@maledictaria
┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄ ◌ ·𖥸· ◌ ┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄
･ﾟ° ☾ ✧ △ 𝑾𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝑴𝒆𝒓𝒄𝒆𝒅𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉, engine low and steady, but Luca’s attention was elsewhere. Dusk pressed around them, salty and alive with the ocean breeze, but inside the car, warmth pooled where she sat. Blindfolded, fingers curled lightly in her lap, the soft curve of her shoulders and the delicate rise of her chest reminded him of every small miracle she had been in his life. She had survived the worst of him, seen the cracks and scars, and loved him still.
❛ Almost there ❜. he murmured, voice low, carrying both reverence and anticipation. The faint scent of her hair curled toward him, warm, subtly sweet, grounding him in the chaos of everything else. His thumb brushed small, intimate circles along her inner wrist, fingers tracing the delicate contour of her forearm, he pressed lightly, a silent promise of care.
The rental house appeared, tucked into the dunes like a secret waiting just for them. He cut the engine, letting the soft hum fade, leaving only the distant crash of waves, the whisper of wind through tall grasses. ❛ Keep your eyes closed a little longer ❜. he whispered, sliding the door open. The cool night air swept over him, carrying salt and faint warmth from the sand.
He lifted her effortlessly, careful, reverent. The weight of her body against his chest grounded him, familiar and soft. Her head nestled just beneath his chin as he carried her across the sand-dusted path, micro gestures guiding their rhythm, thumb brushing slow, comforting circles at her side, fingertips grappling her thigh in a light squeeze. Her hair teased his jaw with the breeze, and he inhaled deeply, imprinting the scent—the warmth, the trust, the delicate intimacy—into memory.
At the edge of the beach, he knelt slightly, setting her gently onto the soft blanket. The blindfold slipped away, and her eyes met the horizon first—sunset spilling pink, gold, and violet across the sky, waves whispering at the shore, the sand cool beneath their bare feet. The spread he had prepared lay before her, delicate bites scattered with care, champagne nestled in ice, two glasses catching the fading light, and a bouquet of orchids, roses, and lilies, petals curling with the wind, scent mingling with the salt air.
Luca’s arms slid around her from behind, steady, protective, worshipful. Fingers threaded through hers, thumb caressing the soft inner curve of her wrist, fingertips brushing over her knuckles, holding her hands close, memorizing the warmth. He pressed his chin lightly to her shoulder, lips grazing her cheek, teeth just barely touching skin. ❛ Happy anniversary, little red ❜. he whispered, voice rough with awe and intimacy. He pressed a soft kiss behind her ear, inhaled her scent, revering in the way her frame fit perfectly against his, how small, warm, and perfect she felt in his arms.
❛ You’re everything I never knew I could have ❜. he murmured, heart swelling. The simple act of holding her, feeling her trust and warmth, made every hardship, every fracture of his past, worth enduring. They had survived storms—literal, metaphorical, emotional—and yet here they were: alive, safe, healing one another still.
He shifted slightly, just enough to press a slow kiss to the crown of her head, fingers tracing along hers again. Every whisper of wind, every rustle of the bouquet, the sound of waves, the chill of sand beneath his shoes, the fading warmth of sunlight on skin—every detail became a frame for this sacred, quiet intimacy.
In her presence, he felt the fractures of his past begin to mend, thread by tender thread. He tightened his arms slightly, pressed her closer without constriction, and let his lips brush along the nape of her neck, murmuring soft promises only she would know. She had made him whole. And for the first time in a long time, Luca let himself believe that some moments were permanent, because she was there, and he would never let her go.
