Lucy Literates

It’s always the quiet moments that hit the hardest.

Like the way Malachi leans against the passenger door of his beat-up Jeep, sunlight catching in his hair, denim jacket thrown on like he didn’t even think about it. Like he’s always been this way. Like he always will be.

You’re sitting on the hood, legs crossed, picking at the frayed hem of your jeans. Same ones you’ve worn a hundred times. Same ones he once teased you about because they’re “one wash away from falling apart.

He was wrong about that.

Some things don’t fall apart so easily.

“You okay?” he asks, voice low, careful. Like he already knows the answer but doesn’t want to scare it away.

You nod. A lie. But a gentle one.

“Yeah. Just thinking.”

He hums and steps closer, resting his hands on either side of you. He smells like laundry detergent and summer heat and something that feels like home. You hate how safe he feels. You hate how much you want to stay right here.

The song is playing softly from the car speakers—Denim. You didn’t even realize he put it on until the chorus drifts through the air, slow and aching.

I miss you in my denim…

Malachi exhales a laugh. “This song’s unfair,” he says. “Feels like it knows things.”

You glance at him. “Like what?”

“Like how I’ll probably hear it years from now and think of tonight.”

That makes your chest tighten.

“Mal,” you murmur, “don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Talk like this is already a memory.”

He looks at you then. Really looks at you. Like he’s trying to memorize every freckle, every expression, every second before life changes shape again.

“Everything becomes a memory eventually,” he says softly. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t matter.”

The wind tugs at his jacket, denim brushing against your knee. It’s such a small thing, but suddenly it feels symbolic—him, this moment, this version of you both. Worn-in. Comfortable. Loved.

You reach out without thinking, fingers catching the cuff of his sleeve.

“Promise me something,” you say.

He smiles, the kind that’s sad around the edges. “Anything.”

“Promise you won’t forget me when this song comes on.”

Malachi shakes his head immediately. “That’s impossible.”

Then, quieter: “You’re stitched into me. Like denim. Doesn’t matter how many times it fades.”

The song swells. The sun dips lower. And for just a little while, the world pauses—two kids in worn jeans, holding onto a moment that feels like it might last forever if you don’t let go.

And even if you do…

You’ll always hear it

Tag list

@laylayschipzz

@purplerose291

@imnotnotgabrielle

@imnotjadaddy

@23swife

@mysticmarble222

@saphiraelise

@coffeeonvenus

@casey1-2007

@h3artfili4

@mischivana

@strawberryshortcake143

@stellas1

@lov3lylxvender

@rylftv

@lovinashlin

@jmgrule

@hppercyjacksonlover

@avahossler

The arena lights blaze over the screaming fans, and Malachi’s energy is electric on stage. He’s mid-song, the beat pulsing through the crowd, when his eyes catch something unexpected.

At first, he thinks he’s seeing things—then he blinks, and there you are. Standing with his parents, right in the middle of the crowd, grinning like the secret you’ve been holding in is the best one ever.

He stumbles over the lyrics for a split second, heart hammering. The audience doesn’t know what’s happening, but he does. And he cannot ignore it.

During a brief pause between songs, he grabs the mic, his grin impossibly wide.

“Okay, everyone,” he says, voice loud enough to carry over the screaming crowd, “I’ve gotta show you something.”

The lights pan over the audience, and he points directly at you. “That’s my girl—yep, she’s here! And look, she even brought my parents!”

The crowd erupts, and you wave shyly but can’t hide your smile. Malachi’s gaze locks on you, proud and playful at the same time, and for the rest of the show, every glance he throws your way is electric.

When the band cues Shuffle of Love, he doesn’t just perform it—he performs it for you. Every lyric, every move, has that extra spark that only happens when someone sees the person they love in the crowd. You’re practically glowing, and you catch him sneaking a wink mid-choreo.

After the show, adrenaline still buzzing, you manage to snag some backstage passes. When you step behind the curtain, you find him leaning against the wall, still catching his breath from the set. His eyes widen in disbelief.

“You… what? How—when—?” he stutters, laughing and shaking his head.

“I thought I’d surprise you,” you say, smirking, holding up the passes. “And… I’ll be on the tour bus with you guys until I leave for college.”

Malachi’s grin turns into a full, breathless laugh. He pulls you into a hug so tight you can barely breathe. “You’re insane,” he whispers against your hair. “But I love it. I love you.”

You pull back just enough to see his face, radiant under the backstage lights. “You’re stuck with me for a while,” you tease.

“Stuck?” he asks, mock-offended. “Nope. I’m exactly where I want to be.”

The studio lights are blinding, and the set feels much bigger than it looked online. You’re seated just off to the side while Malachi is perched on the couch across from the host, smiling that easy, magnetic smile of his.

You’re not technically part of the interview—at least, you weren’t supposed to be. You’d come along just to support him, to watch from the wings. But when the cameras started rolling, the host glanced at you, then at Malachi, and the inevitable question came up: “So, you’re dating, right?”

The audience cheered, Malachi laughed, and you wanted to sink into your chair. You’re not used to attention like this.

For the next few questions, the host kept it light—asking about his projects, his inspirations—but you couldn’t help but feel like an extra on your own date. The cameras never really moved your way, and your hands fidgeted in your lap.

That’s when Malachi glanced over at you. It wasn’t quick, either—he lingered, like you were the only one in the room worth looking at. His grin softened, and he tilted his body toward you instead of the host.

“You know,” he said suddenly, leaning forward, “she should really be over here. Half of what I do, she’s part of. Honestly, if you’re asking about inspiration, that’s her.”

The host raised their brows, surprised, and the crowd let out an “aww.” Your face heated, and you shook your head, but Malachi patted the empty spot beside him on the couch.

The host laughed, “Oh, we’re moving her up? Okay, come on over!”

Nerves fluttered in your stomach, but Malachi reached his hand out for you—steady, certain. When you sat down, he slid his arm behind your back, casual but protective, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

From then on, every time the host asked him something, he found a way to bring you in.

“She actually helped me practice lines for that role.” “We binge-watch the same shows when I’m stressed.” “You should’ve seen her reaction when I told her about this project—she believed in me before I believed in myself.”

And while you still felt shy, tucked against his side under the bright lights, the way he kept drawing you into the conversation made your chest ache in the best way. He wasn’t just answering questions—he was showing everyone exactly how much you mattered to him.

The sun was dipping low over the campgrounds, and the air smelled faintly of pine and the faint smoke of a nearby fire pit. You had come here with Ella and Olivia for a week away from everything — no responsibilities, no chaos, just a chance to reset.

Colby Madden, however, had come here for different reasons. He wasn’t the kind of guy people expected to see at a summer camp, not with his sharp jawline, tattoos peeking from under his sleeves, and the skateboard he used to carve between cabins. He came to get away from the heavy weight of being who he was — or who he used to be.

You were walking back from the dining hall when it happened. A blur of movement, the sound of wheels, and then—

“Shit—watch out!”

You stumbled as Colby skidded sideways on his board, colliding into you. His hand shot out, gripping your arm to steady you both. You blinked up at him, heart hammering from the impact, and met his eyes — warm brown, amused, apologetic all at once.

“Guess that’s one way to meet someone,” he said with a crooked grin.

You laughed nervously, brushing hair from your face. “Yeah, nearly breaking my ribs. Smooth move.”

Something about the spark in his eyes kept you rooted there. Maybe it was the way his gaze lingered on your lips, or how he seemed like he didn’t really belong here any more than you did.

“Want to… uh, hang out?” you asked, surprising even yourself. “My cabin’s right over there.”

Your friends were still at the campfire when you led him inside, your pulse racing in your throat. The door clicked shut behind you, and the silence between you thickened with heat.

Colby leaned his skateboard against the wall, then stepped closer. “You sure about this?” His voice was low, careful — but his eyes burned with want.

Instead of answering, you tugged him down by the collar and pressed your lips to his.

The kiss was rough, needy. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you against him. When your back hit the edge of the bunk, he pushed you gently down, his mouth trailing from your lips to your neck. His teeth grazed your skin, and then he sucked, leaving hot, claiming marks along your collarbone. You gasped his name, fingers curling into his shirt.

Clothes came off in a blur of hands and heat, until there was nothing between you but bare skin and breathless anticipation. Colby’s touch was hungry but reverent, his mouth leaving wet kisses and sharp bites down your body. The way he moved against you — slow at first, then faster when you pulled at his hair and begged — had you spiraling.

The cabin filled with your muffled moans and the creak of the mattress, his lips returning again and again to your throat, your chest, branding you with marks that would last days. He whispered filth and comfort in the same breath, his voice breaking when you pulled him closer, until the both of you came undone together.

The next morning, you slipped into fresh clothes, tugging the neckline up as far as it would go. But Ella and Olivia weren’t oblivious.

You barely made it three steps out of the cabin before Ella’s eyes widened. “Uh… girl. What is that?” She pointed at the purple bruise peeking above your collar.

Olivia smirked, leaning against the railing. “Someone had fun last night.”

Your face went red hot. “It’s… not what it looks like.”

Colby strolled by right then, skateboard under his arm, shooting you a wicked little grin that made your stomach twist all over again.

Ella and Olivia exchanged looks, then burst out laughing. “Oh, it’s exactly what it looks like.

Tag List:

@laylayschipzz

@purplerose291

@imnotnotgabrielle

@imnotjadaddy

@maliabakerr

@mysticmarble222

@saphiraelise

@coffeeonvenus 

@casey1-2007

@h3artfili4

@mischivana

@strawberryshortcake143

@stellas1

@lov3lylxvender

@rylftv

@lovinashlin

@jmgrule

@hppercyjacksonlover

@avahossler

@astrlape

@blushnboba

The group had barely been live for two minutes and chaos had already broken out — shouting, water splashing, someone nearly knocking over the phone stand. You were in the corner of the frame, legs dangling in the pool, sipping from your drink and trying not to laugh at the boys arguing over who could do the best backflip.

Malachi spotted you first. “Why you hiding over there, Y/N?” he called, swimming toward your side of the pool. “Come sit with me.”

“I am sitting,” you teased, shifting over just enough for him to climb up beside you. The water dripped off his curls onto his shoulders, glistening in the late sun. He leaned back on his hands, close enough that his knee brushed yours.

The comments were already flying across the screen: IS THAT Y/N?? Why is Malachi looking at her like that 😭 ship ittttt

He smirked, clearly noticing. “You know,” he said, speaking toward the camera but glancing at you, “Y/N thinks she can outsing me.”

Gasps and dramatic “ooooohhhs” came from the rest of the group. You rolled your eyes, laughing. “I don’t think, Malachi. I know.”

“Bet you won’t do it live right now.” His voice dropped just enough to make it sound like a challenge meant only for you, though the mic picked it up clear as day.

You shoved his shoulder, trying not to blush, but he only leaned closer, curls dripping onto your thigh now. The chat exploded.

With a sigh, you gave in — humming a riff, quick and playful, but strong enough that even the boys stopped yelling. The camera caught Malachi staring at you like he’d forgotten where he was.

He clutched his chest dramatically. “Nah, you can’t do that to me on camera. I’m— I’m finished.”

The boys howled. You laughed, trying to hide your face behind your drink, but Malachi wasn’t done. He leaned in again, speaking just loud enough for the livestream. “See? That’s my girl.”

Your breath caught — partly at the words, partly at the heat in his eyes before he pulled back like it was nothing. The comments went feral. “MY GIRL”??? EXCUSE ME??? they’re so obvious it hurts malachi’s whipped end of story

You tried to keep it casual, giggling, shaking your head. “Don’t start rumors.”

“Too late,” he whispered, lips brushing your ear before he leaned back with a smirk.

Later that night, your phone wouldn’t stop buzzing — clips of the live, slowed edits of him touching your knee, fans screaming about the wink you hadn’t even noticed. The ship tag with both your names was already trending.

Malachi sent you one of the edits himself, captioned with dramatic background music and the text ‘when your coworker accidentally becomes your crush.’

Malachi: They caught on quicker than you did, huh? 😉

You stared at your phone, biting your lip. And for the first time, you weren’t so sure you wanted to shut down those “rumors” after all.

Tag List:

@laylayschipzz

@purplerose291

@imnotnotgabrielle

@imnotjadaddy

@maliabakerr

@mysticmarble222

@saphiraelise

@coffeeonvenus 

@casey1-2007

@h3artfili4

@mischivana

@strawberryshortcake143

@stellas1

@lov3lylxvender

@rylftv

@lovinashlin

@jmgrule

@hppercyjacksonlover

@avahossler

@astrlape

@blushnboba