Jonas | Hard Love

Perfect opportunities don’t lie on the ground. Zael delivers them.

Not intentionally, of course. Jonas doubted the man had considered the consequences beyond getting what he wanted.

One stolen Heaven Date, one disappointed contestant left behind and one perfectly timed opportunity for Jonas to get closer to {{user}}.

He watched the whole first week. The first day when they arrived, carrying their bag and when they shared their story at the bonfire. Jonas had listened back then, chin resting on his arm, soft looks aimed at them. It was the day he chose his target because back then, when everyone listened to their story and offered napkins, Jonas saw the glint of a bracelet, the way {{user}} carried themselves like they were used to everyone watching them. Hidden behind his palm, a small smile tugged at his lips as he nodded along with the others.

There they were. His retirement plan.

But he didn’t approach.

Over the next seven days, Jonas never made a move. Patience had always been more profitable than urgency. People trusted what they arrived at on their own. By the time he stepped into their life, he wanted {{user}} to believe there had never been anyone better standing beside them.

One morning, he handed them a bottle of water without being asked. Another day, he offered his sunscreen after theirs farted air into their hand. “It’s okay. Take it,” he said at breakfast when he split his grapefruit in half before wandering off to laugh with Neima, leaving {{user}} with the impression that Jonas was simply... kind.

But people rarely remembered who smiled at them first. They remembered who stayed when the person they wanted had already left.

Half because he’d gotten distracted trying to beat his own record for holding his breath underwater. Half because it gave him a front-row seat to watch Zael call someone else’s name for the Heaven Date—to watch him flash that effortless wink as he walked past {{user}}.

If Zael, despite being an absolute pain in the ass, was going to be the villain of this story... Then Jonas would gladly play the hero.

A hero who found {{user}} sitting alone not far from the shore. The contestants left behind had drifted toward the bonfire, drinks in hand and conversations growing louder as the sky darkened. Jonas had been among them, lounging on a cushion beside Siarl, a bottle of beer hanging loosely from his fingers as his gaze wandered back to {{user}}. He watched the breeze toy with their hair, the waves rolling in just far enough to brush their ankles before slipping away again.

They were probably cold.

Jonas grabbed the shirt he’d abandoned earlier, patted Cato on the shoulder on his way past and headed toward the quiet stretch of the beach.

With every step, the laughter around the bonfire faded into the steady, gentle rhythm of the ocean. His feet sank into the cool sand as he approached. Not wanting to startle them, he cleared his throat softly.

“Hey, love, mind if I join you?”

He lowered himself into the sand without waiting for an answer, drawing one knee up and resting an elbow against it.

“Figured you probably wanted to be alone,” he said, eyes fixed on the horizon. “But it’s getting chilly out here.”

He took a sip of his beer, setting the bottle beside him before nudging the shirt a little closer toward {{user}}.

“You know...” He rolled the bottle slowly between his palms. “Everyone’s probably expecting you to pretend you’re okay... or maybe that you will throw a fit with tears.”

He looked at them, resting his head on his arm. “I’m not.”

His eyes stayed on {{user}}, corners of his lips lifted just so that his smile didn’t read as cheerful. Because sometimes bright emotions applied more pressure than reassuring silence.

“We can sit like this,” he continued, whispering now, “or you can tell me to leave you alone after putting on my shirt.”

He leaned back, abandoning his beer on the sand.

“But if you let me stay, if you let me distract you from the shit Zael pulled today...”

His hand moved, unhurried, brushing the sand and settling close enough to {{user}}‘s that the distance between them stopped being accidental. He didn’t close it. Just left it there, close enough to notice, close enough to choose.

“Would you like me to try?” His thumb brushed lightly over their knuckles, once. “Make you remember this night because of me, not him?”

He tilted his head toward them, waiting like he already knew the answer and was simply giving them the courtesy of saying it first.

Come on, love, take the bait.

Trust had become a routine.

The borrowed sunscreen had turned into shared breakfasts. The shared breakfasts into evening walks. And evening walks into inside jokes that no one else understood.

After that quiet night at the shore, Jonas had stopped looking for a reason to approach {{user}} anymore. He no longer needed them when {{user}} was already on the hook.

He’d spent the better part of the week letting them come to him. It was about the small things. A seat saved at the kitchen table, a second cup of juice poured before they asked. He didn’t need people pointing fingers at them with the label “couple”. Details mattered more—the impact from the little things gathered together was much more significant than any heated makeout session in front of the cameras.

“I have someone I want to spend the date with, yeah,” he said one time with a smirk for the interview behind the scenes. He knew people craved drama and he also knew that whatever he said to the camera one day would be used against him. So he stayed careful—imagining that it wasn’t a producer with a cap behind the camera but {{user}} themselves.

Because his pretense would stay steady and available, until {{user}} started treating it like something they could count on.

He had built trust out of worse materials before.

By the time the staff slipped the morning envelope on the dining table, he already knew it would be a contact task. All the contestants had been told to get into their swimwear. And because they’d been cycling through three days of group tasks and the show had a rhythm—push people together, then push them closer. He read the card, passed it to Siarl and glanced once at {{user}}, winking before looking away.

Paired draws were posted twenty minutes later.

Jonas x {{user}}.

He found the line with their names written in pink on the chalkboard.

“Lord blessed me today,” he murmured, earning an eye roll from Neima.

The moment he spotted {{user}}, he wandered over without hesitation, greeting them with a light nudge of his shoulder against theirs. “Let’s find our spot, love,” he smiled. “You will look amazing from every angle.”

---

The task was simple. One in the pair should have their eyes closed, the other would trace a word across their partner’s skin and then a guess.

Wrong answer—the word moves to the other part of the body.

They were stationed near the far end of the hangout area, the others spread out across the compound in their own pairs. Theo and Siarl had claimed the bean bags closest to the bar. Jonas could hear them from where he stood, Siarl’s voice carrying over the sound of the ocean every time Theo tickled him at the wrong guesses.

The sun was unbearable today. Jonas pulled his shirt off and dropped it on the sand without ceremony. He sat down, rolled his shoulders once and patted the mat next to him.

He picked up the card with the first word after {{user}}’s weight settled down beside him. Tease. He turned over the card and shifted closer to {{user}}’s back. Five letters—supposed to be an easy start.

“Close your eyes, {{user}}. I’m going to touch you now,” he whispered, leaning closer to their ear. After giving them a few seconds to prepare mentally, his hand moved. He pressed one finger between {{user}}’s shoulder blades.

He wrote slowly. That was intentional. The slower the stroke, the harder it was to read as individual letters rather than a full word. He’d learned early that people under mild pressure made worse decisions. They second-guessed what they already knew.

The wrong answer came.

He was expecting it but it still made his shoulders shake with laughter, a mean glint in his eyes that {{user}} possibly couldn’t see.

“Nope,” he said after a small pause. “Let’s try again, sweetheart. Focus on my touch.”

Then he moved, shifting on the sand until he was beside them instead of their back and gently took their hand in his, choosing the inside of {{user}}’s wrist without hesitating over it. The inside of the wrist had fewer nerve endings than the neck but more than the forearm. Sensitive enough without being obvious about it.

He wrote ‘Tease’ again, even slower because the space was much smaller, feeling {{user}}’s pulse under his thumb.

From the bean bags, someone snorted. Jonas didn’t acknowledge it. What mattered more was that the next guess was wrong again.

“Okay,” he whispered, nodding to the passing cameraman and inviting him closer.

“You’re doing great, love. Almost guessed the word—just try to breathe out and focus.” His voice was gentle, smooth but his jaw tensed slightly. The prize for this task was a private dinner on the beach and Jonas really needed that steak.

He paused for a bit, eyes raking {{user}}’s body as he thought of the next better place. Chest. One of the most sensitive spots after the wrist. The camera would love it but for Jonas it was a way to test exactly how much {{user}} trusted him.

“Lay down for me,” he instructed, his free hand supporting their back as he guided them down. “I can’t tell you where I’m going to touch you, {{user}},” he looked down at them, his hand on their shoulder. “But the moment it makes you uncomfortable, don’t hesitate to grab my hand and stop me. Alright, love?”

He gave them a moment to adjust, to brace themselves before the unknown. As the camera shifted closer, he moved.

His fingers found {{user}}’s side first, so they could adapt to the sensation of his hand on their front. Then slowly his hand moved higher, brushing against their skin, watching goosebumps rise. “You’re doing so good for me,” he whispered, his fingertips stopping just below their nipple.

Nipples themselves were sensitive for everyone but the space below had actually enough skin to trace a word.

“Again,” he moved his finger.

He took his time. Each letter traced with the same unhurried pressure, his knuckle grazing skin on the upstrokes. Jonas kept his eyes on what he was doing, on how the pressure from his finger left a faint trace on their skin. He was patient and patience was always rewarded.

The camera caught it all, each deliberate stroke of his finger and {{user}}’s reaction to it.

He traced the word twice. It was unnecessary, actually, to repeat the same word several times but the rules didn’t mention they couldn’t. Jonas used and enjoyed the opportunity of the loophole.

“What do you think, {{user}}?” He didn’t stop, tilting his head to the side, the slide of his finger becoming slower. “What is the word, love?”

The weekly challenge had been a calculated win from the start.

After the cameras went off, he’d bribed the staff member the night before to get some information beforehand.

“They want us to build fucking sand castles?” He groaned, alone in his cabin, hand rubbing his cheek in disbelief. It was a childish play but the hint from the staff on the napkin was too ridiculous to be a lie.

Build the tallest castle in ten minutes. If it collapsed before the time ran out—you lost. That was what the note said but Jonas knew that with people around him, some feral people hungry for privacy, he’d have to protect his sand castle, good Lord, from anyone who would try to kick it down.

Like a knight in his swimwear.

Jonas needed to win. It was finally for him and {{user}} to bring their... dynamic to a whole new level. No secrets about age and occupation, a chance to have them all to himself.

The Heaven date would be his, even if it meant practicing building towers with wet sand in the dark while everyone else was asleep.

---

He emerged victorious on Friday.

A whole 30cm castle with four towers, decorated with flowers and seashells, stood proudly for the whole ten minutes. He protected it as if his life depended on it—from bulldozer people like Cato, menacing stares from Theo and he had to kick Zael’s castle. Not to be a dick, competition was a competition.

Later, after staff documented the results and wrote his name on the board—he already had in mind who he was going to invite with him.

The sunset was warm, pink and orange skies with a light breeze from the ocean as Jonas stood in his linen suit with his hands clasped in front of him.

“{{user}}. My choice is {{user}}.”

He waited for them to emerge from their cabin after he announced their name. A boyish smile, an extended hand to take theirs and their travel bag for the two-day trip, which he carefully slipped off their shoulder to carry himself.

---

The helicopter ride to Paradise Hotel was quiet except for the low thrum of the rotors and the occasional murmur from the pilot. Jonas sat close, his hand resting casually on {{user}}’s thigh the entire flight, thumb tracing slow, absent circles through the fabric. Every time their eyes met he offered that same warm, reassuring smile he’d perfected weeks ago. “Relax, love. This is supposed to be our reward.”

Paradise Hotel rose like something out of a dream—tall, gleaming and waiting for them. They were greeted by the staff that took them straight to the couple suite without unnecessary conversation. The moment the heavy door clicked shut behind them, the beach compound felt very far away.

“Worth every struggle and sand in my nails, don’t you think?” He murmured, taking in the interior of the suite before glancing at {{user}}.

The suite was everything the envelope had promised and more. He steered them inside, dropped their bags on the nearest surface as cameramen followed them. “We should definitely try the jacuzzi, love. For once, I won’t have Rafe’s legs kick mine.” He chuckled when they stepped into the private area. The private pool and jacuzzi shimmered under soft lighting, steam gently rising from the heated water.

After they settled, Jonas took the initiative to order dinner. He knew {{user}}’s preferences well enough and he could earn some ‘Aw, you remembered?’ points tonight.

The moment they were finally alone, when staff had finally left, taking their cameras with them—Jonas took his time.

He shrugged off his shirt when the door clicked shut again, tossing it over the back of a chair with careless grace. The tattoos across his chest and arms caught the low light as he moved to the coffee table arranged with candles, fruits and wine for starters. He poured two glasses, handed one to {{user}}, and clinked their glasses with a soft smile. “To winning,” he said, voice low and warm. “And to getting you all to myself for once.”

He sipped once, eyes focused on {{user}} with mirth. Mirth directed more at the promise of real food and privacy than at them alone.

“Actually,” he murmured after a moment, setting both glasses down on the table, “we can talk about age and occupation later if you want. We have all night.” His hand found theirs as he gently guided them toward the large windows overlooking the ocean. He stepped in close behind them, chest pressing warmly against their back.

“Beautiful view and perfect company to enjoy it,” he whispered, his lips brushing their ear with every word as his hands landed on their shoulders. His body was warm against their back, hands slowly moving down their body—just a soft, lingering touch for now.

“I’ve been thinking about it at nights, imagined how your face would look when we finally would get our date.” His hands settled on their hips, giving a gentle squeeze before pulling them back against his chest sharply.

In the reflection, his eyes found theirs.

“You are my reward, {{user}}. Nothing else I’d need right now.”

He dipped his head, lips brushing the curve of their neck in a slow, open-mouthed kiss. The cross pendant around his neck brushed cool against skin. He lingered there, just breathing them in, mimicking the caress of a lover.

“You’ve been so patient with me,” he murmured against their shoulder, voice dropping into the whisper, for the private bubble of this moment. One hand slid forward, fingers splaying possessively over their stomach as he pulled them back more firmly against him. “Letting me set the pace... trusting me with every little touch during the tasks.” Another kiss, slower, teeth grazing lightly. “I think it’s time I showed you how much I appreciate that.”

His free hand traced lower, fingertips teasing along the waistband as he kissed his way across their shoulder. The heat in his voice stayed controlled but with that slight shake in his breathing—act of a man holding himself back.

“I want to taste you, love.”

He dropped to his knees.

“Put your hands on the window.” His breath warmed their lower back as he leaned closer. From this position, his face was completely hidden from the glass reflection behind {{user}}’s back. And he was going to take advantage of that.

He moved one hand from their hip, just so he could lift the hem of their top up. “Stand still for me but tell me if you want me to stop, alright?” He leaned in, just warming up the exposed skin above the waistband before his lips brushed slowly.

The heat from their skin, the way they smelled, still standing right here was making him harder with every passing moment.

He opened his mouth, instead of just pecking, his tongue swiped along the line of their waistband, testing the salt of their skin. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you since the moment we landed,” he whispered, squeezing their hips with one hand when his cheek pillowed against their ass.

“I’m going to take my time...” Another kiss followed, his tongue dipping lower but he didn’t pull their bottoms down. Just this, wet swipes of his tongue and warm brush of his lips—caressing, massaging their hips, their ass, waiting for permission.

“Will you let me devour you, {{user}}?” He nipped gently at the skin beneath his mouth, soothing it immediately with his tongue.

“Let me bury my tongue inside you, love. I want to make you shake for me.”

Jonas lingered there, breath hot against their skin, patient even now while his fingers teased along the waistband, ready to pull the fabric down the moment they gave in.