#its right fucking there and they were waiting for it and they ALWAYS are for each other

[iluvbuckets]

take it like a taker

paige bueckers x fem!reader 

summary: you and paige are freaked tf out

warnings: a little plot but its still about sex, lots of dirty talk (i don't like quiet sex sue me), oral, strap! yay!, choking, praise, light degradation, whimpering, begging, overstimulation, lots of edging, crying, sub!paige (hehehe), she's kind of a brat but a whiny one, mentions of her being a munch, let me know if i missed anything lol

word count: 4.6k

notes: here's the pride special!! sorry it took so long! deadass don't think i have never written anything this fucking filthy ever in my 11 years of writing fanfics (that makes me sound old i just started way too young). happy pride month <3

✷✷✷

you saw the edits, the comments, the fanfiction. you read what her fans said about her, what they assumed–that she’s probably a player, dominant, takes the lead. she knew exactly what to say and how to say it every time, especially in bed. that she was the one giving, whispering praise in your ear as she touched you, slamming the strap into you, giving you head until you couldn’t take it anymore.

god, they couldn’t be more wrong. 

and you loved it. 

there was something so thrilling about the secrecy of it all. the stark contrast of the way she presented herself versus the way she really was behind closed doors. it made your possessive tendencies thrive. you were not only the only one who could hear her desperate begging for more, her loud moans when you hit the right spot, the whimpers when you touched her at all, the squirming when you whisper something dirty in her ear in public, the occasional brattiness when she was in a sour mood that she would absolutely be punished for, but you were the only one who even knew about it at all. 

you let her play the part in public. you let her confidence ooze easily from her lips like it was second nature, without any argument. you let her lead conversations with ease. you let her put her hands on the small of your back to guide you, on your waist when you were talking to people, or on your thigh when you were sitting down together. you let her pick up checks when you went out to eat or went shopping, and open your doors like she was the one in charge. 

she could do all these things when everyone was watching because it wouldn’t change that she would be on her knees for you, begging for you to touch her or to let her touch you, as soon as you got home. and there was no place she’d rather be.

“i want you to sit on my face,” she whispered, a hand covering her mouth so no one could try to read her lips.

you wanted to be shocked, you really did, but this was something paige always did when you two were in public, especially something that meant you couldn’t be home right away. she would say she thinks it’s funny to see you squirm with impatience, but you knew it was because she liked the aftermath. she liked how right when you would walk through the door, you would throw her against the wall and whisper something degrading in her ear because she just couldn’t wait.

especially tonight. while you two were getting ready and you were standing in front of the mirror trying to smooth out any wrinkles, she came up behind you to put her hands on your hips and press your bodies together. she muttered something in your ear about how she needed to fuck you right there, how she was throbbing and soaked just seeing you in that dress. how she wanted you to look in the mirror as she ate you out so you could see how pretty you looked. you debated giving her what she wanted, but you knew you couldn’t run late, because when paige gave you head, it was never quick. she was always begging for just one more, just let me see you come one more time.

well, you did kind of give her what she wanted. if dropping to your knees and eating her pussy until she was about to come, then pulling away, buttoning her pants back up, and telling her you better get going would count as what she wanted.

she patted your thigh lightly, then settled her fingers barely beneath the fabric of the dress you were wearing. you were at a somewhat fancy dinner with the dallas wings players, staff, and their significant others to celebrate the upcoming season–the regular season that started on friday, three days from then. 

you already knew you were going to fuck her when you got home, despite anything she was doing to make sure you finished the job from earlier. she looked so damn good, how could you not? she let you curl her hair tonight in soft waves, and she picked out a black short-sleeve button up with a pair of nicer black cargo pants, and sneakers, of course. you loved it when she wore all black, and she knew that.

“now?” you ask quietly, reaching forward to take a sip of your water without even sparing her a glance. 

she was being bratty like this on purpose, you knew it. she was probably still aching and wet in her pants, desperate for you to take her home and finish what you started. she had been shifting in her seat all night, constantly crossing and uncrossing her legs, trying to stay composed.

her eyes raked over you slowly, and not at all subtly, taking in the way you looked in that dress. it was black and fitted to your body, the neck low enough in a v to expose your cleavage. you had your straightened hair pushed behind your shoulders, too, meaning it was all on display. to anyone at the table, they probably thought she was spending extra time staring at your chest. maybe she did for a second, but she couldn’t help but let her eyes linger on the necklace dangling from your neck.

she had randomly gifted it to you when you moved to dallas. she had muttered something about how practice was going to run long that day, but then came home with a small bag from a jewelry store. it was a dainty gold chain, and it was supposed to be a name necklace with the name written in cursive, but she had decided to get five on it instead. it was the perfect mix of possession and privacy for you, and you loved it.

“mhm,” she hummed. then she leaned toward you to whisper in your ear again, “you taste better than anything on this menu.”

your head quickly whipped to the side to give her a look, so quickly that naylssa and dijonai–who were sitting across from you–noticed. she barely had time to move her head, so your noses brushed when you did so. you glanced at the two teammates across the table who had returned their attention back to whoever was talking.

“yeah?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at her, almost in a challenging way, but she didn’t react. she had a big, goofy grin like she was proud of what she was doing and your reaction. if you weren’t in public, you probably would’ve grabbed her by the throat. 

she nodded smugly, her fingers squeezing your thigh slightly. “would do anything to fuck you right now.”

“keep running your mouth,” you warned, not even whispering. if any of her teammates heard you, they chose to ignore it. you couldn’t blame them, you probably looked like you were fighting.

“what are you gonna do about it?” she asks boldly, her grin never faltering. “because that’s not the only thing i’m gonna do w’it."

you leaned toward her slowly, your expression unreadable. “wait until we get home,” you whispered, making sure your lips touched her ear as your words spilled out.

she shuddered at the contact and her grin faltered slightly at the words, making you smirk. you placed a hand high on her thigh, squeezing tightly for a moment, almost as another warning. she clenched her thighs at the feeling, just happy to be touched by you even if it wasn’t exactly where she wanted it.

she didn’t dare to run her mouth anymore after that, knowing that it could jeopardize her ability to finally receive the orgasm she had been denied of earlier. you were a little disappointed by her obedience, though. you almost wanted her to keep going, so you didn’t feel bad about your intention to only give her one, maybe two, orgasms tonight after spending hours teasing her. that was something paige wasn’t used to. you were more into overstimulating her than edging her, loving the way she would whine beneath you because it just felt so good.

when you finally walked in the door to your apartment, you slipped off your shoes and walked down the hall to your bedroom without a word. she was stunned, standing there watching you go as she shut the door. usually in moments like this, you wouldn’t waste any time slamming her against the wall or the door, or maybe even pushing her down on the couch or onto her knees on the floor. she swallowed thickly, but followed you back anyway.

paige stood in the doorway, nervously fidgeting with her fingers. you moved around the room for a few seconds, pretending to look for something–pretending you didn’t see her. you quickly grabbed a hair tie from the dresser and turned to face her. her eyes shifted down to your hands then back up to your face, shooting you a questioning, but knowing look. she knew why you wanted the hair tie, just not why you were grabbing it right now. 

you smiled innocently as you walked over to her, slow and deliberate, and stood in front of her. she didn’t break her eye contact with you as you did so. you reached your hands up to gather her hair into a messy low bun, making sure that it didn’t look too crazy or have too many bumps. then, you smoothed your hands over her shoulders, then her chest down to her stomach, allowing your fingers to fumble with the buttons from the bottom up.

“you’ve been such a brat tonight,” you said casually, slipping her shirt off her frame. “i don’t know if you deserve me sitting on your face, baby.”

her eyes widened at your words, her hands coming up to grab your waist as yours slipped under her sports bra. “no, i do. please, i’ll be good. promise.”

you laughed gently at her words, using your thumbs to rub circles around her nipples. she whimpered at your touch, leaning forward to chase your lips in a kiss. which you allowed her to. she kissed you with intense, heated passion that you’re not sure you’ve ever felt from her before. it was something so desperate, telling you she was so ready to come, you’re not even sure you wanted to tease her anymore. she fisted your dress where her hands were settled, trying to pull you closer.

paige shouldn’t have expected you to let her. she knows better than that. you pulled away, well as much as you could with the way she was gripping your dress. her eyes didn’t leave your lips, though, her lips parted and breathing ragged as she waited for you to lean back in. you contemplated taking her bra off, but you decided to lower your hands to her pants instead–where there was a waistband to a pair of nike pros sticking out. you traced over the words with your pointer finger, making her sigh from her nose. 

“this for me?” you asked, tilting your head. the answer, you knew, was a mix between yes and no. yes, because she knew how hot you thought it was when you could see the logo poking out of her sweatpants, cargos, shorts, whatever. no, because she was more comfortable with them no matter what.

“everything i do is for you,” she replied quickly and breathlessly, like she didn’t even think before saying it–like an automatic response.

“is that right?” you chuckled, feeling your heart melt a little bit. 

to reward her for saying something so sweet, you grabbed her wrists to gently pry her hands off your dress, which she did immediately without much of a fight. you sunk to your knees slowly, keeping your eyes trained on hers. her pupils were blown with lust as she watched you, one of her hands rising to rest on the doorframe next to her. you used both of your hands to hook in the waistband of her nike pros to swiftly pull them and her pants down in one smooth motion, but left her underwear on. she carefully stepped out of her pants, mindlessly kicking them into the hallway behind her. 

you leaned forward to place kisses along the waistband of her underwear, sucking a hickey into the skin above it. her hips snapped forward against their will, the sensitivity from her denied orgasm really showing itself. you smiled mischievously, moving down to mouth over her clit that pulsing with desire through the fabric.

“fuck,” she breathed at the feeling. her unoccupied hand moved to rest on the back of your head, subconsciously pushing you closer. you considered mentioning it, punishing her for pushing you, but you decided that wasn’t as fun. “please, make me come. please, i’ve been waiting all night.”

you laughed against her, sending a vibration throughout her entire body that had her moaning softly, but you didn’t answer. it was too early to spoil the surprise. you traced your fingers over her entrance, feeling the wet spot. you had expected her to be wet, but not that wet. you almost pulled away to ask about it but she beat you to it. it was like she could read your mind.

“so wet for you,” she whined, “you look so damn good tonight. i can’t help it, wanna give you head so fucking bad. want you to sit on my face until i can’t breathe.” 

“aw, paige,” you cooed, like you were going to give her sweet words of praise, pushing her underwear to the side, “you’re such a slut, you know that? you probably would’ve gotten on your knees right there under the table if i asked.” 

you didn’t give her time to reply before your mouth was on her. the gasp that left her lips when you licked a flat stripe from her soaked entrance to her clit was so violent, you were surprised she didn’t cough afterwards. her fingers tangled in your hair, pulling harder than she probably meant to, but you didn’t mind. you actually loved it when she was so lost in the moment that she didn’t realize she was borderline ripping your hair out.

when you licked through her folds and over clit slowly, her hips jolted forward and she continued to try to grind it out, but you knew it probably wasn’t on purpose. she was always so sensitive anyway, and the denial from earlier definitely made it worse. 

you wrapped your lips around her clit and sucked gently, using your tongue to trace circles around the bud after at a faster pace. her stomach would not stop flexing, almost sending her hunching over above you, but you didn’t let up. 

“shit. oh, fuck,” she moaned, her eyes pinching shut at the feeling. she pressed her hips forward, chasing the orgasm building in her stomach. “‘m gonna come already. feels too good”

even though you appreciated the warning, you already knew–not that it was hard to tell. she was making such pretty sounds, though, it took some mild internal convincing to pull yourself away this time.

“no, no!” she cried out, her hand trying to push your head back where she wanted it. “goddammit, please don’t stop.”

“come on, baby. you didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” you asked innocently. you flicked her clit playfully causing her to flinch and her body to twitch. she threw her head back in frustration, trying not to groan out loud because she knew it would only prolong the release she is desperately waiting for.

you quickly jumped to your feet, leaning forward to crash your lips together again. she kissed you back hard, pouring every bit of anger and frustration she was feeling into it so hopefully you would get the point and finally give her what she wanted. without looking, you used both hands to shove her underwear down a little bit, and she got the hint. she hastily removed them without disconnecting your lips, throwing them behind you onto the floor somewhere. you pulled away, grabbing her wrist to pull her into the room. then spun her around so you could place your hands flat on her chest and push her onto the bed.

she propped herself up on her elbows, expecting to watch you put your mouth on her again or maybe even sit on her face finally, but you didn’t. instead, you hastily pulled off your dress and underwear. you ran your palms up her thighs gently while leaning over her body, still standing next to the bed, trying to be soothing and comforting as you decided what you wanted to do next. you couldn’t decide if you wanted to use your mouth, your fingers, your thigh–god, the possibilities were endless for making her squirm beneath you.

then, an idea popped into your head.

“can i use the strap on you?” you asked.

her eyebrows rose in surprise at your words. it wasn’t that either of you hated it per se, but it was something that was only brought out for special occasions, you would say. and on those rare occasions, you were usually the one receiving. still, she nodded slowly.

she stared as you bent down next to the bed to pull it out of the bottom drawer of the nightstand and strap on the harness. her pussy aching and dripping with desire, and she had an overwhelming urge to touch herself to try to relieve it. she didn’t, though; she wasn’t feeling quite as bratty anymore now that she’s had two orgasms ripped away from her and would probably have a few more ripped away if she kept it up too.

without wasting any time teasing, you touched the silicone to her entrance, covering it with her slick as lube. she whimpered at the feeling, leaning forward to watch. you grabbed one of her legs behind her knee to bend it, giving you a better angle as you pushed the tip in ever so slightly. her face contorted at the sudden stretch, pussy clenching, and you made sure to keep your eyes trained on her face to gauge her expressions. you almost had the urge to tell her to look you in the eyes, but it was so fucking hot that she wanted to watch, honestly.

“you okay?” you asked gently, brushing your fingers over her stomach.

“mhm,” she hummed, biting her bottom lip. 

you slowly rolled your hips to bottom out in one motion. one of her hands flew to press against your stomach, not expecting you to go so fast. 

“you can take it,” you said, grabbing her wrist and lacing your fingers together. you pressed her hand above her head against the bed, making her lie all the way down. the arm that she was using to pop herself up was now moving so she could rest her hand on your hip lightly.

you rolled your hips again, pulling all the way out and slowly pushing back in. her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feeling and a loud moan slipped from her lips before she could stop it. the sound made you smile, knowing that she was in pure bliss because of you. her mouth stayed parted, like she was making sounds, but nothing was coming out. your hips fell into a steady rhythm, not slow, but not fast either–just enough to let her feel all of it.

“fuck, paige,” you moaned. “you look so pretty like this. taking all of me like a good girl.”

her hips bucked slightly, a high-pitched moan ripping from her throat. you accidentally snapped your hips forward roughly from the sound, causing her to gasp, her free hand pressing against your stomach again. you released the grip your hand had on her leg, moving to use your thumb to circle her clit.

“oh my god,” she moaned, her hand that was resting on your hip flying to grip your bicep tightly. “shit, i’m–fuck.”

“i know,” you said softly, “tell me how good it feels.”

“i-i can’t–please, let me–” she interrupted herself with a moan, her pussy clenching tightly around the silicone to try to will her orgasm away that was quickly approaching. you pulled all the way out, watching the way she clenched around nothing as she cried out from frustration beneath you. “fuck! please, let me come. i’m begging for it, please. i want it so bad.”

“you asked for this, baby,” you chuckled. honestly, you did feel a little bad about it while watching her cry out, but not bad enough to stop.

“i’m sorry,” she said, looking up to meet your eyes through her lashes. “’m sorry. i’ll be so good for you. just–please, let me come.”

without warning, you slammed the silicone back into her. her legs clenched from the unexpected fullness, her hand that was intertwined with yours tightening with a death grip on your fingers, and her eyes pinched shut tightly as her head came forward.

“this is what you wanted, right?” you asked quietly, using the hand that was on her clit to grip her throat and push her head back against the bed. 

her free hand loosened from your bicep to fall to your wrist, gripping it but not pulling it off. she would never admit it otherwise, but she loved it when you choked her like this. you didn’t do it very often, so she savored it when you did. despite your grip, she managed to nod at your words, not trusting herself to speak from how foggy her brain felt in pleasure.

you watched as tears slipped from her eyes when you sped up your thrusts, but she didn’t say anything. you weren’t even sure if she knew she was crying, either. her stomach and pussy clenched, and you almost had the urge to let her come because of her pure desperation. her orgasm was approaching much, much quicker than before, after the first three denied orgasms.

of course, you completely pulled out when her hips bucked up to chase her fourth. she cried out a choked sob, causing you to loosen the grip on her throat so she could breathe, and your other hand loosening on hers subconsciously. her hands flew to her face to cover it from her frustration as she sobbed.

“paige,” you said, gently caressing her sides with your hands. sure, you had made her cry during sex before, but never like this. “do you want to stop?”

“no,” she shook her head, voice muffled from her hands. 

“are you sure?” you asked, not really convinced because of her crying.

“yes. please, keep going,” she said with an exasperated tone, “i want to come.”

nodding, not verbally replying, you took the harness off and haphazardly threw it to the side.  you reached up to take her hands off her face, expecting her to fight you, but she didn’t. her face was streaked with tears, her mascara running down her cheeks. you leaned forward to place a soft kiss on her lips. then, you slotted your thigh between her legs, pressing her soaked, pulsing pussy against the muscle. without asking for permission, she started slowly grinding against it. 

“you’re going to take what i give you,” you said against her mouth. she whimpered, already feeling herself wanting to unravel. “and you don’t get to come just because you want it.”

you moved your thigh away from her just slightly, making her grind against nothing but the air. she couldn’t even bring herself to say anything in complaint, just let out another violent sob at her fifth orgasm being taken away.

you leaned back so you were sitting on your heels, taking in the sight of her in front of you. she looked absolutely wrecked–cheeks flushed, eyes glassy, tear and mascara stains on her face, red marks where she was biting her bottom lip, god. you wondered how you had never thought of this before. 

she reached forward to grab your hand and shove it where she wanted it, not even caring about the potential consequences. you didn’t touch her though, stiffening your arm before it could. “please, please, make me come. i’ve been so good at taking it all. i can’t take it anymore.”

you pretended to think about it for a moment, then knelt down between her legs. you almost considered being stubborn and not giving it to her, but at this point, she would probably come just from you touching her even slightly. she quite literally sobbed from relief while watching you do so, throwing her head back against the mattress. you let your breath fan over her for a second, and she clenched when she felt it. 

when you finally flicked your tongue against her clit, her thighs clenched tightly around your head with an intense orgasm. she didn’t even make a sound as she gushed beneath you, her upper body hunching forward involuntarily. you continued to circle your tongue slowly against her clit though, working her through it. her hands clutched at the sheets until her knuckles turned white.

after about a minute when she started to come down, her entire body shaking, she realized you hadn’t stopped yet–but you didn’t intend to. her legs trembled around your head, stomach clenching and body jerking every few seconds as you continued to circle your tongue. her hands flew to your hair to scramble for purchase.

“wait, i’m–fuck, i can’t–” she said breathlessly with confusion dripping in her tone, tears slipping from her eyes again. 

“isn’t this what you wanted?” you said against her, making sure she could feel the vibration. “you wanted to come, right? do it again.”

she blinked at you with her lips parted like her mind was blank, like her intense orgasm had wiped out any potential for a coherent thought. you increased the pace of your tongue, trying to work her back up to that edge for another one. 

“i’m–goddamn, shit,” she babbled. 

it didn’t take very long before she was coming again with a moan, grinding her hips against your face involuntarily. her back arched off the bed, eyes rolling into the back of her head at the feeling. you worked her through it for a few moments before pulling away from her, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

she was lying against the bed, her arms thrown lazily over her face, chest heaving like she had just run a marathon, legs shaking helplessly. you bent down to press a kiss against her stomach gently, which she didn’t react to, then laid down next to her. 

“good?” you asked, throwing your arm over her stomach in a comforting manner. 

she didn’t move her arms to answer. “yeah,” she breathed. 

then, she spoke again. you don’t know why you weren’t expecting the words that came out of her mouth because it’s paige. she couldn’t do anything without returning the favor.

“are you going to sit on my face now?”

[slutzforbueckers]

smit dialogue #1 & #11 where reader is struggling to ride paige

take a ride

♡— pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

♡— warnings: smut

♡— synopsis: paige switches things up and paiges you ride her, you find it to be harder than you thought.

❥•°❀°•༢

you were already laying down when paige turned around, your hands somewhere around your head, thighs pressed tight while you waited. she smirked at the sight of you because she knew something you didn’t. paige adjusted the last strap on the harness and climbed over you. she pressed a soft kiss to your lips, like she always did before she fucked you, but instead of pulling your legs into position she rolled off to the side. 

“what are you—“ your words were cut short by a small squeal when she pulled you into her lap, like you weighed nothing. your hands steadied yourself on her shoulders immediately. 

“you’re gonna ride me tonight,” paige leaned back against the headboard, her hands grabbing your hips and pulling you closer to the strap standing tall between her legs. you looked down at it for a second and you let out a breathy laugh, obviously thinking she was joking. she gave your hips a small squeeze and nodded. “we’re switchin it up, princess.” 

you had an easy relationship when it came to sex—paige did all the work and you laid back and took everything she gave you. it was simple really. you weren’t necessarily a pillow princess, not by definition, but you were rarely ever on top and that was just fine. paige knew how to sit on your face when she wanted to cum, or even press herself against your cunt. 

with that being said, you’ve never ridden her before, you never had to. you understood the concept though—up and down, do what feels good, easy—or you thought you understood but it proved to be harder than you thought. 

paige’s hands rested on your sides as you wrapped your hand around her strap and lifted your hips. you hovered over her for a second, eyes darting between paige’s blue eyes and your hand. she raised her brows in a way that said “i’m waiting” without her actually having to say it. 

letting out a shaky breath, you lined the head of her cock up with your entrance and sank down in one motion. the noise you let out came from being surprised at the stretch and how different the angle was. even though you were soaking wet the stretch still burned since you didn’t ease into it like paige did. you always complained about how slowly she started but now that it was you in control you saw how much it helped. 

you pressed your forehead against her, eyes shut, fingernails digging into her shoulders. paige shushed you softly when you whimpered, her hands moving around to rub soothing circles on your ass. “don’t rush, we got all night.”

you stayed still for a long moment, just breathing, getting comfortable, and when you start moving you realize that she's deep—deeper than you thought—but its still good. you lift your hips, barely an inch before dropping again. the movement sends a weak spark through your core, it feels…okay. 

paige watches your face, the furrow in your brow, your mouth parting in something close to a moan but not quite. you try again—another shallow bounce that’s more awkward than sexy, but she smiles anyway. you lift your head and look at paige for some guidance but she just stared at you. “paige,” you whimper, your lip pushing out in a pout. 

you try again and again and you know you’re not doing it right—you’re out of rhythm, your knees are sliding, it doesn't even feel good. paige is, of course, loving every second of it, watching you struggle to find the right way was somewhat adorable to her. 

your thighs are starting to burn and before you knew it you were stopping again, letting out a frustrated sound. paige laughed softly and gripped your hips. “what’s wrong? you’re not used to having to do any work, huh princess?”

“i hate you.” you grumbled. she rolled her eyes and started to guide your hips with her hands, she helped you grind down instead of bounce. its slower but better, the pressure lines up with your clit and you whimper at how easy she makes it. your head dropped to her shoulder and you held her tighter.

“no you don’t,” she whispered, kissing behind your ear. “you love me, and you love how good i make you feel.”

you whined, nodding your head because she was right. she guided you for a little longer and when she started to slow down you started to grind down in the same way she showed you. paige hummed and moved her hands back to your ass, slapping it gently just to watch it move. 

“that’s it,” she murmured, her breath warm against your ear. you moaned softly and started to drag your hips up at the same time as when you rolled them forward. when you came down your stomach twisted as your breath hitched. you did it again a little harder and the sound that came out was louder. paige felt the shift, she felt you fall into a good rhythm, she could tell it was way better. “let me see those eyes.” 

your head stayed tucked in the crook of her neck for a second longer. paige slapped your ass, a little harder than the last time and you lifted your head, eyes glassy when they finally meet hers. 

“there she is,” she grinned, brushing your hair back from your face. you whimpered, holding onto her tighter as you started to bounce faster, harder. your clit throbbed and slick sounds filled the room every time you dropped back down and circled your hips forward. it wasn’t perfect, but it was good—good enough to make your thighs shake, good enough that you could feel yourself getting closer. 

paige groaned low in her throat, her head falling back against the headboard, blue eyes falling down to where your bodies met. her strap was coated white, your cunt creating a creamy ring around her.“fuck—just like that, baby.” 

you couldn’t keep your head up, not with the way she was looking at you. you whimpered, lip brushing her neck, letting out a breathy, desperate moan when her strap slipped against that spot. your hips jerked wildly now, chasing that high that was just a few bounces away. “i’m—fuck, i’m so close, paige.”

paige already knew, her fingers pressed into the plush of your ass and she slowly jutted her hips up. you cried out loudly but it went muffled in the crook of her neck. “cum for me, let me feel it, baby.”

your moans turned into broken cries as the tension finally snapped. you came hard, hips stuttering, your forehead pressed into her shoulder while your whole body shook from the force of it. your walls pulsed around the strap and your legs went limp, too sore to hold yourself up any longer. 

paige murmured something you didn’t catch, too far gone to register it, but the way she kissed the side of your head—soft and slow—told you everything you needed to know. she kept you steady, held you through it. 

her arms were wrapped around you when you slumped into her chest with a long exhale. “i’m never doing that again, my legs hurt.” you whimpered. 

she laughed, low and affectionate, pressing another kiss to the side of your head. “well, you did say you wanted a new workout.” 

[s1rawb3rry]

Our Seashell Promises

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

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

word count: 15.8k

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

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

pairing: captain!enhypen Heeseung x reader

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

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

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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.

[rafesbimbo]

Sexist!rafe baby trapping reader...? Its okay if not!! Just a thought

warnings: babytrapping, unprotected sex, manipulation, misogyny, ownership kink, breeding kink, gaslighting, emotional control, possessive behavior, degradation/praise mix

pairing: sexist!rafe x reader

you were quiet when you brought it up.

sitting on the edge of rafe’s bed, knees together, hoodie slipping off one shoulder. you didn’t even look at him when you said it.

“i was thinking about getting a job.”

the silence that followed made your stomach twist.

rafe had been in a good mood that morning — made you breakfast, kissed your neck, even let you wear his chain.

but now? nothing.

he stood there for a second. still shirtless. still damp from the shower.

and then, finally, he laughed. low and slow, like it was adorable that you even thought you had options.

“a job?” he repeated, voice laced with disbelief. “what the fuck do you need a job for, baby?”

you looked down at your hands. “just… i dunno. something to do?”

rafe stepped closer, hand tilting your chin up.

his thumb dragged over your bottom lip like he owned it.

he owned you.

“you already have something to do,” he said softly.

“you wake up, you keep this house clean, you stay dolled up, and you wait for me to come home and fuck the attitude outta you. that’s your job.”

your cheeks burned, but your thighs clenched too. he always knew how to make you feel dumb — and he liked it that way.

“but you’re bored, huh?” he cooed, pushing you down on the bed now, knee spreading your legs apart.

“need a little more to fill your day?”

you tried to answer, but the words got caught in your throat when he shoved your panties aside and pressed two fingers against your slit.

“i’ll give you something to do,” he muttered, pulling his sweats down just enough to free his cock.

“give you a reason to stay home for the next nine months.”

your breath hitched. “rafe—”

“no,” he cut you off, cock rubbing against your entrance now, thick and hot. “you don’t get to act like this wasn’t what you wanted.”

he pushed in slow, inch by inch, until your back arched and your mouth fell open in a silent moan.

“don’t need a job,” he grunted, setting a brutal pace right away. “you need a purpose. you need to be owned.”

your legs shook, hands scrambling for something to hold onto.

rafe grabbed your wrists, pinned them above your head, and fucked you harder.

“you wanna work?” he growled. “then work on takin’ this dick. work on stayin’ knocked up.”

you moaned, high-pitched and needy, completely gone.

“you’re mine,” he hissed into your neck. “mine to fill. mine to keep. you’re gonna take every drop and say thank you.”

you could barely think — just nodded, babbling out broken little whimpers as you felt him spill inside you, hot and deep, grinding down until you swore you could feel it in your stomach.

he kissed your forehead after.

sweet.

smug.

“that’s my good girl,” he whispered. “don’t worry about working, baby. you’ve got a full-time job now.”

his hand settled over your belly, already claiming it like it was his.

“you’re gonna look so fuckin’ pretty with my kid in you.”

[aakeysmash]

I just saw something about Sukuna wearing glasses and I was just thinking yeah he definitely does and its definitely like the reading glasses kind and when he needs to like at y/n or something he does that thing where he lowers his glasses😭💔 (both au’s kinda except maybe in the college au he wears like actual glasses sometimes and it's like the big frame kind) just a thought tho!

film night and glasses

college!sukuna’s masterlist

You find out one random evening.

It’s just you two because Yuuji stayed over at Megumi’s last-minute, but you already planned on having a film night today. You’re preparing snacks and he’s next to you, in charge of the drinks, grumbling about how he could be sleeping or finishing his macros for the day or literally doing anything else right now.

“Go away then. If you don’t care about the whole dorm knowing you own a pair of bubblegum pink boxers with ‘baby boy’ written on your ass, that is,” you nonchalantly shrug, not able to contain an evil smirk.

“Fuck you, bitch,” he grunts, rolling his eyes. “I already told you everything else was in the washing machine and that those were a fuckin’ gift from the team,” he adds, squinting at your head, wishing his eyes could burn flesh.

“And I already told you I don’t care. Next time don’t come out of your room not wearing anything else beside those,” you sing, walking across the living room and putting down a bowl of popcorn.

“I’m spiking your drink,” he deadpans, following you with two glasses of alcohol-free mojito (he says you’re obnoxious when drunk, so he’s ‘protecting his patience’).

You whistle. “You want me in your bed that bad, baby boy?” You say seductively, doing a come here motion with your index finger. He lifts a corner of his mouth, disgusted, then puts down your drinks near the popcorn bowl.

“Maybe I should just strangle you,” he mumbles while you turn off the lights, giggling.

“What are we watching?” He sighs, resigned, plopping down on the sofa and scooting a little bit over to make space for you.

“Can’t you see the title on the TV?” You respond, raising one eyebrow while pit-patting over to him. He grunts as an answer. You get your feet up and he automatically lifts them on his thighs, rubbing little circles on your ankles. None of you seem bothered by how easily you fall in the position.

15 minutes into the film and you see he keeps on squinting at the TV. You initially shrug it off, but he keeps on doing it for another ten minutes.

“Yo, do you need glasses?” You say, munching on your popcorns. You finish the drink while waiting for his answer. It’s good. He’d be a great barman.

“Yeah,” he says casually, not even turning around to watch you, reaching for the bowl now resting on your stomach. You choke.

“If you die, I’m taking your room,” he says, glancing over, not moving a muscle to help you. You glare at him. You keep on coughing though, so he reluctantly starts to pat your back while rolling his eyes.

“Thanks,” you croak when you get better, wiping tears from the corner of your eyes.

“I’m always saving your dumb ass anyway,” he grunts, but he doesn’t move his hand from your back for some time, and he nods at his drink, currently in his hand and under your nose, so you can drink it.

“You wear glasses?!” You exclaim, voice still rough. Meanwhile, the film is still playing in the background, but your gaze is fixed on his side profile. Flashes of colors dance on his skin, illuminating his relaxed face.

“I don’t. I should,” he shrugs, not turning around to look you in the eye. “Only when I’m tired”.

“Can I please see you with them?!” You clap, changing position and getting on your knees on the couch’s cushion. He brings the arm closer to you on the back of the couch, slowly dragging his gaze on your expectant face.

“Hell no.”

“But whyyy,” you whine. You see a corner of his mouth lifting lazily.

“Don’t want you to die when you see how hot I am with them, baby,” he winks.

You throw a pillow at his face.

[allthatjazz416]

Sukuna NSFW 🥀

Scene: Just... sex. "Ruin Me💗" Sukuna Heian form Tags: Fem!Reader! D/S dynamic! CNC! RoughSex!Dehumanization! Size kink! Overstimulation! Creampie! Pussy worship via domination! Degration! Crying! Manhandling! Spanking! Restraint! PowerPlay! TrueformSukuna! Word count: 1.4k Note: Like the title said, its literally just sex. Porn without plot, and it might be extreme to some readers! Excuse any grammar mistakes, english isn't my first language. . Enjoy 🍽 divider crdts: @/cursed-carmine& a/cafekitsune

Your legs burn from kneeling too long. You tremble, wrists bound behind your back with silk soaked in cursed energy. The air is thick—oppressive—heavy with power that hums against your skin, reeking of incense, blood, and ruin.

He says nothing. 

Just watches.

Seated on a throne of skulls and bleached bone—a grotesque monument to conquest and carnage—all four of his eyes bear down on you, unblinking. Hungry. Dispassionate. Drinking you in like prey that doesn’t even deserve the chance to run.

 You feel his gaze like claws.

Your cunt pulses under it. Slick, throbbing, aching to be filled.

You don’t speak. You don’t move. You wait.

And then—he moves.

No warning. No command. Grabbing your chin, making you look look up at him. His grip is deceptively soft, but there’s no mistaking the strength behind it. He tilts your face up, makes you look—really look—into those merciless eyes.

Your breath catches.

Then, slowly—without a word—his other arm slips beneath your thighs. You barely register the movement before your body starts to rise, his strength unreal, terrifying. Inch by inch, he lifts you. Like you weigh nothing. Like you're just something to be placed where he wants you.

The motion is slow. Intentional.

You gasp, legs dangling, back arching instinctively, pressing your breast further onto his chest. He hasn’t even touched you properly yet, and you’re already dripping.

His chest rumbles against yours—low and amused. He doesn’t slam you down right away. Not yet.

Instead, he lets you hover—suspended over the thick, twitching length of his cock. You can feel the heat of it, the weight of it, the tip already brushing slick against your folds.

And still, he says nothing. While his rough hands rub the curve of your hip.

Finally, he shifts..

He lowers you onto his lap, not all at once, but slowly, forcing your thighs open over his, making space for himself. The silk binding your wrists shimmers—then dissolves—freeing your arms to fall against his shoulders, limp and useless.

Still, he waits. Holding you there.

The head of his cock nudges against your entrance—thick, unyielding. You squirm, hips twitching down. A desperate little whine slips past your lips.

That’s when he breaks the silence.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice low and cruel, like molten iron poured into velvet. “Dripping already. You knew what you were kneeling for.”

Your cunt clenches. You bite your lip. You’re begging without saying a word.

He waits. Lets you feel it. The sheer size of him pressing against your entrance. Your cunt flexing, wet and twitching, trying to take him in.

Then—

He drops you.

No teasing. No prep. No hesitation.

One brutal thrust—buried to the hilt, ripping a cry from your throat.

You gasped as your cunt splits wide around him. No warning, no mercy, just the savage stretch of him slamming home in a single, devastating stroke. He’s too big. He’s always too big. And still—your body takes him. Always takes him.

“Fuck…” he groans, deep and pleased. “There she is.”

You can’t answer. Can’t think.

All you can do is take it.

Your body flails, struggling to adjust, but he doesn’t let you go.

His arms cage you. Hold you flush against him.

Your pussy clenches around him like a vice, soaked and stretched and spasming.

He moves again.

Rolling his hips beneath you—slow at first, dragging the fat length of him almost all the way out before slamming it back in. Your whole body jolts. A strangled moan punches out of you as he fucks you down—again, again—like you’re nothing more than a sleeve made for his cock. 

Your thighs tremble. His hands keep you spread.

The throne groans beneath you—old skulls grinding under the rhythm of skin slapping skin, beneath the soft, wrecked cries punched out of you with every thrust.

He leans in.

“You’re mine,” he breathes against your ear. Reverent. Cruel. “Not a lover. Not a woman. Just a hole for the King.”

Your pussy clenches hard. A fresh rush of slick coats him.

“Slut,” he grins, voice filled with sick pride. “You like that.”

He picks up pace—merciless, punishing.

Your arms drape on his shoulders, your nails scraping at his back as he jackhammers up into you. He watches every twitch of you—your eyes rolling, your breath catching, your body breaking on him.

And then—you cum. Fast.

Your orgasm crashes over you like a wave of heat and shame, a helpless sob ripping from your throat as your pussy clamps down and milks him. Slick floods down his cock in wet, obscene gushes—every thrust squelching louder, wetter, like your cunt's desperate to milk him dry, like your begging to be bred.

“That’s it,” he snarls “Fucking ruin yourself on my cock.”

But he doesn’t stop.

He barely slows.

If anything— he goes harder.

He grinds into you—ruts—chasing his own release, hips slamming into yours so hard your vision whites out. And when he cums inside you, it’s hot and endless—thick spurts of cum flooding you, leaking around the brutal stretch of him before he’s even done fucking it into you.

You collapse against him—twitching, wrecked. Used. So full, you can feel it in your guts

But his grip stays tight. Holding you wide, displayed. His seed leaks from your ruined hole in heavy, sticky drips, trickling between your thighs and pooling on the throne beneath..

But he’s still hard. And he hasn’t moved you an inch.

“Thought you were done?” Sukuna breathes, chuckling darkly.. “That was one.”

You whimper. Shift. Try to lift yourself off him—just an inch.

His claws dig into your thighs again.

“Don’t fucking squirm.”

You flinch. Then do it anyway—a slow, defiant roll of your hips. Trying to fuck yourself back on his cock.

He goes still. Silent

then he laughs. Low. Sharp.

“Oh? You wanna misbehave?”

He grabs your chin. Making you look up at him while he looks down at you. Your legs spread wide across his thighs again, a cock-drunk mess, still stuffed full of him.

“Look at me,” he growls. All four eyes locked on yours.

Then— SMACK.

His palm lands hard across your ass.

A moan rips from your throat—half pain, half desperate pleasure. “Please…” You whine

SMACK. Another slap. Harder. He palms the sting after, possessive, admiring.

“Don’t. Fucking. Move,” he snarls “Think you get to act up now? After I was kind enough to fuck you full?”

Your ass burns. Your cunt  throbs.

You’re dripping again—already.

“Slut’s got no manners,” he mutters, almost intimate. “Gotta train that outta you.”

Tears slip from your eyes. You can’t stop them—not with how your body trembles, strung up between pain and pleasure. But your body now stills. Stopped your squirming.

“Better,” he breathes. “Now hold still and take it.”

And he starts again.

Snapping his hips up—impaling you on his cock with brutal rhythm. Each thrust hits deep, grinding into the spot that makes you sob. His claws dig into your hips, anchoring you like his personal cocksleeve.

A  flesh sleeve—tight and wet and made to be used.

“Feel that?” he murmurs, licking a trail up your throat. “Your greedy  cunt’s still sucking me in.”

SMACK.

Another slap. You cry out—not from pain, but from the way your pussy tightens, slick dripping down your thighs.

“Oh?” His grin turns wicked. “You like that?”

SMACK. Again. And again. Each one sends a fresh jolt straight to your core.

Your body trembles. Pleasure burning white-hot.

“Gonna cum again? Pathetic” he chuckles. “You want permission this time? Or are you gonna soak me like a filthy bitch again?”

You can’t speak. Can’t think. Your body just breaks.

Another orgasm tears through you—violent, desperate. Your cunt milks him, spasming like it’s begging him to stay inside.

He groans—loud and guttural—and thrusts once, twice, three times before spilling into you again, thick and scalding.

You slump forward—limp, shaking. Used. Full. Ruined.

But he doesn’t let go.

He licks the salt from your skin. Bites down hard on your shoulder.

Palms your ass—spreading you wide to feel the cum leaking out around him. Like he’s admiring his work.

“Good hole,” he mutters.

Then he leans back into the throne, arms locked around you, cock still buried deep.

“Now sit still.” A slow, cruel smile curls on his lips.

“We’re not fucking done.”

The End! 💗

[suugarbabe]

remus lupin x reader

summary: its been a year since you’ve seen everyone, but fate seems to have brought you back

warnings: smoking, drinking, fluff

an: Daeges is a traditional spelling of the name Daisy 😌; cariad is welsh for love/lover/beloved one

Time is a funny thing. The way experiences and events shape and reshape who you are as a person was always something you found fascinating. How a person could be one way for so many years and then one seemingly little event in the grand scheme of life turns everything upside down.

Your life after secondary school seemed so far away. It was the end of second term in your first year at university, yet it felt like two lifetimes had happened since leaving what you once knew. You had new interests, new motivations, new friends. Not for any horrible or traumatic reason; you just..grew apart from everything. Everyone.

At least that’s what you had thought. Daeges, your roommate, had been persistently pestering you to go out with her. “Just one pub, please. I want you to meet the girl I've been talking to. I need to know if you approve, please, please, please,” signature pout was on overtime, puppy dog eyes in attendance as well; and how could you say no to her when she’d done so much for you.

“Fine,” you huffed, agreeing to just one pub. One drink even, but that was it. It was only on the walk from your flat to said pub did Daeges inform you that this girl she had been falling for was bringing a few friends of her own. For the life of you, you couldn’t remember the girl's name either. Mar something? Marissa? Martha?

“Marlene!” Daeges shouted above the crowd after you entered through the heavy wooden pub door. Goosebumps flushed over your arms at her exclamation, thankfully hidden by the cropped leather jacket you opted for on the cool summer night. You hadn’t heard that name in a while, it had to be coincidence.

Daeges pulled you through the crowd, your nerves rising as you waited to meet the guest of honor for the night. Once broken through the crowd, Daeges quickly wrapped her arms around Marlene. It wasn’t a coincidence.

Her hair was a little longer now, a shaggy cut with a color streak or two. Very little guessing on your part of who contributed to that if the group was any bit the same as you left them.

You chose to stare at your feet while they greeted each other. Marlene’s voice carrying that same excited tone you’ve heard so many times before. When they finally pulled away you heard your name falling in shocked tones from Marlene’s lips, “Holy shit, is it really you?”

Shy eyes meet her stunned expression before you give a timid smile, “It’s really me. Long time no see, huh, Marls?” In an instant you’re in a bone crushing embrace, “I’ll bloody fucking say so, babes.”

Daeges was thoroughly, and rightfully, confused, “Sozz, I’m playing catch up here. You two know each other? From where? How long? How did I miss this?”

You scratched the back of your neck, your tell of bashfulness, “We went to secondary together.”

“And primary!” Marlene interrupted, “Known’em since we were eleven! Little tots, us and the rest. Oh they’re going to freak when they see you. I was just picking up drinks for us all now.”

Your roommate crossed her arms, “Why did you not tell me sooner?” You huffed with a shrug, “You call her Mar! That could be short for anything. We haven’t talked since we graduated, went to different Unis before I transferred. We lost touch and I just..”

“Just never reached out is what you did, you fucker. Siri thought he saw you across the lawn one day but James was certain he was just hallucinating. The shit he’s gonna give knowing he was right..” Marlene grabbed the tray of drinks, you and Daeges following close behind with your own.

You’d had hoped your falling behind would go unnoticed, maybe the excitement of meeting Marlene’s new girl would be a distraction. Daeges, however, caught on, “Oh, no you don’t,” she hooked her elbow with yours, “I’m officially the only stranger in the group.”

“I’m basically a stranger,” you scoffed, “It’s been over a year since I’ve spoken to any of them. Didn’t even tell them I transferred here…fuggin’ hell they’re gonna murder me. This’ll be a breeze for you.” That made Daeges smile..smirk more like it.

The drinks were a good enough distraction that you went unnoticed. That and the fawning over Marlene’s new love interest made it easy for you to blend into the background. But like a dog to a bone, you swear Sirius could smell you, “Is that who I think it is?”

Like a treacherous traitor, Daeges stepped aside, pushing you in front of her, “Oh you mean your apparent long lost friend? Please, have at’em.” A quietly mumbled (and playful) I hate you slipped from the side of your mouth as a chorus of cheerful calls of your nickname peppered the air.

As history would attest, Sirius was still the loudest of the bunch, “See, Prongs! I fucking told you I saw them…I deserve a shot or something.”

James rolled his eyes with broadway exaggeration, “Oh please, Pads. Don’t use that as a bloody excuse just go get a round.” Sirius gave a dazzling smile, placing a kiss to your temple in greeting before heading to the bar.

Attention turned back to you, James arms open wide, “Alright, c’mere…I don’t care how long it’s been I'm still a hugger.” Daeges watched in amusement as James gave you a squeeze. You allowed yourself to be squeezed, too, knowing all too well the repercussions of resistance when it came to your old curly haired friend.

“You know they’re hating this,” Daeges whispered to Marlene, sinking further into her side. Marlene only smiled, “You haven’t seen the best part.”

Once finally released from his hold, James stepped aside and you felt immediate heat spread over your cheeks. You hoped and prayed the dim lights of the pub made it less noticeable. He somehow looked even better than you remembered, sharp cheekbones and soft lips; a new scar ran over the left side of his top lip.

“Still getting into trouble, Moony?” Your tone was light, cautious with your teasing. Remus’s smile grew, “You know me, cariad..” Your heart raced at the old pet name you’d nearly forgotten.

Thankfully, Sirius came back with a tray of shots; a welcome distraction from your racing thoughts. Daeges fit in perfectly, you had no doubt that she would. She and Marlene were cute together.

The group started sharing stories, mostly old pranks and other shenanigans you all used to get up to while at school.

“Gods, you should’ve seen these two in action, Daise,” James slung an arm over your and Marlene’s shoulders, “Moony and Padfoot would start chasing each other in an argument and no one was quicker at rounding them up and putting them in their place. It was impressive work.”

Daeges turned to look at you, eyebrows raised. You simply shrugged your shoulders before downing your gin and tonic, feigning ignorance. A few more stories were told from this past year, ones that didn’t involve you. It made you happy to hear they were all nearly the same people, but somewhat sad at the same time.

Emotion must have been written on your face, Remus tapping your shoulder. You looked over, seeing him motion his first two fingers to his lips. You nodded immediately, following Remus to the back patio of the pub.

He found you both a quiet corner before pulling two cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He lit his own first, ignoring your open hand asking for his lighter. Instead he grabbed either side of your face, leaning forward to touch the tip of his cigarette to yours.

You inhaled to help it light and once it did, Remus leaned back, blowing smoke into the air, “Atta, babe. Was worried you might’ve forgotten that trick.”

Ignoring the obvious blush rushing down your neck you shook your head, “Don’t, Rem.”

Remus chucked slightly, “Don’t what? Praise you? I thought you liked that.” He crossed his arms before taking another drag and playfully wiggling his eyebrows.

You bit your lip to hide your smirk, “You don’t..you don’t know me. Not anymore. I’m not the same person that left school with you guys.”

Remus shrugged, “That’s okay. I’ll just get to know you again.”

You scoffed, “Oh really?” Your arms were the ones crossed now, “It’s just that simple for you?”

He laughed lightly with a shake of his head, “I’m no fool, cariad. I know nothing is simple with you.” You gave him a playful shove, causing a boyish giggle to leave his lips, “Hey, okay, I just meant you’re stubborn!”

You pushed him again, “That’s not any better, Rem!”

The sound of the pub’s back door signaled the appearance of both Sirius and Marlene. When given a questioned look, Marlene shook her head, speaking around the cigarette she was currently lighting, “Don’t worry I didn’t leave her alone with James.”

“Lilly showed up,” Sirius added. You nodded in understanding, knowing your friend had the perfect buffer for James’s positively joyful rambling.

After a long drag, Sirius spoke again, “Bit cross we haven’t properly ran into each other since your transfer. Been far too long since I’ve seen that dopey smile on our Moony’s face but fifteen alone with you..”

“Padfoot..” Remus warned, and dark and broody in both tone and posture.

Classically, Sirius ignored him, “Woof.. back and dopier than ever.” With that, Remus lunged for Sirius, the shorter boy yelping, taking a long drag, then throwing his cigarette into the night before hustling into the pub, Remus hot on his tail.

“We would’ve smoked that, you know!” Marlene called after them before settling back against the wall next to you, shaking her head. “He’s talked about you a few times, actually. Siri’s not just fucking with you.”

Warmth spread in your chest, “Yeah?”

She nodded, “Comes out more when he’s a little buzzed, those protective barriers of his a little easier to push through…but yeah. We all miss you.”

The back door swung open once more, this time revealing a mop of curls and a slightly out of breath James, “Marls, we need ya..Moony and Pads there..” Marlene waved her hand in his general direction.

She threw the stub or her cigarette to the ground before crushing it with the toe of her boot. She turned to you with a grin, nodding towards the door, “You wanna team up? For old times sake?”

You gave a playful huff of a sigh, “Fine…I’ll take Remus.”

Marlene snorted, “Yeah, I bet you will.”

[kier-with-a-k]

You're Too Good To Be A Sin - N. S.

Photographer!Nick x Artist!Oliver(oc)

A/N: I wasn't actually going to post this one because the original fic wasn't that great lmao @sturnsblogs knew it but I think I did it justice... I hope...

Warning: homophobia...(fuck you homophobes!!!) Swearing? Angst

Just walking.

We were just walking.

Hand in hand, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Laughing about some stupid pun Nick made—something about pigeons and politics. His smile curled up at the edges, sharp and sweet. And I was looking at him like he’d hung the moon crooked just to make me laugh.

Then—

"Disgusting."

One word.

Slapped into the air like a gunshot.

We turned. Instinct.

He stood by a newsstand like he was waiting for a fight. Sunglasses on despite the clouds, a lid of cheap coffee in one hand and hate bubbling in the other. Late 40s, maybe older. Jaw like concrete. Tie cinched too tight like his bitterness was holding him upright.

“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” he said, louder now, like he wanted the whole street to hear.

A few people looked. And then quickly away—eyes skimming over us like we were nothing more than a glitch in the scenery.

Nick's laugh—it just vanished. Mid-breath. Like someone flipped a switch and pulled the color out of him.

His hand went loose in mine. Like his fingers didn’t trust the moment anymore.

"Jesus would weep," the man spat. Like our joy was a crime scene. Like our existence ruined his morning.

And I swear—Nick flinched.

Like the word “sin” had heat to it. Like it seared right through his ribs and scorched whatever softness he had left.

I turned to him.

His gaze was downcast, mouth pressed tight. That beautiful openness he walks around with—the way he glows when he’s unguarded, when he’s just being Nick—it dimmed. Faded to something brittle. Shaken.

And I—

I hated that.

Hated how one man, one coward with too much time and too little love, could make Nick feel smaller than he is. Could make him question the very thing that makes him so him.

So I turned. Not to fight, not to shout.

But I looked that man dead in the face and said, quiet as snowfall:

"You don’t know anything about love."

He scoffed. Of course he did. Walked away like he’d planted a flag in something. Like he won.

But I turned back to Nick.

Took his face in both hands, right there on the sidewalk, where anyone could see. Where the city could crane its neck and judge all it wanted.

I didn’t care. I cared about him.

“Hey. Look at me.”

He did. Barely.

Eyes rimmed red, like he was trying not to break. Like he was halfway to believing that man.

So I held him. Not just his face—him.

Every piece. Every cracked and golden part.

“You’re too good to be a sin,” I said, steady as I could. “Too good for a world this stubborn and afraid.”

He let out something close to a laugh. It caught in his throat, fractured in the middle.

“I hate that it still gets to me,” he whispered.

“Of course it does,” I said. “You’re human. But don’t let him take this from you. Don’t let him take you from me. You hear me? I love you like this. Exactly like this. I wouldn’t change one goddamn thing.”

His hands slid to my waist, clinging. Not for balance—for anchoring.

“Promise?”

“Always.”

And right there, on that cold, cracked stretch of sidewalk, under a sky too grey to care, I kissed him.

Not to prove a point. Not to push back.

But because I love him.

And I won’t let shame be louder than that.

People passed.

Some glanced. Some stared. Some didn’t see us at all.

But this time—we kept walking.

Hand in hand. Heart in heart.

Unashamed.

And unafraid

A/N: this is really just a middle finger to the homophobes!!! Love is not a fucking sin get that through your head!!! We are not dangerous by being ourselves!!! Why do you always have to ruin other people's fun? Get over yourselves!!!

TAGLIST: @sturnsblogs @thenickgirl @sturns-mermaid @sarahsturnn @jacksonsturniolo @certifiednickboy @nickssidewitch @fentiesturns @oopsiedaisydeer @messi10-fcb @nickscoconutwater @ed1tssturnn @lilyswirly @ev1ldeadboy @httpssturns @mattsfrenchtoast

[climbthemountain2020]

Either Way, We're Not Alone

Fresh off a bad breakup, Feyre isn't looking for anyone or anything new. But when a charming stranger starts frequenting her coffee shop, surprising her with his sly smiles and easy banter, she can't get him out of her head. Despite her reservations, Rhys is just as determined as she is, and he's more than willing to wait for her to be ready.

Feysand | Coffee Shop Au | Ao3

This was part of the Feysand Coffee Shop Group Project! You can check out the collection here! Thanks to @popjunkie42 and @separatist-apologist for the beta reads!

Feyre tossed back another four Tylenol and chased them with a messy gulp from her water bottle, slamming it onto the wooden counter with more force than necessary. The pills left an acrid, synthetic taste as they slid down her throat, and she took another mouthful to rinse out the bitterness. Somewhere behind her was the massive cinnamon latte she’d brewed during the frantic morning rush to keep her going. It was probably cold by now, though.

At least the rush had eased off to the normal, slower pace of late morning. Only a few customers remained, and she was free to take a breath and start the cleanup process.

It had been a strange week. A different rhythm of regulars, unfamiliar faces mixed in with the rush, and even some faces she hadn’t seen in ages. She thought she might never tire of the fact that she had regulars , people who loved her shop enough to keep coming back. Feyre wondered if there was some kind of conference in Velaris this week drawing in fresh traffic. Whatever it was, it meant an endless stream of complicated drink orders and a desperate need to restock baked goods. She was thankful, but she was also frayed at the edges.

And Elain—goddamn Elain—had gone completely ghost. Probably too busy playing house with her devastatingly handsome new boyfriend to respond to Feyre’s texts about ordering more specialty pies. The last she’d heard from her was a clipped text over a week ago saying she would be joining Lucien and some of his brothers on a yacht and to “not worry”. Feyre wouldn’t begrudge her sister her happiness—it had certainly been hard won. Though, through what means, exactly, it had been won was none of Feyre’s business. She’d like to keep it that way.

Feyre sighed, wiping the back of her neck with a rag. She had to admit it—she was in a mood. The pollen this year was especially aggressive, and the sinus headache she’d been nursing since the previous week refused to back down, radiating from her face all the way across her skull and down into her neck. Every night this week, she’d been laid up on a heated rice pack with ice on her forehead. She probably needed antibiotics. Or a nap. Or both. But who had the time?

She fucking hated spring. Always had. And this year’s seemed hell-bent on letting her know the feelings were mutual.

The bell above the front door jingled, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Be right with you!” she called over her shoulder, brushing hair out of her eyes and flicking crumbs from her apron. Most days, she ran this place solo. Her coffee shop, Mug Shots , had taken off faster than she ever expected in its first year. The cozy space tucked into the artist’s district had opened up at the perfect time, and she’d jumped on it, investing the savings left to her after her parents died. The accompanying upstairs apartment sealed the deal, and the whole arrangement cost less than the house she’d been renting across town—the one she’d moved into to be closer to her boyfriend.

She scowled. Ex -boyfriend.

The taste that thought left in her mouth was worse than the Tylenol. 

Feyre turned toward the counter, ready to greet her next customer, and froze. Across the wooden, front-facing counter stood the most attractive man she’d ever seen.

Tall, broad, and dressed all in tailored black like he’d stepped out of a fashion magazine, he looked completely out of place in her scrappy little shop. But he gazed around the mismatched trappings as though he belonged there. She could see his eyes roaming the fuchsia walls, hung with a mix of tapestries—her art as well as the art of others—and shelves full of trinkets she’d collected. She prided herself on the unique feel of her shop, fussing with the particulars until it had looked cozy enough for her. He stood out like a sore thumb amidst all the colors. Her eyes were immediately drawn to him as though he was somehow the centerpiece of it all. 

His inky hair was tousled like he'd run a hand through it with a gel that cost as much as her monthly rent. A tailored black coat hung open over a fitted shirt, the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal strong forearms and a silver watch that glinted in the sunlight sloping in through the windows.

But it was his face that truly stopped her, so absolutely striking that she wondered how he could be real. High cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a mouth that looked like it could do sinful things. 

She paused. Down, girl.

His skin was golden, smooth and warm-toned, like he spent his weekends somewhere warmer than Velaris. His eyes were a deep violet-blue, bright even under the shop’s old hanging lights, and suddenly watching her with an intensity that made her heartbeat stutter.

He looked good—he looked like trouble. And the way his grin glinted seemed to say that this wasn’t news to him. He stepped up to the counter, planting both hands on the edge and leaning forward. She could smell him, sea salt and fresh laundry and something deliciously tart and citrus. She fought the near-violent urge to inhale and hoard it into her lungs for safe keeping.

“Hello, darling. I’ve been looking for you.” His voice was even smoother than his appearance, if that was possible, and Feyre felt her pulse thundering.

“For me?” she asked, embarrassingly breathless. Inwardly, she cringed. Feyre did not let men affect her this way. Her nose almost scrunched in rebellion. The customer gestured up at the sign Elain had painted that hung over the counter.

“For Mug Shots . My brother came here last week and said you made the best flat white he’s ever had.” He raised a perfectly groomed dark brow. “High praise from him. He’s very persnickety about his coffee.”

That brought her confidence blaring back at high speed, getting her back onto more even footing. She could talk about her shop for ages.

“Oh. Well, he’s right. I tried a lot of different suppliers before I landed on the right one. Is that what you’d like?”

The stranger cocked his head to the side and took his time dragging his eyes over Feyre. There was something predatory in the gaze, something that Feyre’s instincts told her was too long of a look. But instead of discomfort, goosebumps broke out along her skin, feathering each exposed inch down to her hands. The customer noticed, his teeth flashing in a wicked, brilliant smile as his eyes returned to hers. 

“I actually find I prefer something a little…sweeter.” He paused, and Feyre gulped. 

“Like…a pump of caramel?” she suggested, eyes locked onto this man who seemed to have a strange hold on her, some all-encompassing thrall. His smile tilted sideways into a smirk, eyes dancing with amusement.

“Yes, I’d love a flat white with caramel.” His voice was a lilting song, one she felt drawn to in a way that was unfamiliar for her. Even her ex had had to chase her for months at the start of their relationship. She’d never felt a pull like this, her equilibrium entirely thrown off. As she offered him a small smile, turning to the countertop to make his drink, she felt a shiver down her spine.

There was something different about this customer—something palpably different—she just wasn’t sure what that was.

His eyes stayed on her as she worked, prickling her skin in a way that felt both hot and cold. It was a lick of fire down her neck, a press of cooling ice to her temple. As she worked, finishing the drink, she checked her periphery to see if he was still watching. He was. His violet eyes were intense and dark, that smile still playing at the edge of his lips. She breathed out, ignoring the way her heart raced. She slipped her hand into the display case to grab a drizzled almond croissant and wrapped it in parchment paper. 

He was still settled at the counter when she returned, her eyes finding his even though looking into them felt entirely overwhelming. Her body was haywire at the sensations, the feeling of him eating her alive in a way that also felt…oddly comforting. Strangely right.

“Do you like almonds?” 

Why was she so breathless? Had she ever spoken to someone before in her life?

His responding smile was bright, filled with mischief as a single brow lifted again. 

“Yes, I do.”

She pressed the crinkling bag across the countertop to him, the coffee following behind. “It’s an almond croissant. On the house. I made them this morning.” Feyre wasn’t sure why she couldn’t stop talking, the words just spilling and spilling like he was unspooling them from her on a thread. He picked the bag up, something flashing in his eyes.

“Hm, sticky,” he responded, the humor laced with the darker undercurrent of something in his voice. Feyre nearly choked on the noise that rose up her throat, strangling the sound of it down at the last minute. She was certain he’d heard it, certain that her face was crimson as a fire hydrant as she stood there.

“I’m Rhysand.” He held out his hand, the whorls of ink she’d missed before creeping up his arm. Somehow, before she even touched it, she knew his palm would be warm against her. She was right. 

Something like sparks erupted between them, the heat of it pulling her heart into a spiral that nearly ripped her forward to the countertop. It was so vivid, so visceral, that she was surprised she couldn’t see the tangible evidence of it between them. Rhysand, for whatever reason, seemed to feel it too, his eyes widening imperceptibly before his face returned to normal. His grip had tightened though.

“Feyre,” she said. “I’m Feyre.” The words came out hoarse, strangely pinched, but Rhysand smiled again, and she felt it all the way to her toes.

“ Feyre .” He rolled the syllables around as though tasting them. “It’s lovely to meet you, Feyre. I’ll see you soon.” He leaned forward, his fingers brushing hers where they remained on the countertop, not breaking eye contact. He held it as he backed up, pushing off the countertop and taking two steps back, the gaze between them feeling like a physical connection. At the last minute, he turned, sending a final smirk her way before opening the door, the bell jingling her back into her body.

Tucked beneath her finger, despite her telling him that it had been on the house, was a crisply folded fifty dollar bill, along with a business card. Embossed into the black matte of the card was silver print.

RHYSAND

A phone number below it. There was no job listed, no address, no details.

She ran her fingers over the paper, feeling the name beneath her skin.

What the fuck had just happened?

+++

He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d see her soon. 

Rhysand showed up every single day the following week, ordering the same drink and asking for baked goods. Each day, Feyre had given him something new. And despite her protestations, she’d find a ridiculous sum of money left behind somehow. If she refused, it would turn up in the tip jar, beneath the register, under the vase of jasmine she’d cut from the box beds outside the shop.

The conversation hadn’t gone much deeper than what had occurred the first day, Rhysand—Rhys, as he’d insisted she call him—simply fished for a piece or two of information each visit and listened with a well-honed, singular interest that made Feyre flustered. She couldn’t think around him, couldn’t quite catch her breath.

And he knew it. He must have. 

That glint in his eyes, the amusement in the smile he saved for her. He was absolutely menacing her on purpose, sending flirty little quips her way as he stole all the air from the room. Feyre was thankful that he seemed to only appear in the off-hours, or she never would have gotten anything done. She was still a wreck without Elain’s assistance. Though assistance from her siblings had always been sporadic, it was helpful to have Elain around for bake days. And with the sudden influx of new customers, it had been a busy week. She was nearly desperate enough to text Nesta for backup, though she’d likely refuse. 

Feyre blew out an exasperated breath. Her headache was still going strong, the pollen coating everything, including her sinuses, in a layer of misery.

But when Rhys was in the shop, she wasn’t thinking about her headache, or her sisters, or anything else, really. She was thinking about him—the way he moved, the way he smelled, the way she felt inexplicably drawn to him. It wasn’t even just his looks. There was something there, something solid that she could almost touch between them. It sounded insane—she felt insane—replaying their interactions long after he’d left, always tossing a smile over his shoulder until the very last second when he had to push through the door.

He’d consumed her thoughts all week, so much so that she’d even missed inventory drop off. Someone must have signed off, one of the neighboring shops perhaps. Everything had been left in the back alley beside Mug Shots . She’d been lucky to find it before anything went bad, slugging it all inside on her own and sending a terse text to Elain asking when she’d be off her love boat.

Feyre resolved that she needed to spend less time thinking about Rhys and his beautiful eyes, hair that looked incredibly touchable, or those hands and how the tendons in them moved. Still, when he showed up the next afternoon, all logic and thoughts went straight out of the window.

“Feyre, darling. Do you have any plans tonight?” He asked the question casually on the eighth day, sipping his coffee as he lingered by the counter. 

There were only three other customers in the shop: a mother and a young girl, the latter of which was inhaling a cake pop from the batch she’d made this morning, and a man who had been here every day this week, drinking a black coffee as he read the newspaper. It was pouring today—she had spent more time than she should have tracing the drips of misting rain as they trickled down the slightly curled locks of Rhys’s hair and onto his temple when he’d come in.

“Feyre?”

“Hm?” she straightened. 

Had he asked me something?

“I asked if you had plans tonight.”

“Plans?” she parroted dumbly. She couldn’t remember the last time she had plans, choosing instead to slough upstairs and lounge as soon as she flipped the sign to closed . Going out with Tamlin had always been such an affair , and when she’d moved out here months ago, when their relationship had started the final messy descent into ending, she’d stopped going out entirely. It was as though everything had swung the opposite direction, her interest in staying in her apartment alone in comfy PJs her own act of rebellion. He’d always forced her out, her anxiety climbing higher and higher while he kept her on his arm. And now that she was free of him, she’d just prefer to stay in.

Truly it shouldn’t have taken so long for them to call it quits. They had stopped talking for months, even though she’d only officially left him two weeks ago. How dysfunctional had things been that he’d still been shocked? That he’d been surprised enough to be angry about it all?

“Uhm, I don’t, actually.” Normally, she’d find an excuse—maybe that she wasn’t feeling well or that she had some things she needed to finish. But she wanted to see what he was offering—wanted to know what he was like outside of this brief daily interaction. Wanted to know how, if just these moments between the two of them made her feel so much, what time one-on-one would feel like. If her heart might leap right out of her chest if they spent genuine time together. 

“Can I take you out, then?”

The mother ushered her sprinkle-covered child from the store under the jingling bell with a knowing smile back at Feyre, and it caused a flush to rise up her neck. When her eyes flicked back to Rhys’s, he was still smiling, still patiently waiting as though he understood she was processing.

She wanted to go, every part of her humming and singing and writhing and gnashing to go with this man who had burst into her shop and life so suddenly and consumed all of her thoughts since. But part of her reminded her of how this had gone the last time—how she had opened her heart to someone she thought would take care of it, who made her feel light and loved and free, and then he’d taken her dreams and crushed them beneath his foot. As though registering the drop of her face, Rhys’s brow furrowed.

“There’s no pressure to say yes, Feyre.”

“I want to.” The words were out almost before he’d finished speaking, before she’d even consciously thought them. “I would love to.” She licked her lips and looked around. Even the older gentleman was closing up his papers for the day, shuffling them back into place and preparing to go himself. 

Rhys waited, violet eyes open and kind. 

“Could we stay here?” she finally asked. Rhys’s brows shot up, but in a way that seemed amused rather than offended.

“Would that make you more comfortable?”

“Yes.” The word was nearly a sigh. “I can close early and cook for us in the kitchen, and we can eat here. Would you be alright with that?”

His eyes positively sparkled as though entire galaxies swam within them. “I would be more than okay with that. How can I help you close?”

The question took Feyre aback. Had Tamlin ever once offered to help with anything? 

The older man had left, the quiet jingling of the bell still filling the air as Feyre crossed the cafe, locked the door, and switched the sign to closed . “Oh, you don’t need to help.”

“I’d like to. Put me to work, and then we can start cooking. I’m a very good cook.”

That flush filled Feyre’s cheeks again. The exhilaration of this flirty, impromptu date flickered like a live wire in her veins, but also the insistence with which Rhys wanted to be involved. He was already removing his coat and setting it along the back of the long couch in one of the sitting areas. His shirt sleeves were rolled up beneath, corded muscles running along his hands and forearms on each. Feyre tried to focus, needed to stop looking, but she was having trouble drawing her eyes away.

She looked up to find him grinning, catching her staring. She got the distinct sense that he was preening over the discovery. If she hadn’t been so embarrassed, she might have rolled her eyes, his boyish smile broadening as though he could read her thoughts.

“It’s mostly just the dishes that need to be done. I can do some of the work for tomorrow while I prep dinner.”

“While we prep dinner,” he corrected with amusement. She did roll her eyes then, and something flashed across his face that she might have mistaken for hunger. It set her stomach tittering. She let him behind the counter, and back into the kitchen, grabbing the bins as he admired the space.

“This is really nice.”

It was nice, if not basic. No one had really been back here except her and her sisters, with the exception of a few rotating workers who’d helped at the beginning. The space had been a small restaurant previously, all the kitchen equipment in mint condition still when the owners had chosen to retire and move on. 

“Yeah, it definitely gets the job done.”

They both made their way to the sink, Feyre ready to offer to wash if he’d dry and load the industrial washer. Instead, he took the bin from her.

“Go relax before our date—let me handle this. Do you have some herbs I can chop or something if I finish?” Something about him calling it a date flustered her, her stomach flip-flopping. Was this man really offering to do her closing duties for her, and cook? She blew a stray hair from her face while she untied her apron. She supposed she did smell like coffee.

“If you truly don’t mind, I’ll just skip upstairs and change. I’ll grab some stuff for dinner while I’m up there. Herbs are in the fridge in the lower drawer.” She gestured with her chin across the room.

“You live upstairs?” he asked. “That’s certainly convenient.” Had it been anyone else, she might have gone to great lengths to hide that her apartment was just a staircase above them, the alcove tucked back beside the kitchen next to the storeroom. There were two doors that separated her apartment from the shop—both with locks. But somehow, she felt safe telling Rhys.

She smiled. “I do, and it is. Would you be okay with chicken?” 

“You’re in luck. I love chicken.” 

She hesitated just for a moment, watching as he plunged his hands into the rapidly filling, soapy sink. “Go. I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

It was all the encouragement she needed as she left to go change.

Rhys was long finished by the time she made her way back downstairs with the chicken in tow, a new outfit on, and maybe a spritz of perfume behind her wrists. In her apartment, she’d allowed herself one small moment to freak out about this man in her cafe, taking her for a “date in”. Then, she’d taken a deep breath, freshened up, and gone back downstairs with the good kind of butterflies in her stomach. 

He was busy chopping herbs as Feyre came around the bottom of the stairs. She was struck again by how at ease he looked there, her eyes drawn straight to him acting as though it was so normal for him to be in the midst of her day-to-day life.

As though he sensed her presence, he spun around, his eyes landing on hers. The tattoos on his forearms—sleek, dark whorls she had asked about exactly zero times but thought about plenty —peeked out.

She cleared her throat, walking over to set the chicken on the counter and grab some dairy items from the fridge. There was plenty down here they could use to cook. 

“You already finished the dishes?” she asked, eyeing the stainless steel countertops.

“They never stood a chance,” he responded, that glimmering mischief in his eyes. There was an easy way about it, despite how intimidating his looks and general presence felt. It made her want to be bold.

“Do you talk like this all the time?”

He lifted a brow as he picked up the knife to resume chopping. How could he manage to look so devastatingly handsome while doing something as mundane as chopping basil?

“Only when I’m trying to impress a beautiful cafe owner who invited me to cook with her after hours.” He grinned, but almost to himself, the smile a thing of cocky, wicked beauty. Feyre rolled her eyes. 

“Flattery requires subtlety, Rhys. Your flirting is far more shameless than that,” she tutted. He finished, wiping both sides of the knife before setting it down, brushing off his hands and taking a step closer to her. Feyre swallowed, his presence so consuming that she felt it in her chest.

“Are you telling me it hasn’t been working, Feyre darling?” 

The term of endearment landed and bounced around her body, her mind. He was in her space, and she loved it—wanted it. He stepped closer, bracing his hands on the counter beside her hips until he was all she could smell, something dark and crisp, spiced and clean and unfathomably delicious. 

Feyre’s heart stuttered, but she didn’t look away. Something about him was so magnetic, so raw and vulnerable and open beneath his cunning charm.

“It’s not,” she lied through her teeth, her own smirk pulling right at the edge of her mouth.

He smiled, slow and knowing, the galaxies in his eyes sparkling. “Liar,” he whispered, and the sound went straight between her legs.

“Are you always this cocky on a first date?” Her words were a whisper, too, and his wicked smirk morphed into a full smile.

“Only when I really, really want there to be a second one.”

Fuck . He was good and he knew it. 

Feyre laughed, unable to help it, breaking some of the sexual tension that felt so unbelievably palpable between them. She brushed a hand through her hair. 

“Okay, Casanova. Let’s make dinner and then we’ll talk about next time.”

The two worked with a startling level of comfort and familiarity, moving around each other in the kitchen as though they’d been doing it for years. In no time at all, the space was filled with the savory smells of chicken and herbs, a creamy garlic sauce cooking while the pasta boiled. They worked in amiable silence—it didn’t feel forced or strange. Feyre had always worked hard to fill the silence with Tamlin, needing the air between them to be moving constantly for fear of the tense quiet that came if she didn’t. But this was so different from that.

When the food was finished and plated, they pulled chairs up to the stainless steel countertop and ate right in the kitchen, Feyre bringing down a bottle of wine for them to share. It felt easy, calm—the best she’d felt in weeks, definitely, but maybe even longer than that. Feyre was genuinely enjoying herself, the stress of everything with Tamlin and worrying about Elain and her endless headache long gone as she ate beside Rhys, this conversation flowing so easily it was almost startling

The end of the night found them with cleaned plates and the wine long gone, the low secondary lights of the kitchen all that illuminated the makeshift dinner setup. It felt strangely perfect.

They’d been going back and forth asking the basic questions: how long have you owned the shop, what do you do for fun, what’s your coffee order?

Now, she wanted to know more about this man who had bustled into her shop out of nowhere and persevered until she’d ended up in this intimate moment with him. 

“So, tell me, Rhys, what do you do for a living?” She remembered the blank business card, the elegant but curious lack of any real details on it.

“Ah.” He smiled, sitting back in his seat as though he’d been expecting the question with a wry sense of humor. “I’m a collector, of sorts.”

Feyre’s interest was piqued. She loved antiques—in fact, much of the furniture she’d managed to squeeze into the shop had been from antique malls across Velaris.

“What sort of things do you collect?” The excitement was barely restrained in her voice.

“A little bit of everything, though I am especially drawn to the more beautiful things, it would seem.” The way the words rolled off his tongue, paired with the way his eyes stuck on her face, nearly made her swoon like some Victorian woman who’d been shown a bit of chest.

“You are such a flirt,” she accused, the teasing tone of her voice unfamiliar even to her. At that, he leaned in again, entering her space, breathing the same air in a way that felt electrified.

“I’m someone who knows what I want.”

She licked across her lower lip, wetting it without thinking about it. His eyes flicked down, tracking the motion so intently that it stole her breath.

“And what is it that you want?”

His eyes were back on hers, the iris so blown out that the violet was barely a thin band around it.

“You, Feyre darling. But you knew that.” That smirk was wicked and sure. And working. “Now you tell me. What is it that you want?”

Her pulse skipped madly, thrumming like an erratic drum beneath her skin.

“I haven’t decided yet. But you’re making a strong case.”

A laugh roughed its way out of him, that glittering mischief back in his eyes. Still, the heat remained there, the tension ready to snap. She had never been so affected by a man, never felt so swept up with barely a touch. She nearly whined when he drew back, lifting his near-empty glass and tipping it towards her in cheers. 

“Then I guess I’ll need to try harder.”

Feyre rose to grab their dishes, but Rhys’s hand took her wrist gently before he insisted. “Don’t. Let me,” he said softly. 

“You already cleaned the shop dishes. You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he insisted, already gathering everything and bringing it to the sink. 

Feyre slid back into her chair, her breath catching as she watched him clean and load the washer again, shuffling all the things they’d used to prep the meal. He moved like he belonged there, like this wasn’t just a first date. Like this was…normal.

She wanted it to feel natural, wanted so badly to believe that her instincts that were currently screaming inside her to never let this man leave couldn’t be wrong.

But—

That voice had led her astray before. It had told her to stick it out, even when she was unhappy. It had told her that she could endure for the happy marriage that her parents never had. It had told her that she could be loved if only, if only, if only—

Her instincts had fucked her over.

She cleared her throat. “Rhys—” He loaded the last dish, wiping the towel across the countertop as he turned to acknowledge her.

“Yes?” His eyes were full of unmitigated interest, open and full and seeing her. She folded her hands in her lap.

“I, uhm.” She cleared her throat again and his brow furrowed, his feet leading him back to her as he slid into the seat facing hers. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry about?”

She took a breath, begging her anxiety to just simmer long enough to explain. “I’ve had such a lovely time. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day you came into the shop the first time.” 

In front of her, Rhys lit up like a Christmas tree. Clearly the feeling was mutual. She hated to ruin this. And if her past dates were any indication, she knew how this would end. Her body was already tensing waiting for the anger that would come when she politely turned him down.

“It’s just—I’ve only just gotten out of a relationship that ended incredibly poorly. And while I think you’re wonderful—” That was the understatement of the year. Everything about him was setting her on fire. Some part of her was screaming in protest as she gave him this speech. “—I’m just not certain I can commit to anything right now.”

Her eyes fought to look away, her shoulders tensing with the need to flinch. Experience had taught her that no matter how she said no, it was never polite enough, never what was expected, never enough .

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt his fingers on her chin, warm, soft, and gentle. He tipped her head up, but instead of anger in his eyes, she found them sparkling as they had been before.

“Feyre.” He said her name softly, like he was speaking about something sacred. “There are no expectations here. I don’t need anything from you—no commitments, nothing. I would like to get to know you better, if you’d allow me that honor. But there don’t have to be any strings attached.”

It hadn’t been what she’d been expecting at all, her stomach so knotted and yet filled with butterflies she worried she might be about to vomit.

“Are you sure?”

Something flashed in his eyes then, but it wasn’t anger at her. Somehow, she could sense that he understood something was causing this reaction. It was gone almost as soon as she noticed it.

“There is nothing I would love more than to pursue something with you, but there’s no reason to rush if you aren’t ready. I’d gladly wait for you, Feyre.”

“You hardly know me,” she scoffed, looking away until his fingers guided her face back.

“I know enough. I would wait five hundred years, if that’s what it took.” Feyre didn’t expect how wet the laugh sounded as it left her. He was too good to be true—too everything to be real.

She realized, then, how much she wanted to kiss him. Despite it all, despite everything she’d just said, and every reason her brain was giving. Her eyes flicked to his lips, plush and pink and lovely, then his eyes, still focused on her like she was everything good in this world.

His fingers skirted along her jaw like he could hear her thoughts, her pulse quickening again as her body made the decision for her.

“Can I?” she asked, her body leaning forward.

“You can have anything you want, Feyre.” The words sealed the deal as she leaned forward, sealing her lips over his. Immediately, the kiss was magnetic, pulling her under like a current and tugging her along to someplace she’d never been before.

There was something crackling inside her, something wild and different rising and changing and breaking and building into something new. And when his tongue pressed along the seam of her lips, she opened for him without hesitation. He tasted so good, hints of wine and herbs and something so distinguishable to him that she wanted more, licking into his mouth and sliding her hand along his thigh. The noise he made into her mouth felt involuntary, and it made her feel even more powerful for it.

She was in control here. She had taken this because she wanted it. And he had given it to her without pause, without question.

The kiss slowed organically, naturally, though she thought absently she might be able to kiss him for hours. Still, he was respectful of her space, of her wishes. As she led him out, back to his coat, back to the door, he brushed another kiss—this one light and teasing, bashful almost—to her lips.

“I’ll be here when you’re ready, Feyre.” 

Her heart flip-flopped again. She believed him.

“Goodnight, Rhys,” she whispered as he opened the door, looking back at her with those beautiful, sparkling eyes once more.

“Goodnight, Feyre.” 

The words echoed in her head the rest of the night.

[shedelulululu]

WIP Wednesday

"Do you always have to chase a high?”

He flinched.

Before he left, he thought things were finally good, that he and Abby found a good rhythm for co-parenting, that their communication was the best it had ever been — had he missed something that was staring in his face again?

Why would she say that? He was left bewildered, wondering.

“Abby, I gotta go, we can discuss this —”

“Frank, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean it like —” She definitely did, his brain unhelpfully supplied. They may be divorced but he didn’t know her any less, she was never careless with her words. In their worst moments it felt like she was carving into him with a knife.

He pinched his nose “It’s fine, don’t worry about it, I just need to call Cassie” a barely veiled code for Frank thinking about getting high again.

"Frank, wait —” He didn’t hear what else she was going to say already hanging up the phone and pulling up his recent calls list.

That was an hour ago. Frank has not called Cassie.

He didn’t really intend to call her either. Just another lie to avoid a difficult conversation. Old habits and all that. Fuck he really wishes he was high right now.

His thumb hovers over a number but he feels paralyzed — he shouldn’t call her. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. When he climbed the fire escape he was sure he wanted benzos, he just needed it to push through this moment and then he’d be fine. But as he approached the ledge, another thought wiggled it’s way to the front of his mind: ‘Only 10% survival rate from up here, not bad.’

His first day back was nearly unbearable. When Dana asked where he was going he told her he was taking a long walk off a short pier. He should feel worse about being such an ass to her, especially after she visited him multiple times in rehab and even brought her husband’s baked goods.

"He’s stuffing me like a thanksgiving turkey, please kid take them” he remembered her saying the first time when he inspected the tupperware carefully.

But it was hour 6 into a 12 and he couldn’t decide what he hated more. The sad look every time he told her a patient needed meds he couldn’t prescribe, or this searching one, that roamed his body looking for a sign that he’d already fallen off the wagon.

Everyone was supposed to be busy, it’s an emergency department of the fourth of July, and yet wherever he turned was a pair of eyes quickly darting away. More than once he thought about giving them the show they were eagerly anticipating. It’d be easier to fall into being that person, it would be satisfying just to see their faces. But he was trying to be better.

To the roof it was, away from the exposure of the ambulance bay, taking the stairs up two at a time so he didn’t waste a moment he could finally get alone.

He had meant it as a joke when he told Dana he was going to off himself, but as he gazed out, he could understand the appeal. Held back by the reality that it would not stop the eyes when they’re the ones who would inevitably call time on his mangled form.

Frank rolled his neck and sighed at the sound of the door opening. He couldn’t expect any extended alone time so soon.

“You uhm — you should stay behind the guardrail” he tilted his head all the way back to get an inverted glimpse at the interruption, one Mel King. She was looking down now, fiddling with her athletic sweater to zip it up in this wind “it’s unsafe” she murmured.

"Is that on doctors orders, King?”

She walked towards him, a smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth as she responded “Are doctors orders stronger than Mel’s orders?”

He jumped over the rail and walked over to bump his shoulder with hers. He didn’t answer her — he didn’t think there was a casual way to say if its she’s his doctor then it’s all the same to him. They stood in silence, Mel never seemed to pry the way others did, at least not then.

[luvlygirl0]

I’m fucking proud of you

Summary: On your first day of patrol it did not go so well, you freaked out almost getting you and Tommy killed by a clicker. That night you wake up from a bad dream to find your boyfriend comforting you.

Warning: fluff. Bad dreams, post outbreak, Jackson Joel! Age gap (non specific)

Authors note: not having the best of luck trying to figure out stories so here’s little short story and Joel being a sweetheart.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

The way back to Jackson was completely silent. Tommy tried to say a couple of words to you, but you ignored him. You were too embarrassed to talk about what had just happened back there in the woods. The gates opened, and the crowd watched as the two of you rolled into Jackson. Your head was down, and a single tear rolled down your face. You looked up to see Joel standing at the town hall, waiting for you to come back to hear all about it. But the moment he saw your face, he knew something had happened.

“Hey really it happens” Tommy hopped off his horse fathering his patrol gear to help you off the horse then. “I don’t want to talk about it Tommy- I’m sorry” A pair of hands were placed on your back and you turned to see Joel. “Hey Darlin- you Alright” he pulled you into a hug rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Can we just go home please-” Joel looked at Tommy then back down at you. He guided you back home “I’ll talk to you tomorrow guys” he guided the horse in a different direction to bring them back to the stables.

The rest of the night you barely said 5 words to Joel. It was still playing in your mind, the way you were face to face with a clicker begging for it to get away from you. When a bang filled the room you watched as the clicker collapsed right next you you and a scared Tommy standing speechless with his gun in hand. “You read for bed Sweetheart” You looked up as Joel towered over you with his hand out. You gave him a small smile taking his hand in yours and guiding you upstairs to your shared bed. “Whatever is bothering you darlin, just know I’m always here to listen” he planted a kiss on your forehead. The two of you climbed into bed adjusting to the warm sheet. Joel wrapped his arm around your torso bringing you closer to his body. Your eyes slowly closed shut finally settling down. // “Please! Please!” You screamed out hoping someone would hear you The sound of clicking was inches away from your face. The way its teeth looked so sharp, how it only had its mouth showing. It was scarier up close and soon you were going to look just like them. “ PLEASE GET OFF ME” The clicking grew louder and louder “PLEASE” then bang caused you to wake up. Your breathing grew heavier as you thought it was happening again. “NO!” You screamed sitting upright in bed and looking around. The room was dark and quiet. “Darlin- hey what happened” Joel shot up from bed bringing your head to his chest. You could hear his heartbeat growing and growing. “I let down Joel” Your eyes quickly filled with tears. “Let who down” “Tommy- I froze on patrol today, I could have gotten infected! I let him down” It quickly got silent again. He slowly rocked you both back and forth trying to settle you down more. “Listen to me, it was your first patrol … it’s not an easy thing to do but it will get easier the more you go. You didn’t let down anyone you hear me-” he brought your face closer to his looking into his brown eyes. “You will get there. You hear me. You will get there.” You slowly nod, whipping away the stray tears. “I’m so proud of you for even building up the courage to go out there. I’m fucking proud of you” The crying slowed down as you took Joel’s words in more. “I’m sorry for waking you.” “I rather make sure you are okay than get sleep” he planted a soft kiss on your forehead again staying there for a few seconds. “I’ll talk to Tommy in the morning about everything- I love you Joel.” You brought your head back to his chest, sighing in relief. “I love you too” The two of you laid back down cuddling back up and drifting back off to sleep.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

[crossbackpoke-check]

blessed be (lorscher bienensegen) | telling the bees (wiþ ymbe)

"Bees" [remixed, abridged], Claudia Emerson // "Letter to Someone Living Fifty Years from Now" [remixed. abridged], Matthew Olzmann // "Letter to my Great, Great Grandchild" [remixed, abridged], J.P. Grasser | Len Redkole, Nina Weiss, Brian Babineau, Christian Peterson, Mitchell Leff, Dave Isaac, Megan DeRuchie

[3416]

Auston Matthews scores his 17th goal of the season to tie the game with an assist from Mitch Marner, making Mitch the fastest Leaf in franchise history to 700 career points.

"These two guys have been magic together for years." -Mike Johnson

Leafs vs Devils | 01.16.25

[1-800-i-ship-it]

kim dokja let me bash your head in (affectionate) and give you all the hugs you deserve (derogatory)

[day-mark]

god i fucking love competitive play, i love watching high level, skilled gameplay from passionate players, i love learning the statistics for each player and the game as a whole, i love hearing everyone and especially the casters glaze the fuck out of my favorite players. mc summit/mojang and mc.c you will be fucking dealt with .

[cerealmonster15]

i forgot grunt meant like henchman or whatever for a second i thought they were like yeah leonas bitch ass grunts and growls are partial proof to savanaclaw being an athletic leaning dorm lol