#i can be salty and excited at the same time | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pucksandpower · 4 months ago

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Don’t Let Go

Charles Leclerc x Bianchi!Reader

Summary: five times, spanning nearly three decades, that you and Charles held hands (a little treat for Valentine’s Day from me to you)

Warnings: mentions of Jules Bianchi’s death and depictions of labor

Based on this request

The Mediterranean sun bathes everything in warmth, and the beach is alive with laughter and the salty scent of the sea. Families dot the sand, umbrellas casting colorful spots of shade, and kids run along the shoreline, kicking up sprays of water that glint in the sunlight. You and Charles stand together, eyes wide with the thrill of the world around you, hands clasped tightly.

“Don’t let go, okay?” He says, giving your hand a little squeeze. His face is solemn, as if this is the most serious promise he’s ever made.

You nod with all the gravity a four-year-old can muster. “I won’t.”

And then his face breaks into a grin, eyes bright with excitement. “Look! Over there!” He points, and you both tilt your heads up to see a man spinning cotton candy onto a cone, a swirl of pastel pink and blue that looks like a cloud.

“Can we get some?” You ask, voice small and hopeful, like the entire day depends on this one piece of fluffy sugar.

Charles looks at you, then at the cotton candy man, then back at you. He lowers his voice, like he’s plotting something daring. “We’ll ask Maman, but … maybe we could sneak away?”

You laugh, shaking your head. “No, we’re not allowed.”

“Oh, fine,” he says with an exaggerated sigh, as if being five years old and following rules is already exhausting. “But if we did, you’d have to hold my hand the whole time.”

“I’m already holding your hand,” you remind him, swinging his arm a little.

He laughs, and then your parents call out, reminding you both to stay close, to not let go of each other.

“We’re not letting go!” Charles calls back, his hand still firmly in yours.

Together, you walk with your families through the crowded boardwalk, weaving around beach bags and coolers, dodging groups of older kids with towels slung over their shoulders. But then, in one sudden, disorienting moment, everything changes. A group of teenagers pushes through, their laughter loud and jarring, and somehow, in the confusion, Charles’ hand slips from yours.

He realizes it just a split second too late, his fingers grasping at air. He turns, panicked, eyes wide. “Y/N?” His voice is barely louder than a whisper, and in the noise of the crowd, it’s swallowed up.

You’re gone.

Charles stands there, frozen, heart pounding. He looks around frantically, calling your name again, louder this time. “Y/N!”

He sees nothing, only the sea of legs and sunburned shoulders and wide-brimmed hats. His heart races, and his chest feels tight. He can’t lose you — not like this. He bolts back to where your parents are, his voice high-pitched and breathless.

“Maman! Y/N … she … she’s gone!”

The look on his mother’s face goes from confusion to alarm in an instant. “Gone? What do you mean, gone?”

“We were holding hands, but … but then-” He’s trying to explain, but the words feel sticky in his mouth, and he can barely get them out. “She’s gone! She’s not here!”

Your mother’s face pales as she clutches Charles’ arm, her eyes darting around. “Where did you last see her?”

“There!” He points back toward the spot by the cotton candy vendor, but it’s as if the place has transformed in the few seconds you’ve been gone. Nothing looks the same. Every face, every family, every child blends together into a blur.

The panic spreads, rippling through the small group of adults as they start scanning the crowd, calling your name with voices that tremble.

Charles stands rooted, clutching at his mother’s hand. It’s all his fault. He let go. He was supposed to keep you safe. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, feeling tears start to sting at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to …”

Your father places a hand on Charles’ shoulder, his voice calm but with an edge of urgency. “Stay with your mother, Charles. We’re going to find her, okay?”

But even as the adults scatter, scanning the faces in the crowd, calling your name with increasing desperation, Charles can’t just stand there. He looks up at his mother, his voice tiny. “I want to help.”

“Charles-”

“I have to help,” he insists, tears slipping down his cheeks. “Please. I promised I wouldn’t let go.”

There’s a pause, then a nod. His mother’s grip tightens on his shoulder, as if grounding him. “Stay close, mon chéri. We’ll find her.”

Together, they start moving through the crowd, calling your name. Charles’ voice cracks each time he says it, and with every passing minute, his chest feels heavier. He keeps glancing around, hoping to see your face, to see you waving back at him with that little smile. But all he sees are strangers.

The minutes stretch, dragging into what feels like hours. He begins to wonder if maybe you’re lost forever, that maybe this is his punishment for letting go, for letting his fingers slip from yours.

And then, in the distance, he catches sight of a cluster of people gathered near a lifeguard stand. His heart skips a beat. He grabs his mother’s hand, tugging her in that direction. “There! I think … I think I see her!”

They make their way through the crowd, weaving between the umbrellas and beach chairs. As they get closer, Charles’ heart beats faster, and he barely dares to breathe. And then, finally, he sees you.

You’re sitting on the edge of a bench, a scrape on your knee, a police officer crouched in front of you with a first-aid kit. Your eyes are red, and you look so small, clutching the edge of the bench like it’s your lifeline.

“Y/N!” Charles shouts, breaking into a run.

You look up, and the relief that washes over your face makes his heart soar. Before he even knows what he’s doing, he’s running up to you, arms wrapping around you tightly. “I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry!”

You sniff, burying your face in his shoulder, and for a moment, the two of you just cling to each other, letting the world fall away.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, though your voice wobbles a little.

Charles pulls back just enough to look at your scraped knee, his face scrunched up in worry. “Does it hurt?”

You nod, biting your lip. “A little.”

“I shouldn’t have let go,” he says, voice choked with guilt. “I promised I wouldn’t.”

You reach for his hand, holding it tightly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

But he shakes his head, and there’s a fierce determination in his eyes. “I’m never letting go again,” he says, as if the promise itself is enough to keep you safe.

The adults gather around, relieved but still shaken, fussing over you and asking if you’re alright. But for Charles, none of that matters. All he cares about is that you’re here, safe, with his hand in yours.

And this time, he’s never letting go.

***

The sky is a steely gray, heavy with clouds that seem to press down on the earth. There’s a chill in the air, one that makes the hairs on your arms stand up as you stand at the back of the chapel, your hand locked in Charles’. His grip is firm, steady, and you cling to it like it’s the only thing tethering you to the ground.

There’s a silence that fills the chapel, a thick, suffocating silence punctuated only by soft sobs and the occasional clearing of a throat. People fill the pews, faces somber, eyes red-rimmed. Friends, family, teammates — people who loved Jules, people who are hurting. But none of it quite feels real. Like you’re stuck in some strange dream that you can’t wake up from.

Charles squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a way that’s meant to be soothing. He leans in close, voice barely a whisper. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head, eyes fixed on the casket at the front of the room, draped with flowers, a picture of Jules propped up beside it. “No,” you murmur. “I don’t … I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.”

Charles’ hand tightens around yours. “Me neither.”

The words hang between you, a shared understanding, a grief that you both carry but can’t seem to put into words. You look up at him, at the tightness in his jaw, the way his eyes are fixed forward, like he’s afraid to let his emotions show. And yet his hand never leaves yours.

The service begins, a series of voices taking turns, sharing memories, stories that make people laugh, others that draw out quiet tears. You sit through it all, barely moving, your hand clenched in Charles’ so tightly that your fingers start to go numb. But you don’t let go. You can’t let go. Not now.

When it’s time for your parents to speak, you feel yourself tense, fighting back the tears that have been threatening to spill over all morning. Your mother’s voice cracks as she starts, her words halting, her grief so raw it’s like a wound ripped open. You stare down at your lap, feeling the weight of it all press down on your chest.

Charles leans over, voice low and soothing. “If you want to leave, just say the word, alright?”

You shake your head, blinking back tears. “No … I want to stay. I need to stay.”

He nods, pulling you closer, and you feel his arm around your shoulders, warm and steady. “Okay. I’m right here.”

The room blurs, faces and voices blending together. Your mind drifts, memories of Jules flashing through your mind, moments you thought you’d have forever but now feel so achingly out of reach. His laugh, the way he used to ruffle your hair, the way he’d tease you and then instantly apologize whenever he saw you starting to get annoyed. The last time you saw him, hugging him goodbye before he left for his race, the way he promised to bring you back a souvenir from Japan. And now he’s gone, and it feels impossible to wrap your head around.

You glance at Charles, who’s staring ahead, his expression stoic but his eyes filled with pain. He’s hurting, too. You know how close he was with Jules, how much he looked up to his godfather. And somehow, even in his own grief, he’s here, holding you up.

When the service ends, everyone slowly files out of the chapel, moving in a quiet procession to the gravesite. Charles doesn’t let go of your hand, guiding you through the crowd with a quiet determination, shielding you from the sympathetic looks and soft murmurs of condolences.

As you stand by the gravesite, surrounded by people but feeling more alone than ever, Charles keeps you grounded. You barely hear the words the priest is saying, barely register the people around you. All you can focus on is Charles’ hand in yours, his steady presence, the way he keeps glancing over at you, checking to make sure you’re okay.

And then, the moment comes. Charles takes a deep breath, his hand slipping from yours for the first time since you arrived at the chapel. He gives you a look, one that’s filled with so much understanding and pain and strength that it nearly breaks you all over again.

“I have to go,” he says softly, his voice choked.

You nod, even though you don’t want him to leave. “I know.”

He hesitates, looking at you like he wants to say something more, but the words seem to catch in his throat. Instead, he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering just a moment longer than necessary.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers. “I promise.”

And then he’s gone, moving to join the other men, their faces grim as they prepare to carry the casket. You watch as they lift it, your heart twisting with every step they take, each one a reminder of the finality of it all. It’s real now, in a way that it wasn’t before.

Jules is really gone.

You stand there, watching as they carry him to his final resting place, feeling like your heart is breaking into a million pieces. Tears blur your vision, and you quickly wipe them away, but it doesn’t matter. There’s no hiding from the pain.

When they lower the casket into the ground, you feel a fresh wave of grief wash over you. It’s like losing him all over again, like the wound has been ripped open and there’s no way to stop the bleeding. You cover your mouth, a sob escaping despite your best efforts.

And then, suddenly, Charles is there again, slipping his hand back into yours, pulling you close. His own eyes are red, his face streaked with tears he can no longer hold back. He wraps his arm around you, and for a moment, the two of you just stand there, clinging to each other, letting the grief wash over you.

You bury your face in his shoulder, letting yourself cry, letting yourself feel the full weight of it all. Charles holds you tightly, his hand rubbing gentle circles on your back, his voice a soft murmur. “I’m here. I’m right here.”

You don’t know how long you stand like that, lost in the pain, but eventually, the crowd starts to disperse, people offering quiet words of sympathy before leaving. You barely register any of it, your focus entirely on Charles, on the way he keeps holding you, grounding you.

When it’s just the two of you left by the gravesite, Charles finally pulls back, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He looks at you, his expression soft but filled with an intensity you’ve never seen before.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” he admits, voice hoarse. “I don’t have the right words for this.”

You shake your head, your own voice barely a whisper. “There aren’t any right words.”

He nods, swallowing hard, and then, after a moment, he takes your hand again. “Do you want to sit? Or … walk?”

“Walk, I think,” you say, your voice shaky.

He leads you away from the gravesite, his hand still holding yours, and the two of you walk in silence for a while, the weight of the day pressing down on you like a physical thing. The cemetery is quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves in the wind, and you let the calmness settle over you, soothing some of the ache in your chest.

After a while, Charles speaks, his voice soft. “I miss him too, you know.”

You look up at him, surprised. “I know.”

He hesitates, looking down at his feet. “I looked up to him. He was … I don’t know. He was like a second big brother.”

You nod, understanding completely. “He was the best. He always made everything seem … possible.”

Charles smiles, a bittersweet expression that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah. He did.”

For a moment, the two of you just stand there, letting the silence fill the space between you. And then Charles lets out a shaky breath, his hand tightening around yours. “I’m not going anywhere, you know. I’m here. For whatever you need.”

You feel a fresh wave of tears prick at your eyes, but this time, it’s not just from grief. There’s something else there, something warmer, something that feels like hope.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He nods, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand in a gentle, comforting way. “We’ll get through this,” he says quietly. “Together.”

And somehow, standing there with Charles, his hand in yours, you believe him.

***

The paddock buzzes with energy — the sound of engines mixing with the hum of reporters and the fast-paced clatter of team members shuffling between garages. The air is thick with the scent of fuel, rubber, and anticipation. But for all the excitement and all the people around, Charles only seems to have eyes for you.

He’s been gripping your hand tightly since you both walked through the gates, his eyes flicking nervously over every inch of the bustling scene as if he’s trying to take it all in at once.

“You okay?” You ask, squeezing his hand.

“Yeah, of course,” he says quickly, but his voice betrays him, a touch higher than usual.

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a knowing look. “Charles …”

“What? I am,” he insists, flashing you a grin that’s a little too bright, a little too quick. “I mean … you’re okay, right?” His tone shifts, softer, more concerned. “I know how you get sometimes with all the noise and people.”

You almost laugh but hold back, letting him keep up the charade. “I’m fine.”

He glances around, still keeping a firm grip on your hand as he leads you down the paddock walk. “I just don’t want you to be … I don’t know, uncomfortable or something. This place is … chaotic.”

You glance at him, taking in the way his jaw is clenched, his brows drawn together. “I think I’ll manage,” you say, your tone soft, teasing. “If anything, I think you might be the one who’s a little uncomfortable.”

His head jerks up, and he looks at you with wide eyes, feigning innocence. “Me? Uncomfortable? No, not at all.”

You smile, brushing a thumb over the back of his hand. “Good to know, because I’d hate for you to be nervous or anything.”

He clears his throat, casting a quick glance around as if looking for a way to escape the conversation. “Well, I’m not,” he says, his voice firm, though he still refuses to let go of your hand. “I’m just … making sure you’re okay.”

“Of course you are,” you say, unable to hold back your grin.

He leads you toward his team’s hospitality suite, and you can see the Alfa Romeo logo emblazoned on the side. He hesitates at the door, glancing at you as if he’s not sure if he should go in or not.

“I’ll be right here,” you reassure him, squeezing his hand again.

He nods, but instead of letting go, he steps closer, looking down at you with that soft, serious expression that makes your heart skip a beat. “Promise you won’t go anywhere?”

You tilt your head, amused. “Where would I even go?”

“I don’t know. Just … promise.”

“Promise.”

That seems to settle him, at least a little. He takes a deep breath, nodding to himself before pushing the door open and leading you inside. The room is a hive of activity — strategists and engineers clustered around screens, mechanics talking in low voices as they discuss parts and plans.

“Charles! You made it!” A tall man with a headset and clipboard hurries over, offering him a firm handshake. “Ready for your first big day?”

Charles nods, but his hand tightens around yours again, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Yeah, ready as I’ll ever be.”

The man’s eyes flicker to you, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Ah, and who do we have here?”

Charles glances at you, then back at the man, standing a little straighter. “This is Y/N,” he says, his voice filled with a quiet pride. “She’s … she’s here with me.”

“Ah, got it,” the man says, giving you a polite nod. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. Quite a day to be here, huh?”

You nod, giving a small smile. “It’s definitely … exciting.”

Charles looks at you, his expression softening. “Yeah, she’s a bit nervous, so … I thought it’d be good if she could stick around.”

You bite back a smile, deciding not to correct him. If he wants to pretend that you’re the one with nerves jangling out of control, you’ll let him. “You’re very thoughtful, Charles.”

He grins, looking relieved, as if your words have eased some hidden weight off his shoulders. “Well, someone’s got to keep you calm, right?”

The team member chuckles, clapping Charles on the shoulder. “You’re in good hands, then.”

As the man walks away, Charles pulls you closer, lowering his voice. “See? I told you I’m just making sure you’re okay.”

You roll your eyes but squeeze his hand, letting him believe his little fiction for now. He needs this, you can tell — needs you here, needs the quiet reassurance of your presence.

He leads you through the paddock, his grip on your hand never faltering. Every so often, he pauses to introduce you to someone, his voice filled with a quiet pride each time he says, “This is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

You smile and nod, feeling the warmth in his words, the way he seems to draw strength from saying them out loud. Each introduction, each little moment, seems to ease some of the tension in his shoulders.

Eventually, you make your way to the garage, where his car is waiting, sleek and gleaming under the bright lights. Charles stops in his tracks, his gaze fixed on the car, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and nerves.

“Wow,” he breathes, his voice barely a whisper.

You look up at him, watching the way his expression shifts, the excitement and fear flickering across his face. “You okay?”

He nods slowly, not taking his eyes off the car. “Yeah … yeah, I am.”

For a moment, he seems lost in thought, his hand loosening in yours as he stares at the car. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, he turns to you, his expression softening. “Can you stay right here? I just … need to check something real quick.”

“Of course,” you say, giving his hand one last squeeze before letting go.

He steps forward, reaching out to touch the car, his fingers brushing over the cool metal. You watch as he takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling, and you can almost feel the weight of his emotions — this dream he’s been chasing for so long, finally within reach.

After a few minutes, he turns back to you, his face a little calmer, a little more settled. He walks over, taking your hand again without a word, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“For being here. For … everything.”

You smile, leaning into him. “Always.”

He nods, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

“You’d be fine, Charles,” you say, nudging him playfully. “But I’m glad you want me here.”

He chuckles, his fingers threading through yours. “I’d probably be a wreck without you.”

You both stand there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around you. And then, suddenly, one of his engineers approaches, clipboard in hand, looking a little flustered.

“Charles, we need you in the strategy meeting. Now.”

Charles tenses, his grip on your hand tightening. “Right … okay.”

The engineer hesitates, his gaze flickering to you. “It’s … it’s a closed meeting. I’m sorry, but your guest can’t come in.”

Charles’ face falls, a slight pout forming as he looks down at you, his expression almost pleading. “But … she’s with me.”

The team member shifts uncomfortably. “I understand, but it’s policy. Only team members and essential personnel.”

Charles’ pout deepens, his eyes fixed on the man. “But she’s … she’s my good luck charm. And besides, she’s nervous.”

You stifle a laugh, watching as Charles’ pout turns into a full-fledged puppy-dog look. It’s so endearing, and clearly, the team member is wavering.

“Please?” Charles says, his voice soft, almost childlike. “Just this once?”

The team member sighs, glancing between you and Charles before finally relenting. “Fine. But she has to sign a confidentiality agreement. A dozen of them, actually.”

Charles’ face lights up, and he turns to you, grinning. “See? You get to come with me.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, if I’m signing my life away…”

He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “Thank you.”

Together, you follow the team member into the conference room, where a stack of paperwork awaits. Charles never lets go of your hand, even as you pick up the pen, signing each NDA with his fingers intertwined with yours.

As you finish the last signature, Charles looks at you, his eyes filled with a quiet, grateful warmth. “Now we’re ready,” he says softly, his voice steady, sure.

And as you walk into the meeting room together, hand in hand, you know that, no matter what happens out on the track, you’ll be by his side — just as you’ve always been.

***

The lights pulse in dizzying shades of blue and red, the music thrumming deep enough to shake the walls of the crowded club. The place is packed — friends, family, team members, strangers all shoulder to shoulder, all there for one reason: to celebrate Charles’ win at the Monaco Grand Prix. His first home victory. The energy is electric, and the night feels like a dream he’s been waiting his whole life to have.

Charles is beside you, his arm draped heavily around your shoulders, his hand gripping yours like he’ll lose himself if he lets go. His eyes are bright, and his laughter fills the air as he turns to you for the hundredth time tonight.

“Can you believe it?” He shouts over the music, eyes wide, dazed with disbelief and the effects of far too many celebratory drinks. “We did it! I did it!”

“You did, Charles!” You say, grinning up at him, matching his energy. “You won Monaco. Your home race!”

He lets out a roar of joy, pulling you close, swaying unsteadily as he laughs. “Home race!” He echoes, like he’s trying to savor the words, rolling them over his tongue. “Did you see it, though? Did you see it happen?”

“I saw it,” you assure him, laughing. “I think everyone saw it!”

He laughs, a sound so bright it’s almost childlike, and then he leans close, lowering his voice like he’s about to share a secret with you. “I really thought I’d never get it, you know? It’s Monaco. It’s just … Monaco.”

You squeeze his hand. “You deserved this one. More than anyone else.”

He tilts his head, considering your words, his gaze unfocused but sincere. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course I do,” you say, your voice strong enough to cut through the noise, and he nods, satisfied, the smile on his face softer now, less manic.

But then someone calls his name from across the room, and Charles is yanked back into the whirlwind. He lifts his drink — something fizzy and definitely too strong — and waves it around with a cheer. The crowd erupts in applause, chanting his name like he’s royalty.

“Charles! Charles! Charles!”

He takes a deep gulp of his drink, wincing as he swallows, then laughs, shaking his head as if he can’t believe any of this is real. “All these people …” he mutters, glancing at you with a slightly drunken smile. “Do they even know me? Really?”

You chuckle, squeezing his hand a little tighter. “I think they know you well enough to celebrate. Besides,” you tease, “I’m here. That should be enough, right?”

“More than enough,” he says, his gaze fixed on you, intense even in his inebriated state. “You’re … you’re the reason I’m even here.”

You laugh, brushing it off, but he shakes his head, suddenly serious.

“No, really.” His words are slurred but sincere. “You — remember all those times I thought I’d never make it? You were there. And now look at us. Monaco! My Monaco.”

You smile, feeling the warmth of his words, the affection that cuts through the chaos of the club. “I’m so proud of you.”

He grins, his face lighting up like he’s just won all over again. “Say that again.”

“I’m so proud of you, Charles.”

He beams, then tugs you closer, spinning you in a clumsy half-circle that nearly sends both of you toppling over. “You’re coming with me, always. Even if I’m-” He fumbles for words, laughing. “Even if I’m old and can’t drive anymore. You’re coming with me.”

“Wherever you go,” you say softly, humoring him as he wobbles, leaning his full weight against you.

“Wherever I go,” he repeats, nodding as if this is the most important promise he’s ever made. He glances down at your joined hands, lifting them for a moment as if to check they’re still there. Then, just as quickly, he clutches them to his chest. “You’re my good luck charm, you know that?”

“You’ve told me,” you say, laughing. “Probably about fifty times tonight.”

“Then fifty-one,” he declares, raising your hand like he’s holding a trophy. “You’re my good luck charm!”

“Okay, Charles,” you say, glancing around at the curious looks people are starting to give you. “Maybe a little less shouting?”

He scoffs, his face scrunching up in indignation. “Shouting? I’m not shouting!” Then he laughs at himself, realizing he’s practically yelling.

You shake your head, laughing as he leans in close, his breath warm against your ear. “But really,” he murmurs, his voice dropping. “Thank you for everything. I wouldn’t have done any of this without you.”

The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, and you feel your throat tighten, emotions welling up. But before you can respond, someone else is clapping him on the back, dragging him back into the raucous celebration. He goes willingly, laughing as he lifts his drink again, but he doesn’t let go of your hand — not for a second.

People congratulate him, hug him, raise their glasses in his honor, and through it all, he keeps glancing over at you, as if he’s checking to make sure you’re still there, that this night, this victory, isn’t a dream he’ll wake up from.

“Charles!” An old friend shouts, clinking his glass against Charles’. “How’s it feel to finally win your home race?”

Charles laughs, tipping his head back. “Feels amazing! Like … like nothing else!”

Another friend chimes in, “And you’ve got the best date to celebrate with, huh?” He winks at you, raising his glass.

Charles nods, his grin widening as he wraps an arm around you, his hand still holding yours. “The very best,” he says proudly, his words a little slurred. “Don’t know what I’d do without her.”

You feel a blush creeping up your cheeks, but you just smile, squeezing his hand. “I’m lucky to be here with you.”

He laughs, leaning in so close that his forehead brushes yours. “Not as lucky as me.”

And then, in one swift, impulsive move, he presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment. It’s sweet and almost innocent, and despite the noisy club, it feels like a quiet, private moment just between the two of you.

He looks at you, eyes soft, the drunken haze giving his expression a kind of unguarded warmth. “Promise me something?”

You nod. “Anything.”

“Promise you’ll be with me next year, too. For the next Monaco. And the next … and the one after that.”

You laugh, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I think I can manage that.”

“Good,” he murmurs, his eyes drifting closed as he rests his forehead against yours. “That’s all I need. Just you … and Monaco.”

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around him to keep him steady. “And maybe a bit of sleep.”

He groans, shaking his head. “Sleep? No, no … we have to … keep celebrating! I mean, it’s Monaco!”

But despite his protests, his eyelids are starting to droop, his body leaning more heavily against you.

“Charles,” you say gently, guiding him to a quieter corner of the club. “Maybe we can take a little break?”

He mumbles something incoherent, his head resting on your shoulder, his hand still holding yours in a loose but unbreakable grip. Even in his exhaustion, he refuses to let go, as if the victory, the night, everything will disappear if he loosens his hold.

“Just … five minutes,” he mutters, his voice soft. “Then … more dancing.”

You smile, brushing a gentle hand over his hair. “Five minutes.”

But as he drifts off, his breathing evening out, you know he won’t be getting up for any more dancing tonight. He’s given everything — his heart, his soul, his strength — to this race, and now, finally, he’s at peace.

You sit there with him, holding his hand, listening to the muffled thrum of the music, and you realize that, in his own way, he’s won more than just a race. He’s found a sense of belonging, of fulfillment, a piece of himself he’d been chasing for so long.

And as you sit together, the noise of the club fading into the background, you feel that same sense of peace. You’re here, with him, exactly where you’re meant to be.

***

The hospital room feels impossibly small, filled with sounds of beeping monitors, the hum of the fluorescent lights, and the murmured voices of nurses and doctors. But for you, it’s all a blur — just flashes of movement and noise as you lie there, clutching Charles’ hand like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to reality.

His grip is firm, steady. He’s been by your side since the contractions started hours ago, and now, with each excruciating wave of pain, he tightens his hold, murmuring to you softly, his words meant only for you.

“Breathe,” he says quietly, as if he can breathe for you. “You’re doing amazing.”

You grit your teeth, feeling another contraction start to build, a pressure so intense it’s as if your entire body is caught in its grip. “This doesn’t … feel amazing,” you manage to say, your voice strained.

Charles chuckles softly, though you can see the tension in his eyes, the worry that’s been there since you first squeezed his hand, hours ago. “I know,” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “But you are. I promise.”

You close your eyes, focusing on his words, on the warmth of his hand in yours. For a moment, it distracts you, gives you something to hold onto in the midst of the pain. But then the contraction peaks, and you’re squeezing his hand so hard you hear him suck in a sharp breath.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, the pain so intense it’s blinding. “I’m so sorry … your hand-”

He just shakes his head, his thumb stroking the back of your hand. “I’m fine,” he says, his voice gentle. “Just focus on you. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have to stay,” you say, half-laughing, half-crying as the contraction finally starts to ease. “You can go … take a break or something.”

His expression softens, and he leans in close, his eyes locked on yours. “Are you kidding? You think I’d leave you now?”

You shake your head, managing a breathless laugh. “I don’t know how you’re not terrified.”

“Oh, I am,” he admits with a grin, glancing at the nurse nearby, who raises an amused eyebrow. “But you’re stronger than me. I have to keep up.”

The nurse chuckles softly, patting you on the shoulder. “You’re in the home stretch now, almost there. Just a little longer.”

“A little longer,” you echo, glancing at Charles, trying to find the strength to keep going. “Okay … I can do that.”

He nods, his hand never loosening from yours. “Of course you can. You’re the strongest person I know.”

Another contraction hits, and the pain tears through you like fire. You can feel your grip on his hand tighten again, your nails digging into his skin. “I’m sorry,” you gasp, but it’s all you can manage. The pain is blinding, all-consuming.

He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t pull away. “Don’t apologize,” he murmurs, his voice calm, steady. “You hold on as tight as you need to.”

“Charles …” Your voice is choked, and you can feel tears prickling at your eyes. “This … this is …”

“I know,” he whispers, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “But you’re doing it. You’re so close.”

The doctor speaks softly to you, offering encouragement, but all you can focus on is the feel of Charles’ hand in yours, his thumb tracing gentle circles against your skin. He’s been there through everything — every fear, every doubt — and now, here he is again, steady, unwavering.

Another contraction builds, and this time it’s different. The pressure feels like it’s reaching its breaking point, like something’s about to give. You squeeze his hand harder than ever, and he leans in, his forehead resting against yours as he murmurs, “Just a little longer. You’ve got this.”

You close your eyes, focusing on the warmth of his breath, the feel of his hand, and push with everything you have. The room fills with noise — your own cries, the encouraging voices around you — and then, finally, there’s a new sound. A tiny, piercing wail that cuts through everything.

You open your eyes, gasping, and see the doctor holding a small, wriggling bundle. Charles’ hand is still in yours, his face pale, his eyes wide with something like awe as he stares at the baby. “Is that …”

“That’s your son,” the nurse says, beaming as she places the little bundle in your arms.

You’re exhausted, every muscle in your body aching, but as you look down at the tiny face, your heart swells with a love so fierce it’s almost painful. You glance up at Charles, tears shining in your eyes, and he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Look at him,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “Just … look.”

You nod, a tear slipping down your cheek as you cradle the baby close, your heart so full it feels like it might burst. You glance down, realizing you’re still clutching his hand in a death grip. “I think … I nearly broke your hand,” you say, laughing softly, tears blurring your vision.

Charles laughs, glancing down at your intertwined fingers, his own knuckles white from the pressure. “I’d let you do it a thousand times over,” he says softly, his voice filled with all the love and pride in the world. “For this moment … I’d happily let you.”

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midniqhtt · 2 months ago

Text

joel miller

masterlist • pedro pascal • 05/14/25

˚‧⁺ ･ ˖ · ୨ৎ recs six

one I two I three I four I five

𑣲 maybe maybe I @eupheme

𑣲 a christmas miracle I @punkshort

Years of tension after a failed hook-up attempt with Joel boil over at your office Christmas party, but not in the way you expect.

𑣲 them or us I @/punkshort

𑣲 replicate failure to protect I @josephquinnswhore

Joel cannot bare to lose you, not the same way he lost Sarah. Through his own self declared failure to protect.

𑣲 the last piece of us I @absurdthirst - @storiesofthefandomlovers

When the world ends that night, Joel has to make a choice between you and his daughter. You encouraged him to save Sarah and twenty years later, he finds out that you survived that night when he sees you in Jackson.

𑣲 the last part of him I @/absurdthirst- @/storiesofthefandomlovers

When Joel and Ellie come to Jackson, you are instantly attracted to the gruff and slightly solitary man. Chasing him down until you become interwoven in his life.

𑣲 solstice I @covetyou

Three little words. Joel heard those same three words damn near every day for the last seven months. Most days, they were the only words you said to him. Sometimes, if he was lucky, you'd say them more than once. Other days, you didn't say anything to him at all. He liked those days least of all.

𑣲 jingle bells I @strang3lov3

you and your cat stay with your dad’s best friend over Christmas.

𑣲 sarah’s friend I @joelslastofus

Joel struggles to fight temptation with Sarah’s bestfriend after he’s forced to share a bed with her.

𑣲 ex!joel I @/joelslastofus

Joel and you have broken up towards the end of your pregnancy until Sarah convinces you to come to Tommy’s annual Christmas party.

𑣲 qz!joel I @/joelslastofus

Joel has a dangerous reputation in the QZ, so when you run into him you are afraid of him until he shows you another side to him.

𑣲 not so heavenly surprise updated version I @queers-gambit

you share exciting news with your husband but don't receive the reaction you thought you'd get. and then, the Outbreak.

𑣲 let the redeemed tell their story pt2 I @/queers-gambit

reunions are bittersweet. feelings are hard. times are tough, redemption is sought, goodbyes feel impossible; there's blood in the snow, tears in their eyes, and a haunting goodbye in the air.

𑣲 the fuck it list I @auteurdelabre

During work at your father’s construction company, you’re inspired by your sexually liberated bestie to create a F*ck-It List of sexy experiences you’ve always wanted to try. But when the list accidentally ends up in the hands of Joel Miller— your dad’s best friend, the company’s co-CEO, and your immediate supervisor—things take an unexpected turn.

𑣲 daydreams I @morning-star-joy

It's been years since Joel's kissed anybody, and your lips are all he can think about.

𑣲 to live for the hope of it all I @daryltwdixon

Joel never meant to let you get under his skin, but you did—slowly, quietly, until you were all he could think about. When you go missing on patrol, the months of keeping his distance end in an instant. Finding you hurt, vulnerable, waiting for him— he finally stops fighting what was inevitable.

𑣲 family matters pt2 I @/daryltwdixon

You and Tommy had been trying for a baby for years. When a trip to the gyno answers questions you didn’t even know to ask, your husband enlists the help of his one and only brother.

𑣲 what remains of us I @stylesispunk

Joel doesn't die after the brutal encounter with abby because you saved him on time.

𑣲 a lot to live without I @/stylesispunk

what are you supposed to do if there is no him.

𑣲 i only see daylight I @/stylesispunk

What is waiting for you after life ends? Joel woke up to a life he had spent missing this whole time. You are there, Sarah is there, and a baby too.

𑣲 trouble I @forever-rogue

𑣲 salty I @/forever-rogue

𑣲 it only falls into place when you're falling to pieces I @theetherealbloom

There are a lot of people you thought would live forever. You swore Joel would be one of them.

𑣲 stitches I @pedgito

You've patched up Joel countless times before, but this is different.

𑣲 request I @joelspeach

you give joel head on the morning of THAT DAY, and it’s what saves his fucking life.

𑣲 you came? you called I @cavillscurls

𑣲 healed I @whocaresstillthelouvre

After Joel's suffering at the hands of Abby, he survives. You, a new resident of Jackson, are tasked with healing him, bringing him back to life in more ways than one.

𑣲 catfish!joel I @iamasaddie

𑣲 too close for comfort I @gutsby

You’ve been babysitting Sarah Miller forever. One day, you’re surfing the web on her dad’s computer, and you find some…unusual things in his search history.

𑣲 easy to please I @/gutsby

Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

𑣲 still here I @sl-ut

joel is older than y/n, but that’s never been a concern of hers until very recently.

𑣲 your bear pt2 I @rrickgrrimes8

Joel Miller doesn’t just lose Sarah that night but his other daughter too. but maybe you can still be found.

𑣲 well worn I @mothandpidgeon

You grapple with Joel’s death amongst his things.

𑣲 rest I @alwayslurkinginthebackground

𑣲 too old I @cinnxmxngxrl

You’ve been throwing yourself at Joel Miller for months, even if the answer was always a no. But tonight he comes knocking at your door.

𑣲 die for you I @dulceamore

abby wants you dead instead.

𑣲 joel dealing with wifey I @pedge-page

Mother's day starts with a bang of bad luck

𑣲 blurb I @littledes1re

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #tlou #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fic recs #joel miller smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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littlelamy · 4 months ago

Note

can you make a story where rafe and reader broke up 3 years ago, but she comes back to Outer Banks only now she has a daughter(who looks just like Rafe) and a husband (Whom she doesn't really love) and rafe still loves her

lamy's notes: i feel like i should do a part 2—send a request if you want one!

you never thought you’d come back.

three years was a long time. long enough to build a new life, to convince yourself you were better off away from this place, from everything that once kept you tangled in its grip. long enough to pretend you had moved on.

but then your husband got a job offer in charleston, and suddenly, outer banks was just a short drive away.

and now you’re here. back where it all started.

“mommy, look!”

your daughter’s voice pulls you from your thoughts, and you glance over to see her pointing at a row of seashells scattered across the sand, eyes bright with excitement. your heart squeezes. she looks so much like him. blonde-ish hair, sharp blue eyes—features that don’t belong to your husband.

you force a smile, kneeling down beside her. “those are beautiful, baby.”

“can i take some home?” she asks, looking up at you expectantly.

before you can answer, a voice—deep, familiar, and entirely unexpected—cuts through the salty air.

“i think you’ll need a pretty big bag for all those.”

your breath catches. slowly, you rise to your feet, turning toward the voice you haven’t heard in three years.

rafe cameron.

he looks different. older. sharper in some ways, softer in others. but his eyes? they’re exactly the same. the same piercing blue, the same intensity that always made it hard to breathe when he looked at you.

“rafe,” you say, his name barely a whisper on your lips.

his gaze flickers to the little girl standing at your side, and you see it. the moment realization hits. the way his jaw tightens, his fingers clench.

“mommy, who’s that?” your daughter asks, tugging at your hand.

rafe swallows hard, tearing his eyes away from her to look at you instead. waiting. silently demanding an answer.

“he’s…” your voice trails off, the words catching in your throat. you glance at your daughter, then back at him. “he’s an old friend.”

his lips press into a thin line. he knows you’re lying. but he doesn’t push. not yet.

“what are you doing here?” you ask, trying to ignore the way your pulse is racing.

he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “funny. i was about to ask you the same thing.”

you hesitate, glancing at your daughter before looking back at him. “we… moved back. my husband’s job—”

his expression darkens at the mention of your husband, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “your husband.”

there’s something bitter in his voice, something that makes your chest tighten. before you can respond, your daughter tugs at your hand again.

“mommy, can we go now?” she asks, oblivious to the tension crackling between you and rafe.

you nod quickly, eager to escape, but rafe steps forward, gaze locked onto yours. “we need to talk.”

there’s a part of you that wants to run. that wants to pretend this moment never happened. but deep down, you know you can’t.

because the past has finally caught up to you.

and rafe isn’t letting you go this time.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah @alivinggirl @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @rafesbabygirlx @drewsephrry

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augustjoy · 9 months ago

Text

That’ll Show Them.

Based on the following ask: 🥰 yay!! Okay. (Deep breath), so the idea was basically either preschool or elementary school setting. Hotch being a sexy single dad has most of the single (and not!) Moms drooling over him. Y/N or Reader is a single mom, not one of those drooling but definitely sees that he's attractive. But her kid (girl or boy) happens to quickly become Jack's BFF and this causes natural interactions and conversations between her and Hotch over the next few weeks which makes the other moms salty and jealous, and she overhears them at one point speculating that she probably told her kid to befriend Jack just so she could get closer to Hotch. I didn't really think of an ending for it but just had an idea of a scene where she's trying to remain calm and unaffected while overhearing them talking about her and giving side eye. Maybe Hotch hears it too and comes to her defense? Or makes them even saltier by asking her out in front of them? 😈 @nyxwolph thank you for requesting this! I did adjust a little bit, so I hope you like it!!

Aaron Hotchner x Single Mom! Reader

Angst/Fluff

Word count: 3569

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, some explicit language, reader is a single mom, mention of divorce, school moms being shitty, mention of Hotch’s ex father-in-law being ill, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description other than being shorter than hotch, reader is mentioned/implied to own a shop (no details), gay best friend, Hotch starts work at 8am (idk what the BAU hours are lmao) let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

The moms were ruthless. You were barely three months into the school year and already you had been completely ostracized from the “mom group.” Part of you had assumed it was because the majority of these moms had all caught wind of your very public, messy divorce. The other part of you, however, knew that the main reason you’d been exiled was him.

Aaron HOTTIE Hotchner, as the other moms called him, had taken Ms. Jenson’s third grade class by storm. Meet the teacher night had been a frenzy of horny moms all praying their child ended up in the same class as Aaron’s son. There were hushed conversations and giggles, and hair flips all night long, you had felt bad for the teachers since their presentations had fallen second to the gossip travelling through the halls about the hot single dad.

“I heard he works for the FBI!”

“I heard he’s a widower. Could you even imagine?”

“Wow. He must be pretty amazing, a single dad and working for the FBI!”

“Can we be real for a moment and just admire how hot he is?”

“Did you see his hands?”

“Yes! Did you see his suit? I love a well-dressed man.”

They were vultures, every single one of them, and Aaron was their newest victim. He, of course, had been completely oblivious to the blatant flirting – he returned every advance they made with a kind smile or polite nod. And listen, you weren’t going to deny that Aaron was hot…you just weren’t trying to be like those other moms and gush about it at meet the teacher night.

Your being excluded by the class moms had only gotten worse since Jack and Millie had become friends. Millie had told you on the first day of school, that a boy had pushed her down on the playground, and before you could panic, she told you that a different boy…one named Jack…had helped her up. She said after that, they sat together at lunch and read aloud.

You could barely contain you excitement. Since the divorce, Millie had been having a tough time making friends – mainly because the moms told their kids to stay away. Your ex had been quite cozy with some of the moms at Millie’s last school and you had eventually found out he was sleeping with one of them. Once the divorce was finalized and you had full custody, you’d moved and that meant a new school for Millie.

Realistically that should’ve been the end of the drama, but it just so happens that the girl who your husband slept with…well her sister’s child was in the same class as Millie. He of course was the kid that pushed Millie down on the first day of school.

It shouldn’t have bothered you, their constant whispers…but it had you seething. This was an everyday occurrence now that you drove Jack home. The moms all waiting for dismissal engaging in hushed conversations about how desperate you must be.

“I bet she told her daughter to befriend his son.”

“What a sad way to get his attention.”

“Well, I mean, her ex did cheat…so she’s probably desperate.”

“She’s ridiculous if you ask me.”

This new development has begun exactly two weeks ago. Jack and Millie had been on their sixth playdate – this had been the first one Aaron had been able to host (due to work obvi) which had led to you staying and the two of you talking about how demanding his work schedule must be. He had told you it kept him pretty busy and that his sister-in-law had been extremely helpful, but with her father falling ill, she was growing increasingly busy.

“You know, I could drive Jack. If you’re comfortable with it.” You offered.

“I couldn’t possibly ask that of you!” Aaron panicked.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t ask…I’m offering. I already have to drive to the school to get Millie, I could grab Jack and the two of them could hang out until you are off work. And if your sister-in-law ever can’t watch him while you’re away, know that I am more than willing.” You punctuated with a kind smile.

“What if I take them to school, I don’t need to be at work until eight, and then you could pick them up? That way it is even. Obviously when I’m out of town, which wouldn’t necessarily be possible, but I could coordinate with Jess and…” Aaron was spiraling.

“Aaron. If you want to take them to school when you’re in town, that would be great. That would allow me the time I need in the shop before opening. When you are out of town, if Jack is staying with me, I will take them to and from school – if he’s with Jess, she doesn’t have to worry about Millie okay?” You suggested.

“You’re a godsend. You know that?” Aaron said, a smile growing on his face.

“Yeah well, Jack has been an incredible friend to Millie, and I would love for them to spend more time together. Plus, the house has been so quiet and, I don’t know. It would be nice to have the kids there.” There was a slight cringe that was brought with the insinuation of your divorce.

“I appreciate it either way.” Aaron gently nudged your shoulder.

So, for the last two weeks, Aaron had been driving the kids to school and you had been picking them up. He shockingly had yet to be called on a case��but you knew it was only a matter of time.

Aaron was called away a few days later, he had let you know that Jess would be watching Jack. That had sent a tinge of pain right to your heart. In truth, you were attracted to Aaron, and the more time you spent with him, you were starting to fall for him. You tried not to focus too much on the fact that he’d sent Jack to stay with Jess…chalking up to the fact that Aaron probably didn’t want to burden you – even though he could never.

You didn’t hear from Aaron until nearly two weeks later.

A: Hey, we just got back from this case. I’ll pick Millie up in the morning for school. Are you good to pick up Jack after?

Y: Hey! Yeah I can pick them up tomorrow. I have to take Millie to get her cleats and shin guards for soccer, is it okay if Jack tags along?

A: I totally forgot soccer starts next weekend. If I sent some money in Jack’s backpack could you pick up his stuff too?

Y: Of course! Will you be late tomorrow?

A: Probably, after a case like this, there’s a lot of paperwork to be done. I will try to be there by 7pm if that’s okay.

Y: 7 is fine, we will get homework done and I will feed them and have Jack all ready for you!

A: Thank you. Seriously I don’t know what I’d do without you.

The next day you arrived at the school at 2:45 pm to pick up the kids. You parked your car like always and stood in wait with the other parents. You were checking your phone to see where the nearest sporting goods store was when one of the dads approached you.

“Hey, is Millie ready for soccer to start?”

“Oh, hey Scott! Yeah she is so excited! What about Macy?” You questioned.

“She’s nervous, but she told me she was glad Millie and Jack were playing too. Michael was really bummed that the girls weren’t in a class together this year.” Scott explained.

“I was too! How is Michael? We should all have dinner some time!” You suggested.

“He’s good, and I am sure he would love to have you and your new beau over for a meal – I will talk to him when we get home!” Scott beamed.

“New beau…what are you talking about? Do you mean Aaron? He and I, we’re not…” You stuttered.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay! You should be bragging to all those bitches that you bagged the hot DILF! Don’t let them spoil something good for you hon.” Scott gently squeezed your arm.

Just as you opened your mouth to reply, the kids came running out. Macy ran to hug her dad while Jack and Millie made their way to you. Both kids hugged you and then said their goodbyes to Macy. You moved to grab their hands and guide them to the car, but not without catching the glares from all the moms. They must’ve heard Scott and you talking…and while you and Aaron weren’t dating, it didn’t hurt to let them believe it for a bit.

After getting the kids soccer gear, you took them home and got them started on their homework and gave them some apple slices. You checked a few emails, changed the washer and dryer, and wrote up your grocery list in the meantime.

When they were done with their homework, you checked their work and then quizzed them on their spelling words. By then it was nearly 5:30 pm, you set the two of them up in the living room with a coloring book and some Legos while you got dinner started. You made some grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans – for the kids, you added some cheese to the potatoes and cut up the chicken – setting that on the table for them alongside a glass of chocolate milk.

“Kids, time for dinner!” You hollered.

“Coming mom!” Millie called.

You were about 10 minutes into dinner when a knock sounded from the front door. You excused yourself and walked over to let Aaron in.

“Hey, we were just having dinner, can I get you a plate?” You offered.

“Oh, as long as it’s not an imposition!” Aaron replied.

“Aaron, how many times do I have to tell you that it’s not an imposition. I like having you around.” You stopped abruptly, embarrassed that you’d let that slip. “I mean, you know, it’s nice that Millie and Jack are friends…I uh. I…”

“I know what you mean. And I like having you around too.” He said, finally stepping fully into the house.

Aaron placed a gentle hand on the small of your back to guide you toward the kitchen. You plated him up some food and he joined you at the table, sitting right beside you. You couldn’t help the growing heat that bloomed on your cheeks as his arm brushed against your own. The room was filled with the playful chatter of the eight-year-olds that sat across from you, giggles escaping them as they recounted the events of their day at school.

Glancing over, you noticed the joy radiating from Aaron’s expression. You hadn’t seen him this genuinely happy in all the time you’ve known him, and you wonder if it is because he doesn’t get to relax like this often. The thought allows your mind to drift even further – splaying images of cooking for the four of you all the time, of late nights cuddled with Aaron and even further into the future, welcoming a new child to the family you’ve curated…only it's all in your head.

“You alright?” Aaron whispers. His warm breath against your ear causes a chill to cascade across your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“Yeah, I’m good. Sorry, just lost in thought.”

“Hey mom, is Jack’s dad going to be my new dad?” Millie posed, causing you to choke on the bite of chicken you’d just taken.

“Woah, sweetheart you’re okay, just breathe!” Aaron patted your back gently. “Here, take a sip of water.”

Taking a swig, the chicken makes its way down. “Mills…baby where did you get that idea?”

“Well Rain said that his mom said that you were moving in on Jack’s dad, and I thought that if we were moving in, then that would make him my new dad!” Millie smiled.

It was Aaron who choked this time, only it was on his water, causing some of it to certainly escape through his nose. He pulled his napkin to his face as he coughed in an attempt to clear his airway.

“Aar…breathe.” You returned the favor of patting him gently on the back. “Are you okay?”

He answered with a nod and allowed a chuckle to escape his mouth before looking up to meet your gaze. Aaron wasn’t ignorant of the fact that the other moms had been eyeing him since the beginning of the year, he just hadn’t realized that they’d gone after you due to your budding closeness.

“Millie, Rain’s mom is just kidding. Jack’s dad and I are becoming good friends, like you and Jack, and they don’t like that, so they’re saying some not so nice things.” You explained.

“Oh…okay.” Millie said, a small pout gracing her features.

A pout that pulled on not only yours, but also Aaron’s heartstrings. He allowed himself a glance in your direction and took careful note of the hurt and disappointment that flashed across your own features briefly. Was it possible you felt more than you were letting on?

Six days later you received a call at four in the morning. It hadn’t been the thing to wake you up, but it came as a surprise, nonetheless.

“Hello?”

“Hey, I just got a call about a time sensitive case and Jess is dealing with her dad. Would you mind taking Jack while I am away?”

“Aaron, of course! Do you need me to come and get him?”

“No, I will get a bag together for him and drop him off on my way to the office. I am going to leave you with a key to my place just in case Jack needs anything. Thank you for doing this, seriously it means a lot.”

“It’s really not a problem, I will have a bed made up for him by the time you get here.”

“Thanks sweetheart, see you soon.”

With that, Aaron hung up, and for the second time you were taken by surprise at the pet name he so casually referred to you by. You had to remind yourself not to swoon. It wouldn’t do you any good to get into your thoughts about the meaning behind his slip of the tongue.

Jack Hotchner was the most wonderful child you have the privilege of knowing – aside from Millie of course. He was polite and he listened with no pushback. He helped Millie with her chores (cleaning up her toys and putting her clothes in the laundry basket), he didn’t complain, and he just exuded this kindness and joy that brought an extra bit of warmth to your home.

You could see Millie becoming attached and you feared her heart would break once Jack had to go back home. You only hoped that she’d understand that although Jack’s presence isn’t currently permanent, they’d still get to see each other all the time.

Jack stayed with you for five nights, Aaron surprised you all by showing up with a pizza on Saturday evening.

The three of you had been cuddled up on the couch watching Inside Out 2 when the doorbell rang. You shuffled over to the door in your sweats and fuzzy socks to see Aaron standing there in a quarter zip and jeans. Good God, he’s never looked so good.

“Aaron!” You couldn’t hide your excitement.

“Surprise! I brought pizza, I hope cheese is okay.” He inquired.

“Cheese is perfect.” You confirmed. “Kids, dinner is here!”

“Dad!”

Jack ran to embrace his father. Millie, however, stormed off to her room. You were quick to throw Aaron an apologetic glance, before following her down the hall.

“Mills…what’s wrong honey?”

Millie replied with a grumble in her pillow and a shake of her head.

“Baby, I can’t help if you don’t tell me.”

“It’s not fair. Jack doesn’t have a mom, and I don’t have a dad. But when you and Mr. Aaron are together it feels like a normal family. How come you guys can’t just be together?” Millie cried.

“Oh, honey. It’s not that simple bug. Mr. Aaron, well he’s a busy man and I just…” You trailed off.

“Don’t you like him?”

“Mills, yeah I like him, but like I said, it’s not that simple. Even if he liked me back, that wouldn’t just make us a family, it would take some time for us to get serious and then we’d have to decide if that was the right step for us.”

“It is the right step! You guys like each other, and Jack and I get along…mommy it’s perfect! You could be Jack’s mom and Mr. Aaron could be my new dad.” Millie said matter-of-factly.

“Oh honey, is this about your dad?” You pulled Millie into a hug.

“No! He wasn’t nice to me like Mr. Aaron is. Mom I want Mr. Aaron to be my dad.” She whispered as tears stained her cheeks.

“I know honey, me too…me too.” You pressed a kiss to her head. “Baby lets go have some pizza and enjoy our time with Jack and Mr. Aaron, yeah?”

“Okay.”

That night, something shifted. Aaron and you had begun spending more time together, going to soccer practices and games together, taking the kids to the park, the movies, pottery painting places, dinner at your house, game night at his. Aaron had also exclusively been asking you to take Jack while he was away on cases – claiming Jess’ father was getting worse.

Two months passed like this, and things had started to feel very domestic. Millie was asking more and more about Jack being her brother and Aaron her father and you had to explain that even though they weren’t related, even by marriage, that friends could be considered family too.

Once again you were taking care of Jack while Aaron was out of town on a case, only this time it was a little different. Your car was in the shop, so Aaron had let you borrow his car, and today was the last day of school before winter break. The schoolyard was buzzing with anticipation of the final bell, parents were discussing their vacation plans with one another while waiting.

You has been talking to Scott and Michael when Becca approached you.

“You know, I think it’s a sick thing you’ve done, using your daughter to help you prey on a vulnerable man.” She hissed.

“Excuse me? What the hell are you talking about?” You shot back.

“Aaron. You had Millie befriend Jack and for what so you could trick Aaron into going out with you? It’s truly despicable behavior. He’s a good man and he deserves someone who is genuine.” Becca spewed.

“I don’t know where you get off, talking to me like that, but I can assure you – ”

“Becca, I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t speak to my girlfriend that way. She is the kindest most genuine person I have ever met, and every day she shows me how much she cares for and loves Jack and me. So back off, and maybe don’t speak on things you don’t know anything about.” Aaron bit as his arm snuck its way around your waist, pulling you flush against him.

“I KNEW IT!” Scott shouted.

Becca stormed off with a huff and you turned around to see Aaron wearing a shit eating grin. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with disbelief at the fact that Aaron was here right now, he’d stuck up for you, and he’d called you his girlfriend. Yeah, you were fairly sure your brain had short circuited.

“Girlfriend?” Your gaze lifted to meet his.

“You know, I’d been meaning to ask.” He grinned down at you. “What do you say?”

“Yes! Of course!”

Aaron closed the gap between you and captured your lips in a kiss. All the while the moms scoffed and huffed in disbelief that you truly had taken Aaron HOTTIE Hotchner off the market. And before you had a chance to pull away, Jack and Millie came bounding over just in time to catch the last bit of your kiss.

“Does this mean Mr. Aaron can finally be my dad?” Millie asked.

Aaron leaned down to Millie’s level “Mills, I would love nothing more than to be your dad, but we have to take things slow okay? Your mom and I have a lot of grown-up decisions to make before that can happen, so I need you to be patient. Can you do that for me?”

“I can do that!”

You leaned down in front of Jack, wanting to ensure he’s included in all this. “What do you think Jack? Would you be okay with me and your dad being together? It means you and Millie will be together a lot more often.”

“Will you eventually be my mom then?”

“If your dad and I choose to get married eventually, then yeah, I’d be your stepmom.” You explained.

“I think you’d be a really good mom.” Jack wrapped his arms around you.

Aaron and you may have only just made things official, but in the last five or so months, you’d both fallen for each other. Sometimes, things are just right, and all the pieces fall into place naturally. And for the first time in a long time, you couldn’t wait to see where this leads.

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s1rawb3rry · 4 days ago

Text

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 @yeokii (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.

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meo-eiru · 10 months ago

Note

I must thank you for creating Silas because he’s awakened something in me. I’m curious as to what would happen if he decides to… devour his darling… (wink, wink nudge, nudge). I know you mentioned earlier how he would start feeling lewd if his darling chose to… devour him… for his pleasure. Would the thought cross his mind to return the favor both as an experiment to see how his darling’s… feminine fluids… affected him as well as to see her face and body contort in pleasure as he… goes down on her… the thought has been haunting me all day. — 🦚

Silas likes touching you, even though he doesn't understand his feelings he seeks pleasure from you without realizing it. And he also wants you to experience the same warm and tingly feeling.

With how interested he is in your fluids it's only a matter of time before he tries to bury his head between your legs. Maybe he noticed a change in your smell, picked up on your arousal or noticed you were a bit wet while changing your clothes. He would ask what that is curiously and even if you tell him to don't mind it he'll pull your underwear down while saying stuff like "It's okay you don't have to hide it from mama" "I'll just check you don't have to be shy about showing it to me"

He would first look at it in fascination, It's not the first time he has seen you naked but he didn't know that area could get wet like that. It doesn't seem like pee... It's more sticky and see through... He wants to try touching it!

He'll pick some up using his fingers against your protest and inspect it a bit. It's a much different texture than your other fluids how incredibly fascinating. Then before you can say no he brings his fingers to his mouth to taste it. It's just so interesting, it's not a taste he's used to. It feels a bit salty and sticky... He needs to try more.

Before you can react he puts his head between your legs saying he'll help clean you up, but really he just wants more of this new and mysterious juice. His tongue is weird. It's surprisingly longer than a human's, pinkish and much smoother. It's such a strange sensation but no matter how much you push his head he won't budge.

Silas is just so excited! The more he licks you clean the more fluid you produce, it's amazing! It's like you're willingly giving him more for him to consume❤️❤️ Ahh he wants more more more. It tastes so good, feels so good in his mouth. You've been letting out such adorable noises since he started, he didn't know he could make you feel good like this. He'll definitely take a note to do this more often.

But what if he goes deeper? They've been coming from inside your body, so if he goes deeper he can taste more right? Soon enough he's tongue deep in you lapping your juices like a thirsty dog. Oh god this feels so weird, his tongue goes so deep inside, you feel so full. It also has such smooth texture, you don't think you can hold back for much longer.

Before long you're cumming as you moan in pleasure. How embarrassing. Meanwhile Silas is in heaven, for some reason suddenly the amount of fluids increased and he's having a blast drinking it all up. Your voice has gone up too, ah he loves this so much.

He might continue and overstimulate you for another hour, until he notices you're getting too dazed. He just assumes he did a good job taking care of you and you need some rest. It's ok! You two can continue after you wake up❤️❤️

#asks #silas #yandere elf #yandere #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 2 years ago

Text

Honey Girl.

Synopsis - The Universe shows you your soulmate when it feels like you need them most. When you least expect it, you're given yours - Bucky Barnes. Your Dad's best friend. You can try to refuse it all you like; but the Universe wants what it wants. There's no denying fate.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 5.1k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content towards the end. mild alcohol consumption. age gap. smut in next chapter(s).

Author's Note - part one is finally here!! thank you so much to everyone who asked to be tagged, and who liked and reblogged the masterlist. i am SO excited to share this with you. i've built this world in my head and trust me it is gorgeous - salty ocean breezes, sunsoaked sailboats and billowing white linen shirts. i hope you can lose yourself in my little seaside town with bucky for the time it takes you to read this, just as i did while writing it. i can't wait to write more of this series for you x

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3

Masterlist. Requests. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

next chapter (two).

Tethering /tɛð(ə)rɪŋ/

An event in which two soulmates are bound together forever. Only occurs when the Universe decides it is time. No sooner, no later.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The gentle ocean breeze gives you a moment of respite from the scorching sun that's beating down. You're half asleep, laying on the cool tile of your balcony when your phone rings.

"Babe! Babe! Babe!"

"Lacie? Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"I am freaking out right now, oh my god. I didn't know who to call. You'll never guess what just happened to me!"

You can guess. In fact, you already have.

Lacie's Tethering. It's finally happened.

You're taught, growing up, that your Tethering is the biggest moment of your life. It shapes who you are forever. Sets you on your eternal path. You're presented with your soulmate in a big display of love and affection and metaphorical fireworks. It's supposed to be magical.

You wish people would shut up about it.

The World seems to be split into two categories - the people that have been Tethered, and the people that haven't.

You fall into the latter.

You're repeatedly told it'll happen one day. It'll happen when the time is right. It'll happen when you least expect it.

You're not sure you ever want it to happen.

The idea that the Universe determines the person you're with forever has never sat right with you. What happened to free will? What happened to personal preference? You believe you should at least have a choice in the matter. It's your future, after all.

Not everyone shares the same sentiment.

"Babe, you still there?"

Lacie's excitement filled voice pulls you back to reality.

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you busy? Can you meet me for coffee, like, now?"

You take a deep breath and plaster a fake smile on your face.

"Sure. I'll see you in ten."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Oh my god babe, it was just incredible! You won't even believe it. There's nothing like it, truly."

You remind yourself quickly that Lacie is your best friend, and that you owe it to her to be happy for her. Personal feelings about soulmates aside.

"Tell me all about it, Lace!" you encourage, grabbing a hold of her hand excitedly.

The blonde girl squeals before shuffling closer to you, pressing her knees against yours.

"Okay, so. Picture this. I'm at my gym, doing my usual routine. I'm wearing my super cute pink Lulu Lemon set, you know the one with the flowers?"

She waits for you to nod in affirmation before she continues.

"So, I accidentally drop a weight on the ground, and it makes the biggest noise. I'm super embarrassed, and I'm trying to pick it up, but it's so heavy. And then, the hottest guy I have ever seen appears. Like, seriously gorgeous."

As much as you despise the whole soulmate thing, you can't deny how happy Lacie seems. She's almost vibrating with it, bouncing up and down in her seat.

"He comes over and picks it up for me, sets in back on the rack. And then he introduces himself, and shakes my hand, and it happened."

"What was it like?" you smile, eager for her to carry on.

"Like fucking magic."

You've heard that before. A million times. From literally everyone. Surely it can't be that magical if billions of people have experienced it.

"Magic?" you prompt.

"It is indescribable, babe. It's like... it's like everything just falls into place. Like everything finally makes sense!"

She jumps out of her chair, hugging you tightly. She's practically sat on your lap in the coffee shop, but neither of you really care.

"So, what's his name? What's he like?"

"His name is Cameron. He's new in town, he just moved here for work. He's a personal trainer, so he's like, super fit. And gorgeous. Did I mention gorgeous?"

"Maybe once or twice," you laugh.

"I'm so happy," Lacie whispers, emotion choking her voice. "I can't believe it finally happened. This is the day I've been waiting for since I was a little girl."

You hug her tighter, and ignore the look you get from the barista.

"I love you," she declares, suddenly serious. "You know that me being Tethered now doesn't change that, right?"

"I know," you confirm. "I love you too, Lace. I'm really happy for you."

You genuinely mean it. Lacie has talked about meeting her soulmate every day since you met her in the 3rd grade. You may have never quite shared her enthusiasm, but you admire her passion. And you adore her, more than anyone.

"So, what now? Are you gonna get married tomorrow and run off into the sunset?"

"I'm choosing to ignore your sarcasm because I know you're using it as a coping mechanism," she tells you pointedly. "And I know that there's a tiny part of you that wishes you'd been Tethered already, so you don't have to deal with everyone talking to you about it."

Jackpot. She's read you like a book.

"No, we're not getting married tomorrow," she rolls her eyes before continuing, "but we are going on a real date tonight. We're gonna get dinner and get to know each other. Isn't this crazy? I'm going on a date with the guy I'm gonna be spending the rest of my life with!"

"That is kinda crazy, actually," you laugh. "What are you gonna wear?"

"It doesn't matter - we're going to be together forever anyway!"

You make Lacie promise to send you a picture of her outfit as you're leaving the coffee shop, which she agrees to with glee. On your way home, you pick up some of your Mom's favourite wine, and prepare yourself for another soulmate based conversation that will inevitably happen when you tell your parents the events of the day at dinner tonight.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Hi, sweetheart!" your Dad beams as you step through the front door of your childhood home.

"Hey, Dad," you greet, allowing him to pull you in for a hug. "Where's Mom? I brought wine."

"Kitchen," he gestures with a nod of his head. "She's making that mango dessert you like."

Walking into your Mother's kitchen is like dipping your feet into a pool on a scorching hot day. The windows are propped open, curtains billowing softly in the wind. The ocean breeze drifts through the room, ruffling your Mom's dress and floating the hair away from her face. The evening sun beams in, illuminating the space with a golden glow. It smells like fresh fruit, mint, and salt water. It's a haven.

"Hi, Mama."

"Oh, my love! Just in time. I was about to call you to see if you were alright."

She makes her way over to you and kisses you on the head swiftly, before walking to the cabinet to grab wine glasses.

"Sorry I'm a little later than I said. I changed my outfit three times - it's warmer than I thought it was going to be."

"I know! Summer, finally. We've been waiting long enough."

She takes the bottle of wine from your hand and pours it into the glasses.

"You've poured four, Mama."

"Didn't your Dad tell you? Bucky's joining us for dinner."

"Oh. No, he didn't mention anything."

"He's back from his vacation. He promised he'd show us all of the pictures he took!"

She grabs the glasses and floats out of the room, leaving you alone in the kitchen, thoughts of Bucky Barnes swirling around like dust in the sunlight.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky.

Your Dad's best friend.

They met a few years ago, when Bucky moved to town. He said he was looking for something quieter, sick of city living. He wanted to slow down a bit, finally take a breath.

He was out for a run around town, getting his bearings, when he stopped your Dad on the driveway to ask about his car. They bonded over their love for motorcycles and vintage vehicles, and the rest is history.

Bucky's been a regular fixture in your life for so long, you can't remember a time before. All you know, is that it was probably a little more peaceful. His boyish charm is infectious, bringing out the youth in your Dad. They're like teenagers, when they're together. Long lost frat brothers, your Mom jokes.

She's got a soft spot for him. Most people do. It might have something to do with the fact he's devastatingly handsome.

It's no secret that Bucky Barnes is a ladies man. He is without even trying. He's charming, gorgeous, funny in all the right ways. He's mysterious, but not disarming. Tough, but not scary. Rebellious, but not a liability. He's a catch.

A catch, with a taste for beautiful women.

Your Dad always jokes that he's the towns most eligible bachelor. You can't count on two hands the amount of women you know that have dated him - but nothing seems to stick. He isn't Tethered, after all.

Some people choose not to date, if they haven't met their soulmate. They wait and wait, and when the time comes, they're complete. Others take pleasure in dating before it happens. Might as well make the most of the freedom, Bucky said once. You can't help but agree.

Might as well make the most of the freedom.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Hey, buddy!" you hear from the hallway. You make your way out of the kitchen to be met with the sight of Bucky, sun-kissed and practically glowing. His hair has a few light streaks from the sun, and the faint freckles on his cheeks are more prominent now. His steel blue eyes meet yours, mischief rife in them.

"Hi, honey," he greets, draping an arm around your shoulders. He kisses you on the cheek, light stubble scratching your skin. You throw an arm around his back and look up at him.

"There's no way this tan is natural," you tease, nudging him slightly.

"It makes me even more gorgeous, doesn't it?" he jokes, winking at you. He squeezes your shoulder before letting go, grabbing a bottle of wine from his bag.

"I brought your favourite, Lori."

"So did I," you echo, laughing.

"Great minds, honey. Great minds!"

"You can never have too much wine," your Mom yells out from the kitchen doorway. "Bring it in here, Buck. I'll put it in the refrigerator."

"Yes ma'am," he obliges, making his way to her with a smile on his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Guess what happened today," you begin, in between bites of your strawberry salad.

The three of them look at you intently, urging you to continue.

"Lacie got Tethered."

"How exciting!" your Mom squeals.

"That's a long time coming," Bucky chimes in. You look at him and smirk.

"Tell me about it."

"Here we go," your Dad smiles. "Our two anti soulmate protestors."

"Don't make it sound so political," Bucky laughs. "She's the only one that gets it."

"I've said it a thousand times, and I'll say it again. Just. You. Wait," your Mom lectures. "The two of you don't get it."

"Magic, fireworks, eternal love, blah blah blah. Trust me, I get it."

"She gets it," Bucky echoes. "And so do I. The Universe decides our fate, and we get no choice whatsoever. I don't believe in it, is all. I have no faith in the system. I should get to choose."

"But you feel like you are choosing," your Dad defends. "It didn't feel like it was being determined for me. It's hard to explain."

"It's just so... backwards," you justify. "I can't believe we live in a Universe where we have all the choices in the world, but don't get to choose the person we spend the rest of our lives with."

"It's worked out pretty well for us," your Mom smiles.

And it has. The first thing anyone notices when they meet your parents is that they are undeniably in love. You've never met two people more perfect for each other - which should solidify your belief in the Universe, really. But it doesn't. You can't explain where your lack of faith in it came from. It just appeared one day, and you haven't been able to shake it since. You're grateful every day to have two Tethered, happy, smitten parents. You've seen how hard it is for people with Untethered Mothers and Fathers. The judgment, the uncertainty, the hushed whispers. It sounds unbearable.

"Yes it did," your Dad confirms, shaking you from your thoughts. He reaches for your Mom's hand and kisses the back of it tenderly, eyes never once leaving hers. You look to Bucky next to you, who smiles at you gently. Feelings about soulmates aside, the both of you love these two people sat across the table with all your heart.

"Trust me, sweetheart," your Mom begins. "I know you're against the idea now - God knows I was the same at your age. But when it happens, you'll forget about all of your rebellion. You'll just be happy."

You nod in agreement, praying for the conversation to be over. As if he can read your mind, Bucky pipes up.

"Let me show you some pictures from Italy. I did promise I would."

You shoot him a grateful look before picking up your empty wine glass and making your way to the kitchen for a refill.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The dining room is now lit solely by candlelight, wax dripping onto the white lace tablecloth like condensation on a cold glass. The sun fell asleep hours ago, the four of you enjoying each others company with no regard for time.

"Oh, shit. It's late," your Dad says suddenly.

"You got big late night plans?" you tease.

"We have Clara and Mike's wedding at the weekend, so we're flying out tomorrow. We should probably get some sleep, so we're not exhausted."

Your Mom rises from her chair and kisses you on the head, before grabbing the dessert bowls from the table. Your Dad helps, smiling every time his hand brushes hers accidentally.

"Thanks for coming, kiddo. Your place next week?"

"Of course. I think I'll try that salmon recipe you sent me."

"Can't wait," your Dad assures you, giving you a one sided hug. He squeezes you once before letting you go to grab your shoes.

You can hear your parents saying their goodbyes to Bucky as you tie your laces, smoothing out the skirt of your dress as you stand. They all join you in the hallway, Bucky leaning over to grab his jacket from behind you. Fuck, he smells good.

"Have a great time at the wedding, you guys. Send me pictures, please!" you say as you hug your Mom goodbye.

"We will! Drive home safe, the both of you!"

They shut the door softly, leaving you and Bucky stood on the porch. The evening air chills your bare legs, salt in the breeze sticking to your lips.

"Where's your car?" he asks, looking around.

"Oh, I walked. It was a nice day, and I'm trying to be a little greener. Save the planet, and all," you chuckle.

"You want a ride, then?" he offers, leaning against the side of his truck.

"Uh - maybe," you hesitate, shifting your weight from foot to foot. You feel antsy, for some reason. There's a buzz flowing through your veins, making you a little restless.

"Maybe?" he smirks.

"I just, I'm not sure if I wanna go home yet. It might be that I've had three glasses of wine, but I'm kinda... jittery? Think I need to burn off some energy. Maybe I'll walk home."

"Like hell you will," he grumbles.

You quirk a brow in confusion.

"It's dark, and all those college kids are in town on their break. I don't trust 'em."

You fight to keep the grin off your face. You weirdly like it when Bucky gets protective. He's always so calm, so relaxed - it takes a lot to rile him up. He looks hot with a clenched jaw.

"Why don't we go somewhere?"

"Where?" you ask tentatively.

"I don't know," he thinks for a second. "How about the beach?"

You smile, gazing at him with a twinkle in your eyes.

"I fucking love the beach."

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

The ocean waves break the shore steadily, the repetitive pattern calming you both. You're sat on the sand, grains slipping through your hands where you're pouring it out through your fingers. The light of the moon reflects off the surface of the sea, illuminating the abandoned cove. It's just you, Bucky, and the night sky.

The alcohol in your system has evened you out, warm buzz keeping you sheltered from the chill. Bucky's stretched out next to you, strong arms folded underneath his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a slither of sun kissed skin. You pretend not to notice his Adonis belt, or the little trail of hair that leads down into his waistband.

The silence is easy, comfortable. You don't get to hang out like this often, just the two of you. It's nice.

A notification on your phone breaks through the tranquility. You both flinch.

"Sorry," you mutter, checking the screen. "It's Lacie, telling me about her perfect date."

He chuckles lowly at your tone, sitting up to look at you.

"This is hard for you, isn't it?" he asks. "You hate the whole soulmate thing, but you like seeing her happy."

Bingo. It's like he's read your mind.

"I don't know why I hate it so much" you confess quietly. "It's a part of life. I can't avoid it. I just think - what if... what if I'm like, the exception, or something? What if I never meet my soulmate - or - what if I meet them when I'm like, seventy? That happens, you know! And then I'll be fucking cursed to spend my entire life feeling like this."

"And what is this?"

"Hopeless. That's what this is. I just feel pretty fucking hopeless."

You're not sure why you're baring your soul to Bucky tonight. You could blame the wine, but you know that's not what it is. Maybe it's because he seems to be the only one that understands.

"Me too," he whispers.

You whip your head around to stare at him in shock. He laughs at the look on your face, and continues.

"You're young - you have time. I'm forty in a couple of years. Every single one of my friends is married to their soulmate - except for me."

You bite at your lip nervously, but refuse to tear your eyes away from his steel blue ones. His face is lit by the glow from the moon, and it takes your breath away for a second. He looks almost ethereal.

"You always act so... unbothered. I didn't realise... I guess I just, I didn't -" you try to gather your thoughts before continuing. "This fucking sucks, huh?"

He laughs with his whole chest, and you're convinced the sound is so special, so rare, that you should bottle it. Sell it as medicine. It'd cure anything, you're sure of it.

"Yeah, it does," he agrees with a chuckle. "It's the waiting around that's the worst part. The unknown. It could be minutes, it could be decades. I just don't know."

"At least for now, we have each other," you joke.

"Every cloud has a silver lining, huh?" he teases, nudging you with his shoulder.

You allow your weight to press into his side a little, leaning in. He's warm, and he's familiar, and in this moment, he understands you better than anyone else in the world.

"We'll be okay, honey," he murmurs. "It'll all work out the way it's supposed to."

You close your eyes, and allow his words and the breaking waves to calm your nerves. Bucky wraps an arm around you, and all the tension melts from your muscles.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're not sure if it's the honest conversation, or the brisk ocean breeze, but you've sobered up in record time. Your body registers this, and sends a shiver down your spine.

"You cold?" Bucky asks you. "You wanna go home?"

"Not yet," you whisper. "Not yet."

He shrugs off his worn brown leather jacket and slips it over your shoulders. It smells so strongly of him that it makes you dizzy. Bucky settles back down in his original place, returning his arm to where it was draped over you. His rough fingertips rub patterns into the material that now covers your arms, and you wish, for a fleeting moment, that it was your bare skin instead.

"You been working on anything new recently?" he enquires in a hushed tone, careful not to ruin the atmosphere.

"I made a damn good batch of macarons yesterday," you reply, beaming smile etched across your face. "Raspberry and lemon. I'll bring you some, next time I pass the Garage. You're gonna love them."

"You know, I think the only reason I ever get Mechanic of the Month is because you bring by all of your sweet treats."

You laugh melodiously, and the sound makes Bucky's heart stutter in his chest without warning.

"Happy to be of service," you tease. "I take requests, too, if you ever want something specific. Just let me know."

"You're the best, sugar."

You sink into Bucky's hold a little, daring to rest your head on his shoulder. When he doesn't stop you, you exhale, and relax even more.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asks.

"Nope. You?"

"Nah. I'm going sailing, finally. It's been way too fuckin' long," he grumbles. "Your Dad's usually my right hand man, but he'll be in Ohio. You wanna come?"

The idea of laying on the deck of a boat in the blazing sunshine with a shirtless Bucky Barnes sounds like heaven. Who could say no to an offer like that?

"Yeah, of course. I'll bring a picnic, if you like. It's the least I can do."

"Sounds perfect," he replies, squeezing your shoulder.

Suddenly, he rises to his feet, extending a hand out to you. You grab it, and he pulls you up, the both of you shaking sand off yourselves.

"It's late, and dark, and a little cold. You ready to go?"

You nod your head, and make your way over to his truck, ignoring the heat that blooms over your chest when he opens the passenger door for you before his own.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

"Thank you, for tonight," you say as he pulls up in front of your apartment building.

"Thank you," he replies, killing the engine. "It's nice to have you back, you know. Wondered if you were gonna finish college and stay out there in California. Thought we might not see you again."

He almost sounds... relieved. The idea that he might have missed you if you didn't return effects you more than it should.

"I liked it there, but... I don't know. My family's here. I'm only twenty three. I've got time to move around the country. I missed this place too much when I was away."

"Never thought I'd hear you say that," he chuckles.

"I know, trust me. They do say absence makes the heart grow fonder."

"Yeah, they say a lot of fuckin' things," he jokes.

Bucky swings his door open, hopping down from the drivers seat. He makes his way over to your side, holding out a hand so you can jump out.

"Careful," he warns. "It's higher than it looks."

You grab his hand, and step onto the metal sill. Your foot slips slightly, sending you tumbling down and forward, out of the truck. Luckily, Bucky catches you, one hand in yours, other on your hip.

"Woah, easy. You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," you breathe.

He places his hands on your cheeks and cradles your face, searching for any signs of distress. You place your palms over his, silently reassuring him.

And then, it happens.

Warm, golden, molten electricity surges through your veins, lighting up each and every one of your nerve endings. Your surroundings explode into glorious technicolour, everything suddenly brighter and more vibrant. It feels like your heart is being ripped out of your chest, only to be replaced by one that beats in a slightly different rhythm. There's flowers blooming in your ribcage, new life happening inside of you. You catch eyes with Bucky, expecting to see his stormy blue ones looking back at you. Instead, all you see is your future.

Vivid, flashing images of Bucky Barnes fill your mind, each one of them tinted with a warm, rosy hue. You feel like you're being reinvented. Your skin is alive, hyperaware of the way Bucky's palms are still gently cupping your cheeks. Your fingertips tingle with anticipation where they rest on his, itching to touch every inch of him. You feel as if the oxygen has been stolen from your lungs, and replaced with love.

Your knees are the first to buckle, the weight of the moment taking you down. You hit the ground, and so does Bucky, his palms not once leaving your face. You're both kneeling on the warm concrete, ocean waves providing a distant soundtrack. Blood is rushing in your ears, and you wonder for a second if you're about to pass out. You squeeze Bucky's hands so hard, it's a miracle you don't break his fingers. He squeezes back, eyes locked on one another.

After what feels like an eternity, you both break out of your reverie. You lean forward, resting your forehead against Bucky's, both of you panting.

You're trying to catch your breath unsuccessfully. You move one of your hands to rest on Bucky's chest, right on his heart. You swear the steady beat of it spells out your name.

He mirrors you, and moves his own hand to rest above your frantic heart, the other still glued to your cheek. You both breathe, in and out, trying to match each other. When you finally do, it's as if time stops. It's just you and Bucky. One heartbeat. One soul.

You break away from him to look into his eyes again. They look different, you think. He looks different.

He gazes back at you, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. The moonlight dances off your faces, illuminating the moment both your lives changed forever.

"It's you," he breathes in disbelief.

A laugh escapes your chest, surprising you both. He chuckles with you, and before you know it, the both of you are in hysterics, sitting on the sidewalk at three in the morning.

"Of course it's me," you giggle. "The two people that hate soulmates, Tethered together. You couldn't write it."

Bucky grins at you, clutching at his stomach.

You both take a breath, and realise your surroundings. Bucky gets up first, heaving you up by your arms. He towers over you, suddenly close. Not close enough, you decide. Never close enough.

You lunge forward and crash your lips to his. Bucky instinctively wraps one arm around your back, moving his other hand to hold you by the back of your neck. He tastes like salt and spearmint and every kiss for the rest of your life.

Bucky presses himself into you, attempting to tangle your bodies together. He wants to feel every inch of you against his skin, willing you to come closer. He aches to climb into you, sew himself into your ribcage. He'd be content to live there, beating your heart, forever.

You whine, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, exploring eagerly. You tilt your head back, and fist your hands into his shirt, plastering yourself to his front. He shoves his thigh in between your legs, the rough denim a welcome contrast to your soft skin. You buck your hips forward, and the friction is so delicious it makes you dizzy. You've never been kissed like this. It's almost feral. You're both surrendering to your fates, giving in to the animalistic urges coursing through you.

A seagull caws on a nearby street lamp, and the sound makes you both jump. You suddenly realise your scenario. Your Dad's best friend, who also happens to be your soulmate, has you pressed against his truck in the street, kissing you like he's running out of air and you're his only oxygen source. If it goes any further, you'll both get arrested for public indecency.

"Fuck, sugar," he murmurs against your mouth. "My pretty girl. My honey."

"My soulmate," you whisper.

The reality of it comes crashing down like a tsunami, drenching the both of you.

Bucky kisses you again, gentler this time. The tenderness makes you want to cry.

"What do we do now?" you mumble, fear coating your voice.

He senses your trepidation instantly. He feels it, actually, right in the front of his chest. It's like you suddenly share one body. There's no guessing, anymore. He knows exactly how you feel.

He takes a deep breath, trying to settle his building anxiety. He knows that if he stays calm, you'll stay calm. That's how Tethering works, right? He has to keep it together for the both of you, despite the panic that's rising in him, vibrating in his bones.

"How about... how about we both go to bed, get some sleep - and then we go sailing, later on today, just like we planned? And no matter what, we take everything one step at a time."

"One step at a time," you repeat, attempting to pacify you both.

"We'll figure it out," he reassures. "I know we will."

You find the will to step apart, which proves harder than you thought. It's like Bucky's an anchor - fastening you to peace, to happiness, to serenity. The more distance you put between your bodies, the more unsettled you feel. When you're not touching him, it's as if everything becomes unsteady, more difficult. You feel like you're on a rogue sailboat, battling the waves, threatened to be thrown overboard. Bucky is your lifevest, your lighthouse in the dark night. You're not sure how you're supposed to live your life any more than two feet away from him at all times.

You breathe, and smooth down your dress, running your fingers through your hair. You reach out and adjust Bucky's shirt where it's been wrinkled due to your tight grip.

"Goodnight, sweetheart," he murmurs, fingers tangling around your own.

"Goodnight, Buck," you echo.

He leans in to press a chaste kiss to your lips, savouring the taste of your cherry lip balm. He wraps his arms around you, unable to resist. Bucky breathes you in deeply, smiling uncontrollably. Nudging your nose with his, he murmurs gently against your mouth.

"My honey girl."

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8K notes · View notes

cherryredstars · 1 year ago

Text

Pairing: Nerd!Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Reader Under the Influence of an Aphrodisiac, Somnophilia, Blowjob, Slight Nipple Play, Slight Fingering, Penetrative Sex, Mean!Miguel, Slightly Perverted!Miguel

A/N: Requested!

Summary: There is only one man you can turn to in your time of need

Word Count: 3.2K (Barely Edited)

Fuck!

You almost miss your landing, having to hold extra tight to the fire escape railing to not fall. Your breath is ragged, and you never realized how hard it was to breath through your mask until now. You stumble as you step off of the railing and onto the landing, taking a lungful of air as you reach behind your head and rip off your mask. Your steps are clumsy as you walk towards the window, your body burning up as you grasp the window ledge and push it up with a grunt. God, I told that idiot to start locking his windows, you think as you slide through.

It’s completely dark inside, the only bit of moonlight being blocked by your figure. But even then, you can see the outline of posters and figurines on the wall. You can even see the outline of his body laying in his bed. You let out a heavy sigh, making your way over to him. His bed creaks as you kneel on top of it, the soft mattress sinking under your weight. Miguel’s sheet is half-way off his body, probably kicked off during the night-time heat. His chest falls steadily, his whole front being exposed to you as he sleeps on his back. He mumbles something, sleepy whispers leaving his barely parted mouth as his hand comes up to scratch at his naked chest. You can feel your skin heat up at the sight of the exposed skin, seeing the way coarse hair spans over tan muscles. You feel like a Victorian man seeing an ankle for the first time.

You don’t really think before your palms land flat onto his skin. It’s slightly cool under your hands, but it does nothing to kill the heated flush over your own skin. It only makes it worse. A tortured sound leaves your lips as you rake your hands down his body, ghosting over the skin of his chest and stomach until they stop at his thighs. Why are his boxers so tight around his thighs? You take a shaky breath in, shifting your weight as your hands travel up slightly until they’re right over the outline of his soft dick. Your hands shake as you massage him over the thin fabric of his underwear; have they always shook like that?

You can feel him hardening under your hands, and your head snaps up when he lets out a soft moan. He’s still asleep, that steady rhythm still moving his chest. But his brows are furrowed, lips parted slightly. It makes something in your stomach twist in fear and excitement at the idea of being caught. You let out another breath as you drop your attention to his semi, your hand gently guiding his cock out through the hole of his boxers. Even though he’s not fully hard yet, you can see the beginning bulge of a vein running up the underside of his cock. The length of him just barely being supported by the hold you have on him.

Your mouth feels dry at the sight. He’s big, and he isn’t even fully hard yet. You try to chase the dryness in your throat away with a swallow, but it only makes more saliva pool on your tongue. You sneak a peek up again, finding him in the same pose from a minute ago. You keep your eyes on him as you slowly lean down, only looking down for a second as you guide your mouth over him. Your bottom lip brushes over his tip, but you turn your head to the side as you lean further down. Your tongue darts up, licking the length just above your hand as you make your way back up to his tip. Miguel’s breath hitches, your eyes looking towards him. His head is thrown to the side, but he doesn’t seem to be waking up.

Good.

You hum against him, tongue flicking at his slit. Your hand moves up and down him slowly, feeling him get harder in your hold before you wrap your fingers around his tip. You suck lightly, eyes fluttering when the first salty beads of precum melt on your tongue. You can feel a dull throb beginning at your core, your body craving Miguel’s addicting taste. Your body needs it. A small moan falls from your lips as you take him deeper, your hands falling away to sit on his thighs as you slowly move your head up and down his length. The heavy warmth in your mouth is comforting, and the pleasure of having him in your mouth travels straight to your cunt. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you focus on moving your head, gagging slightly when you force him a little too far down your throat. But you’re caught off guard when a heavy hand falls on your head, forcing Miguel’s cock down your throat entirely.

You squeal, quickly turning into a gag as your nose meets the coarse hair at the base of his cock. The hand keeps you there and you snap your eyes open. Miguel’s half-lidded eyes stare down at you, sharp crimson glinting. His other hand is stretched out to his side, coming into view in a second, the frames of his glasses pinched between his fingers before he slips them on. You moan around him, trying to communicate the uncomfortable pressure pressing on the back of your throat, but it only makes Miguel hiss out in pleasure. His hand tightens in your hair, pulling your head up before pushing it back down to the base.

“Fucking knew it,” he breaths harshly, repeating the movement until he’s controlling how fast you suck his dick. “Thought I wouldn’t find out it was you, huh?”

You whine around his cock, mind too hazy on the smell of his skin and the feel of his dick in your mouth to process what he’s talking about. Miguel’s head rolls, his hips beginning to thrust into your mouth as he keeps your head still. You can feel tears pricking at your lower lash line, wet gags escaping your throat with each of his thrusts. Your hands bunch up the fabric of his boxers, eyes staring up at him. You can feel yourself dripping, praying it doesn’t seep through your suit. Miguel thrusts into your mouth a few more times before he pulls you off of his cock, allowing you to take a large breath in and sputter. Spit wets the entirety of your chin and lips, and you gasp as warm liquid splatters on your cheek. Your eyes close instinctively, your ears picking up Miguel’s low groan and labored breathing. Your eyes slowly open, closing quickly when his cock slaps against your cheek.

It twitches against your face, softening only slightly. When you open your eyes fully, Miguel is sitting up. He’s looking down at you, eyes taking in your face and the all too familiar hero costume sticking to your body. He has a knowing look in his eyes, and you yelp when he grabs you. Your positions are switched quickly, your body bouncing once it hits the bed. Springs squeaking under your weight. You can feel Miguel’s body pressing against your back, his hand snaking to your front and pressing up on your abdomen until your ass is forced against him. You whine as you feel his cock pressing against your ass, and you turn your head over your shoulder to look back at him. His glasses have slid down the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t seem to mind as he studies your body. Or rather, your suit.

‘So, how does the suit work?” he asks, hands running down your sides. You shiver at the contact, pressing yourself further against him. “How do you put it on? A hidden zipper, maybe?”

You gasp as his hand suddenly and roughly cups your clothed cunt, the heel of his hand pressing against you. You’re so warm there. “Or is it something you have to slip on? Gotta get naked before you can put it on, right? It certainly doesn’t feel like you have any panties on.”

You're at a loss of words, shaking your head and trying to grind against his hand. You didn’t know how desperately you need that pressure against your sex until he put it there. Miguel chuckles, cooing at you. His body presses against your back as he leans forward, warm breath hitting your ear. “I saw you on the news earlier, got sprayed with something, didn’t you? You smell so good.”

Another whine passes your lips when he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your hair. You smell sweet, delicious, like sex and candy. His free hand slips up to your chin, forcing your head up. You grind into his hand desperately as his warm tongue licks up your throat. The saliva is sticky on your skin, but you just wished he could lick you everywhere. Maybe it would help your body cool down. Miguel chuckles against your skin again, pulling away.

“God, so needy.” He laughs, pulling his hands away from you completely and loving the way you pathetically fall limp onto his bed. “Don’t tell me it was an aphrodisiac or something.”

You huff against his pillow, trying to back your body more into him. It makes him laugh louder, meaner. His hand comes to wrap around the base of his cock, slapping it against your ass. “Is this what you need? You need a nice, big cock to make it all better? Pathetic.”

Despite his words, he’s smiling. He’s wanted this for so long. It’s only a plus that you, his best friend that he’s been tugging his dick to, is also one of the hottest superheroes in Nueva York. It’s like a fucking wet dream. But here you are, in his room with a desperate need for your pussy to be stuffed to the brim. How could it get any better than this?

“I- Miggy, please,” you breathe out, a flush covering your cheeks at his dirty words. Miguel coos, his hands returning to rub up and down your sides.

“It’s okay, baby. I promise I’ll help it feel better. I’ll make it feel so good.”

You gasp when you feel his hands at the nape of your neck, a loud tear filling the room as he rips your suit down your back. “Hope you got extra at home, cariño.”

It takes a few rough tears to completely expose your backside, Miguel pushing the torn edges away as you pull your arms and legs out of them. He groans at the sight of you: your naked body laying in front of him as the tattered remains of your suit lay around you. Your skin is so warm under his touch, like you’re running a fever. And you’re so responsive, mewling and shivering as he rubs your sides slowly. You look so small under him, so perfect. Your back arches when his hands snake to your front, grasping your breasts. You gasp loudly, your hands pressing your body up from the bed, standing on all fours.

Miguel leans to lay on top of you, pinching and flicking at your horribly hard and sensitive nipples. His teeth are sharp against the lobe of your ear, soothing the sting with kitten licks. You whine when one of his hands leaves your breasts, feeling Miguel twist his head to the side slightly.

“Down, girl,” he commands, a smile evident in his tone as his hand presses on the center of your upper back and your body buckles. You let out a puff of air as your chest hits the mattress again, your hands sliding out from under you. “Good girl, that’s a good spider.”

You huff at the teasing, glaring at him from over your shoulder. He chuckles at your expression, ignoring you as his hand slips away from your chest and ventures further down your body. You stiffen as his fingers stop just above your clit, your thighs aching to close. With a slight stretch, Miguel’s middle finger skims your bud, your hips bucking. Miguel hums in contemplation, his hand moving away despite your whine of frustration. His hands come up to rub your ass, one of his hands moving further down until his fingers are playing with the sloppy mess of your cunt. You sigh in relief, your back arching further.

“God, you’re so wet. Is this all for me, baby?” He coos, watching the way his fingers get completely drenched from a few swipes at your folds. His curiosity gets the better of him, plunging two thick fingers through your throbbing hole. You groan, and Miguel slaps your ass to shut you up.

A wet squelch echos the room when he curls his fingers. As he slowly drags his fingers out, your walls clench in a futile attempt to keep them inside of you, a sad pop coming from your hole when his fingers pull out completely. Miguel holds his fingers up, studying the slight glint of arousal against the moonlight. It drips down his fingers, and Miguel licks the trail up to prevent a further mess. He moans at the taste, sweet and heady. He sucks the rest into his mouth, tongue working around his fingers until they come up clean. He uses the same fingers to smear saliva over the head of his cock, hand dragging it down as he tugs at himself. He shifts behind you, aligning himself until the head of his cock presses against your tiny hole.

“Gonna make it all better now,” Miguel whispers into the air before he thrusts his hips forward. His low groan is drowned by your loud screech, your walls stretching rapidly to accommodate the sudden intrusion. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you bite down on the pillow, the tip of his cock pressing right against your cervix.

Miguel curses when your walls pulsate, molding to his cock. His teeth grit as he looks down, glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose as he watches the way your hole moves as he pulls out slowly. Your hole completely melts around his tip, stretching wide as he suddenly fills you to the brim again. Miguel pushes his glasses up again as he smiles, repeating the movement. You moan loudly despite the pillow in your mouth, your hands grabbing at the sheets to stabilize yourself. Miguel’s hands grab at your ass again, kneading it in his hands as he begins thrusting in a steady rhythm. You melt into the bed, eyes fluttering with each snap of his hips.

A sweat builds on Miguel’s face as he moves his hips, mouth open in a moan each time your walls clench around him in thanks. His glasses slide down his face again, refusing to stay in place no matter how many times he pushes them up. He tires of it quickly, cursing as he rips them off his face and throws them somewhere near your head. His hands leave your ass, coming up to your hands. His palms are against the tops of your hands, his fingers connecting between yours despite the tight hold you have on the sheets. His chest pressed against your back, his forehead pressed against the side of your head as his thrusts speed up. You choke on a moan, your body jolting upward with the force.

“That’s it, taking it like a good, needy slut,” Miguel praises, his lips pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head, a stark contrast to the way he punishes your dripping cunt. Your walls tighten embarrassingly at his words, making him laugh breathlessly.

The room is deafening with the sound of his pelvis hitting against your ass, his balls slapping at your clit when he goes flush against you. It all mixes together to form the wet squeals from your cunt, your mind going dizzy from it all. Miguel’s hand pulls away from yours, coming up to your throat to force your face away from the pillow. A wet circle surrounded by teeth marks stains his pillow, more abstract lines showing where his cum has rubbed off of your face. He turns your face towards him, his teeth sinking into your bottom lip before pulling you into a heated kiss. His tongue licks at your teeth, tangling with your tongue. Your face presses more into him with each of his thrusts, and you moan pathetically in his mouth as the rubber band inside of you snaps.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you gush around his cock, body breaking in an almost uncomfortable arch as your body twitches. Miguel groans into your mouth as your walls grow tighter and tighter around him, his thrusts getting desperate as he tries to thrust in and out of them. He rips his mouth away from yours as you go to collapse on the bed, your muscles jumping from your orgasm. Miguel’s hand travels to your clit, rubbing in fast circles that overstimulate you. You gasp and cry, your walls confused as they pulsate quickly and trigger another orgasm in seconds. Your hands shake as they let go of the pillow, traveling down to hit and tug at Miguel’s arm.

“T-t’much. Miggy, t’much,” you sob, your muscles prickling.

Miguel hisses at you, removing his arm to hold your waist as he bounces you back on his cock rapidly before he stills. His groan is animalistic as his cock twitches inside of you, painting you in white seed. You moan like an animal in heat as the warmth fills you, your entire body collapsing on the bed in an exhausted pile. You only whine slightly when Miguel gives you a few slow pumps of his cock to ride out his orgasm, forcing his cum deeper inside of you before pulling out. You sigh as you close your eyes, that overbearing warmth that was once consuming your body finally dying away. Miguel lets out ragged breaths over you, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face before squinting his eyes and looking for the outline of the glasses he threw. When he finds them, he slides an arm down his face to get rid of pesky sweat before putting them on, his eyes falling down to your abused cunt just in time to see a bead of cum slip from your hole.

He lets out a heated sigh, turning his head to look for the shirt he discarded on the floor before he went to bed. He reaches for it, balling it in his hands before swiping it against your cum soaked folds. You mewl at the coarse fabric rubbing against your sensitive pussy, but Miguel is too tired to care as he cleans his mess and throws the shirt to the floor again. The front of his boxers has a slight wet ring around his cock, but he makes no move to take them off as he stuffs his softening cock back into its confines. His hand rubs up your back before he moves to lay down besides you, pulling tattered parts of your suit out from under him and onto the floor. Exhaustion fans his body as he turns to his side and pulls your limp body into his chest.

“Need to talk about this Spider-Woman shit in the morning,” he mumbles into your hair as he closes his eyes. You only hum, shifting into his warmth.

Yeah, definitely.

Nasty! Dirty!

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xoxochb · 4 months ago

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giggled a bit writing this I am just a silly girl

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you exhale the moment the salty air scent of cabin three reaches your nostrils. you inhale it happily.

even happier when your eyes catch sight of your boyfriend tangled up in a pile of blankets, sleeping soundly. you walk up to the bed to stare at him from a closer perspective.

percy’s cheeks are flushed a light hue of pink— most likely from the amount of heat projecting— his lips are parted slightly and you take notice that the pillow beside his mouth is drenched. you’ll tease him for that later. his dark hair falls over his eyes, preventing him from seeing anything when he wakes, and you take notice that his suntanned arms are almost hugging the pillow he lays on.

hm, peaceful.

you take off two of his blankets to hopefully cool him off before he overheats, throwing them on the floor. he doesn’t wake. you walk over to his dresser, picking one of his shirts— sliding yours off, discarding of your bra and your underwear before sliding the shirt on.

once comfortable, you return back to the bed and curl yourself into percy from beneath the blanket. subconsciously, like his sleeping self had known your presence had arrived, his arms remove from the pillow and instead wrap you up in the same position.

you smile gently and begin to run your fingers through his hair to keep him asleep. you were aware of how hard he worked through the day— the least you could do is allow him to rest for a bit.

but after five long minutes he begins to stir against you. you stop the movements of your hands until you hear his whine and continue. his face nuzzles into your sternum through the fabric of your/his shirt.

“not wearin’ a bra.” you can practically hear the smile in his words. of course this was the first thing he would notice. “tryin’ to get me excited first thing when I wake up, sweet girl?”

you giggle lightly and toy around with the ends of his hair. “go back to sleep.”

“hmmm, wanna hear your voice.” his voice is muffled.

you sigh and continue your movements with his soft hair. “how long have you been asleep for?”

“what time is it?”

“uhmm…” you reach over and look at the bedside clock. “five-twelve.”

“ha! three hours.”

you shake your head. “fine you can stay up.”

“thank you, sweet girl, I love you.” percy plants a kiss to your collarbone.

“‘course. I love you too, perce.”

his hold around your frame tightens and he takes a large inhale of your scent, then rolls over and rubs his eyes.

you watch the movements of his tanned— and very bare chest as he stretches, the blankets hanging low around his hips. you bite your lip to stifle a smile. but your body betrays you, too wide to keep the grin to yourself.

“smilin’ over me, sweet girl? I’m flattered.”

you send him a playful glare and curl back into him from his new position. his arms wrap back around you. he pinches your waist, though, in realization that you may be falling asleep like this.

“I just woke up, let me enjoy your voice for a bit before you fall asleep on me.”

you dig your face into his skin with a whine. “‘m tired, perce.”

“five minutes, that’s it.”

the longest five minutes of your life.

it was twenty.

#xoxochb #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson x you #riordanverse x reader #riordanverse #riordan universe

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slavdollz4mangione · 1 month ago

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boy dad lu hc 💌:

requested by the lovely @anjali67 i ADORED writing this <33 i hope you enjoy pretty!

- he’d genuinely be his kids’ hero omg :’)

- the sex of your baby never mattered to luigi, or you for that matter, all you two wanted was for your little baby to be born healthy

- but when you found out you were having a boy he couldn’t contain his excitement

- you were extatic to have a little mini lu running around

- while lu couldn’t wait to teach his little boy everything his dad had taught him and more

- he’d be browsing mom blogs for symptoms linked to carrying a boy 😭

- would literally be documenting it LMFAO like:

- “[name] has no morning sickness, she’s carrying low and all out front, she’s craving more salty food, her hair is looking fuller and shinier”

- he would read the little prince to your tummy even when your pregnancy was barely showing :’)

- he would SO buy a matching baby bali shirt and adidas hoodie for his kid i don’t make the rules

- wouldn’t pressure you into doing it but would love LOVE for you guys to pick an italian name for your little boy :,) (which ofc you agree to)

-he’d genuinely be the most loving dad ever

-i feel like he’d sing your son lullabies his nonna used to sing him when he was a kid when your little one feels fussy or wakes up from a nightmare

- toxic masculinity? nonexistent in the mangione household

-would love to hold your little boy in his arms, showering him in love and affection, teaching him that vulnerability, softness and kindness isn’t weakness, that it doesn’t make him any less of a man as he grows older

- always validates your sons emotions, answers any and all questions he might have, never brushes him off, makes as much time and he can to spend time with him

-would encourage your son to always show YOU love and appreciation like you guys would just raise a little gentleman overall

- your son grew up witnessing lu being so gentle and loving with you, complimenting you 24/7, making you breakfast/lunch/dinner whenever he could, getting you flowers, reminding you he loves you. so of course your son started doing the same

-they frequently walk in with little bouquets of wildflowers for you after luigi picks him up from kindergarten/school and it doesn’t fail to make you emotional every single time

- he’d love taking him on little adventures omg :’)

- fishing trips, museum family dates, camping, hiking, teaching him how to ride a bike, how to build little things out of wood, how to play chess, how to play mario kart etc

-he’d encourage your son to try anything he puts his mind to! he wants to do football ? karate? play an instrument ? he’s singing him up

- luigi would share his love for robotics, books, traveling and more with his little mini me and it would make your heart so full

- would definitely teach his kid italian, or at least the basics and would love for you to teach him your own native language if you had one other than english

- your little boy would grow up to be SO sassy too lmfao, literally luigi’s twin

-they’re so playful with each other and LOVE pulling pranks on you too

- luigi definitely comes back from the barber one day with them rocking matching curly mullets and you almost faint because your 5 year old’s looking like an italian billy ray cyrus or something

- you guys would take your boy all over the world i swear

-roadtrips throughout the us, summers in europe, winters would either be spent skiing or on a beach in australia

- all in all, luigi would do everything in his power to give your son the most fulfilling and loving life possible

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi thoughts

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bapeach · 4 months ago

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Valentine's Day

Anyone else suck at writing summaries for their stories? Anyways, happy belated Valentine's! I hadn't planned on writing a Valentine's related story, but here we are. Hope you all enjoy! Constructive criticism is always welcome :D Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Paige Bueckers x female!reader Word count: 4.8k+ Warnings: a bit clinché, swearing, long-distance Summary: Valentine's Day isn't so bad when you get to call with your long-distance best friend, except things don't really go the way you planned. You're not mad about it, though. ------------

Valentine's Day. A day loved by many and hated by even more.

You belonged in the latter category. Why did couples need an extra day to celebrate their relationship? Why would you require an extra day to be nice to your partner when you should do that any other day as well? The only thing this holiday does is make single people feel bad. You’re not bitter about it or anything, it’s just a fact, okay fine, you’re a little salty.

Today is another Valentine that you’re spending single, but this time at least you have plans! While most of your friends were going to be off on dates, you were going to be calling your long-distance best friend and making fun of the whole holiday. To say you were excited to talk to the girl was an understatement.

Being a student-athlete wasn’t easy, Paige had complained about her busy schedule enough for you to know. Not that she had to, you could tell how exhausted she was whenever she found a bit of time to call you between school, homework, and basketball. It saddened you to know the blonde was wearing herself out completely to be the perfect student while also making sure she’s the best basketball player she can be. She barely ever has time to relax, and you’re scared she’s going to give herself a burn-out.

You were glad Paige found time today to hang out with you. You’ve missed her more than you thought you could ever miss anyone, not having heard her voice in weeks and only having gotten short messages to let you know she’s still alive.

“Everyone is gonna be out and about on friday after practice so I’ll have the dorm to myself, FaceTime at 10:30?” Her message had read last Sunday, and you’d immediately agreed. While you knew the Valentine’s Day hangout was just a friendly hangout between best friends, you liked pretending it would be a date.

When you met Paige, you never thought you’d ever fall for her so deeply, let alone be such good friends with her. But here you were, 6 years later, with the biggest crush on her.

When your mom sent you to a random month-long summer camp when you were 16, you’d protested with your whole being. You’d much rather stay home, bundled up on the couch all summer, re-reading your favorite book series, not going to a random camp out in the wild. “You’ll learn so much stuff! And you’ll make friends for life!” She’d said, making you roll your eyes. You didn’t believe a word she’d said, knowing that even if you managed to make friends, you’d only talk to them for that summer and maybe a month after.

You didn’t meet Paige until a week into camp. Her cabin was nowhere near yours, and so you weren’t in the same activity groups as her. One of your roommates had met her one night when she couldn’t sleep and went on a walk. She said you two would get along well, but the more she talked about the blonde, the less likely it seemed to you.

While you were shy, loved staying in, let people walk all over you, and were a bit of a teacher’s pet, 16-year-old Paige was the complete opposite. She was outgoing and friendly, and she loved teasing people even when she didn’t know them. She preferred the outdoors, getting restless when she had to stay in and couldn’t play her sports. She loved breaking the rules and always seemed to get away with it too, her charisma being able to charm all the camp leaders.

When your cabinmate had called her over during dinner, you were incredibly intimidated by the taller girl. She towered over you with a big grin, her blue eyes wide and full of mischief. She was loud and immediately set her eyes on you when she noticed your quietness. When your friends had joked about how shy you were, she’d only grinned wider, saying she was going to get you to come out of your shell.

She managed to win you over a lot faster than you dared to admit. After that dinner, she was always able to spot you in the crowd, coming over to tease you or introduce you to more people. Within a week, you two were glued at the hip. She managed to do what she said she would, making you a little less afraid to speak your mind, while you were able to bring a calm to her that no one knew existed.

You swore saying goodbye to her at the end of camp was one of the hardest things you’d ever had to do. You were quite dramatic at times. Sadly, you’d been right about the not staying friends thing. You two sent each other two letters once camp was over and called five times before life got too busy with school, extracurriculars, and new friends. After that, you didn’t talk for two years.

The next time you saw her again, you thought you were dreaming. You were touring different universities and had just finished the UConn one. Paige had managed to get even taller, her muscles were more defined, and she’d finally found her style. You thought you were mistaken at first, but then her bright eyes found yours, and a wide smile made its way onto her face. She excused herself from the conversation she was in and jogged over to you, not letting you say more than a hi before pulling you into a hug. You let yourself fall into the comfortable, familiar feeling, sinking into her as you hug her back.

This time, when you two parted and said you’d stay in touch, you actually did. Sadly, you didn’t end up going to UConn, instead choosing a university over two hours away from the blonde. Keeping in contact was easier now that you were older and more mature. You called each other multiple times a month, texting almost daily, and even met up IRL whenever you could. You’d attended quite a few of her games, and she even surprised you on your birthday last year.

That birthday is your favorite one so far. Paige had surprised you with flowers and a book you’d been wanting for ages. She spoiled you like crazy that day, even staying the night at your dorm before having to go back to UConn. The day after was the day you realized you were head over heels for her. You became aware of the fact that the butterflies you felt in your stomach weren’t just from being excited at seeing your best friend, they were actually because you had a crush on her.

You never told her about your feelings, however. You figured she only saw you as a friend and knew that there were hundreds of girls throwing themselves at her feet, so why would she choose someone who didn’t even live in the same state as her?

You shake yourself out of your thoughts as you readjust yourself on your bed. Seeing it’s already 10:28, you open your camera to make sure you look okay. Patting down the flyaway hairs, you smile at your reflection. Closing the app, you grab your water bottle to take a sip and calm your growing nerves.

Knowing you’ll be even more nervous if you keep staring at the seconds tick by, you open TikTok and scroll on your FYP to pass the time. You quickly realize that wasn’t the best idea, seeing as there are only edits of Paige on your screen. Your face becomes a bright red as you watch the videos and save them all. You close the app after seeing an edit that makes you feel certain things, fanning your face as you try to get rid of your blush.

When you look at the time again, you shake your head in amusement. 10:35. In the years that you’ve known the blonde, there haven’t been many instances in which the girl has been on time. Usually, it bothers you to no end when someone is late. It makes you feel as though they don’t respect you enough to be on time. With the blonde, it’s different, however.

It’s cute to see her all flustered, apologizing again and again for her tardiness. It makes you laugh when she pouts at you, complaining about how her laptop had to do another update, how her alarm didn’t go off, or how Geno always has it out for her during the practices before a call. You grin when she leaves out the part where she was once again being a menace at practice, teasing her about it after Nika texts you to let you know Paige will be late and why.

You send her a quick text, asking if she managed to piss off Geno again, before checking to see if the Croatian had texted you anything. After another 5 minutes pass, you frown a little, slightly worried about the blonde. When your phone buzzes, you sit up straighter, fluffing up your hair a bit as you prepare to start the call. Grabbing your phone, you expect a “Sorry I’m late! You ready?” message, but you deflate instead.

“Hey, sorry I can’t call 2day, feeling exhausted, rain check?” It reads.

Of course, this isn’t the first time Paige has had to cancel on you. You understood that her busy schedule left her incredibly exhausted, and you knew she hated herself every time she had to cancel. Usually she pushed through, calling you anyway and falling asleep within 10 minutes of the call. She’d apologize profusely, a big frown on her face as her eyes turn a murky blue in sadness. You always told her you didn’t mind, you actually found it cute how her tired eyes would slowly blink at you before finally closing.

The fact that she actually canceled this time meant she didn’t feel good at all, so you let her know it was okay and that you’d talk soon. Once you wish her sweet dreams as she goes to take a nap, you close your laptop with more force than necessary.

While you typically wouldn’t mind all that much, you did this time. You missed her like crazy, you hadn’t had the easiest week, all your friends were out having fun, and to top it all off, you were about to have your period, making you even crankier than usual. You sit in silence for a moment as you try to blink away your tears. You press your palms to your eyes as you shake your head. Slapping your cheeks softly, you try to snap out of it. “Don’t be such a little baby,” you think to yourself.

You get up and stretch before pausing in the middle of the room. You look around a little lost, unsure of what to do now that your plans fell through. You bite your lip as you think about the tub of ice cream you left in your freezer for when you had a bad day. You pout as you realize you’ll spend yet another Valentine’s Day watching a cheesy movie that’ll make you cry into your ice cream.

Right as you’re about to open the freezer, you hear a knock at the door. You throw your head back, holding in a groan as you debate pretending no one is home. You knew it was most likely your roommate, who knew you were going to be home, having forgotten her keys again, so you make your way over to the door.

You take a quick peek into the mirror to check if your eyes look red from your mini breakdown, silently cursing when they do. Rolling your eyes at yourself, you open the door, ready to tell your roommate to not mention it.

You freeze as your jaw drops open. Paige is standing in the hallway, holding a bouquet of red roses and a big teddy bear, a wide smile carved on her face. “Surprise,” she says, her voice soft as she takes you in. You cover your mouth with your hand as tears well up in your eyes again. “Damn these hormones,” you think, blinking to make them go away.

Seeing your watery eyes, the blonde’s smile softens as she mutters a “C’mere.” You fall into her open arms, squeezing her tightly as you nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck. Paige leans her head against yours, pressing a gentle kiss against your temple. She slowly shuffles you backward into your dorm, using her foot to close the door behind her.

Once you realize the way you’re gripping onto her, you let her go, heat creeping up your face. You feel a bit embarrassed, but the feeling gets taken over by the happiness of finally being near the blonde again. “What’re you doing here?” You breathe out as you look at her in childlike wonder. “Wanted to spend Valentine’s with my favorite girl,” she replies, shoving the flowers and bear towards you. The butterflies in your stomach flutter around as you take the gifts with a wide smile, your cheeks bright red at the nickname.

You quickly put the flowers in a vase with some water before setting the teddy bear down on the couch. When you turn back towards Paige, you see her already staring at you with a soft look in her eyes. You skip back over to her, flinging yourself back into her arms, making her chuckle. “Thank you,” you mutter against her shirt, fondness seeping through in your voice.

You pull back slightly with a loving smile, looking up at her but not leaving her arms. She moves one hand away from your back, bringing it towards your face as she rubs your cheek. “Anything for you,” she mumbles as she takes in your face like she’s trying to memorize every bit of it. You can feel your face heat up, but you can’t look away. Your heart beats faster as you admire her, waiting to see what’s on her mind as you see different emotions swim around in her eyes.

Softly clearing her throat, she steps back nervously as she takes an envelope out of her pocket. She shifts her weight from foot to foot as she looks down at the envelope, her throat bobbing as she swallows harshly. “I, uh,” she starts, biting her lip before looking up at you with an anxious yet hopeful look. “This is for you,” she says, handing you the envelope. You raise an eyebrow at her as you ask, “What’s this?”

“Jus open it,” she says, fidgeting with her sleeve. You open the envelope tentatively, a little nervous at how anxious the usually confident girl is. Folding open the pink letter, you scan the page, smelling her perfume as if she sprayed it on the paper. You smile in adoration as you see the usual scribbly handwriting, this time a little less messy. Taking a quick glance at the girl, you see her rub her neck, nodding at you to read it. Your heart skips a beat as you read the words.

It’s… It’s a love confession.

You grip the paper a little tighter as you read about how Paige has had a crush on you for the past two years and how much you mean to her. Your eyes stay glued to the page until you reach the end. “Will you be my valentine?” The last sentence reads.

You look up at her in shock, excitement bubbling in your chest. The athlete is still looking at you, her eyes wide and hopeful. “Really?” You whisper, not wanting to break the intimate atmosphere. She nods her head as she bites her lip shyly. A broad smile spreads across your face as you nod enthusiastically. “Yes!” You say, your voice a bit higher as you’re unable to contain your joy.

“Yeah?” Paige grins, her confident, cheerful self showing again. She grabs you again, lifting you up as she twirls you around. You can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips at the giddiness you’re feeling. “Okay, uhh, I’ve made dinner plans for tonight, but I was thinking we could just chill here for a bit and then go get lunch in that cute little café we went to last time I was here!” The blue-eyed girl beams.

You’re already nodding your head before she finishes her sentence, knowing you’d do anything with the girl. Seeing as you still have some time before you need to start getting ready, you drag the basketball player to your couch. You let her sit down first before settling down next to her and swinging your legs over her lap. You’d been in this position plenty of times before, but those times never felt as intimate as this time.

Your heart thrums in your chest as Paige immediately rests her hands on your legs, rubbing them softly as she relaxes into her seat. You hold your new teddy bear against your chest as you watch the blonde fondly. Catching you staring, she sends you a smirk, making you look down with a chuckle.

“So, how’d you manage to get coach to let you skip practice?” You ask, your head tilted in question. “Oh, that was easy, he loves me, so he said he’d let me skip for once,” she replies smoothly. You huff out a laugh as she says that, mischief clear in her eyes. “You’re such a liar,” you grin back. “Okay, okay, maybe that’s not exactly how it went,” she rolls her eyes playfully. You look at her triumphantly as she gives your leg a little squeeze, more amused than annoyed that you caught her. “He said I could skip, but that my next practice is gonna be extra hard.”

You look at her in amusement but also slight worry. “You didn’t have to do this, you know? I would’ve been happy with just a phone call. I don’t want you to work yourself to the point of passing out,” you reply, your brows furrowed slightly in concern. She shakes her head, bringing one hand to your face to smooth out your frown. “I know I didn’t have to, but I wanted to. Besides, I think I would’ve gone insane if I didn’t see you soon,” she says, her voice more vulnerable than you’re used to.

Your lips curve back into a smile as she continues. “And stop worrying about me so much, I’m okay. If things get too much, I’ll let you know, I promise.” She sticks out her pinky finger, grinning at you as you interlace yours with hers.

You two keep talking until it’s time to get ready for lunch. Seeing as Paige is already dressed, you leave her on your couch as you walk up to your closet to pick a nice outfit before running to the bathroom to put yourself together. Once you’re satisfied, you return to the couch, blushing as you see the blonde check you out. You raise your eyebrow and send her a teasing grin, letting her know you caught her. She simply sends you a smirk back as she gets up.

There’s not a moment of silence on the way to the café as you two talk about the latest things in your lives. You talk about classes, basketball, family, friends, and the weird dreams you’ve had. The conversation continues to flow during lunch and into the afternoon as you walk around the city with Paige. A smile is permanently etched into your face as you stroll around with your hand in the blonde’s. While her hand is a bit rough from playing so much basketball, it’s still very soft. She rubs her thumb across your knuckles as she animatedly talks about the shenanigans she’s been up to with the team.

When you stop for ice cream, you order your favorite flavor before noticing Paige taking another flavor you love. It confuses you a little, knowing she doesn’t really like it, but you don’t really pay any mind to it as you continue rambling about what your professor did last class. When you sit down, you enjoy your ice cream as you listen to the girl in front of you. She takes small bites in between sentences, making her still have half of it left when you’re done with yours. As she talks, she starts feeding you some of her cup, making you smile at how cheesy you two are being. You don’t mind, though, this is exactly what you’d dreamed of.

When you notice the blonde isn’t eating her ice cream anymore, only feeding you, you go to protest. You don’t get the chance to, however, as the girl knew what you were up to. She quickly shoves another spoonful into your mouth when you open it to speak, rolling your eyes playfully. She grins as she shrugs a little.

Once you two are done, you walk back towards your dorm, silently thanking your roommate for having her own plans and not being home. Once inside, you guide the blonde to your bed, plopping down as you put on a random show for background sounds. You spend hours talking about everything and nothing, laughing harder than you have in months.

“So, this dinner, where are we going?” You ask Paige as you crane your neck up from where you’re lying against her. She pretends to lock her mouth and throw away the key, making you roll your eyes. “You’re so unhelpful, y’know that?” She laughs, knowing it’s true. “Can you at least tell me what the vibe is? Do I need to dress fancy?” You question as you get up and walk over to your closet. You rifle through your options as the athlete speaks. “Semi-formal, I guess,” she shrugs, getting up herself. “Where are you going?” You ask as she starts walking towards the door.

“Gonna grab my bag from my car, I’m not going to dinner in this outfit,” she replies, making you nod in understanding. Once she’s gone, you pause for a moment, pinching yourself to make sure you’re not dreaming. When you know for sure you’re not, you let out an excited squeal before calming yourself down and getting ready. Once you’re dressed, you sit down in front of your mirror to apply some light make-up.

You hear Paige walk back in, having borrowed your keys, as you’re applying mascara. Once you’re done, you look at her through the mirror and send her a bashful smile. She doesn’t smile back, too enthralled by your beauty. You shake your head as you giggle, grabbing your lip gloss. You lean in a bit closer to the mirror, applying a thin layer of gloss to make your lips shine. You glance over at Paige, seeing her eye the applicator as you glide it across your lips. She swallows harshly when you make eye contact, looking away sheepishly as she walks over to get ready in the bathroom.

You scroll through Instagram as you wait for the blonde, liking the Valentine’s Day posts from your friends. When you hear the bathroom door open, you glance up, your throat going dry. Paige always looked gorgeous, but right now, you think she’s never looked better. She smiles softly at you as you take her in. She doesn’t tease you about the way you’re basically drooling over her, knowing she’s just as enamored.

“You look beautiful,” she says, grabbing your hand and giving it a soft squeeze. “Says you,” you grin with rosy cheeks. Her eyes twinkle with happiness as she leads you to the door. “Oh, one sec!” You mutter, running back towards your dresser to grab something. You quickly put the tiny box in your bag before walking back over to Paige. “Alright, I’m ready,” you say, rocking back and forth in excitement.

You walk towards the taller girl’s car in comfortable silence, your hand in hers, fingers interlinked. You let her open the passenger door for you, chuckling at her as she gives you a bow. “M’lady,” she tries to say seriously, but she can’t stop the smile growing on her face. “You’re such a dork,” you reply as you get in, hoping she doesn’t notice the bright color of your cheeks.

Once you two are on the road, Paige takes one hand off of the steering wheel, putting her arm on the center console. You look at it for a moment before grabbing her hand and interlacing your fingers once more. You take a peek at the blonde to see her reaction and feel your stomach flutter when you see her sporting a tiny, content smile.

Once you get to the restaurant, you look around in awe. It was beautiful. You still can’t believe that all of this is real. That Paige Bueckers, your best friend, is taking you out on a date and treating you like a queen. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve been smiling all day.

You two share a bottle of wine as you enjoy your food, letting one another taste each other’s dishes, grinning when you find the other’s food better. You giggle as you switch your plates around, not paying any mind to the looks you’re receiving. After finishing your meal, you order dessert, sharing the sweet treat, feeling pretty full from dinner.

Once you’re done, Paige pulls out a wrapped box with a tiny ribbon bow. For a moment you’re confused where it came from, but you quickly dismiss your confusion. “Paige, you didn’t have to get me anything! You’ve already paid for everything today,” you whine, feeling bad about how much the girl is spending on you. “Oh hush,” she says, “I love spoiling my girl.” “Your girl, huh?” You tease with a grin. She rolls her eyes lightheartedly. “Open itttt,” she says impatiently.

You giggle as you open it, letting out a gasp as you see the bracelet inside. “Paige…” you breathe out, “this is beautiful.” “Yeah? You like it?” She asks, hoping you’re speaking the truth. You nod eagerly, flashing her a toothy smile as you brush your thumb over the P charm. “I was scared it would be too possessive, giving you something with my initial on it for our first date,” she admits, scratching her temple. “I love it, P,” you say, letting her help you put it on.

You grab your bag, pulling out your own gift box. “You didn’t,” Paige grins as you hand it to her. “I did,” you grin back. “How? You didn’t even know I was coming today,” she asks, giving you a curious look. “I got this a while back and was just waiting for the perfect moment to give it to you,” you say, your heart drumming in your ears as you nervously wait for her reaction. Her face lights up at the sight of the new chain you’d gotten her. She lifts it out of the box, letting it shine in the dim restaurant lights.

She taps the tiny basketball pendant as it swings on the chain. The blonde sends you a radiant smile, her eyes shining with love. “Thank you,” she says, adoration clear in her voice. You raise one finger, making her pause. You rummage in your bag, grabbing a tiny plastic bag, before handing it to her with a smirk. She holds it close, laughing as she realizes what it is. Opening the bag, she grabs the tiny charm, twirling it between her fingers. “I see we had the same idea,” she smiles, her cheeks becoming a soft pink at the thought of wearing your initial on her neck.

You help her put it on before waving over the waiter for the bill. You begrudgingly let Paige pay, knowing you’d never win that fight against her. You hold her hand as you walk towards her car, squeezing it softly. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst with joy and adoration. Once you reach the car, you look at the taller girl as she pauses.

Her eyes flit over your face as she softly grabs your hips. She steps closer, gently pushing you against the car. She leans in closer, her eyes looking into yours with a questioning look. Your heart skips a beat as you nod lightly. The blue-eyed girl leans even closer, her lips hovering over yours for a moment to give you an extra second to change your mind. When you don’t, she presses her lips against yours in a slow but deep kiss. You grab her face, trying to pull her even closer as you close your eyes. After a minute, you pull away slightly to catch your breath. You move your hands towards her neck as you play with her baby hairs. The smile she sends you makes you weak in the knees, making you silently thank God that you’re leaning against the car.

“Be mine?” Paige breathes, her question sounding almost like a statement. You don’t need to think twice as you nod, pulling her into another kiss.

You know it won’t be easy, being in a relationship while you’re miles apart, but you know that it’s all worth it when you get to call this amazing girl yours.

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