#all of them i have been wanting to read for a while now and had heard good things about

[hawkins-batman]

Let's Talk About Noah Schnapp

In light of everything that's happened in the last few days—namely Netflix releasing its first teaser for Stranger Things Season 5—many are returning to Stranger Things spaces online here and elsewhere for the first time in months. Maybe years. So, it's time to have this conversation again, because many people weren't here when some of us were having this conversation in the lull between content; and we're due for an update.

Buckle up—this is going to be long. I intend for this to be a mega post on the whole situation in so far as I can cover it, with receipts and screenshots.

The Conversation Around Noah

Put bluntly—the vitriol around Noah Schnapp has become dangerously insane. It's been that way for 2 years, but the renewed spotlight on Stranger Things, especially as Noah is set to take center stage in a Will Byers-centric season, has revived some of the worst elements of the conversation.

"What do you mean?", you may be asking. Well, I think it might just be better to show you:

This is just a sampling. If I showed you every tweet — every post — every video I've seen with this rhetoric, I'd need another medium to do it. A tumblr blog alone couldn't contain it all. But I take it you see my point now.

How Did Things Get This Way?

There are people on this app and on #that app who will say this behavior/treatment is warranted. They'll tell you that Noah is a "genocide supporter." That he "cheered for the deaths of Palestinian babies." That he "celebrated as people were being murdered." But none of this is true.

As a reminder, this was what Noah actually said—his very first comments on the matter—right after the Hamas attack that happened on October 7, 2023:

Important to note:

"...we will hope and pray for safety, justice, liberation, and self determination in Palestine."

and

"...we will say a Jewish prayer for peace for all Israelis and Palestinians."

That is the literal antithesis of support for a genocide or the wholesale slaughter of anyone.

The very next thing to happen was the infamous "sticker video" about which the most lies have been told, so let's debunk them one by one:

He did not make the stickers.

He did not wear the stickers.

He did not hand out the stickers.

He did not hold up the stickers.

He did not even touch the stickers.

He did not post the video on any social anywhere.

I've posted a pair of screenshots here that give you the gist in lieu of the video itself, but you can Google the video and watch the entire thing to see that I'm telling the truth.

What actually happened was that Noah was taken to a restaurant by a pair of influencers who were his guides while on a school-sponsored trip to Israel. Both were significantly older than him, were responsible for the video in question, were the only ones in it (aside from the waitress) to actually touch the stickers in question... and yet? Noah bore the brunt of the hate that ensued. When the backlash came, they abandoned him and left him to the wolves. (And perhaps because of that, he no longer associates with either one of them, nor follows any related social media accounts—all of which he was required to follow in the first place as terms of going on the trip through his school.)

Noah had just come out of the closet earlier that year and was 18 years-old. He would only turn 19 years-old in the ensuing weeks.

He has addressed these events several times. Most famous was the TikTok that he made explaining his actual position (that he doesn't want anyone, Palestinian or Israeli, to die). Less famous were remarks he made to fans on Snapchat:

I'll post his remarks here for those who can't read the text:

Hey guys! I appreciate you reaching out. To give you context, I did not post this language or this sticker. I was at breakfast with friends, it happened to be an Israeli cafe, and a girl was handing out stickers. Someone photographed me and posted and tagged me. As you guys know better than most people, social media can be used however people want to use it. I understand the weight of the situation and take it very seriously. I have friends of friends who are currently being held hostage in Gaza right now. My friends kids were killed in the massacre at the Israeli music festival. Standing up against this terrorism is important to me and why I made my statement after the attack. As one of the only few Jewish people with a platform, I absolutely think it's important to share my message about hatred for Jews around the world right now. However, everyone online is obviously twisting everything and saying I support genocide and am Islamophobic which is obviously entirely false and never have I stated either of those things. Seeing what is happening to the innocent people in Palestine pains me so much and I wish it would stop. I fully support everyone in Palestine as I said in my post on Instagram. One of my best friends in college is Palestinian and we talk about this issue allllll the time and agree on most things. I think people on social media are just animalistic right now so it's hard to even chime in because they just rip me apart so now I'm staying out of it.

I'll let that stand on it's own. I think it provides the context behind his remarks, the situation with the video/stickers, and his actual views versus how social media portrays his views. It also explains why he hasn't said anything else in almost 2 years.

The key takeaway: He was speaking out against antisemitism and the attack on Jewish people on October 7 and he supports an end to what is happening in Gaza and fully supports Palestinians. He literally says it.

And this support, by the way, has been corroborated by his own actions and the word of mouth from Palestinian organizations he has contributed to:

What Has Happened Since?

It would be easier to list the things that haven't happened; but I'll try anyways:

Noah has been called antisemitic slurs; gay slurs and targeted with gay stereotypes; been compared to antisemitic caricatures; he's been threatened with death and had posts go viral fantasizing about his brutal murder; his family has been threatened; he's been threatened with rape and sexual abuse; there are massive accounts on Twitter that doxxed his location while he was filming Season 5—particularly targeting him when he was alone; he's been hacked, had personal pictures leaked; he's had lies spread about his treatment of his cast mates (all of whom have spoken out and said that they've loved him at some point since, making these claims unequivocally false.

Here are a few examples:

Again, I can only post a sample. I hope that sample is enough to get the message across.

It's hard to overstate how cataclysmic this has been. Obviously, he's recovered and healed a lot since the initial incident; but the damage done needs to be acknowledged. These attacks drove him into a dark place by his own admission. He talked about needing therapy on his (now deleted) private spam TikTok account. And they are starting up yet again.

And Then There's the Fandom

The Stranger Things fandom in the wake of all this has been an irritating place to be. Not just because of the above behavior but because of the blanket hypocrisy.

The shipping sub-fandoms in particular have been rank with antisemitism and homophobia—even the Byler fandom, which is predominantly queer. People have:

A) Taken pre-Stranger Things photos—like his baby pictures or pictures with his family—to use as part of their content, their profile pictures, their banners, their fan art, their fan edits, etc.—violating his and his family's privacy for "Will" all while calling him "ugly," a "fag," and lobbing the above-listed threats at him. B) Tried to recast him with a fan cast. These fan casts are almost never Jewish actors, you'll notice. In fact, there's someone on this very app that recast Will Byers as himself. This is gross and absurd. Will Byers is intrinsically tied to Noah Schnapp. Tied to his identities as a Jewish person and a gay man. Tied to his experiences being a character he helped bring to life during his formative years. C) Persist in stanning or support his cast mates despite the fact that they continue to associate with him. This, in particular, is gross hypocrisy. If you're going to be mad at Noah Schnapp for being in a restaurant around stickers you object to—guilt by proximity/association, in other words—those SAME standards should apply to his cast mates, who continue to hang out with him outside of work, state that they love him, and post him on their social medias. I have a whole post about that here.

Instead, the cast is continually afforded blanket immunity while he is singularly targeted for continued abuse and harassment.

It should give the fandom some pause that openly pro-Palestine actors like Maya Hawke not only continue to hang out with him; but in her Instagram story, even stated that she misses it (check the link above for a screenshot of said story). She wouldn't do that if she thought he somehow supported mass-murder; and she knows him way better than any one reading this blog. That goes for the rest of them, too.

They know him better than you. They know his moral compass and what he believes. And they haven't abandoned him and obviously aren't going to. So, are you going to stick to your guns and apply your anger evenly; or maybe consider that you don't have the full picture?

So, Why Care?

I get this in my Asks so often. "Why do you care?" "He's a celebrity." "He don't know you." "He's not your pookie."

I know. It's not about that.

Yes, full disclosure, I am obviously a fan of Noah's. Have been since the show started. And no it's not because I'm gay and he's gay or because he plays my favorite character in Stranger Things.

Like many of his fans, I've spent the last decade seeing his lives on Instagram and TikTok, seeing his fan interactions, watching his vlogs and videos, and I've come to respect him as a human being quite apart from Will Byers or his role as an actor. Fundamentally, I really believe he is a kind and caring human being. The word of mouth from everyone who knows or has met him bares this out—and, yes, he's even been kind to me in the few conversations we've had.

This is only one example from Instagram during The First Shadow premiere this year; but I think it encapsulates what I like about Noah most. He's kind. He goes out of his way to be kind. He does things he doesn't have to do, contractually or just in general, for the sake of being kind. He always has been.

He's also stood up for a plethora of causes. Black Lives Matters, trans rights, the rights of women. He's known to be his cast mates' biggest supporter—and they'll tell you as much, too.

But quite apart from my personal feelings about him and more importantly: this is wrong.

Antisemitism is wrong. Homophobia is wrong. Both kill. Still, to this day. As I am sitting in my kitchen writing this, the news just broke that an Indigenous gay man and a celebrity was shot dead in front of his husband—after having his home burned down and dogs burned alive—in the United States. Yesterday, news broke that a gathering of peaceful Jewish protesters (which included children and the elderly) demanding the release of hostages still held by Hamas was firebombed in Colorado. Luckily, they all survived, but six people were injured in that attack.

Violence and bigotry are ascendent everywhere right now. Minority communities are being targeted. Normalizing the behavior I've described and shown above kills marginalized people. Regardless of your feeling about Noah as a person or celebrity, normalizing the violent and bigoted remarks, tweets, and behavior towards him harms Jewish and LGBTQIA+ people—all of us.

And just as an example of that, I give you the treatment Finn Wolfhard is now receiving just for the "crime" of shaving his head and being deemed no longer conventionally attractive by the fandom:

Yes, the general audience found out about Finn's Jewish heritage and now he's a target, too.

And this fandom is at fault for it.

You cannot normalize bigotry towards one person and expect it to stay contained to that one person. It will always harm everyone in that community. Finn Wolfhard—or any other actor/actress—being your favorite is not going to spare him from the consequences of a discourse you started.

ALL antisemitism and ALL homophobia needs to be called out. The people who insist it's okay that they do that for ANY reason—regardless of if they themselves are LGBTQIA+ or not—need to be ejected from the fandom and never let back in.

Noah Schnapp is a human being. He does not deserve this treatment. No one does. No one is saying you have to like him or even care about him. But you SHOULD care that this is how he's being treated and the impact it is having on others. The impact on Jewish people. The impact on queer people. Standing up and saying that does not mean you support genocide or murder or bigotry of any kind. Quite the opposite, in fact.

I am a person with left-leaning values. I'm tired of those values being spat on and dragged through the mud by people who think THIS is activism or is in any way helping a cause. It's not. All it is doing is perpetuating harm on a real person and real communities—queer and Jewish alike. And it needs to stop.

Related Blogs:

I've compiled some related blogs that expand on other elements of the situation that I've mentioned above in greater detail. This post was already long enough. I'll be updating this as more content comes out.

Examples of Noah’s Support for Gaza and Palestine (by @nymphus-fan-account)

The Evolution of a Lie

No, the Stranger Things Cast Does Not Hate Noah Schnapp

Lyric Vault’s Obsession with Noah Schnapp

[sangunary]

very random but batfamily with a reader that just favors Tim. They have a whole space under his desk and everything. Eats his snacks, drinks his sodas, ect. Refuses to bond with anyone else, Tim and Reader might as well be conjoined twins. This can be normal batfamily or yandere batfamily it's completely up to you!<3

Batfam x Child Reader! (Platonic)

SYPNOSIS: Your family thought they adopted you, turns out you adopted only one of them.

IMP: PLATONIC, Reader is a child.

It was supposed to be a normal investigation, just two couples that got murdered in their own home.

When he enters another room he saw you, in your my little pony pajamas with a round red plushie with a poorly drawn face around your arms, completely oblivious to the brutal death of your parents.

He couldn't hell but let a slight smile, in such darkness there you were happy to see him. Happy to see a stranger in ridiculously dark clothes.

The room he found you in was no condition for such a ball of happiness, wallpaper teared, water dripping although it was summer, your bed was extremely mess ans solid hard.

He picked you up as you wrap your tiny arms around him clutching onto your plushie. No thoughts in your head as you look dead in his eyes, sucking onto your thumb.

"Ba-man"

You spoke, thumb still in your mouth as your lips parted to form a smile.

He was definitely going to adopt you now.

Your first day with the family was amazingly wonderful, everyone wanted to hold you or bite your cheeks for some reason.

You did choose your favourite from the start, Tim.

When anyone tried to pick you up while he holds you, you would simply turn away and wrap your arms around his neck so they won't seperate you.

Try feeding him anything you can hold onto, pulling his hair cause it was beautiful and you wanted them or the time you didn't stop crying for the whole day straight because Tim went to school.

As you grew older your favourite did not change to the disappointment of most.

Your room was never occupied by you and instead you slept next to Tim much to his dismay.

Unlike him you slept like you've never slept before plus you were deaf and can't feel any touch when you slept.

He would wake up with you on the floor still asleep and he would have to pick you up and make you face the wall, yet you still managed to end up at the bottom of the bed without him knowing.

You arm on his nose or your entire body ontop of him like a cat that want more warmth and will get it no matter what.

Under his desk was something else, a whole new place you had created.

Tim spent most of his time on the desk and you knew it, since you don't want him to be alone you build your own room under his desk.

Picture of my little pony, a chart that doesn't make sense but Tim would listen to you mumbled about it, food and drink, pillow and his jacket you used as pillow and books.

You would read aloud to him while he work on a case, you did have trouble reading and in the end Tim would just read the book with you and intentionally make mistakes so you won't be so embarassed.

Jason who didn't like this was trying so hard on the sideline to get you to drop Tim yet to his Disappointment you were stubborn.

"C'mon we can go watch my little pony till ten if you say im your favourite"

Jason have been trying for years to beat Tim and get the favourite. He tried to spend more times with you but it's impossible when you follow Tim like a duckling even waiting outside bathroom.

"I know you love Pony"

Jason was determine, it wasn't fair at all. You saw Tim call him a tomato and from that day you practically glue yourself onto him, he was way too happy for Jasons liking.

He already wanted to Bash his head for replacing him and now he wanted to throw his head throw a wall for getting all your affection.

"No, Timmy said no"

"You- When did you start listening to adults, you should be a rebel..."

"No"

Jason have never wanted to shake a child so hard just cause they weren't rebellious like he was.

Before Jason could continue his persuasion you saw Tim walk by and instantly went towards him, leaving the older male still kneeling on the ground with my little pony disc on his hand.

"...You like pony?"

Stephanie who just walk into the scene commented, with a wide smile.

"Shut it"

Jason left with the disc still on his hand, leaving Stephanie who was over the moon with her discovery to shout at him.

"Nothing wrong with liking ponies!"

Tim bought everything in two now, doesn't matter what he bought you would always swallow them without even knowing what it was.

It was honestly adorable, eating or drinking anything he ate because you wanted to grow up like him. For someone with short arms you could reach high.

If Tim was to eat something you would eat them without hesitation and proudly huff when you swallow.

You drank coffee once didn't sleep the entire night just went crazy around the house all night.

That's how they made you eat disgusting medicine, by making Tim eat something else that look alike to the medicine and faster then a cell could enter your brain you would chuck them down.

"C'mon brocoli is healthy, you'll grow up like me!"

Dick tried to convince you as he tried to push the food through your mother yet you stubbornly resisted.

And you resorted to pulling his hair, it doesn't hurt that much but it still does hurt and you were in no mood to let him go easily.

"Aouch! Geez, you pull real hard huh? Okay let go now no more brocoli"

Dick tried to gently pry your hands away from his hair but you wouldn't budge, pulling with all your might which hurt way more.

Before Dick could resort to yanking you and have you pull some hair out Tim walk in with no reaction to the current dilemma Dick was in.

Sat next to you and pick a brocoli and fed it to you, which you open your mouth without any second and chew, your hands remain on his hair.

"Tim, could you atleast get her to let go-"

"Let this be a punishment for you forcing her to eat when she obviously doesn't want to"

"She just ate, it's not the food it's the feeder!"

You didn't let go of his hair until Tim pick you up.

It was quite normal for people to mistake Tim as your father even tho you two look nothing alike.

Random mother's and elders or even workers praising him for being such a strong single father who loves his kid, Tim doesn't care about the comments. He absolutely found them hilarious.

"Bless your heart for stepping up for your child, the world need a father like you"

An old grandmother who was walking down the street would comment and Tim on the other hand just nod along with it, no denying or acception.

Even the journalists would intentionally made jokes about how Tim was more of a father than Bruce could be to you, and you thought Bruce was... Your distance uncle and not your father.

Every time anyone brought up the Wayne family and Tim or you is mentioned, everyone will agree that you adopted your own father while your adoptive father became your uncle.

You would hold his hands because they were comfortable unlike the others and if anyone tried to hold your hands, insult everywhere.

"Is your hand made out of cement...?"

"...Did your hand ran a marathon? Why so sweaty?"

"Did your hand ate a giant?"

"Your hand's have different gender"

"You hold onto me like im about to fly"

"No please"

"...Your fingers ate a snake"

"It should be illegal for you to hold hands"

Damian love's your fast mouth but hate it when it's towards him, he secretly tried to teach you how to fight Tim went wrong you ended up attacking him.

His plan backfired real bad.

Did they hate that you loves Tim so much while activity insulting them without even understanding your own word? Yes, they still love you.

It was as if you had adopted Tim solely and the rest were just extra benefit.

Tim loves the fact that you were so open about him being your favourite, he's a proud father of one which is you.

As much as the family love's you, you can only love one and that is your adopted father Tim.

Yes, you adopt your father.

[rafesangelita]

puppy having a total meltdown during a lockaway punishment and using her safeword (i live for angst, im sorry)

warnings: pet play, slight separation anxiety, angst, crying, very light dumbification, mentions of rafe x reader, use of the name ‘daddy’ (don’t read if that’s not your thing!), light fluff

a/n: read more about dad!johnb and puppy!reader here ♡

john b couldn’t sleep, the sounds of your restless movements and your little sniffles keeping him up at this ungodly hour of the night. “why are you awake?” his voice came out groggily, the deep bass of his tone making your ears perk up. “i can’t go to sleep..” you whimpered, “i need to be next to you, please just let me out!” john b sighed, his eyes screwing shut as the defeated sound of your cries pulled at his heartstrings. he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t having a hard time getting some rest himself without having you tucked into his side. his anger, however, prevailed over any kind of forgiveness right now.

“you should’ve thought about that before letting rafe fuckin’ cameron get into that dumb puppy brain of yours.” he grumbled, his jaw clenching as he recalled the day’s earlier events. he should’ve known that you weren’t up to any good when you wandered off and neither pope or jj had a single clue where you were. while he didn’t expect you to be somewhere you weren’t supposed to, nothing could’ve ever prepared him for seeing you messily eat an icecream cone in front of rafe and his friends, all of them looking at you in a way that had john b shoving them off of their feet and dragging you away by the belt loop of your denim skirt.

“it was just an icecream cone!” you threw your head back in frustration, your hands coming up to rattle the metal door. john b immediately corrected your behavior, his shirtless form making you wish you could feel him skin to skin. “it wasn’t just an icecream cone, dummy, he baited you into putting on a little show for him and his pervert friends and you fell for it.” you shook your head as if to say it wasn’t true, but after he lectured you about the whole thing on the way home, you realized that you had indeed been tricked. “it doesn’t matter, i’ve warned you about them— specifically rafe, and you still didn’t listen.”

the pink, fluffy throw blankets lining the bottom of your cage weren’t providing you comfort anymore, your chest tightening as you grew more and more anxious to get out. “i’ve been in here since we got home, please let me out daddy..” john b studied you for a moment, really debating if whether or not you learned your lesson already. images of you giggling with icecream dripping down your chin and rafe ‘cleaning’ you up by gathering the sticky sweetness on his thumb and slipping the digit between your lips where you licked it clean flashed through his head and he found himself back at square one; pissed off and irritated.

“no.” he turned out the light, leaving both of you in pitch black darkness. you whimpered, tears still rolling down your cheeks as you felt yourself getting impatient. “let me out!” you screamed, rattling the cage as john b attempted to ignore you. “i don’t want to be in here anymore, i want to sleep with you!” you cried helplessly, that weird panicked feeling creeping up on you as the cage started feeling smaller than what it was. “i’m serious, john, i don’t feel good.” at the mention of his name, john b swallowed thickly, cursing under his breath as he walked over and opened it, his hand taking yours as he helped you crawl out.

standing to your feet, you reached up on your tippy toes and threw your arms around him, wasting no time in nuzzling your face into his warm chest. “i won’t do that ever again, i promise.” you wiped your tears against his skin, allowing him to carry you back over to his bed. “you know i hate punishing you like that.” he laid you down, both of his arms swallowing you whole. with john b rubbing your back soothingly, you felt your eyelids grow heavy with sleep with each second that passed. “i’m letting you sleep out here tonight, but tomorrow you’re still going to get a spanking.” he warned, his threats falling on deaf ears as little snores escaped your lips.

[heartyluv]

Note: I had received two asks that were pretty similar, so I figured merging them together was the best way to go! Also, I just wanted to say how much I really dislike the misconception that losing your virginity is something that is supposed to hurt. It’s absolutely not true…Is it a possibility? Sure. But with the right preparation, care, and patience from the one who is going to be penetrating you (if that is the route of intercourse you choose to take), depending on the person, the most you may feel is slight discomfort from experiencing something you never have before. We have to stop making pain an expectation for individuals with vaginas irl and in the things we consume!!! Anyways, I hope you luvlys enjoy! 😚

Click to read ➜ Ask #1 • Ask #2

Warning: Smut, you and Zayne lose your virginity to each other, kinda slow (Zayne is undoubtedly a man who takes his time, so I hope it taking a little bit to get down to the do is okay), mentions of you having a brother with a heart condition

Rating: Explicit - !!MDNI!!

Word Count: 3.6K (literally didn’t expect this at all)

Summary: You invited your boyfriend over for dinner and as the night progresses, a simple date turns into you two learning and exploring one another in ways you never have before.

Virgin!Zayne/Virgin!Reader

You were trying to keep yourself calm as you began to baste the nearly ready ribeye steak after reading Zayne’s text message.

I’ll be there in five minutes.

You were incredibly nervous, wanting to make sure that you prepared the best meal possible for the man you intended to show your gratitude to. When you met Zayne, it was almost two years ago. He was the saving grace you’d been hoping for, becoming the doctor taking care of your little brother Andrew who has been suffering from a heart condition. It was only getting worse as other treatments and surgeries offered no positive results, so putting all your faith in Zayne required you to surrender your last bit of hope.

You fell in love with Dr. Li the moment your eyes landed on him and even more so when you saw the way he treated your brother. He was so gentle and attentive with him in ways you’ve never seen offered by any of the other medical professionals your family tried to turn to for help.

He had specifically made sure to make time for your family when he had gotten ahold of the paperwork because Zayne has always had a soft spot for helping children in need. It was with zero hesitation on his part that he contacted your parents directly and had them bring in the ten year old little boy who wouldn’t let his condition break him no matter how hard it’s tried.

You knew Zayne was a stupendous doctor, but the rate in which your brother began to improve always brought you to tears no matter how many times you thought about it. Everything he did and continues to do is the reason why you could actually stop worrying as much as you have been and why your family could finally take a breather for the first time since Andrew was born.

Your daily visits to the hospital and conversations led to you and Zayne becoming friends—very much to his surprise—and while you may have been the one to fall first, Zayne fell infinitely harder over time at a pace that was foreign for a man like him. The day he asked you out for what he called a “friendly lunch”, quickly turned into a month and a half of dating before he asked you to be his girlfriend. Obviously you were bouncing off the walls with joy when you told him yes over and over again until your cheeks hurt from smiling so much.

And now, even if you’ve only been official for a short amount of time, you wanted to cater to the man you’ve fallen hopelessly in love with as a way of saying thank you despite having had said it so many times already.

At the same time that you cut the stove off, three soft knocks rapt against the front door of your apartment. You quickly washed and dried your hands, running barefoot to answer it, but not before you got a quick glimpse of yourself in the mirror beside the entrance. You’re proud of yourself for not getting your cherry red dress dirty, smoothing it out with a small huff.

No matter how long you’ve known Zayne, seeing him always feels like the first time with the way your insides flutter with rampant emotions.

Finally pulling the door open, you smile at your boyfriend who has a bouquet of red peonies in his hand. His eyes soften when they land on you and you’ve always found it so cute when he uses his knuckle to push his glasses up like he does now.

“You look beautiful,” he says softly. You silently fawn over his simple attire of a black dress shirt and slacks that he makes look sexier than what it should be.

Before you speak, you wrap your arms around his neck for a tight hug, to which he gladly reciprocates by encircling one of his own around your waist. You pulled back to press a quick kiss to his slender nose.

“Thank you, babe...These for me?” Your eyebrow raises playfully as he steps inside.

“Of course.” He faces you once you’ve locked the door to look you over again. “What kind of guest would I be to come empty handed?”

“You’re more than just a guest, Zayne.”

“It still applies, nonetheless. Two things can be true.”

You take the bouquet, making a note in your mind to have him trim the stems with you tonight before putting them in one of the vases he’s bought before. He watches with adoration at how you inhale their sweet scent, humming at the calming aroma.

“They’re perfect,” you exclaim, letting your fingers trace the soft petals before putting your attention back on him. “Ready to eat?”

“I am. I must say that whatever you’ve prepared smells quite good. As I assume the taste to be just as impressive, I’ll have a lot more eating to get around to, won’t I?”

You grin as you take his hand, guiding him to your small dining table. “Let’s find out.”

Not only was dinner a success, but the entirety of the night so far has had you on cloud nine. You and Zayne talked about any and everything as he praised you and your cooking. This was the first time you’ve ever prepared a meal for him and with the way he devoured it, you knew it wouldn’t be the last. You’ve never been a woman to seek validation but when it came to him, every opinion he had was important because of how much you valued and respected him.

To see how much he enjoyed the steak, crispy potatoes, and broccolini, made you feel a sense of pride because this beautiful man was yours to feed forever—if you were granted such a gift.

He and you slow danced to a classical song you showed him since you knew music like that always calmed him during times where work got a little stressful and his mind needed something to mellow it all out. It was a scene straight out of cheesy romance flick but instead of being the watcher, wishing it was you who got to experience that corniness, you were actually living it and it couldn’t be more surreal.

One song had turned into four, and you can’t stop giggling the whole time as he holds your hand and sways your bodies to the gentle instruments working together to create a lovely symphony.

And to your liking—admittedly with a little bit of hesitation in your gut—Zayne began to get more handsy.

“This night is supposed to be about you,” you whisper as his hand presses you closer to him by your lower back.

“Anywhere you are is all there is to me.”

“Hm…Aren’t you quite the poet?”

He chuckles at that. “You see my truth as poetry?”

“Everything you do is poetic to me,” you shrug. “You’re so effortlessly intense in your emotions, but it’s not in a way that overwhelms. It…surrounds you instead. Protects you.”

“You haven’t had all of me just yet to know how much my intensity can burn.”

That sends shivers down your spine because you know exactly what he means. You can feel how your heartbeat increases.

“Really? And if I wanted to see?”

“You would be the first to and I’d be more than willing to show you.” The way his tone lowers and the suggestiveness of his statement makes every single goosebump possible dot along your skin.

Your eyes slightly widen, too. There’s no way. A man like him? You stop your movement, forcing him to do the same.

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“What exactly do you assume I’m saying?”

“Zayne!” you say in playful disbelief at how he seems to joke about some crucial information he’s never shared. “Are you?”

“Am I what?” He smiles with mischief, rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip. “No matter how well I can read the expressions on your face, I unfortunately can never read your mind.”

“You’re so…” you groan. “You’re telling me the youngest, most handsome and talented cardiac surgeon in the country, has never had sex with anyone?”

“Never,” he says plainly.

“Why have you never said anything? You seem like someone to share a fact like that pretty early on.”

“While conversations pertaining to intimacy is inevitable in romantic relationships, because I did not want to intimidate you—and simply because it never became a topic of discussion—I never felt it was necessary to mention.” He gazes into your eyes. “Until now.”

“What’s different?”

“Well, it’s become a reality that I wouldn’t mind changing. If you were to give me the permission to do so, of course.” His hand cups your face and his thumb caresses your cheek. “I’ve dated before and I’ve had moments where the opportunity would arise, but sex has never been a casual exchange in my eyes. There’s nothing casual about us though, is there?”

You’re dumbfounded and more than willing to, but there’s just one thing. You briefly respond to his question with a shake of your head first before announcing your admission.

“I’ve never done this before either,” you breathe out, feeling immense relief about revealing something you shouldn’t have been embarrassed to say, but you knew it was the expectations of society that made you feel that way. But now, learning that Zayne is exactly the same brings you so much comfort, even if your reasonings for why may be different.

You’ve only been dating a little over two months and miraculously, sex has never happened nor has it been talked about. Similarly to him, you didn’t want to rush it or to make him feel obligated about something you weren’t sure he was ready for. Despite how much you wanted to jump his bones on all your dates and times together, you spent more of it appreciating and learning the complex man that is him.

But all that complexity is dropped as you can clearly see the lust that clouds his beautiful eyes and the need that continues to grow in the way he touches you.

“Maybe we were always meant to be the ones to find and teach each other. Would you like to test that theory?”

It’s like your body gravitates towards him and becomes incapable of forming a sentence to answer, so it takes the next best route and uses itself to respond for you. Your lips make contact with his soft ones, tasting him like you’ve done before, but there’s a different air to this kiss.

Your body presses into his as he keeps you in place by the back of your neck, the brief chill of his silver watch cooling the fervent heat burning along your skin. His tongue slips inside your mouth—not taking control—but working with yours in tandem to show you how mutual the craving for one another is.

The way he takes only a millisecond to separate from you to remove his glasses makes your pussy clench as he discards them on your kitchen counter. He returns to you immediately, holding your face in his hands this time while yours work frantically to unbutton the shirt that’s keeping you from seeing him.

You moan when he kisses down the side of your neck, your breath unable to stabilize because of how hot he’s gotten you.

“Your room,” he mumbles into you. “Let me do this right.”

You nod, but Zayne has you in his arms effortlessly like you’re made of paper before you can try and take him there. The dishes you haven’t washed become a problem for another time when you feel his bulge press against your hungry pussy through your panties on his trek.

He turns your light on so that he can see you clearly, his disheveled look making you think every filthy thought possible. It’s a sight to see compared to his usual put-together image.

“Even if this is new for us both,” he approaches you again, looking into your eyes for permission before he begins to slide the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders after you grant it. “You’re in control. You tell me what will and won’t happen and that is what it will be.”

Left in your bra and panties, you feel so grateful to have a man like him being the one to walk into this world pleasure with. But despite how comfortable you are with him, you’re still nervous. It’s with slightly shaky hands that you continue to undo the rest of his buttons, feeling his eyes on you as his hard body is revealed.

You can’t stop from how you clench over and over around nothing, knowing that you need him to fill that emptiness inside you so desperately that it’s becoming uncomfortable. The clink of his belt makes your nipples tighten and you watch how the veins disappear into his pants like they’re a pathway to where you need to be.

He lets the silence rest, allowing for you to move at your own pace. For that, you’re incredibly thankful because you know that by the way his abs flex every time you graze his skin, the desire to be all over you is strong.

You gulp as you get the pants completely undone, looking up at him. He doesn’t waste a moment nodding for you to keep going, the need to be released from his confines becoming overwhelming. He strains so deliciously in his black boxers that cling to his thighs and it shouldn’t be such an erotic image, but it is.

“Fuck, Zayne…” you exhale when his erect cock springs out and briefly smacks against his toned stomach. Like the rest of him, it’s absolutely perfect. Long but not too long, thick but not too much girth that it makes you wince at the mere thought of it inside of you, and curved ever so slightly that if you weren’t taking the time to admire it, you wouldn’t notice.

There’s a tingle that you can no longer ignore, forcing you to press your thighs together. You’re so wet that you can feel your pussy lips slide against each other every time you shift your hips to suppress the ache.

You grasp him in your hand and the way he borderline falls apart has you gushing. His mouth is slightly parted and his face flushed as you stroke him enough to give his cock some relief.

“Does that feel good?” You swipe your thumb over the tip like you’ve see so many times in videos before and the reaction he has is breathtaking. He nods frantically, his heartbeat pulsing rapidly in his strong neck.

“Please let me touch you,” he begs. “You’re supposed to be feeling good, too.”

“I already do.” You start to jerk him off, feeling the weight of his dick in your hand as you use his precum to get him wet. “I’m yours, Zayne. Touch me as much as you want.”

What kind of man would he be to not listen to his woman?

He quickly makes work of your tedious bra, getting it off of you and immediately sucking on your tits like it’s all that was on his mind during your teasing. You cry out when he gently bites your sensitive nub before switching over to the other to give it some attention. At the same time, he snakes his hand into your panties.

You instinctively raise your leg to give him room as he works your clit, your hips bucking against him while he circles you beneath his fingertip. Together, you use your hands to stoke each other’s raging fire.

“Baby, that feels so good,” you whine when his hot tongue lays flat against your peak before licking around it like it’s a skill he’s had all along. His fingers keep their steady pace as you continue to drench them in your pleasure. Then he slides one finger inside, the feeling of him infinitely better than when you do it to yourself.

“Lay down,” he mumbles, getting one more quick suck before you pull back to get into your bed. You watch him pull his clothes off all the way, your legs spread as your panties dig in between the plush lips of your cunt.

Zayne picks up his pants briefly to dig into his pocket and when he pulls out a condom, you can’t help but smile.

“I’ve never carried one before until I met you,” he admits, tossing it on your end table for easy access when it’s time. “I always knew it would be you and humans are spontaneous creatures—as we’re proving.”

He climbs into the bed, getting in between your legs and caressing the outside of your thighs as he admires the dampened fabric of where your juices have soaked your underwear. “I just wanted to be prepared for when it happened.”

Irresponsibly enough, you were ready to fuck him raw, but you won’t admit that out loud.

“I’m ready for you, Zayne,” you rest your hand on his jaw, running your finger across his lips like he always does to yours. He shudders at your touch. “But if I said that I wanted to be on top, would you let me?”

“You don’t need my permission. I already told you,” he leans down to kiss you. “You’re in control.

You get up and he doesn’t need you to tell him to sit so that you can get ready to climb in his lap. While you work your panties down your legs, he rips the packaging of the condom with his teeth and you nearly drool as you watch him work the rubber down his hard cock.

Riding Zayne has been a fantasy you’ve had for far too long. You’re more than confident that you can take him like this—it’s like your body is screaming at you to not let the opportunity pass when it’s right there for you to take.

“Look at me,” he commands you gently as your knees rest on either side of him. “Don’t hesitate to stop or tell me to if it gets too much. Your safety and comfort comes first.”

“Okay,” you breathe. With one more look into your eyes, he guides his dick to your quivering hole and the pleasure is instantaneous.

The moment the crown of his cock pushes inside you and you begin to sink your hips down, you and him are moaning like you’ve never felt anything so perfect and if you were to ask each other, your answer would be the same—you haven’t.

There’s no pain, no resistance—nothing that makes you want to stop when he starts to become familiar with the way you feel on the inside.

If he feels this good with a condom on, you’re convinced that the day you have him without one will be the day you conceive your first child.

“Zayne..” you pant, looking down to watch how he disappears completely into your heat. The first time you grind your hips and your clit gets that spark of friction, you have to pause before you lost yourself completely.

Below you, your boyfriend is unable to think straight and for the first time in your life, you’re witnessing your man have no semblance of control. When your tight walls sucked him inside, he was so sure that he was close to coming, but he refused to end something so good, so soon.

With his hands on your hips, he holds you firmly while you start to find your comfort zone, your movement becoming consistent as you work towards giving him and you the satisfaction you’re looking for.

You never expected Zayne to be so vocal and it encourages you more than it shocks you. With hooded eyes, he whimpers without a care in the world the more he pulses inside of you, his grip shifting in strength as he tries his hardest to make sure you get there first. You press yourself closer to him, letting the squelching sounds of your pussy suffocating him be all the reassurance you need that you’re doing it right.

“I’m close, love,” he warns you, sweat beading at his hairline the faster you go. Your thighs burn, but it only adds to the bliss.

You’re right there too, feeling that familiar coil in your stomach that’s grown tenfold when you share this kind of moment with the man you love. You rock yourself faster as his strong arms hold you tight, giving his cock no room to breathe the closer your orgasm approaches.

“You’re….oh fuck, ‘s so good,” you cry. “I’m gonna…Zayne, ‘m coming—” You bury your face in his neck when you start creaming around his length, your hips slowing but still going as you feel the condom swell inside of you when he spills his load into it. Briefly, you wished you could’ve felt it leak out of you instead.

You feel how his chest rises when yours falls as you kiss down his shoulder after you take the time to settle and relish in the feeling you can’t quite name, but you want to have it all the time.

“That was nice,” you hum. “Really nice.”

“It was.” His hands smooth down your back tenderly. “How do you feel?”

“Amazing.”

“Good. On that we can agree.”

You sit back to look at him, biting your lip with a grin. “You…have another condom?”

“No, unfortunately.” The corner of his mouth tilts up. “But I can make a trip to the store for a box.”

“Are we being greedy?”

“Greed implies that we’ve selfishly overindulged ourselves. That was our first time, love.” He kisses the corner of your lips. “We are far from being finished.”

You repeat his words, knowing that he’s absolutely right.

“On that, we can agree.”

A/N: I wanted to ask you guys: Do you like when I give you a whole bunch of plot/backstory before I start jumping into smut or do you just want smut? I think it’s the book writer in me that’s always trying to give something before I dive into the sex LOLLL!! Also, let me know what you think about this one (if you’re comfortable). I’m sure you noticed there wasn’t as much dialogue because as two inexperienced people having sex for the first time, I’m sure dirty talking/actions wouldn’t really be happening, so this fic is really vanilla & mainly based on visualizing. I hope I wrote it vividly enough. I talked a lot on this post, didn’t I? LOLLL OKAY, I LUV YOU! BYE!

[s1rawb3rry]

Our Seashell Promises

Leave your vows… I’ll carry the ones you meant to say

synopsis: On the sun-drenched yacht, the newlyweds are on their honeymoon that’s anything but picture-perfect. Bound by family expectations and in silent frustrations, Y/N clings to her camera as a lifeline while her distant husband retreats further into his work. Until through her lens, she captures a candid moment of the yacht’s Captain...

word count: 15.8k

warnings: fluff fluff fluff, no smut, a lot of angst, toxic relationships / marriage (not between y/n and hee tho), a lot of touching and kissing, skinship

genres: rom-com (?), slow burn, mutual pining

pairing: captain!enhypen Heeseung x reader

a/n: AHHH ITS FINALLY HERE. i had this idea during winter, so i waited until summer if youre the type of reader to listen to music while reading, i suggest that you listen to lana del rey’s album “norman fucking rockwell!”. That album help and inspired me a lot during the long writing process 

Taglist: @heestoleurgirl @stariekis @jaehoodies @morganaawriterr @luvashli@kireistrawberryjayla @annovaz @bambieheeseunglee @firstclassjaylee @flowerwinds @veilstqr @hoonslvr @cunty4hee @hazelira @sumsumtingz @bxcndd @sunnygirl-kait @amazzwon @hoonieyun (comment if you want me to add / remove you from the list <3)

⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯⌯

The morning Marseille summer sun was shining down on us with seagulls cawing. We stood in line with our luggage to board the yacht, the one that my parents insisted we spend our honeymoon in. The wind blew a soft salty breeze, making me glance at my now husband, Jae. 

“Can I see the tickets?” he asked, not looking up from his phone.

I hummed as a response, handing them over to him, without saying anything. He always was colder than most men, quieter than most men. But now, especially after the wedding, he’s like a block of ice. He has been glued to his phone, either typing, reading or on a call; always saying ‘it’s work’. It’s always work with him.

A part of me doesn’t push for any more answers, because it’s the same part of me that sees me as smaller than him. Jae being a lawyer and ambitious to the bone is exactly what my parents always wanted me to be. Yet, I broke their dream, making me feel like I dont have much say in whatever ‘work’ he’s doing.

Our relationship was a neat courtship my family practically orchestrated, especially after I refused to go to law school. If I don't want to go to law school and take over my father’s law firm, then my husband will. For them, it was a perfect plan: a year of dating, graduation, and then a wedding that was rushed by encouragement and subtle threats from my mother. 

Now we're honeymooners, supposedly, with a trip across the Mediterranean. All paid by my parents; it’s either a grand gesture or a bribe. I can’t tell anymore. It gives me a headache each time I try to understand and anticipate their hidden schemes. I don’t even want to think about it, not right now. 

Not when the gorgeous sea stretched across from me. My fingers wrap around my camera that’s strapped to my neck, itching to capture new photos. To capture the blues of the sea, the sharp contrast of sails against the sky, the worn wood of the dock. 

Eventually, the queue started moving. As we were walking up the small stairs that led to the yacht, I was looking around, trying to find the fastest way that could lead me to the outer deck. 

Once we were all on board and waiting for more instructions, I didn't want to waste any more time and turned to Jae, “I need to use the bathroom,” I mumbled an excuse before slipping away. It didn't matter what I said, it all fell to deaf ears anyways. 

A buzz of excitement was rushing through me as I wandered the maze of the yacht’s corridors. It then occurred to me how the yacht seems much larger from the inside. Regardless, it was strangely silent for it’s size. 

Eventually I found it, a wide doorway with a heavy door that led to the outer deck. A much more expansive view of the sea and the scent of salt hit me. The water sparked under the sun, soft waves could be heard with the seagulls, just much closer now. I took the opportunity immediately, pulling my camera to my face and started snapping pictures. 

As I was turning around and taking pictures, my lens landed on someone. I idiotically froze, examining him from my camera. He was completely drenched, wearing nothing but swimming shorts that were hanging low on his narrow hips. His hair was pushed back with some of it sticking to his forehead in lazy waves, droplets of seawater dropping from his face and chest. He was standing above me, adjusting something on the mast.

My camera shutter clicked before I could control my finger on it, or before I could even think. The sound made him glance down, making us lock eyes. Great, not even five minutes on deck and I’m already the creep with a zoom lens. He was clearly amused, a smile on his face and a raised, questioning brow, waiting for an explanation. 

“I’m so sorry — I didn't mean to — I was taking pictures of the sea and —” I stammered, trying to clear my bruised image. He started laughing, “It’s okay,” he called down, eyes twinkling. “If I’d known there was a photo shoot happening, I would’ve struck a better pose.” he teased, getting down.

Heat crept up my cheeks as I let out a shy chuckle out of embarrassment. Now he's much closer, “Name’s Heeseung,” he introduced himself, sticking out his hand, with the corners of his mouth still curved in the same playful smile. I hesitated for a beat, trying not to stare — trying being the key word — any lower than his face. I reached out and shook his calloused and slightly damp hand. 

“Y/N,” I replied, returning his smile, though mine came with a side of flustered panic. The second he saw me smiling, his eyes softened, becoming warmer now. 

My own eyes went down, noticing that he was now holding my hand. I cleared my throat, “I need to get back, the Captain will come any minute now.” I said, pointing to the door I just passed through. He nodded in acknowledgement, “right, right. He sounds important. Better not make him wait.” he chuckled, making his grip on my hand much looser.

He gave me one last smile before returning back to the ropes he’d been fixing. I went back through the maze of hallways, cheeks still burning, heart rattling like my camera in my carry-on. 

By the time I found Jae again, he was still on his phone. Unbothered, of course. I sat next to him and started to gaze at him, in deep thought. The complete indifference is infuriating. I took a deep breath — probably out of annoyance — and looked down at my camera. 

Moments later, the rest of the passengers had gathered for the Captain’s welcome announcement. As the applause started, I pulled my eyes from my camera’s small screen to look at my surroundings. There he was: Heeseung, but dressed sharply now. A crisp pearly uniform of a Captain with golden stripes stitched on his sleeves and a hat tucked under his arm. 

The horror of my mistake started to dawn on me. That's definitely the same guy I accidentally photographed shirtless ten minutes ago. The fucking Captain of the yacht i will be on for months. 

He moved confidently, pausing at the front of the crowd with a practiced smile. He greeted us, voice calm, deep, a little too charming for someone who commands a floating hotel. Our eyes landed on each other again, for a beat too long. He gave me a tiny, knowing smile. Like he was trying not to laugh at some inside joke only the two of us knew: the accidental playboy bunny photoshoot joke.

He dipped his head in a little bow. The kind that was half-respectful, half... teasing? In a blind panic, I smiled and awkwardly waved back. 

I felt Jae’s eyes snapped at me, finally paying attention to me. However, it wasn’t affection — it was the kind of attention that prickled on my skin, cold and critical. He stayed silent, waiting until the announcement ended. When Heeseung said his final words, the yacht’s engines hummed beneath our feet, and we were off. 

As the crowd dispersed, Jae’s head turned slightly toward me, jaw clenched. “So, you know the Captain now?” he accused, not really a question.

“Huh? I ran into him earlier on the deck. He startled me. That’s all.” I said, confused by his switch of moods. His eyes were drawing daggers at me, but didn’t argue. He just turned away with our luggage, “I'm going to find our room.” he said, not even giving me a glance.

What the fuck is up his ass? I stayed planted where I was, letting the sea air try to cool the heat that's rising to my face, this time however it’s from frustration and not embarrassment. I hated how quickly he could make me feel small, guilty about every ‘misstep’, forcing me to defend myself for things I shouldn't need to defend myself for. What a good note to start our honeymoon with.

I stood up and went closer to the sea, near the railing, hoping to drown out all other sounds. The blues of the sky and water were so clear, they did not seem real. But with every passing minute the tilting became stronger, longer, slower. Soft waves rolled beneath my feet, it's like the yacht was inhaling and exhaling. 

Another deep lurch from the boat and suddenly, I felt like a human snow globe. My mouth went dry. My insides sloshed and my knees wobbled. I clutched the railing, my feet shifted to balance and my stomach responded with a gentle protest. 

Gripping my camera, I adjusted the lens and started snapping pictures, trying to shake it off. I took a deep breath and focused on the horizon. Surprisingly the nausea went down, the camera’s viewfinder anchored me somehow.

An amused voice from behind broke me out of my own little bubble, “Didn’t expect to see you this soon. Or this pale."

I turned — a little too fast — and found Heeseung with his hands on his suit pockets. The wind tugged at his hair to free it from the tight, neat hairstyle that he had 10 minutes ago in front of the passagers. 

The moment I was no longer looking into the camera, my stomach alarmed me again. “Oh god,” I whispered, holding my hand to my mouth, trying to fight the nausea again. 

He stepped closer, “you get seasick?” he asked, much gentler now. I nodded miserably, “apparently,” I said from behind my hand, afraid to empty out what I ate for breakfast. He huffed a laugh, carefully reaching out for my hand to softly press his thumb against my wrist. 

I gave him a look, “Unless you’re reading my palm to tell me I’m dying, what are you doing?” I asked, wary. My heart started, mortified at his closeness. I didn't know that my accidental boudoir, swimwear catalogue model would find me so quickly. 

He laughed full heartedly now, “My sister used to get seasick all the time when I brought her with me. Pressing the sea sickness pressure point helps.”

“You’re weird.” 

“Oh?” he tilted his head, amused that I’m arguing in this weak state of mine. “I can stop.” he jokingly threatened. I hesitated, it was actually working, “... keep pressing.”

He chuckled, putting a light hand on my shoulder, “Come on. I’ll make you some ginger tea.” he said reassuringly. I was becoming weaker because of the nausea and the embarrassment, making me just accept the idea of some tea.

He led me down a couple narrow hallways toward the galley, while the same creaking of the yacht continued beneath our feet in a steady rhythm. He was very familiar with the kitchen, putting stuff away to clear an area on the counter for me. 

I dizzily watched him putting on the kettle, “I swear, if this tea actually helps, I’m going to start suspecting you’re some kind of sea witch,” I said, plopping down on a stool near the counter, surrendering to the misery of nausea to swallow me whole. I closed my eyes, trying and failing to stop the movement.

He laughed while finding a clean mug for me, “Sea witch is a new one. I usually get a pirate.” With my closed eyes, I tried to imagine him as a pirate then as a sea witch, making me fall in a fit of laughter and him joining. 

Eventually the laughter died down and the kettle finished boiling. “I feel like I’ve been kidnapped and sentenced to a floating prison,” I muttered, watching him add the honey, the tea bag and then the water to the mug — each motion slow, deliberate. He moved like someone who wasn’t in a rush to be anywhere. Envy came through me, I was envious of that kind of ease. Compared to him, I was all sharp edges and a ball of nervous energy. Always bracing for the next comment, the next disappointment.

Two crewmates passing by overheard me, wearing similar uniforms to Heeseung but in navy and less golden stitched strips. “She’s not wrong,” one of them said, laughing. They started walking closer, seeing the one sided tea ceremony. “Oh, someone is seasick.” the other said, smiling. They were all clearly comfortable with each other, like a family.

“That reminds me, tell her about the time you threw up on the engine, Cap,” the other one added, smiling ear to ear. Without turning, Heeseung said calmly but with a warning tone, “Leave before I assign both of you dish duty for three days.” 

They vanished with snickers echoing behind them. Heeseung finally placed a mug in front of me, steam curled into the air. “Drink slowly,” he said, “no eye contact with the ocean.” I smiled and mumbled a ‘thank you’.

I took a careful sip, “do you do this for all your seasick guests?” I pushed, flattered by the pampering.

He leaned against the counter, watching me and mirroring my amusement, “Only the ones who call my boat a prison.”

“Correction,” I said, mock-serious, “a very charming prison. With surprisingly good customer service.” I said, backing up my case. He snorted, shaking his head. He watched me take a couple of more sips, seeing the color back to my face with a smile. I guess the tea actually worked.

-⚓︎-

When I pulled my head from under the pool water, my eyes immediately found Jae. Lounging on the nearby chairs, fully clothed with a laptop open. It's been a couple of days into the trip, and it seems like the more time that passes, the more he closes into himself. Slowly becoming colder and colder to me. 

I thought that rather than leaving him cooped up in our room, I could get us into the yacht’s pool. Maybe that could break the ice between us. But no, he found a chair with an umbrella and stayed far away from me. 

I observed him for a moment, the frown on my face grew as I watched his rapid tapping on the keyboard. He's genuinely so engulfed in whatever he's looking at, and not our honeymoon, not me. I silently swam to the edge of the pool and hauled myself out. 

I could see that he saw me walking towards me, even while he's wearing sunglasses, but he refused to acknowledge me. His lips tightened as I neared him. “Do you want a drink?” I asked, trying my hardest to put on a sweet voice. 

“I'm good,” he replied harshly. Dick, if you could call that a reply. If he could, he would've spat on my face. I huffed, took my small towel and camera from beside him and walked away. Another failed attempt to save this rushed, half-assed relationship.

I started drying my hair as I walked barefoot across the teak deck to get to the outdoor bar. I smiled back at the bartender and scanned the menu quickly, “I will get a mint lemonade, please.” I finally picked. I sat on a stool chair, placing my camera in front of me. I stared at my turned off camera, letting my mind wander somewhere else while the bartender rummaged around in front of me making my drink. 

What seemed like out of nowhere, Heeseung appeared next to me, cutting off my train of thoughts, “hey,” he greeted me, startling me a little. God, I was really in my mind today. He gave me that same easy smile before ordering a Coke. The bartender seemed flustered with Heeseung around. Her cheeks pink, nodding immediately at his words, her hands moving a little quicker, almost fumbling with the glassware. 

“Didn't expect to see you in the pool.” he said, sitting on the stool next to me. I chuckled dryly, “didn't expect to get ignored in it either.” He raised a questioning brow at me, I shrugged in response, almost in defeat. He turned his head ever so slightly to also find Jae, still on the chair and on that damn laptop. 

Silence settled between us as our drinks came. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, just loaded. After a beat, he nodded at my camera, “any new ones? Or are you giving the camera a vacation too?” 

I laughed, “not a chance, it's never on a break.” I said, pulling the camera to me and turning it on. He leaned in as I flipped through the photos I had on the memory card. He smelled like sun-bathed linen, clean and comforting. Our arms barely brushed against each other, his warmth much closer now, making my heart skip a beat.

My photos were very normal, at least in my eyes: shots of the sea at golden hour, a bird mid-flight, poolside shadows, drifting towels. Nevertheless, he was very intrigued, genuinely complimenting each one. 

My fingers froze when a certain photo popped up. It’s blurry, but unmistakable: it was Jae hunched over his phone, jaw tight. I wanted to skip it, but Heeseung’s finger gently tapped the screen before I could do anything, “your boyfriend?” he asked, more like recognizing him. 

“My husband.” I corrected, almost automatically. My eyes were glued to the camera’s little screen, but Heeseung's eyes scanned over to Jae again. Then it's like the puzzle pieces click together for Heeseung, “you're on your honeymoon?” he asked, softer now.

“Supposedly.” I whispered. He slowly nodded, didn't pry nor pity me, to which I'm grateful. 

“Don’t worry, I have seen worse honeymoons while sailing.” he comforted, lighting the mood. I snorted, half of me believes him, the other half doesn’t. I want to push my newlywed husband into the ocean water with his laptop, how much worse can it get?

-*-

Later that evening, when I finally got into our room, Jae proved to me just how much worse he can make it. He was tense from the moment I walked in, “Where have you been?” he asked, his voice low, accusatory, again. I frowned at his clearly stupid question. Where else would I be when we’re both stuck on a floating log in the middle of the ocean? 

I decided to keep that answer to myself to not make him angrier, I had enough of his bitching for today, “I don’t know… just checking out what they have on this yacht.” I responded, placing my carry on and camera on the small side table near the entry of the room.

“Dont fuck with me, Y/N. i know you were with him.” he started to raise his voice, getting closer to my face.

“Who are you talking about? I was just–” 

“Don’t lie to me.” he yelled and got closer to my face, knocking over that small table in the process. His frustration boils over, raw and wild as he was fishing through his pockets for something. My eyes were glued to my belongings on the floor, to my camera on the floor. 

My broken camera. The object that captured my world, now shattered and silent.

“I need a smoke,” he said before placing a cig between his lips, walking towards our room’s balcony. I sank to my knees, hands trembling as I started picking up the different pieces of my camera that were scattered across the broken glass of the lens. My eyes are glassy and unfocused from the tears, blurring the edges of everything I see. 

I stepped outside of our room, feeling too suffocated inside. I needed fresh air, and if all I'm getting is salty fresh air, so be it. The narrow yacht hallways are dimly lit but the atmosphere was tense, I felt tense. I stared for a moment at the ocean, it’s not as glimmerly when the sun was shining above it. In fact, I can barely see anything in front of me. 

With a heavy heart and a broken camera, I started aimlessly walking around the dock, between the quiet halls, looping back to familiar places multiple times. It was silent, not a soul in sight. Until I heard a hum of equipment above the hum of the yacht’s engine.

My eyes followed the buzz, landing on a well lit room, below the deck. The sound of tools being fiddled with was evident. This sounds exactly like a horror movie, but not a single bone in my body cares anymore. What is the point of this ‘trip’ without my camera? 

I approached the door frame, and I found him, but with his back turned to me and spare parts scattered around him like puzzle pieces. I raise my hand to knock on the door, not wanting to scare him at one in the morning. 

Heeseung looked behind him, frowning in confusion on who would be here at this hour. He smiled for a moment when he saw it was me, but then frowned again when he looked at my completely heartbroken, tear stained face. His eyes fall to my camera — more like pieces of plastic and metal — in my hands.

“What happened?” he asked, worry on his face, gesturing to me to come in. 

I paused for a moment, not wanting to tell him the truth, “I tripped and it fell from my hands,” I lied, showing him the chunks in my hands. 

He nodded without asking any further questions. “Alright, let me see what I can do.“ he said, taking the parts from me. The stark difference between Jae's yelling voice and Heeseung’s comforting reassurance made the tears spill out even more. “Don’t cry,” he cooed, his voice was gentle as he slowly pushed my hair that was stuck to my face. I feel pathetic, probably look the part too…

“Oh love, I promise it’s not worth crying over.” he whispered, taking me into his arms. I wrap my arms around his chest, silently crying into his shirt, letting his smell of sea breeze consume me. He was like a warm exhale from whatever nightmare I was living. 

-*-

It's been ten minutes since I have been sitting quietly next to him, watching him treat the camera as gently and as carefully as calloused hands can be. I anxiously stared back and forth between him and the camera. The echo tools clinking together echoed through the workshop. 

Finally, he sighed, running his hand through his hair, “I'm sorry, pretty. It's too far gone to be fixed.” I let my shoulders slump down in disappointment, “I guess I have to only rely on your ginger tea and that magic ‘pressure point’ trick thing.” I said flatly, trying not to sound too sulky.

He chuckled softly at that, giving me a small, sympathetic smile. “I told you, I'm certified,” he said in a fake-serious tone.

“Oh, wow. A certified sea witch. You really are something.” I mocked further, making both of us laugh. The silence that followed didn’t weigh heavy, but it was peaceful. He started to put away some of the tools he pulled out and I looked over at the only porthole, spotting the stars in the sky and trying to make out the different shapes.

“Did they ever teach you about constellation names when you were becoming a Captain?” I asked before thinking twice.

He followed my gaze through the small window, “of course they did. We went through serious, rigorous training,” he said with a firm voice, “that one is the ‘Dancing Noodle’, very rare. And that one is the ‘Pizza Slice’, my personal favorite.” he continued, talking as if he’s actually teaching me something new. 

I frown at the names, really letting them sink in for a moment. Then I blinked at him, “you're making those up.” I said, narrowing my eyes at him with a smile. He chuckled, “you believe me for a second there.”

We stayed like that for a while, side by side, our shoulders just barely touching as the made-up constellations drifted lazily above us. No pressure to talk, no weight in the quiet—just an easy, quiet kind of closeness that didn’t ask for anything more.

Without saying a word, he reached over to the broken camera pieces and started to put them in a small cotton bag. I slowly joined him, “next time I drop something, I hope it's Jae’s laptop.” I mumbled, laughing at my own joke. Heeseung let out a low whistle while chuckling, “make sure I'm nearby, i might actually help you pull it off.”

-⚓︎-

A few days slipped by in a blur of sunrises and restless nights. The yacht swayed in a slow, cradling rhythm, like it was trying to rock me to sleep, like it was begging me to sleep. The past few nights, sleep barely touched me — my mind kept dragging me through a maze of torturous memories, jumping from one thought to another, refusing to let me rest.

I sat on the edge of some stairs near the outer deck, staring out to the new sunrise that is marking a new day — wishing I could capture it on my camera. I could feel my heart beating in fury when I relive that moment with Jae. My fingers nervously twist at my wedding ring — out of habit now when I think of him, yet my eyes avoid looking at it. The ring was stunning, really. Nevertheless, it makes me tense up and shiver uncomfortably each time I glanced at it. 

I avoided our room as much as possible.Not out of fear of running into Jae, but because the memory of that night clung to the walls, too rough to face. All I seemed capable of was replaying our vows in my head, over and over, trying to hear some truth in them. As if listening hard enough might reveal some hidden truth I missed the first time. 

I should be asleep beside my husband right now. Instead, I’m lying here wide awake, trying to remember what exactly made me say ‘yes’.

Maybe it wasn’t about love — maybe it was about proving something. My mom smiled so wide at the wedding, like it meant everything had finally fallen into place. The wedding wasn’t anything like the one I’d pictured growing up. Maybe I said yes to Jae because I wanted to prove to my parents I could still be someone they’d be proud of. They already thought I gave up on my future when I didn't go to law school. What will they say when they find out this ‘perfect marriage’ is unraveling as well?

I inhaled deeply, and held that breath in my chest for a moment before pushing all these thoughts away. I allowed my feet to carry me forward, wandering aimlessly through the yacht’s quiet corridors, letting the hush of the sea fill the silence between my thoughts. 

Until I stumbled into a small kitchen nook tucked into the side of the yacht. The soft clatter of a knife against the cutting board greets me, a little louder than the quiet hum of the sea outside. Heeseung was already there — barefoot, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair still tousled from sleep. There’s a calm ease in the way he moves, like he belongs here, like the ocean is second nature to him. The morning golden light spills across his features. 

For a moment, I just stood there, watching him and his smooth chopping — unsure if it’s the sway of the yacht or the sight of him that makes my heart flutter.

“You have a staring problem,” he teased but not once looking up. 

I let out a breathy laugh, the humor catching me by surprise, a stark difference from the ruminating monologue that has been going off in my mind, “comes with being a photographer,” I said, trying to match his tone. 

He looked up from the strawberries he was chopping, his small smile was warm as always. “Are you hungry? I can whip something up — personalized, gourmet, five-star level,” he said playfully, but the offer was genuine. “I thought you just drove the boat,” I said, stepping closer to lean against the counter.

He chuckled, “tour guide, chef, mechanist… comes with being a Captain.” he said, holding up a strawberry near my lips. I opened my mouth and took it without thinking. My lips brushed his fingertips for the briefest moment, sending a quick, unexpected rush through my chest. As I chewed, the sweetness burst on my tongue — and so did the realization of how close we were. 

“You’d be surprised how many emergencies want to happen before 8 a.m.” he went on, like nothing had happened. So either meant he didn’t notice... or he was very, very good at pretending. Is an actor also on the list of required competence to be a Captain?

I gave him a look, one eyebrow raised. “Define emergency.”

With a grin, he leaned back slightly to get some other fruits from behind the counter, “once had a guest call the front desk at 5 a.m. screaming about a ‘hostile sea creature’ in her room.” I blinked, completely curious now. 

He snorted, remembering the story, “it turns out a poor fish had launched through her window right at the crack of dawn. She locked herself in the bathroom and asked me to ‘evacuate the beast’.”

I nearly choked on my strawberry. “Evacuate the beast?”

“Oh, she wanted me to bring the radio back up like it was a hostage situation.”

I was laughing now. Really laughing, the first time in days it didn’t feel forced. “And did you save the day?”

“Of course, Captain of the year.” he said, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. He then looked at me with that calm glint in his eyes, “so, in comparison, you're a dream guest.”

I chuckled, “A dream guest who spends her days sulking around your yacht.” I admitted, guilt dug deep in my chest for always being the Debbie downer. He shrugged, “You laugh at my jokes. That buys you at least three stars.” he said, disappearing behind the counter.

“Oh yeah? out of how many?” I challenged, leaning my elbow on the counter, chin in my palm. “For you?” He called from down below, “three stars out of three stars.” playfulness in his voice being evident. Something about the way he said it, so light and easy, made my heart dance and lifted the heaviness from my mind.

The shine of the dawn sun came through the big windows near us, the ray of light hitting my face and my wedding band that is still circling my finger. My smile faltered just slightly. Before I could get lost in it again, Heeseung reappeared and tapped the cutting board with his knife. “Come on, helper. If you’re staying in my kitchen, you’re getting a task.”

I snapped out of my daydreaming and gave him a mock salute. “Yes, chef. I mean Captain, I mean chef.” 

He rolled his eyes, laughing as he slid the cutting board my way. “Start with that before you get promoted to anything sharper.” he said before turning around to start something on the big stove.

I pondered on my ring for a minute. Without a word, I slipped it off my finger, the cool metal gilded against my skin. I tucked it into my pocket quietly, like I was setting down a weight no one else could see. 

As I picked up a strawberry and began slicing, the warmth of the sun settled on my skin, grounding me. The gentle rhythm of the waves, the clink of utensils, and Heeseung humming some unrecognizable tune filled the silence between us.

-*-

By late morning, after breakfast service rush winded down, the weather starts to turn. I stood outside, a little away from the other passengers. The skies dimed the sun to a moody gray, and the once-gentle sway of the yacht grows slightly more forceful. With the wave rolling much harsher, my stomach twists sharply, warning me. I blinked hard, trying to breathe through it, steadying myself against the railing. If that dick didn't break my camera…

That's when my phone buzzes in my pockets with my ring still in there. I delved in my jean shorts, scrabbling and trying to focus my vision to see who it is.

"Your father and I were watching the wedding videos again. I hope you're remembering to smile more in your photos. you looked tired in the last ones.” - "mom <3", delivered 10 sec ago

I stared at it, the words tilting something loose inside me. Something about it… the timing, the usual perfectionism wrapped in love. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. It all makes my throat tighten and burn even more. The nausea surges like a tide. Eventually, it all came out. The motion of the sea and the weight of everything on my chest finally tipping over. 

Then, footsteps.

Heeseung appears, calm but concerned. His brows furrowed as he spotted me hunched near the trash bin. Bless whoever designed this yacht for having a trash bin here. 

He doesn’t say anything. Just kneels quietly and sits besides me with hesitation. One hand gently sweeped my hair away from my face and the other one held a small towel to my mouth to clean up. “How hot do I look right now?” I muttered with a voice hoarse, trying to muster a bit of humor through the haze of nausea.

He gave a crooked smile — soft, endeared, “If this is you at your worst, then I’m in trouble.” he said, still dabbing gently away at my chin.

A fragile pause stretched between us, he sat next to me while I clutched my stomach. I swallow hard, having everything hit me like a brick wall. Then, as if a switch had flipped, My eyes let quiet, inevitable tears slip down my cheeks. I didn’t bother wiping them away. They're not from sadness, but from exhaustion. I leaned into his shoulder, too tired to think twice about it. “I’m sorry…” my voice barely over a whisper.

He wraps an arm gently around me, and presses a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Shhh,” he murmured, his voice steady and low. “There is nothing to be sorry about.”

-⚓︎-

The clock ticks somewhere, soft and distant. I finally sunk into the sheets of our bed, the feeling of loneliness hit me — though fatigue was stronger. Heeseung pushed me to go to sleep many hours ago… maybe twelve hours? Or was it ten? I can't remember how long I was outside. All i do remember is him walking me to the room, brushing my hair and putting me to bed.

The sheets were cold, and still looked untouched on the other side, Jae’s side. There was a trace of him through a faint smell of his cologne and his cigs that was clinging to his pillow.

I slowly sat up with my head pounding, syncing with my heartbeat that I could feel behind my forehead. The soft glow of his phone screen barely illuminates the dark room, the time stares back at me: 3:11 a.m. I could see Jae’s silhouette out on the balcony, the tiny flare of his cigarette being the second source of light.

My eyes burn from exhaustion that I can't quite sleep off. So I just roll over, hugging my pillow for warmth and deliberately avoiding his. Avoiding him. His smell was repulsing enough for me now. I could hear his phone buzzing, altering him for a notification. Every ding felt like a punishment, a reminder of how easily he could stay connected to the world — just not to me.

The days started to officially blur together, two weeks of mindlessly walking around the yacht, quietly watching the sunrises and sunsets alone, picking at meals, my only source of conversation being the bartenders and servers. I started feeling like a host more than a guest on this yacht. 

It was simple, really. I fell into a routine: during the day I'm alone on the deck, during the night I would pretend to sleep while he slips into the room late, smelling like salt and smoke. He’s like a stranger now — someone just passing through. 

“You don’t even try to lie anymore.” I said before I could stop myself. Though it was barely above a whisper, it barely left my lips. He lets out a tired breath, annoyed more than anything else, “don’t start, Y/N. Not now.” he said before a click of a door, disappearing again.

He made clear, time and time again, that he’d already emotionally checked out. It felt like a punch to the chest, which was funny. I felt the same and did the same, but it still hurts. Being forgotten by someone you didn’t even want to marry should’ve been easier. 

-*- 

One early morning, I found myself curled up on one of the lounge chairs, knees pulled to my chest, barely awake. A half-full cup of cold coffee rested in my hands. The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, quiet and soft in the pale light of dawn. It looked exactly the same as it had yesterday… and the day before. And yet, I stared like it might eventually show me something new. 

The yacht was docked near a quiet island. It was like a pause in the yacht’s slow route. The sea was clearer out here. Less churned up. Bluer, like it hadn’t been bothered in hours. It felt like the world had finally lowered its voice.

Footsteps padded softly across the deck, not rushed or hesitant. I didn’t have to look up to know it was Heeseung. He stopped beside me, “that coffee’s seen better hours,” he said softly. I turned my head and found him tilting his head a little, studying me. His hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, like he’d just come from a rinse or a swim, again. He wore a plain white T-shirt, a little too thin, already catching the breeze and clinging lightly to his skin.

“So have I,” I mumbled, giving him a small, tired smile. He returned it — gentle, not too wide. Just enough to let me feel it. He glanced toward the horizon and then back at me. “Come swim with me.” he said, quietly, like a suggestion, not a demand.

I blinked up at him. “Right now?”

He nodded. “There’s a spot I know here. It’s quiet. Clear water.”

I looked down at my coffee, at my bare feet curled against the chair and at the sky that hadn’t quite woken up. “I’m not exactly good company right now,” I admitted with that kind of honesty that slips out when you’re too tired to filter anything. 

“That’s okay,” he said, his voice low and kind. “I figured misery loves company, and I’m excellent company.”

I let out a soft breath, almost a laugh. I nodded and then pointed toward the cabins. “Give me five minutes. Maybe six. I have to remember where I planted my bikini.” 

He grinned, the expression soft and grateful, “I’ll start the boat.”

A couple minutes later, I found him standing outside and waiting for me. His arms crossed, pretending not to look impatient, but failing just a little. The morning light brushing against his profile like it had missed him too. As his eyes met mine, he gave me a once-over. Not in a way that made me shrink, just a quick scan to make sure I was awake enough, here enough. He stepped closer to the edge, making me take his warm, offered hand so I could step off onto a smaller boat. 

As we pulled away from the yacht, the noise of the world seemed to fade even more. There was no harsh engine roaring, just the hum of the sea and the occasional creak of the boat shifting beneath us. The breeze brushed through my hair, letting me take a deep breath. We didn’t talk much, but it wasn’t silence I hated. I sat across from him, arms around my knees, watching the ripples we left behind.

“Are you always this mysterious?” he asked after a minute, his voice light but not mocking. He never took his eyes away from the steering wheel or the ocean, “waking up early, staring at the sea.” I glanced at him, the wind teasing a strand of hair into my mouth, “Only when I haven’t slept properly in two weeks.”

He made a face that was part wince, part sympathy, “insomnia is one hell of a bitch.” he said, much quieter. “What about you?” I asked, shifting to face him a little more, “haven’t seen you in a minute… “ I threw back the questions at him. Honestly, I miss his presence more than anything. 

He smiled, a little sheepish while his eyes were still on the horizon. He gave a small shrug, “Had a few shifts, maintenance stuff…. steering that floating palace doesn’t come with an autopilot button.”

“Mm,” I said, “so you have been avoiding me.” I continued with a teasing voice. He looked at me, frowning, genuinely confused. “Now, why would I avoid you?” I smiled a smile that didn't reach my eyes, “I don’t know… maybe because I’m becoming annoying to be around.”

He tilted his head slightly, immediately shaking his head. “You’re not. You’re just full.”

“Full?”

“Of thoughts,” he said, nodding understandingly, “Stories. Feelings. Things you don’t say out loud.” I blinked, then grinned. “Okay, Dr. Freud. So you’re a captain, tour guide, chef, mechanist… and a psychoanalyst. How long is your resume?”

He laughed, head tipping back slightly, the sound carried off by the sea breeze. I laughed too, this time without holding anything back. The kind that came from somewhere small but real, somewhere I hadn’t reached in a while. We didn’t say much after that, the silence between us settled easily. Just the water lapping at the boat with both of us soaking in the sun.

Eventually, Heeseung slowed the boat with a practiced flick of his wrist, easing the throttle down until the engine softened to a low purr and then quieted altogether. The boat drifted for a moment, rocking gently in the clear water. He squinted slightly out at the horizon. “This is the spot,” he said quietly, as if he didn’t want to break the calm. The world around us felt hushed, just the endless blue and the faint call of seabirds somewhere far off.

He stood up then and tugged his shirt off in one motion, revealing a lean back scattered with faded freckles, the kind of tan that came from years at sea, not vacations. He tossed the shirt onto the bench behind him and stepped to the edge of the boat. Then, without a warning, he dove cleanly into the water, slicing through the surface with ease. 

I followed to the edge, letting my feet slip into the water below. It was cool, sharp and soft all at once. My eyes trailed after Heeseung as he swam effortlessly through the glittering water. The sun caught his wet hair while he had an unguarded grin on his face. After diving back in the water, he resurfaced near my feet, shaking his head and splashing water onto me in the process. “You know these are trying to kill each other, right?” he asked, wadling closer.

“Huh?”

“Your anklets,” he said. “Here, hold still.”

Before I could argue, his hands were already gently at my ankle, fingers deftly working the knots apart. I quieted down and watched how gentle he was with me. My eyes fell to his face: the curve of his lashes, still damp from the water; the way his brows furrowed slightly in concentration. The sun made his skin glow warm and gold, and I could see the faint trail of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, like he was holding back a thought he wouldn’t say aloud.

I wasn’t used to this kind of attention — quiet, thoughtful, without expectation. I wasn’t used to someone looking after me in ways that didn’t have to be spoken. His fingers brushed against my skin as he finished undoing the knot, and I felt that touch everywhere. 

“That's a cute one,” he said, holding one of my anklet’s charms between his fingers, “th little star… looks like it’s been with you a while.” I glanced down at the worn out charm, a bit dulled at the edges. “Yeah. My mom gave it to me when I was sixteen,” I said, the words coming easily, “she said I always had my head in the clouds, and this was supposed to keep a piece of the sky with me.”

He looked up at me then, his expression soft and focused, “she sounds like someone who paid attention.”

My next words sat heavy on my chest, “my parents did in their own way. Her and my dad…” I hesitated, “they both had their ways with everything. They were loud and messy. Nothing was ever quiet with them. Two lawyers being married isn’t easy…”

I laughed quietly, “but they love each other. A lot. there was never a moment where I doubted that they wanted each other.” I said, feeling the weight of the contrast between my situation and theirs press against my ribs. I looked away and then down at the water lapping against the side of the boat. 

There was a pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just honest. He let the charm go gently, his fingers brushing against my skin one last time. “But not with Jae?” he whispered, almost afraid to bring up the topic.

“With him…” I said, taking a deep breath, “I think him and I are the opposite of my parents. Our relationship is quiet, we never really fought. He is the lawyer, I was the business student who really just wanted to take photos for a living.” I gave a half-laugh, mostly laughing at myself, “my parents run a firm together. Big, loud courtroom people. They wanted me to follow in their footsteps, take over one day. But I didn’t want that for me. Photography was the only thing that ever felt like mine.” I paused, eyes on the horizon, “we made a deal, a common ground for everyone: I go to business school and keep my cameras as a hobby.”

I glanced at Heeseung, then looked down again at my feet in the water, “I started dating Jae near the end of my days at uni. He didn’t even tell me he was studying law at first. I found out a couple months in. My parents found out too. They adored him — like finally, a win in their eyes. And when we were both close to graduating, they really pushed for this marriage. Told me it made sense. Said I was lucky and shouldn't throw this chance away.” 

A beat passed. “And I guess I thought that agreeing to marry him would fix things with my parents, or at least keep things from breaking more. If I couldn’t give them the daughter they wanted, maybe I could give them the son-in-law they adored. So I said ‘yes’.” 

I let the words settle between us. “I didn’t realize how much of myself I’d lose in the process.” I swallowed. “I liked him, I really did.” I said, much softer. 

He was quiet for a long moment, I could feel that he was in deep thought. “You know…” he broke the silence before pushing himself up from the water to sit next to me on the edge of the boat, “there is a kind of grief from when you do everything right, but things still end up in the wrong place.” he said, his voice was low, intimate. I looked at him, but his gaze was on the water. 

“My dad was in the navy,” he continued with a faint smile on his lips, “Whole family thought I’d follow. Even had a spot lined up in a maritime academy. But I hated those uniforms, the structure, being told how to breathe.” He chuckled, “so instead, I worked every odd job I could until I bought my first boat. Treated her like my first born.” 

I snorted at that, making him shoot me a mock-offended look before laughing himself, “she broke down every third week and sank twice. But she was mine, so I pushed through,” He glanced over, meeting my eyes. “Until I figured out how to do this full-time. Climbed my way up to become a Captain of a yacht… but if I’m being honest, there are things I haven't mastered yet.”

I smiled, a little surprised. “That’s brave of you to drive the damn yacht then,”

He laughed, “maybe. Or maybe I was just stupid enough to not care and still did it.” he said before looking over at me. His voice softened again, “but you… you care. You tried to carry all of it: your parents’ hopes, Jae’s silence, even your own guilt. Like you’re sorry for not wanting the life they picked out for you.” My breath caught slightly in my chest. “But you don't owe them your whole self,” he added, “loving people doesn’t mean burying parts of yourself for them.” 

I smiled, “that easy, huh?” playful sarcasm laced my voice, but his words rang in my head. He gave a shrug, eyes warm. “Worth a shot.”

I looked at him for a moment, “even when you say the opposite, you always sound like you’ve figured it all out,” I said. He laughed under his breath, shaking his head, “I’m winging it constantly. The only thing I’m halfway decent at is pretending I know what I’m doing.” 

I smiled, “you fake it well.” 

There was a pause, then he glanced toward the water, a softness settling into his expression, “there’s one person I try not to fake it with, though.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked, nudging him lightly with my knee. “Who’s that?”

“My little sister,” his voice dropped a little, like he was letting me in on something private. “She is living back home with my mom. I helped raise her for a bit.” 

My smile faded into something gentler, “You don’t talk about her much.” I said. He nodded, “yeah, I don’t. She's too precious for that. She's smart, moody, sharp as hell. You know, the full teenage package.” He looked down at his hands, then grinned, “I keep writing to her about how many times i fuck up, but she also thinks I got it all figured out.”

“Writing?” I asked, blinking. He looked sheepish, “yeah. We write to each other, like actual letters.”

Seeing the Captain who gives orders to his crew being this sentimental was unexpectedly charming. I smiled softly, “that’s adorable.” He shrugged like it was nothing, but the way his fingers absently traced the edge of the boat said otherwise. “She tells me about her crushes. I tell her about the ‘hostile sea creatures’.”

We laughed together, the sound light between us. “I like that,” I said quietly, “you writing letters.” He turned to me again, this time with a small smile that reached all the way to his eyes, “you saying that makes me want to send one to you, just to prove I’ve got good stationery.” 

I raised an eyebrow at him before giggling, “sounds like an excuse to get me as your pen pal.”

-*-

Spending the whole day with Heeseung hadn’t exactly been my plan. After sunset, the night wrapped around the island like a soft blanket while the sky was a vast canvas of twinkling stars. Hee had roped me into joining the crew’s beach bonfire with a very persuasive smile and arguments. The crew had gathered a fire pit on the beach near the edge of the sand, letting its flame start crackling. A handful of passengers lounged nearby, their laughter and chatter blending with the gentle sound of waves kissing the shore.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I glanced at it to find it to be a message from Jae. 

“taking a call” - "J.", delivered 1 hour ago

Just those simple words and nothing else. No follow-up, no check-in, no ‘wish you were next to me’ messages like he used to when we first dated. I stared at the screen for a second longer than I should’ve, then tucked it back into my pocket without replying. I refused to think about him, tonight wasn’t for him. 

Hee introduced me to the crew, it was with easy smiles and no formalities — just nicknames and laughter. One of the crew members leaned in to me once she saw that Heeseung had turned his back to us, “so you’re the one our Captain’s been all mysterious about,” she said with a genuine, excited smile while handing me a stick with a perfectly speared marshmallow.

Another crew member was sitting next to us chimed in, “Cap’s got a type.” he said, grinning over his beer bottle.

I chuckled, a little flustered, trying to come up with something to say but Heeseung beat me to it. “Keep talking,” he warned him with sharp eyes, but there was humor under them, “and I’ll have you scrubbing the deck until sunrise.” The group erupted into laughter, that same crewmate groaning dramatically.

The rhythm of the waves and firelight could be heard next to their teasing. I leaned back slightly, absorbing the setting. Maybe it was how no one here asked about my credentials, what I studied — or my complete lack of a job. Maybe it was how the air felt softer on this island, or how I hadn’t smiled this much in weeks. I'm not sure, but it allowed me to let myself just exist. Not as someone’s daughter, not as someone’s wife — just me. 

The fire crackled loud and golden in the middle of our little circle on the beach, casting flickering shadows on everyone’s faces. I kicked off my sandals, feeling the cool, soft sand sift between my toes. I settled closer to the fire with my stick that had a slightly charred marshmallow. The sweetness melted in my mouth as laughter bubbled up from inside me — light, unexpected and utterly freeing.

For the first time in what felt like weeks, I wasn’t thinking about Jae, or my parents, or the ring still hidden in my drawer. All that mattered was the warmth of the fire, the softness of the night. 

Hee was right in front of me, sitting casually on the made shift benches with his legs stretched out, his eyes never leaving me. There was something in the way he watched — quiet, steady, like he was memorizing me and the way the firelight flickered in my eyes. He was impossible to ignore. I caught him once, and he gave me a small, shy grin, the kind that made my heart skip just a little.

Eventually, someone from the crew jumped up. “Alright! I suggest a ten-minute crab hunt. Whoever brings back the biggest crab wins a ‘no cleanup duty’ pass for the next three nights.” Some people groaned and others laughed, but they all scattered into the darkness with makeshift flashlights and empty cups. Within seconds, the bonfire was mostly empty. I stayed seated, completely focused on making the perfect s’mores.

I caught him watching me again, “planning to write a letter about my marshmallow roasting skills?” I teased. 

The fire crackled between us, casting gold along his jawline as he smirked. “I’m trying to infer how you like your s’mores,” he said. The fire rustled between us as I caught the sparkle in his eyes that made my heart race just a bit faster.

I glanced at the sad marshmallow bubbling on the end of my stick. “I don't like them burnt,” I explained, pointing to the stick. “They need to be in this ‘slightly touched’ zone, you know? Like golden. Perfectly golden.”

“Hm right, right.” he said, leaning in slightly to inspect, “but… I think you’re in the ‘charcoal’ zone.”

I gasped. “Oh, fuck off! Stop distracting me!” I said, taking off the fire as he tried to stifle a laugh. “You’re sabotaging,” I muttered, trying to take the marshmallow off the stick only for it to fall into the flames, catching on fire completely. 

“Here,” he said, reaching over and offering his own — perfectly golden, like he’d been roasting it with a slow kind of intention. “Take mine.”

I smiled and took it slowly by sandwiching his marshmallow between graham crackers and chocolate squares. It melted slightly at the edges, giving it that gooey look. He watched me with that same quiet amusement, his chin resting on his hand like he had all the time in the world just to roast marshmallows for me.

I lifted it to my mouth and took the first bite. I couldn’t help the soft groan that escaped, “okay, wow,” I said, covering it with the back of my hand. “That’s actually stupid good.” Without thinking, I turned to him and lifted the s’more up. “Here. You have to try it,” I said, holding it out between us. 

He hesitated for half a second, then leaned in, biting right next to my own bite. His hands closed gently around mine, steadying my grip on the s’more while his lips brushing just past my knuckles. He chewed thoughtfully, “Mm, you were right.” he said in between bites. 

As I was beaming in pride at my s’mores, he reached up and flicked a tiny smudge of chocolate from the corner of my mouth, his fingers lingering. I caught his gaze with my cheeks heating up. Slowly, he slipped that chocolate trace into his own mouth, a satisfied smile was clear on his lips, “looks like you’ve got chocolate,” he teased softly.

I laughed, trying to calm down my fast heart beat, “guess I’ll have to keep you around to clean up my messes.”

He raised his brows, a slow, amused smile tugging at his lips. He definitely heard and understood something else. I realized the gravity of my word vomit, “oh my god, no! I mean—no, not like that! I just—" I said, digging myself deeper and stumbling over my words.

Mortified, I groaned and buried my face in my hands. “Oh my god,” I mumbled into my palms, “I’m never speaking again.” My skin burned, my shoulders curled inward like I could disappear right into the sand. All I could hear was his laughter as he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me gently into his side. I didn’t resist, I just let myself fall into the space he made for me. The sound of the fire clattering filled the night air, mingling with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat pressed softly against my shoulder.

-⚓︎-

The days are passing by more gently now. I found myself lingering near the crew more often, picking up the inside jokes from the kitchen staff, helping arrange coffee cups when I got bored. It was easier than being alone, easier than sitting in a room that still smelled like a stranger. 

I would also helped Hee with breakfast… sometimes even lunch and dinner if I’m being honest. He started taking me around to the little shops and markets on every island we stopped at — weaving through narrow aisles of handmade jewelry, coconut soaps, woven sarongs, and sun-bleached postcards. 

He never rushed me. Just watched me browse, fascinated, occasionally holding things up and asking my opinion on them. I didn’t mean to spend so much time with Heeseung. Our moments weren’t planned, they just… happened, like we were accidentally orbiting each other.

One night I sat outside on a bench of a quiet deck at the back of the yacht. The stars were soft above me, and the sea was unusually still, like it was holding its breath. I had my knees tucked up under me, a tiny bottle of nail polish — a soft, ocean-glass green that Hee picked out ‘because it reminded him of seafoam and me half-asleep’ — balanced on the wood between my ankles. I’d gotten two fingers done, smudged but salvageable, before things started going sideways.

“Is this a manicure or a wrestling match?” a voice called, warm and familiar. I looked up to find him walking over, arms crossed and grinning.

“I’m trying,” I sighed with a smile, holding up my left hand. He came closer and sat in front of me, settling down right in front of me, the bench wide enough so that my legs fit between his. The closeness was becoming natural, his knees lightly brushing mine. “Want me to help?”

I hesitated, only for a second, before nodding and handing over the tiny bottle. He took it gently, and then took my hand just as gently. The way he cradled my hand was tender yet deliberate. He fell into silence as he focused, I watched him more than I should have. “Are you good at this because you have a sister?” I asked, tilting my head slightly.

He glanced up, smirking, “keeping notes on me?”

“Maybe.”

When he finished, he didn’t move away. Instead, he leaned in a little, blowing softly over the fresh polish. As his fingers were still holding mine, I looked up where I met his eyes. Everything slows down, just enough to make a decision.

He was leaning in closer to my lips, I couldn't seem to pull away. So I lifted my index finger and pressed it gently against his soft lips, stopping him from getting closer. My heart practically sprinted in my chest at this point. “As much as I want to…” I said, voice barely above a whisper, “I’m still married.”

“I know…” his voice was quiet, carrying a weight that made the space between us feel fragile. His eyes held no anger or bitterness—just a quiet sadness, silently mourning a future that might never be. 

With a small, almost apologetic smile, he added, “I’m not trying to be the reason you forget that,” he finally let go of my hand, the warmth slipping away. “But I can’t keep showing up like this, not when I’m starting to fall for you. And I think you already know that.” His words hit harder than I expected, my breath hitched again.

He reached into his pockets, “I brought you something,” he said, and pulled out a camera. It was older, not sleek or shiny, but clearly loved — scuffed around the edges, worn in a way that felt personal. “It’s not fancy,” he admitted, placing it gently in my hands. “But it’s mine. Thought maybe…  you’d want to take pictures again.” I stared at it, speechless.

By the time I looked up, he was already walking away, the soft deck lights casting a shadow behind him. I stayed there, sitting in the quiet while the camera felt heavy in my lap. A lump formed in my throat, and I felt tears gathering at the edges of my eyes. Tears I didn’t know if I wanted to shed or hold back.

-⚓︎-

He’s been watching me from a distance for maybe a week — never close enough to speak, but always near enough that I can feel his eyes on me. He probably thinks I don’t notice, but once you’ve grown used to his attention, it’s hard to ignore it. I see it in the little things, like how he would leave the kettle of ginger tea waiting for me in the kitchen, my spot on the outer deck always arranged how I like.

However, the air between us stays heavy, thick with all the things we’re both too afraid to say aloud. Like we’re carrying a weight neither of us wants to name. Since that night — the night of ‘almost’, where we didn’t quite cross the line — there hasn’t been a single word exchanged. A silent barrier has settled between us.

One afternoon on the deck, while I’m adjusting the lens of his camera, trying to focus and stay focused, I catch movement in my periphery. I glance up, and there he is. Heeseung, standing on the upper deck, bathed in pale light like the day itself hasn’t quite decided whether it wants to be soft or sharp. His arms are crossed over the railing, eyes already on me. Our gazes collide — just for a second before I look away.

The silence between Jae and I had always felt empty. Like two people ignoring the fact that they’d built a life on top of separate islands. But the silence between Heeseung and I does not feel empty. It feels like questions and answers we are too afraid to ask and respond to. 

Even from far away, even without a word, he sees me more clearly than Jae ever did. 

I sat in my cabin alone that evening, the ocean murmuring just beyond the walls. The little camera sat warm in my hands, his camera. I had only meant to scroll through the shots I’d taken earlier that day: a dock at sunrise, a blur of passing sails. 

But somewhere along the way, I must’ve flicked too far, because suddenly I was looking at photos I didn’t take. They were older ones, tucked into the memory card.

The first was a blurry photo of a girl standing on a rocky shoreline, maybe his sister? or someone close? She’s caught mid-laugh, hair tangled by the wind, the kind of candid photo that feels like a stolen moment. Then a handful of quiet landscapes with the soft curves of a dock.It all felt like a time capsule that I had no clue what was inside. I kept clicking, slowly, as if each image might say something he never told me out loud. 

And then, a self-timer shot. Young Heeseung, covered in sand, smiling crookedly and sitting beside a half-repaired boat engine. He looks lighter there, like the weight he carries now wasn’t on his shoulders yet. Something tugged in my chest, sharp and strange. I stare at that photo for longer than I should. It feels like a glimpse of someone I’m only just beginning to understand. 

My thumb hovered over the button to keep scrolling, but I stopped — feeling like I cracked open his diary without meaning to. This feels too private for me to continue looking at. So I just turned the camera off and didn't dare delete a single photo. 

-⚓︎-

Another evening, we were back in our cabin after dinner. The kind of dinner where we barely spoke and I just pushed food around my plate. Jae had excused himself to take a shower. I nodded, barely looking up from my phone, though I hadn’t really been looking at anything, my thumb kept scrolling through nothing. The silence between us stayed in that familiar state.

He left his phone on the nightstand, as usual. Face up with the screen black. I didn’t look at first. But the moment the bathroom door clicked shut behind him, a notification popped up. I don’t know why I froze and just… stared at it. but something in me stirred, low and uneasy. My heart thumped, like a quiet knock against a door I didn’t want to open. 

Curiosity isn’t always innocent. Sometimes, it’s instinct. Sometimes, it’s the body begging the heart to wake up and listen.

My fingers moved before I could reason with them. Just check, prove yourself wrong. That’s what I told myself as I picked it up. It was completely unlocked. I have never checked his phone before during college. Not even once. I never had a reason to, he never gave me a reason to.

But I wasn’t wrong. Her name was saved so neatly under ‘Coworker’. Of course, what a dumbass move. The messages were all there, unfolded one by one. They were scattered, careless. 

“Had fun last night.”  - "me", delivered 2 weeks ago

“Wish I was waking up next to you.” - "me", delivered 1 month ago

“Can’t wait for when she’s not around.” - "Coworker", delivered 1 week ago

I sat there frozen and reading them.  Message after message. Pet names. Late-night plans. My eyes burned before the tears even started. Then came the photos, from him and her. Her body posed, shared like a secret. The kind of photos you send when you're sure someone wants you. He did, he wanted her. 

My chest cracked open. I didn’t cry, not yet, but I could feel something inside me crumble. My breath hitched, sharp and involuntary, and I swallowed down a sob — not loud, but it cracked through me like a branch snapping under pressure. Just enough that if he was listening from behind the door, he would’ve heard. 

The shower turned on a second later. Loud and unbothered. 

I stood, slowly, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. “I’m going out for air.” I called out, my voice came out small and shaky. Nothing from him, just the sound of the water. I'm not even sure if he heard me, I don't even care anymore.

The door clicked shut behind me with a softness that didn’t match the way my heart was breaking. I stepped out into the open night, barefoot and numb, the hum of the yacht beneath me like a ghost’s heartbeat. The deck was quiet, empty. Everyone else was tucked away in their cabins, blissfully unaware.

The air was thick with salt and warmth, a strange mix for this late in the evening. The breeze was gentle, brushing past me like it already knew I was fragile tonight. He really fucked me over once i was finally feeling somewhat okay. 

I walked until I reached the railing, curling my fingers around the cool metal. The sea stretched out in front of me — black, endless, glittered faintly with starlight. It felt like looking into something eternal, something that swallowed secrets for a living.

My chest ached in that dull, splintering way. The tears didn’t fall yet, they just sat there heavy. I didn’t know how long I stood there like that — body still, soul unraveling — until I heard footsteps behind me. 

“I figured I’d find you out here,” Heeseung said, his voice as gentle as I remember it. didn’t turn around. I couldn’t. My glassy eyes were glued to the water like it might pull me in and keep me. 

My voice barely came out when I whispered, “He’s cheating.”

Heeseung didn’t move at first. Just stood there, jaw set, his hands curling slightly at his sides like he didn’t trust them not to do something reckless. He walked toward me slowly, carefully, like I might shatter if he moved too fast. He looked at me like he wanted to say a hundred things but wasn’t sure where to start.

Then, without a word, he reached up and cradled my face gently between his calloused hands. His thumbs brushed beneath my eyes, catching the tears I didn’t have the energy to hide. “Oh, sweetheart…” he murmured, “you didn’t deserve this.”

And God, the way he said it. Like it physically hurt him to witness it. Like if he could’ve taken even a fraction of it off my shoulders, he would’ve done it without thinking.

My throat tightened then my knees nearly buckled. He pulled me into him before I could fall apart completely, his arms wrapping around me. Like he’d been waiting to hold me long before he was ever allowed to. I buried my face in his chest and cried — really cried. I feel like nothing could’ve prepared me for that. The beteral was a sharp stab into my heart, my lungs, my stomach, everywhere.

Eventually my sobs calmed down, but my tears didn’t stop. He continued to hold me, not saying anything and just brushing my hair with his hand. 

In the quiet that followed, a soft melody floated through the air from afar. Faint romantic jazz tune started playing, reminding me of warm candlelight and open windows. Probably leftover from the dinner service playlist. 

He shifted slightly, just enough to speak into my hair, “wanna dance?” he asked. I blinked up at him through tears, half-laughing, half-sniffling. “You’re joking.”

But he wasn’t, he gave me that little crooked smile of his. “Completely serious.” I stared at him… this man with the softest eyes, the worst timing and maybe the best heart.

“You do realize I have the coordination of a baby giraffe, right?” I said, raising a brow. “That’s okay,” he murmured, already taking my hand. “I’ve always wanted to dance with a giraffe.” A laugh bubbled out of me before I could stop it.

We swayed gently and stupidly on the deck, offbeat. The music was too slow for how fast my heart was racing. The moon hung low, silver and swollen above us, like even it had paused to watch. His hand fit so easily against my waist, like it belonged there. 

I tripped over his foot once and laughed, heat rushing to my cheeks. “You’re doing perfect,” he said softly before spinning me, making my stomach flip. I landed back in his arms and looked up, he was already watching me. 

“Can I kiss you now?” His voice was low, careful but honest. I giggled, breathless. Like I was a teenager again, falling for someone for the very first time. I nodded.

When he kissed me, all the tangled knots of doubt and guilt that had been twisting inside me suddenly loosened. In that moment, nothing else existed — just the softness of his lips and the quiet promise that I deserve this kind of gentle kindness.

-⚓︎-

The hallway outside the cabins carried that familiar, soothing scent: a mix of saltwater and aged teakwood. I had just stepped out from the crew’s rec room, the faint echo of laughter still on my lips. It wasn’t loud laughter — just the kind that slips out when you finally forget how heavy you’ve been feeling.

I started turning a corner completely forgetting that it led to our shared room, making me almost crash right into someone. Into him, Jae. I stumbled back a step, startled. His body was rigid, blocking the hallway like a wall I hadn’t prepared to face. His eyes locked onto mine instantly — sharp, burning, already full of accusation. He didn’t even blink. 

“Where the hell were you?” he snapped, the words had been sitting on his tongue all night, waiting to bite.

“I was — just talking to —”

“With who?” he cut me off, his words lashed out like a whip. “That Captain again? You think this is funny? Are you trying to humiliate me in front of everyone?” His voice was low to not cause a scene but it was still cruel, laced with something uglier than anger. 

I flinched, stepping back as my heart began pounding in my chest. The corridor suddenly felt too narrow, too quiet. “We’re married, Y/N, remember that?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” I whispered. He scoffed, eyes narrowing. He subtly shifted in his posture, his hand wanting to reach and grab my arm.

“That’s enough.” said a voice from behind me — calm, but with a cold edge that sent a shiver down my spine. I turned and saw Heeseung standing there, his eyes locked onto Jae with an intensity that didn’t scream anger, but radiated quiet control.

Jae’s sneer deepened as he met Heeseung’s gaze. “Oh, you again,” he spat, voice thick with disdain. “This is between my wife and I.”

“Not when it happens on my boat.” Heeseung stepped forward, his tone sharp as a knife. “You’re not raising your voice at anyone here. So either you leave now, or I’ll personally escort you back to your room.” Heeseung took another step closer, creating space between Jae and I, voice dropping even further into an absolute command. “And it’s ‘Captain’ to you.”

The air thickened with silence, heavy and suffocating. Jae’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes flicking between Heeseung and me, weighing his options. I drifted a little closer to Heeseung’s side, like my body already knew where safety was. After a long beat, Jae spun on his heel, muttering a curse under his breath as he stalked away, the echo of his footsteps fading down the hall.

Heeseung turned toward me, the hardness in his gaze softened immediately, “are you okay?” he asked as his hands found my shoulders, firm but gentle  —  grounding me back into my body. I nodded, exhaling a breath I didn't know I was holding.

His eyes searched mine for a long patient moment, before he ran a hand through his hair in that restless way he had when something was bothering him. “You’re not staying in that room anymore,” he said at last. His voice was calm, but the edge of resolve in it left no room for argument. It was not a suggestion nor a question. 

I furrowed my brows, confusion blooming. “What do you mean?”

He gave me a small, almost shy smile. “I’ve arranged a bigger, nicer suite for you. Portside. The windows are bigger — should help with the nausea.” His gaze flicked down to the camera strap resting lightly against my neck, and he added, “Better light, too.”

I opened my mouth to protest, “You didn’t have to —”

But he cut me off gently, shaking his head. “I know. But I wanted to.”

-*-

Later that night, I found Heeseung sitting quietly in the corner of the lounge, the soft glow of a single lamp casting gentle shadows across his face. He was writing a letter, his pen moving steadily over the paper as if each word mattered more than the last. The calmness in his posture made the restless sea outside feel even louder in comparison.

I settled a little ways off, careful not to disturb him. The soft hum of the yacht and the gentle rocking beneath us filled the quiet space between. Quietly, I lifted my camera and began snapping photos — the dark, endless ocean stretching beyond the windows, the way the moonlight danced on the water’s surface.

Then, I turned my lens toward Heeseung. There he was, sitting still and lost in deep thought. The soft glow of the cabin lights tracing the lines of his face, the subtle tension in his jaw, the way his eyes seemed to hold intimate secrets. There was something tender and almost vulnerable about him in that dim light, so different from the strong, commanding Captain others usually saw.

After a while, I lowered the camera and glanced over at him. The soft click of the shutter had stopped. “Do you think your sister would like me?” I asked, barely above a whisper, my voice daring to break the moment.

He paused mid-sentence, pen hovering above the page and looked up at me. A small smile tugging at his lips, “I think,” he said, eyes holding mine, “she’d love you.” I blinked, caught off guard by how certain he sounded. 

“She’d ask a million questions about your camera,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling, “she’d probably beg you to teach her everything. And she’d keep every single photo you give her.” The image he’d painted lingered in my mind — vivid and stubborn in the best way. I couldn’t help the small giggle that slipped out, “she sounds amazing.”

From his smile, I could see how deeply he missed her — how much space she took up in his heart even from far away.

When he finished the letter, I stayed quiet, watching the gentle curl of his handwriting dry against the paper. Then, without saying much, I moved to the little corner printer and pulled up the shots I’d taken.  The little frozen pieces of our quiet world. I printed them slowly, one by one, letting the ink set before I tucked them into the envelope beside his letter. It's like adding pieces of this quiet, shared world I wanted his sister to know about.

I wanted her to see this version of him. I wanted her to see what I saw. 

-⚓︎-

A couple of months slipped through my fingers. Slowly at first, then all at once. The days stretched with ease, filled with quiet days and evenings, wandering island towns, and a sense of freedom I hadn’t realized I’d been craving. I would wake up with sea salt in my hair, my camera tucked somewhere beside me while I'm tucked in Heeseung’s arms. 

Some nights, I’d quietly slip into his captain’s cabin, and other times, he’d be the one falling asleep in mine — as if drawn by some invisible thread.  We’d lie there in the low lamplight, tangled under the soft blankets and sharing soft laughter. Hours would stretch and blur, until sleep pulled us under. I’d rest my head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart as we drifted off, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of those stolen moments.

I’d fallen into a daily rhythm, one that didn’t revolve around Jae anymore. He stopped being the center of my orbit. His absence didn’t echo as loudly as I thought it would. In fact, he’d gotten off the yacht a few stops ago, saying something vague about needing to ‘handle things back home’. I just nodded, like I always had, and let him go.

I tried, for a while, to come up with reasons for why he cheated. Maybeitwas to comfort myself, maybe to make sense of why someone who promised forever could turn around and betray it so carelessly. But all it did was make me more confused and frustrated. So I let that go as well, making me able to breathe again.

I was waiting at a small day bar for my two drink orders — one for me, one for Hee — until my phone buzzed with a new message in the pocket of my shorts. 

“I’ll have the divorce papers sent.” - "J.", delivered 30 sec ago

That was it, one line with no apologies or explanations. Just a clean, clinical statement like we were parting ways on a business deal. I stared at the message for a long time, rereading it once… then twice. I didn’t reply. Instead, I slipped my phone back into the pocket of my jean shorts, feeling strangely detached. The tears I expected never came; instead, an unexpected, hollow laugh bubbled up.

When I found Heeseung, he was in the middle of a story on the lower deck, surrounded by a few of the younger crew members. Their laughter filled the air, warm and unguarded, spilling out in waves as they doubled over with amusement. I waited patiently for the moment to settle before stepping closer, sliding the cool drink into his hand. Our fingers brushed briefly — a light, familiar touch that had become comforting over time. Without hesitation, he draped an arm around my shoulders, the gesture so natural it felt like second skin.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, meant for me and only me.  I nodded, “yeah.” And before I could think too much about it, before doubt had any time to creep in, he leaned down and caught my lips in a kiss. Soft, unrushed, honest. I smiled against his lips, making him kiss the edge of it.

Somehow, this made me feel more like forever than anything I had before. It hit me, somewhere between the warmth of his arm around my shoulders and the echo of laughter still hanging in the air — this was it. This was my real honeymoon. 

-*-

Later, when it was just us sitting near the bow, he had his feet propped up and my thighs rested on his lap. The sea reflects burnt orange from the sun’s descent. He nudged my side with his shoulder, “be honest… was it really an accident when you started taking photos of me in the beginning?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the shift, then laughed lightly. “Are you fishing for compliments now, Captain?”

He sipped his drink, playing innocent. “I just remember you were supposed to be taking shots of the shoreline, and somehow I ended up as the main subject.”

“You looked ridiculous,” I laughed. “That was not an accident. I needed proof.” 

He leaned in again, close enough that his hair brushed my temple. “So you admit it.”

I shook my head and rested back against his shoulder, “you’re impossible.”

-⚓︎-

The sun was high, the yacht gliding slow along a stretch of endless blue. Hee had been tied up with boat maintenance and supply runs the past couple days, leaving me to drift through the hours on my own and to organise our photos on my laptop. 

I was curled on one of the deck chairs with his T-shirt over my shoulders and my camera on my side when an email popped up on my screen, interrupting the peace. I read the email’s subject: ‘Photography Assistant Position – Offer Letter Attached’.

I remembered applying to the job months ago — just one of many desperate clicks late at night, back when I still thought distraction might save me. I never expected a reply. Definitely not now. Not when everything had finally started to feel real.

It was nothing prestigious or glossy. But it was something tangible, mine. I read the whole email many times, and my heart twisted at each word in the way it only does when something good and something hard arrive at the exact same time.

I found Heeseung later that night, sitting alone near the back of the yacht, humming quietly to himself as he watched the waves roll and break beneath the silver wash of moonlight. I sat beside him, reached for his hands, and told him everything — about the email, about the job, about how long I’d wanted it, about how I couldn’t afford to miss this opportunity. 

He listened without interrupting, his thumb tracing quiet circles over my knuckles. When I finally stopped talking, he let go of my hands only to cup my face, his palms warm and steady against my cheeks. He kissed them both — soft, slow — before resting his forehead against mine. “I’m so happy for you, my love,” he said.

And he meant it. I could hear it in his voice. Even as his words cracked slightly at the edges, caught somewhere deeper than his throat.

We didn’t really talk about what it meant. We didn’t ask the hard questions like ‘what now?’ or ‘what if…’. Instead, we promised to just enjoy the time we had left. Like it wouldn’t hurt later, like it wasn’t already starting to.

-*-

A couple of days later, we arrived at a tiny island with a quiet beach stop. The village was small, almost forgotten — no paved roads, just soft sand paths. Kids ran barefoot, their laughter bubbling through the warm air like music. I wandered alongside Heeseung, completely absorbed in the peaceful simplicity of it all. So absorbed, in fact, that I forgot to put on sunscreen.

“Hey,” Heeseung’s voice caught up to me as we passed a fruit stall bursting with ripe mangoes. He glanced at my shoulders, concern flickering in his eyes. “Your shoulders are turning red.”

I gave him a distracted smile, my eyes lingering on the vibrant baskets overflowing with ripe fruit. The colors and scents pulled me in, and I barely registered his words. Without missing a beat, he reached into my small backpack and carefully pulled out my sunscreen tube, already warmed from sitting in the sun.

He squeezed some into his hands and reached out gently, “hold still.” His fingers moved slow, soft against my skin, trailing cool across my slightly sunburnt shoulders. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting myself memorize the way he touched me. 

After a few seconds, I whispered, “You missed a spot.”

Without looking up, he grinned. “You’re just saying that to make me nervous.” We laughed quietly, like we always did.

-⚓︎-

The last day stretched long and slow, the sun dipping low. The sky melted into soft pinks and yellow, casting a quiet glow across the beach. We found ourselves sitting on the warm sand, the sea whispering gently beside us. It felt like one of those perfect, quiet moments that I never wanted to end.

He turned a small seashell over in his hand, brushing off a bit of sand before holding it out between us. “Whisper a promise into this,” he said, that familiar playful smile tugging at his lips.

I raised a brow, amused. “Promise, huh? What kind of promise?”

“Anything,” he shrugged. “Just something you want the ocean to keep safe.”

I leaned in, brought my lips closer to the curve of the seashell in his hand, “I promise to never tell anyone you cried during that dolphin documentary.” He laughed, nudging my shoulder, the sound soft against the hush of the waves.

Then he took his own shell, leaned in, “I promise not to make fun of your flip-flop tan lines.” he whispered. “Oh my god,” I groaned, laughing. “They’re not that bad.” 

Our laughter trailed behind us as we tossed our shells into the tide. After a couple silly promises, his expression shifted — his smile became something quieter. He picked up another shell, held it for a beat. “Promise me you’ll come back.” His voice dropped, serious but gentle. 

I stared at him, heart stumbling in my chest. Without answering, I reached for a shell of my own, pressed it to my lips, and whispered just loud enough for the wind to hear, “I promise.”

He kissed me, slow and certain, like he meant to leave the shape of his lips behind for when I was gone. His hand curled gently around my cheek, thumb brushing just beneath my eye like he was memorizing me, again, for what it seemed like for the Nth time ever since I told him about me leaving.

When we pulled apart, we dug a shallow hollow in the warm sand. Carefully, we placed the two shells in the little nest we’d made — his and mine. A small, secret vow tucked into the earth. And as the waves crept closer and the sky deepened into dusk, I found myself hoping, truly hoping, that the ocean knew how to keep that promise.

-⚓︎-

The port looked softer in the morning light. Everything was bathed in that delicate, yellow hush that only early hours seem to know. As if the world was holding its breath for just a little longer. Heeseung had already helped load my duffel and suitcase into the back of the taxi with a thud from the trunk. Behind him, the yacht swayed gently with the tide, quiet and steady — like it knew it was time to let go as well. 

He stood a few feet away, hands tucked in his pockets, his expression unreadable. Not quite smiling, not quite sad. When he finally stepped forward and pulled me into a hug, he held me a little too tightly — the same way he had last night as we fell asleep. His arm wrapped around me like he was afraid I might vanish in the dark, unsure when he’d be allowed to do so again.

Right against my ear, he whispered, “If I said ‘I love you’, would it make this harder?”

I swallowed hard, the words catching somewhere in my throat. My fingers clutched at the fabric of his uniform — the pearly white collar warm beneath my hands, familiar now. Safe. I blinked fast, the world blurring at the edges. He pulled back just enough to look at me, eyes searching, flicking between mine.

“We will say it next time we see each other. And we will mean it then, too.” I said, trying my best not to cry. I refused to let his last memory of me be of me crying. My breath left me in a quiet, aching rush. I reached for him as his lips found mine, before I could fall apart completely. This kiss was wrapped in promise, gratitude and love that arrived too late, but still managed to bloom anyway.

It took everything in me to step back. My arms felt heavy, like they didn’t want to leave the space. He didn’t try to stop me. Just reached for my hand one last time, the way he always did, and pressed his lips to the back of it, soft and lingering. When he pulled away, I felt the slip of paper between my fingers.

A folded letter. “Read it later,” he said quietly. His smile wavered — still tender, but this time, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

I started to reach into my pocket, fingertips brushing against the familiar shape of his camera. “I should give this back—” I began, but before I could finish, he gently covered my hand with his. He didn’t say anything right away, just shook his head. “Don’t,” he said softly. “It’s yours now.” His thumb brushed over my knuckles. 

He opened the taxi door for me, his fingertips grazing my back as I slid into the seat. The door closed with a click that felt too final, echoing. The engine hummed to life beneath me as I saw his face one last time. Through the glass, I saw him step back. One hand raised, a small wave. Just before I turned the corner, he brought his fingers to his lips and kissed them, then blew the kiss toward me.

A few minutes into the drive, I couldn’t wait any longer. With trembling fingers, I unfolded the letter he’d slipped into my hand — the paper soft and slightly creased, like it had been held, rewritten, maybe even second-guessed a few times. His handwriting stared back at me. 

The tears came fast, just quietly streaking down my cheeks. I pressed the letter to my chest when I finished, as if holding it close could keep something from slipping away.

My dearest and only love, I told myself I wouldn’t write anything. That I’d let you go silently. I’ve always been terrible at goodbyes, and worse at holding back when my heart's already made up. You changed me more than I thought was possible. Gently at first, then all-consuming.  I know you're leaving for something you've always wanted, and there's nothing about that I can ever hold against you. Still. It doesn't make it any easier. No words could ever fully hold how much I’ll miss you.  I’ll be right where you left me.  With all that I am, — Your Captain.

Some promises don’t need vows. Just the right words at the right time — and someone willing to wait.

[glitchy1938]

ellooo :3. May I request a mermaid reader that had been watching the past ancients (beasts) for a while secretly. Until, they caught her spying on them, and she got nervous and hid from them. But the next day, she watched them again, before being caught again. They assured that they weren’t going to do anything bad to the mermaid, and slowly but surely, they gained her trust through bonding. (you can do headcannons or something else explaining the reader’s relationship with each of them) (and hopefully this isn’t to much trouble, feel free to ignore!)

A Beautiful Little Mermaid.. [First Ancients cookies x Mermaid reader]

• The first time you saw them was when they were out and were taking a break from their duties.

• They all got your eyes of how curious they were to you, so you kept looking at them in secret.

• Tho, they saw you from afar, but didn't dare to make you more afraid. Until, one of them break the distance between you and them.

___________________________________

• Supricetly, it was Silent Salt who came to talk to you.

• The moment you saw him, you went back to the water, but he didn't leave, he just sat on the ground, next to where you were, and waited.

• Then, you pick your head out of the water to see him, since he didn't do anything to harm you.

• and with time, you two became friends, then the others come to the groups.

• And this, is how you became their little mermaid...

_____________________________________

Now their relation with each of them :

Bleuberry Milk Cookie

• He's The Sage of Truth, but he's fascinated by you, he never thought he would meet a mermaid in his life.

• You two talk about all kind of things, you tell you about his day, and you tell him about the mystery in the abyss.

• He always brings books with him, when he saw how interested you were, he started to bring all the books you want to read ever since.

• He's sometimes egsosted from all his work and all the students who ask him more and more.

• He find you gentle touch very calming, he almost can fell asleep because of it.

• He sometimes want to take you out of the water to see the beauty of Earthbread, but he's not sure if you can survive out of it for too long..

Spice Cookie

• This man, is very strong. It's not secret that he can lift you up and take you with him.

• But as Bleuberry told him, he doesn't want to hurt you or even make you desydrate from how hot his kingdom is.

• Still, he's pretty funny to be with, he always tells you how he win a battle against some cookie thief who tries to crumble him.

• You're the only one who can actually calm him down faster when he's particularly angry at something.

• He love to heard you sing, it's very relaxing and beautiful, he can close his eyes when he rest next to you.

• He brings you only his best gifts his kingdom has to offer, don't try to deny them or saying that you don't deserve them. It yours !

Mystic Flour Cookie

• She was a very calm cookie with Silent Salt, your enjoy her company too.

• As much as her duties are taking a lot of her time by granted cookies wishes, she find a way to see you all alone in peace.

• She asked you if you wanted to wish something from her, she was surprised to you saying "no"

• She kept all the little gifts you give her in the ocean in her room, no matter if it's a small thing.

• She enjoy the silence, when you're not talking, she just held you a little close to her.

• But she's a very good listener. Anything you're talking about, she'll listen carefully.

Eternal Sugar Cookie

• She always have some sweet gellies for you to try and enjoy.

• She have a sent that makes you more relaxed when she sing.

• She always compliment you when she's with you.

• That your mermaid tail is as shine as the stars, that you're the cutest and beautiful mermaid she ever saw.

• She worship your presences when you give her some, and she, give you more sweets you love.

• She memoriesed all your liking, what you hate, your hobbies. That's how she know how to spoil you.

Silent Salt Cookie

• After you two meet, he swore to protect you no matter what.

• He'd always brings flowers he find when he finished protecting cookies.

• When you two relax, he take off his helmet so you can play with his hear.

• He always smile when he's with you, he never thought he ever get attached to a mermaid.

• But he doesn't mind one bit.

• He's more of an 'listener' then a talking kind of cookie, so he more listen to you rambling about anything.

[littlegrapejuice]

Post Uploaded! | IH6

Pairing: Isack Hadjar x Reader

Summary: Being VCARB's social media admin is definitely not for the weak, especially when you got a chaotic duo to babysit. But maybe it isn't so bad when it means that you can land a cute driver as your boyfriend.

Author's Note: whoever's the actual vcarb admin, ilysm🫶🏻 istg i look forward to watch whatever they post everyday, it's just fucking hilarious + the dynamic btwn isack and liam is🔛🔝 also, huge thank you to my bestie @sk8termikey who beta read this, ily babe<3

F1 MASTERLIST🏎

“Have you seen this trend?” was probably the question that Isack asked you the most. And whether you replied positively or negatively, it was always followed by “can we do that?”.

As part of Racing Bulls’ social media team, it was supposed to be your job to be creative and find ideas for the team’s socials. However, due to Isack being even more chronically online than you, he was always suggesting things before you even had time to edit and post the previous videos you had filmed.

It was certainly a bit calmer now that Liam had replaced Yuki at Racing Bulls – Yuki was as chaotic as Isack, and them being together meant that you were never able to catch a break during race weekends. Still, Liam and Isack made up for a crazy duo.

But even if you let out the biggest sigh known to mankind whenever Isack was walking up to you, far from innocent grin on his face, you were glad that you didn’t have to force your drivers to film content. Social media admins from the other teams often expressed their jealousy, gushing about how lucky you were that you didn’t have to chase your drivers in the paddock just for a ten seconds long video.

You weren’t paid enough for that, though. You loved your drivers, you really did. But God, they were way too energetic for you. You had to listen to them talk about Cars at least twice a day – you loved the film, but not enough to hear about it every time you were with them; and they often argued about who you’d prefer based on whose idea you’d film first – definitely not Isack. But the most draining thing was for sure when they would both follow you everywhere around the paddock as soon as they had a video idea. Hell, you even had to get lunch with them – more like them getting lunch with you actually – while they showed you examples and made you listen to funny audios.

But you loved them, most of the time.

Except right now.

Right now, all you wanted was to relax. Well, relax as much as you could while working. You had your headphones on with some of your favourite songs playing and were looking at some pictures from the latest race as you had to choose which ones to post after having also edited several videos. You were in your little bubble, until Isack sat down in front of you. You tried your best to ignore him for the time being, but you could see from the corner of your eye that he was expecting you to interact with him.

Not removing your headphones, you decided to acknowledge him:

“Please, just give me ten minutes. I’m almost done with this, and then I’m all yours. Been on it for the past hour; I’m dehydrated and I have a headache, but I’ll be free for whatever silly trend you got. Just ten minutes, thanks Isack.”

It could’ve been considered rude from you to not even glance at him, but he understood. Not that you had seen or heard anything, but Isack nodded and told you that he would be back soon. You were focused on your task, and desperately needed to finish it before the next event of the weekend was to happen. You weren’t usually this dramatic, but you were more exhausted than usual because of the triple header, and were therefore more stressed to not fulfill your job within the deadlines.

After ten long minutes that felt like an hour, you were finally done with your editing. Pictures and videos had been posted; they featured both drivers, and all had a nice caption. You sighed as you leaned back on your chair, removing your headphones before putting them around your neck. You then noticed that Isack wasn’t here anymore, and wondered if you had been too mean to him.

Still, you took advantage of the calm and silence that echoed in the room. Everyone else was either downstairs or outside, and you found peace in the quiet around you as you closed your eyes.

Breathing in, and out. In, and out.

You were a bit less tense than earlier, and kept enjoying the silence until you heard someone approach as they seemingly put something on the table. Opening your eyes, you saw that Isack was sitting down once again in front of you.

“You’re back, good. Just five more minutes of peace, and we can film whatever you want.”

“It’s okay,” Isack replied. “This is for you, by the way.” He pointed to the glass on the table.

“Me?” You asked, straightening up and looking at him.

“Yeah, you said that you were dehydrated and had a headache. So I brought you a drink, and some painkillers.”

That’s when you noticed the blister pack next to the glass, and you couldn’t help the smile that appeared on your face. Immediately popping a pill into your mouth, you didn’t hesitate gulping down half of the drink right after. You let out a satisfied sigh, which made Isack chuckle.

“Better?” He wondered.

“Yeah, that will definitely help. Sorry about earlier,” you apologised. “Guess I got a bit grumpy, but I’m free for you if you wanna tell me about whatever trend you found.”

Isack dismissed your apology and told you it was fine, before he quickly got his phone out to open TikTok. His enthusiasm was contagious. Soon enough, you were back to your usual self and laughing at the video that Isack was showing you as you both discussed what your take would be for the team’s social media.

…..

You didn’t know what to expect when you accepted that Isack and Liam take control of the team’s socials for a day. You had only agreed to it after Isack kept reminding you how well the video of him pretending to be VCARB’s admin had done, and you had to admit that it had indeed been a popular video.

So here you were, shadowing the drivers for a while until you had to take a lunch break. For once, it was you who offered them to join you. But they politely refused your invitation, claiming that they wanted to film a couple more videos. So you let them do their thing, thinking that it was fine – especially when they kept saying that you would actually be able to rest while eating.

It wasn’t fine.

Well, it was at first.

Before going back to wherever Isack and Liam were in the paddock, you decided to check if they had posted anything since this morning. There were two new videos, crossposted on TikTok and Instagram: one was of them simply notifying the fans that they were taking over VCARB’s socials for the day – simple and efficient, you thought. The other video was already a bit chaotic compared to the first one: the two drivers had tried to sneak into every garage and pretend they were from that team before someone noticed that they were, in fact, absolutely not part of it.

You had to admit, they could come after your job as the videos already had a fair amount of likes and comments. People were clearly enjoying today’s content, and you were glad that they could indeed be trusted.

But of course, something had to go wrong.

After a quick text to your drivers, you found yourself in Isack’s driver room where they had been brainstorming more video ideas. When you opened the door, you saw that Liam was apparently filming something and you were about to apologise for interrupting when Isack noticed your presence.

“Hey!” The French said with excitement. His smile was bright, like a warm ray of sunshine. “Have you seen our videos? Our content is almost better than yours!”

“I did watch them both, yeah.” You nodded, before noticing that Liam had stopped recording and was now looking at his phone with a smirk on his face. “Did I interrupt anything?”

“No, you’re fine. In fact, you helped with something.” Liam was being kind of cryptic, as he put his phone back in his pocket.

“I did?” You wondered while tilting your head in confusion. You had simply entered a room, so you were a bit lost as to how you could have provided anything to his content. “What’s your video about?”

“You’ll know when I post it later”, Liam simply replied.

“Okay…” You were quite suspicious, but decided to trust him. “Can I help with anything else?” You asked them.

“Personally, I’m good. But I wouldn’t mind if you kept us company today,” Isack admitted. “Unless you have other things to do, of course.”

“Isack, you guys are literally doing my job right now. So no, I actually don’t have anything else to do.”

“That’s great, then. You can stay with us for the rest of the day”, Liam concluded.

And so until media day was over, you had followed your drivers around the paddock. They kept having crazy ideas after crazy ideas, and you couldn't help but laugh every time they had to do multiple takes due to one of them not being able to stay in character. This was probably one of the best work days you’ve ever had, and you almost wished that they would do this more often.

Keyword: almost.

Because of course, there had to be that eventual issue mentioned earlier.

Liam had been filming Isack doing whatever he was doing until the French driver tripped on his own feet and ended up face first in a wall. The sudden noise alarmed you, and you immediately rushed to Isack’s side as he was holding his head.

“Are you okay?” You asked, worry evident in your voice.

“I think I’m dying”, Isack dramatically replied.

You chuckled at what was definitely him overreacting. You forced Isack to sit down before you crouched down to his level, making him look up at you.

“Remove your hand, please.” Isack did as he was told, and you carefully inspected his head. “Where does it actually hurt?”

“Like– my forehead,” he said.

You nodded in understanding, and cupped his face to make him stay still – it was probably not even necessary as you being so close to him was almost making him stop breathing, and he didn’t dare make a move. You gently pushed his hair back from his forehead, looking for any kind of bruise as you stroked his skin to feel if any lump had appeared. You were so focused on your task, you didn’t even notice how flustered Isack was becoming with every second passing.

Liam, however, had very much noticed. And unbeknownst to you or Isack, he was absolutely enjoying the scene, still recording for God knows what reason. This was good content for the video idea he’d had since this morning, which he had slowly but surely been filming for throughout the day.

After a couple minutes, you finally released Isack’s face – he couldn’t decide whether it was a good thing or not, given that it had been messing with his heart a lot – and he was already missing the warmth of your hand on his cheek.

“All good”, you eventually concluded. “Might have a slight bump forming, but you’ll survive. You’re a strong guy, right Isack?”

“Y–yeah, of course. Thanks”, he could only reply due to how nervous you were making him.

“Pathetic…” Liam mumbled under his breath, unheard from you nor Isack.

Glad that Isack was fine, you straightened back up with a smile before offering him your hand. He hesitantly took it, and you then pulled him up so he could stand. Not expecting to end up so close to you once again, Isack quickly took a step back with the blush intensifying on his cheeks.

Liam was definitely having a field day, while you were completely oblivious to the effect you were having on the French driver.

“I wish I could trust you to keep playing social media alone, but I’m gonna have to review your next ideas before you start filming them and I’m being put on the spot.”

The drivers both nodded, understanding that you were simply worried about them – and about your job too. So for the rest of the day, you made a compromise with them: you would still give them creative liberty to film – almost – whatever they wanted, but you had the right to veto anything that could seem to eventually end up badly for one of them.

…..

A few hours later, media day was finally over. Isack and Liam had filmed three other videos, while you supervised them like a babysitter from afar. Although they had done most of the job, you still helped them edit their videos and confirmed to them that yes, their caption ideas were funny.

“Well, this was an interesting day for sure. But I don’t think we’ll do that again for a while,” you told the drivers when all their videos were posted.

“Sorry to have wasted your time”, Isack apologised.

“It wasn’t wasted,” you reassured him. “I just didn’t rest as much as you had promised me. But it was fun, I guess.”

“It was very fun, yes. Glad I was able to know more”, Liam said.

“About my job?” You wondered.

“Amongst other things”, Liam vaguely replied.

Although a bit confused at his words, you didn’t think much of it as you knew that Liam had enjoyed the day as well. He had harboured a satisfied grin for most of the afternoon, and you were glad to see it every time you would look at him. You wouldn’t be glad in the near future, but this was another story.

After checking that the team’s social media was doing fine, you announced to Isack and Liam that they were free to leave the track and go back to their hotel. You were actually all staying in the same one, which led to Isack suggesting that you all go back together before he also asked you if you wanted to join him – and Liam – for dinner. You hesitated a bit as it wasn’t really something you often did unless there were other VCARB employees going out with you, but Isack’s excited smile made it impossible to refuse.

…..

So now you were back in your hotel room, about to go downstairs after having changed from your team kit. You were strangely nervous, already picturing the worst that could happen. It wasn’t everyday that you were hanging out with your drivers off track – only the three of you – so you really hoped that the evening would go smoothly.

But once again, you had spoken too soon.

Courtesy of Liam who had apparently come down with a “last-minute stomachache”, you were now looking at your menu with only Isack sitting at the table with you. He had surprisingly dressed up a bit, and you wondered if the supposed stomachache had been planned between the two of them. But with the way that Isack was avoiding your gaze, his cheeks slightly flushed, you truly didn’t know what to think of the situation.

It looked just like a date.

You. And Isack. On a date.

And that’s not even the worst that would happen. The worst had happened right after you and Isack had ordered. The tension had lightened a bit after a waiter had come to your table, bursting the little bubble of nervousness that had surrounded you two. You were now patiently waiting for your food as you sipped your drink, when you heard your phone going off.

You were about to apologise to Isack for not muting it, when you saw what the notification was:

Post uploaded!

Furrowing your brows, it was safe to say that you were confused; because the account that was showing wasn’t your personal one. No, it was the team’s account. And that’s when you started panicking.

“Is everything alright?” Isack asked you, easily noticing your stress.

“Yeah, hmm… it’s just Instagram being weird,” you said. “I don’t know what happened.”

Just to make sure you hadn’t posted anything weird, like a wrongly scheduled video, you opened the application. Nothing had prepared you for the video that immediately played before your eyes. The editing was basic, but the caption was far from being a usual one: 30s compilation of isack having a crush on admin.

You watched the entire video with widened eyes, each clip showing a different version of Isack throughout the day. Your face wasn’t shown, but you recognised the moment from earlier in the afternoon when you were checking on Isack after he had bumped into a wall. He was looking up at you with flushed cheeks, his eyes filled with something you didn’t dare think about.

When the video finished, it automatically replayed and you could only rewatch those clips of Isack’s eyes glancing at you – his face lightening up when you had entered his driver’s room, his smile brightening as he talked about you.

You didn’t know what to think of it. And for a couple minutes, you had forgotten that Isack was actually sitting at the table across from you.

“Are you okay?” He worryingly asked. “Your face has gone a bit red.”

Of course your face had gone red! It wasn’t everyday that you had to see your driver look at you as if you were the prettiest girl in the world – Isack wouldn’t deny that, as if you were the only thing that made him wake up in the morning, the only person he was impatiently waiting to see at every race.

“I’m fine…” That was a lie. “I just think that a certain someone posted a video on the team’s account without consulting me first.”

“Liam?” Isack guessed. He unlocked his phone to go see it himself, and was met with his own face as he clicked on the video. “Oh mon Dieu, putain…”

Isack would definitely kill Liam for that. Setting him up on a date with you was one thing, but a public video that displayed his crush on you for the entire world to see? Isack wanted to die of embarrassment. His face had gone even redder than yours, and he didn’t dare look up from his phone. He was afraid to see your expression, afraid that you’d be mad about the situation.

But you weren’t.

After a few minutes of silence between you and him, you caught his attention.

“Isack”, you called out his name which made him nervously look at you.

“Wait! Before you say anything”, he interrupted. “I’m so sorry for this, I didn’t know Liam had planned that. And I’m also sorry for the dinner, he told me at the last minute that he wasn’t coming. I swear it wasn’t on purpose! And–”

“Isack, breathe!” You exclaimed as you saw him almost hyperventilating. You took his hands in yours, which made him go still for a second. “Calm down, it’s fine.” He raised an eyebrow at you, and you chuckled. “Okay, it could’ve been better. But it’s not the end of the world,” you tried to reassure him.

“Kinda feels like it is for me”, he argued. “Liam just outed my feelings on the team’s socials, out of all places.”

“I’ll admit that was a shit move.” You were definitely giving Liam a lecture tomorrow morning, and removing his access to the VCARB account until the end of time. “I’m actually going to take this down while I think about it,” you said as you quickly deleted the video before focusing back on Isack.

“I’m sorry, again.”

“If anyone should apologise, it’s Liam. You have nothing to be sorry about, unless it’s to tell me the video wasn’t telling the truth.”

“It is…” Isack tried to avoid your gaze once again. “And now it probably ruined our friendship, as well as our professional relationship.”

“It hasn’t, though.”

“Really?” He was confused, but it was kind of getting his hopes up. “You’re not weirded out by me liking you?”

“Nope”, you replied with a grin. “If anything, the video was actually cute.”

“Cute?” Isack repeated.

“Yes”, you confirmed with a nod. “You’re cute, Isack. Sorry I never noticed this until now. Well, I would be blond not to have actually noticed. But I never truly did, I guess”

“You’re cute too.”

“Well, I hope so given how you look at me.”

“You’re never letting me live this down, are you?”

“Got it!” You chuckled and leaned back in your chair. “But there’s something we can do now.”

“What?”

“Liam expected something out of this, right?” When Isack nodded, you continued. “Let’s make it happen.”

“And it is…?”

“I don’t know, you tell me.” You shrugged, a challenging expression making its way on your face. “Maybe you asking me on a real date, so tonight isn’t wasted. Or maybe it’s you being the one to confess instead of Liam doing it for you.”

“I didn't really ask for that to happen in the first place”, he reminded you. “But if you’re actually serious, then I’d love for tonight to be a real date. Let me make it better than how it started.”

“You’re on the right path, don’t worry.” From the corner of your eye, you could see your food finally arriving. “Here’s to our first date!” You said as you raised your glass towards Isack before taking a sip.

“Here’s to our first date”, he repeated with a nervous smile.

And thankfully, it wouldn’t be the last.

…..

The next day, you lectured Liam for at least ten minutes. His head hung low and he apologised countless times to you. You also forced him to apologise to Isack, as the French driver had been the most affected by Liam’s actions. Luckily for him, he was saved by his engineer calling him for FP1 as it would be starting soon and so you had no choice but to let him go.

“It did work, though. Right?” Liam asked with a smirk right as he stood in the doorway.

“Get out Liam”, you only replied. “You’re on thin ice right now, and your social media privileges have been revoked for an undetermined period of time.”

“I know. But being so defensive means that it worked!” He quickly concluded before leaving you and Isack alone.

“He’s not wrong…” Isack smiled at you.

“Doesn’t mean I wanted to admit it to him”, you argued. “But yes, it did help speed up things between us.”

“You know, I would’ve still confessed even without Liam. Maybe not before months,” he admitted, “but I was planning on us becoming closer friends before that.”

“And what would’ve made you confess?” You were now definitely curious about it.

“I wish I could’ve gotten a podium first,” he explained. “I only have points as an achievement right now.”

“That’s enough for me, don’t worry.” You quickly looked at the time, realising how late it was getting. “You better go join Liam by the way, I don’t want to be fired for keeping you away from your job.”

“I would vouch for you, don’t worry. You’re the best admin we could have”, Isack claimed.

“You’re just saying that because I make you look good on our socials.”

“But you think I look good off socials too, right?”

“Get out, Isack.” Your tone was teasing, and your cheeks a bit flushed. “Go drive your little car and let me do my job in peace.”

“Okay, okay!” He raised his hands in defence, before he left his room.

Now that you were alone, your only reaction was to put your head in your hands. You could only giggle as you remembered what had happened from yesterday to just a few seconds ago.

You were just a girl after all.

But right now, you were definitely a happier girl than ever.

…..

You didn’t think that you would see Liam and Isack still in the garage by the time you finally left Isack’s room – it had taken you a dozen minutes alone before you felt comfortable to go out, but they were talking with some engineers while half of the drivers were already on track for FP1.

Taking advantage of the moment, you called out their names and they walked to where you were in between their garages.

“Okay guys, quick picture time if you don’t mind.”

“Both of us or separately?” Liam asked.

“Let’s do three pictures: two individuals and one of you together”, you decided. “I’ll see what I eventually post later.”

The drivers nodded and waited for your directions.

“Do we do anything special or…?” Isack wondered.

“Just stand there and look pretty,” you said without thinking. “Won’t be too hard for you.”

While Isack blushed at your words, Liam’s face was making an exaggerated and disgusted expression.

“I know it’s thanks to me that y’all are finally together, but please refrain from flirting in front of me.”

“That wasn’t flirting!” You tried to argue. “And we’re not even together…”

“Yet,” Isack pointed out.

“You’re not helping,” you told Isack with what you hoped was a stern glare. You sighed and tried to remain professional. “Just smile and give me some thumbs up, please.”

Taking a few pictures of them together first, you then let them go to their respective side of the garage so that they could gear up and get in their car. You took that as an opportunity to take individual pictures of them, starting with Liam.

“You know,” he caught your attention, “I’m actually happy for you two. And I’m sorry again for making it chaotic, but I’m glad y’all can make it work.”

“Thanks, Liam.” Your smile was genuine, and you knew Liam had only wanted to help. “Next time, let’s have private conversations instead of using the public internet.”

“Copy.”

You both exchanged one last smile, before you walked to Isack’s garage as he was about to put on his helmet.

“Wish me luck?” He asked, holding his helmet next to his face while he smiled for a picture.

“It’s FP1, Isack. I’m sure you can manage without me blessing your car.”

“But what if I crash and it’s because you haven’t wished me luck?” Isack was being dramatic, his voice teasing.

“Please don’t joke about that,” a mechanic said. “And definitely don’t crash on purpose to get your girlfriend’s attention.”

“Not his girlfriend”, you mumbled with a faint blush on your cheeks.

“Yet”, Isack said in reference to earlier.

“Get in the car, Isack.” You sighed as you took one last picture before he secured his helmet. You waited for him to get in the car before you spoke again. “Good luck.”

Isack’s head turned so quickly towards where you were, it almost seemed like his neck could’ve snapped. Only his eyes were showing, but you could see in the way Isack looked at you that he was grinning. Your expression was soft, which made Isack almost want to get out of the car and kiss the smile that had appeared on your face.

…..

And he would eventually do so, after getting his first F1 podium. Not wasting any time as soon as he would reach parc fermé, Isack would get out of his car so quickly that you would barely have time to realise that he was in front of you. He would hug you tightly, while everyone cheered around you. He would then struggle to remove his helmet, having only one goal.

And when he would finally succeed, Isack would drop his helmet to the ground without a care and he would get as close to you as the barrier between the two of you let him do so. And this time, his arms wouldn’t be around you; because his hands would reach for your face, cupping your cheeks and pulling you close to him as his lips kissed yours.

Isack wouldn’t give a damn about the podium, or the trophy. Because you were his prize.

In this moment, you would forget about the video of Isack that you were filming. You wouldn’t be VCARB’s social media admin anymore, you would simply be Isack Hadjar’s girlfriend. And for once, you wouldn’t mind being the one in front of the camera.

..........

Tagging the lovely people who expressed a wish to read this, thanks to y'all for motivating me to finish it: @fellowwomenlover @mrssaturday @boke---hinata---boke

HOPE Y'ALL ENJOYED🫶🏻🫶🏻

Kudos again to my bestie who's fr my soulmate bc she literally complimented on the exact thing i had been unsure of (without even knowing i had struggled w that)

Really manifesting an isack podium soon bc pookie is doing so well recently and ik he's on the right path to perform even better🕯🕯

I also wanna say that we've reached 400 followers and it feels absolutely insane, so tysm for supporting me and my silly lil fics🫂

See you soon, take care of yourselves, i love y'all xx

[suliigwp]

HIII omg i love your writings!! got this idea while i was in the bathroom blasting alchemy by taylor swift and you were the first writer i thought of that i know would slay this! Reader is a known singer but she doesnt really write love songs which charles is completely fine about. His friends ask and tease him about it and he brushes it off then one night on one of her tours she sings alchemy for the first time while charles is watching from the crowd. His whole world stops and maybe even tears up then he just goes on for days bragging about it. HUMOUR AND FLUFFF WHATEVER U WANT THANK YOU SO MUCH

WHERES THE TROPHY?

Charles Leclerc x Singer! Reader | fluff

SULI: hiii omg you have no idea how much it means remembering me first🥹 thank you soooo much!!!!! — very cool because I actually do have a singer!readers series coming up but none of the love interests is Charles sadly— but I really love singer au's and this was so much fun to write! Thank you so much for requesting, love you, hope you enjoy🫶

I'm absolutely obsessed with this song — stream "The alchemy" now!!!

Warnings: none, short and sweet, Twitter post at the end

Charles liked to think he had you figured out.

At least, the version of you the world didn’t get to see ��� the quiet one, the tired one after long studio nights, the version that wore his hoodie to bed and snuck kisses onto his shoulder when you thought he was sleeping.

He liked being the silent inspiration, the person behind the curtain. You were his in private — that was more than enough.

"She doesn't write love songs."

That was the line Charles Leclerc had come to know and love. He’d heard it in interviews, read it in headlines, and smiled through every late-night talk show where someone inevitably asked, “So, do you really not write about him?”

The camera would zoom in, the crowd would laugh, and you’d flash that sly little grin. “Don't worry, if I wrote a love song,” you always said, “you’d know it.”

Charles didn’t mind. In fact, he was fine with it.

You were his.

Even if the rest of the world liked to think you belonged to them.

The fans, the cameras, the interviews — they all wanted pieces. But Charles had long made peace with being the part no one else got to hear in the songs.

Because you didn’t write love songs.

Everyone said so.

You said so.

And Charles believed it. Until the night you didn’t.

...

back, first year of dating

“You still haven’t written a song about me,” Charles teased from the couch, bare feet on the floor, one arm lazily slung around your waist. His eyes were half-lidded, lips curled into that soft smile he only gave you when the world was quiet.

You rolled your eyes, brushing your fingers through his curls. “You say that like you’re not already in every other one.”

“Yes, but I want the main character treatment,” he said, dramatically pressing a hand to his chest. “The standing ovation. The bridge that emotionally ruins people.”

You just laughed, kissed his cheek, and said, “Maybe when you win Monaco.”

He groaned. “Cruel woman.”

...

He hadn't told you he was coming.

You were in the middle of a sold-out run through Europe, and Charles was drowning in simulator sessions and car debriefs. But when he saw the gap in his schedule, he booked the ticket quietly, packed light, and told his engineers he was leaving for “something more important than tyre degradation.”

Barcelona was a quick flight from Monaco. Your show there had been sold out for months, and he knew better than to try and sneak in through backstage. So he did what no one expected:

He lined up like everyone else.

He didn’t tell you. You were always happiest on stage, and he wanted to be just another face in the crowd that night. Just a quiet, anonymous dot in a sea of lights and sweat and noise.

Hood up, cap low, a simple black tee that did nothing to hide how gorgeous he was. He bought a pit wristband from resale (triple the price, but whatever), pushed into the crowd, and waited.

His heart beat harder the closer it got to showtime.

He didn’t know why. He’d seen you perform dozens of times. Hell, he’d watched you rehearse in sweats with a tea bag hanging out of your mouth. He lived with you.

But something about tonight buzzed different.

The lights dimmed.

The crowd erupted.

And then you appeared.

...

You always had a certain way of standing still — calm, rooted, like you didn’t need fireworks to be the most magnetic person in the room. Charles felt the shift the second you stepped up to the mic.

“This one’s new,” you said softly.

The crowd stilled.

“I wasn’t planning to play it live yet, but…”

You paused, and smiled.

“He’s here tonight.”

The girls around Charles screamed.

He went still.

No.

You’re not—

The opening chords were simple, soft. A rhythmic pulse like a heartbeat.

"Shirts off, and your friends lift you up over their heads, Champagne sticking to the floor"

The lyrics felt so close, so personal, Charles swore you were staring right at him, even though you couldn’t see him through the crowd.

"Cheers chanted, cause they said, There was no chance, trying to be The greatest in the league"

And then.

Then.

“Where’s the trophy? He just comes running over to me.”

Charles’s knees nearly buckled.

The lyric struck him like a punch to the gut.

He didn’t even breathe for a second — chest tight, hands shaking, mouth parted in stunned silence.

You remembered.

Monaco.

That day.

The crowd, the flags, the win — his first home win. The one he had chased like a ghost for years.

He remembered the noise, the champagne, the cameras flashing. But more than anything, he remembered you, standing behind the barrier, tucked to the side — quiet and glowing and waiting.

He hadn’t even thought.

He just ran.

Straight to you. Through the crowd. Past everyone. Helmet barely off.

You caught him in your arms like you’d been waiting there your whole life.

“Where’s the trophy?” the reporter had asked him after.

And he’d smiled before glancing over at you.

...

By the time you hit the final chorus, Charles had completely given up pretending he was okay.

His eyes were glassy. His cheeks were damp.

A teenage girl next to him elbowed her friend and whispered, “That guy is, like, sobbing.”

He didn’t even notice.

When you sang the last line and let the guitar fall quiet, Charles couldn’t move.

The stadium exploded in sound.

You bowed.

The lights went out.

And he just stood there — one hand pressed over his heart, whispering the lyric under his breath like a prayer.

...

Backstage, everything felt like static.

You were mid-change when a tech knocked on the greenroom door.

“Uh… sorry, there’s a guy trying to come back here. He says he’s your boyfriend? Hoodie, cap, extremely beautiful—kind of panicked?”

You laughed, heart already racing.

“Let him in.”

Charles barrelled into the room like a man possessed.

“You—” he said, voice raw.

You turned, makeup still smudged, hair frizzing from sweat, and barely had time to open your arms before he was there — pulling you into him like he hadn’t seen you in years.

“Monaco?” he whispered.

You nodded against his chest.

He pulled back just slightly, hands cupping your face, eyes red-rimmed and earnest. “You remembered.”

“Of course I did.”

“You wrote about it.”

A breathless laugh. “You wrote about me.”

You shrugged playfully, nose brushing his. “Guess you’re the main character now.”

His grin cracked wide and helpless, and then he kissed you. Soft, slow, deep — the kind of kiss that says thank you and I love you and I’m never letting this go.

“You’re screwed now,” he whispered, grinning against your mouth.

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to brag about this forever.”

...

And he did.

The next morning:

And for the rest of the season, no matter how many podiums he earned, Charles had one answer to every post-race interview:

“Where’s the trophy, Charles?”

“She’s probably watching from home.”

Taglist, comment to be added;

@angstynasty @cryinghotmess @mits-vi @dramaticpiratellamas @mimisweetz @mrssaturday @chiara8104 @moonlight-girls-posts @linnygirl09 @rue-t @danielricroll @the-vex-archives @trees-are-books @blodwyn4u @yoruse @ccrickett-t @l-a-u-r-aaa @multifans-things @woderfulkawaii @azrinableuet @mayax2o07 @everyday-is-sunday365 @devilacot

Make sure you can be tagged!

[very-merry-birthday]

And Take 'em Off in Private

Summary: During a drunken night the boys find out your secret- you used to do porn. But how Dean reacts surprises you.

Warnings: Smut!

~~~

You poured the whiskey into the glass, spilling more than you managed to get in, as Sam let out a loud laugh.

"I think-" he laughed again, "- I think you might be drunk Y/N."

You looked around at the three men in front of you. Sam had been laughing for almost three minutes straight, Cas looked like he was about to fall asleep, and Dean had checked out of the conversation long ago.

"I think we're all drunk!"

It wasn't often that you were all able to sit around, multiple drinks deep with nothing else on your minds. One of you always had something going on, somewhere else to be, someone else to see. So when earlier in the day you had realized you'd all be in one place with no where else to go, you'd jumped at the opportunity.

Which is how you found yourselves in the bunker library, none of you able to hold yourselves straight on the uncomfortable upright chairs. Sam and Cas sat opposite one another at the table, both of them trying to keep the conversation flowing, while you'd been making sure everyone's drinks were topped up. Dean had his feet up, listening and watching. His eyes spent most of the time distracted by you, watching your smile, the way you laughed, the way you rolled your eyes whenever Cas started on a drunken ramble. He tried to resist the twang of jealousy every time you reached out to grab Sam's arm for stability, knowing you were only doing it because he was sat next to you. He pictured what it would be like if he was sitting where his younger brother was, your head on his own shoulder instead.

He broke his thought as you looked over to him, a soft smile on your face, holding up the bottle to question whether he wanted more. He pushed his glass forward for you to fill it.

"What I don't get-" you broke eye contact, looking over at Cas, "is how you can get drunk? Don't your- angel powers- stop that?"

"I don't have any powers, Y/N."

You rolled your eyes again, "Fine! Abilities! The cool shit you can do!"

"My abilities don't stop me from feeling the effects of alcohol." While he was definitely less sober than normal, Cas was holding it together remarkably well.

"What can you do then?" You asked. Dean liked that about you, that you were always asking questions. Never to pry, but just because you were interested. Not that he'd ever tell you that.

"He can read your mind." Dean spoke up, wanting to rejoin the conversation.

"No shot you can actually read minds." You laughed, grabbing his hand from across the table and pulling it up to your temple, "What color am I thinking of?"

He gave a cautionary glance around the room, "Green. Dark green."

You looked over to Dean's eyes momentarily, then back to Cas, "That's crazy cool!"

Sam leaned forward, "That's boring dude, tell us all her secrets!"

Your mind flooded as Cas began to speak before anyone could stop him, "Y/N has been in several pornographic films-"

You lept up, your chair going flying behind you. Your head spun as you mind sobered, sweaty palms, prickles at the back of your neck. You looked back at the three men, three sets of eyes now firmly placed on you. Cas looked confused, Sam looked guilty and Dean- you didn't want to even try and understand what his expression meant.

"I didn't think he'd-" Sam began to speak and you lifted up a finger to stop him as the gears in your head continued to spin.

After seconds that felt like hours you began to talk. "Cas, that wasn't your fault- he shouldn't have told you to do that."

Cas nodded slowly, the situation finally dawning on him.

"Sam, apologise to him."

"I'm sorry man, I should have been more clear I was joking."

"Dean-"

He looked up at you, and eyebrow cocked in confusion.

"-actually all of you... If you even think about trying to find one of those videos..."

You trailed off, all of them understanding the threat without you even having to make it. With that you went back to your room, collapsing on the bed and letting embarrassment and drunkenness swallow you up as you fell asleep.

---

The next morning you were woken abruptly by Dean, barging into your room as he had a hundred times before. You shushed him before he even started talking, your head still spinning, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"We gotta-"

"Shhh!" You buried you head back down on the pillow, trying to block out all light.

He lowered his tone, gently speaking as he sat at the end of the bed. "We've got a case, day's drive or so, if we leave now we'll get there before midnight."

You wrapped the pillow around your head, trying to sink down lower as you mumbled a response, "Hungover- take one of the others."

"I would darlin', but they're even worse off than you. You leave with me now and I'll let you sleep the whole journey?"

---

And that's exactly what you'd done.

Hours rolled by as you slept in the passenger seat, your hangover slowly clearing as the road stretched on. You'd screwed up an old shirt as a pillow, the window down, letting the cool air hit you.

Dean watched you any chance he could get, his eyes flowing over you, allowing himself to stare in a way you'd never let him if you were awake. He looked away as you finally opened your eyes, blinking hard as you adjusted to the light.

"How much longer?" You murmured, taking note of the afternoon sun.

"Couple hours?" He replied, eyes firmly on the road.

You expected him to speak, to mention last night, but he didn't, the silence stretching on in the car. Eventually he riffled around in his cassettes, finding one he knew you wouldn't complain about, and pushing it in.

---

Even once you were in the motel, silence sat between you.

You relaxed back on the tiny bed, flicking through the TV channels as Dean sat on his own bed, cleaning his gun. Night had set in with barely ten words spoken between you all day, embarrassment hitting you whenever you remembered how you'd left last night.

"You okay?" Dean looked over at you, no longer able to deal with the stillness, "After yesterday I mean."

You swallowed hard, "Yeah, it's fine, I shouldn't have reacted like that."

"No, no, we didn't mean to freak you out, we should have come and spoken to you."

"Honestly, Dean, it's fine."

You both sat uncomfortable for a moment.

He clenched his jaw, "D' you wanna talk about it?"

"There's nothing else to say." You looked up at him, his forehead filled with questioning lines, "What do you want to know?"

And just like that, you'd broken the seal.

"I- You- Porn?"

You relaxed back onto the bed, sighing in exasperation, "Eloquent as always, Dean."

"I'm sorry- I don't know what I'm asking- did... did you enjoy it?"

You looked back over to him, a little surprised by his question, "Yeah, yeah I guess I did. I was young, I needed money, not everyone has a bunker to go back to-" you rolled your eyes, mock annoyance, "-but yeah, I enjoyed it."

"But you didn't tell us?"

"I can enjoy it and still not want you to know about it. Do you really think you wouldn't have treated me any different?"

"Course I wouldn't-"

"Yes you would."

You both paused, tension filling the air.

He stood up, walking over to your bed and laying next to you on it, both of you staring up at the ceiling. "What did you enjoy?"

You thought for a moment, "I looked fucking good."

You both let out a laugh, looking at each other, glad to have the tension broken, until Dean spoke again, "You look good now."

You were suddenly aware of how close your face was to his.

"Yeah but in those videos I looked hot- like really fucking hot."

He exhaled sharply, trying to keep his face set, "What did you do?"

"It was mainly just me, you know-"

He cocked an eyebrow, "-getting yourself off?"

You blushed, struggling to stay composed, "Yeah, getting myself off. There was a few videos with other guys- that's what made the most money."

"Did you enjoy them?"

"Yeah, they were always fun! But I enjoyed the ones with just me more. I could just relax, put on a show."

His lips were now dangerously close to yours, sharing each others breath, his eyes dark, "What kind of show?"

"I used to put on something hot, something I'd never wear in real life-"

"Yeah?"

"-Lace, leather, fishnets, silk.... And then I'd tease myself-"

"Hmm?" He inched closer to you.

"I'd play with my tits, my nipples-" all embarrassment had left you, his eyes only encouraging you on, "then my clit-"

"Yeah?"

"I'd push my fingers into myself, god the noises I'd make."

"Darlin'-" His breath was hot against you as he eyed up your lips.

"There's this one video, dressed all in red- people fucking loved that one... It was always between that one, where I used a vibrator, and one where I dressed all in black lace... That was just my fingers-"

"God that's-" His lips were only millimetres from yours, both your eyes beginning to shut.

"I always preferred the one in red..."

"I love the black lace." He leant forward, ready to kiss you.

You pulled back before he'd even realized what he said, confusion filling you, a pit in your stomach growing as you scrambled back off the bed, standing next to it, "What- what did you just say?"

"Look, I-"

"What the fuck did you just say, Dean?!"

"It's not what it sounds like I-"

"You couldn't even wait 24 fucking hours to look them up!" You felt sick, your embarrassment filling you once again, "I can't believe you!"

"I didn't-"

"The one thing I asked you not to do!"

"Seriously I-"

"Fuck you! I can't believe-"

"Can you just listen for one second?" He stood up in front of you, grabbing your shoulders to quiet you, "I found them six months ago."

You swallowed hard, not understanding what he was saying.

"I didn't find out last night, I've known for months."

"I- I don't-"

"I was looking a porn one night and- well I thought, damn that chick looks just like Y/N-"

You blinked hard.

"-And then I watched a couple, coz fuck I needed to see someone who looked like you- and I realized... it was you. I couldn't help myself-"

You tried to turn away but he stopped you.

"-You looked so fucking good, every video was hotter than the last... The things you'd do, the noises you'd make-"

"Dean I don't-"

"Jesus... I didn't want to tell you, I knew you'd be embarrassed- but I didn't think of you any different, sweetheart. I've always know how hot you are, but I've also known how fucking badass you are too."

You let out a small exhaled laugh, the situation finally sinking in. "I can't believe you didn't tell me."

"I'm sorry. I really am. What can I do to make it up to you?"

You eyed him up carefully, the room falling deathly quiet once again.

"Take off your clothes."

His cheeks flushed, "I don't think-"

"You've seen me naked, right? It's the only way to make it fair."

There was a pause between you, both of you watching each other, neither of you saying anything. You'd never seen Dean naked before. Of course you'd seen the odd part of him: his abdomen whenever he'd wipe his face with his shirt, his back whenever you'd have to get changed in the same motel. But never all of him.

And then in one swift motion he pulled his shirt off, revealing his upper half to you proudly with a smile. You took a moment to admire him, your eyes seeking out his body. You looked for the subtle tan lines on his arms, where the sun had beaten down on him; the small scars across his chest, a life of hunting; his strong, solid core. You didn't care he was watching you stare, both of you knew what this was, so you took your time.

You nodded slowly, a way of telling him you were impressed, and looked down to his jeans. He understood what you meant, slowly undoing his belt and pulling down the fly of his pants. You sucked in a breath in anticipation as he leant down to pull them off, kicking them off from around his ankles and standing back up straight to look at you, hands on his hips.

You teased your own eyes, starting at the bottom of his legs, taking him in slowly as you worked your way up. Strong calves, stronger thighs, his gorgeous bow legs. Then you finally allowed yourself to look at what you really wanted, biting your lip as you looked at his black boxers, the clear bulge almost taking your breath away. It was large, and seemed to only be hardening. Dean watched your expression carefully, a grin poking at the corner of his mouth.

You nodded again, looking back up at him to continue.

Doubt shot over his face momentarily at he looked at his own state and then back to you, fully clothed, "Sweetheart, I don't think that's fair."

"Did you see me in my underwear, or did you see me fully naked?"

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he remembered the videos, what you'd worn in them, what you hadn't. He knew he couldn't answer honestly and keep his dignity, "How about this? How about I take these off, and I get to ask you one more question?"

You pretended to weigh up the decision, knowing you'd do anything at this point to get his boxers off, "Yeah, yeah I think I can agree to that."

With that he leant down, pulling his boxers down his legs in one swift motion, before standing back up straight and showing himself to you proudly. Finally you could see his whole body, perfect in every way, his gorgeous cock standing semi-erect as he combed one hand through his hair, looking down at himself and back up at you.

You could barely get your words out, your eyes fixed firmly on his hardness, "W-What was your question?"

He walked up to you, so close you could reach out and touch him as you looked back up to his face, "There's this one video: this guy has you bent over a desk-"

You knew exactly the one he meant, nodding only slightly.

"-and he's going at you from behind and- god you look fucking good, your ass bouncing, taking him so well-"

You could barely think, your mind filling with his words.

"-and you're making these noises- Jesus you don't know how many times I watched that video- these noises that are so fucking hot I don't think I'll ever recover. You tell me, sweetheart, are those noises real?"

You looked back down at him, his cock now fully erect, his hand slowly wrapping around the base of it, stroking it only slightly, and then back up to his face, "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

He smiled for only a second before leaning forward, grabbing your face in his hands. He kissed you desperately, ferociously, his tongue instantly exploring you, his fingers reaching around to the back of your head, your neck, the bottom of your top, tugging at it to pull it off you. You broke apart for only a moment so you could remove your top, and then you were back on each other, hands, lips, tongues.

You let your hands flow over his chest, feeling his muscles as his own hands began working on the fly of your pants, needy to get you in the same unclothed state as him. You helped him pull them down and kicked them off your ankles, both of your bodies pressed against each other, his mouth finding it's way to your neck.

He stepped back to hungrily eye you over, his tongue darting out as he looked at your bra and panties, "You're wearing far too many clothes, darlin'."

You carefully unhooked your bra, sliding it off your arms and dropping it down next to you. Now it was his turn to stare, taking you in. You hooked your thumbs into your underwear, slowly dragging it down, giving him a show you knew he'd like. He sucked in a small breath, stunned by your body.

"Turn around, let me see that ass."

You did as he said, turning around, looking back at him over your shoulder. His eyes dropped, looking you up and down.

You watched him walk up behind you and turned away from him again, facing forward as you felt his naked body press against you, his hard cock firmly against your ass. He kissed your neck gently, sucking lightly at your skin as you leant into him, his finger tracing a line over your shoulders and down your back. Once his hand reached the middle he pushed you forward, guiding you to the end of the bed where you bent over.

He groaned as you got into a steady position for him, your ass sticking out, perfect and ready. He pushed his tip through your soaked folds, and you gripped the bedsheets infront of you, holding back a moan. His hand came down to grab your ass, another groan on his lips at the feeling of your pussy around his cockhead.

He pushed himself into you slowly, stretching you out as you finally let yourself moan. Your noises coaxed him on as he began to thrust into you, his hands wrapping around your hips to give him better control.

You moaned out loudly as he pounded into you, his cock hitting your g-spot, sending your body melting. You buried your face into the mattress, muffling your gasps as he continued to move, gripping your body tighter.

"Louder for me, darlin, let me hear you."

You did as he said, turning your head and letting out another loud moan. You felt your core tightening, desperate for release as he sped up his movements, slamming into you, pushing you to the brink.

You came, hard and fast, loudly gasping. Your hands gripped the sheets, and Dean felt as your pussy tightened around him, watching your back arch in pleasure. Your legs felt weak as he continued to push into you, letting you ride out your orgasm.

As soon as he felt your body relax slightly he pulled out, and you felt as he came on your back, letting out a loud groan, his fingers embedded into your skin.

Both of you stayed still for a moment, panting hard, the pleasure rolling through both of your bodies. You looked back up at him over your shoulder, making eye contact.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He looked down at your arched back, your ass in the air, his cum on your back. He walked away to grab a towel from the motel bathroom and then back to you, lazily running it down your back, giving your ass one last look before you rolled onto your back, allowing yourself to relax into the sheets.

He lay down next to you, both of you breathing hard, his fingers running down your body, sending sparks through you. You looked at him, his forehead creasing as he began to speak, "There's this other video where you're on top- I think I have a question about that one too..."

[noorpersona]

Pregnancy: Sakusa

You’ve tried the pillows. The pregnancy belt. The heat pad. You’ve leaned forward, leaned back, sat on the edge of the couch with your feet planted just right like the blogs say. You’ve even tried that ridiculous looking yoga ball that Kuroo swore helped his sister. Nothing works. Not really.

Your lower back has become a constant, pulsing drumbeat of dull pain, like your spine itself is growing resentful. The weight of your belly pulls forward like an anchor strapped to your hips, and every time you shift, you swear you can hear your vertebrae protesting. There’s no sweet spot anymore, just a rotation of tolerable positions. You grit your teeth through them, muttering curses under your breath.

You’re laid sideways on the couch now, a pillow stuffed between your knees, one arm tucked under your bump, the other flopped over your eyes like you’re shielding yourself from the end of the world. It’s not even late. The sun’s still up, golden light filtering through the blinds. You just couldn’t take being vertical anymore.

This is the part no one talks about. Not the cute baby kicks, not the weird cravings or the glow everyone swears you have. It’s this—sore, swollen, and tired in a way that sleep can’t fix. Even breathing feels like it takes effort.

And through it all, Sakusa is there.

He’s been steady. Quietly doting. Not the type to coo over baby socks or rub your feet with oil while humming lullabies, but the kind of man who starts carrying hand sanitizer in your favorite scent just in case you need it. The kind who keeps snacks in the car, reminds you to hydrate without making it sound like a chore, who started going to prenatal appointments not because you asked, but because he wanted to understand everything. Who reads parenting books with sticky tabs and highlights and pretends he didn’t.

He’s not loud about it. He doesn’t post bump photos or narrate your journey in grand poetic terms. But he’s shown up every day in ways that matter. Never once flinching when you sobbed over dropped pickles or had a breakdown in the baby aisle because you couldn’t decide between two swaddle patterns. He holds the pieces when you feel like you’re falling apart. He never makes you feel like you’re too much.

You hear the front door click open, then the quiet hush of it swinging closed. You don’t move. Just listen to the familiar sound of Sakusa’s footsteps coming in—soft, always measured, always deliberate. No keys clatter. He always puts them in the bowl on the shelf. No shoes squeaking either; he wipes them, every time. You know it’s him without having to look.

He pauses in the entryway, no doubt clocking the mess of your position. Then, his voice—calm and even, with that velvety weight that always makes your heart twitch even when you're annoyed.

“Back again?”

“Mmh,” you hum noncommittally, eyes still covered. “Felt like someone took a crowbar to my spine. So I gave up.”

There’s a beat of silence. You imagine him there, eyes scanning you—your hunched shoulders, the tension in your jaw, the deep set crease between your brows. He’s not the type to hover. Not the type to fuss, at least not where you can see it. But you know him well enough by now. If he could physically fight your discomfort, he would’ve by now. With gloves on.

You feel the couch dip near your legs. Then the rustle of a bag being set down.

“I read about something,” he says slowly.

You lower your arm just enough to peek at him. He’s still in his work clothes—jacket slung over the armrest, sleeves rolled neatly past his elbows, forearms bare. His mask is off, stashed away now that he’s home. You catch the faintest crease of worry between his brows, like he’s weighing the next words carefully.

“Can I try?” he asks.

You blink, too tired to be curious. “Whatever. Go for it.”

He tilts his head. “You have to stand up first.”

You lower your arm further to shoot him a flat look. “You’re joking.”

“I’m not.”

You huff, but he’s already sliding a hand beneath your arm. Gently, steadily, he helps you sit up, then rise to your feet with the kind of efficiency that speaks to practice. He’s been doing this for weeks now—helping you in and out of bed, out of the car, off the floor when you insisted you could pick something up by yourself.

“I swear to god, if this is another stretch video where I end up looking like a tipped cow—”

“It’s not.”

“Because if I fall, I'm taking you down with me.”

“Duly noted.”

Once you’re upright, he steps behind you. You feel the warmth of him, close and focused. One of his hands briefly trails up your spine in a slow, soothing pass—a single stroke meant to coax your muscles into releasing some of their stubborn tension.

"Relax," he murmurs, voice low and steady, his breath brushing the shell of your ear.

Then his hands brush your hips and slide slowly beneath the swell of your belly. One palm anchors, the other adjusts. It’s deliberate, the kind of precise contact that could only come from research and repeat watching. Then—he lifts.

Just an inch. Maybe two. But it’s enough.

The relief is instant.

Your lower back uncoils like a spring released from tension. That hot, grinding ache that’s lived there for weeks just… lessens. Not gone entirely, but dulled. Blurred. Like someone finally turned the pressure dial down from an eleven to a manageable hum.

You let out a sound you weren’t expecting—a breath that shudders out of you with more feeling than you meant to show. Like your whole body’s been waiting for this and didn’t know how to ask.

“Oh,” you breathe, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s… holy shit.”

You hear him exhale, and the barest hint of a smile follows in his voice.

“Guess it works.”

You nod, or try to. “What even—how’d you think of that?”

“There’s a forum,” he says. “A bunch of people were talking about it. Said lifting the weight can take pressure off the sacroiliac joint. Sounded reasonable.”

Of course it did. It’s so— him. Reading about biomechanics like it’s no big deal. Quietly researching ways to ease your pain without saying a word. You picture him in bed at night, phone dimmed, scrolling through medical threads while you snored beside him.

You lean back slightly, weight shifting into his hold like you’re trusting it—trusting him—with more than just the curve of your belly. His hands adjust to steady you.

Then you feel him begin to lower your bump back down.

“I didn’t say you could stop yet,” you murmur, voice hushed and wry.

His hands still immediately.

There's a pause, not because he's unsure—but because he’s listening. Because when it comes to you, Sakusa never rushes.

You feel his thumbs move slightly, drawing slow circles near your hips as he steadies the lift again, as if to say, I’ve got you.

"Should’ve tried this ages ago," you mumble.

You’re still basking in the quiet relief of his hold. Your back doesn’t feel like it's screaming anymore, and for the first time in hours, your body feels like it belongs to you again—like maybe you're not just a vessel walking around with sore feet and too many hormones.

He shifts slightly, adjusting the lift with a faint grunt.

"He’s heavy," Sakusa murmurs. There’s no complaint in his voice—just quiet awe.

You smile faintly, placing a hand over his. "That’s your fault."

"My fault?"

"You’re six-three, with legs like telephone poles. What did you think was gonna happen?"

He huffs a soft, amused breath behind you. "Could still be your fault. Maybe you manifested it."

You snort. "Yeah, I manifested a linebacker. Great job, me."

"He’s not even here yet and I already feel outnumbered," he mutters.

You squeeze his hand. "Don’t worry. He’ll probably inherit your poker face. You two can be brooding and beautiful together."

A beat. Then, so quiet it barely makes it to your ears:

"He’s going to be perfect."

You close your eyes, feeling everything swell in your chest all at once.

"He already is."

And there’s something so simple, so steadfast in the way he says it that you have to bite your lip against the warm rush crawling up your chest.

You rest your hand over his where it cups your belly. "Kiyoomi?"

"Mm."

"I love you."

His thumb strokes once, slow and deliberate. You hear the breath he draws, steady as ever.

"I know," he says quietly. "I love you too."

And just like that, in the stillness of your living room, with the soft glow of daylight bleeding through the windows and his arms supporting you from behind, you feel the kind of full-body peace that no prenatal yoga class has ever given you.

You don’t move. Neither does he. Because for now, this is enough.

[iamthatonefangirl]

what if - nsfw dbf!bucky barnes

disclaimer: uncle kink. (not actual uncle, it's reader's dad's best friend.) all characters are 18+. moderate depictions of anxiety. you have been warned, read at your own discretion.

based on this ask. I missed uncle bucky so much! also this was not supposed to be sad but then I had a day so this is for all the anxious readers!!! series masterlist

~~~

"god, you're so perfect like this," he whispers like a prayer into your skin, his warm breath making you shiver.

your parents had finally gone away for the weekend, after a lot of subtle hints and encouragement from you. "it'll be good to get away, just the two of you..." is what you would tell them.

they couldn't have known you wanted them to leave for more... selfish reasons. you just wanted a weekend where you didn't feel like you had to sneak around.

you pretended to be surprised, pretended to be pissed when you were told:

"your Uncle Bucky is going to check in on you while we're gone."

"I'm an adult! I've lived by myself before!" you try to argue with them, somewhat genuinely on principle, but mostly for show. even though you were getting exactly what you wanted, you couldn't let them know that.

"either you agree, or we're not going."

and that was how you got away with spending an entire weekend alone together, naked, in your bed.

you tangle your hands in his hair once more. you've already given him enough shit for letting it get so long, but you just can't help it.

"you need a haircut," you comment to him, and he instantly pulls his head back from where he's been sucking marks on your chest. he lets out a low, breathy laugh as he looks up to your eyeline.

his hair is still damp from showering hours ago, strands dangling left and right. it's longer than you've seen it in quite a while.

"don't like it?" he teases. he knows you just love to give him a bad time.

"you're literally sporting a bob, Bucky," you laugh. "it's all the way past your chin!"

"you're a little shit," he says, bringing a hand to your bare hip. "you're going to admit you like it. one way or another."

"should give you a little man bun," you say and gather his hair into a small ball at the nape of his neck. you pretend to be annoyed as you tell him, "goddamnit, you still look hot."

"you know it, babygirl," he says, pressing his lips back to your chest.

it's nice, you think. getting to relax together, getting to pretend like you could ever have more than just these stolen moments.

your gaze trails up to the ceiling as your mind contemplates it, the fact that you even have to call these moments "stolen.” you begin to get distracted by the anxiety welling in your stomach.

you try not to let on that the stress is taking over, that you're quietly being eaten alive by your own thoughts.

but you can't hide anything from him.

"what's going on, kid?" he asks you as he pulls back.

"what if they find out?" you ask, incredibly quiet, still focusing your gaze on a small divot in the ceiling.

he pauses again.

"they won't," he assures you. he doesn't sound too confident, though.

"Bucky, they're your friends. they're my parents. and…” you trail off. you know that what you mean to say next won't help the situation.

"and?"

the anxious pit in your stomach worsens, another wave of nausea broiling in your throat.

"they trust you with me."

you know you shouldn't have said it. you knew it was a bad idea, and now you're regretting it. he speaks again before you can continue.

"they trust that I'll take care of you and protect you with my life, and I will. I would never break that promise."

it doesn't help. you wish it did.

he leans in close again. "I'm still the same person to you that I was before all this, okay?" he assures you.

you nod and turn your face towards his. the fear of being caught never fails to send you into a panic, causing that horrible pins-and-needles sensation in your hands. you try to scratch at your hands to get it to go away, and like always, it doesn't work.

"need you again," you deflect, bringing your hands to his back and pulling him up closer against you. his chest is warm against yours, the feeling soothing, but it's not enough.

"alright, pretty girl," he whispers, punctuated with a nip at your ear, proceeding to then run his tongue over your pulse point. "you know that, right? you're my gorgeous girl."

you feel his knee slot between your legs, his bare thigh pressing up against you between your own thighs. you're still dripping from the last round, the feeling of him spilling out of you. your combined release leaks onto the skin of his upper thigh as he gently grinds against you, eliciting a delicate moan from high in your throat.

"don't want anyone but my pretty girl," he tells you, running a metal thumb over your swollen lips, his fingertips then trailing down over the column of your throat in appreciation. his gaze follows the path of his fingers, admiring the sight of your skin under his touch.

his knee ever so slightly shifts between your thighs, just enough for you to feel the movement and move your hips against him in response.

"you like that? getting off on my thigh, baby?"

"mhm..." you respond, once again moving your hands to tug at his hair. "feels so good. you're so strong, Uncle Bucky..."

he smirks at that.

"and you're so delicate. look at you, baby, under me like this," he says. he gently cups the soft flesh of your breasts in his hands. "love your tits, baby. hate it when you hide them from me in those hoodies of yours. want to see all of you, always."

his flesh hand radiates heat on your skin, a sharp contrast to the coolness of his prosthetic. you feel so sensitive to his touch, every move making you feel electrified. his knee moves again between your legs, and he watches as your face reacts so strongly to the motion.

"wanna keep you laid out for me, forever, baby. just you and me. nobody else." his hands come to the back of your thighs, gripping just enough to dip his fingertips into your skin, holding your legs still.

the muscle of his thigh is so powerful against you, and you're trapped under him. it's maddening how good it feels. you're suddenly reminded of how grateful you are for all the time he spends at the gym.

"imagine that, kid," he whispers in your ear. "just you and me, like this, forever."

you feel so overwhelmed, the thoughts still pooled in the back of your mind suddenly brought back to the forefront. the physical sensation of him against you, his body pressed to yours, combined with your emotional distress is enough to bring tears to your eyes.

"don't cry, sweetheart," he whispers, pressing kisses to each of your eyes as they well up. "I'm always gonna be here for you. no matter what happens, okay?"

you're not used to him being this soft with you.

for as long as you've known him, he's loved to mess with you, give you a bad time, tease you. that was his job as your dad's best friend. that wasn't going to change just because you were sleeping together, and for the most part, it didn't.

but this? this was arguably the most important job he held, one hidden under the surface of jokes and playfulness. he was a pillar for you, always. when you were a teenager, and you couldn't call your parents, you could call him. he would always be that man, that figure for you, above all else.

the thoughts of how much you care for him scare you.

"Uncle Bucky," you cry, eyes shut tightly, tears falling harder.

you don't have to say anything else. he knows.

"I'm here, kid," he tells you, manually moving your hips quicker against his thigh to bring you the pleasure he so badly wants to see replace the sadness on your face.

he's always had a soft spot for your tears.

"look at me," he instructs. you're grinding against him ardently, your body trying to seek out the climax that's building so slowly. you force your eyes open. "you're my girl. say it."

"'m your girl," you whine, and then you feel the pressure of his knee fall away from you. before you can even comprehend the change, his hand is on you, quickly burying his fingers inside you and pressing his thumb to your clit.

"that's right. come on. let me see you come, baby," he tells you, fingers working faster.

he speaks to you so softly, and it's as though all the stress and anxiety floats away when you're reminded of how much this is worth it.

"good girl," he says, feeling you squeeze around his fingers, and then your whole body lets go. you breathe heavily through your orgasm, filled with nothing but pleasure and desire for the man bringing it to you. "love watching your perfect body come for me, only for me."

he quickly wraps you in his arms as you come down, trying to stave off the inevitable return of the anxiety you can't seem to let go of. a few minutes pass like this before you speak up.

"I'm sorry I'm ruining our weekend," you whisper into his neck.

"don't say that. you're not ruining anything. you're happy I'm here, right?" he asks you, looking down at where your face is hidden. you nod against him.

"good, 'cause I am too. that's all that matters," he coos, a hand brushing over your hair. "I'm here, kid. Uncle Bucky's here."

and for a second, you feel like everything will be okay as long as he's there.

~~~

I really hope you guys don't hate this as much as I do!

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[brittle-doughie]

First Meeting with House Tourmaline (Crème Republic)

Official Concept: Sovereign Y/N Cookie arrives at the Crème Republic for a visit while House Tourmaline, a family of Siren Cookies in their Cookie Forms are interested in them and meets them in person and noticed that they were different from all Land Cookies on Earthbread.

[The Siren Plot]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

@lexi-the-demon-69 for their characters, the Tourmaline family, as well as the art and sprites featured in the post!

After reading up on the Tourmalines, I can see why they were chosen to be featured. Alright, Azul, you win this one. I had too many ideas for this lol. Consider this a non-canon route of Odyssey.

When Sirens, aquatic beings who feed off the love and affection of land Cookies, are faced against the Reader, who I’ve described as having a bright and warm soul without a doubt harboring much love, love is sacrifice…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

△ You see the Republic port coming into view as you prepare to disembark. You had been sent ahead of Gingerbrave and the others to scope out the Republic, making sure it was as safe as it sounded before the others arrived with the Soul Jams for the tests.

△ You would not be alone when you stepped onto the dock. There had been plenty of rumors of you whispered amongst the Republic residents, which of course lead to the (nonexistent) ears of a particular group of Cookies.

△ House Tourmaline have heard about a Cookie that was expected to arrive to the Republic regarding Soul Jam matters and were curious to see if you were how the rumors tell of you.

△ Right off the bat, they sense something different about this Cookie. The potential Love Aura that radiates off of you was…the sweetest they’ve tasted. Now just what did they have to do to get it…?

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

When Purple Tourmaline Cookie goes to greet you and you reciprocate appropriately, she takes note of a lack of change in your behavior. She’s had land Cookies not immediately fall for her Siren charm before, so she thinks nothing of it, but still felt challenged. She gave a subtle look to her husband, Black Tourmaline, who did the same. This land Cookie didn’t sound like they were going to be easy to crack unlike the others…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Blue Tourmaline Cookie would be up next. Dubbed the most beloved out of the whole family, he expects you to fall under his fold like many before you. He was in for a surprise when he sees that his charming demeanor and even bits of singing don’t seem to work, your attitude was the same as it always was. Deep down, it bugged him, but he kept up the friendly face.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Pink Tourmaline Cookie was the most excited to meet you, you had just arrived yet you felt like you were already how the rumors tell of you. She asks if you’ve heard of her, she’s quite the fashion model with a large following around here. Cue her shock when you awkwardly say that you haven’t, but she’s not deterred! You’ll know more about her soon enough.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

And then the co-head of House Tourmaline, Black Tourmaline Cookie, steps up to introduce himself. He welcomed you to the Republic with a handshake, the gesture serving as his own way of testing your resilience. His eyes ever so slightly narrow when you shook his hand and tried to pull away, leading to the awkward moment of Black Tourmaline holding on for just a second longer before he lets go. His wife’s intuition was right as he gave her a brief look, this land Cookie really was…different.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

However, Green Tourmaline Cookie would break the awkward moment by showing off one of his little experiments before you, much to the embarrassment of his older twin siblings, who didn’t want you to be out off by their younger brother’s shenanigans! You were supportive of what he was doing, asking him to show you what he’s got going on, referring to him as “little buddy”! This had motivated Green Tourmaline to make sure this sea water experiment worked, it was always a joy to see Cookies interested in his projects!

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

△ It was in that moment of support for Green Tourmaline that the other Tourmalines could feel it, that pint of warmth that you’ve displayed, it was…sweet. Like, possibly the sweetest they’ve tasted. Black Tourmaline looked to his wife with a brief moment of surprise, as did Purple Tourmaline with him.

△ Just what was going on with this land Cookie? This couldn’t be just any regular Cookie, there had to be more to you and that love that they want to have a closer look at.

△ Blue and Pink Tourmaline already seemed to have that idea as Blue Tourmaline approached you when you were done observing Green Tourmaline’s experiment, his air of charm and confidence radiating off of him.

△ He asks if there was any chance you were free this evening? He’d like to treat the Sovereign of the Cookie Kingdom to a wonderful meal as a sign of good will from the Tourmaline family.

△ No, no! Pink Tourmaline is asking if you’d like to come to her next shoot later! She promises that she can get you in before the rest of her cult following, she can show off her best side all for you.

△ You politely declined!

△ This floors the two Tourmalines on the inside, but you reiterated that you were just pretty busy today!

△ Purple Tourmaline apologized for their behavior, believing that Pink and Blue were coming on too strong, scaring you away from their offers! Black Tourmaline asks how long you’d be staying in the Republic, trying to find another angle.

△ You state that it was a week, but you’d only be alone for three days, this detail now etched into the Tourmalines. Black Tourmaline, like his wife, apologized for this sudden meeting and offered their House as a place to stay.

△ Cue the expected answer that your accommodations were already in order, curtosey of Clotted Cream Cookie. Flashes of shock, irritation, rage in their eyes when you brought up the consul. You really had to get going though!

△ Blue Tourmaline inhaled sharply to keep his cool and requested at least a farewell handshake. Pink Tourmaline thought that was too small a gesture, you should get a farewell hug instead which Blue thought that was too big a gesture! Was she trying to compromise them? This was getting quite awkward for you!

△ Black Tourmaline stops his children, simply wishing you well on your stay here. You thanked him and finally went about your way. Purple Tourmaline was confused along with the others, what was he doing?

△ They had three days. This was only the starting one. They had plenty of time to observe and learn more about this land Cookie.

△ It’s been a while since one had interested him this much…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

[littleslaywrites]

crib construction | spencer reid x reader 

summary: spencer puts together the crib as you discuss your upcoming baby. 

word count: 1.2k

cw: f!reader, fluff, discussions of pregnancy

“Honey, I have a PhD in engineering. I’m sure I can figure this out,” Spencer says as he opens the manual for how to build the crib.

You wanted to help him, but he insisted on putting it together himself. He’d been that way since you first discovered you were pregnant, always insisting that you need all the rest you can get.

So you’re sitting in the oversized chair you’d put in the nursery, legs crossed, watching him take all the pieces out of the box. “You’re sure you don’t want my help at all?”

“I’m sure.”

He spreads all the pieces across the floor. He looks them over like he’s figuring out a puzzle, the look on his face more than familiar to you. Spencer looks at the manual, brow slightly furrowed.

“You know, I don’t have any PhDs, but I have put together a bookshelf or two,” you say, watching him studying all the components. 

He shakes his head. “You need to be resting. Besides, only someone who’s an expert in construction should be putting together anything our baby will be in.”

You laugh softly. He’s already overprotective of a baby that’s not even born yet. 

“No laughing,” he says as he starts to construct the base. “This should be the most secure baby containment unit that’s ever been built.”

“Baby containment unit?”

“Exactly,” he says, his famous goofy grin on his face. You can’t help but smile when you see it. 

You gaze at him as he works, a loving look in your eyes. You always love how he looks when he’s focussed, whether it’s on a case or on a crossword puzzle.

“Stop looking at me like that,” he murmurs, picking up a screwdriver. “You’re distracting me.”

“I can’t help it. You’re just too cute like this.”

He gives you a nose scrunch, which does not help his case at all. He works silently for a while until he breaks it with some quiet words.

“Are you nervous?”

“About the baby?”

“Yeah,” he says, never looking up from his work.

“I am. And I know you’re probably twice as nervous as I am.”

He hums, a small smile on his face. “I’m always nervous. But especially now.”

You nod. You’re more than aware of his relationship with his own father, and the pressure he puts on himself to be different. 

“You know you’ll do better than he did,” you say, not having to specify you mean his father for him to understand.

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“I mean it. The fact that you’re worried shows you care.”

He nods, looking up for the first time. You know you can’t fully convince him, but you still try. 

“I hope you’re right,” he says, walking over to you and placing a hand on your stomach. “I’m just a little bit terrified.”

You laugh softly. “I know, honey. But I’ve got faith in you. Besides, you’ve been reading a book about babies every day.”

“But it’s not the same. It’s not like a test you can study for. There’s factors we could never predict.”

You place your hand over his. “That’s true. But we’ll get through it. And we’ll do it together.”

He smiles softly. “Together.”

“Now get back to work, handsome.”

He laughs softly, going back to sitting on the floor. “I just want it to be perfect. For you and the baby.”

You nod, gently rubbing your stomach. 

“You think they’ll be more like you or me?”

You think for a moment. “I don’t know. I hope they get your smarts, though.”

“Maybe. But not too much,” he says. 

For all the benefits to being a literal genius, Spencer’s told you about the many downsides. He was too young to make many friends in school since he skipped so many grades, and yet too advanced to connect with anyone his age. He’d had a hard time connecting with others, and you were basically the first woman he’d ever had a romantic relationship with. 

You both go silent for a moment. He says, “you’ve got the balance, though. You’re smart, but you’re not as socially awkward as me. I hope they’re like you.” 

You smile. Despite him being smarter than anyone you’d ever met, he still found a way to make you feel good about your intelligence. “You’re too sweet.”

He shrugs. “Just being honest, sweetheart,” he says as he screws two slats into place carefully

“You know,” you start, “growing up, I always thought my parents had everything figured out. But really they were just winging it.”

“They did pretty well, though. I think you turned out alright.” 

You laugh softly. “Thanks, honey. But it’s weird thinking we’re gonna be those people, the ones who are supposed to have all the answers.”

“Yeah. I guess that’s what it’s about, though. Not knowing and still being there, figuring it out together.”

“Even if the crib ends up a little wobbly?”

“It won’t,” he says firmly. 

“If it does, I’m calling your review board.” 

He chuckles, and you both end up falling into laughter. It’s a relief for a moment, releasing the tension of knowing your lives are about to change forever in a few months. 

The laughter eventually dies down, leaving you in a comfortable silence. That’s one of your favorite things about your relationship, the comfort you have just sitting in silence, enjoying each other’s presence. 

The crib finally starts to resemble what it’s supposed to be: a place for your baby to sleep, to dream, to grow. There have been so many moments like this lately, moments where it starts to feel real. The fully constructed crib is just another representation of the baby feeling like a tangible thing that’ll be in your home soon.  

Spencer sits back, looking it over. “I think it’s done.”

“It looks perfect. That degree paid off.”

You stand, and he’s by your side in an instant, making sure you’re steady.

“I’m fine, Spence,” you reassure. “Just a bit front heavy.”

You walk over to the crib, the two of you studying it intently. 

“It feels so real now,” you say. 

Spencer puts a hand on the edge, wiggling it to make sure it’s completely sturdy. “It’s been real for a while now.”

“I know. But seeing this… they’re really coming.”

“Yeah. And soon.”

“You think we’ll be good at the whole parent thing?”

“Yeah. Maybe not perfect, but definitely good.”

You sit back down, and Spencer snuggles up beside you. The chair is just big enough for you to fit side by side, although slightly squished. “I can’t wait to meet this baby.”

He smiles, giving your cheek a gentle kiss. “Me, neither. But they can’t come too soon. I still need to baby proof the whole house.”

“And read that four foot tall stack of baby books you’re still yet to finish.” 

“And install the car seat without crying.”

You giggle. “Those odds aren’t really in your favor, Spence.”

“I know,” he says with a soft smile. “But I’ll try. I’ll try for you two.”

You return his smile, leaning in for a gentle kiss. The crib stands in front of you, waiting patiently. Ready, just like the two of you. 

At least, as ready as you can be.

[itneverendshere]

little miss perfect - r.c (+18) - 1st dinner of the season

pairing: siren!reader x rafe. warnings: suggestive.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The first big family dinner of the summer is always a show.

The Camerons go all out—long table set under the back veranda, strung lights overhead, vintage linen napkins, cut-glass everything.

Coastal rich people pretending they’re casual. Everyone’s sun-kissed and already half-drunk. Your dad’s telling stories like he’s on stage, and you’re sitting right where you always do, next to Rafe, playing your role to perfection.

“You’ve really grown into yourself,” one of the older uncles says. “Smart, polished, you make the rest of us look lazy.”

You thank him sweetly and duck your head. “That’s too kind.”

“Oh, please,” Rose adds, swirling her wine. “Remember when she made that speech at the club fundraiser? At, what, sixteen?”

Rafe’s jaw flexes.

“She’s got a future,” his dad adds, pointing a steak knife like it’s a gavel. “Bright one.”

All eyes are on you again, warm and admiring.

You smile, perfect posture—the picture of elegance in a backless summer dress. Every compliment rolls off your shoulders like you didn’t know they were coming. You’ve always known.

Rafe's chewing his food like it’s a war crime.

He hasn’t looked at you all night. He doesn’t have to, your hand’s been on his thigh for the last ten minutes. Soft, idle pressure through linen slacks. Nothing overt, resting there, you know exactly what you’re doing.

Rafe lifts his wine glass, trying to breathe through it.

His fingers drum against the stem.

“You’ve done so well for yourself,” Aunt Julia praises, reaching over to squeeze your wrist like you’re her prodigy. “Not everyone turns out like this. God knows I couldn’t get my girls to write a proper thank-you note, let alone hold a conversation with investors.”

“Oh, I’m sure they’re doing great.” You say with that annoying up beat tone. “But thank you. I’ve had good examples.”

“Exactly!” she beams. “And it shows. You’re poised, you’re thoughtful, you’re—Intentional. You were raised for greatness.”

Rafe almost chokes on his drink.

You? Intentional? An intentional bitch, yes. 

You once faked a broken wrist to get out of a swimming match at the Country Club and cried real tears at your grandfather’s will-reading because he didn’t leave you the antique piano you never wanted in the first place. Intentional is the one word they got right.

You’re nodding, all gracious and lit from within; the golden hour’s hitting you directly in the soul. 

“I think Rafe turned out pretty great too,” you say, a casual thing to toss out mid-salad course.

What.

You tilt your head toward him.

“I mean, he doesn’t get enough credit. He’s got a sharp mind. And he’s loyal. That’s rare.”

Rafe’s fork pauses halfway to his mouth.

What the fuck are you doing?

It sounds like a compliment—a real one, and no one at this table, not even his father, has ever praised him like that.

Not without some backhand tucked inside.

She’s playing you, his brain screams. She’s playing you, and no one else sees it. She’s literally got her hand on your thigh under the table, and she’s talking about how loyal you are, like she didn’t spend an entire summer gaslighting you into thinking you broke into your neighbor’s boat shed.

He looks around. Everyone’s nodding.

“Oh, that’s true,” Ward says. “My boy is rough around the edges, but he’s solid. And he’s gotten more mature. Right?”

No. No, wrong. He’s not mature, he's vibrating at a frequency only he and maybe a few trauma therapists can hear because your palm is still there, pressing into his thigh like a warning.

This compliment isn't for him. It’s for the table, for the aunts and uncles and cousins and shareholders in golf polos who only look at Rafe when there’s something to criticize.

You’re praising him to keep them busy while you touch him.

Because that’s what it is now.

Your fingers are trailing up—moving higher under the tablecloth with all the grace of a girl tying a bow. And no one sees. No one ever sees, when you smile like that, when you talk like that, they forget to look too closely.

He’s going to lose it. You’re insane, actually insane. God help him, he’s hard as stone and no one knows it but you.

Your father’s mid-sentence, talking about growth strategies and market pivots, and all Rafe can think is what a fucking phony you are.

You're faking genuine interest in the business talk—engaged, inquisitive, nodding thoughtfully. Then, you lean in and whisper under the hum of conversation, “You’re being so quiet.”

He stares straight ahead. “Fuck off.”

You smile sweetly, eyes still on your plate.

“That’s not very polite. Especially when everyone’s being so nice to me.”

Your hand inches even higher.

You’re sick.

You’re ill and you’re smiling, and they love you. All he can do is sit there like a goddamn idiot while you make his father proud of him.

His cousin’s mid-story, and Ward is watching, and you’re sitting there. Looking like sin in silk, praise rolling off you in waves, with your hand on his inner thigh like it’s nothing.

“You okay, Rafe?” Whezzie asks across the table, brow raised.

He jerks and clears his throat. “Fine.”

You slide your thumb in a circle, a secret for him.

“Are you sure?” You tease. “You look tense.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Maybe you should have another drink,” you add sweetly, “Might loosen you up.

You’re speaking like a saint; your fingers are anything but.

Rafe is going to lose it. 

Either here, at the table, or later, in some hallway where no one’s watching. Where he can finally snap, shove you up against something cold, and rough you up until you’re not smiling anymore.

Until the siren burns.

Rafe drops his fork.

Clink.

He hears muffled chuckles around the table; someone teases him—he doesn’t register who. He doesn’t care as he ducks under the table to “grab it,” but what he’s doing is getting even.

His hand slips under the tablecloth, and finally, he touches you.

You go still; it’s subtle. No one would notice. But Rafe feels it—the faint lock in your thighs, the smallest hitch in your breath.

He smiles, slow and dark. 

Ohhh. There it is.

Your skin is soft and warm. He runs his knuckles along the inside of your thigh, and you fidget in your seat. Not so calm now, huh? He keeps going, fingers trailing upward. Your dress is thin, and he can feel the lace under. You breathe in quietly, but Rafe catches it.

A single, startled inhale. Finally, a crack in the perfect porcelain mask. He could laugh.

You’re still nodding along to whatever your dad is saying, pretending to listen to talk about Q2 numbers and market pivots, but your jaw is tight now, your toned shoulders pulled back, trying so fucking hard not to flinch.

He could keep going. He wants to keep going, needs to see what it takes to break you. But instead, he slides his hand away, back to his lap. Comes up with the fork like nothing happened.

You glance at him—fast, reflexive, eyes a little too wide.

He leans back in his chair, takes a sip of wine, and lets his knee bump into yours to feel the jolt of tension still in your legs.

“You look flushed,” he murmurs, voice dry. “Everything okay?”

 “I’m perfect.”

Rafe bites down a smirk and thinks, round two goes to me.

Dinner ends. Finally.

He’s halfway out of his chair, already planning to ghost the rest of the night—take Topper’s boat out and disappear with a blunt and no service—but then he hears your voice.

“Oh! I can take a few plates to the kitchen,” You chirp, already gathering silverware with that radiant look that makes people believe you’re helpful, good.

Of course, the table melts around you, even though his family has a whole bunch of maids hanging around.

“Aww, you don’t have to—”

“So polite.”

“Such a darling.”

You giggle, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear like a fucking actress.

“Only if Rafe helps,” you add, eyes catching his across the table, saccharine. “I mean—if he doesn’t mind.”

Every head turns.

His stomach drops. You psycho.

Ward gives him a pointed look. “Go on, son. It won’t kill you.”

Rafe wants to die, flip the fucking table and make everyone realize you’re not nice, you’re not sweet, you’re a fucking predator in pearls.

He grits his teeth. “Fine.”

You smile, beatific. Fucking smug.

Now he’s in the kitchen, stacking dishes he doesn’t care about, listening to laughter fade as everyone drifts outside for cigars and gin and garden bullshit. It’s just you two now.

You float in behind him, silent as anything wicked ever is.

“You looked so pretty when you panicked."

There it is.

Rafe turns around, “Shut the fuck up.”

You lean a hip against the counter, glass in hand. “Don’t be mad. You got your little revenge. Very dramatic, masculine.”

His hands flex around a stack of plates.

“I should’ve left when I had the chance.”

“But then who would’ve carried the heavy things?” You mock, your voice lilting. “What would I have done all alone in this big, scary kitchen?”

You step closer, reacing out and smoothing a wrinkle in his shirt.

“Rafey,” you hum softly. “Do I make you nervous?”

He doesn’t answer.

You lean up, your mouth brushing the edge of his jaw.

“Or do I make you… excited?”

His fist tightens on a fork, knowing he could snap you in half.

You laugh, reading him like a book. “God, you’re so easy.”

He slams a plate down—hard.

“You think I’m a fucking toy don't you?” he growls, backing you up against the counter.

He stares at you, breathing hard, face close. Your lip gloss glints in the low kitchen light, and your eyes say, go on, do it—break first.

And he might.

“Yes.”

You leave him with a kiss on the cheek.

Not literally, not quite, but it might as well be, the way you smile at him like he’s your favorite little helper.

“I’ll go grab drinks,” You're already stepping out of the kitchen. “You’ve got this, right?”

He doesn’t get a chance to answer before you’re halfway across the patio, glass in hand, swarmed again. The cousins, the aunts, the neighbors—they all light up like moths drawn to a very dangerous flame. You glance back once, your eyes catching his.

“Rafe offered to do the dishes for me. Isn’t he sweet?”

Laughter. A few claps on your back.

He almost throws a plate.

Fifteen minutes later, he’s still elbow-deep in suds, scrubbing caviar residue off fine china he didn’t eat off of. His shirt’s soaked, jaw clenched so hard his molars ache. You left lipstick on a wine glass and he had to wash it.

That’s where he is now.

You kissed crystal, and he’s scraping it clean.

You should be locked in a tower, he thinks, gagged. You should be exiled from civilization, and he should be free from this psychotic, unrelenting orbit you’ve dragged him into. 

But no. You're out there laughing, lying, probably touching someone’s arm when you speak—performing that Disney-princess act for your next fan club.

By the time he’s done, his spine aches and his hands smell like lemons and rage. He bolts for the door. Topper’s, weed, a moment of silence away from the acid that is you. 

He doesn’t make it off the porch.

“Rafe!”

His dad’s voice. Fuck.

He turns. “Yeah?”

Ward’s holding his whiskey, looking at him like he’s seven.

“You going out?”

Rafe nods. “Topper’s.”

“Bring her with you.”

Rafe blinks. “What?”

Ward gestures toward the garden, where you’re perched on a chair like Aphrodite on sabbatical, dress glowing under the fairy lights. 

“Don’t make her sit around all night while we talk shop. Be a gentleman.”

“She’s twenty,” Rafe grits. “She can stay here. Or call a friend. Or Uber. Why is that my problem?”

“Rafe.”

That voice. Dad voice.

Fuck. You look over, right on cue, summoned by his pain. You give him that, are you gonna be mean in front of Daddy? taunting smile.

He could scream or snap and knock over a lantern and burn this whole place to the fucking ground. 

Instead, he mutters, “Fine,” it tastes like blood.

You hop up, beaming. “I’ll grab my bag.”

Five minutes later, Rafe’s standing by the front door like some glorified Uber driver, watching you step into your heels and give him that fuck-you gleam and wearing a new dress.

You don’t ask if he wants you to come; you know he doesn’t.

He watches you float toward him, knowing exactly what you’re doing, getting in his truck like you own it, not waiting for him to unlock it, pulling the door open, tossing your little purse on the dash, and settling in with a sigh. 

He can tell you’ve been chauffeured all your life.

“Topper won’t mind, right?” You ask, buckling your seatbelt.

Rafe doesn’t answer, gripping the wheel like it had wronged him personally.

You cross you legs, the hem of the dress slipping higher.

He almost rear-ends the hydrangea bushes.

“You didn’t say thank you.”

He doesn’t answer.

You hum. “For saying you volunteered. How sweet of you.”

Rafe stares at the road ahead, the wheel creaking under his hands.

You stretch in the passenger seat, sighing like you’ve had a long day; he’s the one who exhausted you.

“You left a spot on the wine glasses, though. Not very thorough.” You muse, soft and awful. “What’s the plan?”

He glances at you, brief and burning. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what?”

“A bitch.”

You frown. “But I was so good at dinner.”

He doesn’t respond, but it’s crawling under his skin like fire ants.

You keep going.

“I even said nice things about you.” You turn slightly, eyes on him. “You didn’t like that?”

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“You’re welcome.”

He’s going to crash the truck. You’re in his space, his car, and his head, wrecking his night like you always do. All venom stitched into your smile. And now, after everything, you dare to act like he’s the problem. 

He parks harder than necessary when he finally gets to Topper’s, slamming the gearshift and shoving the door open. You slide out slowly, taking your time.

“Are you going to tell Topper how good I was at dinner?” you ask, stepping in beside him. “He always thinks I spend too much time with you. Think I might give him a chance this summer.”

Rafe stops dead in his tracks. You don’t look at him, still walking toward the back gate like it’s nothing. 

His mouth goes dry.

Topper.

His friend. His dumbass, sex-starved, loud-mouthed friend who’s been drooling over you since you were sixteen and wore that white bikini to the Midsummer cookout. Rafe remembers the exact moment, all the boys practically choked on a Bud Light.

You’d known. Of course, you had; you’d done that little hip sway thing you think is subtle. You’d known, and you’d used it.

The same way you’re using this now.

“Say that again,” Rafe challenges you.

You finally glance back. Innocent. “Topper? What about him?”

“You’re not serious.”

You shrug, biting the inside of your cheek like you're thinking about it.

“He’s cute. He’s nice to me.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I mean,” you continue, ignoring the heat in his voice, “he’s always been kind. Not like you.” You toss him a saccharine look. “He compliments me.”

Rafe’s blood is lava.

Topper doesn’t like you. He likes your legs, your mouth, the way you laugh when you’re three drinks in. But he doesn’tknow you, not like Rafe does. Not the ugly parts and sure as hell not the ones Rafe sees when you’re alone, when you’re unfiltered and smirking at him like he’s prey.

“You’re not gonna fuck Topper,” Rafe mutters.

You mock confusion. “Who said anything about—”

“I know you.”

You tilt your head. “Do you?”

He steps closer. 

“Yeah,” he says, “I do. And you don’t want Topper. You want someone stupid enough to fall for your games.”

“Oh,” you breathe, eyes glinting. “So…you, then?”

You’ve pressed it like you always do—grinning like the siren he knows you are. You’re not walking into this party to flirt with Topper, you’re doing it because Rafe hates it. Because you want his eyes on you all night. Because you know the idea of his friends looking at you like you’re up for grabs will eat him alive.

And it is.

His jaw flexes. “He couldn’t handle you for a second.”

“And you could?”

He grabs your jaw, not hard—only to make you look up at him, enough for him to smell that damn stupid gloss you’re always wearing.

“I already am,” he growls.

“Kinky.” 

You hum it more than you say it, and Rafe sees red. It’s not what you said; it’s the way you say it.

You peel his hand off your face, not affected. 

“Thanks for the talk, Rafey,” you purr, turning on your heel.

He watches you turn and walk toward the door, hair bouncing, skin glowing in the porch light, the hem of your change of dress just shy of illegal.

You disappear inside the house before he can say anything else—thank God. Or maybe not. Rafe doesn’t know what to do anymore. You’ve got him twisted up—again. Same song, different night.

He turns and follows you inside.

Game on, he's got all summer, after all.

[revelboo]

I just discovered your blog, and all I gotta say is that the scavengers story is my favorite. I'm definitely gonna have to look up the comic for them. I love a good polycule

I was always excited reading MTMTE when I saw them. And my favorite, confused medic arrived today. 🔞 mass displaced mech 🌶️

A Lifeless Ordinary Pt 25

Scavengers x Reader

• Sitting crosslegged with a blanket draped across your shoulders, you’re aware that you should say something. Correct him. But Krok’s producing that little bag of Oreo’s from thin air and offering it to you. And you’re aware of him watching you pull apart a cookie and scrape out the center with your teeth before eating the rest one side at a time. While trying to not feel guilty. If you don’t own up, you’re an awful person, but on the other hand, they’re alone out here. You’re pretty sure they’re horny, too. If you don’t fuck them, who will? You love Spin, but you’re also aware that you’re greedy and that you’d rather have all of them.

• “I mean, at least once a day,” you say, face reddening as you gesture at him with one of your weird food discs. “You know, to be safe.” And you can’t seem to meet his optics. So embarrassed to have to ask for help. Hates that you’ve been suffering in silence instead of just asking one of them to frag you. Nodding, his optics flick over you as you pry your disc apart and use your little teeth to strip the insides out and he wonders what they’d feel like sinking into his bottom lip or grazing his chin, against his mesh. Doesn’t mean to have those thoughts about you, about interfacing with you, but he can’t help it since realizing you were compatible. Wondering how you’d feel wrapped around his spike, that softness of yours under him. Knows he shouldn’t fantasize about you, but can’t help it. Like that you listen to him, that you smile at him. Respect him. Look to him for protection.

• And he’s nodding like this is expected. As willing to bullshit as you are apparently. Or maybe he really believes you’re physically in pain if you don’t have sex. You’re as alien to him as he is to you, so maybe nothing you say will surprise him. “Are you hurting now?” He asks and you are definitely a terrible person as look up into those concerned, red optics. Wanting him. It can’t possibly hurt anything. It’s consequence free sex.

• “I can handle it,” you whisper, chin lifting and his spark aches. Because you shouldn’t have to handle it. Not when he’s right here and he can help ease your discomfort. “I don’t want to be a bother,” you add as he shakes his head.

• “I can help,” he offers, looking around before mass shifting and vaulting up with you. Kneeling in front of you. Looking so adorably uncertain. “If you want my help?” Spin had agreed to share you, but given that Spin is Spin, he might have already forgotten about it. Lip between your bottom teeth, you splay your hands on his chassis and he eases back when you push against him. Hear his venting get louder when you straddle his lap.

• “Please?” You whisper and he freezes, realizing there’s absolutely nothing under that loose covering you’re wearing. That you’re slick as you shift against his modesty plating. And you gasp when he accidentally releases his spike, both of you groaning when his spike pressurizes inside you to slowly stretch you. And you’re even tighter than he imagined, silken inside.

• “Fraggers,” Misfire snarls, reaching up to touch his jaw where Spin had punched him. The big moron not even part of the argument, not that it has stopped him from jumping in anyway. And Krok had carted you off while he’d been distracted when he wanted to drag you back to his berth. Spend some time getting to know you. Frag you into an incoherent mess. And he’s keying open the door to yell at their leader to give you back, stopping short finding Krok flat on his back with you riding him, bouncing urgently on his spike. “Oh, come on.”

Previous

[gojoscumrag]

ღ all the times I touched you - part 1

warnings: prostitute reader, soft smut

It was late when he came in. Still dusted with the scent of blood and burnt curse. His heavy boots echoed down the velvet hallway of the brothel. He had been here before for some meaningless releases, with women he can’t even remember. Some quickies in their room with extra tip. Literally.

That’s why the madam didn’t flinch when she saw him. She didn’t ask for his name, she didn’t need to. Perks of having money was that she didn’t ask unnecessary questions as long as he behaved and didn’t stir any trouble. After all this was an high end brothel, not one where you get fucking STDs from just touching something.

No, everything was clean in here and the girls were friendly. Still he craved more than a simple hook up for the night.

“What do you want?” the madam asked, not unkindly.

Gojo adjusted the dark blindfold over his eyes. “Someone quiet.”

“Submissive?”

“No,” he responded flatly. “Quiet. Doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t try to impress me. Just–”

He didn’t finish and she didn’t press further. “I have someone,” she said. “She’s new. Doesn’t speak unless spoken to. Doesn’t try to read you. Are you interested?”

Gojo nodded and followed the madam down the hall to a door painted in black with gold trim. There was no name attached to it, but he didn’t read further into it. Names didn’t matter much. But there was a soft and warm pulse behind the door which felt pleasant on his skin.

The madam knocked and quietly spoke to the young woman. She was barefoot and dressed in silk that molded into her round curves. No perfume or fake smile. Just a bit of eyeliner and a fainting red on her lips.

She definitely was attractive and Gojo felt a twitch in his pants that in a few minutes he’d sink into her warm body.

The madam left with a nod and the girl held the door open for Gojo with a soft expression. She shortly noticed his blindfold, the exhaustion. The unusual aura humming around him like a storm. But she didn’t mention it or acted like it was a big deal. It was perfect for now.

He stepped inside and she didn’t reach for him or guided him to the bed like the other girls did before. Just let him stand there, taking in the scent of her warm skin. Body wash with her natural scent which grounded him.

“You’re not going to ask why I’m covering my eyes?” he asked, taking off his jacket.

She tilted her head calmly. “You came here for silence. Why would I ruin it?”

Gojo’s lips twitched in surprise and he sent her a faint nod.

She sat on the bed and waited for him patiently. He walked over slowly like a man wading into deep water. One hand reached for her wrist, testing. She let him take it. Still no questions.

He unbuckled his pants and let them fall low on his hips, enough to get his cock out later. Without a word he pressed her into the mattress and she reached for a condom which he didn’t like. Even when it was understandable, considering her job. Taking it from her he ripped the package open with his teeth and pulled the latex over his growing erection.

She didn’t make a fuss about undressing. Maybe she sensed it wasn’t necessary, at least not with him. She just opened her thighs and pushed her panties aside. Her small pink pussy already glistened and smelled honey sweet with arousal, warm and welcoming.

Settling between her legs Gojo didn’t rush and just slid in with a low, strangled breath while she moaned softly at his thickness stretching her open.

Still no questions. No unnecessary dirty talk. No rolling of hips to make him move. Not even when he stayed like this for seconds, minutes. He trembled slightly over her and grabbed her hips with a bit more force than necessary, because he felt like shattering and what kept him together was the wet heat surrounding his cock and her scent in his nose as pathetic as it was.

Slowly he leaned down and rested his forehead against hers. His breathing hitched in a way that didn’t sound like arousal at all.

In return she stroked his hair once. “You’re safe here.” She whispered.

For the first time in weeks Gojo closed his eyes beneath the blindfold and let himself feel nothing at all as he took her.