#surfer!reader

“ What do you think ? “ Dean took his bag , eyes flicked slightly to his brother as if to look for his approval.

“ Looks dreamy. “ Sam’s gaze looked up to the pylon sign. It read ‘Siren Song’ , written in fancy letters on a white background, where there was also a faceless mermaid with long blonde hairs and aquamarine tail. He nodded.

The outside couldn’t compare with the inside. Dean thought he had opened a door or another world instead of this one. Greek-style columns standing at the four ends of the room supported the ceiling. The walls, painted ocean blue, featured mermaids emerging from the waves. The woman standing behind the counter wore a pink blouse , ‘Mei’ was gracefully embroidered over left chest. 

“ Hi.” Dean greeted her with a smirk. Her eyes shot up at him , lashes battling in mere surprise. Pink cotton candy on her cheeks and those lips contoured with hazelnut lip liner. 

“Hi.” Her eyes alternate between them before she could finally settle her pearls over Dean , whose smile grew wider. “ Are you here to book a room or confirm a reservation ? ”

“ Huh ,book. Do you have rooms with two queens , by any chance ? ”

“ I’m not sure. We’re kind of fully booked , but I can still take a look. ” The woman glanced at her computer screen , limbs tapped on the keyboards and within seconds the results showed up on the screen. “ Ah , it’s your lucky day. We've got rooms 268 and 264 with a view of the sea or rooms 233 and 230 overlooking the road. ” 

“ We’re gonna take the sea seaside. Do you accept credit cards ? ”

“ We do. I’ll just need your full name. You can pay over here.” Tapping on her keyboard with one hand , the other designated the payment terminal on the counter.

“ Of course. Hugh Berloff.” He slid the card in the terminal. “ You want me to spell it f’you ?”

“ I’ll be good , thanks. I happen to know some Berloff in my life. ”

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⠀ The room was large enough to accommodate more than four people. It had two queen sized beds , heavenly blue bedding adorned each bed, with headboards replaced by mirror halves. The furniture was of an ivory white, immaculate, matching the walls. A flat-screen television was mounted on the wall, centered in the middle of the room, right above the TV cabinet. Dean threw his bag over the bed nearing the bay , eliciting a scoff from his brother who had no other choice but take the second bed. It was adjacent to the kitchenette and facing the bathroom door. A vibrant fruity fragrance perfumed his sheets and Dean swore it was litchi. He spent his whole life on the road , sleeping in cheap motels with uncomfortable mattresses , poor services…

All of this ? This is luxe. He deserved it , damn it. When he wasn’t hunting he had no other occupations such as binge watch series as he finished yet another bottle from his favourite beer brand. Paradise or heaven , he’d call this life. Exempted from real life jobs , taxes , bills…but not from peace and rest.

There were days where he would feel it , the sleep deprivation caused by the river of thoughts wandering through the walls of his mind , then his head would hurt and he’d pop open another beer, hoping it would pass. But it never did. A few hours later, he'd be sitting on his bed, his elbows resting on his knees, and his emerald eyes gazing into space. He was able to ignore the bitterness and guilt weighing on his shoulders, but he wasn't Atlas ; he couldn't carry the weight of the world on his shoulders without bending a knee.

“ What do you wanna do now ? ” Sam asked while he reached for the stack of pamphlets on the nightstand. They suggested several activities to do in the city and its surroundings, such as the best local restaurants, must-see museums (which caught Sam's interest) , events and so much more he couldn’t even remember them all.

“ I don’t know. What do you wanna do ? ” Back laid flat on his bed and arms crossed behind his head as a support he had his eyes closed. He could already feel his fatigue losing itself in the comfort of the mattress.

“ Huh , there’s museums , restaurants…” He listed as he skimmed through each flyer until he stopped at one and glanced at his brother’s figure. “ Wait , apparently it’s surfing season. Every year they have many surfers training at Cocoa beach. It’s a sort of popular event.”

Of course , Dean reacted at the mention of surfing. For him it meant women in skimpy bikinis , ice creams and getting tanned under the Florida sun. He was already standing up when Sam shot him a puzzled glance.“ What are you doing ? ”

“ Getting my ass in those swim trunks.” And to illustrate his saying he opened his bag and began looking for the said swim trunks which he eventually found after throwing almost everything out of his bag.” We’re totally going there. ”

As the sun hits his skin while he steps outside of his car , a soft breeze caresses the curves of his face and he realizes how much he missed out on this his whole life. His eyes flit to Sam casually checking if he was good. Catching his brother’s gaze his lips curled into a genuine smile , fingers adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder.

Both walk down the path leading straight to the beach. Beach umbrellas blossomed all over the beach , kids running between people , women tanning, teenagers playing volleyball and the waves licking the sand. Dean always saw this  scenery in movies he grew up watching on the motel rooms TV cable. They’d play late at night and of course he’d watch them whenever John was absent and Sammy slept peacefully in his bed.

Now he got to see this in real life. Yeah , he missed out. A lot.

“ How come dad never took us to the beach ? ” He said , lids squinted while his eyes scanned the beach all over again. The sound of the waves lapping at the shore filled the silence that had settled between them.

“ I don’t know. ” Sam put down the cooler and stood with his hands on his hips , squinted his eyes as well. The sun was intense. Nothing the brothers weren’t used to. 

“ Honestly , I wish he did. ” His words tasted like regret and he mentally brushed the bitterness away when his emerald eyes caught a feminine silhouette in his peripheral vision. 

Sam splayed his towel over the hot sand right besides Dean’s. The daystar shone with intensity , ruling its cloudless kingdom and he wished he had brought an umbrella. Dean was already applying sunscreen all over his chest , visibly thrilled by the thought of being there. He’d been rarely content or euphoric, especially lately. All of that crap with the leviathan , Abbadon…He needed a break , something to fill his half empty jar.

This was perfect. 

“ There’s a hub not too far , Cocoa Beach Pier , you wanna go over there later ? ” 

“ Yeah , why not. ”

Buttered up with sunscreen they walked down to the sea. Near the shore , waves were more tender than the ones curling further. They were large and imposing. A crowd had gathered by the sea, shouting what sounded like cheers. Dean exchanged a glance with Sam, and they agreed to go see what was going on.

They navigated between the people , muttering sorry’s there and here until they found themselves in the frontline.

Dean had completely forgotten about the surf stuff Sam talked about back in their room. People were riding the waves on their surf boards ; younger or older , women or men. They were all enjoying the tides. It was striking the way they seemed to perform a dance , choreography. Dean had a vivid memory about the day he watched North Shore on TV , the tape had been lying around in the TV stand drawer. Since then he always thought of surfing as something cool. Actually it was in his top two , right cowboys. 

Then , you caught his eyes. You emerged from the tube and slid across its shoulder , a hand extended to the curl you felt your finger tips leave the wave behind them and moved upwards to hit the peak of the waves. The smile on your face never left your lips , even when you reached the shore after riding your last wave , surfboard hooked under your arm.

Your friend praised your performance while she wrapped your towel around your shoulders. Dean eyed you , taking in the way your wet curls kissed your back , how your breasts bounce at each step you take , the piercing hanging from your navel glittered. 

Walking past him and his brother , your smile deepened when you realized the man had been ogling you shamelessly. Being a hurry you barely had time to  notice the green of his eyes.

And his eyes immediately fell to your ass , barely covered in that thong. You were a sight. Especially from behind. Sam shook his head. Dean will never change.

     It’s the middle of the noon when they arrive at the hub. Sun lower in the sky and burning heat coexisting with the ocean breeze.  After enjoying the sea , Sam and Dean headed to the hub. It was a large pontoon stretching over the aquamarine waters. Welcoming tourists and locals , the shops were lively and colorful.

Dean easily headed to the restaurant edging the seaside. At this time of the day , there wasn’t much clientele. Couples or friends groups were scattered throughout the place , chatters winning over the sound of waves breaking.

A waiter brings them to their table and the brothers take their seats. Dean doesn't waste time and starts reading the menu. There was a variety of choices yet seafood remained the principal theme.

“ What d’you think of that, ” He slid his index under the text. “ Jumbo fried shrimp ? ”

“ You should try a salad instead. They have—”

“ No no no, ” he interrupts his brother , ever the healthy one. “ Don’t pull that crap again. Told you I don’t eat rabbit food. ”

“ Dude , I’m just saying , you should eat something with less…” He trails , a hand gesturing in the air.

“ Less grease ? ” Dean finished up his phrase , brow lifted. Sam always had a weird obsession with vegetables and any other healthy stuff. He was a stay-in shape person.

You walk in the restaurant , your friend tailing after you. She was convinced your biggest rival had their chance of winning this year’s championship but you weren’t sure. Taylor Kenneth, was their name. They were each other’s competition for over five years now. You always thought they had natural talent, compared to the hard work you put yourself through. Exhaling, you sit down across from your friend and lean over the table. 

“ Alisha, I told you,” you said while your hands flattened on the table. “ I don’t even think if Taylor’s gonna show up this year. Besides, I don't have any news from them.” The last part was muttered, eyes darting away from Alisha’s furrowed brows.

“ How’d you know that ?” 

“ Because, I…possibly contacted Taylor’s brother.” The confusion is inevitable. Why would you check up on your rival ? Let alone communicate with their family members ? Alisha shifted in her chair.

“Did I miss something ?”

“ Um, yeah and no.” Her brows rose up. “ It’s complicated. Look, can we talk about this later ? ”

“ Sure.” Alisha squinted her eyes at you before she could finally take a look at the menu.

Dean notices you first. He’d seen you before, you were the surfer girl from the beach. Your hair was long and thick, falling into a waterfall of curls over your shoulder.

“ Wasn’t she at the beach earlier ?” Sam speaks first but Dean’s eyes never leave you.

“ She was.”

“ So what ? ” He placed the lettuce on top of the cherry tomato and bell pepper and brought the fork to his mouth.

Dean remains silent, contemplating whether or not he should stand up and walk to your table with that strut of his and ask for your number. You were rakish. He came across many beautiful women before and you were one, there was just something about that screamed ‘come to me’. Maybe you weren’t human. Maybe you were a siren, wearing one of his many fantaisies. He liked surfers, they were cool. You weren’t just cool, you were sexy. And his biggest problem was his hesitation was stopping him from going to talk to you.

Feeling a pair of eyes, you naturally turned your head over and found Dean’s. You smiled and went back to sipping on the ‘bahama mama’ you ordered earlier. A battle for dominance between coconut rum and pineapple juice, despite the presence of banana and orange in the mix. And it was smooth on your tongue. So smooth it made your eyes close as the drink slid down your throat to settle in the pit of your stomach. The warmth from the dark rum spread through your body.

Humming, your eyes snapped back open on Alisha. Her fingers held the straw she was using to stir her drink and glanced at you with amusement.

“ He’s handsome.”

“ Who ? ”

“ The guy who was staring at you not even five minutes ago ! ”

“ Oh.” You brought the straw to your glossed lips, innocently brushing off her observation. You haven’t been interested in someone in months. Not that you didn’t crave intimacy, or being touched and held and loved. You just…don't know.

Outside of surfing, you’d be a marketing manager and work flooded everyday with abundance. Hence you barely had time to dedicate yourself to friends or family. Let alone a lover.

“ I don’t think it’s a good idea.” You said. “ I don’t have time.”

“ Live a little ; you’re on vacation. Nobody said getting laid by a random handsome guy isn’t a bad idea.”

“ He’s too old.”

“ As if that stopped you before.” She rolled her eyes and you offered her a deadpanned look. The smile grew bigger. “ Girl, seriously. Go talk to him.”

“ Why would I go talk to someone I’m not even interested in talking to? ”

Too busy bickering with Alisha, you didn’t notice the guy made his way towards you and actually stopped at your table. It was your friend’s eyes fleeing away from yours that made you realize about your company. 

“Hi.” He greeted.

He was tall. Maybe it’s because he was standing and you were sitting down. His hair is dark blonde and short. And his eyes. God, his eyes. An emerald green where flirtation lived. You remember him now, he was the guy who ogled you at the beach. After taking a good look at him, a real good look, you realized how handsome he is up close.

“Hi ? You’re the guy from the beach, right ?”

“ You remember me, sweetheart ? I’m flattered.” The way he called you sweetheart with his deep voice, honeyed with a charm you’ve seen before. Is it hot or just the estranged heat rushing to your face ?

“ Sweetheart ?” You echoed the word with genuine amusement. 

Your thick eyelashes fluttered at him, glossy lips curled in a smile.That caused him to smirk. By your body language he could tell you were definitely into him. If he had no decency , he would’ve deliberately been hard as a rock in his trunks. But he wanted to look decent, be decent. You didn’t deserve to see him behave like a perv.

“ You’ve never been called like that, sweetheart ?”

“ Oh I sure did.” You answered, nonchalant with a shrug. “ You’re not the first one to come, try and walk away with nothing.”

He leered at you. Dean undressed you in his twisted mind. He was already conceiving his hands all over you, round tits cupped delicately by his limbs. He lifted his chin, thumb hooking at the edge of his shorts.

“ You sure ? I can be convincing.” You believed him. The desire in his gaze made you crumble. He seemed to be the kind of guy that could obtain anything from his looks and charm alone. Crossing a leg over the other one you leaned against your chair, back straightened up.

You scoffed.“ Huh. How can I put faith in a guy whose name remains unknown to me ?”

“ Right. Forgot my manners.” His hands gestured up and he extended one of them towards you. “ Name’s Dean Winchester.”

You shook his hand and told him your name and promptly withdrew it. “ Alright, s’nice to meet you Dean Winchester.” 

Alisha’s eyes flicked between the two of us. You were giving him the eyes, just he was echoing you with the same heated gaze. 

He said your name again, sweet and low, he loved how it fell from his lips and you looked like you enjoyed it given the way you shifted in your seat after he said it. “ You’re free tonight ?”

“ No we—. ” You interrupted yourself by looking at Alisha who gratified you with an encouraging wink. “ Huh nevermind. Yeah, I guess I’m free. ”

“ What do you say ‘bout eating seafood ? ” He demanded. “ Picked a nice restaurant on my way here.”

“ I guess I’m fine with seafood.”

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    Hair slicked back and curls styled in bun held by a clip. You wore something simple and comfortable. The cotton candy gown stopped halfway down your thighs, the neckline formed a heart shape consecutively leaving your shoulder bare except for the thin strap that threatened from ascending the edge of both shoulders. To elevate your looks you just adorned yourself with golden jewelry here and there. And that's what you thought he wouldn’t show that you saw finally. He traversed the room in hurried steps.

“ Sorry for being this late. ” He took a seat across from you. Dean looked neat, hair groomed and soaked shirt replaced by what you assume was a plain black underneath the dark coffee jacket. Irked by his belated arrival he offered you an apologic look. “ You know what, dinner’s on me─”

“ It’s okay.” You lifted your hand to illustrate your declaration. “ Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s not your fault. You don’t have to do this.”

Lips pressed together he nodded while straightening against the back of his chair. “ Okay. I bet you had plenty time to take a peek at the menu.” He declared while he grasped the folded carte.

“ To be honest,” You mirrored him, opening up the menu . “ Yeah. But I don’t know what I’m feeling like tonight. There’s too many choices.”

He frowned and despite him he let out a mocking snort. “ It’s freaking sea food. All I see is fish, shrimp or crab.”

“ You’re the one who proposed me to go eat seafood.”

“ You still said yes.” 

“ Because I love seafood.” Assessing the menu once again you fell back on one of the several dishes making you hesitate. “ They have chatrou fricassee.

His emerald eyes flit to you. “ What’s that ?”

“ Okay so,” You leaned forward and her breasts followed the gesture. He gave it a lecherous gaze, more invested in the way her tits looked in her dress. “ Basically, it's an octopus and usually cooked with sauce and you eat it with rice.”

“ Yeah, so just octopus with rice.” He concludes.

“ It’s not just octopus. It’s cooked with chives, onions, chili pepper…” You listed dreamily. You could taste the stewed squid on your tongue and your taste buds craved for more at each mouthful. “ It’s a Caribbean dish. Don’t think you’ll ever find any other people cooking it this way. Unless you were taught.”

Dean’s eyes shot up in surprise. For him it was just food. He hadn’t much history with food. For him it was a way to carburate and just one of the few good things he had left in his life besides Sam and beer. In your eyes he saw that sparkle shine bright while you talked about the infamous dish.

“ You look like an expert. ” 

You had a sheepish smile climbing its way over your glossy lips. “ It’s a Caribbean dish and I happen to be Caribbean. ”

Dean nodded slowly. He's always wanted to go to the Archipelago. But he never really voiced it. To anyone. Not even Sam. The only issue was flying. He hated heights and he hated having no contact at all with the ground. So he basically hated planes. Sam said this was…What was the word again ? Oh. Acrophobia. Meant the person had an irrational fear of heights. He brushed it off, called it stupid ; yeah he didn’t like height for a reason he can’t explain but that wasn’t phobia.

“ You, huh, been here for long ? ”

“ Yes and no. I’ve been living in Toronto for years now. I come to Florida occasionally.” Resting your chin over upon your hand you leaned slightly. 

So you only came here occasionally ? Oh maybe he should start doing the same from now on. “Canada ? Wow.” Dean nodded, impressed. “ Work related stuff ?”

“ Yep. What about you ? ” 

“ Born and raised in Kansas. Been working too much lately so I’m taking some days off from job with my little brother.” 

“ The guy you were with at the restaurant ?”

“ Yeah. His name’s Sam.”

“ I thought it was otherwise. Like, there’s no way he’s not the older brother here.” Your brows shot up by surprise. Sam carried something Dean didn’t have. Maybe it was the beard. Dean’s was well groomed if not almost inexistant on his face. You still thought he’d look pretty with a beard.

“ I’ve heard that before. A lot actually.” He frowned then smirked. A boyish grin at the corner of his lips. “ But we can both agree I’m the cuter one.”

“ Sure.” 

“ Heh, you’re still sitting in front of me.So you actually think I’m cute, don’t you ?  ”

You shrugged.

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You haven’t felt that in years.

That content feeling. You would feel happiness, satisfaction…All were familiar things you’d be used to. But as time went on and nothing changed, it all became sour. Tasteless even. The world became flat. Tonight, you felt a quietude behind the laughs and the jokes shared during the date. At last, he got behind you to help get your jacket over your shoulders. Shivers ran down your spine when his limbs brushed over your flesh.

“ Ladies first.” Waiting for you to pass, he followed while his free hand hovered above your lower back. The evening’s cool air brought you back to reality and bitterness suddenly washed over. You were only here for two weeks, twelve days left now, and this was just a date. “How’d you like our date ?”

“ It was…great.” You looked up at him and he stood there, admiring with two hands down his jacket’s pockets. The moonlight embraced his features and it made him look so dreamy. Unreal. It could be a dream.Nonetheless, the warmth of his fingers against your skin made you think otherwise. “ It was an awesome evening, Dean. Thank you.”

“ Anytime sweetheart.” His hand reached for his keys inside his jeans front pocket. “ Want me to drive you home ?”

“ I’m good. Just texted my friend. She’s gonna be there in a few.”

Eventually, Alisha showed up in the car you rented for the stay. You could imagine the questions she was about to ask you with that big ass smile on her face. You pivoted towards the dirty blonde haired man and stood on your tip toes to kiss cheek. “ Well, you got my number. So, call me ?”

You gave him a smile and proceeded to walk towards your car, heart fluttering in your chest like a teenager. The car took off and Dean watched it drive away. This felt like the end. He knew this was a simple hook up, another woman to warm his sheets. But his body ached for more. This couldn’t be just a blissful one night stand with the prettiest surfer he's ever seen.

“ God damn it.” And if he wasn’t already cursed, he would have thought his curse had only just begun.

⠀

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𓈒 ֹ extra notes : ( tw / food ) chatrou fricassée ( martinican + guadeloupean dish ) . cocoa beach , cocoa beach pier . ‘siren song’ reference . ‘bahama mama’ cocktail . ‘summer scent’ board .

extra complements : don’t hesitate to send me asks about surfer ! reader with the pairings that you’ll find over here , thanks !

　　　　　　⠀⠀. ⠀♡⠀ ㅤׅㅤ⠀⠀ ˚⠀

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“Nat, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” you repeat for what feels like the hundredth time in the past half hour, voice trembling with urgency.

Each step feels heavier than the last, your heart pounding in your chest as you draw closer to the beach. You barely hear the playful groan of the redhead in front of you over the howl of the wind whipping around you, making your ears ring uncomfortably and your eyes water slightly.

Natasha struts forward, strands of her hair dancing wildly in the gusts, but she doesn’t seem fazed by the worsening weather. She has her surfboard casually tucked under her arm as if it’s just another sunny day at the beach.

“Come on, buzzkill,” she calls back, her voice light, teasing. “This is the perfect time! Nobody out here to hog the waves.” She glances over her shoulder at you, grinning, eyes bright with excitement that only amplifies your anxiety.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your footing steady as a strong gust nearly knocks you off balance. Your own surfboard feels heavy in your arms, the wind tugging at it like it wants to rip it away from you. Grip tightening, the rough texture of the wax sticks against your palms as your fingers dig in, fighting for control.

The wind picks up as you feel the sand underneath.

Glancing at the sky there are dark, doomy clouds over the horizon, swirling like an angry beast ready to pounce. The ocean beneath them churns restlessly. The waves are massive, their white crest crashing unforgivingly against the shore, louder than normal, almost angry.

Jagged shards of shells skitter across the beach like lost treasures and the wind tugs the sand into tiny tornadoes. The beach is deserted, foreboding, and your heart squeezes at the way the waves crash with unruly vigor.

There is a warning in the air, heavy and electric and your body aches to listen. The hair at the back of your neck stands on end. Every instinct in your body is screaming at you to turn around, to leave before it’s too late.

“Nat!” you shout, your voice barely carrying over the deafening whistle of the wind. It comes out almost as a scream, your desperation clawing at your throat as you try to get across how badly this could end.

But Natasha just throws a glance over her shoulder, her face just as bright as moments before - resolute and unfazed - as if the danger you can practically taste doesn’t exist.

“Come on, Y/n, it’ll be fun!” she shouts back, her voice carried away by the wind before it fully reaches you. Her steps quicken as she nears the water, eagerness fueling her, despite the gusts pushing against you two. She’s practically running, buzzing with adrenaline, her surfboard bouncing under her arm as the storm closes in.

It had been Natasha's idea to come out here, of course. She loves chasing a thrill, convincing you that surfing under those weather conditions would help you two get skilled. “No crowds, no waiting, just us and the ocean.” It’s what she said.

Though the ocean doesn’t seem welcoming at all right now.

You knew she would have gone either way. If you agreed or not. That’s basically the only reason you’re here right now, because as reckless as she could be, there was no way you were going to let her walk into danger alone - or her grave as it seems.

You’re not a professional surfer - neither of you are. The two surfboards you’re clutching onto for dear life are borrowed, a generous loan from the instructor who had run the beginner’s surf class just last week. He’d been a laid-back guy, happy to hear you and Natasha were interested in keeping up with the sport.

Unfortunately though, when he let you take the boards, he couldn’t possibly have any idea that you’d be sneaking out to the beach in the middle of an impending storm.

How could he? This is crazy. The wind tears at your clothes forcefully and your stomach churns, knots replacing your insides.

You’re not ready for this. The boards surely aren’t made for such waves - neither are you for that matter. Your experience amounts to a few rides on gentle waves under the perfect conditions. But this? This is something else entirely.

You watch in dread as Nat wades into the water. She pauses briefly to recheck the leash wrapped around her ankle, the heavy surfboard snug against her body. Your heart races as you hold your breath, bracing yourself for what comes next.

For a fleeting moment, you survey the beach again, hoping against hope to spot someone, anyone, who might help knock some sense into her, to pull her back from the brink of this reckless decision.

The stretch of sand is empty save for the lifeguard’s wooden stand in the distance, its white rescue board secured to the side. You squint, trying to make out if there is someone inside, but the fog of the approaching storm blurs everything, and it’s impossible to tell. Even if there is someone, you’re sure he’d have difficulty to even catch sight of you and it’s too far to run.

You turn back toward the water but the second your eyes meet the rolling waves, a stone lodges in your throat, pushing your heart to the depths of your body. Panic flares up inside you.

She’s gone.

The spot where Natasha was just moments ago is empty, swallowed by the towering swells. The dark water rises and falls, chaotic and aggressive, and your friend is nowhere in sight. Terror seizes you, cold and sharp, tightening your chest as your mind boils over.

The ocean looks so alive, merciless, and indifferent, pulling her deeper, under, with every second that passes.

“Natasha!” you scream, voice raw with fear.

Your body moves before your mind can tell you otherwise, and there is no longer hesitation, no second-guessing as you run to the shoreline. Your legs pump through the sand, lungs protesting and you fight against the force of the wind with everything you have. It feels almost personal.

The freezing cold instantly numbs your legs as your body hits the water. You charge forward, the surf breaking against your thighs. The water threatens to knock you down with each shaky breath but you push deeper, ignoring the icy shock and the way the current pulls at you, fighting your balance.

Blood rushes in your ears, your heart hammering so loudly that it drowns out the roar of the ocean for a second.

Every pulse of the water feels like a living force, hurling you in every direction, a relentless barrage that leaves you gasping for control. The waves slam against you from all sides, tossing you like a leaf caught in a storm.

You grit your teeth, trying to remember what your instructor had taught you. “Don’t fight the waves, use them, move with the water. It’s your friend, not your enemy.”

Well, fuck that, because friendly feels different.

You try to stay calm, arms trembling as you cling to the board, the slick surface cold and uncomfortable under your fingertips.

With a desperate effort, you manage to stay on the board long enough to scream Natasha's name again, your voice strained and choked by the salty wind. Just then, another monstrous wave smashes into you, enveloping you in a wall of water. You’re plunged into darkness, swallowed whole by the chaos, and for a disorienting moment, this doesn’t even feel real anymore.

But then your head breaks the surface again and you gasp for a breath, lungs burning. You clutch the board with a grip so tight it sends sharp stings all the way to your fingertips. The rough surface digs into your palms but you’d be damned if you let go of that thing.

With every ounce of strength you can muster, Natasha’s name leaves your lips again but the sound is ripped away almost as soon as it leaves your throat, swallowed by the howling wind and the whizz of the waves. It feels like screaming into a void, hopeless and hollow.

Then another wave slams into you - so hard, you feel the entire impact - and you’re under again.

Cold water surrounds you, suffocating your head. Your vision is nothing but an unfocused blur and salt stings in your eyes. All sense of direction is once again lost on you, your body twisting in the currents. You feel like a ragdoll, losing all control you have.

Each wave drags you further from the shore, further from safety, and the cold grip of despair tightens around your heart.

Breaking the surface, you gasp like you’ve never breathed before. Each gulp of air is a frantic, panicked effort as if the wind might steal it from you at any second. Each breath that follows fills your body with urgency, littered with the stifling sensation of the sea.

A few waves and more salty water later, you manage to regain some sense of balance, moving back up on your board and scanning the horizon, head whipping around hastily and eyes wide. You would be proud of the second of control you have but your heart sinks lower the longer the water lacks any sign of her.

The panic spreads like ice, the cold seeping into your bones, but the fear for yourself and your best friend burns hot.

You try to focus, to do what you’ve been taught - stay on the board, ride the wave, don’t let it pull you under - but it feels like a losing battle.

Another wave crashes and saltwater fills your mouth and lungs, scorching your throat, gurgling with every ragged breath. You’re still on the board. That’s a surprise you let sink in for a moment.

A voice cuts through the storm - Nat’s. Desperate and terrified. Your name. It sounds like it’s coming from the shore, but it feels impossibly distant like she’s miles away instead of just down the beach.

The realization hits you like a crash with as much power as the waves around you. How far off are you? You twist your neck to look toward the beach, but the looming waves obscure your view, and the horizon is just a blur of grey, indistinguishable from the sea itself.

You have no idea how far you’ve drifted, but it feels like the beach might as well be a world away.

You scream back desperately. This isn’t just fear anymore. It’s a raw, primal terror that digs into the fabric of your being, knitting utter despair tightly with the frantic rhythm of your heart. It’s unlike anything you’ve ever known - this paralyzing panic that roots itself deep inside your bones.

It’s the kind of fear you always imagined would come with the knowledge that death would follow. That slow, creeping certainty that there is no way out, no escape. It wraps around you like the icy water that threatens to pull you under and your clothes that cling to you pressingly, only weighing you down.

You’ve heard of drowning, read about it, seen it on TV, but never once did you think it would happen to you. Not like this. But is this how it ends? The thought flashes through your mind, bitter and cruel. You never envisioned going out this way - suffocated by the ocean, your last breath stolen by the waves.

Sometimes, you’d like to imagine that drowning would be a quiet, perhaps even peaceful descent into darkness. But this is a cacophony, a battle of breath and will, a struggle against an unforgiving beast that demands tribute.

Drowning isn’t an elegant surrender. It’s ruthless and visceral and you’re defenseless in the face of its power.

You cling to the surfboard as if it's the only thing tethering you to life, your muscles blaring in protest as the water laps at you greedily, eager to pull you under, to claim you as its own.

The water is relentless, an unfeeling, unstoppable force. It doesn’t care about your fear, your pain, your will to live. It just keeps coming, wave after wave, crashing into you with a ferocity that feels almost personal.

Your strength is ebbing, but the sea shows no sign of slowing. It’s a living thing, testing your resolve. It’s waiting for the moment when you will lose your grip, when the board will slip from your fingers, when the leash that binds you to it will snap, and you will be claimed.

The dark water beckons, yawning wide, promising oblivion - a cold quiet grave beneath the surface where you would lie, not as a person, but as a forgotten droplet, swallowed by the depths. Because that’s all you are - a speck; a drop of water in its vast, uncaring expanse. The thought terrifies you. The image that the sea will take you and forget you in the same breath.

There is tightness in your throat, a swelling of emotion so overwhelming it feels as if the ocean itself has seeped into your heart. You can’t tell if the salty water on your face is mingling with your tears, can’t tell if you’re actually crying.

You feel like you’re unraveling, piece by piece, your strength, your hope, your very sense of self slipping away with every wave.

Perhaps the water has already masked your sorrow, each rush of water a reminder of your frailty - the fight for one more breath, one more heartbeat.

Numbness creeps through your limbs, a heavy fog settling over your consciousness. It’s strange how empty you begin to feel, devoid of sensation. Not just your body, though that too is beginning to lose its fight against the cold, the chill sinking deeper into you, making it harder to move, harder to care.

But there is a nothingness inside you, like part of you has already accepted what’s coming - an abyss that waits with patient malice and a gaping mouth.

You fight it. Of course, you do, but in the back of your mind, a small voice whispers that it’s only a matter of time. The sea is stronger than you, more patient. It’ll wait for you to falter, to let go, and then it will take you.

There are more wails and screams coming from the shore, all faint and distant. They became as constant as the waves around you. Though the deeper you are engulfed in the surf, the fainter the screaming feels, slipping away like grains of sand between your fingers desperately reaching out for solid ground.

For a moment you imagine letting go. Letting the deep, dark silence of the ocean swallow you, pulling you down to its unreachable and endless depths. A cold, quiet grave, the kind you never expected but that now feels so close you can feel it on your tongue.

Another towering wave rises before you like a mountain, its treacherous crest poised to unleash its ferocity. In a single, brutal shove, it hurls you from the board, and for a heartbeat you’re airborne, a marionette cut from its strings, suspended in an agonizing moment of uncertainty.

But something deep within you ignites, a primal need - a will to live - stronger than anything you’ve ever felt and it pulls you to the surface and up the board again with a strength you didn’t know you had left.

You gasp for air and every single part of your body wants reprieve, but your mind sharpens with a clarity that sears through the chaos. You won’t let the ocean take you. You need to find Nat.

Determination fills your veins like fire and you whip your head around to pinpoint where her relentless screams come from. Her cries, frenzied and panic-stricken, echo from everywhere suddenly, piercing through the tumult like a siren’s wail.

But as you strain against the tide, attempting to hear her better, something halts you for a dangerous moment.

It’s not just Natasha’s voice.

There’s another voice, calm and steady, weaving through her frantic cries, almost soothing in its cadence. The words are impossible to make out over the sound of the storm, but you can tell it’s a man. He’s speaking to her, perhaps trying to calm her down.

You don’t have time to process that before something else grips your attention. A third voice; deep, more resonant - another man - drifts in and out between the wafting waves. It’s closer, much closer than the others.

Your heart pounds so loudly, you can hear it over the storm. You strain your ears, desperate to catch that voice again, to make sense of it, but the wind tears the sound away before you can latch onto it.

With every ounce of focus you can muster, you whip your head around frantically, eyes scanning the water, and then you see it. A flash of white, cutting through the churning grey of the sea. A board?

Your breath catches.

Nat’s board is blue. Yours is still beneath you. The only white board you’ve seen was back on the beach, strapped to the lifeguard’s post.

Could it be?

Is your mind playing tricks on you? Are you that far gone?

But then it appears again. A flash of white and then red between the flooding currents, coming closer to you.

Hope flickers in your chest, fragile but bright. You squint your eyes, willing that shape to appear again, your heart racing in anticipation. But the sea remains relentless, making it impossible to get a clear view.

Your concentration costs you.

The next wave blindsides you, slamming into you with a blow that knocks the breath from your lungs. You yelp in shock as the water swallows you whole again, dragging you down beneath its unforgiving surface once more.

Your body tumbles, twisted by the current, and for a moment, you’re lost in the dark, cold world beneath the waves.

You are weightless. The ocean’s embrace is absolute. You can’t tell where the surface is anymore, can’t feel which way is up or down. Yet, there is that voice again. It’s blurred by the water filling your ears but it seems to surround you.

An urgent shout, muffled and distorted, yet oddly comforting, like it’s reaching through the water just for you. You can’t make out any words, but the tone is strong and deep, cutting through your panic, grounding you for just a moment.

You feel the leash around your ankle tugging, pulling you as your board drifts with the current, but you no longer have the strength to reach for it. You let it pull you along, your limbs flailing uselessly in the water.

Your body is beyond exhausted, each muscle burning with fatigue, your arms and legs barely responding to your desperate attempts to swim. You’re too drained to fight anymore. You feel the air still trapped in your lungs, but your body’s energy is slipping.

Slowly, you let your eyes fall closed and everything blurs. The only thing in focus is that voice. It almost seems like a part of the water, surrounding you, enveloping you. You want to hold onto it, but you’re so tired.

Then, suddenly there is a slight splash nearby - different from the waves. It cuts through the water like a jolt, a ripple of something deliberate. For the first time, you think you might know where the surface is.

Before you can do anything to react, a firm hand clamps onto your arm.

The grip is solid, unwavering, and with a sharp pull, you’re yanked upwards, your body dragged through the water with a sturdiness you couldn’t summon on your own.

Another hand grasps your other arm, and now you’re being lifted, hauled out of the water, breaking the surface.

Your body moves limply, like it’s no longer your own, the weight of exhaustion too much to fight.

Air hits your face, cold and bracing and you feel your lungs expand in relief of it. The sound of the ocean and the wind rushes back into your ears as you’re pulled up onto something hard - a board beneath you.

The tug on your ankle leaves you but you don’t have it in you to question it. Panic ebbs as more air floods into your chest, aching and yet so sweet. You feel the warmth of skin at your back, around your body, keeping you from slipping back under.

But you’re too weak to open your eyes. Too drained to look back at your savior, to see who has pulled you from the water’s grasp. You can only feel the firm grip, the solid presence behind you, and the way the board keeps you afloat.

The world feels so distant, the sounds around you muffled, your body so heavy it’s almost like you’re still submerged.

Fingers are pressing down on your wrist, as steady as the rest of him, perhaps feeling your pulse or just to balance you.

A thought strikes through your weak frame, igniting a flicker of energy fueled by adrenaline. Natasha. Worry surges within you. Is she even safe? Sure, you’ve heard those voices but what do they really convey?

With a sudden burst of resolve, you push away from the muscled body behind you, choking on the saltwater that clings to your lungs, gasping wildly for breath, your throat feeling like sandpaper.

A sharp exhale of relief sounds out from your rescuer, his grip loosening just enough to give you the space you need to find your breath, but your focus is somewhere else entirely.

“Thank god,” he mutters under his breath, but you don’t even register it.

“Nat!” you rasp out, voice trembling and barely more than a croak. “Where is she?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him, yourself, or pleading with the vindictive ocean still around you. The question is ripped from your chest with a feral need to know. She has to be okay.

“Hey,” your savior tries but you shake your head fervently, panic closing in and you snap your head around for a glimpse of her, only feeling his arm tighten around you, pulling you back against his chest.

“You need to get Natasha! She’s somewhere out there, she-”

“Hey, hey,” he interrupts, his tone firmer and louder by your ear, yet still soothing and gentle, and you let it ground you for a second just like in the water moments earlier.

“Your friend’s alright. She’s safe. Sam is looking out for her,” he sweetly explains to you, his thumb brushing tender circles against your arm while his other arm works to maneuver you two back to the beach.

You barely hear him, your gaze still flickering across the waves, but then he turns your head gently. “There, look.”

He nods to the shoreline that’s slowly coming into view. There, through the haze of wind and saltwater, you see her. Natasha is waving frantically, her face pale as a ghost, her mouth moving as she shouts something. Her voice is hoarse, barely audible.

Next to her stands a tall, dark-skinned man, his arm securely around her shoulders, making sure the blanket wrapped around her stays in place at her distressed movements. He is speaking to her in low tones, his hands rubbing warmth into her skin.

She looks wild with fear, the strands of her hair looking dark as they are pressed to the sides of her head. And she is shaking. But she is visibly safe.

Relief crashes into you like another wave, but this time, it doesn’t knock you down. Instead, it lets you breathe again. The tension in your chest that had kept you moving and looking for her, releases. Your body grows heavy, muscles giving in to the exhaustion that had been building since you hit the water.

Your body slumps back against the chest behind you, and you feel the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing. He only tightens his arm around you, pulling you closer, letting you breathe in his warmth.

Your head rests against a sturdy shoulder, your cheek brushing his wet vest. And for the first time since you entered the water, you feel safe.

As you reach the shore, your body betrays you. A violent shiver takes over, teeth clattering uncontrollably, as the wind continues to bite into your soaked skin. But all you can focus on is Nat’s words finally reaching your ears.

“Y/n!” she screams, her voice cracking with emotion. “Oh my god, Y/n!”

You’re barely aware of the man behind you guiding you up to your feet, now both of his arms wrapped around your waist to keep you steady as you stumble forward.

The ground beneath you feels wobbly, the world still swaying like you’re trapped in the rhythm of the waves, but his unyielding grip keeps you from collapsing.

Natasha breaks away from Sam, or at least you assume that’s who he must be, and runs toward you with so much hurry, you’re scared she might knock you over. But again, the strong presence behind you balances your wavering body as she crashes into you.

Her arms sling around you in a tight embrace that makes you forget about your current situation for a second. You feel her sobs against your chest as she pulls back just enough to look at you, her tear-streaked face filled with regret and agony.

“I’m so sorry,” she chokes out, her hands gripping your shoulders, afraid to let go. “God, Y/n, I’m so sorry!”

You try to shake your head, to give her some semblance of reassurance, but your face is too numb, muscles too drained to manage more than a faint twitch of your lips. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

But Nat shakes her head so fast, it overwhelms you, her eyes wide. “No, it’s not okay. Don’t say that. It’s not.” her voice cracks and you see the guilt warring in her eyes. “I should’ve never asked you to come with me. I should’ve never done this. Fuck, I’m so stupid.”

This time, you’re able to shake your head with more conviction, pulling strength from the man’s touch at your back. “Stop, okay? Please!” you ask, your voice more certain. “I’m just… I’m just glad you’re okay.”You offer her a real smile, though your lips tremble from more than just the cold.

Natasha curses under her breath, shaking hands pulling you into another tight hug. You close your eyes, sinking into her.

You hug for what feels like an eternity, her grip never loosening, and you realize your rescuer doesn’t even attempt to leave your side. At some point, he drapes a warm blanket over your shoulders, which Sam must have given him, and the slight weight of it makes you blink, pulling you back to reality.

The shivers don’t stop, but it’s a comfort to feel the warmth seep into your skin.

When you finally pull back from Nat, strong arms immediately wrap the blanket all around you from behind, his hands unshakable as he rubs in the warmth of it. Sam returns Natasha’s blanket over her own shoulders and you watch the curt nod he shares with the man behind you, a silent acknowledgment that everything went well.

You don’t make a move to do anything, mind still a hazy maze, exhaustion heavily wearing down on you, so you’re thankful to hear the gentle voice again near your ear. “Let’s get you warm, yeah?”

All you do is nod, but it seems to be enough and you let him guide you to the wooden lifeguard post down the beach. Wind is still whipping around you, but you don’t register that anymore.

He gently walks you up the ramp and you notice the missing white rescue board, the one he used to pull you from the water. Another shiver whacks your spine.

He pushes open the door and you step into a small room that seems to be well-organized. The air inside feels warmer, a welcome change from the biting cold you had been under way too long, though it still carries that smell of salt.

There is a wooden bench in front of you with a neat stack of folded towels and blankets in bright red and yellow. He sits you down, layering the blanket over yourself so it is completely enveloping your shivering frame.

He kneels in front of you, moving slowly and deliberately, as if careful not to startle you too much too soon. His presence is calming and you don’t shy away at the intense way he searches your features, the soft expression he wears soothing your aching muscles.

The warmth that radiates from him makes your heart flutter in a way you don’t quite expect.

“Is it okay if I ask you a few questions? Have to make sure everything’s alright.”

His voice. God, you love his voice. There is that slight rasp in it and a boyishness that makes it so soothing, so grounding. It’s as enveloping as the blanket that already surrounds you.

He only makes you feel reassured, and the quiet curve of your lips turns into a small smile as you nod in agreement. His gaze sweeps over your face, checking for any signs of pain, discomfort, or lingering fear. The way he studies you is careful, but not invasive.

“Alright,” he whispers, blue eyes not leaving your face. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”

You can’t help the stretch of your smile at the almost bashful way he runs his fingers through his tousled and slightly wet hair. It’s endearing, considering the fact that he just saved your life. The confidence and the sureness he carried while saving you from the water seem to melt into quiet humility now that you’re safe.

You tell him your name and age after he asks. Watching his facial reactions to your words feels so calming, it’s all you can do to slow your heart rate down a notch and stop the involuntary shaking of your body.

There is a small tug at his eyebrows, and a frown threatens to overcome his features, revealing a hint of underlying worry and he keeps drifting his eyes over you, watching the way your shoulders are still shaking.

A little hesitantly he moves his hands up to your knees and rubs the blanket over them softly, hoping to warm up your legs.

“Are you feeling okay? Do you have any trouble breathing? Anything that hurts?” The concern you see on his face is evident in his voice as well and a swell of warmth rises within you, spreading through your body. You relish it.

Sam, who attends to Natasha a foot away, raises an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction, a question in his eyes, but teasing in his smirk.

“Normally, you wait for your patient to answer, before moving on to the next question man,” he chimes in with playful sarcasm. He looks up to you for a second before his gaze moves back to Bucky.

Bucky straightens up before you, the teasing from Sam seemingly lost on him as he clenched his jaw. His face flushes slightly and he looks down at his hands, still gently rubbing circles on your knees. “Yeah, right,” he mutters under his breath, but you pick it up.

A small giggle rises in your stomach and you let it pass, coming out a little breathless and weak, but genuine enough for Bucky’s head to snap back up. His eyes soften, a sparkle shining in them you are able to make out because you watch him so intensely. A smile brightens his face and his momentary embarrassment is lost.

You answer Bucky’s questions one by one, recalling the disorienting moments of your rescue after he almost hesitantly asks you to do so. His hands still soothingly rub your knees.

Bucky listens intently, his eyes never leaving your face, nodding softly at your words. You see him trying his best to remain calm but you notice the tension in his stance, the tick in his jaw, and the slight frown never leaves his face - the weight of his concern lingering in the air.

Sam, who has been standing nearby, leans in slightly. “Gave us a pretty good scare there, sugar.” His tone is light, clearly trying to cut through the tension with a bit of humor, but the moment the words leave his mouth, Bucky’s head snaps up. His gaze hardens drastically as he shoots Sam a sharp look, his voice laced with frustration and irritation.

“Now imagine how she must feel, you fucking idiot.”

His tone catches you off guard. It’s the first time Bucky’s words carry an edge, so different from the gentleness he’s shown you since. Sam raises his hands in a gesture of surrender, licking his lips as he tilts his head slightly.

“Alright, grumpy pants, my bad. You’re right,” he concedes. His demeanor shifts and he becomes more serious, sincere as he steps closer, crouching down to your height and laying a hand on your shoulder. “No, but really,” he says with a nod of his head, “I’m glad you’re okay.” His words hold weight, and the smile he gives you is genuine, toothy even.

You offer him a smile in return, and Sam nods back, satisfied. You can feel Bucky’s gaze still on you, but it’s Nat’s soft, broken voice that cuts through the moment.

“It’s my fault this happened,” she whispers, barely audible. She is hovering nearby, her eyes red and swollen, shoulders hunched under the weight of guilt and her fingers fidget with the edge of the blanket. Her words hang heavy in the air, filled with regret and self-blame.

You react immediately, not letting her fall into that pit of guilt. “Nat!” you say firmly, facing her. “It was my decision to come along.”

Your best friend looks almost childlike in her distress, eyes glistening again with unshed tears. “You came along because you didn’t want me to go alone,” she counters, voice thick. “You and I both know I would have gone without you. I basically pressured you to follow me because I knew you would. You always just want to make sure I’m safe and now-”

Natasha’s voice falters, the words catching in her throat before a heart-wrenching sob leaves her. The sound pierces your chest, and you can’t handle it longer, feeling tears sting behind your eyes.

Without thinking, you push yourself up from the bench, your legs shaky but driven by the need to embrace her. Bucky, still kneeling before the bench, opens his mouth as if to protest, clearly concerned for your state.

You’re sure he was about to remind you that you should be sitting down, but the urgency in your movement stops him.

Nat clings to you immediately, her fingers gripping the blanket around you, sobs muffled into your shoulder. You start to gently shush her, whispering words of comfort as her body trembles in your arms.

You basically feel Bucky and Sam share a meaningful look behind your back.

Sam clears his throat softly, not wanting to intrude on the fragile moment. “Hey,” he says quietly, his voice gentle. “You two are going to be okay.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything but you can feel his quiet support behind you, like ever since he saved you.

“To feel safe around someone's energy is a different kind of intimacy”

<Before dating if you can’t surf> -you guys defiantly met when him and his sisters moved to shore haven before Wren and Ari started dating -you were probably friends with Bodhi and Poppy -you guys would hang out at the beach and you would help them train. -they would always try and teach you to surf but you always refused because your balance is atrocious. -you definitely first met him at the beach. -you were watching Bodhi and Poppy surf when he approached you. -the interaction probably went like this:

“So I’m guessing you’re not a surfer?” You looked to your left to see a guy with pink hair standing over you. “No definitely not” you responded shaking your head. “And just when I thought I found the girl for me” he joked you let out a slight laugh smiling up at him. “Well if you ever change your mind come find me. I’m Baxter” he said holding out his hand you took it “I’m YN” you replayed as he pressed your knuckles to his lips and winking before running off.

-Bodhi and Poppy saw this from the water and wanted details -A few months later at tryouts when you were cheering on your friends you saw Baxter again. -Later at the bbq at the Gibsons. -he kind of cornered you when you were coming back from the bathroom -And he asked you on a date which you accepted

<Dating if you can’t surf> -Would take you on super cute picnic dates at the beach. -On multiple of these dates he’s definitely tried to teach you how to surf - was only successful on one but it did not last long. -Because he decided to take you further out which ended up being way deeper then you could touch the sand -So once you finally stood up on his spare board a wave knocked you over. -and because your not the strongest swimmer especially since in that moment you were panicking -he had to save you which he didn’t really mind. -Because it made him look strong -So after that the dates would be things that you like to do. -Being at all his comps helping hype him up. -Also being there for him when his sisters leave. -And when he finds out the truth. -Comforting him when he’s stressed -I feel like the way you would cuddle is either him between your legs his head on your stomach and you playing with his hair. -or you lying next to him your head on his chest and his arms wrapped around you keeping you close. -Being a bit jealous of how he act’s around Summer -And him reassuring you. -Wren scaring you and being thankful that your not on the surf team.

<Before dating when you’re a surfer> -I feel like the interaction when you first meet would be practical the same -except when you first meet it’s after your try outs heat. -You both ended up on the team