. Something shifted after the boat.” Joe didn’t look away. “So have you.” She didn’t deny it. Just pressed her lips together and stared down at the water bottle, slowly turning the cap like she could twist her thoughts into something manageable.

After a long pause, she said quietly, almost teasing, “Didn’t know you were paying that much attention.” His voice was barely more than a breath. “I always do.” That was the moment. The one they’d both been avoiding. The crack in the dam. The slip of truth neither of them could catch in time. They didn’t rush. No frenzied hands, no sharp breaths. Just movement—slow and deliberate, like gravity had finally pulled them toward the place they’d both been circling all day. Y/N took two steps forward. Joe met her halfway. When he cupped her jaw, she didn’t flinch. Her eyes fluttered closed, breath catching, her lips parting just slightly as his forehead came to rest against hers. They stayed there—frozen in a breathless hush. Close enough to feel everything. Every pulse. Every ounce of tension. Every word that hadn’t been said. Then—softly, fully—he kissed her. It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t playful. It wasn’t a continuation of earlier. It was slow. Intentional. Almost reverent. Their mouths moved together in a rhythm that felt older than them—like their bodies already knew what it meant even if their minds were still catching up. Joe’s fingers slid into her curls, anchoring gently. Y/N’s hands fisted the front of his shirt, knuckles brushing warm skin beneath as she leaned in closer, her chest brushing his.

But after a moment, she pulled back—only slightly. Enough to look at him. To breathe. Her thumb brushed his jaw, featherlight. “We should go to bed,” she said, voice low. Almost shy. Joe nodded, his throat working. “Yeah.” Neither of them moved. Then she added, with the ghost of a smile, “Together. Just sleep.” Joe paused. Not because he didn’t want more—but because the simplicity of it was somehow more intimate than anything else could’ve been. He nodded again. “Okay.” She reached for his hand. Slipped her fingers between his. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t performative. But the way her fingers curled into his like muscle memory made something shift deep in his chest. They walked out of the kitchen together, quiet and barefoot, the hush of the villa night closing around them like a blanket. They didn’t talk about what the kiss meant. Not yet. But it lived between them now. And it would follow them up the stairs, into the dark. Into whatever came next.

By the time they reached the bedroom, the villa had gone still. The kind of stillness that settled deep, where even the walls seemed to exhale. There was no more laughter from the courtyard. No footsteps overhead. Just the faint rustle of palm fronds outside and the occasional creak of the old beams above, the house slowly settling into its bones. Joe eased the door shut behind them with a soft click, not bothering to turn on the main light. The room was already bathed in the soft glow from a lamp left on low by the bedside—just enough to make the room feel warm, not empty. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Joe veered off toward the closet, moving with quiet purpose, while Y/N padded across the rug toward the vanity. She didn’t glance back at him, just pulled out the pins still threaded through her curls, letting them fall freely around her shoulders with a relieved sigh. Her fingers worked slowly, mechanically, as she tugged open the top drawer and reached for her nighttime routine. Cleanser. Balm. Cotton pads. The ritual was second nature. Something grounding. Something that gave her hands a purpose while her heart slowed to something steadier.

Behind her, she heard the soft whisper of fabric—Joe pulling off his shirt, the heavy thunk of his socks landing in the small laundry basket tucked in the corner. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t come over. Just moved around her the way someone does when they’ve lived in your space long enough to understand how to leave room. She caught his eyes in the mirror once—just a flicker, a moment. He was watching her again. Always watching. Not in a hungry, possessive way. In a familiar way. Like she was the only part of the room that mattered. She didn’t speak. Just reached into the drawer and slid a folded towel across the counter toward him, nodding toward the sink beside hers. Joe stepped into place beside her, washing his face without fanfare, their elbows bumping softly as they moved in tandem. Once. Twice. They didn’t flinch. No tension. Just rhythm. Y/N swiped a final dab of moisturizer along her cheekbones, then popped the cap back on and moved to brush her teeth. Joe grabbed his toothbrush wordlessly beside her. It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t some choreographed routine. But they flowed around each other with ease—like muscle memory, or maybe something deeper. She didn’t realize how heavy her limbs had felt until they’d begun to unwind. After she rinsed her mouth and patted her face dry, she reached for her bonnet, slipping it over her curls without thinking. When she turned, Joe was already pulling on a pair of soft gray shorts, his bare chest still damp and warm from the washcloth.

Without saying a word, he grabbed one of his oldest, softest black tees from the open suitcase at the foot of the bed and handed it to her. Y/N didn’t hesitate. She took it with both hands, pressing the fabric to her face for half a second before pulling it over her head. The hem hit just below her hips. The sleeves swallowed her upper arms. And the scent—clean skin, cedar, and something unmistakably him—wrapped around her like another kind of blanket. Joe was already at the bed by then, pulling the sheets down. The overhead fan whirred faintly as he turned it on, its breeze stirring the corners of the comforter. “Want the fan on?” he asked, voice low and rough from the long day. She nodded, her voice softer still. “Please.” He climbed into bed first, scooting over with an unspoken understanding, lifting the covers on her side and curling his arm slightly behind him in silent invitation. Y/N hesitated only for a second. Not because she didn’t want to be close. But because being close like this—not tangled in heat or teasing or performance—felt different. Real. She slid in beside him slowly, the cool sheets brushing her bare thighs. She turned onto her side, back to his chest, and felt him shift behind her, adjusting until the planes of their bodies aligned like puzzle pieces long overdue to fit.

His hand found her waist—tentative at first, then firm in its steadiness—as it slipped beneath the hem of the shirt to rest flat against her stomach. No pressure. No expectation. Just contact. Just there. Y/N reached down without thinking, curling her fingers around his and lacing them tight. His thumb brushed against hers once. Twice. Then stilled. She could feel his breath against the back of her neck. The way he exhaled slower. The press of his lips ghosting over her shoulder—so light it might’ve been a dream. But she felt it. And it felt like a promise. Her eyes fluttered shut. She didn’t smile. Not exactly. But she didn’t ache anymore either. Not with him here. Not with the way he held her like this. Not with the silence finally feeling like comfort instead of distance. He tucked his face into the curve of her neck. She squeezed his hand once more. And together, in the hush of a moonlit room, they finally let themselves rest.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The smell of brewing coffee drifted through the villa like a soft, familiar alarm—one no one had set, but everyone welcomed. It curled through open doorways, nudged under covers, and pulled a few groggy murmurs from behind closed doors. Somewhere in the hallway, the creak of wood gave way to the shuffle of slippers and the clink of glassware. But Y/N was already awake. She stood barefoot in the kitchen, blinking slow behind the steam rising from the French press, one of Joe’s oversized black tees draped over her like a shift dress. The hem skimmed the tops of her thighs. The sleeves were bunched at her elbows, exposing smooth forearms and soft, sleep-warmed skin. Her bonnet had been abandoned somewhere on the vanity in favor of a loose, messy bun piled atop her head—curls fraying at the edges like they had minds of their own. She didn’t care. She was too deep in the calm. The quiet kind of morning calm that only came after a storm had finally passed. Y/N moved through the motions with the ease of routine—mug, mug, cinnamon, two sugars, a splash of oat milk. She didn’t hum or put music on. Didn’t scroll her phone. Just let the warm scent of roast beans and the soft bubbling of the pot fill the silence. Footsteps padded in behind her. Then a low, drawn-out yawn. Joe. She didn’t have to look to know.

He stepped in behind her and hovered there for a moment—heat radiating from his chest, hands loose at his sides, curls still damp from sleep. The chain at his collarbone glinted faintly in the morning light. Then, without a word, he lowered his chin until it rested gently on her shoulder. Just a touch. Just a beat. The kind that said everything and nothing at all. Y/N passed him his mug before he could reach. He took it without comment, their fingers brushing for a second too long to be casual—but not long enough to be labeled. He didn’t let go right away. Neither did she. They both sipped quietly, leaning just close enough to feel it—the warmth, the newness, the shift between them that had taken root in the quiet hours of the night. The space between them wasn’t gone. But it was softer now. Easier. Not heavy. Just understood.

And then, as always, the spell broke with the sound of someone else’s slippers sliding across the floor. Kayla. She appeared in the kitchen doorway with her sleep mask pushed up onto her forehead, one hand on her hip, the other still holding her phone like she might record this for evidence. She arched a brow and grinned. “Well, well,” she said, drawing the words out like she’d been waiting all morning to say them. “Coffee and coordinated energy? Y’all back to being disgustingly cute again?” Y/N didn’t turn. Just smirked into her mug. “Don’t start.” “Oh, I’m not starting anything,” Kayla said, sauntering toward the counter. “I’m just observing the facts. And the facts are: last night y’all were giving tense divorce energy, and now you’re out here acting like a Pinterest board.” Joe gave a soft snort behind his cup. “I will pour this on you,” Y/N muttered, lifting her mug slightly in Joe’s direction. “Oh no, not your cinnamon blend,” he teased. Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re lucky I haven’t weaponized it already.”

Drea wandered in next, hoodie zipped halfway up, one slipper on, the other lost somewhere between the hallway and here. Her eyes were still squinty, like she hadn’t fully recovered from the night before. “What’d I miss?” she mumbled. “Everything,” Kayla said at the same time Y/N answered, “Nothing.” Drea blinked, squinting between them as she slid onto a stool at the kitchen island. “Well y’all were weird at dinner. Now you’re… post-sex normal. Like... real settled.” “Thank you for that,” Joe said dryly, taking another sip of coffee. His voice was rough, deepened by sleep, but laced with a certain calm he hadn’t had the night before. “Mhm,” Kayla hummed, nudging Drea. “I said what I said.” Carmen entered last—already dressed, her hair in a sleek bun, tablet in one hand, water bottle in the other. She didn’t even look up as she crossed the kitchen. “Are they talking about your sex life again?” she asked, voice clipped. “Always,” Y/N muttered with a sigh. Joe shot her a sidelong glance, one brow lifting as he fought back a smile. They weren’t holding hands. They weren’t tangled up in each other. But something had changed. Something small. Something sure. It was in the way she took the last sip of her coffee, and he immediately moved to pour her a little more without asking. It was in the way her foot tapped his lightly under the breakfast bar—and how his didn’t move away. In the way he leaned a little closer when she yawned, like he might pull her into his side without needing an excuse. The shift wasn’t loud. Wasn’t public. Wasn’t for anyone else at all. But it was there. Stronger than silence. Quieter than tension. And undeniably real.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The streets of Valletta shimmered under the late morning sun, each stone bathed in gold. The city glowed—honey-hued limestone buildings rising like warm relics from another era, their facades kissed by light and softened by time. Wrought-iron balconies overflowed with tumbling bougainvillea, petals swaying in the sea breeze like confetti caught mid-fall. The scent of warm bread drifted from a nearby bakery, mingling with citrus and something floral and sharp that rolled in off the water—salt and rosemary, maybe, or blooming oleander. Y/N walked a few steps ahead of the group, sundress fluttering with each stride. The thin fabric hugged her just right, skimming the tops of her thighs and catching in the occasional breeze that swept up the narrow alleyways. Her curls were pinned beneath a silk scarf tied at the nape of her neck, oversized sunglasses perched on her face like armor and attitude all at once.

She turned back slightly, casting a glance over her shoulder with the kind of smirk that made hearts stop. "You gonna keep following me or finally walk beside me, quarterback?" Joe grinned, hands tucked into the pockets of his linen shorts, his tee clinging just a little from the heat. A few strands of his curls stuck to his forehead, drying in the breeze, and there was a faint flush rising on his cheeks—not from exertion, but from the way she looked at him. From the way she always looked at him. “I like the view from here,” he called back without missing a beat. A chorus of groans followed. “Oh my God,” Drea muttered as she adjusted her sunglasses. “Worse than teenagers.” “Y’all need a bell or somethin’,” Kayla added dryly, snapping a photo of a nearby balcony draped in fuchsia blooms. “So we know to clear the scene when the flirting starts.” “Too late,” Carmen sighed, but she was smiling as she trailed behind. Y/N rolled her eyes but let her pace slow until Joe was beside her, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they turned into a narrow side street that opened into a bustling open-air market. Colorful strings of paper lanterns crisscrossed overhead, catching the light and shifting with the wind like soft stained glass. The buzz of voices echoed off the stone, the scent of grilled meat and fruit-heavy air thick enough to taste.

Vendors called out cheerfully in a melodic mix of Maltese and English, tables overflowing with spice jars, fresh olives, leather sandals, jewelry, and handwoven baskets. Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she paused at a stall selling beaded necklaces. She reached out to run her fingers over a strand of turquoise and brass. “Ooh, look at this.” Joe leaned in, voice low and teasing against her ear. “You gonna turn this into another ‘gift moment’ and make me emotional in public again?” Her grin was slow and dangerous. “Only if you behave.” “Then I’m doomed.” They kept moving, meandering without urgency, ducking between stalls as the crowd thickened. They stopped at a food cart with a bright yellow awning, the air thick with lemon zest and garlic. A man flipped flatbread on a cast-iron pan while another plated something golden and steaming, drizzling it with what looked like spiced yogurt and herbs.

Y/N pointed to an unfamiliar dish on the hanging chalkboard menu. “You’re trying that.” Joe raised a brow. “Am I?” “Yes. Because you said you’d try more things with me.” “I also said I trusted you,” he murmured, stepping closer. She turned to face him fully, one brow lifting. “Exactly.” Joe chuckled, surrendering as she placed their order in a confident voice that made the vendor light up. Her English was clear and smooth, but with just enough melody to charm. The older man beamed as he handed her their plates, and Joe couldn’t take his eyes off her—not while she thanked him with that bright, easy smile. Not while she brushed a curl behind her ear with effortless grace. Not while she handed him his plate like it had been his all along.

They found a bench just off the market, tucked into the shade of an arched colonnade. It was quiet here—less of the hum, more of the hush. Just the sound of forks tapping against plastic, children laughing in the distance, the occasional flap of wings overhead. Y/N took the first bite, eyes widening. “Okay, this is fire.” Joe followed suit. “You were right.” “I’m always right,” she said around a second bite, elbow nudging his playfully. They shared from each other’s plates, passed a drink back and forth, and fell into a rhythm that felt… easy. Familiar. Like this was something they’d done a hundred times before. Like this could be a hundred mornings, not just one. His thigh brushed hers as they ate. Once. Twice. She didn’t shift away. Neither did he. She took a slow sip from their shared bottle of lemon water, then glanced sideways at him. “Still off?” she asked under her breath, voice quieter than before. He looked at her for a beat, swallowing. “No. Just…” He exhaled through his nose. “Quieter.” She nodded slowly, eyes flicking to his lips like it was instinct. “Same.” They didn’t kiss. Not here. Not yet. But the feeling was there. A breath away. It hung between them like the lanterns overhead—delicate and glowing, suspended by invisible thread. A maybe. A moment. A promise neither of them was ready to say out loud… but both of them already felt. And as the city carried on around them—vibrant and noisy and alive—they sat there, quietly choosing not to move. Not because they were stuck. But because for now, this was enough.

They wandered farther from the heart of the market, their steps slow and meandering, unhurried in the way people walked when they didn’t need to be anywhere except here. The cobblestone path narrowed the deeper they went, and soon the hum of vendors and music behind them dulled into little more than a whisper on the wind. Around them, the city softened. Bright buildings leaned into each other like old friends, their painted shutters cracked and sun-faded in that charming way only time could create. Window boxes overflowed with herbs and wildflowers, and laundry lines stretched between balconies like makeshift banners—white sheets and colorful towels flapping gently overhead, catching the light like sails on invisible ships. Y/N slowed her pace, her eyes scanning the details—the chipped stucco, the way the shadows pooled between the stones beneath their feet. She paused at the edge of a stone archway that jutted out from a narrow side street, her curiosity tugging her forward.

She peeked inside and gasped softly. “Joe. Come here.” Joe stepped up beside her, eyes following her gaze. The archway opened into a hidden courtyard—a tiny, shaded oasis nestled between buildings. Cracked mosaic tiles stretched across the ground like faded patchwork, the blues and rust reds dulled by years of sun and footsteps. A weathered iron bench sat beneath a vine-covered wall, leaves curling toward the warm light that filtered through the overhang above. Somewhere overhead, a bird sang lazily, its call soft and sleepy. Y/N glanced at Joe, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. “Let’s hide.” He raised an eyebrow. “From what?” “Reality,” she said, stepping inside. “Kayla’s commentary. That lady who cut me off at the fig stand. Tourists.” Her smile widened, sly and bright beneath the scarf tied at the crown of her head. “You wanna behave or not?” Joe didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He followed her.

Once inside the courtyard, the world felt quieter. Like time thinned a little. Y/N turned slowly, slipping her sunglasses off and tucking them into the front of her dress. Her back met the wall as she leaned against it with casual ease, the stone cool even through the gauze of her sundress. She tilted her head and glanced at her watch, then back at him. “We’ve got maybe ten minutes before they realize we’re gone.” Joe stopped in front of her—close, so close their breath mingled in the summer-warmed space between them. “Ten minutes?” She nodded, lips twitching. “Maybe twelve, if we’re lucky.” His hands found her hips. “That’s all I need.” Y/N scoffed softly, her tone full of mock disbelief. “Confident.” “I’ve seen what you do with twelve seconds,” he murmured. Her grin was slow and dangerous. “And yet… I still let you talk to me like that.” She reached up, fingers threading into his curls, tugging gently until his head dipped lower, their lips a breath apart. Her voice dropped to a whisper—silken and sharp. “Then stop wasting time.”

Joe kissed her. Not in a rush. Not with heat alone. But with need—heavy and aching, the kind that had been building for days, for hours, for the space between breaths. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her flush to his chest, and she melted like she always did—into him, against him, as if her body knew exactly how to curve around his. Her fingers slipped beneath the hem of his T-shirt, palms skating up the lines of his back, her nails dragging lightly near the base of his neck. Joe groaned into her mouth—a deep, quiet sound that vibrated through her bones. It wasn’t lust. Not only. It was relief. Like this was the only way he could breathe again. The kiss deepened, sharpened. Her back hit the wall gently as his hand slid down to her thigh, coaxing it up around his hip. The move pressed their bodies tighter together, left no space between the want in her breath and the tension in his. Y/N broke the kiss first, lips kiss-bruised and parted, her breath uneven. “Twelve minutes, huh?” Joe pressed kisses along her jaw, each one softer than the last. His voice was rough, rasping against her skin. “Nine left.” Her fingers curled tighter in his shirt. “We should stop.” “We really should.” But neither of them moved. His lips hovered just below her ear. Her chest rose and fell in time with his. The air around them buzzed—hot, electric, coiled with the threat of more. Then—footsteps.

Faint, but getting closer. A distant voice called out in Maltese, bouncing off the nearby buildings like a warning bell. Joe pulled back slowly, his forehead resting against hers. He didn’t open his eyes right away. Just breathed her in. Y/N let out a soft sigh. “Guess we’re outta time.” He brushed his thumb gently over her bottom lip, reluctant. “I’ll make it up to you.” She smirked, lips still tingling. “You better.” For a moment, they didn’t move. Just stood there, inches apart but still connected by every pulse, every silent promise. Then, with the unspoken ease they always seemed to share, they slipped out of the courtyard—back through the stone archway, back into the sun-drenched street. From the outside, they looked the same. But they weren’t. Not really. Because even if nothing had technically happened… Everything had.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The sun was setting again—brushing the stone walls with molten gold, painting everything in that warm, romantic haze that made even silence feel sweet. Dinner was served on the upper terrace tonight, overlooking the sparkling Mediterranean. Carmen had ordered from a local chef—grilled seafood, buttery pasta, fresh greens, wine already breathing on the table. Kayla was the first to arrive, barefoot with a drink in hand, settling into her seat with a dramatic sigh. Drea came next, cheeks still sun-kissed from the day, laughing about something on her phone. Then came Joe and Y/N. Together. Late. And glowing. Y/N’s dress had changed again—light, low-cut, the color of warm sand, her curls brushed out and loose down her back. Joe’s shirt was half unbuttoned, his chain glinting against his skin, eyes impossibly soft every time they flicked toward her. They didn’t say anything when they arrived. But they didn’t need to. They were just... close. The kind of close that couldn’t be faked. That slightly mussed hair. That quiet, smug satisfaction around the mouth. The way Joe’s hand stayed low on Y/N’s back as they greeted the table.

Kayla blinked slowly, raised a brow, and sipped her drink. “So... y’all found Jesus or just each other?” Y/N smiled sweetly. “We found a courtyard.” “A courtyard,” Drea repeated. “That code for something?” Joe pulled out Y/N’s chair like he’d been doing it forever. “It had a bench.” “And shade,” Y/N added. Kayla leaned forward. “And y’all just sat there. Not making out.” Joe raised his glass. “Couldn’t possibly say.” Y/N clinked hers against his. “Might ruin the mystery.” The table erupted into groans, laughter, and dramatic accusations. “Oh my god, they’re insufferable again,” Drea muttered. “I told y’all the dry spell was temporary,” Carmen said without looking up from her wine. “They were never dry,” Kayla deadpanned. “They just weren’t hydrated with intention.” Joe choked on his wine. Y/N nearly spit hers out.

The rest of dinner passed with that same energy—easy, full of too much food, stolen glances, quiet touches under the table. Joe refilled Y/N’s glass without asking. She reached for his hand without looking. Whatever tension had existed the night before was gone. Replaced with that post-kiss, post-tease glow that screamed we’re not admitting anything but we’re very much not just friends anymore. The stars came out. Dessert was passed around. Someone played soft music from their phone. And for once, neither Y/N nor Joe was looking for an exit. They were already exactly where they wanted to be.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The laughter still floated up from the terrace below, muted now by distance and wine. Someone had put on music—soft R&B with a Mediterranean twist—just enough rhythm to make the breeze feel like it was dancing through the open windows. Y/N closed their bedroom door with a gentle click, her back against it, the warm hum of the night still in her bones. Joe stood by the bed, pulling his chain off slowly, his gaze already on her. Neither of them said anything. They didn’t have to. Y/N crossed the room slowly, hips swaying in that silky dress, her eyes dark beneath her lashes. “Still glowing,” Joe murmured, voice low. “Maybe you left a mark,” she teased, stepping into his space. His hands found her hips easily, fingers flexing as he pulled her closer. “Want me to leave another?”

She didn’t answer with words. Just curled her fingers into his shirt and kissed him. This time it was hungrier. Slower. Not rushed like earlier in the courtyard, but not gentle either. It was the kind of kiss that knew exactly what it wanted. Joe walked her back until her thighs hit the bed, then pressed her down with his body as he kissed her deeper. Her hands were everywhere—his chest, his neck, his jaw—pulling him closer even as she kicked off her sandals and hooked a leg around his waist. He groaned softly against her mouth. “You’re gonna drive me insane.” “You’re already there,” she whispered, tugging his bottom lip between her teeth before trailing her lips along his jaw and down his neck. Clothes came off in soft rustles. Sheets tangled. Skin met skin. It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t slow. It was purposeful.

Every touch—every thrust—felt like punctuation to an argument neither of them were brave enough to voice. Like they were saying everything with their bodies that they still weren’t ready to say out loud. Y/N gasped his name, back arching as his hand gripped her hip tighter. Joe kissed her shoulder, her jaw, her collarbone, his voice wrecked and quiet in her ear. “God, you feel like home,” he whispered before he could stop himself. She didn’t respond. But her breath hitched—and she pulled him closer. Harder. Faster. Together. Until the room was silent again but for the sound of their breathing.

Joe was the first to move, brushing a hand down her spine before lifting her in his arms, kissing her temple. He carried her to the bathroom where the lights were low and the air smelled faintly like lavender from her skincare. He set her gently on the counter, grabbed a warm towel, and wiped her down with careful, tender motions. “You good?” he murmured, tucking a damp curl behind her ear. “Mhmm. You?” “Always.” She kissed his cheek. They brushed their teeth side by side again. Joe helped twist her hair up before slipping one of his shirts over her head. And when they finally crawled into bed, neither said a word. Just drifted into sleep with their fingers laced tight between them, their bodies flush under the sheets. No confessions. Just closeness. For now, that was enough.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The morning light crept in slow and unbothered, filtering through the gauzy white curtains like a warm sigh. Dust motes danced lazily in the beams of sun stretching across the tiled floor, the kind of light that made everything feel softer, quieter. The villa was starting to stir—barely. Somewhere downstairs, a blender whirred, loud and brief. Probably Drea, tossing tropical fruit and ice into something that could pass for a smoothie but tasted more like a beach cocktail. From another open window, music floated through—a faint, rhythmic beat. Soft enough to fade into the air but steady enough to give the morning a pulse. Y/N stretched under the covers, sheets twisted around her legs, the scent of Joe still clinging to her skin. His arm was draped across her waist, heavy and sure, his breath even and warm against her shoulder. She turned slightly to watch him sleep—his curls messy, lips parted just enough to make her stomach flutter. She smiled, barely.

Then carefully—slowly—she slid out from under his arm and sat up, letting the sheet fall from her chest as she reached for his T-shirt on the floor. She tugged it over her head, the soft cotton still smelling like his skin. It skimmed her thighs as she padded across the room and into the ensuite. A splash of cold water. A breath. She tied her curls into a loose puff with a scrunchie from the counter and stared at her reflection in the mirror for a beat longer than usual. There was something different in her eyes. Something soft. Something shaken. She didn’t know what to name it yet. Barefoot and still half-dreaming, she opened the door to the hallway. And immediately regretted it. Kayla was already there—leaning against the frame of her bedroom door like a judgmental guardian angel, coffee mug in hand, one brow cocked with merciless precision. “Well, well, well,” Kayla said, voice still raspy from sleep. “If it isn’t the Queen of Denial herself.” Y/N blinked. “Why are you lurking?” “I wasn’t lurking. I was casually existing in a public hallway, living my truth, waiting for you to do the walk of shame.” Y/N rolled her eyes, hitching the hem of Joe’s shirt down as she leaned against the opposite wall. “It’s not a walk of shame. We share a room.” Kayla sipped dramatically. “Exactly. A shared room. Shared... nightly. Carnally. Frequently.” Y/N gave her a deadpan stare. “You done?” Kayla smiled sweetly. “Not even remotely. You glowing again, sis. Like moisturized, climaxed, and emotionally confused. It’s a very specific energy.”

Before Y/N could respond, Carmen strolled out of the kitchen barefoot, already dressed in a breezy romper with a slice of papaya in one hand and her phone in the other. She raised an eyebrow as she took them in. “Is this the morning judgment circle?” she asked, biting into her fruit. “Nope,” Kayla said, without looking away from Y/N. “Just a light emotional shakedown.” “Ah,” Carmen nodded. “Carry on.” Y/N sighed and sank slightly against the wall, dragging her hands down her face. “You both are relentless.” “We’re protective,” Kayla corrected. “And observant. And invested.” “Deeply invested,” Carmen added. “Because you’re walking around this villa in your situationship’s shirt like it’s your government-issued uniform.” “He was asleep. I didn’t want to wake him.” Kayla raised a finger. “That’s love language shit right there. Considerate. Domestic. Sensual.” Y/N scoffed. “Y’all are reading too much into this.” “Are we?” Carmen tilted her head. “He brought you a hot towel after dinner last night. Without being asked.” Y/N shrugged. “He always does stuff like that.” “Sure,” Kayla said, eyes narrowing. “But now he does it like he’s afraid someone else might do it first if he doesn’t.” That made Y/N pause. Just for a second. But they caught it. “You kissed him again last night, didn’t you?” Carmen asked gently, her tone more curious than accusatory. Y/N hesitated. “How did you—?” “Sweetheart,” Carmen said, smirking. “You came downstairs this morning with bedhead, wearing his shirt, and humming a love song under your breath. It wasn’t subtle.”

Kayla perked up. “Ooh, was it Heat in the Sheets again? Or are we workshopping a new one?” Y/N groaned. “I’m going back to bed.” Kayla caught her arm, gently but firmly. “Just answer this. If someone else kissed him—like really kissed him—would you be cool with it?” Y/N froze mid-step. There it was. The question that said everything without demanding an answer. Her throat tightened. She didn’t say a word. Didn’t have to. Carmen glanced at Kayla, then stepped closer, softer now. “You don’t have to say it out loud, babe. But be real with yourself. If this thing with Joe is more than casual—and it clearly is—don’t pretend it’s not just because it’s easier.” Y/N blinked fast, her arms crossing loosely in front of her chest. “I know.” Kayla smiled a little, letting go of her arm with a gentle pat. “We’re not saying go write a ballad and confess your love over pancakes. Just… stop acting like you don’t already feel it.” Y/N gave a slow nod, heart thudding too loud in her chest. And there it was again—that flutter. That small, persistent whisper in her chest that didn’t come from sex, or teasing, or even Joe’s hands on her waist. It came from something deeper. From knowing. Knowing that somewhere between all the jokes and soft touches, between the shared rooms and early mornings, she’d fallen into something real. And maybe—just maybe—he had too.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The sun had passed its peak, casting long golden rays across the villa grounds. Birds chirped somewhere in the trees, and the ocean breeze carried the faintest scent of sea salt and hibiscus. Joe stepped out from the shaded lounge area with two bottles of water in hand, looking around for her. Y/N was down by the garden, barefoot, slowly walking the edge of the stone path. Her scarf was tied low around her head, shoulders relaxed but her eyes... distant. She was beautiful. But she looked like she was somewhere else. “Hey,” he called gently as he approached, offering her the cold bottle. “Thanks,” she said with a soft smile, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip without meeting his eyes. Joe stood beside her for a few beats, watching the breeze play with the edge of her dress.

“You okay?” She nodded, still looking straight ahead. “Yeah. Just… clearing my head a little.” He studied her face. The way her jaw tightened ever so slightly. The way her free hand curled into the hem of her dress. “You’ve been quiet since this morning,” he said, careful. Y/N forced another smile. “Just tired. I didn’t sleep much.” He tilted his head. “Because of me?” “No.” She hesitated. “Not just you.” That landed heavier than it should have. Joe didn’t say anything. Just nodded slowly, jaw ticking as he looked out toward the horizon. For a minute, the silence stretched between them—not warm, not familiar. Tense. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “You mad?” “No,” he said quickly. Then softer, “Just don’t like feeling shut out.” Her expression faltered—just for a second—but she masked it with a shrug. “We said this was simple, right?” she murmured. “No pressure. No mess.” Joe exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. We did.” Y/N turned back toward the villa. “I should check on the shoot details for after tour. Carmen mentioned changes.” “Want me to come?” She hesitated. “I’ll be quick.”

And just like that, she walked off—bottle of water in one hand, the distance between them growing with each step. Joe stood there alone, the breeze tugging at his shirt, the warmth of the sun suddenly doing nothing to thaw the cold knot tightening in his chest. She hadn’t kissed him goodbye. She always kissed him goodbye. Something was shifting. And this time… he wasn’t sure if he could stop it.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The villa’s second-floor balcony had a small workspace tucked behind gauzy curtains—meant more for reading or casual emails. But Y/N had claimed it now, curled cross-legged on the rattan chair with her laptop open, notebooks spread out beside her like armor. The golden-hour light poured through the windows, turning the pages of her planner a soft, honeyed white. She barely noticed. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, headphones in, deep into setlist edits and digital mood boards for the post-tour visuals. Venue layouts. Lighting cues. Choreography timing. Wardrobe swaps. Anything but feelings. She adjusted a song transition for the third time, even though it was already perfect. Then reopened a Pinterest board. Rewrote a line of bridge lyrics. Scrolled through half a dozen unreleased promo shots before dragging them into a folder marked “later.” It was all noise. Noise she needed. Because sitting still meant remembering that Joe hadn’t followed her. That he hadn’t knocked. Or texted. Or touched her wrist like he usually did when she was slipping away in her own head. And worse? She didn’t blame him. She was the one pulling back. She’d put the space there. On purpose. And now… it felt cold. A ping broke her thoughts—an incoming message from Carmen.

Carmen: Need you to approve this graphic for the Malta post.

Also: breathe.

Y/N sighed through her nose, clicking the link. It was a perfectly edited carousel—her glowing on stage, fans in the crowd, a moody night sky behind her silhouette as she hit that note in No Halo. She tapped through it slowly, then reached for her phone and replied:

Y/N: Approved. Thanks.

Carmen: You good?

Y/N stared at the blinking cursor. Then typed:

Y/N: Yeah. Just catching up on stuff while I have the window.

A lie. Carmen didn’t answer, and Y/N didn’t expect her to. She knew Carmen saw right through her. Everyone did. She closed her laptop with a quiet sigh and leaned back in the chair, letting her head fall against the wall. The music in her headphones had shifted to one of her own songs—Thigh High Lies—playing on shuffle, that raw, aching bridge about love fading under denial. Her own voice made her stomach twist. She yanked the earbuds out. And for the first time since she sat down, she looked toward the open door leading back to the hallway—back to Joe. She didn’t move. But she thought about it. Hard.

Joe stood on the lower balcony, one hand braced on the railing, the other absentmindedly rolling the moon-and-stars bracelet Y/N gave him back and forth along his wrist. The sea stretched endlessly in front of him—blue and soft, like a secret. But his thoughts weren’t anywhere near calm. He’d replayed that garden conversation over and over in his head. The way her voice had gone quiet. The way she hadn’t kissed him. The way she didn’t look back when she walked away. He knew he was losing her. And the worst part? He couldn’t even be mad. They were the ones who’d drawn the line. Made the rules. Kept it casual. Now that he wanted something more, he didn’t know how to ask without undoing everything. And what if she didn’t feel the same? What if she did, but the fear was louder? The screen door slid open behind him. “You’re brooding,” Drea’s voice said, walking out with her sunglasses perched atop her head and a glass of peach tea in hand. “Just thinking,” Joe replied without looking. “Uh-huh. Dangerous.”

She leaned beside him on the railing, following his gaze. “You know she’s just scared, right?” she said after a beat. Joe didn’t move. “Of what?” “Same thing you are. That you’ll say the real thing out loud and it’ll wreck whatever this is.” He exhaled slowly. “Feels like we’re wrecking it anyway.” Drea sipped her tea. “Then maybe it’s time to stop pretending you’re not already in love with her.” He flinched—just slightly. “I didn’t say—” “You didn’t have to.” She smiled at him, soft and knowing. “You look at her like she’s the first language you ever understood.”

Y/N stood at the vanity, still in the soft wrap dress she’d changed into after working, fussing with her earrings even though she wasn’t putting them on yet. Kayla lounged on the bed, tossing grapes into her mouth like a therapist who moonlighted as an instigator. “So. Are you gonna go talk to him or keep channeling your unresolved feelings into work and wardrobe?” Y/N turned, eyes narrowing. “You rehearsed that?” Kayla shrugged. “I’ve been holding onto it for two days. Felt right.” Y/N sighed, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “I wanted to… earlier. But I froze. And now I feel like I missed the window.” Kayla’s tone softened. “There’s no window, babe. Not with someone like Joe. He’ll wait for you to get out of your own head. But you can’t wait forever too.” Before Y/N could answer, Carmen’s voice called out from the hallway. “Let’s go, people! We’ve got twenty minutes to load the bus for the festival!” The spell broke. Just like that. Y/N stood up, brushing her hands down her thighs and walking to the closet for her performance gear. Kayla followed. “You okay?” “No,” Y/N said honestly. “But I’ve got a crowd to melt and a mic to make mine. I’ll figure the rest out after.”

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The group loaded onto the bus as golden hour began its descent. Drea scrolled through her camera roll. Carmen ran through the checklist. Kayla handed out water bottles and scolded everyone for forgetting sunscreen. Y/N took her seat near the front, sunglasses on, headphones in, playlist queued. Joe boarded last. Their eyes met for a second. But neither spoke. He moved past her and sat across the aisle. The music in Y/N’s ears wasn’t enough to drown out the silence between them.

The roar of the crowd was already swelling before Y/N even stepped onto the stage. The Mediterranean night wrapped around the venue like velvet—sky a deep indigo, dotted with stars, the breeze soft and sea-salted as it rolled through the open-air amphitheater. Backstage, Y/N stood in the wings, wrapped in glittering black mesh, leather shorts hugging her hips, a cascade of curls tumbling down her back. Her mic was cold in her hand. Her in-ear monitors buzzed to life. She closed her eyes and took a breath. You got this. But it wasn’t just the crowd waiting on her tonight. Joe was out there too. And he hadn’t said a word since they boarded the bus. “Let’s go, baby,” Carmen said gently, tapping her shoulder. Y/N nodded once. Then the music hit.

The first beat of "LIP LOCK" slithered through the speakers—dark, dirty, magnetic. The crowd erupted. Y/N strutted out into the lights, fire in her hips, voice slicing through the heavy bass as the hook hit:

🎶 “You talk sweet, but baby your mouth’s too clean / Come show me what’s underneath that routine…” 🎶

Every movement was sharp and controlled. Every wink and lick of her lips calculated. But inside? She was unraveling. She caught sight of Joe—off to the side, arms crossed, jaw tight. Watching. Always watching. And when their eyes locked for just a second too long during the chorus, her voice dipped lower, teasing, dangerous. The crowd had no idea. But Joe did.

She rolled through "PRIVATE PARTY," crouching low during the whisper-soft bridge:

🎶 “Malta, you know I don’t let just anyone in, right?” 🎶

And then came "CONTROL FREAK," where she laughed into the mic, flicking her tongue over her lip. “Malta, don’t act like you don’t like it rough.” The crowd lost their minds. But Joe? He didn’t even blink. Which made it worse. By the time she reached "THIGH HIGH LIES," her voice cracked—not with weakness, but weight.

🎶 “Wore your truth like perfume / But it faded by noon…” 🎶

She didn’t look at Joe for that one. She couldn’t.

The transition was seamless. The beat dropped, thick and slow like honey as Y/N swayed into "Heat in the Sheets."

🎶 “You said you’d be waitin’ in my hotel bed / With that look in your eyes, got me losin’ my head…” 🎶

Her hips moved like liquid fire, every note dripping with want and warning. Every word was a message. A dare. A confession she’d never say offstage. And when she hit the final verse—🎶 “We ain't in love, but you stuck like glue…” 🎶

She felt her throat tighten. Then came the shift. No Halo. The lights dimmed. A white spotlight found her.

🎶 “You pray for me, but baby I sin soft…” 🎶

Her voice was stripped bare now. No teasing. No filter. Just raw ache, the kind that doesn’t beg—it bleeds. And this time, when she looked at Joe? He was staring right back. Unmoving. Unreadable. Wrecked.

The lights cut. The crowd exploded. Y/N stood there in the dark, breath heavy, mic still in hand, heartbeat jackhammering in her chest. And for a split second? She wished it was just the two of them in the silence. Just long enough to finally say something real.

The second Y/N handed off her mic and pulled out her in-ears, the noise hit her like a wave—cheering, crew members moving equipment, Carmen’s voice somewhere to the left coordinating photos. Drea snapped candids. Kayla was already pushing water bottles into her hand. "You killed that shit," Kayla grinned, grabbing her face and planting a loud kiss on her cheek. Y/N laughed breathlessly. “I’m gonna collapse.” "You can collapse after we get these photos," Carmen called. "Sign a few things first." “On it.” Y/N gave a mock salute, already being led to the barricades where fans were screaming her name. She posed. She signed vinyls, took selfies, cracked jokes. The sweat on her brow shimmered under the camera lights. Her voice was hoarse but still sweet. And the whole time? She felt him. Just outside her line of sight. Watching. Burning.

When she was finally done, she waved the last fan goodbye and slipped backstage again, her heart still sprinting. She rounded the corner by the gear crates—and stopped. There he was. Joe. Leaning against the side of the bus, arms crossed, eyes dark. He hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked. Y/N slowed her steps, like approaching a fire she wasn’t sure wouldn’t burn her. “Didn’t think you’d be waiting,” she said quietly, tugging the edge of her stage jacket tighter around her. Joe’s eyes dropped—slowly tracing her sweat-slicked chest, then rising back to her face. “I always wait for you,” he said. Her breath caught. Just a second too long. She smiled, faint and tight. “You see the whole thing?” He nodded. “Every second.” She looked away. “That was kind of the problem.” The tension thickened, humid and heavy in the Malta night air. Joe pushed off the wall. Walked toward her. Stopped just inches away. “You sing like you're not scared of anything,” he said. “I’m terrified of everything,” she replied, just above a whisper.

He didn’t touch her. But his voice dipped, low and steady. “That last song… that was for me, wasn’t it?” Her gaze lifted to his. Her lips parted. She didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. Because something passed between them in that moment—real, charged, undeniable. A truth they both knew but still weren’t ready to name. Joe’s hand came up slowly, cupping the side of her neck. “Y/N…” She leaned in. Their lips met in a kiss that wasn’t like the others. It wasn’t playful or teasing. It was slow. Lingering. Deep. A question, a plea, a line neither of them crossed with words. And when they pulled apart, just barely, she rested her forehead against his chest, and he held her there like she was something fragile and irreplaceable. No feelings confessed. But every heartbeat whispered them anyway.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The villa was quieter than usual when they returned. No music thumping from the Bluetooth speaker. No Kayla belting R&B from the kitchen. No Carmen barking out tomorrow’s call times or reminding everyone to drink water and take off their makeup. Just the hush of waves curling against the shore beyond the open windows, and the soft clink of glass and laughter echoing faintly down the hall—Kayla and Drea, probably nursing a last cocktail by the pool. Most of the group had peeled off already, their laughter drifting into silence behind closed doors or the shimmer of water from a final midnight dip.

Joe and Y/N slipped in through the side entrance, their footsteps soft against the tile, sand still clinging to their ankles. Her heels dangled from one hand. He carried her jacket in the other. The door clicked shut behind them with a low thud. Their hands brushed once. Twice. And on the third pass, her fingers curled into his. He laced theirs together without hesitation. No words. They didn’t need them right now. They moved quietly through the villa like the moment might shatter if they spoke too loudly, like whatever had bloomed between them under the haze of stage lights and soft kisses still needed the shelter of silence to survive. The earlier tension—the wall they couldn’t stop bumping against all day—had melted. Burned up somewhere between the rush of adrenaline, the music vibrating through her chest, the way he looked at her right before he kissed her backstage like it would be the last time. Because maybe it was.

Not forever. But for now. As they climbed the stairs together, hand in hand, there was no electricity, no teasing. Just warmth. Quiet. Reverence. The kind of stillness that settles in after a storm. When they reached the landing, they paused for just a breath. A pause too short to be hesitation, too long to be nothing. She glanced up at him, her curls still slightly damp from earlier, her lips soft and parted, eyes shining in the low hallway light. He looked back like he was memorizing her. And maybe he was. Because tomorrow, he was leaving. That quiet truth wrapped around them like fog. Not heavy, not sharp. Just… there. Settled in the space between their fingers and their silence. Y/N’s voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. “You packed already?” Joe nodded once, eyes flicking toward their bedroom. “Mostly. Just gotta toss in the chargers and my shoes.” She nodded, too. “Right.” Another beat passed. Neither moved. Joe’s thumb brushed gently over her knuckles. “You okay?” Y/N hesitated, then gave a small shrug. “I don’t know yet.” There was no edge to it. Just honesty. Joe’s jaw worked, like he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just tugged her hand and led her the last few steps to their door.

Inside, the room was dim and cool, the sheets still slightly rumpled from that morning. A soft breeze fluttered through the cracked balcony door, carrying in the scent of salt and bougainvillea. Y/N walked in first, tossing her heels beside the dresser. She didn’t bother turning on the lights. Joe followed and set her jacket down, closing the door behind them with a soft click. For a moment, they just stood there. Not quite looking at each other. Not quite apart. Finally, Y/N spoke again—quiet, careful. “Feels like we just figured it out.” Joe’s voice was thick. “I know.” “And now you’re going.” “I have to.” “I know.”

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Y/N peeled off her stage clothes in silence, sweat still clinging to her skin. She turned on the shower, the room filling with warm steam. Joe sat on the edge of the bed, unlacing his sneakers slowly. She caught his reflection in the mirror—how his eyes tracked her movements like he was memorizing them. Like he needed to. When she stepped into the shower, she left the door cracked. An invitation. Joe joined her a few seconds later, arms wrapping around her from behind under the stream. His lips found her shoulder, her neck, the back of her ear—nothing rushed. Just anchoring. Holding. They didn’t speak. Not until she was wrapped in a towel and standing at the sink again, twisting her curls into a bun while he handed her her bonnet. “How early’s your flight?” she asked, voice soft. Joe ran a hand through his damp hair. “Seven.” “Gross.” He gave a quiet chuckle, then stepped behind her again to grab their toothbrushes. When they were done, he passed her one of his hoodies instead of a t-shirt. She pulled it on wordlessly. It was oversized and worn, warm from the dryer and even warmer from him.

The lights were low, casting the room in a soft amber hush. The ceiling fan turned in slow, deliberate circles overhead, stirring the warm air in lazy, rhythmic passes that brushed against their skin like an exhale. Outside, the sea hummed in the distance, the waves a low, steady murmur against the quiet of the villa. Joe lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other draped securely around Y/N, her body curled into his side like she'd been there forever—like she belonged nowhere else. The sheet clung loosely at his hips, their legs tangled beneath it, skin touching in places that didn’t need intention anymore. Just habit. Just gravity. Y/N rested her cheek over his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing lulling her deeper into that dreamy in-between space—half awake, half not.

Her fingers traced slow circles over the bracelet on his wrist. The delicate gold chain gleamed faintly in the dim light, the small crescent moon and tiny star charms catching shadows as she touched them. She didn’t speak. Just kept running her fingertips along the arc of the moon, her touch soft and absent, like muscle memory more than thought. Joe watched her quietly, his head tilted slightly, eyes lingering on her lashes, the slope of her cheek, the peaceful set of her mouth. His voice, when it came, was low—hoarse from the night and the weight of everything left unspoken. “You never told me why you really got it.” Y/N blinked slowly, not lifting her head. Her voice was faint with sleep and something deeper. “I did.”

He shook his head, a small smile pulling at the edge of his mouth. “No, I mean… aside from the ‘think of me when I’m not around’ line.” She paused, her fingers stalling just slightly on the star charm. Then she lifted her head, resting her chin gently on his chest so she could look up at him, her eyes soft and clearer now in the hush between them. “It reminded me of you,” she said quietly. “How much you love space. The stars. The moon. All that stuff you used to tell me about back at LSU.” Her eyes dropped briefly, her hand drifting to the pendant at her own throat—a small sun suspended from a thin chain, nestled just above the hollow of her collarbone. “You have the moon… and I have the sun.” Joe’s brow quirked slightly, curiosity flickering in his tired gaze. “So you’re saying I only shine because of you?” Y/N smiled, but it wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t smug. It was soft. Earnest. A little sad. “No,” she murmured. “I’m saying… we balance each other. Without one, the other wouldn’t function.”

Joe’s fingers, which had been threading lazily through her curls, stilled. His expression shifted—just a flicker—but it was there. Like something inside him caught. Like something landed. The silence stretched between them—not awkward, but full. Full of things neither of them were quite ready to name. Full of everything they didn’t say, and maybe didn’t know how to say yet. Y/N dropped her gaze again, resting her cheek against his chest once more. Her fingers returned to his bracelet, looping gently through the chain like it tethered her to him. Joe leaned in and kissed her forehead—slow and warm, his lips lingering longer than usual. She breathed in, then out, her body softening as she sank deeper into his side, her weight trusting, her presence steady. They didn’t turn on the TV. Didn’t scroll. Didn’t reach for distractions. Just let the quiet settle over them like another blanket. After a while, her voice drifted up—small and tired. “You’ll text when you land?” Joe didn’t hesitate. “Always.”

He kept brushing his fingers through her curls, slow and steady, memorizing the texture. The scent of her shampoo. The way her breathing hitched for just a second before evening out again. There was another pause. A longer one. Then, quieter still, she added, “Wish you could come to Italy.” He froze—not dramatically, just for a beat. Just enough to register that she’d said it out loud this time. His breath caught in his throat before he forced it out again. “I know,” he said softly. “I wish I could too.” She didn’t move. Didn’t answer. But her hand—still resting over his stomach—curled slightly into the fabric of his shorts, fingers clutching faintly. Like she was trying to hold on. Not to his body. To the moment. To him. Joe closed his eyes for a second, his chest rising slowly beneath her cheek. He pressed another kiss into her hair, his heart thudding hard against his ribs as his mind raced. With what he wanted to say. With what he still wasn’t ready to. So instead, he held her tighter. And hoped—prayed—it was enough. For now. Outside, the breeze stirred the curtains. The ocean whispered. And inside, in the quiet of the dark, something sacred held them still.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The sun was still low in the sky, casting long, golden streaks across the tarmac like brushstrokes on canvas. A soft haze clung to the morning, turning the edges of everything gentle and slow. The air was quiet in that sacred, suspended way that only existed before a departure—before engines roared, before time caught up. The black Suburban rolled to a smooth, unhurried stop near the waiting jet, its shadow stretching across the asphalt. The plane loomed ahead, sleek and silent, its engines humming low like a distant heartbeat. Like a countdown no one wanted to hear. Y/N stepped out behind Joe, the oversized hem of his sweatshirt brushing against her bare thighs. She’d thrown it on without thinking, instinctively. The sleeves were shoved to her elbows, the cuffs stretched from years of use. It smelled like him—cedar, detergent, skin—and it hung off her frame like armor. She wrapped her arms around herself—not for warmth, but for containment. Like if she didn’t hold herself together, she might come apart right there on the runway.

Joe moved around to the back, grabbing his duffel from the trunk. The strap slid across his shoulder, familiar. Heavy. Weighted. He paused for a moment before turning toward her again. Her eyes were already glassy. The light caught them just right—caught the shimmer and the ache behind them—and it wrecked him. His chest cracked open a little. “I want to stay,” he said, voice low and hoarse as he stepped close. “You know that, right?” Y/N nodded, jaw tight. A short sniffle escaped before she could bite it back. “But you have to go anyway.” He reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear, fingers skimming her cheek like a whisper. Like if he touched her too hard, the moment would shatter. “I’ll call,” he promised softly. “As soon as I land.” “I know.” Her voice barely rose above the breeze.

There was a pause. Not long. Just wide enough for the pain to get in. Then Joe wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in tight, burying his face in her hair. She smelled like coconut and sleep and last night—like the soft weight of their goodbye already taking root in his bones. “I’m only a phone call away,” he murmured into her crown. “It’s not the same as having you there,” she whispered, her fingers twisting into the front of his T-shirt like she could anchor herself to him a little longer. “It’s not even close.” Joe felt something sharp knot in his throat. He blinked up at the sky, trying to swallow it down, but it didn’t move.

And then she said it. Quiet. Fragile. “It won’t get easier, will it?” That stopped him cold. Because no—it wouldn’t. Not like this. Not when it was already more than just missing each other. Not when every goodbye felt heavier than the last. Not when the space between them kept filling with things they hadn’t said yet. Couldn’t say. He didn’t answer. Not with words. Instead, he stepped back just far enough to frame her face in his hands, thumbs brushing under her eyes—catching the beginnings of tears, or maybe just trying to wipe away the question entirely.

And then he kissed her. Not soft. Not quick. Long. Deep. Messy. It wasn’t about goodbye. It was about everything else. It was the ache, the want, the desperation to hold onto something slipping just out of reach. It was the nights she’d wake up reaching for him and the mornings he’d find her texts and scroll through them too many times. It was the in-between, the almost, the too-much and not-enough all at once. Y/N clutched his forearms, sinking into him, her lips parting on a breath that wasn’t just breath anymore. It was all of it. Every word she hadn’t spoken. Every I miss you and don’t go and I’m not ready spilling into the curve of his mouth.

When they pulled apart, it was only because they had to. They stood close, still clinging to each other’s shadows. Her smile trembled around the edges. “Go be great, Joey.” Joe rested his forehead against hers, their breath mingling, her lashes damp, his hands still cradling her jaw like a secret. He whispered something she almost caught. Maybe it was her name. Maybe it was always. Then he stepped back. One last look. And he turned. Walked toward the jet without another word, duffel bouncing against his hip, curls catching the breeze. And he didn’t look back. Not because he didn’t want to. But because if he did, he wouldn’t leave. And right now, he had to. Even if it broke him.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The front door creaked open quietly. Y/N stepped inside, barefoot on the cool tile, Joe’s oversized grey hoodie swallowing her frame. The sleeves fell past her hands, brushing the tops of her thighs. Her sunglasses were perched uselessly on her head, doing nothing to shield the swollen redness around her eyes. The bright Malta morning spilled across the floor in honey-gold stripes, but none of it reached her. The warmth couldn’t touch the chill that had settled deep in her chest—the kind that took root the second Joe’s jet disappeared into the clouds. The villa was already alive with movement. Muted voices drifted down the hall. A kettle hissed faintly from the stove. Somewhere, a suitcase zipper slid open, followed by the shuffle of clothes. The familiar, comforting background noise of a shared house in transition—packing, prepping, moving on. But to Y/N, it all sounded like static. She shut the door behind her gently, like slamming it might break her entirely. Her fingers lingered on the handle for a second too long. Her breath hitched. She wasn’t ready to be back. Not really.

“Hey, you’re back,” Drea’s voice floated in from the kitchen, soft and bright. She looked up from her half-whisked matcha, smiling at first. “You want some tea or—” She stopped mid-sentence. Because she saw it. The flush around Y/N’s eyes. The slight tremble in her bottom lip. The way her chest rose in that stuttering way you try to control right before everything falls apart. “Oh…” Drea’s smile faltered. Her voice softened. “Baby girl.” Carmen looked up from the planner she’d been flipping through at the kitchen island. Her brow furrowed instantly, her tone switching from business to worry. “Y/N…”

Y/N tried to answer—tried to summon a joke, a shrug, something easy and casual to throw over the raw ache in her chest. But her mouth didn’t move fast enough. Her body betrayed her first. Kayla’s voice echoed suddenly from around the corner, still half-asleep and half-sassy. “Yo, Y/N—how was the goodbye? Did you finally let him—” She stopped cold. Because she saw it too. The tightness in Y/N’s jaw. The way her arms clung to her own waist like she was holding herself together. The shimmer in her lashes. The crack already forming down the middle. Kayla didn’t say another word.

She just moved forward, no hesitation, and wrapped Y/N in her arms like a shield. Protective. Unshakable. Familiar. And that was it. The final crack split wide open. Y/N folded into her best friend’s chest, her body trembling as the tears came hard—fast and messy and long overdue. Her breath caught on a sob she hadn’t meant to let out. “God,” she choked, voice muffled against Kayla’s shoulder. “I hate this.” Kayla pulled her closer, arms wrapped tight. “I know.” “I hate saying goodbye,” Y/N sobbed. “I hate this long-distance rhythm. I hate waking up without him there and pretending it’s fine. Like I’m okay when I’m not.”

“You don’t have to be okay all the time,” Kayla whispered, rocking them slowly, gently. “Not with us. You’re allowed to feel it.” “I didn’t even cry at the airport,” Y/N hiccuped, her hands clutching the front of the hoodie like it could anchor her. “I held it in. I smiled. I waved. And now it’s like—my body’s just catching up.” “That’s how it works,” Carmen said softly, moving to place a hand on her back. “You go numb to survive the moment… then it hits you when it’s quiet.” Y/N shook her head, still sniffling. “I don’t even know what this is supposed to be. It’s not like we’re… official.” “But it is something,” Drea said gently from across the kitchen. “Something real. Something you’re not ready to let yourself name yet.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She didn’t have to. Her silence said enough. The way her chin tucked tighter into Kayla’s shoulder. The way her fingers curled into her palms. Kayla pulled back just enough to wipe one of her cheeks with the cuff of her robe. “You don’t have to do this alone, sis. Not the missing. Not the music. Not the mess.” “We got you,” Carmen added, voice soft but firm. Y/N let out a shaky laugh through her tears. “I swear, y’all need to go easier on the emotional ambushes.” Kayla smirked. “This isn’t an ambush. This is a wellness check.” “A group intervention,” Drea chimed in. “Group hug,” Carmen amended, opening her arms and folding into the embrace without warning.

And just like that, they were all there—wrapped around her like warmth and salt and home. No expectations. No pressure. Just presence. After a while, Y/N sniffled again and stepped back, wiping under her eyes. “Thanks. I just… I need a minute.” “Take five. Take ten. Take the whole damn morning,” Carmen said, waving her hand. “We’ll hold it down out here,” Drea added, sipping her matcha. “Need me to bring you anything?” Kayla asked. “More hoodies? A playlist? Snacks?” Y/N smiled, small and grateful. “Just… time.” She turned and padded up the stairs slowly, the sleeves of Joe’s hoodie still too long on her arms, her shoulders hunched in quiet exhaustion. Every step felt like it pulled her further from him and deeper into her own aching head. But still, she climbed. Back to the room that smelled like him. Back to the pillows where his imprint hadn’t faded yet. Back to where she could curl up under the covers and finally, fully fall apart—without having to explain, without having to smile, without pretending she wasn’t in love with someone already slipping out of reach. And for now, that was enough. Not better. But enough.

The door clicked softly shut behind her. Y/N stood there for a moment, just staring at the familiar room—the tousled bed, the sunlight streaming through gauzy curtains, the sweatshirt on her shoulders that still smelled like Joe. Her chest felt hollow and full at the same time. Too much space. Too much weight. She crossed the room slowly, kicking off her slippers, and sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed. Her fingers hesitated for a moment before reaching for her journal from the side table drawer. The cover was soft leather, worn in at the corners, pages filled with chaos, color, confession. She flipped to a blank page. And for a few moments… just stared. The words weren’t ready. So she started humming instead. Soft. Aimless. A melody without a home yet. Her fingers began to move as the tune slowly took shape, thoughts bleeding through the ink.

[Untitled]

You said goodbye like it wouldn’t linger / Like your scent wouldn’t cling to my favorite hoodie / Like I wouldn’t keep your laugh in my lungs / Or feel your silence echo when I sing.

*You said, “Call me,” And I said, “Okay,” But I wanted to say, “Don’t go.”

I wanted to say… Stay. Just stay. Stay, even if it’s just in the way you look at me.*

Her pen stilled. She blinked fast. Then swiped at her cheek roughly, like she could wipe the entire feeling away with one pass. She sighed and leaned back on her elbows, staring at the ceiling. The words were good. Too good. Too true. Because they were his. He was in everything. The ache in her throat. The hollowness in the bed. The sun through the curtains didn’t feel warm without him beside her, fingers grazing her bare thighs while he muttered sleepy nonsense. Her head tilted toward the balcony, where the sea breeze whispered through the open door. The waves lapped somewhere beyond view. She whispered aloud, “You’re not even gone a full day, and I miss you like it’s been weeks.” The journal sat open on the bed. Waiting for the next line.

The pen didn’t stop again. Not until the song was finished. Y/N sat in stillness afterward, just looking down at the lines—some crossed out, some circled, some rewritten twice until they were right. Her handwriting curved and dipped across the page like a heartbeat trying to find rhythm again. The silence around her wasn’t empty. It was sacred. A rare, fleeting kind of peace that only came after the tears, when the ache had nowhere else to go but out. She closed the journal carefully. Then stood. Still barefoot, still in Joe’s hoodie, she crossed to the corner of the room where her travel mic and portable recording setup were tucked in the sleek black case she never traveled without. She flipped the latches open, her movements fluid, practiced. Like muscle memory. She set the mic up near the window, where the breeze curled gently into the room and made the sheer curtains flutter like something alive. Pulled her laptop onto the desk. Plugged in. And breathed.

Y/N stood in front of the mic, headphones snug against her ears. No makeup. No cameras. Just her voice, raw and close and utterly unguarded. She started with the one from last night—the sun and moon metaphor woven into soft longing and unspoken words. The guitar part looped gently underneath, and when her voice came in, it was barely above a whisper:

🎶 You have the moon, I hold the sun / But we don't rise unless we run / Side by side through nights and days / A quiet balance in the haze… 🎶

Her voice cracked on the second verse. She didn’t stop. Because it made the song better. More real. And when it ended, she didn’t even wait to play it back. She just leaned over, saved the take, and opened a new file. Then she recorded the new one. The post-airport one. This one was slower, deeper. Like a confession wrapped in silk and smoke.

🎶 You said goodbye like it wouldn’t linger / Like your scent wouldn’t cling to my favorite hoodie… 🎶

Her voice dropped lower for the chorus—half-spoken, half-sung:

🎶 Say it’s just a call away / But the distance still don’t fade / And baby, it won’t get easier / We just get better at the pain. 🎶

When she finally clicked stop, the silence afterward rang louder than any applause. She didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just sat back in the chair, eyes stinging again, heart somehow both heavier and lighter. The tracks saved. The feelings contained—barely. But for the first time since Joe boarded the plane, she felt… steadier. Not fixed. Not fine. But grounded. Like music always managed to do for her, even when nothing else made sense.

The sun had started to shift across the sky, casting long golden bars across the hardwood floor. The breeze had stilled. Even the waves seemed to hush outside, as if the entire island was holding its breath. Y/N sat at her desk again, the journal now flipped to a third page. This one looked more deliberate—each line precise, each word chosen like a scalpel. The title wasn’t inked yet. But the song already knew what it was called. She whispered the chorus aloud once, testing the shape of it in her mouth.

“We're almost something / more than lovers

Caught between the lines we drew…”

Her throat tightened. She rose slowly, clicked the mic on again. Another track. Another layer. This one would be raw. She didn’t need harmonies. Didn’t need polish. She needed truth. She hit record. And then her voice broke the silence:

🎶 You touch me like you mean it / but you never say the words

I kiss you like I need it / but I never let it hurt 🎶

The guitar track was soft this time—stripped-down, low, like someone playing in the next room at 2 a.m. The kind of ache that only visits after you’re left alone with everything you never said.

🎶 We dance around the silence / like it’s safer than the fall

But lately when you look at me / I swear I see it all 🎶

Her voice wavered on the pre-chorus—like she wasn’t sure if she was singing or confessing:

🎶 So tell me why we’re still pretending

When our hearts are in the room

Every brush of skin’s a question

I’m too scared to give to you… 🎶

Then the chorus hit—clearer, stronger, but trembling beneath:

🎶 We're almost something / more than lovers

Caught between the lines we drew

I’m yours in the dark / but the light makes it harder

To say I’m falling into you

So I keep quiet / I keep control

But almost is breaking my soul… 🎶

She closed her eyes through the second verse, feeling the words spill straight from her gut.

🎶 You laugh like we’ve got time / but I feel the clock tickin’

I see the way you hide it / in the space you never sit in… 🎶

And when she reached the final chorus, she had to pause for a beat before beginning. Just one breath. One shake of her head. Then she delivered the closing lines, softer than the rest—but they cut the deepest:

🎶 Almost is easy / Until it’s not

And silence is cruel / When it costs what you want. 🎶

The song ended. Not with a flourish. Just a breath. A quiet click as she stopped the track. No playback this time. Y/N took off the headphones and set them down gently, then stood there for a moment—hands braced on the edge of the desk, hair slipping loose from its bun, hoodie hanging off one shoulder like it had been through something with her. Because it had. Three songs in a day. Three pieces of her soul captured before she even let herself think. And still—no answers. No relief. Just the sound of her own heart… finally speaking.

The house had warmed up with life again. Laughter floated in from the backyard where Kayla and Drea were arguing over the grill, and Carmen’s voice could be heard giving directions to someone on the phone—probably finalizing logistics for Italy. Wine glasses clinked. Music drifted from someone’s speaker. Y/N stood at the top of the stairs, clutching her phone in both hands. She’d changed out of Joe’s hoodie and into a soft linen set—light and breezy, something she could hide inside without seeming like she was hiding. Her curls were re-clipped at the crown of her head, a gold hoop peeking through one ear. The illusion was ready. She could almost believe it herself. Almost. Her phone buzzed softly.

Joe 🧃: Just landed. Miss you already.

She didn’t open the message right away. She just stared at the notification. That ache from earlier came back, sharp and low, curling around her ribs like it was waiting for permission to break through again. But she swallowed it. Stuffed it down like it didn’t matter. Then she slid her phone into her pocket and made her way downstairs, shoulders back, chin up. The second she stepped into the kitchen, Kayla looked up. “Hey, Sleeping Beauty’s alive!” Y/N laughed, soft and easy. “Not asleep. Just… unplugged for a bit.” Drea handed her a glass of rosé. “A bit? Girl, we thought we were gonna have to call in backup.” Carmen looked up from the fridge. “You okay?” “Yeah,” Y/N said quickly, nodding. Too quickly. “Just tired, you know? I think Joe leaving hit harder than I expected.”

The girls exchanged a few knowing looks. But didn’t push. Not yet. Kayla sidled up beside her as Y/N leaned against the counter, sipping the wine carefully. “He text you?” Y/N nodded without looking up. “Landed safe. Said he’s thinking about me.” Kayla bumped her hip lightly. “Of course he is.” Y/N smiled—but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I know.” And then she switched the subject. Started asking about dinner, teasing Drea for burning the peppers, fake-flirting with the delivery guy’s name when Carmen scrolled through the food app. She was funny again. Vibrant. But only just. Because beneath every joke, every smile, there was still the quiet pull of that message sitting unread. There was still the sting of goodbyes and the echo of her own voice singing almost is easy… until it’s not.

The villa had quieted to a soft hum—doors closed, dishes washed, lights dimmed. Y/N lay in bed, wrapped in a light throw blanket, her hair pulled loose again, the curve of Joe’s bracelet cool against her wrist. The girls had peeled off to their own rooms hours ago. No more teasing. No more careful glances. Just silence. And her screen. She opened his text.

Joe 🧃: Landed safe. Miss you already.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then:

Y/N: Glad you’re back. Everything’s fine here too.

Miss your touch though.

She stared at it. Then hit send. Three dots appeared almost immediately. Joe 🧃 is typing…

Before she could brace herself, her screen lit up with an incoming FaceTime. Her heart did that little skip. She adjusted her top, fluffed her curls like it made a difference, then answered.

Joe’s face filled the screen—hood up, curls peeking out, leaning against a pillow with a dim lamp behind him. He looked tired in that gentle way he did when he was winding down for the night. Soft. His smile tugged slow and warm. “There’s my hoodie thief.” Y/N smirked. “It was voluntary surrender. You offered.” “I didn’t think you’d claim it as property.” “It still smells like you,” she said, quieter this time. Joe’s expression shifted just slightly. “Yeah?” She nodded. He looked at her for a beat too long. The air between them heavy despite the screen. “You okay?” he asked, voice soft. Y/N nodded again. “Just… long day.” “I know the feeling.” “Did the shoot go okay?” He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Everyone made me stand like a damn action figure though.” Y/N chuckled. “Well. You are one.” “Oh yeah?” he teased. “Gonna get a little Joe figurine for your nightstand?” “Don’t tempt me.” His laugh was quiet. Familiar. God, she missed that sound in person.

The silence returned, but it wasn’t awkward. Just thick with everything neither of them would say. Joe cleared his throat. “I uh… heard about that venue in Italy. Your last set’s gonna be huge.” Y/N nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m ready for it… I think.” “I’ll be watching,” he said. “Even from here.” Her throat tightened again. “I know.” They held each other’s gaze through the screen. It didn’t need to be said. They missed each other. They felt it—every unsent word and unspoken ache stitched into the distance between them. But still… no confessions. Just the quiet rhythm of “almost.” Joe rubbed the back of his neck, eyes a little sleepy. “You should get some rest.” “You too.” He paused. “Call me tomorrow?” “Yeah,” she whispered. “Goodnight, Joey.” “Night, superstar.” The screen went dark. Y/N leaned back against her pillows and exhaled shakily. She didn’t cry this time. But she curled into his hoodie like it was the only thing holding her together.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The crowd was electric—thousands strong, bathed in orange-pink light as the sun dipped low behind the stage scaffolding. The city’s skyline shimmered beyond the barriers, old-world charm wrapped in modern chaos. Florence was alive tonight. Y/N stood just offstage, her mic in one hand, her other fidgeting with the bracelet on her wrist. Joe’s bracelet, well the one he gave her after their outing in Malta. A little seashell beaded bracelet he bought. It felt heavier than usual. Or maybe she did.

She could hear the intro playing—her band building tension with a rolling bass and the sultry, unmistakable rhythm of “Lip Lock.” A fan favorite. Dark. Dangerous. The kind of track that let her step into her power and own the stage like no one else could. But tonight… everything felt louder. Clearer. More vulnerable. Even as the crowd screamed her name. “Go show them what heartbreak sounds like,” Drea whispered as she passed, adjusting Y/N’s mic pack with a wink. Y/N laughed under her breath, eyes stinging. “Too damn easy.” The lights hit. The bass dropped. She stepped into it.

“LIP LOCK” She delivered it like a warning wrapped in velvet. Her voice dripped with the usual sass and bite, but tonight—every movement, every stare into the crowd—held something else. A flicker of ache behind the heat.

“PRIVATE PARTY” She crouched low during the bridge, that sultry whisper curling into the mic:

“Florence, you know I don’t let just anyone in, right?” The crowd howled. But her eyes scanned the crowd like she was searching for one face. One ghost.

“CONTROL FREAK” She laughed like fire, hips moving with reckless command.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it rough!” The crowd obeyed. But her voice cracked a little on the final line. Only the sound engineer would catch it.

“ALMOST” – (Unannounced Debut)

She broke her own setlist.

Halfway through the show, she signaled the band and walked up to the mic stand, both hands gripping it. “This one’s new,” she told the crowd, the gold chain around her neck flashing under the lights. “Wrote it recently. Some of y’all might know what it feels like to almost say something… and wish you had.” The crowd hushed. Then she sang. And the world tilted.

“We're almost something / too close to name

One wrong word could burn the flame

So I bite my tongue / and play my part

But I feel your hands like a brand on my heart…”

The entire crowd swayed with her. Crying, singing, screaming her name as the lights dimmed to a final fade.

Y/N stood in the wings, wrapped in a towel, heart racing harder now than it had on stage. Carmen gave her a proud look. “You did it.” Kayla just nodded, glassy-eyed. “That was different tonight.” “Yeah,” Y/N said softly. “It was.” Her phone buzzed.

Joe 🧃: You sang something new.

She didn’t even question how he knew. Probably watched the live stream. Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. But she didn’t respond yet. Didn’t know how. So instead, she clutched her towel tighter, turned toward the dressing room, and whispered to herself, “Almost.”

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The applause was still echoing outside. But inside the small, dimly lit dressing room, Y/N finally exhaled. She closed the door gently behind her and leaned against it for a long beat. Her towel still clung to her shoulders, stage makeup lightly smudged around the corners of her eyes. Sweat dried against her temples. Her chest rose and fell like the weight of the whole show was finally settling. The silence was almost deafening after the roar of the crowd. She crossed the room slowly and sank onto the wide velvet couch beneath the mirror. For a moment, she just sat there—legs spread, forearms resting on her thighs, head bowed like she was praying to find balance again. Then she looked up. Her reflection stared back—strong, radiant, exhausted.

And not fine. Her gaze dropped to the bracelet still wrapped around her wrist. The tiny crescent moon shimmered under the vanity lights. Joe had seen the performance. He’d heard Almost. She reached for her phone on the side table where one of the assistants had left it, still lit up with his message:

Joe 🧃: You sang something new.

She stared at the text like it might answer something for her. She could still feel the way the crowd hushed. How her voice caught just a little on that final verse.

“I’d rather be yours in shadows alone

Than risk the light and end up unknown…”

She hadn’t meant to sing it tonight. But once she saw the way the stage lights hit the crowd—thousands of people lit up like stars—and once she felt the way her throat tightened before Control Freak? She knew she had to. The song was about him. And every syllable felt like stepping closer to a cliff. Her fingers hovered over the screen again. Then typed.

Y/N:I wasn’t going to sing it tonight.

But I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

The three dots appeared instantly.

Joe 🧃 is typing…

She braced. But the reply was simple.

Joe 🧃: I felt it.

That was all. And yet somehow—it felt like everything. Y/N closed her eyes, phone still in her hand, and let herself breathe for the first time since stepping off the stage. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the sun pendant at her neck. A quiet pulse.

The moon and the sun.

She leaned her head back against the couch and let the silence settle again. Alone. But maybe… not completely. The lights were down low now—just the golden halo around the mirror casting a soft glow over the room. Y/N had kicked off her shoes, the towel draped over the couch beside her. She sat cross-legged now, loose hoodie tugged over her bare shoulders, curls spilling down her back. The adrenaline was fading. But her heart still beat a little too fast.

Her phone buzzed gently in her lap again. This time… not a text. A voice message. From Joe. She hesitated, thumb hovering. Then hit play. His voice filled the room, quiet and steady, laced with something warm that curled around her like a hug she didn’t know she needed.

“Hey, Superstar. I figured you might not want to talk just yet, but I wanted to say this while it’s still fresh. I watched the whole show. Every second. And I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you.”

She bit her bottom lip, eyes stinging.

“You owned that stage, Y/N. Completely. Like you weren’t just performing—you were living it. Especially that new one. The words. Shit… that one hit hard. The whole damn world could feel you in that.”

A pause. She could hear him exhale on the other end like he was working up the nerve for something.

“You’ve got this way of pulling people in, like gravity. Like you don’t just sing, you reveal. And tonight… you revealed something real. I felt it. Everyone did.”

Another pause. This one longer.

“Anyway. Just… congratulations. You were magic. Like always.”

The message ended. Y/N sat in stunned silence, her thumb brushing slowly over the phone screen. That warmth in his voice still clung to her, crawling under her skin like it had always lived there. She didn’t play it again. She didn’t need to. The words were already stitched into her ribs.

“You were magic. Like always.”

She curled up on the couch, pulled the throw blanket over her legs, and rested her head against the armrest. And for the first time in days… she smiled without aching. Just a little.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Y/N sat curled into the corner of the velvet couch, one leg tucked beneath her, Joe’s bracelet catching the mirror light as she held her phone with both hands. The silence around her was sacred now—like the calm after a storm, or the stillness in a song right before the beat drops again. His voice was still in her ears. Still wrapped around her like that hoodie she refused to give back. She stared at his name for a long moment. Then lifted the phone to her lips, closed her eyes, and hit record. Her voice came out softer than she expected—thick with fatigue, but laced with warmth.

“Hey… thank you for that. Really. I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those words until they came from you.”

She paused, a quiet smile tugging at her mouth as she leaned her head back against the wall.

“I’m still kind of floating from the show, but that message brought me back to earth in the best way. I… didn’t think anyone would really catch what that song meant. But you did. Of course you did.”

She exhaled, and the sound of the dressing room clock ticked faintly in the background.

“Anyway… it’s super late here, but I know your day’s just getting started. So—go be brilliant, Joey. Crush whatever they’ve got you doing today.”

A quiet beat. Then, more playful:

“And before you ask, yes—I still have your hoodie. Yes, I’m definitely keeping it hostage until I’m back in Atlanta. And no, I don’t feel bad about it.”

A soft chuckle.

“Sleep tight when you get there… or, whatever version of sleep your schedule allows. I’ll talk to you soon.”

She hovered a moment. Then added, more quietly:

“Be safe.”

Y/N hit send. And let the silence return. She didn’t expect a reply—not with the time difference. She just leaned back again, phone in her lap, and let her thoughts settle like dust in the stillness. There was no rush.

But something unspoken had shifted. Not a confession. Just a step.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The tarmac was bathed in soft gold light, the sky a pale watercolor of dawn. The private jet sat sleek and silent, waiting to take them home—back to Atlanta, back to real life, back to the stillness after the storm. Y/N climbed the steps with a sleepy exhale, hoodie sleeves pushed up, sunglasses perched atop her head. Her curls were tucked into a loose bun, and despite the exhaustion tugging at her, she looked peaceful—tour-worn, but satisfied. Behind her, Carmen was talking logistics with the pilot. Drea and Kayla trailed in with lattes and matching eye masks, already half-asleep. Y/N stepped into the cabin, set her bag down, and sank into one of the oversized cream leather seats with a relieved sigh. That’s when her phone buzzed.

Incoming FaceTime – Joe 🧃

Her heart flipped, gentle and sudden. She answered instantly. Joe’s face filled the screen—hood down, curls a mess, still in bed with the glow of his bedside lamp casting him in warm amber light. His eyes were puffy with sleep, but he was smiling. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” Y/N asked, a sleepy grin playing on her lips. “It’s late there, isn’t it?” Joe ran a hand down his face, voice low and rough in that way that made her toes curl. “Needed to hear your voice.”

Her smile deepened as she curled sideways in the seat, tucking her legs up beneath her. “Well… I’m glad you called.” There was a soft beat of silence between them—a pause that didn’t feel empty. Then he spoke again. “You heading out?” “Yeah,” she nodded. “Just boarded. Should be back in Atlanta in like… ten hours?” He yawned and nodded, eyes never leaving her face. “How you feeling?” Y/N shrugged, glancing out the jet window. “A little sad. The tour’s over, and now I don’t have the distraction of rehearsals or crowds screaming lyrics back at me. Just me and my own thoughts.” “And a studio,” he added, voice knowing. She chuckled. “Yeah. That too. I gotta finish these three songs officially now. You know, get them out of my head and onto a real track.” Joe's eyes softened. “They’re already perfect.”

Y/N tilted her head, teasing, “You got a favorite?” He smirked sleepily. “I mean… that new one messed me up a little.” Y/N's throat tightened, but she kept it light. “Guess I’ll have to make sure it’s track one then.” He smiled at her like he always did—like she was the only person on the planet. “Don’t let Kayla bully you out of keeping it raw.” “She already tried,” Y/N said, laughing softly. “But Carmen’s on my side.” As if on cue, Carmen walked by, glanced down at the screen, and smiled. “Hey Joe.” Joe nodded. “Morning, Carmen.” Once she was out of earshot, Y/N leaned a little closer to the camera. “Alright, sleepyhead. You heard my voice. Satisfied?” Joe blinked slow, a lazy grin on his lips. “Not even close. But I’ll take what I can get.” That did something to her. Something she didn’t dare name. “Go to sleep,” she whispered, eyes soft. “Call me when you land?” “Yeah,” she nodded. “I will.” He hesitated, then said quietly, “Safe flight, sunshine.” Her chest warmed. “Night, moonboy.” The screen faded to black. Y/N rested her phone in her lap and looked out the window just as the jet began to taxi down the runway. She had no idea what came next. But for now… she had his voice in her head. And her music waiting to be born.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The studio smelled faintly of incense and old wood—bass-heavy reverb from the session before still humming in the air as Y/N stepped into the vocal booth. Outside the glass, Kayla perched on the couch in the engineer’s lounge, a fresh matcha in hand, her eyes already on her best friend. Y/N was dressed for comfort: hoodie sleeves rolled up, sweatpants slung low on her hips, barefaced but glowing. The kind of glow that only comes after letting yourself ache for a while. She slipped on the headphones and closed her eyes as the beat faded in for the first track—the one she hadn’t titled yet. The post-airport song. That goodbye still echoed in her bones. The engineer gave her a soft thumbs up from the board. The track rolled. Then she began.

“You said goodbye like it wouldn’t linger…

Like your scent wouldn’t cling to my favorite hoodie…”

Her voice poured out like molasses—slow, aching, honey-rich. Kayla’s fingers tightened around her cup. Y/N sang on, tone dipping into something deep and dusky.

“You said, ‘Call me,’

And I said, ‘Okay,’

But I wanted to say… ‘Don’t go.’

I wanted to say…Stay.”

Kayla swallowed hard. Outside the booth, even the engineer—who’d heard countless heartbreak tracks—paused in his notes. There was something sacred about the way Y/N sang that word: stay. Not desperate. Just true. Then came the second half—like a whispered aftershock.

🎶 “You have the moon, I hold the sun But we don't rise unless we run Side by side through nights and days A quiet balance in the haze…” 🎶

By the time she hit the last line, Kayla had set her drink down. She didn’t need to ask who the song was about. She already knew.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Y/N kept her headphones on. Didn’t even leave the booth. She waved once, signaling she was ready. The instrumental came in soft, a dusky pulse that felt like a held breath. She closed her eyes and leaned closer to the mic, her hand on her chest.

“You touch me like you mean it / but you never say the wordsI kiss you like I need it / but I never let it hurt…”

Every lyric was a needle threading through her ribs. By the time she got to the chorus, her voice had thinned out in the prettiest, most painful way—like even singing it hurt.

🎶 “We’re almost something / too close to name One wrong word could burn the flame…” 🎶

Out in the lounge, Kayla’s jaw tightened. She wasn’t just watching her friend record a song. She was watching her bleed in real time. And yet—Y/N didn’t flinch. She wanted this on record. She needed this to live outside her body.

🎶 “Almost is easy / Until it’s not And silence is cruel / When it costs what you want…” 🎶

When the track ended, Y/N didn’t speak right away. She kept her eyes closed, mic still near her lips. The room was still. Then the engineer’s voice crackled into her headphones.

“That was… yeah. That was the take.”

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Y/N finally stepped out of the booth, curls pulled into a messy puff, lips slightly parted like she was still catching her breath. Kayla looked up from the couch, her gaze unreadable. Y/N slumped down beside her, taking a swig of water. “So?” Kayla blinked once. Twice. Then said softly, “You’re in love with him.” Y/N stiffened. Then scoffed—quietly, but it was more of a defense mechanism than anything real. “Kayla—” “Don’t. Don’t lie to me,” Kayla said, shaking her head, her voice quieter than usual. “I just sat through three songs that made me want to cry over him and I’m not even the one sleeping with him.” Y/N looked away, staring at a scuff on the floor. Kayla leaned in, voice softening. “I’m not pushing you. I just… I didn’t know it was this deep. You don’t even realize how loud you’re screaming when you sing those lyrics.”

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. “It’s easier to let it out that way.” Kayla nodded slowly. “Yeah, but eventually... you’re gonna have to say it out loud. To him.” Y/N didn’t respond. She just leaned her head on Kayla’s shoulder, eyes glassy. And for once… Kayla didn’t tease. Didn’t push. She just sat there with her best friend, holding the weight of what had finally been sung into existence.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The house was quiet. No music. No texts buzzing. No voices carrying from the other room. Just the low hum of the AC and the occasional creak of the settling walls—familiar, grounding sounds that made her space feel safe again. Y/N sat cross-legged on her couch, the glow of a single lamp casting shadows across her thighs. Her hoodie sleeves were pushed up to the elbows. A mug of tea sat forgotten on the table beside her, barely touched. Her journal lay open in her lap. Pages already filled with scratchy verses, small doodles in the margins, lines crossed out and rewritten. She stared at the most recent entry for a while before picking up her pen. She didn’t start with a song this time. She started with truth.

He makes it hard to breathe when he leaves. And even harder when he stays. I don’t know how we got here… but I don’t want to go back. Not to before. Not to pretending. Not to “just sex.” I’m scared of naming it. But I’m more scared of never letting myself say it at all.

She stared at the words for a moment, the ink still fresh, still threatening to smudge if she wasn’t careful. Then, without thinking too hard, she flipped the page and began to write something that looked more like lyrics—unfinished, raw, honest.

🎶 They said don’t get used to good things staying / But I got used to your arms around me late / And now I’m sitting in a house that knows your name / But not your voice… not your weight. 🎶

She paused, brow furrowing. The tea was cold now. The moonlight was creeping through the blinds. Still… she wrote.

🎶 The couch is too big / the bed too quiet

I’d call you now, but I’d have to hide it

So I trace the bracelet like it’s your skin / Wishin’ you’d knock like you did back then… 🎶

She sat back and let the pen drop, eyes burning. And for once… she didn’t run from the ache. She let it stay. She let him stay—on the page, in the room, everywhere. Because no matter how long she’d tried to keep her heart on lockdown… It was already wide open.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

There wasn’t a team today. No stylist. No Kayla. No Carmen. Just Y/N, a trusted engineer she’d worked with since her mixtape days, and the same dim-lit vocal booth that had caught so many of her secrets over the years. She hadn’t planned to come in. But after last night… after the journal page still open on her kitchen table… She knew she had to.

This wasn’t a planned single.This was a pulse. A whisper. A private moment caught on record.

She sat behind the mic, hoodie off now, tank top clinging to her frame. Her hair was up, eyes bare. No makeup, no pretense. Just her. Just the truth. She adjusted the headphones, exhaled. The instrumental was simple: a soft, slow acoustic loop—like rain against a windowpane. Tender piano chords melted underneath, sparse percussion echoing like a slow heartbeat. She didn’t need a full production. She needed a space to feel. Then, she sang.

🎶 The silence you left lives louder than thunder

I sleep in your hoodie just to feel covered

No texts at midnight, no calls on the road

But I swear I still hear you breathe through the phone… 🎶

Her voice cracked on that last line. But she didn’t stop. The engineer stayed quiet. Barely breathed.

🎶 I wrote you a song just to fill up the space

Where you used to kiss me, and hold my waist

But it’s empty at dinner, and loud in the bed

And your laugh keeps living in the back of my head… 🎶

She let the chorus rise, aching but not dramatic. Just true.

🎶 So I sing what I can’t say out loud

Pour the “I miss you”s into the crowd

But if you ever play this back someday

Know I meant every word I was too scared to say. 🎶

A breath. A pause. Then the final lines, barely more than a whisper:

🎶 I don’t know where we’ll go from here

But your name’s still safe in the chords I hear

And maybe I’ll never say it straight

But this song…This is my almost-fate. 🎶

The last note faded into stillness. Y/N let her eyes close. She didn’t ask to do a second take. She didn’t need to.

Later, as she sat on the edge of the booth couch, she scribbled the title at the top of the lyric page:

“Almost-Fate”(demo – not for release… yet)

And below it, in small writing only she would understand:

If he ever hears this… he’ll know.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The rooftop of the downtown LA studio shimmered with sunlight, wind tugging at Y/N’s curls as she stood in front of the camera, dressed in an oversized silk button-down half-unbuttoned and thigh-high boots. A fan blew gently from the left, giving her the effortless, high-gloss goddess effect the Rolling Stone team was clearly eating up.

“Tilt your chin just a bit—perfect. Yes, just like that.”

The shutter snapped rapidly. Behind the lens, the photographer grinned. “You were born for this.” Y/N gave a small, practiced smile. It was surreal. She'd flown in late the night before—her suitcase full of outfits she barely remembered packing, her mind still half in the studio back in Atlanta. Still thinking about the way she'd whispered that final line:

This song… this is my almost-fate.

But here she was now, in the middle of a Rolling Stone shoot, with her team floating around, stylists adjusting her sleeve between shots, and the music editor sitting nearby, waiting for the interview portion to start. It wasn’t lost on her: she was becoming the thing she'd dreamed of being. But damn if it didn’t feel a little lonelier now.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

She was in a soft leather chair now, makeup still dewy from the shoot, a lavender lemonade in hand. The interviewer, mid-30s with sharp eyes and a warm voice, leaned forward. “Let’s talk about the music. ‘Thigh High Lies’ and ‘Heat in the Sheets’—same project, completely different emotional temperature. What was the headspace there?” Y/N smiled, slow and measured. “I think real people live in contradiction. You can want someone in your bed and still be scared to let them into your chest. That’s where a lot of this project lives—in those in-betweens.”

The interviewer jotted something down. “You’ve got fans speculating, especially after your performance in Malta. Some are calling it your ‘soulmate era.’ Is there truth in that?” Y/N sipped her drink and smirked behind the straw. “I don’t know if I believe in soulmates. But I do believe in timing. And chemistry. And… fire that burns quietly.” The interviewer tilted her head. “Fire that burns quietly?” Y/N nodded once. “Yeah. The kind that doesn’t explode. It just stays. Simmers. You carry it with you, even when you’re not touching it.” She didn’t say his name. Didn’t have to.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Y/N kicked her heels off and flopped onto the couch in her temporary dressing room, phone resting face-down on the coffee table. Drea had gone to grab smoothies. Kayla was texting from across the city. Her stylist popped her head in. “You killed it, babe. Like, cover spread killed it.” Y/N offered a grateful thumbs up, but her mind was elsewhere. She finally picked up her phone. A text from Joe had come through while she was mid-interview:

Moonboy🧃: Heard you're lighting up LA. Save me a copy of that cover. Proud of you, sunshine.

Her lips curved before she could stop them. She tapped out a reply, then paused. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted that too. Instead, she opened her camera roll and snapped a quick mirror pic—hair still tousled, her expression soft, thoughtful. She sent that instead, followed by:

Sunshine: You always know when to text. I’ll save you two copies. One to keep. One in case you “accidentally” lose it.

Then, after a beat:

P.S. Don’t think I forgot about your hoodie.

She could almost hear his laugh through the screen. Y/N leaned back into the cushions, letting the weight of the shoot, the songs, the silence—all of it—settle in her chest. She was rising, yes. But something—someone—was anchoring her just enough to keep it real. And that… that was the part she couldn’t sing about just yet.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Joe tossed his phone on the kitchen island and tried to refocus on the stack of documents in front of him—appearance schedules, foundation briefings, endorsement prep. He was supposed to be reviewing questions for an upcoming campaign with BodyArmor. Instead? He was staring at the picture. Again. Y/N, caught in a candid moment—her face bare but glowing, lips parted just slightly, hair still wild from the shoot. She’d sent it to him a few hours earlier, paired with one of her usual teasing messages:

“Save you two copies. One to keep. One in case you ‘accidentally’ lose it.”

And then the kicker:

“P.S. Don’t think I forgot about your hoodie.”

Joe had tried to play it cool. Had even managed a half-smirk when the text came through. But now, alone in the silence of his condo, the smile had faded into something heavier. Deeper. He picked up the phone again. Pulled up the Rolling Stone preview gallery. The official shoot photos had dropped. There she was—centered in every frame, magnetic and confident and so unmistakably her. One shot had her in a white satin two-piece, kneeling with her hands on her thighs, eyes sharp but mouth soft. Another had her leaning against a brick wall in leather pants and a mesh top, curls cascading like smoke, giving that effortless “don't look too long or you’ll fall” energy. And Joe? He was already gone. He clicked through slowly, like his brain was buffering between the shots and the realization hitting harder with each scroll. He’d always known she was talented. Had always known she was beautiful. But this? This was her moment. And he wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend to be content watching from the sidelines. He exhaled hard, rubbing his hand down his face. His voice echoed softly in the empty room:

“You’re gonna fall in love with her if you’re not careful.”

The words slipped out before he could catch them. But they didn’t surprise him. Not anymore. Because the truth was—he already had.

He opened his messages again.

Typed:

You look insane in that cover shoot. Could barely finish my call with the Bengals team photographer because of it.

Deleted it. Typed:

You were made for that spotlight. Don’t let anybody tell you otherwise.

Deleted that, too. He stared at the blinking cursor, thumb hovering, before finally typing:

Moonboy🧃: Keep the hoodie. Looks better on you anyway.

Then, after a pause:

Proud of you, always.

He hit send. Then locked the screen. And for the first time in a while, Joe leaned back… and let himself feel the full weight of how deeply he’d fallen. Not just for the girl in the photos. But for the woman behind the lyrics. Behind the hoodie. Behind every text that left his heart half-exposed and aching.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

The kitchen smelled like cinnamon and butter. Robin was humming softly as she pulled a tray of banana bread from the oven. Joe sat at the breakfast nook, a baseball cap pulled low, thumb brushing absently over his phone screen. It was unlocked, still open on Y/N’s Rolling Stone cover. She was radiant. Like she belonged in the stars. Robin noticed the stillness in her son’s posture and glanced over her shoulder. “You’re unusually quiet today,” she said casually, setting the tray down. “That new PR schedule beating you up already?” Joe didn’t answer at first. Just tapped his screen to black, like hiding the photo would help hide his thoughts. Robin raised a brow, pouring him a glass of iced tea. “Or is it not football that’s on your mind?” Joe gave a small, dry laugh. “You sound like Kayla.” “Kayla sounds like a woman who pays attention.” Robin slid the tea in front of him, then sat across from him, folding her hands. “And I’m your mother. I’ve known when something’s up since you were six years old and tried to lie about breaking my lamp.”

Joe leaned back, looking toward the kitchen window. “It’s nothing.” “‘Nothing’ that makes you check your phone every five minutes?” Before Joe could answer, the front door opened and shut. Ja’Marr walked in, sunglasses on his head, grinning. “Yo! I know that smell ain’t just for you.” Joe chuckled. “Banana bread. Still warm.” “Say less.” Ja’Marr grabbed a piece and flopped into the seat next to Joe, taking a bite and groaning. “Aunt Robin, you really need to teach me this.” Robin winked. “Only if you promise to use it for good, not evil.” As the conversation moved on, Joe stayed mostly quiet—nodding, smiling, but distant. Until Ja’Marr looked over at him mid-chew and said, “Alright, what’s up with you?” Joe blinked. “What?”

“You’ve been in a trance all week. You messed up that sponsor shoot 'cause you were texting. You just forgot your tea existed. And you didn't even bring up camp once. You’re either secretly injured or you're in your feelings.” Joe scoffed. “I’m not in my feelings.” Robin gave Ja’Marr a knowing look. “Did he show you the picture?” “Ohhh,” Ja’Marr grinned. “The Y/N picture?” Joe dropped his head in his hands. “You two are relentless.” Robin reached over and patted his arm. “Because we care. And because it’s obvious.” Joe stayed silent for a long beat.

Then quietly, without looking up: “She’s different.” Ja’Marr leaned back. “Yeah, bro. We noticed.” Robin’s expression softened. “She’s not just some ‘situation,’ is she?” Joe shook his head, voice quiet. “We had an agreement. No feelings. Just... whatever this is.” “But?” Robin prompted gently. Joe looked up finally. “But I think I crossed that line a while ago. And I don’t think she meant to. I don’t even know if she has.” Ja’Marr exhaled. “Shit. You’re down bad.” Robin swatted his shoulder. “Language.” Joe cracked a faint smile, then rubbed the back of his neck. “I see her in everything lately. Hear her in my head. She sent me this picture yesterday, and I just... I couldn’t breathe for a second.” “Did you tell her?” Robin asked.

Joe hesitated. “No.” Ja’Marr frowned. “Why not?” “Because if I say it out loud,” Joe said, “I don’t know what happens next. I don’t want to ruin it. Or pressure her. Or change something she’s not ready to change.” Robin reached for his hand. “But baby… if it’s already changed for you, keeping it in might do more harm than good.” Joe looked down. His fingers traced the moon-and-stars bracelet on his wrist without thinking. “Maybe,” he said. “But for now... I just need to be sure.” Ja’Marr and Robin exchanged a glance but said nothing. Sometimes, the only thing you could do was give someone the space to reach their truth in their own time.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

“Damn,” Kayla said from the edge of the bed, pausing mid-text to give Y/N a full once-over. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re trying to cause an earthquake tonight.” Y/N adjusted her diamond drop earring in the mirror, lips curved into a faint, distracted smile. “Just felt like showing out a little.” Her dress was a deep, silky bronze—cut dangerously low in the back, clinging to her like a second skin. Her curls were half-up, loose tendrils framing her face. Glossy lips. Sharp liner. The kind of look that didn’t beg for attention—it owned it. Kayla raised a brow. “You okay?” Y/N shrugged, spritzing her perfume. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” “Mmm, I don’t know. You’ve been half here since the shoot. You sure this is about celebrating and not… distraction?” Y/N paused. She turned from the mirror and smoothed her palms down her sides. “Both. Maybe.”

Kayla stood and walked over, gently fixing a curl behind her best friend’s ear. “You can tell me if it’s about him.” Y/N gave a soft laugh—light, evasive. “I’m not doing the ‘cry in the club’ routine, Kay. I promise.” “But you are doing the ‘look stunning and pretend nothing’s on your mind’ thing.” Y/N sighed and finally looked Kayla in the eye. “It’s just been a long couple of weeks. And now that it’s over, I’m trying to find my footing again. That's all.”

Kayla didn’t push. Just nodded. “Then let’s go out and remind LA who the hell you are.” The rooftop bar pulsed with golden lights and hazy, soft-house beats. Everyone looked like they belonged in a music video. Y/N sipped her mezcal cocktail slowly, perched in the VIP section with Kayla and Drea, her laughter drifting through the air as a model flirted shamelessly across the table. She smiled, flirted back, even leaned in once when he said something in Spanish. But even as the conversation flowed, her phone burned in her clutch. She hadn’t opened it in over an hour. Hadn’t let herself look. Because every time she did, she thought about him. His bracelets. That quiet look he gave her when she wore his hoodie. The way his voice sounded at 3 a.m. The FaceTime that made her heart skip even when she wouldn’t admit it. And it made her ache. She finished her drink. Reached for her phone. Still no new messages. She blinked, then tucked it back away.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Joe sat on his bed, phone in hand. Thumb hovering over her contact again. He didn’t press send. Not yet.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Back in LA, Y/N stood up, smoothing her dress and glancing at the glowing skyline just past the balcony. She looked perfect. Composed. But her heart was doing somersaults. Because she could text him. Could FaceTime. Could say something real. But instead… She exhaled. Grabbed another drink. And told herself she was fine. Even if her silence was starting to weigh just a little heavier.

The bass was heavy, the beat sultry—low and thumping like a second heartbeat in her chest. Y/N’s head tipped back mid-laugh, curls bouncing as she danced with Kayla and Drea beneath golden strobes, the city glittering through the glass walls behind them. Kayla twirled her, and Y/N stumbled, giggling, into Drea’s arms. “I’m not drunk,” she insisted, even as her heel caught slightly on the floor. Drea snorted. “Girl, you just tried to tip your drink into your clutch like it was a cupholder.” Y/N waved her hand. “It needed hydration!” Kayla cackled as they swayed together again, their arms thrown around each other like college girls on spring break. “You are fully wine girl wasted right now. We love that for you.” “Baddest bitch in the building!” Drea declared, and they all shrieked in agreement. Y/N kept laughing, but under the glitter and sweat and dizzy happiness… her mind was already pulling away. Toward him.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Y/N leaned against the window, the city blurring past in streaks of neon. Her head was tipped toward Kayla’s shoulder now, eyes glassy and distant. Her fingers kept unlocking her phone, scrolling, locking it again. Drea peeked over. “Texting your mans?” “I don’t have a mans,” Y/N murmured, barely slurring. Kayla side-eyed her. “Mmhmm.” Y/N turned her phone to show the screen—Joe’s contact. Her thumb hovering over the FaceTime button. They all stared at it like it might detonate. “I shouldn’t,” Y/N whispered. Kayla snorted. “Which means you absolutely will.”

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

Back in the Hotel Suite – 2:07 A.M.

The click of the door behind her was muffled by the thump of her heels hitting the floor—one, then the other, kicked off with a dramatic sigh as Y/N swayed slightly, the plush carpet catching her bare feet. Her bronze dress clung to her curves, the fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light of the suite as she sank down onto the velvet chaise lounge like a woman too full of emotion to stand upright for another second. The room smelled like expensive perfume and champagne. Her curls were loosened from the dance floor, sunglasses still perched on top of her head for no reason other than habit. She exhaled slowly, then reached for her phone resting on the side table, screen lighting up her flushed face. She stared at it for a moment. Chewed her bottom lip. Then—fuck it. Her thumb hovered for half a second before hitting the FaceTime icon. Joe’s contact photo glowed up at her, and her heart did that stupid little skip like it always did when it was him. It rang once. Twice. Three times—And then the screen shifted.

¸♩·¯·♬¸¸ •🧡•¸¸♫·¯·♪¸¸

FaceTime Call – Joe’s Condo, Cincinnati – 5:09 A.M. EST

Joe’s face appeared, sleep-warmed and slightly disoriented, curls flattened on one side and voice scratchy with the weight of the hour. His eyes squinted at the screen. “Y/N?” She beamed at him, cheeks rosy from tequila and late-night affection. Her body was sprawled sideways across the chaise, long legs stretched, her head tipped lazily against the cushion. “There’s my moon,” she said dreamily, her smile soft and a little crooked. Joe blinked hard, rubbing a hand down his face. He sat up slowly, the chain around his neck catching the light. “You okay?”

“I missed you,” she sighed, eyes dancing over the screen like she was drinking him in. “You look soft. And sleepy. It’s cute.” He let out a low, amused breath. “Have you been drinking?” “Only a little.” She held up two fingers—poorly measured. “Like this much tequila. And this much missing you.” Joe’s jaw tensed, a small exhale leaking out his nose. “Y/N…”

“You should be here,” she said, her voice dropping. “The club played ‘Heat in the Sheets.’ Whole place lost it. You would’ve hated it. Or maybe loved it. I dunno. The bass was crazy.” That caught his attention. He ran a hand through his curls, the corner of his mouth twitching. “They played your song?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She nodded, eyes already a little heavier. “I might’ve told the DJ to queue it. Maybe. Possibly. I plead the fifth.” He laughed softly, the sound deep and tender. She lit up again—eyes sparkling even through the haze of alcohol and exhaustion. “You’re in bed?” she asked after a beat, voice gentler. “Yeah,” he said, shifting to lean against the headboard. “Just woke up. What time is it there?” “Late. Early. Something like that.” She yawned, one hand cradling her cheek. “You look nice.” Joe smiled, just barely. “You do too.” Y/N’s lashes fluttered as her eyes slipped closed for a second. Her voice came quieter, drowsy and sweet. “Don’t hang up yet.” “I won’t,” he promised, instantly. “I’m gonna fall asleep.” “I know.” A pause. Then—almost too soft to catch: “Just… stay on. Please.”

Joe adjusted the phone on his knee, his hand resting on his chest now. “I’m not going anywhere.” The glow from Y/N’s screen bathed her in a soft, gold-tinted halo, the kind of light that only came after hours of music and sweat and moonlight. She curled further into the plush throw blanket draped over her legs, her body settling as her breathing began to slow. Joe didn’t say anything. He just watched. Watched the way her lips parted in sleep. Watched the way her brows relaxed as the quiet finally caught up to her. Watched the way his chest squeezed even tighter with every passing second.

“You still there?” she whispered, not quite asleep yet. “I’m here,” he murmured. A satisfied hum left her throat. “Good. You’re warm, even through a phone. That’s magic, Joey.” He chuckled, low and breathy. “You’re definitely drunk.” “I’m soft,” she corrected, blinking at him with all the seriousness she could muster. “Like… like a peach.” “A drunk peach.” “Mmm.” Her head dipped again. “A peach who misses you.” Joe’s throat tightened. His fingers moved absently along his knee, eyes never leaving her face. She yawned once more, the motion making her nose scrunch in that way he always found stupidly adorable. “You gonna fall asleep on me?” she asked again, her voice a breath. “No,” he said. “I’m staying on.” Her eyes fluttered shut. Her body stilled. And then, barely audible—more breath than voice: “Love you…”

Joe stopped breathing. His entire body went still. She shifted slightly, murmuring again—softer now, like her dreams were bleeding into her words: “…So dumb. Said I wouldn’t feel. Told Kayla… no falling. But you—” Her voice faded. Sleep took her.

Joe sat there in stunned silence, the weight of her words heavier than anything he’d carried all week. “Y/N?” he whispered, unsure if he wanted her to wake up or not. No answer. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of her breathing. She’d said it. She didn’t mean to. Not like that. Not while half-asleep in a velvet dress across the ocean. But she had. And something about the accidental way it spilled out of her made it feel more real than anything else she could’ve said. Joe leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his phone still tilted toward her. His voice cracked on the whisper:

“…I love you too.”

It was quiet. Unsure. Raw. The first time he’d ever said it out loud. Even if she didn’t hear it. Even if she’d wake up the next morning with nothing but vague memories and a screenshot from the call. He stayed on for another hour, just watching her. Letting the early Ohio light creep into the edges of his room. Letting his heart sit in it—settle in it. And when he finally hung up, he didn’t feel lost. Not tonight. Not anymore.

JB9 Taglist: @lilfreakjez, @dasia21, @superanastasia1981, @gg-trini, @wickedfun9, @irishmanwhore, @danielle143, @destinyg237

[fmajorenthusiast]

Hello! Its my birthday today and I wanted to do something special!!!

I seriously cannot thank you all enough for being so PERFECT and AMAZING and INCREDIBLE and not a single day goes by when I am not SO grateful for all of this!!!

As I am turning 19, here we have

19 AU HCs and or fun facts about my development of it that I wanted to share!!!

Some of them may be repeats or things that I have said before, but I hope they're all fresh and fun!!! Also, I'm trying to be a bit more vulnerable! So here it is under the cut!!! :)

Bonus fact bc I'm all but certain that I mentioned this one somewhere before: In my AU Columbia has the magical power to turn into a mouse in a big pink cloud of smoke! The mouse is fire engine red because it went with her when she dyed her hair!!!

1. The thing that began it all in the first place! Just a little thought! A little HC that nagged at me!

I was thinking about the names Riff Raff and Magenta and what those names say and for some reason I thought to myself, those names might say, "my mother loved me and now she's dead," and I'm not sure, but I think that that might be the thought that set everything into motion! It definitely stayed in my head on many occasions that I watched the movie!!! And well, I'm so happy that that thought grew into being so much more!!!

2. In the veeeeeery first versions of my story, Soline stayed dead!!! This didn't last very long because, well, I simply don't want her to die and she has so much left to do!!! I'll admit it, I'm a sucker for a happy ending and it doesn't hurt the story to bring her back! I love the story a lot more this way, and I love my girl, so I'm keeping her alive!!!

3. I found the name Soline like this!!

I was on a website and hit a "give me a random female name" button a few times, looking for a placeholder name until I selected a real one!!! And it fed me Soline!!! And it stuck on me so hard!!! That website has 13,096 female names!!! And well, now, by the craziest coincidence in the world, I have Soline short for Solina!!!

4. Not sure if I mentioned this before but, in my AU, (and no offense at ALL to whatever your beliefs might be!!) the people of Transsexual are godless! Instead, the ceremonies we see (Riff's coronation, Riff and Cordelia's wedding etc etc.) are all centered around time!!! They'll use sayings like "Thank time," or "may time be kind to you," or "past, present, and future!" Or anything else like that!!!

5. Riff Raff's middle name is Velkimir and Magenta's is Mabelletta!!! It was normal and expected in the Furter reign for lower class citizens to give their children fancy middle names, because of course we're all equal on special occasions!!!

6. Riff and Magenta were born late!!! Not late enough for it to be dangerous, but they were definitely born late!!! Tologovta also kept Soline working LITERALLY right up until then, though!!!

7. I've come up with two holidays for Transsexual so far!!! 1. Creativity Day! All forms of pleasure except penetration are celebrated and 2. Time Day! The day where everyone honors their past present and future.... and then everyone gets their partner/partners off twice! Once as quickly as possible and once as slowly as possible!

8. Sometime after the movie, the government called the surviving leads (Columbia got zapped back to life) in and they were all forced to be DNA tested so that everyone could see whether they were human or Transylvanian! They were told to be honest upfront, and the males and females were sent to separate rooms, and this conversation later took place,

"You did NOT tell us about the sister!"

Brad: Oh you-!

Riff Raff: The FIRST thing I told you was that Magenta was my twin sister!!!

"Nice try Brad we were talking about you and Columbia"

Brad:

Riff: *starts absolutely howling with laughter it's literally that one scene with Arya and Sandor from Game of Thrones*

Turns out Columbia and Brad are half siblings!!! Columbia is three years older and from before his dad met his mom! He never knew either!!! She's also Eddie's widow, so with the twins being Doctor Scott's adoptive grandchildren, that puts everyone into one family!!!

9. My Riff Raff LOVES ice cream and its texture!! Especially the creaminess!!!! His favorite flavors are Cookies N Cream or French Vanilla!!! He'd suck on it a LOT when going through drug withdrawal whilst trying to break his addiction!!!

10: There are a few moments in the movie that Soline's motions/posture were based off of! The way that Magenta moves during the Time Warp, (specifically when she watches Janet faint and later when she runs down the stairs) MASTER, DINNER IS PREPARED! And the way that Riff Raff stands when Doctor Scott first wheels in to see them!!!

11. Blonde can be a dominant gene for Transylvanians!!! Even ones with naturally dark skin tones will have naturally light hair sometimes!!! (This fact was stemmed from my mother saying, "that's not scientifically possible" upon being informed that the planet Transsexual is the land of eternal night, and I thought to myself "wow what's a harmless way that I can do that again?" And here we are LOL)

12. Riff Raff personally asked all of the characters to wear an outfit of theirs that he felt captured their essence the most to his coronation!!! I'm not sure of everyone yet, but Brad and Janet were in a matching pastel pink color and Columbia was told to "just dump all of the glitter on herself and do whatever it is that a Columbia does"!! (Riff's coronation is SUCH an ordeal that it deserves its own post it really is that wild)

13: When Riff Raff and Magenta were little, Doctor Scott, their grandpa Scotty, would always read them Goodnight Moon!!!

14: In my AU, the arm motion that Riff Raff and Magenta do together is a symbol of love (of any kind obvs) and loyalty! It's most commonly done in times of bravery or risk, no matter how small! After discovering that Doctor Scott was their unbiological grandfather, Riff Raff and Magenta realized in shock/fully registered the fact that they had done this motion over him the night of the floor show and Frank's death. Even though they hadn't seen him in 25 years, even though they'd forgotten, something in their subconscious remembered and it was like somehow they'd known he was a part in all of this!!! Riff Raff scratched so hard at his subconscious, Doctor Scott was like a book he'd been told that he read in his infancy but he couldn't remember or figure out what was in it to save his life!!! He knew that he must have that memory somewhere and eventually one broke through! Riff eventually let out a very shy and hesitant, "Doctor Scott... I remember you." Scotty thought that Riff had tricked himself at first, but then Riff explained that he remembered Scotty teaching him and Magenta how to sing Modern Major General and then said, "make no mistake, grandfather. I remember you." From that point on the family was inseperable again!

15: Transsexual is a monarchy with limitations! There's a democratically elected council on top of the monarch made up of twelve council members!!! If ten out of twelve agree on something, they override the monarch and the monarch has no control!!! These are the people that swear in the new monarchs as well, though the Head of the Council does the heavy lifting there!!! But still, they lead the ceremony!!!

16: There's a pattern of 25s!!! Doctor Scott is 25 years older than Soline, though he wouldn't know her until 16-17 of those had passed! Once he was separated from her and the twins, he had to wait another 25 years before the universe allowed them to come back into his life in the events of Rocky Horror!

17: Riff Raff's theme color (is that what it's called?) in my AU is green!!! It's the most common color that he wears! He wears it to his coronation, wedding, and I imagine him in a normal dark green suit a whole lot, too!

18: When the twins were two, Magenta once woke up Scotty by prying his eyes open! Many decades later, one of Riff's children (I'm not sure which yet LOL) did this same exact thing to him and he got a very lovely, "now you know!" from his grandfather, even though he never did it to him in the first place!!! It was VERY hilarious!!!

19: Immediately after Riff kills Tologovta, he's taken for medical treatment and it turns out that there's some INCREDIBLE healing devices that he didn't know about and he's back on his feet and without a scratch! He stays dressed for the council, however!

They inform him that the citizens have voted on the decision and that they agree that he's the next rightful heir. He's then informed that he gets made king in 2 days! He is stressed by that timeline! They chuck a bunch of money at him and are like "so that you may make yourself so fucking pretty for that day!" and then they ask him if there's anything else legal that should be handled or dealt with before he becomes king. And he, with his long hair (he's not balding in my version lol) absolutely fucking drenched in sweat, turns back to his family and just asks, "are we doing this right now?" And it might be a few decades late, but it's nowhere NEAR too late!!! Their tech gives them longer life spans and there are hundreds of years left! And that meeting ends with a legal adoption finally having gone through!!!

The Head of the Council then remarks on how impossible and lovely it is that all of these people are related. It'll be Riff Raff, Magenta, Scotty, Soline, Brad, Janet, Columbia, and Perci (little sibling of the twins dad and the only paternal family they got left!)

Everybody is related in the word of the law now, and it really is a "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring" moment!!! They're all so happy!!!

I want to thank you all again SO much for how absolutely AMAZING you are!!! This blog, this special little corner of the internet, is SUCH a joy in my life and I feel like I must be one of the luckiest people in the world getting to see you guys posts and post here myself!!! Not to MENTION how awesome it is that I get to chat with you guys!!!

Sorry if that's a bit much, I just feel really happy XD! Here's to another year of us being awesome together on this wild site!!!

[rubinee]

warning this post is very tmi and personal reader discretion is advised

on that kinky website i like to go to i saw an MF couple profile where she identified as a cuckquean who loves showing off and sharing her man and he had a personal ad online offering "the boyfriend experience" and ngl they were both kinda cute

I've been thinking about messaging them and maybe asking if she thought it was hot for her to watch her bf take my vaginal virginity..... if you've been a long-term follower of this blog you know this is a big deal for me but I've been kinda curious about trying vaginal penetration recently (i blame that toy i got...) i just think I'd be more comfortable if there's a woman there who a) has tested and approved of this man b) watches over my safety and c) gets turned on by my pleasure

all of this is of cause entirely dependent on if they like me and think I'm as cute as i think they are (weird english, sorry) idk if you read this far, what do you think i need some opinions

[lonestarbattleship]

September 3, 2023 Update from the Battleship Texas Foundation

"DRY DOCK TOURS

On the Deck of Battleship Texas

Dry Dock Tours are BACK! Discount available for those who return. For more information please visit: battleshiptexas.org/drydock

Dry Dock staff hang reproductions of the historic "Come on Texas!" banners across the gangway.

SHIP REPAIRS

TORPEDO BLISTERS - The new torpedo blisters are a slightly different design and square off at the bottom below the waterline. This design change will make the new blisters easier to maintain increasing their longevity.

The last of the torpedo blister plates are being added. (Starboard)

COATING - The inside of the blisters, and the ship's hull will be coated to protect against possible corrosion.

The bottom of the torpedo blisters that will now be exposed to the water have been cleaned and prepped. Doubler plates will go over these areas.

This docking keel has been cleaned and primed.

Doubler plates have already been added in some areas where the torpedo blisters once were.

Primer added to the end of one docking keel.

Repairs made to the ship's stern near the keel.

LEAK TESTING - All welds continue to be tested for leaks. They are done via vacuum box, dye penetrant or magnaflux depending on the area.

DECK REPAIRS - Gulf Copper's yard workers have concluded repairing the deck on the ship's Signal Bridge and have begun working on the deck above, the Navigation Bridge. A part of the deck repairs includes sand blasting the underside of the underside and painting on a coat of primer.

Scaffolding used to repair the superstructure of Battleship Texas.

Scaffolding used to repair the superstructure of Battleship Texas. Repairs have been made to the deck, bracing, and supports.

Dock Tour staff man the 40mm Bofors!

AFT FIRE CONTROL TOWER - Work continues in the AFCT as the old grating that was installed in 1988 has been completely removed and replaced with a steel deck. Small repairs to the bulkhead are currently ongoing as the plan is to have it look as it did in 1945.

Work continues on the ship's aft fire control. (New decking, doors replaced, etc)

Work on the ship's aft fire control. The doors will be added back, and if the budget allows, the windows too.

The door that is supposed to be on each side of tower has been opened.

The door that is supposed to be on each side of the Mower has been opened up again.

Live, Laugh, And Flood your Torpedo Blisters

Visit our website at: battleshiptexas.org"

Posted by Hunter Miertschin on the Battleship Texas Foundation Group Facebook page: link

[mariacallous]

Congress is moving closer to putting US election technology under a stricter cybersecurity microscope.

Embedded inside this year’s Intelligence Authorization Act, which funds intelligence agencies like the CIA, is the Strengthening Election Cybersecurity to Uphold Respect for Elections through Independent Testing (SECURE IT) Act, which would require penetration testing of federally certified voting machines and ballot scanners, and create a pilot program exploring the feasibility of letting independent researchers probe all manner of election systems for flaws.

The SECURE IT Act—originally introduced by US senators Mark Warner, a Virginia Democrat, and Susan Collins, a Maine Republican—could significantly improve the security of key election technology in an era when foreign adversaries remain intent on undermining US democracy.

“This legislation will empower our researchers to think the way our adversaries do, and expose hidden vulnerabilities by attempting to penetrate our systems with the same tools and methods used by bad actors,” says Warner, who chairs the Senate Intelligence Committee.

The new push for these programs highlights the fact that even as election security concerns have shifted to more visceral dangers such as death threats against county clerks, polling-place violence, and AI-fueled disinformation, lawmakers remain worried about the possibility of hackers infiltrating voting systems, which are considered critical infrastructure but are lightly regulated compared to other vital industries.

Russia’s interference in the 2016 election shined a spotlight on threats to voting machines, and despite major improvements, even modern machines can be flawed. Experts have consistently pushed for tighter federal standards and more independent security audits. The new bill attempts to address those concerns in two ways.

The first provision would codify the US Election Assistance Commission’s recent addition of penetration testing to its certification process. (The EAC recently overhauled its certification standards, which cover voting machines and ballot scanners and which many states require their vendors to meet.)

While previous testing simply verified whether machines contained particular defensive measures—such as antivirus software and data encryption—penetration testing will simulate real-world attacks meant to find and exploit the machines’ weaknesses, potentially yielding new information about serious software flaws.

“People have been calling for mandatory [penetration] testing for years for election equipment,” says Edgardo Cortés, a former Virginia elections commissioner and an adviser to the election security team at New York University’s Brennan Center for Justice.

The bill’s second provision would require the EAC to experiment with a vulnerability disclosure program for election technology—including systems that are not subject to federal testing, such as voter registration databases and election results websites.

Vulnerability disclosure programs are essentially treasure hunts for civic-minded cyber experts. Vetted participants, operating under clear rules about which of the organizer’s computer systems are fair game, attempt to hack those systems by finding flaws in how they are designed or configured. They then report any flaws they discover to the organizer, sometimes for a reward.

By allowing a diverse group of experts to hunt for bugs in a wide range of election systems, the Warner–Collins bill could dramatically expand scrutiny of the machinery of US democracy.

The pilot program would be a high-profile test of the relationship between election vendors and researchers, who have spent decades clashing over how to examine and disclose flaws in voting systems. The bill attempts to assuage vendors’ concerns by requiring the EAC to vet prospective testers and by prohibiting testers from publicly disclosing any vulnerabilities they find for 180 days. (They would also have to immediately report vulnerabilities to the EAC and the Department of Homeland Security.)

Still, one provision could spark concern. The bill would require manufacturers to patch or otherwise mitigate serious reported vulnerabilities within 180 days of confirming them. The EAC—which must review all changes to certified voting software—would have 90 days to approve fixes; any fix not approved within that timetable would be “deemed to be certified,” though the commission could review it later.

A vendor might not be able to fix a problem, get that fix approved, and get all of its customers to deploy that fix before the nondisclosure period expires.

“Updates to equipment in the field can take many weeks, and modifying equipment close to an election date is a risky operation,” says Ben Adida, the executive director of the vendor VotingWorks.

Some vendors might also chafe at the bill’s legal protections for researchers. The legislation includes a “safe harbor” clause that exempts testing activities from the prohibitions of the Computer Fraud and Abuse Act and the Digital Millennium Copyright Act, and bars vendors from suing researchers under those laws for accidental violations of the program’s terms.

There is also a funding question. The SECURE IT Act doesn’t authorize any new money for the EAC to run these programs.

“I hope Congress accounts for the necessary funding needed to support the increased responsibilities the EAC will take on,” says EAC chair Ben Hovland. “Investments in programs like this are critical to maintaining and strengthening the security of our elections.”

Meanwhile, the bill’s prospects are unclear. Even if it passes the Senate, there is no sign of similar momentum in the House.

[educationmore]

Python for Beginners: Launch Your Tech Career with Coding Skills

Are you ready to launch your tech career but don’t know where to start? Learning Python is one of the best ways to break into the world of technology—even if you have zero coding experience.

In this guide, we’ll explore how Python for beginners can be your gateway to a rewarding career in software development, data science, automation, and more.

Why Python Is the Perfect Language for Beginners

Python has become the go-to programming language for beginners and professionals alike—and for good reason:

Simple syntax: Python reads like plain English, making it easy to learn.

High demand: Industries spanning the spectrum are actively seeking Python developers to fuel their technological advancements.

Versatile applications: Python's versatility shines as it powers everything from crafting websites to driving artificial intelligence and dissecting data.

Whether you want to become a software developer, data analyst, or AI engineer, Python lays the foundation.

What Can You Do With Python?

Python is not just a beginner language—it’s a career-building tool. Here are just a few career paths where Python is essential:

Web Development: Frameworks like Django and Flask make it easy to build powerful web applications. You can even enroll in a Python Course in Kochi to gain hands-on experience with real-world web projects.

Data Science & Analytics: For professionals tackling data analysis and visualization, the Python ecosystem, featuring powerhouses like Pandas, NumPy, and Matplotlib, sets the benchmark.

Machine Learning & AI: Spearheading advancements in artificial intelligence development, Python boasts powerful tools such as TensorFlow and scikit-learn.

Automation & Scripting: Simple yet effective Python scripts offer a pathway to amplified efficiency by automating routine workflows.

Cybersecurity & Networking: The application of Python is expanding into crucial domains such as ethical hacking, penetration testing, and the automation of network processes.

How to Get Started with Python

Starting your Python journey doesn't require a computer science degree. Success hinges on a focused commitment combined with a thoughtfully structured educational approach.

Step 1: Install Python

Download and install Python from python.org. It's free and available for all platforms.

Step 2: Choose an IDE

Use beginner-friendly tools like Thonny, PyCharm, or VS Code to write your code.

Step 3: Learn the Basics

Focus on:

Variables and data types

Conditional statements

Loops

Functions

Lists and dictionaries

If you prefer guided learning, a reputable Python Institute in Kochi can offer structured programs and mentorship to help you grasp core concepts efficiently.

Step 4: Build Projects

Learning by doing is key. Start small:

Build a calculator

Automate file organization

Create a to-do list app

As your skills grow, you can tackle more complex projects like data dashboards or web apps.

How Python Skills Can Boost Your Career

Adding Python to your resume instantly opens up new opportunities. Here's how it helps:

Higher employability: Python is one of the top 3 most in-demand programming languages.

Better salaries: Python developers earn competitive salaries across the globe.

Remote job opportunities: Many Python-related jobs are available remotely, offering flexibility.

Even if you're not aiming to be a full-time developer, Python skills can enhance careers in marketing, finance, research, and product management.

If you're serious about starting a career in tech, learning Python is the smartest first step you can take. It’s beginner-friendly, powerful, and widely used across industries.

Whether you're a student, job switcher, or just curious about programming, Python for beginners can unlock countless career opportunities. Invest time in learning today—and start building the future you want in tech.

Globally recognized as a premier educational hub, DataMites Institute delivers in-depth training programs across the pivotal fields of data science, artificial intelligence, and machine learning. They provide expert-led courses designed for both beginners and professionals aiming to boost their careers.

Python Modules Explained - Different Types and Functions - Python Tutorial

[crosseyedcricketart]

here’s what i tested this month - march 2024

if you wouldn’t like to see posts like this, block the tag “🤍 lifestyle tag” 🖤

🕯 little disclaimer: these are all my own opinions; nothing incentivized or gifted; all bought on my own; products will always work differently for different people, so these may work differently for you

BYOMA Cleansing Oil ($12.99)

5/5 - I picked this up from my local target - I have been really enjoying this cleanser. When I have on makeup, I use this then the Milky Jelly Cleanser, but a lot of days I use this as my only cleanser. It’s really gentle on the skin and cleanses it without overly stripping it. This is probably one of the best oil cleansers I’ve ever tried. And it’s at Target. I use two pumps for my face. It removes eye makeup very gently and thoroughly without tugging on the skin or lashes. I was able to remove glitter with this too. I’ve personally used olive oil before when my mascara just wouldn’t come off and this cleanser works better than that. For reference.

PACIFICA Vegan Collagen Recovery Night Cream ($26.00)

2/5 - I bought this at target for $22.00 USD and since then there has been a price increase. I really wanted to like this night cream. Now, this is a collagen night cream, which contrary to popular clickbait skincare, does not increase collagen production. It contains collagen, which does not penetrate the deep layers of the skin (where your own collagen is produced), but what it does do is condition the skin a lot. Topical collagen is very good for that. That’s what I bought this with intentions of, since I tend to have normal to dry skin with topical dehydration, plus skin sensitivity. Now, this cream made my skin flush and it really didn’t moisturize as much as I expected it to as a night cream. This has some fragrance in it and I think that’s the ingredient that my skin did not like. It was not a good sensation. Way too expensive for what it is.

Saltair Serum Body Wash ($12.00)

5/5 - I got this at my local target, in scents “Exotic Pulp” and “Lush Greens”. I love both of the scents. As previously mentioned, I have sensitive skin. All my skin is sensitive. I’ve been really struggling to find a good body wash that isn’t very expensive and works for my skin. It’s probably been 4 years of looking for something that worked. This works. This body wash is very gentle without leaving the skin feeling “grubby” or oily. I can use this on my chest, where I have issues with body ache and breakouts, and I believe the niacinamide in this formula actually helped with that. “Exotic Pulp” is a tropical, citrus scent, like mangos, passionfruit, and oranges .”Lush Greens” is a very green smell, like a kale drink, but with a little bit of fruit, very fresh. I love both of these. A lot. I haven’t had dry patches, irritated areas, or hives, which I have had before from other body washes. And it’s $12.

Necessaire Body Wash ($25)

4/5 - I ordered this directly from Necessiare’s website. This is a really good body wash. I don’t really like the “Eucalyptus” scent, but it does smell like diluted eucalyptus, so it does smell like that. This doesn’t irritate my skin, I’m just not a massive smell of the scents. They do have an unscented version available. My biggest issue with it is the price. I don’t want to pay $25 for a body wash. It’s really good though. I just wish it was a little cheaper for how much you get. My favorite scent is “Bergamot” in this line, which is very bergamot and almost mossy. It’s good.

Necessaire Body Lotion ($28)

4/5 - I ordered this directly from Necessaire’s website. This is one of the only body lotions I’ve used that works for my skin. No breakouts, no greasy film, my skin actually absorbs it, and no irritation. My skin does not like coconut oil and this product has none. This one has no fragrance added so that’s not a factor I need to worry about. I hate the price. I don’t wanna pay $28 for something I go through rather quickly. But this lotion saved me this winter. So. I’ll probably still buy it but begrudgingly.

Frenshe Body Wash ($10.99)

3/5 - I got this at my local target. This is a pretty good body wash. I’m personally not crazy about any of the scents, but they are certainly not bad at all. My biggest qualm about this is that it dried out my skin a bit. It left it feeling tight. However, if you can tolerate body wash better than me, you’ll probably like it. I think the scents are generally very gender-neutral.

The Ordinary Glycolic Acid Toner ($13.00)

4/5 - I got this at my local Target since it has an Ulta Beauty inside. I did not buy this for my face initially, I have some areas on my body where I like to exfoliate and my skin reacts to AHA’s very well. This works great on my body, I’ve had no irritation and I‘ve seen improvement in texture/breakouts. I did try this on my face and I did not like it. It has an oily consistency and it just sat on my face really weird. It didn’t really sink into my face well at all. So I really only use this on my body now and honestly, it’s fine because that’s why I bought it in the first place.

[aressida]

Wrote a long one cos the in law family wanted him to take the flu shot, I said no.

"Dear Family, Friends, and Medical Professionals,

I am writing to share some thoughts and questions about vaccines, particularly in light of recent developments.

Do we believe that vaccines are the ultimate solution in medicine?

It is commonly known that influenza vaccines are reformulated each season due to the virus’s constant mutation, making it challenging to predict and protect against new strains accurately.

Is it true that these vaccines bypass the liver’s natural filtration system, potentially causing a shock to our bodies?

How should we classify these ingredients—as toxic or benign?

Here are just some vaccine ingredients, and these are being injected into your body and into your children’s bodies if you choose to vaccinate:

– Formaldehyde/Formalin – Highly toxic systemic poison and carcinogen.

– Betapropiolactone – Toxic chemical and carcinogen. May cause death or permanent injury after very short exposure to small quantities. Corrosive chemical.

– Hexadecyltrimethylammonium bromide – May cause damage to the liver, cardiovascular system, and central nervous system. May cause reproductive effects and birth defects.

– Aluminum hydroxide, aluminum phosphate, and aluminum salts – Neurotoxin. Carries risk for long-term brain inflammation/swelling, neurological disorders, autoimmune disease, Alzheimer’s, dementia, and autism. It penetrates the brain where it persists indefinitely.

– Thimerosal (mercury) – Neurotoxin. Induces cellular damage, reduces oxidation-reduction activity, cellular degeneration, and cell death. Linked to neurological disorders, Alzheimer’s, dementia, and autism.

– Polysorbate 80 & 20 – Trespasses the blood-brain barrier and carries with it aluminum, thimerosal, and viruses; allowing them to enter the brain.

– Glutaraldehyde – Toxic chemical used as a disinfectant for heat-sensitive medical equipment.

– Fetal Bovine Serum – Harvested from bovine (cow) fetuses taken from pregnant cows before slaughter.

– Human Diploid Fibroblast Cells – Aborted fetal cells. Foreign DNA has the ability to interact with our own.

– African Green Monkey Kidney Cells – Can carry the SV-40 cancer-causing virus that has already tainted about 30 million Americans.

– Acetone – Can cause kidney, liver, and nerve damage.

– E. Coli – Yes, you read that right.

– DNA from porcine (pig) Circovirus type-1

– Human embryonic lung cell cultures (from aborted fetuses)

You can view all of these ingredients on the CDC’s website. I encourage everyone to do their own research. Look up the MSDS on these chemicals. Read the thousands of peer-reviewed studies that have evaluated the biological consequences these chemicals can have on the body, especially when being injected.

Injecting foreign substances directly into the bloodstream—viruses, toxins, and proteins—has been linked to various diseases and disorders. These include conditions like atypical measles, cancer, leukemia, multiple sclerosis, and even SIDS (Sudden Infant Death Syndrome).

Conditions like Addison’s disease, anaphylactic shock, arthritis, asthma, asymptomatic COVID-19, Crohn’s disease, epilepsy, facial paralysis, fibromyalgia, fetal distress syndrome, foreign body embolism, genital herpes, hepatitis, hyperthyroidism, inflammatory bowel disease, jugular vein embolism, lung abscess, lupus, meningitis, MERS-CoV test positive, migraine-triggered seizures, multiple organ dysfunction syndrome, multiple sclerosis, multisystem inflammatory syndrome in children, pneumonia, stiff leg syndrome, stiff person syndrome, stillbirth, sudden heart attack, sudden respiratory failure, type 1 diabetes, uterine rupture, viral bronchitis—and much more.

This does not mean everyone will experience these reactions, but a significant number of test subjects have experienced one or more.

It is more than enough evidence to show that vaccine mandates are completely anti-scientific.

How can you make an informed decision if you do not have all the information?

We have also seen a shift where flu vaccines are now mRNA-based. But does a "vaccine" really prevent a virus or its recurrence as we expect it to?

The annual flu shot is, at best, a partial defense, aimed at last year’s strain. Does it truly help against the ever-mutating new flu, or is it just a temporary fix?

My concern is that this mindset—that a vaccine is a quick fix for everything—is flawed. The immune system may struggle to handle these types of agents, leading to breakthrough infections and potentially higher mortality rates.

For those who are vaccinated, I respect your choice. I simply ask for the same respect in return for my decision not to vaccinate. My reasons are personal and grounded in a belief that the government should not dictate my health choices and my family's.

Have you heard about Pfizer’s side effects?

Have you read the Pfizer documentation? Ask yourself if a drug with 32 pages of side effects is right for you.

The list of potential vaccine side effects released by Pfizer is alarming, ranging from autoimmune disorders to serious conditions like multiple organ dysfunction and sudden respiratory failure. Yet, this information was kept under wraps and only recently made public. Shouldn’t we be informed of the risks?

Do we even know the medium- or long-term effects of these vaccines?

Are they still in clinical trials? Is there a control group? What about Antibody-Dependent Enhancement (ADE) – has it been adequately tested? And why are ingredients like formaldehyde and mercury, known toxins, included in these vaccines?

Do you truly think this vaccine is 100% safe?

Transparency is crucial.

How can we make informed decisions if we are not given all the information?

We must ask ourselves, do we trust the pharmaceutical companies and their relationships with organizations like the CDC and FDA?

The FDA requested 75 years to release data on the Pfizer vaccine—why? Why did it take only 108 days to approve this vaccine, yet it supposedly requires decades to fully understand its effects?

Do you believe that SARS-CoV-2 has been isolated?

How well-informed are you about the CDC, FDA, pharmaceutical companies, and their donors? Do you think their qualifications are reliable?

These are important questions that deserve honest discussions. And, I believe it is crucial to acknowledge the existence of these alternative perspectives and engage in open discussions to gain a more comprehensive understanding.

Our health and freedom are at stake, and I urge everyone to think critically and seek out all the information before making decisions.

Thank you for taking the time to consider these points."