#but eventually he ran out of things to say

[artisiumstudios]

Au where Stan finds the duffle bag.

HEAR ME OUT-

Basically it’s like a week or two before the science fair, Stan is minding his business (sort of) and while he’s going through a closet/cabinet trying to find some supplies, either for the Stan’o’War or his car, he finds a duffle bag. Curious he rummages through the bag, inside are some toiletries, 20 bucks, and clothing- wait a second. Those are his; his shirt, his pants, his socks— all stuff he has been missing for a couple of weeks. He’s confused, scared, and worried.

Why would his stuff be in here? Why are there toiletries? Why is there money? And who put them there? Unfortunately he already has his answer. Pa was always clear that none of his children would continue leech off of him. If you had nothing to prove then you had nothing to take. The conversation behind the principal’a door swarmed through his mind. How long had pa had his bag packed? Was this always the plan? Was Stanley really that worthless?

But that didn’t matter because Ford wouldn’t choose a school over him! They were going to sail the world together and that would be that, to hell with Pa if he wanted Stan gone then fine he didn’t need him, he didn’t need anyone but his brother and the sea!

At first Stan wants to tell Ford about what he found, but decides not to because in the end it won’t be important. So he keeps quiet and decides to take the bag into his car, after all hey 20 bucks and he gets his stuff back! He can’t leave it in his room cause if Pa finds out he was snooping through his stuff, well he’d rather not think about that.

Then the conversation on the swing set happens, and Stan’s head starts spinning. So it wasn’t just Pa who wanted Stan out, Ford was willing to ditch him too. Stan feels betrayed and hurt, he doesn’t know what to say or what to do. He starts to question his theory, did ford help pack his bag? Was that why he had been so distant lately, feeling guilty for letting his Pa kick him out and even helping him with the bag?

Did ma know? Eventually Ford leaves, huffing from Stan’s lack of enthusiasm and response, mumbling about being jealous that he has a better future up ahead, not just some silly childish dream. Stan snaps, not physically, not with his words: just emotionally.

Fine if they don’t want him there then he’ll just leave. That night while everyone is asleep he grabs all of his money, more clothing, a sketch book, his comics— a picture of him and ford on the stan’o’war— and some other things he thinks might be valuable or just handy. And he drives away.

Nobody notices Stanley’s disappearance the next day, not until night has fallen. Ford cheerfully excited with his new full ride scholarship, goes and tells his parents. Caryn is happy, tears of joy falling down her face as she hugs her intelligent baby boy, his father gives a small smile and a nod— he gives his approval. But the mood changes once he questions where Stanley is. No one has seen him in hours, actually his car has been gone since early morning. They wait awake all night, hoping for some sign, some clue!

Filbrick grunts as he walks up to the closet, his eyebrows furrow ever so slightly, his lips pressed in a tight line. He sighs deeply.

Eventually a report is filed, but there is not much they can do, if Stanley ran away then he isn’t missing, and the police refuse to do anything about that.

Anyways thats like yk the beginning of how this whole thing happens but here are some other thoughts and ideas:

Stan:

Without Filbrick telling him he’s not allowed back into the family without a million dollars, Stan isn’t as driven by money as in canon. He doesn’t have a need for large amounts of money therefore he doesn’t have a need to do sketchy jobs just to satisfy his need to have his family back. In other words he doesn’t have as much trauma as in canon and is actually more able to settle down without being on the run or in survival mode. The first couple of months he just spends driving as far away from the East as possible making his way over to New Mexico where he settles down, first as a bar tender then eventually as a mechanic, he lives comfortably in a crummy apartment but hey he doesn’t really need much

Unfortunately he does get bored, even if it’s not with his brother he does crave adventure. And while fixing a this guys truck he overhears of a town called Gravity Falls, where weird creatures tend to reside in. So you guessed it, he picks up and drives from New Mexico over to Gravity Falls Oregon.

He gets a small but nicer apartment this time around and first he works as a mechanic. Immediately he starts to get a sense of the place and its weirdness and he loves it! (Ford would love it here-) .

Since the blind eye isn’t a thing people have two reactions to the weirdness of gravity falls: freak tf out or shrug and go on with their day. Stanley being Stanley gets the great idea to act sort of like a monster hunter/ putting small attractions up with the less violent creatures, not the mystery shack, but more like the mystery circus!

Eventually Stanley gets the name Monster-Lee for his ability to be able to fight off creatures so easily (mostly through bribery or fists)

Ford:

He still leaves for West Tech, but now he's fallen into extreme stress/anxiety and a bit of depression. Why did his brother leave? Why didn't he say anything? Is he okay? Why did he ever let their father get between them, he should've spent more time with him when he had the chance-

Unlike canon, Ford has no resentment/grudges to hold over Stanley, rather he holds that anger towards Filbrick especially when he found out that he had planned to kick Stanley out-- for being the reason Stanley left.

While Ford does still want to study anomalies, he also takes engineering classes, he wants to develop better technology and hopefully resources for run away teens/homeless teens.

While he doesn't meet Fiddleford as his roommate, he does meet him at a robotics convention where they instantly become friends. After college they develop a small company based around the idea of being able to find people, now expanding into different areas.

Ford is a lot more open with the fact the not only is he a twin, but he likes to talk about his younger twin brother who supported him and always stood up for him.

Part of the development with the technology involved finding people in forest dense areas, especially with a lot of caves (please tell me someones seen that one chart) Which then leads them to gravity falls as their first test area, small enough to test their tech, but still forest dense to get sufficient results.

and then these three bozos find each other lol. anyways thats all i got , i thought of this in the shower like 30 minutes ago and decided to procrastinate on my HW writing this lol. anyways

[dazevi]

CHAPTER TWO: BY YOUR SIDE

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: vi returns to her childhood home, overwhelmed by the past. vander encourages her to attend a wedding. and when cross paths again, vi tries to do whatever she can to find a way back into your life.

content warnings: MDNI. angst, suggestive content, rockstar!vi, writer!reader, bookshop owner!reader, eventual exes to lovers, no smut yet, sexual tension, vi is looking respectfully, jaymel cameo, bestfriend!mel, mentions of alcohol and smoking, profanity, awkward reunion, mmm idk what im missing but lmk !

wc: 13,144

note: sorry for the wait! this chapter feels a little more like a build-up chapter but can’t wait to upload the later chapters ahhh !!! (fanart by bunimint_ on ig)

navigation | series masterlist | previous chapter

Vi stood in the doorway of her old bedroom, the strap of her guitar case digging into her shoulder. The house smelled the same—faintly of laundry detergent and the old wooden floors her mom used to obsessively polish when she was a kid.

It hadn’t changed, not a single thing about it.

The same pale red walls, the same band posters sloppily pinned up in the corners, curling at the edges with age. Her bed still sat against the wall beneath the window, the same worn quilt folded neatly at the edge like her mom still expected her to crawl into it every night. Even her desk was untouched, cluttered with textbooks and notebooks she hadn’t opened since she was eighteen, the pages frozen in time like she had only stepped out for a moment, not years.

Her breath caught in her throat as her eyes swept over the room, the memories that rushed back into her mind made her knees feel weak.

Late nights scribbling in her notebooks about songs she was too afraid to share with anyone, the afternoons spent sprawled across the bed on the phone with you, talking about nothing and everything all at once. She could almost hear your voice now, laughing softly as she played a chord wrong on her guitar, only for her to insist it was intentional because she claimed it was experimental.

Vi swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the handle of her suitcase.

She hated how small the room felt now, how it seemed to mock her. It once belonged to the girl she used to be—the girl who thought she had everything figured out, the girl who couldn’t wait to leave this town behind.

Now it felt like it was waiting to swallow her whole.

She set her suitcase down by the bed and eased the guitar case off her shoulder, placing it gently against the wall. She looked over to the corner of the room, and stepped up to her the older one, a faded acoustic with stickers all over the body, just resting against her desk. Her fingers brushed against the neck of the guitar—it was the same one she played since high school, the same one she used to play for you.

A soft knock on the doorframe pulled Vi out of her thoughts, her head snapping up as she turned her head.

Vander stood there, leaning slightly against the wood, his massive arms crossed over his chest in that familiar way that always seemed to say everything’s fine, kid. He wore a faint smile, though his eyes were saying something else—relief, maybe, or concern. She wasn’t sure.

“Didn’t touch anything while you were gone,” he said, and chuckled lightly. “Figured I’d let you do that when you got back.”

Vi let out a breath, her lips twitching into the smallest of smiles, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She ran a hand over the back of her neck, trying to brush away some of the tension that had settled there since stepping out of the airport.

“Yeah, uh… thanks,” she mumbled, but it was quieter than she meant it to be.

Vander stepped inside, his boots heavy against the floorboards, and leaned against the edge of her desk like he used to when she was a teenager. Back then, he’d perch there with his arms crossed, asking about her day, actually try to help with her homework or teasing her for the mess she insisted wasn’t actually a mess.

Now, he stood there quietly, taking her in like he was trying to figure out what to say next.

“Thought you’d want it that way. You always hated when people moved your stuff.”

“Yeah,” she said.

He smiled a little at the memory, his hands fidgeting with the edge of a notebook she hadn’t touched in years.

“Powder’s coming home later in two weeks for break. Been pretty busy with all that college stuff.” He says. “And as much as I love having you back home… everything alright with that fancy job of yours?

“Our, uh, manager thinks the band needs a break… from work… and touring nonstop, so…” Vi trailed off, her voice faint. “Ekko’s prety happy about it. He missed Benzo a lot.”

Vander didn’t respond immediately. He just nodded slowly, his eyes soft, as if he already knew that there was more going on her mind. She wasn’t talking about just the band. She was talking about everything. The constant noise that came into her life, the rush of being in the spotlight that made it hard to even breathe sometimes. The exhaustion that had piled up too, unnoticed, over the years.

Vi sighed, running a hand through her hair, fingers brushing the silver chain that hung around her neck, tugging it out from under her shirt.

“Well, Benzo is a huge fan, as you know,” Vander continued, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “Won’t stop talking about you guys. Keeps showing off posters Ekko sends in the mail.”

Vi’s lips curved upwards, a soft laugh slipping out. Benzo always supported the band even way before they became one, since she and Ekko were kids, playing with glasses of water, a small keyboard and buckets flipped over to drum on them.

She remembered the first time they’d played at his diner, the crowd just a few regulars, and Benzo grinning like the proudest uncle. He’d been the first to show up with his camera, asking for a picture of the band.

“You guys are going to make it big,” he’d said, without any hint of doubt in his voice.

“I should really go down there and see him… check up on Ekko, too,” Vi muttered, almost to herself. “His birthday’s coming up soon, isn’t it?”

“Sure is.”

Then, she looked out the window instinctively, like she always used to, and her eyes lingered on the house across the street. She could almost hear the sound of your soft voice, echoing in her mind like it had never left. She could imagine you inside, just going about your day, living your life without her.

She couldn’t stop staring at it, even though a part of her knew she shouldn’t. And yet, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

She couldn’t stop herself from wondering, wondering what you were doing now, how you were feeling. Did you still think about her? The same way she thought about you? Were you with someone else now?

No, she… Vi didn’t want to think about that.

“Are you going to that wedding?” Vander’s voice broke through her thoughts.

She blinked, turning slightly to face him.

He continued, “Got a letter invite a couple weeks back, but I’m sure Jayce already let you know about it.”

A wedding. She had heard about it from Jayce, of course. Mel and Jayce were getting married. But she hadn’t really thought about it in the way she should have.

You’d probably be there.

And the thought of going, of seeing you again, made her stomach flip. She wasn’t sure she was ready to face you after everything. Three years. But it felt like it had been a lifetime. She couldn’t deny that a part of her wanted to be there, to see you, but another part of her feared what it would mean, of what would happen.

She shifted on her feet, glancing back out the window at the house one more time, as if it could give her the answer she was looking for.

“I don’t know yet,” Vi finally replied, her voice softer than she intended.

“Well it might be good to go see—”

“I said I don’t know.”

The tone of her own voice shocked herself.

“Sorry.”

Vander’s gaze softened as he looked at her. Her gaze lingered on the house across the street, her eyes tracing the outline of the familiar windows, the same one she used to sneak into to get to your bedroom in the middle of the night just because she just wanted to kiss you, and the same porch where she used to sit with you, long into the evening, talking about everything and nothing all at once.

Fuck. She couldn’t help herself.

“Is… is she still living over there?” she asked quietly, almost like she was afraid to hear the answer.

Vander glanced over, a small frown pulling at his lips as he followed her gaze toward the house. He paused for a moment, thinking, before responding with a soft shrug.

“No, she… moved out a couple of years ago,” he said. “Her mother mentioned an apartment somewhere downtown.”

For a moment, Vi stood there, her mind racing. She tried to picture you in this new place—your own apartment, a life carved out without her in it.

She didn’t speak right away. Her mind was too full, too clouded by everything she had tried to push aside. She’d been running for so long, keeping herself distracted with music, with the band, with anything that kept her from what she had left behind.

“Well, I’ve gotta get to work,” Vander says, walking past her and stopping in the doorway for a moment. “By the way, even if you don’t want my input on it, I really think you should go to that wedding. Better than being cooped up in here the whole time… Besides, I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

He stops by the doorframe, turning around then tossing something small and metallic over to her, which she catches with ease.

Car keys.

“Also, got that truck of yours fixed up when I heard you were coming back. Would be nice for it to get back on the road.”

Then he left.

Vi stood in there silently, watching as Vander walked out. She wasn’t sure what to make of it at first—he was always the type to be blunt, to offer advice that, whether she wanted it or not, often felt like the truth.

She stared down at the car keys in her hand, her thumb tracing the familiar grooves of the key to her old pickup truck—the one she’d spent an entire summer fixing up in Vander’s garage when she was seventeen. It had been her pride and joy, her freedom on four wheels.

She could still feel the way the leather seat would stick to her thighs on hot summer days, how she’d leave the windows rolled down because the AC had never quite worked right. She remembered the smell of grease that never really left the upholstery, no matter how much air freshener she hung from the rearview mirror.

But mostly, she remembered you.

Nights spent parked in that same old truck at night, your laughter mingling with the chirping crickets in the warm air. She could still feel the ghost of your hands on her face, your lips against hers in the soft glow of the dashboard lights. She remembered the way you’d pull her closer, your fingers curling into the collar of her shirt, as if you couldn’t stand even the smallest gap between you.

She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head as she remembered another one—the two of you sneaking into the drive-in theater just outside of town. The projector’s flickering light had barely held her attention, not when you were sitting there next to her, your head resting on her shoulder, your hand absentmindedly playing with the hem of her shirt. She’d pretended to watch the movie, but all she could focus on was the sound of your breathing and the way you smelled.

You spent lots of your time in there with her. After school, after curfews, after everything.

She’d taught you how to shift gears in it, though you’d been hopelessly terrible at it, and she hadn’t minded one bit. You’d laugh at yourself, and Vi would laugh with you, though secretly she thought it was adorable. And when the nights were too quiet and the world felt too small, she’d drive you out to the edge of town, to that spot by the lake where you’d talk for hours, play you different songs on her guitar.

She turned back to the room, her eyes tracing her surroundings. It felt almost like a relic. She grew up here, sure, but who was she now? A part of her felt like she had lost herself along the way—lost in the noise, the music, the constant moving, the faces of strangers she met on different nights. She thought about everything that had happened between her and you. She had never really taken the time to face it all, to truly think about what went wrong.

But Vander was right.

She couldn’t stay locked away forever. She had to move forward. The band had taken a break, and the world had slowed down for a moment.

With a soft sigh, she looked out the window again, her eyes finding your house across the street.

Catch up with old friends. Was that what she needed? To face the past? To see the people she had left behind?

She crossed the room, her fingers brushing against the familiar objects scattered around. Her childhood trophies. Old photos with friends. It all seemed so distant now, like someone else’s life.

She took a deep breath, the decision heavy in her chest. Maybe Vander was right. Maybe it was time to show up, even if she was afraid of the thought of it.

“I guess I’ll go,” she murmured to the empty room.

The air in the dressing room was thick with the hum of distant music and muffled laughter seeping through the walls.

It was a busy day, but here, everything seemed still.

The place smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla, the scent lingering from the carefully arranged flowers that adorned every corner of the room. Soft light from the chandeliers cast a warm glow over Mel, who stood nervously in front of the mirror, adjusting the layers of her white gown. The fabric shimmered slightly under the lights with speckles of gold both on her dress and in her hair. She looked so beautiful.

You stood beside her, your own dress, a soft shade of blush pink. You absentmindedly tugged at the fabric by your hips, trying to steady your breath, as your eyes flickered between Mel and her reflection. She was fidgeting with the edge of her veil, looking every bit like the bride she was supposed to be.

“Mel,” you said softly. You stepped closer to her, placing a hand on her arm in reassurance. “You look stunning. Just breathe.”

Her eyes met yours in the mirror, and you saw the quiet panic that flickered behind them.

“Do you think I look okay?” she asked, her voice betraying her nerves. “I mean, I know I should feel excited, but I feel like everything’s about to fall apart. What if I mess up? What if I trip down the aisle or say something wrong or—”

“First off, I have never seen you trip once in my entire life,” you interrupted gently, your thumb brushing over her arm. “Everything’s going to be fine. You’ve been dreaming about this day for years, Mel. You deserve every single moment of it.”

You gave her a small smile.

“You’re just gonna walk down that aisle and Jayce is going to look at you and see you and no one else. Like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. And you are, so stop worrying, you’re about to be his wife.”

Mel exhaled slowly, dropping her shoulders a little as she allowed herself to relax, even if just a fraction. She stared at herself in the mirror for a long moment, her fingers lightly touching the delicate lace of her dress. She nodded slowly, her eyes softening as the last of her worry seemed to ease away. She straightened up, her back a little less hunched, her chin lifted just enough to make her look like the woman you’d known all these years.

“Thank you,” she said sigh. “My god, I’m getting married.”

You gave her a teasing smile. “Yeah, you are.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Alright. I’m ready.”

Mel straightened her veil one last time and stood taller, stronger than she had a few minutes ago. You both shared one last look in the mirror before heading toward the door.

And before you knew it, you were standing in front of the aisle.

You barely noticed when Viktor, standing beside you, Jayce’s best man and friend, began to guide you down, your arm linked with his. The music played by the pianist surrounded you, and everyone’s whispered voices faded into the background. Your focus narrowed to just the steps ahead of you as you went on. Viktor smiled warmly at you and the flowers in your hands felt heavier now, their petals brushing your fingers with each step. The soft rustle of your dress seemed to blend with the rest of sounds of the room, the only thing you could hear, aside from your own breathing.

As you neared the end of the aisle, Viktor slowed his pace, and you both came to a halt. His hand gently lifted from your arm and you separated, parting to make space for the groom and the bride, and stood still for a moment, facing the crowd.

And it was then, as your eyes scanned the room, that you saw it—a streak of pink. The color almost seemed to glow.

Vi.

Her hair, now a little longer than you remembered, was glowing under the soft light.

Your heart skipped a beat, then stilled, as you stared and swallowed the lump in your throat.

She’s sitting there, in the middle of the crowd, dressed in an all-black suit, the kind that should look formal, her collar loose and unbuttoned under her jacket. She looks good—too good, in that frustrating way you remember all too well.

And she’s staring right at you.

She’s been staring the whole time, as if she’s been waiting for this, waiting for you. Her jaw is set, her lips pressed into a line that isn’t quite a smile but isn’t far from one either. It’s the look she used to give you when she was trying to read you, trying to figure out if she should say something or stay quiet.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the bouquet in your hands. And then, from the corner of your eye, you see movement. Mel steps into view, bright in her wedding dress, reminding you of where you are, of the role you’re here to play.

And it’s enough to force you to tear your gaze away from Vi.

Your eyes snap back to Mel, and you focus on her. You force yourself to breathe, to focus, but deep down, you know this will stay lodged in your mind.

Vi stared the entire time.

She’d been staring from the moment you stepped into view. She’d been waiting all day for this—waiting for you to step out, to catch even a glimpse of the person who’d lived in the back of her mind for years, no matter how hard she’d tried to bury the thought of you.

And when she finally saw you… God, fuck.

You were beautiful.

So beautiful it made her throat tighten and her chest ache. It wasn’t just the dress, though it was stunning, soft and flowing, hugging you in all the right places.

You looked better than she remembered, which felt impossible because, to Vi, you’d always been the prettiest person she’d ever laid eyes on.

Her heart thudded painfully as she took in the way you walked, like though you weren’t sure you belonged in the spotlight. You always did that—shrank yourself down, even when you had every right to take up space.

And Vi hated it. She hated how much she missed it too.

She couldn’t look away, couldn’t even blink. Her gaze drank in every detail—the line of your collarbone where the dress dipped, the curve of your neck, the curve of your lips. She thought about how she used to trace the edges of your jaw with her fingertips, how you used to tilt your head into her hand when you were silently asking her to kiss you.

Her jaw clenched, her lips pressing into a tight line as if that could stop all her emotions from crashing over.

Because fuck, you were right there. Flesh and blood, in the same room.

And yet, you felt so far away, like the distance between her seat and from where you stood might as well have been a thousand miles.

Her mind raced as she sat there, still as stone, her fingers digging into her knees to keep herself calm. What would she even say if she could speak to you? What could she say that wouldn’t sound pathetic, desperate?

Because she was desperate.

She realized that now, sitting here and watching you.

In fact, she watched you for the rest of the night. All the way up to the after party.

Vi stayed on the second floor balcony for most of the evening, nursing a drink she didn’t particularly care for, her other hand gripping the railing as she leaned against it.

The view was perfect from up here—not of just the party, but of you.

She could see everything, every little detail. She hadn’t even realized how much she’d missed the sound of your laugh until it reached her ears over the music and chatter.

She watched as you spun around the dance floor with Jayce, his booming laugh echoing as he twirled you, your dress flaring out. Mel joined in too, her bouquet forgotten somewhere on a table as the three of you swayed and stumbled with too much energy to care if you looked silly.

Vi’s lips curved into the smallest, bittersweet smile at the sight of you and her friends all so carefree, so full of life.

From up here, she could even watch how some guys went up to you, making her grip on the railing even tighter. She could see the way their eyes lit up when they looked at you, how they straightened their postures, how they leaned in just a little too close.

Vi hated how much it bothered her.

But you… you were polite, as you always were, letting them have their moment before smiling and shaking your head, refusing a dance or to talk with them. You didn’t let them pull you away, didn’t let them have the piece of you they clearly wanted.

She should’ve felt relieved, but she didn’t. It wasn’t enough.

Because deep down, she knew she had no right to feel this way anymore.

You weren’t hers. You hadn’t been for years.

Vi leaned further into the railing, her fingers loosening around her glass as she tilted her head back, exhaling softly. God, you looked so happy. And you deserved to be happy. But Vi couldn’t shake the selfish, ugly thought that she wanted to be the one who put that smile on your face again.

Earlier, she’d congratulated Jayce and Mel, shaking hands with Jayce and giving Mel one of those half hugs she was bad at. Jayce had been his usual cheerful self, patting Vi on the back and saying how good it was to see her. He’d even cracked a joke about how the great Violet of The Lanes had graced them with her presence. It was lighthearted, teasing, but Vi couldn’t stop the tiny pang of discomfort it caused.

She didn’t want to be that big rockstar here. Not tonight. She wanted to be Vi, the same person they went to high school with, the person you used to know.

Vi couldn’t stop staring at you, no matter how much she told herself not to.

You were laughing at something Mel said, your smile lighting up your whole face. Fuck, you were so pretty.

She forced herself to look away. Her throat felt tight, and she needed air—real air, not the stifling kind laced with too many conversations and clinking glasses and the faint scent of champagne.

With a sigh, Vi turned on her heel and slipped through the doors behind her, the sound of the party fading as she stepped out onto the outdoor balcony. Her hand instinctively reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a slightly crumpled pack of cigarettes and her old, scratched-up zippo lighter.

She lit the cigarette, taking a long drag as she leaned against the railing and closed her eyes. The smoke curled around and she tilted her head back, staring up at the sky.

The stars were faint against the glow of the city lights, but they were there, distant and untouchable.

Kind of like you.

She saw you in everything she looked at.

Vi thought coming out here would help, but even with the cool air and the distance from the party, all she could think about was you. How you looked tonight. How you laughed. How you smiled.

She took another drag, her fingers trembling slightly as she held the cigarette to her lips. Maybe it was the nicotine.

She was barely halfway through her cigarette, the end of it glowing faintly as she took another drag. She’d been out here long enough for the faint chill to settle in her bones, but it was better than being inside. She stared down at the city below, considering the easiest way to slip out unnoticed.

Maybe she should just leave.

She didn’t have anything left to say to anyone here—not when every word felt like it was scraping its way up her throat.

Her hand tightened around the cigarette as she thought about it, but then—

“You started smoking?”

The sound of your voice behind her froze her in place.

For a moment, she didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. She stared straight ahead at the town, the distant lights blurring slightly in her vision. She almost thought she’d imagined it, but then the faint shuffle of your steps as you came closer made it all too real.

Finally, she turned, slowly and hesitantly. When her eyes met yours, she froze again. You were standing there, looking at her with an expression she couldn’t read all too well, your hands clasped loosely in front of you. You weren’t really dressed for the slight cold of the night, and she noticed the faint goosebumps along your arms, the way you shifted on your feet to keep warm.

“I, uh…” she stammered.

Vi glanced down at the cigarette in her hand like she’d forgotten it was there. She suddenly felt self-conscious, like she was holding something she shouldn’t be.

“Yeah,” she muttered quietly, rubbing the back of her neck with her free hand. “Picked it up a while ago.”

You tilted your head slightly, your gaze flicking from her face to the cigarette and back again.

“I didn’t think you would,” you said softly, and there was something in your tone—disappointment? Sadness? Curiosity?—whatever it was… she didn’t like it.

Vi shrugged, trying to play it off, but her voice came out quiet. “Helps with the stress, I guess.”

When you took a step closer, Vi’s shoulders tensed slightly. But when you stopped just shy of standing shoulder to shoulder with her, leaving a short distance between the two of you, she immediately dropped the cigarette she’d been holding, even though she was no where near finished. The bottom of her shoe came down on it a second later, snuffing out the ember.

It was almost instinctive, the way she straightened slightly, as though your presence alone made her feel the need to be… better, cleaner, less like the person she’d become and more like the one she used to be when you were hers.

She shoved her hands back into her pockets, not knowing what to do with them, her jaw tightening as she glanced sideways to look at you, a flicker of a guilty look crossing her face.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” you say.

Vi blinked, looking at you more fully now. “Do what?”

“Pretend,” you said, your eyes meeting hers. “I wasn’t trying to make you feel bad. It’s just… surprising, that’s all.”

“I don’t… really wanna give you another reason to think I’m someone you don’t recognize,” she admitted quietly, her forearms leaning against the railing as she waited for you to respond.

“I don’t think you’re a stranger, Vi,” you said finally, and she stiffened slightly. “It’s just—it’s been a while since we saw each other, so...”

Vi turned to face you, and for a second, she just stared, her breath catching in her throat like she forgot how to speak.

God, you looked even more beautiful up close. She could see how you’ve grown, how the years had softened and shaped you in ways she hadn’t been there to witness. The dim light traced the curve of your face, catching the slope of your nose and the fullness of your lips.

And her eyes stayed there—on your lips—longer than they should have, and all she could think about was how they used to feel against hers. How you used to kiss her so softly.

She wondered if you could feel it, this pull between you both, with everything unsaid and everything she wished she could take back. God, how she wanted to reach out, to close the distance and take your face in her hands. To kiss you like she used to, like no time had passed, like she hadn’t spent every day missing you.

“How long have you been back in town?” you asked softly, and your voice broke through her thoughts.

Vi blinked and forced herself to focus on your eyes instead of your lips. Your voice was gentle, tentative, like you were testing the waters, not really sure where this conversation might go.

“Not long,” she said finally. “A couple of days.”

You nodded, and she could see the way your lips pressed together, as if you were holding back some words.

“How… have you been?” Vi asked, her voice almost trembling with nerves.

It was quiet for a bit, and she felt like she could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

Fuck, it was such a stupid thing to ask, she thought. It felt too small, too casual. But she didn’t know what else to say.

You turned your gaze to her. Her stomach twisted when she saw the way your lips parted, hesitating like you were choosing your words carefully. She hated that she didn’t know what was going through your mind. Once upon a time, she could read you like her favorite song, but now, it was like trying to decipher lyrics in a language she no longer spoke.

“I’ve been okay,” you said finally. “Busy, I guess. Definitely not as busy as you, but... um, I’ve been working with mom at her flower shop.”

Vi nodded slowly, her throat dry. Okay. It wasn’t the worst thing you could’ve said, but it wasn’t what she wanted to hear, either.

Honestly… she wanted you to tell her more. So much more. That… you missed her, maybe. That you thought about her. That maybe there was still some small part of your heart that belonged to her.

But she couldn’t push for that.

“I… I’ve actually just paid for a lease on this spot for a bookshop downtown, so…” you said next, your voice dipping into something shy.

You shifted your gaze, looking down at your hands for a moment before glancing back at Vi.

“A bookshop?” she repeated, the corners of her mouth lifting ever so slightly. “That’s… that’s amazing. Seriously.”

You felt a blush creeping up your neck at the sound of her voice. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way she said them, like she believed in you without hesitation, the same way she always used to. You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, trying to steady yourself under her gaze.

“It’s not open yet, but it’s coming together,” you continued, your words rushed. “I have to get supplies and… you know, order books to sell. I’m still getting it all set up next week…”

Vi nodded, her lips parting like she wanted to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she just stared at you, the pride in her eyes unmistakable.

“Yeah,” she replied. “I… I’m really proud of you.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, glancing down at your hands again. You felt the urge to keep talking, to fill the space with something else. “After my book did well, I just thought… I’ve always wanted a book shop, anyway.”

“Yeah, I know…” Vi said quietly, almost like she was thinking aloud.

Her eyebrows lifted at the mention of your book.

“I-I mean—Your book,” she echoed, a faint grin tugging at her lips. “I saw it. Well, I didn’t just see it—I bought it. And read it. Twice, actually.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “You read my book?”

“Of course, I did,” she said, like it wasn’t even a question.

Vi smiled at that, but there was something bittersweet in the curve of her lips. She wanted to tell you that she’d read it more than twice. That she kept it with her when she’d travel on tours, tucked away in her suitcase like a piece of you she couldn’t let go of.

But she bit her tongue, knowing that wasn’t something you needed to hear—not now, not after all this time.

“Did you like it?”

Vi looked at you, a slow and gentle smile creeping up on her face as she said, “Yeah.”

What she didn’t tell you was that she never actually had the heart to finish it.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to know how it ended. She did. She wanted to devour every word you’d written, the same way she always used to lose herself in you. She could hear you in every sentence, see you in the way you painted your characters and wove their lives together.

And she liked to pretend that as long as she hadn’t reached the end, there was still something left between you. That there was still more to the story.

So when she’d get close to the end, her hands would freeze.

It felt too final. Too much like closure.

And closure was the last thing she wanted.

Vi cleared her throat and shifted on her feet awkwardly, tearing her gaze away from you.

“Feels weird thinking Jayce and Mel are married now,” she said roughly, just something to say.

Her lips quirked into a weak smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes, which darted back to you despite her best efforts to keep them fixed on the town ahead of her.

You chuckled softly, and the sound of it sent a ripple through her chest, and she swore she could feel her heart break all over again.

“Yeah,” you said, leaning against the railing. “It feels like just yesterday they were arguing about who was better at chemistry, and now here they are.”

“Bet Jayce’s still a pain in the ass, though,” she muttered.

But her smile faded as she looked down at the ground, her scuffed boots suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. In reality, she just wanted to keep talking to you, to keep hearing your voice for as long as she can, not knowing when she’s ever going to get this chance again.

“Mel definitely agrees with that.”

Then, there was silence.

You moved slightly, your fingers trailing the edge of the railing as you watched her. She hadn’t changed, not really. But something about her was different. You couldn’t name it. It was like she was trying to keep herself contained, fighting to hide the parts of her she didn’t want you to see.

“How about you?”

Vi’s gaze flicked up to meet yours like you startled her from a daydream. She blinked, her fingers loosening around the railing, but she didn’t quite look at you. Not directly.

“Huh?” she breathed.

“How have you been?” you repeated.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out at first. Then, a small, shaky laugh slipped from her lips.

“I—” She cut herself off, her fingers running through her hair, trying to appear calm.

I miss you, she wanted to say.

Vi met your gaze for a split second, but then her eyes flickered downward again, a soft breath escaping her lips.

“I’ve been… alright,” she said. She glanced at you briefly, the faintest flicker nervousness—maybe even guilt—crossing her face before her gaze fell to the ground. “The band’s on a break right now, so… I’ll be home for a while.”

You nodded slowly, her words repeating in your head.

Home. It sounded strange coming from her. Vi was always moving. You remember nights when you’d wish she was home, remembering how you’d ask her in every call and text wondering when she’ll be back home, even if it’s just for a short while.

She glanced back up at you, her eyes searching yours like she was trying to figure out how you felt about her answer. The faint light from inside the party caught the edges of her hair, making her pink strands glow softly in the dim light. Again, she looked the same, and yet not at all. She looked older, not just in age, but in the way her shoulders sagged slightly, like the weight of her own world had finally caught up to her.

“Home, huh?” you said softly, the word tasting bittersweet on your tongue.

“Yeah.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, broken only by the muffled sounds of music and laughter spilling out from the party behind you.

Vi shifted on her feet all over again, her hands brushing the seam of her pants as she glanced down for a beat, then back up at you. She looked almost timid, carefully thinking and choosing her words before speaking.

“I’m, uh… staying at my dad’s house,” she mentioned out of nowhere.

Her eyes darted to yours briefly before she looked away again, scratching the back of her neck once more—it was a sign that she was nervous, you knew it too well.

She hesitated for a moment again, as though debating whether or not to say the next part, and then just blurted out, “Um… if you need help with that bookshop thing... I… I could help. You know, with lifting boxes, books or whatever. Anything. Whenever you need.”

The words tumbled out in a rush, and her cheeks flushed slightly as she stood there, waiting for you were going to say. It was such a clumsy offer, but it was also… sweet. You could tell from the way she said it, from the way her hands fidgeted at her sides, from the way her eyes flickered to yours and then back to the ground, that she wasn’t just trying to be polite.

You didn’t say anything at first, and in the silence, Vi’s nervousness seemed to grow. She bit the inside of her cheek, her gaze darting to yours again as if to gauge your reaction.

“I mean, no pressure,” she added quickly, her voice stumbling over the words. “I just thought… i-if you needed help or anything… I’m around.”

She forced another small, lopsided smile. And suddenly, it hit you how much she had changed.

But you only offered a small, polite smile back.

“I can’t ask you to do that,” you say softly, shaking your head. “You’re on a break—you should be… I don’t know. Resting? I think—”

But before you can finish, Vi cuts you off, “I want to.”

The words spill out of her with a force that surprises even her, and for a moment, she freezes, like she’s unsure if she sounded to desperate. Her jaw tightens, and she swallows hard before continuing, softer this time.

“I mean it, I really do. I want to help. I… I’d like to… Besides, I don’t really have any future plans anyways, so... It’ll keep me busy.”

Her voice trails off at the end, and she looks at you with those same earnest eyes.

For a moment, you’re not sure what to say.

You search her face, taking in the faint flush on her cheeks, the slight furrow of her brows, the way she looks like she’s bracing herself for rejection.

You exhale slowly, your heart caught somewhere between wanting to let her in and knowing the risks that come with it.

“Vi…” you start softly, but she shakes her head before you can go on, her lips curving into a faint, almost self-conscious smile.

You hesitate, the words catching on the edge of your tongue. Vi is standing there, her hands shoved deep into her pockets. Her eyes are locked on you, searching for some sort of an answer. She’s trying so hard to play it cool, but you’ve known her for too long to miss the way her shoulders tense, like she’s bracing herself for you to say no.

In Vi’s head, the words are quiet and repetitive saying, please say yes, please say yes, please…

You let out a slow breath, your lips curving into a small, tentative smile.

“Okay…” you say softly.

Fuck.

Her eyes flicker, catching the faintest glimmer of surprise, but she doesn’t move or speak, just waits, like she’s afraid to push too hard.

You glance away for a moment, smoothing your hands over the fabric of your dress, and then add, “If anything comes up… I’ll ask you first.”

Her shoulders relax as her lips curl into a grin—not a wide, toothy grin like the ones you remember from years ago, but a quiet, shy smile. It’s like she’s trying to play it cool, but the spark of happiness in her eyes betrays her.

“Yeah?” she says, like she’s making sure she didn’t mishear you.

You nod and Vi exhales a soft chuckle, looking down at her boots for a second before meeting your gaze again.

“Okay,” she murmurs. “Okay.”

“I, um… I should head back to the party,” you say softly, a bit hesitant, like you’re not sure whether you’re ready to leave or if you’re saying it just to give yourself permission to.

You give her a gentle smile.

“It was nice seeing you, Violet.”

Her name falls from your lips so easily, like it hasn’t been years since she’s heard you say it. And God, she swears she melts—completely, utterly melts—like the sound of her name coming from you is the softest, warmest thing in the world. Nobody really calls her that anymore. To everyone else, she’s just Vi. To you… she doesn’t even know if she’s still that girl, still your Violet, but the way you say it makes her feel like she could be.

She tries to play it cool, tries to keep herself from staring too hard at you or letting you see how badly she wants you to stay just a little longer, but it’s impossible. Everything about you—your voice, your smile, the way you’re standing there looking so fucking beautiful—it’s all driving her crazy.

Vi just nods, her voice coming out quieter than she intended.

“Yeah… yeah, you too.”

You give her one last smile before turning to leave, and Vi’s chest tightens as she watches you go, your dress swaying lightly as you walk back toward the noise.

She wants to call after you, to stop you, to ask you for just a few more minutes. But she doesn’t. Instead, she stays where she is, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, replaying the entire conversation, the way you said her name over and over.

The days passed slowly, each one dragging way more than the last, and Vi felt every excruciating second of it. She’d never been good at waiting—patience was never her strong suit—but this was quite possibly worse than anything she’d ever experienced. You were on her mind constantly, and every time she closed her eyes, she saw you standing on that balcony, your voice soft, smiling at her in that pretty dress.

And now… now she was stuck in silence, waiting for a sign, for anything, for you.

It was maddening.

She’d been sitting on your number for days, her thumb hovering over her phone screen more times than she could count.

She’d asked Jayce for it the day after the wedding, trying to keep her voice casual and her reasoning vague—something about wanting to just talk or check in, honestly, she couldn’t even remember what she’d said now. Jayce hadn’t questioned it, just handed it over with a knowing grin and a pat on the shoulder.

“Good luck,” he’d said, and Vi had laughed it off at the time, pretending it didn’t matter as much as it did.

But now, sitting in her dad’s kitchen with her phone on the table in front of her, the wait was crushing her.

She’d tried to convince herself to wait for you to make the first move, but the days were stretching on, and every time her phone buzzed, her heart jumped, only to sink when it wasn’t you.

It was ridiculous, really, how much power you still had over her after all this time.

She felt like a teenager again, pacing her room, rehearsing what to say, overthinking every way you might respond.

Vi rubbed the back of her neck, glancing at the screen where your name stared back at her, the text box waiting for her to write something, anything. A call felt too forward, but a text… God, what was she even supposed to say? Hey, it was nice seeing you at the wedding? No, that sounded too formal. I can’t stop thinking about you and wish I had said more that night? Absolutely not.

She groaned and leaned back in her chair, glaring at the phone like it was mocking her. She’d faced stadiums full of screaming fans, interviews where every word mattered, even the pressure of writing entire albums with a deadline, and yet here she was, completely undone by the thought of texting you.

It seemed awfully familiar, though.

The last she had been staring at her phone like this, wanting to text you, to call you, was when you broke up with her in New York.

Vi remembers every message, every call, every desperate attempt to reach you after your flight home. She regretted everything, and she carried it with you everyday. Even now, years later, she can still feel it—the silence on the other end of the line, the way your name sat at the top of her call log, unanswered, untouched, until eventually, it disappeared altogether.

She had tried to chase you that morning—had jolted awake to the blaring red numbers on the alarm clock, the kind of panic that claws its way up your throat, suffocating.

But she never made it on time.

The hangover from the night before had her glued to the bed for too long, her knuckles slightly bruised from punching that guy at the party, slowed her limbs and dulled her mind when she needed to be moving, running—to you. She remembered stumbling through her hotel room, throwing on last night’s pants, grabbing her keys with shaking hands, but by the time she had made it downstairs and shoved open the lobby doors, the realization had already sunk its teeth into her—she wasn’t going to make it.

Still, she had sent the text.

She had sat in the driver’s seat of her car, fingers gripping her phone so tightly her knuckles had gone white. She had stared at the screen, waiting, willing your name to light up in reply. But nothing came.

She tried calling. She had dialed your number over and over, barely able to breathe as the rings echoed in her ear, taunting her.

Voicemail.

Again.

And again. And again.

She had meant it. She wanted to tell you that she knew she had screwed up, that she had let the late nights and missed dates and unreturned calls and the fact that she barely came home piled up into something unbearable. That she had let you slip through her fingers when she should have been holding on for dear life.

But you never answered.

And then again later that night, after she had downed more drinks than she should have, after she had sat on the floor of her bathroom with her head in her hands, trying to piece together how everything had gone so wrong.

She promised. And she had kept that promise, had woken up with a headache, going through an interview she barely remembered, and then, the second she was free, she had called you.

And still, nothing.

The messages didn’t stop after that.

For weeks, she kept reaching out. The texts came in—some long, rambling apologies sent in the middle of the night, others as simple as “I miss you” or “Are you okay?” The calls never slowed, her thumb swiping over your name out of habit, out of desperation, out of some foolish, impossible hope that maybe this time you’d pick up.

But you never did.

And Vi was pretty sure it killed her.

It killed her to think that maybe, eventually, you would stop even reading them, stop seeing her name on your screen and feeling anything at all.

And yet, she still kept calling. Because she didn’t know how to stop. Because the thought of never hearing your voice again was somehow worse than hearing nothing at all, even if it was just your voicemail.

“I love you,” was her last message.

Vi let out a frustrated breath, running her hand through her hair as she stared at your name one more time. She didn’t want to seem desperate, but she also didn’t want to lose this chance, the tiny sliver of hope that had lodged itself in her chest since she’d seen you again.

She didn’t hear the door at first, her mind too distracted as she stared at her phone.

But then, the doorbell echoed through the house, dragging her out of her thoughts. Vi didn’t move at first, too paralyzed.

The silence stretched, and just as she began to wonder if she should check the door, Vander’s voice rang out from the other side of the house.

“Vi, it’s for you!”

Her breath caught in her throat.

Vi stood up slowly, her fingers still clutching her phone, her mind racing.

And then she heard it again. Her Vander’s voice, a little louder than usual, echoing from the front door.

“Vi, it’s for you!” Vander called out again.

Vi hesitated, frozen for a moment in the threshold of the room, unsure of what to do. She could hear muffled voices, something that sounded like small talk, but she wasn’t ready. She wasn’t ready for anyone—least of all you—to walk through that door, to see her and disrupt the little bubble she’d built around herself.

And then, just as she took a hesitant step toward the hallway, she heard it.

A woman’s voice, sweet and unmistakable, calling out in the distance. It was your mom.

“Vi, sweetie, it’s been a while,” she said warmly.

Why was your mom here? Was she here for you? Did you send her?

“Uh, hi,” Vi stammered, her voice cracking slightly as she stepped closer to the doorway.

Her throat felt dry, and she wasn’t sure where to put her hands, so they hung awkwardly by her sides. She tried to muster a smile, but it faltered slightly under her nerves.

Your mom stood there, her familiar warm smile softening the edges of Vi’s unease.

“It’s so nice to see you,” she said kindly, her voice light and easy, as if years hadn’t passed since the last time they’d spoken. “You’ve grown so much.”

Vi forced a nod, her lips twitching into a polite grin.

“T-Thank you,” she mumbled.

“Anyway,” she said, waving a hand as if she was brushing away any lingering awkwardness, “I actually came by to ask for a bit of help.”

“Oh?” she managed.

“Well,” your mom began, “____ has some books at the house that I’m supposed to drop off at her apartment, but I have to get to the flower shop soon. She told me to ask you to do it if you were available.”

She offered a sheepish smile, “Was thinking you could spare my back from lifting some of those boxes, you see.”

Vi wasn’t sure how long she stood there, frozen in place, as they sank in. Your mom’s voice was calm and casual, but to Vi, it felt like the ground had shifted beneath her.

You told her to ask me? The thought looped in her head.

“Oh, uh…” Vi started, the words faltering as she processed the request. She rubbed the back of her neck, and glanced briefly at Vander, who stood just behind her in the kitchen, pretending not to listen but very clearly eavesdropping. She caught his small, encouraging nod, and it pushed her to speak again. “Yes! Yeah, of course. I can do that.”

Your mom’s face brightened instantly.

“Oh, thank you, sweetie. That’s such a big help.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a small slip of paper, handing it to Vi. “Here’s the address to her apartment. The boxes are over in the backyard. Just leave them wherever she needs them.”

Vi took the paper with trembling fingers, her gaze flicking down to the scrawled handwriting. It wasn’t yours, but it didn’t matter. Just the thought of stepping into your place, of touching something that belonged to you, made her chest ache with excitement.

Your mom beamed. “I appreciate it.”

Vi nodded, offering another polite smile, though her mind was already racing ahead. She watched as your mom said her goodbyes and left, the door clicking softly behind her.

Once the house was quiet again, Vander leaned against the counter, arms crossed, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips. “You gonna be okay there, kid?”

Vi didn’t answer. She just stood in the doorway, staring at the door.

“Uh-huh.”

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and without a second thought, she spun on her heel, running toward her room. Vander’s low chuckle echoed faintly behind her, but she didn’t stop to say anything. Her mind was racing too fast, her body moving on autopilot.

Vi nearly stumbled as she made it to her room, her hand shooting out to grab the edge of her desk for balance. Her eyes immediately locked onto her old car keys lying on the surface. Her fingers curled tightly around the worn leather keychain, and in one quick motion, she stuffed the keys into her pocket and spun around to leave.

“You’re leaving now?” Vander teased from the kitchen as she all but bolted past him. He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, watching her in amusement.

“I’ll be back later!” Vi called back over her shoulder, already halfway out the door.

Before he could respond, she was gone, the screen door slamming shut behind her. He shook his head, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he chuckled softly to himself.

“Kids,” he muttered, shaking his head as he turned back to whatever he’d been doing.

Vi moved quickly, her boots crunching against the grass as she ran to the next house, grabbing the boxes of books from the backyard like your mother had said, putting them in the trunk before getting in to start the truck.

As the engine roared as she turned her key, she gripped the wheel tightly, her palms slightly clammy against the worn leather. She let out a slow, shaky breath, her mind still spinning. The thought of seeing you again, even in such a simple, practical way, made her stomach twist into knots.

She adjusted the rearview mirror, catching a brief glimpse of herself, her wide eyes betraying the nerves she felt. With a soft huff, she shook her head, trying to steady herself.

“It’s just some boxes,” she murmured under her breath, as if saying it out loud might make it easier.

With that thought in her mind, Vi threw the truck into reverse and backed out of the driveway. She didn’t bother to turn on the radio as she drove, her hands tightening on the wheel, her foot pressing just a little harder on the gas as everything out the windows blurred past.

When Vi pulled up to your apartment building, she stayed in the driver’s seat longer than she’d planned, her fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel. The grumble of the truck’s engine had faded, leaving only the sound of her shallow breathing and the occasional creak of the old leather seat beneath her. She stared up at the building, the sunlight glinting off the windows, and felt her stomach twist. This shouldn’t be such a big deal—just a delivery, just a favor—but it pressed down on her like it meant everything.

She glanced down at herself, frowning at her choice of clothes. A faded hoodie she’d thrown on in a rush and a pair of worn jeans she’d been meaning to replace for years. Her sneakers were scuffed, the laces frayed at the edges. She tugged at the hem of the hoodie self-consciously, her lips pressing into a thin line. Why hadn’t she dressed up a little more? Why hadn’t she at least run a comb through her hair before bolting out the door?

The truck’s rearview mirror caught her eye, and she tilted it down slightly to get a look at herself. Her hair was messy, not in the cool, effortless way she might’ve liked. Her hair grew longer, but she’s been meaning to get a hair cut from her hair stylist before the band took a break. She reached up to smooth it down, her fingers catching on a knot. With a frustrated sigh, she shook her head and let her hand drop.

Get a grip, Vi, she thought. It’s not a date. You’re dropping off some boxes, that’s it.

But even as she said the words, they felt hollow. She wanted to look good for you. She wanted you to see her and—what? Be impressed?

With a heavy sigh, Vi shoved the door open and climbed out of the truck. She grabbed the first box from the passenger seat, balancing it carefully against her hip as she slammed the door shut with her foot. Her keys jingled softly in her pocket as she made her way toward the building, her shoes scuffing against the pavement.

The elevator ride felt like it lasted an eternity. Vi shifted the box in her arms, her palms growing damp from the cardboard’s edges. She stared at the numbers lighting up above the door, each floor bringing her closer. Her heart was pounding again, and she cursed herself for it.

When the elevator doors slid open, she stepped out and hesitated, her eyes scanning the numbers on the doors in the halls until she found yours. Standing there, just a few feet away, she felt her resolve falter again. She reached up to knock, then paused, glancing down at herself one last time. The hoodie, the jeans, her hair—she sighed, knowing there wasn’t much she could do about it now.

Finally, Vi forced herself to step forward, swallowing the lump in her throat as she raised her knuckles to the door and knocked.

The door creaked open a moment later, and Vi’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t thought about what she’d say, but all those half-formed ideas completely disintegrated the second she saw you.

You were standing there in a loose tank top that dipped low enough to hint at your curves, your cleavage, paired with a pair of shorts that revealed more of your legs than Vi could handle seeing without losing her composure.

And she wasn’t ready for this at all.

Your eyes widened when you saw her, your body jolting slightly, not expecting her of all people to be on the other side of the door at this hour.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, taking a step back out of instinct. “Vi. Y-You’re early.”

Vi blinked, trying to force her brain to catch up with the situation, but her eyes kept drifting down your body, betraying her. Her gaze flitted from the flush in your cheeks to the slight curve of your collarbone and lower before she caught herself and looked away, focusing on the box in her hands.

“I, uh…” Vi cleared her throat, her voice suddenly hoarse. “Yeah, I—guess I didn’t realize how fast I’d get here.”

She wanted to curse herself for how awkward she sounded, but she couldn’t seem to focus on anything except how close you were, how the faint scent of your perfume drifted into her nose.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, clearly flustered, your smile shy but warm.

“I didn’t think you’d be here so soon,” you said, glancing down at yourself briefly like you were suddenly self-conscious. “I—uh, I didn’t really dress for company.”

Vi shook her head quickly, the words tumbling out before she could think them through.

“Oh! No, you’re—you look…” She stopped and bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to regain her footing. “You look fine. Really great, I mean. Not that I was looking—I-I… Just—uh, it’s fine. You’re fine.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Not smooth. At all. The heat in her cheeks was unmistakable now, and she wanted nothing more than to melt and disappear into the floor. You let out a soft laugh, and it was warm, teasing, in a way that made Vi’s heart flutter.

“Well, come in,” you said, stepping aside and gesturing for her to enter. “You’re already here, so…”

Vi nodded as she stepped in. She kept her head down, her jaw tight, her fingers gripping the box pretending to focus on it instead of you.

You stepped aside, letting her cross the threshold into your apartment, and she immediately felt her nerves spike. It was cozy with soft warm lighting and shelves packed full of books and little frames of photos you’ve taken that she wasn’t apart of. She found herself lingering by the door, holding the box tightly as her eyes wandered more. A dark blue blanket was draped over the back of the couch, your yellow mug from earlier sat on the coffee table, and she could faintly smell of, maybe, vanilla or something sweet in the air.

“I—I’m gonna go get dressed,” you said suddenly, moving awkwardly on your feet like her being in the room was throwing you off your balance too. You gestured vaguely to your tank top and shorts, cheeks slightly pink. “I know I only asked if you could drop those off, but I’d really like to get them to the shop as soon as possible, so...”

Vi only nodded, her mouth too dry to form a proper response, her hands gripping the box tighter than necessary.

“Yeah, no problem,” she muttered, barely hearing her own voice over her thoughts. “I-I can drive us there if you want.”

You gave her a quick smile and turned to head down the short hallway toward what she assumed was your bedroom.

And Vi tried, really, really tried to keep her focus elsewhere, but her resolve crumbled the second you walked away.

Her gaze shamelessly dropped down to your ass, trailing after you as your hips swayed naturally with each step, her brain short-circuiting at the sight. Oh, how she wished she was allowed to pull you close like she used to, pressed your ass against her front, her hands on your hips, her lips against the side of your neck, kissing and licking and marking—

Fuck. Stop. Stop.

She tore her eyes away, her face heating up in an instant. What the hell was she doing? She wasn’t seventeen anymore, and yet here she was, acting like some lovesick kid with no self-control.

But, really, how could she not? It had been years, and somehow you were sexier—no, even more beautiful now than you were back then. You always had this effect on her, and she learned today that it has never gone away.

She sighed and glanced up at the ceiling, trying to distract herself by taking in more of your apartment. Everything here was you. She could picture you curled up on that couch, a book in hand, completely at ease. She could picture you at the little kitchen counter, maybe making coffee in the mornings, the sunlight spilling in through the window. It was such a simple, lovely image that Vi could almost feel herself getting lost in it, wanting to be a part of it in some way.

Vi set the box down gently by the couch, glancing around your cozy apartment one more time before lowering herself onto the cushions. She sank into them, her fingers drumming absently on her knees as she tried not to think too much. But waiting like this, surrounded by all the little pieces of your life, made it impossible not to.

She let out a slow breath and ran a hand through her hair, trying to keep her thoughts in check. The sound of your door creaking open snapped her out of it, and she instinctively looked up, her breath catching the moment she saw you. She didn’t even realize she was staring until her chest tightened again, a small voice in the back of her head reminding her that she had no right to look at you like this anymore.

“Mel dropped some books off yesterday too,” you said, your voice pulling her out of her thoughts. “I’ll grab them, and then we can take all of it down to the shop.”

Vi nodded dumbly, her throat feeling dry as she struggled to find a coherent response.

You turned toward a small side table where a several of other books were stacked, and Vi took the moment to glance at you again, her chest aching as the reality of it all hit her. And all she could think about was how fucking beautiful you looked. As you bent slightly to pick up the stack, Vi clenched her fists against her thighs, forcing herself to look away.

She followed you on your way out, silently wishing she could stay in there a little longer to explore what else you’ve been up to, to see everything that was connected to you.

But she couldn’t anymore, not when you closed the door and locked it quickly behind her.

You stood beside her in the elevator, close enough that she could catch the faintest trace of your perfume. It was practically the same scent she remembered, the one that used to linger on her clothes after you’d hugged her goodbye. Vi glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, watching as you fidgeted with the strap of your bag, clutching the books Mel dropped off to donate to your chest carefully, and your lips pressed together in a thin line.

Neither of you spoke.

Vi was nervous.

She wanted to say something but she didn’t really know how. It was a strange, being quiet, and she hated how much she liked it—just being near you, even if it wasn’t the same as before.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open to the parking lot. Vi stepped out first, holding the box carefully, and you followed close behind. Her boots scuffed against the concrete as she led the way toward her truck, parked in one of the far corners next to a big tree.

When the truck came into view, your steps slowing just slightly. Vi noticed immediately, glancing back at you with a questioning look, but you didn’t dare to say anything. You just stood there, staring at the familiar sight of her old, beat-up pickup, the one she used to drive you around in. She could see it in your eyes—your eyebrows rising, the way your lips parted just slightly, as if you were about to say something but thought better of it.

Vi remembered everything about that truck—how she’d spent weeks fixing it up herself in high school after Vander brought it home for her on her sixteenth birthday, how proud she’d been when it finally roared to life. She remembered the late night drives, the way you’d slide across the bench seat to lean against her as she steered with one hand. She remembered the drive-in movies, the cheap popcorn, and the way you’d press a kiss to her cheek when you thought she wasn’t paying attention. She remembered her arm resting behind your head as she leaned in to distract you from that movie just past the window, her lips pressing against yours before moving down to your jaw, your neck, until she had you on your back against the bench seat of the truck, her mouth exploring your body excitedly, enjoying the feeling of your hands holding on to her like you depending on it.

And she wondered if you remembered it the same way she did.

You smiled faintly, but you still didn’t say anything. Instead, you walked up to the truck slowly, your hand brushing along the edge of the faded red paint.

Vi hesitated, feeling her pulse quicken. “You okay?”

You nodded softly. Your gaze lingered on the truck, tracing over every detail, every dent and scratch that time hadn’t erased.

Vi cleared her throat, forcing a shaky laugh to break the silence. “She’s still holding up,” she said, her voice softer than she intended. “Vander fixed her up when he found out I was coming home.”

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “It’s still the same.”

Vi wanted to ask what you were thinking—if seeing the truck brought back all the same memories for you as it did for her—but she bit her tongue.

She didn’t want to push.

The drive to the shop felt a little longer than it actually was.

Vi gripped the steering wheel of her truck a little tighter, her palms slightly clammy against the worn leather. The ride was quiet, almost painfully so, but she didn’t want to break the silence—not when she was afraid any word out of her mouth would sound awkward or clumsy, maybe. But every so often, her eyes darted toward you, sitting there in the seat next to her, looking out the window.

You didn’t say much either, only the directions to the location, and that only made Vi more nervous. Were you nervous, too? Or maybe just tired?

Your hands rested lightly in your lap, your fingers brushing against the fabric of your jeans as if you needed something to do. She wanted to ask what you were thinking, wanted to know what it felt like to finally see your dream of a book shop finally coming true, but the words died in her throat.

So instead, she just focused on the road.

When the truck finally pulled into the parking lot of your shop, Vi parked and cut the engine. She stepped out quickly, wanting to busy herself with something, anything, and moved to the back of the truck to grab the boxes of books you’d brought along. You followed and as you reached for one of the smaller boxes, Vi stopped you with a gentle shake of her head.

“I’ve got it,” she said softly, lifting the heavier boxes with ease. “Just lead the way.”

You nodded, your eyes darting to her for a brief moment before you started toward the front door. The shop was was in a nice spot really, tucked between a florist and a bakery, a nice park and garden across the street, but even from the outside, Vi could see the potential in it. The windows were clean, sunlight streaming through and lighting up the empty space inside.

When you unlocked the door and stepped in, Vi followed eagerly. The smell of fresh wood and paint filled the air, and even though there wasn’t much inside yet—just a few shelves and a small counter—she could already see it coming together.

“This is… wow,” she murmured, setting the boxes down near one of the shelves. “It’s cozy.”

You gave her a small smile, your hands brushing nervously against the hem of your shirt as you moved toward the shelves.

“It’s still a work in progress,” you said quietly. “A lot of work, actually. I’m waiting on more shelves to come in, and I still need to set up the counter, but… it’s a start.”

Vi nodded, watching as you walked around the place, your hands ghosting over the edges of the shelves like you were already imagining them full of books.

She could see the pride in your eyes, also with a tiny hint of worry, and she wanted to tell you how amazing it all was, how proud she was of you for making it happen. But instead, she swallowed the words.

Vi leans against one of the bookshelves like she belongs there, casual and easy, hands tucked into her pockets, the stretch of her shirt over her toned arms doing nothing to help your already scattered thoughts. Her smirk is just a little lopsided, just enough to make your stomach flip before she nods her head toward the unopened boxes in the corner of the shop.

“I can help set those up if you want,” she offers softly, like she hasn’t been gone all these years. Like she hasn’t spent a lifetime on the road, playing sold-out shows, living a life far removed from the one you built here.

You try not to stare, but it’s impossible.

God, she looks good. Too good.

It’s infuriating how effortless it is for her, how she can just stand there and make your mind short-circuit, even knowing you shouldn’t be thinking of her in that way anymore. The warm sunlight coming through the shop windows catches the sharp angle of her jaw, the scar over her brow, the faded pink of her hair, a little messy, a little longer, like she’s run her hands through it one too many times today. She’s older now, more refined in some ways, but she’s still Vi—you could see it.

You swallow, forcing yourself to snap out of it, crossing your arms over your chest like it’ll somehow shield you from how much she still gets under your skin.

“I mean…” You glance at the unopened boxes, pretending to consider it when really. “If you don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Vi grins, and it’s so damn charming, so easy, that you nearly roll your eyes at yourself for reacting to it. “Nope. Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

“Alright,” you murmur, more to yourself than her. “Just… don’t make a mess.”

Vi chuckles warmly, almost teasing as she pushes off the bookshelf and moves closer.

“No promises,” she says, and the way she’s looking at you makes you think she’s not just talking about the shelves.

And you—well, you’re not sure if that terrifies you or if you’ve been waiting for it all along.

Vi keeps showing up.

At first, it’s under the guise of helping—the heavy lifting, the putting together more furniture until the shop starts to take real shape.

The first couple of weeks, she barely takes a break, sleeves rolled up, hands smudged with dust and the occasional splinter on her calloused hands, helping with hauling in shipments of new books before you can even get to the door, without you even needing to ask. She’d wear a fitted shirt or a tank top sometimes, showing off her strong arms as she worked—and you knew for a fact she was doing it on purpose.

You watch her from behind the counter sometimes, the way she moves like she’s so at home here. You spend your days organizing books while she works on all the heavy stuff, sneaking glances when you think she won’t notice.

Sometimes she catches you, and she’ll smirk in a way that used to make you weak in the knees back in high school, and you have to turn away quickly, pretending you weren’t staring.

You tell yourself it’s nothing, that it’s just nice having an extra set of hands around.

But the shop is nearly done now—the shelves are up, the cozy reading corner is arranged just right, most books in their place—and Vi is… still here.

She stops by in the mornings, sometimes bringing coffee just the way you like them, sometimes walking in just because she was wondering how you were doing. She lingers, finds reasons to stay even when there’s no more work to do.

And you let her.

Maybe because it’s comfortable… and familiar.

Or maybe because, deep down, some part of you doesn’t want her to stop showing up.

One evening, as you’re stacking a few last-minute books onto a display, Vi leans against the counter, watching you like she’s been doing all day.

“So,” she says, and you can hear the grin in her voice before you even look up. “Think you’re finally ready to open?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, a small smile tugging softly at the corner of your lips. “I think so.”

Vi nods, eyes lingering on you longer than they should, like she’s about to say something else—something important—but instead, she just pushes off the counter, stretching slightly.

“Good,” she says. “It’s all looking really good.”

“Thanks, Vi,” you smile softly. “You know, I should really pay you… for the work you did, I mean. You did a lot of it and—”

Vi’s lips quirk into a smirk, “Yeah? Gonna put me on payroll?”

You shake your head, feeling suddenly shy under her stare, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean it—”

“C’mon, don’t do that.” She cuts you off with a quiet scoff, shaking her head. “It’s fine really. I just… put some shelves together. Carried a few boxes.”

Vi watches you carefully, her smirk fading into something softer. She looks down for a second, her hand coming up to scratch the back of her neck, thinking about what to say.

“You don’t owe me anything,” she says quietly. “Besides, I told you I wanted to help.”

And the way she says it—the way her gaze lingers on you, the way her voice dips slightly—makes your breath hitch for a second.

Because it almost sounds like she means more than just the shop.

Like she’s saying, I wanted to be here. I wanted to see you.

“I… still feel like I should do something…” Your voice trails off as you look away from her.

The tiniest of pouts plays at your lips as you cross your arms, before glancing back up at Vi. And damn it, she misses it. She misses you.

She smiles despite herself, the corners of her lips curving up before she can stop it.

“Well, you could come to Vander’s this Friday,” Vi suggests, trying to keep her voice light, casual.

You blink, a little surprised by the suggestion.

“Vander’s?” you repeat.

Vi clears her throat and adjusts her footing, her hand coming to scratch the back of her neck again, “T-The band is playing a small set… for, uh, Benzo’s birthday…”

“Benzo’s birthday?” you ask, your voice a little softer than before.

Her smile falters, just a bit, as if she’s not sure how to tell you this.

“Yeah… I just thought, I’d really like it if you came,” Vi continues, her words trailing off, her eyes softening as she catches the way you’re watching her.

You pause for a moment, letting her words sink in, and you realize there’s something more to this invitation than she’s letting on.

And you didn’t know if you should accept it.

“I didn’t know Benzo’s birthday was coming up,” you reply with a soft laugh.

To be fair, you haven’t even seen him or Vander in a while ever since… well…

“It’d be nice… to have you there,” Vi says again, a little more tentative this time.

The truth is, you’re scared.

Scared of what it might mean to show up at her show, to step into her world again, even for just a night, remembering how hard it had been the last time you were together.

But, you can’t help yourself, and you say…

“Okay,” you say softly despite the nervous flutter in your stomach. “I’ll be there.”

Then, she smiles—genuine, full, like you’ve just given her something she wasn’t sure she’d get back. “Really? That’d be—yeah, that’d be great.”

“Friday then,” you say with a soft smile.

Vi nods, a little too eagerly, her whole body seeming to react before her mind even catches up.

“Mhm. Friday.”

Her voice is quiet but sure like a promise she intends to keep, like she’d carve the date into stone if you asked her to.

And god, the way she’s looking at you drives you absolutely fucking insane.

After all these years—she still looks at you like that. Like she’d do anything you asked her to. Like she’d drop everything if you told her to stay.

“I’ll see you then,” you murmur.

And Vi just stands there, watching you, her smile lingering long after you’ve turned away.

Fuck. She’s still very much in trouble.

series masterlist | next chapter (coming soon)

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[scoupsakakitty]

Beautiful pt. 2 | idol!Hoshi x idol!Reader | fluff

Tw: weight loss

The first light of morning crept through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the small apartment. The rain had stopped, but the air still felt heavy, as if the storm had settled between them instead of outside.

Soonyoung had been awake for a while. He sat quietly, his back against the couch, watching Y/N sleep beside him. Her head rested against his chest, her breathing slow and steady, the rise and fall of her shoulders delicate and fragile. His heart ached at the sight of her like this—so weakened, so broken. This wasn’t the Y/N he had fallen in love with, but it was still her. And seeing her like this made him realize something: he was never going to leave her alone again.

While she slept, he had pulled out his phone, fingers hesitating over the screen before he finally typed a message to the members.

“I’ll catch a later flight. Need to sort things out with Y/N first.”

He didn’t wait for their replies. He didn’t need their approval. This—she—was more important.

Setting the phone aside, he gently ran his fingers through her hair, careful not to wake her. Even in her exhaustion, she was beautiful. Not in the flawless, effortless way people often expected, but in a way that made his chest tighten—the kind of beauty that came from strength, even when she didn’t realize she had any left.

As if sensing his gaze, Y/N stirred. She shifted slightly, her eyelashes fluttering before her eyes slowly opened. For a brief moment, confusion flickered across her face. But when she realized he was still there, her expression softened. She closed her eyes again, letting out a quiet breath as she nestled closer to him, her body relaxing into his warmth.

“I haven’t slept this peacefully in a long time,” she whispered, her voice still raspy from sleep.

Soonyoung smiled, his heart swelling at her words. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his fingers still tangled in her hair.

“Get used to it,” he murmured against her hair. “Because once I’m back from Japan, you can sleep next to me whenever you want. I’m not leaving you alone anymore, Y/N. Not ever again.”

She froze for a moment, his words sinking in. Then, slowly, she tilted her head back to look at him, her eyes searching his face for any hint of hesitation. But there was none. Only sincerity. Only love.

“You say that now,” she whispered, her voice tinged with doubt.

“I mean it,” he replied firmly. ���I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve never let you go through this alone. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”

They sat in silence for a while, the weight of unspoken words lingering between them. But this silence wasn’t heavy like before. It was comforting, like a blanket wrapping around the fragile parts of her heart.

Eventually, Soonyoung shifted, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “Come on,” he said gently. “Go take a shower. I’ll make us some breakfast.”

Y/N blinked at him, surprised. “You’re cooking?”

He chuckled softly. “Don’t look so shocked. I want you to eat something before I go.”

Reluctantly, she pushed herself up, her body still sluggish with exhaustion, but there was a small spark in her eyes that hadn’t been there the night before. She disappeared into the bathroom while Soonyoung made his way to the tiny kitchen, rummaging through her cabinets until he found something simple to prepare.

By the time she returned, the table was set with toast, eggs, and some fruit he’d managed to find in her fridge. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. They ate quietly, the comfortable silence stretching between them like a bridge slowly being rebuilt.

When they finished, Soonyoung stood, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. Y/N followed him to the door, her heart pounding in her chest, the fear of him leaving creeping back in despite his promises.

But before she could say anything, he turned to her, cupping her face gently in his hands. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

“I’ll call you as soon as I land,” he whispered. “And I’ll be back before you know it.”

She nodded, her throat tight with emotion. “Okay.”

He smiled, his eyes shining with something deep and unspoken. “Remember what I said, Y/N. You’re not alone anymore.”

And with that, he stepped out into the quiet morning, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him. But this time, it didn’t feel like an ending.

It felt like the beginning of something new.

[oopsiedaisydeer]

ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴏᴜᴛʜ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴍʏ ᴇᴀʀ

…𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘣𝘢𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭

angst, smut (mostly descriptive), friends to lovers, unresolved, no happy ending, suggestive, making out, heartbreak, emotional manipulation, self-destructive behavior, toxic dynamics, fluff if u squint, romance, intimacy, friends with benefits, betrayal, unrequited love?, slow burn, self-sabotage

listen to the song that inspired this fic while reading!

word count - 3k

Matt has a scar on his temple. She��s always liked to run her hand over it. The first time she tried, he flinched, batted her hand away, mumbled something about personal space.

She stopped after that. Until one day, he caught her staring.

"You wanna hear a story?" he asked, grinning like he had a secret. "Got mauled by a bear once. Barely made it out."

She almost called his bluff. Almost.

Instead, she smiled, seeing it for what it was... permission. To touch him. To know him in ways he wouldn’t always say.

Maybe she loves that he never tells the truth straight. Maybe she loves that she doesn't really understand him.

Maybe she just loves him.

It was not always a thing. Her… curiousity. Affection. Desire.

When they were very little, she used to follow him and his brothers around. It was easy to. Not to mention that people liked them, because they were charming, and funny, and genuine. She stuck by Matt's side through school, feeling safe and protected under his wing like a small bird. He teased her, sure, even back then. Always sitting beside him, walking directly behind him, looking out for his reaction when she told a joke or shared a story.

Eventually, they reached that age where it was only natural for her to distance herself slightly. Things became less ritual, less assumed, and she found herself asking for permission, looking for his affirmation, seeking out his validation.

Sometime after 10th grade, she started spending the night again. Mostly in Matt’s room. He let her in. And she took what she could get. They didn’t ever cuddle or anything. Mostly Matt would talk, and she would listen. She absorbed everything, every word, every silence. The care she had for him ran so deep she felt it inside sometimes, to the rhythm of her heartbeat, spreading through her like oxygen. He asks her questions sometimes, questions that a part of her finds silly and stupid, his boyish brain not quite at her contemplative level. She forced herself not to mind. To appreciate it.

When she does talk, in those late hours, staring up at the ceiling, she can tell he’s not really listening. He’s too… wrapped up in himself. It’s not that he doesn’t care. He’s probably just stressed. 

She hopes Matt cares. Maybe he does, just not as much as her. He likes the safety of the distance between them. But just enough, sure, maybe he cares.

That night, they end up in his room. He always lets her stay when the world gets too loud. Everything feels too quiet, too intimate here. It’s a comfortable space, familiar in a way that makes her want to curl up and stay forever. She rests her head against his pillow, the soft fabric of his sleeve brushing against her forehead as she stares at the ceiling.

When she wakes, they’re the closest they’ve ever been. The sunlight manages to shine directly into the corner of her eye, so she squints. And then she sees him. Feels him. He’s holding her, his arm draped over her waist, hand grazing her stomach as her back leans against him. She sees him so clearly. Pulling her toward him in the most innocent of ways.

She feels the goodness radiating off her bones and she becomes fearful. That he’s probably known all along, even when she hasn’t. That she likes him. Really, really likes him. 

The heat doesn’t overcome the fear then, it doesn’t pool in her stomach until much, much later. It’s not till they’re eating cereal, all of them together, and someone is telling a story, and all she can do is watch as Matt suppresses his laughter. She can’t help but see the little boy in him, always. Nothing about him is malevolent to her. Even when he smirks, teasing or mocking her, she feels nothing but warmth.

She goes to parties, tries to find another guy, another boy to kiss to avoid even thinking of Matt like that. It doesn’t work of course.

She gives away her virginity to the boy in her math class. The one who didn’t mean any harm and therefore, doesn’t cause her any. He doesn’t make her feel good, but she holds him close to hide his face so that she can tug on the brown hair and pretend all is well.

And then one night, when she finally admits to herself that none of it is working, she allows her mind to wander. To truly contemplate, what it might be like. To be loved like that. By him. 

She doesn’t drift for more than mere seconds before she finally feels the warmth return. In her mind, her thoughts recall how Matt's lips hover above her ear at parties just before he leaves her alone in the corner. She could come already, it’s pathetic.

The fantasy is shattered when she remembers him kissing another girl right after.

She’s not jealous. She doesn’t need to, doesn’t want to feel special. He lets her in and that’s enough.

She touches herself to kill the emotion, replaying the scene from an outsider’s perspective. His lips on her ear. His lips on her ear. His lips on her ear. It rewinds and distorts but it’s no matter. She’s already sticky and shameful, childlike. 

She doesn’t dare to do it again, she already regrets it and can’t look him in the eye anymore. It’s almost like he knows about the sick fantasy, and he's constantly trying to catch her with his eyes like a hunter. 

It’s only because of this that she pictures him beneath her. His eyes so wide and disconcerted, like a deer in headlights. Just like a baby animal, and her fear dissipates to the rhythm of her touch, pretending, praying that the emotion will die once more if she gives the fantasy just enough room to breathe.

And then one night they’re talking about love, true love. Their beliefs, hopes and truths, and she lies, she lies like she loves him and wants to protect him. Treats herself like the one in the wrong. She knows that this conversation is only happening because nothing will ever happen between them. She hopes that that's true because she can’t handle the end of her love, not in the way he can.

Sometime between their complete and utter closeness, they both find comfort in others. She still searches for Matt though, always, always, always.

Sometime between the external comfort, they find their way back to his room, his bed. And he holds her again, more and more these days and she wonders why.

And it’s sick and twisted because it happens. In his bed. His lips hovering on her ear, expressing his shallow gratitude. She can’t help it, she gasps lightly. It’s the best she can manage without taking advantage of his closeness.

Unfortunately, Matt notices it, and he whispers again. 

“Do you like it baby?”, she feels his warmth breath coat her like the sun, “My mouth on your ear?”

Something shrivels up and dies inside her then, the reluctance, the pre-emptive disappointment, and she nods, squirming in his grip. “Mhm,” she whines. They fall asleep like that, cuddling like lovers as Matt whispers in her ear, sending her into a beautiful trance.

In the morning, they don’t speak of it. He’s there, a vessel of her comfort as always. Days pass, and she touches herself again, thoughts of Matt creeping in as always. 

They remain who they’ve always been to the outside world. Friends. Good friends. But back in his room, as she leans against the wall his bed touches, she doesn’t feel anything like that. 

He’s sitting at his desk, back to her.

“Matt,” she says, her voice quiet, but he turns around as the silence hangs in the air between them, sharp and fragile. “Do you ever think about... us?”

He looks at her, his brow furrowing slightly, and for the first time, she sees something flicker in his eyes. Uncertainty. He chuckles, but it’s not his usual carefree laugh. It’s tight, almost defensive.

“What do you mean, ‘us’?” he asks, trying to mask the tension in his voice with the ease he’s perfected over the years.

She takes a breath, the weight of her own words heavier than she expected. She knows this is risky, but it’s impossible to hold it in any longer. “I mean… us, as more than just…” She gestures between them, frustrated, unsure how to finish the sentence without sounding foolish. “More than just… how we are. What we are.”

He shifts, his posture stiffening. His hand tightens against the armrest, his jaw set. “We’ve always been like this,” he says, and there’s that familiar nonchalance, the wall he’s always built between them. “Don’t need anything else. It’s enough.”

Her chest tightens, the words falling flat even as she tries to smile. “Maybe,” she whispers, but her voice shakes. “But what about me?”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat that lingers too long in the air between them. And for the briefest moment, she swears she sees something flicker in his eyes. Something softer, something afraid.

But then it’s gone, hidden behind that same smile that’s never quite reached his eyes.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” he says, more to himself than to her, his voice a little too calm. “You know that.”

She nods, the weight of his words sinking in. She’s heard this before… just never to her. She should know better, shouldn’t she? But it feels different this time. It feels like a denial, not just of her feelings, but of something they could have shared. Maybe she’s been fooling herself all along.

“I know,” she says, her voice small, barely audible over the noise. “I know.”

It's still not over after that conversation. She’s still completely at his mercy and she can’t bring herself to walk away, to shatter. It’s like she wants him to hurt her. For it to be his fault, and not hers. She tells herself she can move on, that she can bury the feelings that have only been growing with each passing moment. She’s had enough of the games. Enough of the waiting. Even edging herself and relieving herself does little good.

It’s just not that simple.

The next few days pass in a blur. She tries to keep her distance, but something keeps drawing her back to him…like a magnetic pull she can’t escape, the years, the way he’s always been there. And then there’s a moment, late one night, when everything just cracks. They’re in his room again, the same room that’s always felt like home and a cage at the same time. She’s sitting on the edge of his bed, talking about nothing and everything, and then he’s there, too close again.

And before she even knows what’s happening, his lips are on hers.

It’s not like the kisses she’s had before, quick and careless, stolen moments that never meant anything. This one is different. This one makes her feel like she’s floating, like she’s finally found a place she’s meant to be. She’s shocked, clawing at the air for a second. Then his hand cups the side of her face, and she presses closer, her fingers gripping the back of his shirt, pulling him in.

It’s a moment that feels like everything. Like it’s all been leading to this. And for a little while, she forgets about the rules he’s laid down. She forgets about the distance he’s kept between them. She just lets herself feel it, the heat, the intensity, the way his lips move against hers like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

He groans into her mouth, and pulls away abruptly. But she’s desperate, kissing him again as they fall down onto the bed, their chests pressed against each other. 

Somehow the moment is passionate, the way he undresses her, caresses her, tells her she’s beautiful. He whispers in her ear as he moves within her and she whimpers, closer and closer to the high she’s been yearning for. 

His mouth trails over her chest as she arches her back away from him. He cups her breast with his warm hand, kneading it and massaging it. “I love how you respond to me, to my touch.”

He enters her slower, deeper, “I want you to feel it baby. I want you to feel good. Feel loved.” She moans at his words and looks back staring into his eyes, the innocent gaze of a friend she’s known for as long as she’s known her own name. They both come with a final rough movment from him and collapse onto each other.

It feels loving, like devotion, and when he eventually pulls out, she feels full of bliss. 

He gets on his knees pulling on his shirt before glancing back at her. She pours all of her love into her post-orgasm stare. He smiles, shy, before looking back down and kneeling down to kiss her core. Slowly but surely, he overstimulates her, making out with the most private part of her, cleaning her, loving her.

She smiles, content. Empty, but newly joined. Hopeful. 

But the next morning, everything is different.

He’s distant again, almost like nothing happened. His eyes avoid hers, and the silence stretches between them like an ocean, too wide to cross. He doesn’t mention the kiss. Doesn’t acknowledge what happened after.

This time, it’s different though. She knows it, and he knows it. The unspoken tension hangs in the air between them, undeniable. They don’t say the words, but there’s a shift. A silent agreement in the way he watches her when he thinks she's not looking, the way she can’t stop looking at him, even as she tries to pretend like it doesn’t matter.

Eventually, after days of this unspoken tension, Matt says something. Casual, almost teasing, like they’re joking, like nothing matters.

“You think we could do this... and whatever? A compromise?” he says, voice low but eyes still holding hers.

She knows what he means. And she knows that this isn’t the kind of thing that can be taken back. It’s an offer, a dangerous one, and she’s so close to refusing, but instead, she finds herself nodding. She’s done pretending. She’s done with the half-truths.

“I’m fine with it,” she murmurs. “Don’t need much more.”

Matt looks at her, eyes sharp. “We can make this work,” he promises, but the words are hollow. She knows that. The question hangs there between them, a fragile thread strung across a chasm of things unsaid. He knows it too. But he won't say it.

They’re tangled together in the silence that follows, a pact neither of them can take back. It’s something they’ve both tried to avoid for so long. But now, in the wake of everything they’ve built up and torn down, it feels like the only thing left to do.

The bed feels too small for both of them, a tight coil that she can't escape. She lies back, her head sinking into the pillow, the weight of the room pressing down on her. Matt’s silhouette stands over her, a shadow she can’t shake off. The space between them is thick, suffocating. She breathes in, and the air feels heavier, as though every inch she takes toward him is another step toward the inevitable.

She tells herself it’s fine, that it’s just for now, just something to fill the space between them, to fill the gaps in the way they’ve always existed. No expectations. No pressure.

But as they fall into each other again, the boundaries blur, and everything shifts. The kisses feel deeper, the touches linger longer. He holds her. He holds her. His mouth over her ear.

She’s still scared, still bracing herself for the inevitable crash, the heartbreak she knows will come when it’s over. But right now, she can’t bring herself to care.

She should feel anger, or sadness… maybe both. But instead, she feels something worse: a sick, hollow longing. It's the kind of want that gnaws at her, the kind of want that tells her that even knowing this will hurt her, she would still do it. She would still step forward. Because for the first time in too long, something feels real, even if it’s doomed..

She’s already made her bed. She might as well lie down with him.

She’s always known this would happen. She’s always known Matt would leave her wanting, never giving enough to truly stay, yet always giving just enough to keep her hooked. But now, with the decisive touches, the silence, the empty space between them, it’s different. The fear she used to feel…fear that he might hurt her, might break her heart, is gone. There’s no surprise in it anymore. There’s only a cold certainty, a sharp knowledge of how deep the hurt will run.

And somehow, she feels it before it even happens… the ache of knowing this will end badly. But there's a strange warmth in the hurt. The promise of it. A twisted comfort, like preparing for a storm you can't stop, but somehow want. The thought of it burns, and she lets it. 

She knows how it will feel when it all unravels, but she can’t help the thrill that shivers up her spine. She can’t help the way her chest tightens with anticipation, knowing just how bad it will get.

She’s looking forward to the kill.

She’ll lie in this bed she made, her heart tangled in him, and she’ll let it consume her, because it’s the only thing that’s ever felt true.

creds to rose @bernardsbendystraws for the dividers!!!

+ thank u @cowboylikenat for ur feedback <3

a/n: i swore i'd never write smut yet here we are.

taglist: @blushsturns @sturnslutz @snoopychris @sturnshood @sturns-mermaid @chrissweetheart comment to be added to my main (non-au) taglist!!

till next time!!!!

[mixingandmelting]

Hey so how do you think Tim and Dick would deal with going to this specific: Bar/cafe/coffee/candy shop to buy something just to have the excuse to see another customer they started crushing on after a conversation the first time they went there and at some point down the line after asking this customer s/o out, they find s/o’s stash of goodies from the place in a draw in the kitchen at s/o place and s/o walks in on this “I forgot about those in there. I needed an excuse to talk to you”?

A/N: The temptation to write a full out fic for Tim was so real. 😭😂Honestly, this is by far the cutest request I've gotten

Dick:

The original purpose of going to the animal cafe in Bludhaven with Damian was so he could get the teen off his case. For ten days, he would come and terrorize him every night in an act of revenge for all the crap he was given by the whole family for getting grounded. Yes, as the eldest sibling he shouldn't have teased him so much but come on. The teen ran around Gotham, taking down each criminal while holding the giant Bat Signal in its lit state. How could he not? 

Promising to take him there for a whole week, it was on the first day of the seven he met you and the gray rabbit who would eventually become his wingman in winning you over. Resembling Haley, it was as if the rabbit knew the two of you were meant to be when the small thing hopped from you to him, then turning his head towards you to beck you over so Dick could get guided on how to hold and properly pet him. Every day, the rabbit would do this, leading the two of you to get closer to one another where soon, it started to come as natural for him to walk up and sit next to you. 

He knew he was completely hooked as Damian had once come up and whispered with disdain how he was “ogling” you, to which he still argues he was admiring. It was what led to him to start bringing Haley to the cafe on his days-off, smiling as he always saw you with the same fluffy, gray rabbit in your lap, munching on a carrot whenever he entered the shop. All to take a chance and worm his way into your heart.

Now he’s happily living with you under the same roof. Along with becoming Haley’s other parent,  you’ve been helping him get situated with the newly adopted rabbit he saved during his last mission (though he has yet to bring up that the rabbit was actually illegally acquired and was formerly used to energize a bio weapon). 

For right now, he’s helping you find your library card, scorching the whole unit from bathroom to the living room. 

“Did you check your desk yet?”

“No, I didn’t get that far!” 

While you go through the dresser, he stands behind you and goes through your desk. Keys, notepads, paper clips, oh wait. Maybe? Pulling a card out from between your notebooks, he opens his mouth to tell you he may have found it only to stop from recognizing the logo and the date written on it. 

“Did you find it, Dick?” You ask when you don’t hear any shuffling from him for a while. 

“No. But,” he waves the card at you as you turn to face him, “I didn’t know you had a crush on me for that long.” 

His smirk stretches wider into a grin, gleefully watching your confusion and frustration merging into horror as it registers what exactly he’s holding. 

“I… completely forgot I left that there.”  Your voice barely above a whisper to which he nearly tells you it’s fine since he got you to flush from head to toe. 

Instead, he takes a step forward, his fingers gingerly wrap around your wrist before pulling you towards him. Nuzzling his cheek into your hair, he occasionally lifts his head up and presses lips on your forehead, nose, and cheeks.

“Cute”, “precious”, and “I love you”s are what he says in between each one before planting one last kiss on your lips. 

He chuckles from the random noise you make when you duck down to hide your embarrassment. Then sighs in content, words unable to express how he’s fallen head over heels for you all over again.

Tim:

The day he first met and had a crush on you was definitely a memorable one. It started as two random, sleep-deprived students standing in line at the only coffee shop closest to campus. Until he, his sleep deprived mind, and caffeine withdrawal spilled his coffee onto you as soon as he got it off the counter. Great first impression he left as you both went into full out panic, you trying to tell him it was fine while he kept apologizing and promised to, at least, pay for your drink. 

He still cringes at the moment, especially when he later found out once he was on friendlier terms with you, that you were more upset that it was your favorite shirt that had gotten ruined. Your Red Robin shirt to be exact. But now looking back, had it not happened he would’ve never gotten your number, nonetheless talked to you. It would’ve become another normal day in his life without the person who currently gives him joy in his life.

He lost track of how many times he went to that coffee shop just so he could bump and get closer to you.  For a while, coffee became his go to for caffeine when Babs had asked once why he was pouring the coffee from her coffee pot rather than drinking his usual energy drink during a Batfam meeting. 

As the saying goes, hard work pays off. Currently, he’s helping you pack so you could move to what you affectionately call his “dingy old” boat to which has upgraded to becoming somewhat habitable after you visited him more and helped organize his space and belongings. 

“Hey, did you pack your stuff in the drawers?”

He picks up the word “no” coming from the bedroom. Giving you the heads up he was going to start working there, he grabs another empty box and continues to open the drawers in the kitchen. Nothing stands out, the typical utensils organized in their respective holders until his hand nudges onto something in the very back corner that holds your silverware. 

A tiny smile dances on his lips as he pulls out and recognizes your stack of punch cards to the coffee shop the two of you now frequently go to together. You did mention you always liked that place long before the two of you dated. Never thought it was this much. Giving it a good look, he starts considering where he should place it since it was obvious that you were keeping them until the date on the very top card registers in his head. 

“Tim? What are you doing? Do you know how many times I called you-”

His fingertips matching the same red as his neck and face, he wordlessly turns towards you. Slowly your face starts turning the same color, your lips in the shape of a tiny “o” from recognizing what exactly he was holding and what mostly just occurred.  

“You… liked me?” He couldn’t manage uttering the “for that long” part out loud. Thankfully, and another reason why he loves you, you’re quick to catch on what he means as you start looking everywhere but him. 

“Y-Yeah.” It comes out so softly yet he can hear it loud and clear. “I, um, needed an excuse to see you again.” 

He doesn’t know what expression he’s making when he walks up to you. Nor did he have any thoughts in general. His head is in the clouds  right now, finding out how much he’s loved back that makes him love you even more. Adore you even more. Softly he brushes stray hair away from your face. 

“I love you.”

And he leans forward to seal his words in both your and his heart.

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Hey! I'm not sure if you received my ask about the Haitani brothers (separate) headcanons with a clumsy reader? Of course i'm not rushing you or anything like that! but Tumblr can be tricky sometimes and requests don't always get sent, so i was just wondering lol

Have a good day/night!

No I didn't see anything like that in my ask box but here are a few!

Ran

Can be very teasing about it at times, not in a harsh way but more of a lighthearted way.

If you accidentally walk into him, he uses it as an excuse to flirt,something about how you just need to be close to him.

Will frequently put his hands on your hips to steer you through crowds

Takes the whole thing in a pretty lighthearted way, if you were to drop a glass, he'd just shrug and say that it's not a big deal, he can buy another etc.

Sometimes uses your clumsiness to make the worst pickup lines like "you can drop other things but don't drop my heart ;)" He's terrible.

Helps you out quickly and calmly anytime you accidentally hurt yourself.

Is so quick to throw hands if someone insults you over it. He tends to ask them to repeat what they just said while he has a dangerous look in his eyes.

Rindou

Takes the fall for you a lot in public, like if you accidentally knock something over, he'll very quickly and loudly go "my bad" so he get's the blame for it.

Will occasionally tease but is a lot more reassuring towards you during clumsy moments, telling you that it's ok.

Insists on cleaning up any mess you do accidentally cause (especially if glass is involved)

The first few times you accidentally walked into him he was surprised but also a little flustered by it. Eventually he has a small smile whenever you it, he doesn't tell you this but he finds it kind of endearing. 

Tends to be a little more panicky if you accidentally hurt yourself but helps the best he can.

He's very good at catching you if you accidentally slip

Is also very quick to defend you if anyone dares to insult you over it. He immediately throws a punch/ insults them back. 

[goshikisbaee]

How you and Haikyuu boys met 𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚

Content: Fluff

[ Iwaizumi, Goshiki, Koganegawa ]

———

HAJIME IWAIZUMI

You met Iwaizumi through a mutual friend—most likely someone from his team or your social circle. At first, he didn’t seem all that approchable. His serious, no-nonsense attitude made him seem a bit intimidating, especially since you had heard about him being the “scary” one of the group. But you were curious.

The first time you interacted with him was during a group outing. He’d been sitting off to the side, keeping to himself, while everyone else was chatting. You happened to end up next to him, maybe out of pure coincidence, or because you were the only one who wasn’t too intimidated to strike up a conversation.

You had initially thought he was going to brush you off, but to your surprise, he responded with short, but honest answers. It wasn’t long before the two of you found something in common—whether it was a shared interest in sports, a love for food, or an unexpected bond over how both of you preferred things to be quiet and simple.

There was something about his bluntness that wasn’t off-putting; in fact, you kind of found it refreshing. The more you talked, the more you realized he wasn’t as harsh as people made him seem. He was just direct, and maybe a little socially awkward, especially when it came to expressing emotions. Still, you could tell there was depth beneath the surface.

Over time, you ran into him more often. Whether it was by chance or planned, each interaction felt a little more comfortable. Iwaizumi wasn’t the type to initiate deep conversations, but with you, he began to open up bit by bit. He’d share small pieces of himself—a joke, an offhand comment, or a rare compliment—before retreating back into his usual, guarded self.

One day, after a long conversation about the team and life in general, Iwaizumi gave you a small, genuine smile, something so rare and so soft, you knew it meant something. It was in that moment you realized that, beneath all his tough guy exterior, there was someone who truly appreciated you for who you were.

From then on, you and Iwaizumi started spending more time together. Your friendship slowly blossomed into something more, with both of you eventually realizing how much you cared for each other. He wasn’t the most obvious romantic, but when he kissed you for the first time, it was as if all the words he had trouble saying were wrapped up in that single, quiet moment.

Iwaizumi would never admit it, but he was happy you didn’t give up on him when others would’ve. You saw past the walls he put up, and that’s what made your bond so special.

TSUTOMU GOSHIKI

You met Goshiki by pure chance—maybe you were friends with one of the other members of his team or just happened to cross paths at a social event. It was your first year in high school, and Goshiki was already known for being both a bit of a show-off and someone who was a little too self-assured for his own good.

At first, you didn’t think much of him. He was loud and always trying to get attention, whether it was through boasting about his skills or being extra enthusiastic about everything. But there was something about him that kept you curious. Maybe it was the fact that he could never quite mask his vulnerability, no matter how much he tried to act tough.

The first time you really interacted was at a school event—perhaps a sports game or a class project. He noticed you standing on the sidelines, and with his usual overconfidence, decided to approach you. Goshiki didn’t waste time with small talk; he went straight to cracking jokes and showing off a little, trying to impress you. You couldn’t help but laugh at how over-the-top he was, and that seemed to take him by surprise.

He didn’t expect you to actually get his humor, let alone laugh at his antics. That was when he decided to make it his mission to impress you, not just through his usual bravado, but by actually trying to show his true self.

It wasn’t until later, when you both worked together on a group project or shared some downtime at school, that you began to see the real Goshiki—the one who, despite his cocky exterior, was a little insecure underneath it all. He wasn’t just the brash guy who loved attention. He had a deeper side, one that wanted to be understood and valued for who he really was, not just for his abilities or his showmanship.

You started spending more time together, and the more you got to know him, the more you realized that he had this unintentional charm. Goshiki might’ve been a little over-the-top, but he was also sincere in his own quirky way. Whenever you were around, his confidence seemed to be both genuine and a bit of a front. He always tried to make you laugh, showing off little talents he wasn’t entirely confident in, but you saw the nervous energy behind them.

The turning point came one evening after practice when Goshiki opened up to you, admitting that sometimes he felt like he was never good enough, no matter how much he tried. He was surprised by how easy it was to talk to you, and your comforting words made him realize how much he truly cared about you.

From then on, Goshiki started becoming more open with you, revealing the parts of himself that he usually kept hidden. His feelings toward you grew, and one day, after a long day of practicing, he nervously confessed, his face red and his hands slightly shaking. “I think I… I like you, a lot.”

He was probably one of the most awkward confessors you’d ever seen, but there was something so sincere about it. You smiled, and without hesitation, you told him you felt the same way.

Goshiki might be loud and a little over-the-top at times, but in private moments, he was a soft, sweet boyfriend who would always try to put your needs before his. He’d often show his love through small gestures, like leaving a random snack in your bag or complimenting you in his awkward, yet sincere, way. He might have been full of energy on the outside, but with you, he was completely real, and that’s why your relationship worked so well.

KANJI KOGANEGAWA

You met Koganegawa in the loudest, most chaotic way possible—because that’s just how he is. Maybe you were watching a practice match at Date Tech, or you had mutual friends who introduced you. Either way, your first impression of him was overwhelming.

Koganegawa was loud, excitable, and completely lacking in a filter. The first time he talked to you, he shouted your name despite only just learning it, and immediately started bragging about how he was going to be the best setter in all of Japan. You didn’t even know how to respond—was he serious?

At first, you thought he was just another cocky athlete, but the more you watched him, the more you realized he was more enthusiastic than arrogant. He was desperate to improve, always asking his teammates for advice (even when they looked so done with him), and he had this raw, unwavering determination that was actually kind of impressive.

The first time you really connected was after practice one day. You were sitting on the sidelines, waiting for a friend, when Koganegawa plopped down next to you, completely exhausted. He groaned dramatically about how volleyball was so hard and that no matter how much he practiced, he still made mistakes.

You laughed, and for once, he actually listened instead of just talking. You told him that improvement takes time, that he was already growing so much, and that his passion was one of his best qualities. He blinked at you in surprise, his usual loud personality dimming for a second. Then, with the biggest grin, he shouted, “You really think so?! That’s so cool of you!”

From that moment on, Koganegawa basically latched onto you. He started seeking you out after practice, randomly dropping facts about volleyball, and getting way too excited whenever you cheered for him. He wasn’t subtle about his feelings at all—if he liked you, you knew.

The official confession came in the most Koganegawa way possible. He ran up to you after a game, still sweaty and out of breath, and yelled (in front of everyone), “HEY! I THINK I REALLY REALLY LIKE YOU! DATE ME?”

Everyone turned to stare. His teammates groaned. You wanted to disappear from the embarrassment.

But when you saw the nervous way he was shifting on his feet, the way his face was so red, you realized just how genuine he was.

You laughed, nodded, and said, “Okay, okay, but maybe next time, don’t confess like you’re announcing a game score.”

Koganegawa might be loud, a little clueless, and way too energetic, but he’s also one of the most genuine people you’ve ever met. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and when he loves you, he makes sure the whole world knows it.

———

[sturniololuvz]

Can you do a really angsty sister fic but with a cute ending but it’s very angsty

yesss! here ya go!

“Unnoticed”

Sturniolos x sister

Warnings : none rlly.

Y/N had always been the odd one out.

She knew her brothers loved her—of course, they did. But love and attention weren’t the same things, and lately, it felt like she had been completely erased from their world.

Chris, Matt, and Nick had each other. They always had. Three inseparable pieces of the same puzzle. And Y/N? She was just the extra. The fourth wheel in a group that never needed one.

At first, she tried to brush it off. They were busy, that was all. Filming, traveling, editing, working on their brand. She told herself it wasn’t personal.

But then the missed dinners started.

Then the unanswered texts.

Then the times she walked into a room only for them to leave moments later, too wrapped up in their own lives to notice her standing there, screaming on the inside.

She stopped trying.

If she didn’t reach out, would they?

If she didn’t show up, would they even notice?

Days turned into weeks, and it became painfully clear that the answer was no.

The final straw came on a night that should have been normal. She had been in her room for hours, curled up in bed, feeling the weight of her own insignificance pressing down on her chest. She wasn’t crying—she was past that.

Then she heard them downstairs, laughing. Loud, carefree, completely oblivious.

She checked her phone. Not a single message from any of them.

They were all together.

And she wasn’t even a thought in their heads.

Something inside her snapped.

She grabbed her jacket and slipped out the front door without bothering to text them. It wasn’t like they’d care.

It was cold. The wind stung her skin, but she barely felt it. Her legs carried her forward, away from the house, away from the suffocating loneliness that had settled in her bones.

She ended up at an empty park, sitting on the swings, her hands gripping the rusted chains as she stared blankly ahead.

She wanted to disappear.

Not in a dramatic way—she didn’t want to die or anything. She just wanted to stop existing in this way. Half-there. Half-seen. Half-loved.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it. Probably just some random notification.

But then it buzzed again. And again.

Frowning, she pulled it out.

Chris: Where are you?

Matt: Y/N, answer the phone.

Nick: Are you okay? Where’d you go?

A bitter laugh bubbled up in her throat. Now they noticed? Now they cared?

She stuffed the phone back in her pocket, ignoring the way her hands trembled.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

Then—footsteps. Rushed, frantic. And suddenly, all three of them were there, panting, their faces pale with worry.

Chris was the first to speak. “What the hell, Y/N?” His voice was sharp, but his eyes were soft. Scared. “You just left without saying anything!”

Y/N stared at them, expression blank. “You would’ve noticed eventually.”

Matt flinched. “Of course we would have—”

“Would you?” she interrupted, her voice cracking. “Because I don’t think you would’ve. I don’t think you would’ve even realized if I stayed in my room for days, or if I stopped coming home at all.”

Silence.

Nick took a shaky breath. “Y/N… that’s not true.”

“Yes, it is,” she whispered, feeling the lump in her throat grow. “I’m invisible to you guys. I’m just there—some extra piece that doesn’t fit. And you don’t even see me.”

Chris stepped forward, guilt written all over his face. “Y/N, we—”

She shook her head. “I used to be your sister. Now I’m just a background character in your lives.” Her voice broke on the last word, and she hated herself for it.

Matt looked like he wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Because she was right.

And they all knew it.

Nick ran a hand over his face, looking like he was about to cry. “I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “We never meant to make you feel like this. We just—” He exhaled shakily. “We fucked up.”

Chris swallowed hard, his hands balling into fists. “You’re not invisible to us, Y/N.” His voice was thick with emotion. “You’re our sister. Our baby sister. And we love you more than anything. We just… we got so caught up in everything else that we didn’t realize we were pushing you away.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes, shaking her head. “I don’t need some guilt-driven apology.”

Matt stepped closer, his voice gentle. “We’re not just apologizing. We’re fixing this. Because you’re right—we haven’t been there for you. And that’s not okay.”

Nick nodded. “We miss you, Y/N. And we’re not letting this happen again.”

Chris hesitated for only a second before pulling her into a crushing hug, burying his face in her hair.

And for the first time in forever, she felt seen.

Matt and Nick wrapped their arms around them too, holding her tightly, as if afraid she’d slip away if they let go.

She sniffled. “You guys are so annoying.”

Chris chuckled, his voice muffled. “Yeah, but we’re your annoying brothers.”

A small, watery smile tugged at her lips. Maybe—just maybe—she wasn’t so invisible after all.

[phyrestartr]

Sacrosanct | Adrian Tepes x M!Reader | (PT.2)

Part 1 | Part 2

W/C: 4.4k C/W: mentions of emotional abuse, blood and gore, canon-typical violence, religion, religious abuse, religious themes, death, mentions of death, depression, alcohol abuse Tags: PLOT!, SFW, eventual NSFW/sexual themes, drama, repressed romantic feelings, slow-ish burn, childhood friends, starts s4 (eventually moving into nocturne), mutual pining, angst and drama, hurt/comfort, reader is kind of an ass lol summoning: @vr00m-vr00m

2. Say Thine Name So I Might Repeat It

Dreams weren't meant to replay malady of the flesh. They were to ache spiritually, emotionally, psychologically; they reopened wounds of the mind and heart, forcing one to wake, trembling and wide-eyed. 

Your dreamscape didn't abide by such rules. Instead, it afflicted every bit of your being and punished you for your sheer audacity to exist; pain bloomed wherever hungry claws and spiteful blades punctured; your lungs thought themselves ruined by sour, sulfurous smoke; your muscles ached and burned as though you ran through scoured, unhallowed grounds once more. Yet when you'd wake, you'd find no injuries, no visible effect the forgotten world had left on you, but the pain would stay. It was the sole thing that vowed to never leave you. 

On those nights, the ones ruined by nightmares, you'd wander through the halls, rubbing your skin raw to rid yourself of the phantom pains. You'd coast to the same place, eventually, to the one room you knew you shouldn't go to but couldn't stay away from. 

Carefully, you opened the door to Alucard's chamber and sauntered inside, footsteps nothing but a whisper beneath bare feet. You avoided spots where floorboards creaked as you crossed the room and sat yourself down in the chair set beside the window, perfectly angled for you to peer at the sleeping beauty dozing in bed. 

You pulled your legs up to your chest as you watched him. He deserved peace. He deserved to benefit from the sort of vengeance he wrought upon his father on behalf of humankind, though he'd never see it that way; that view was too factual, too void of emotion. Young immortal things didn't do well when it came to seeing the bigger picture. 

“Though, I should give you credit,” you whispered to yourself. “You put aside those useless feelings to protect humans, didn't you?” 

You took a long, deep breath and gazed out the window, staring deep into the moon-dappled forest. 

“Affection,” you continued, "It's such a pathetic, weak thing. It betrays. It's a beautiful falsity of human needs and desires, yet it is not real enough to be worth the turmoil and grief it curses living things with.” 

You rubbed your face and forced your shoulders not to tremble, to instead stay still. Yet your gaze wandered back to Adrian and his moonlit complexion, his rich golden hair, his familiar, otherworldly features. 

You went to his bedside. The soft scent of wine, leather and rosewater—the fragrance that followed the vampire like a smudging spectre—beckoned you closer. It reminded you of that wretchedly warm past you shared, back when you were both foolish and young, when you wholeheartedly got along.

You sat with him on the wide sill of the library's most towering window. His knees were pulled up, and his face was buried into his arms as he lamented, “Mother's gone again.” 

You looked at him, brows furrowed from the chronic annoyance and confusion you'd been made with.

“Tsch, don't mope. You're ten already.” And you were only eight, yet you knew better than him, you'd decided long ago. “You should be more of a man.” 

“Pft, like you know how to be a man,” Adrian mocked. He lifted his head and peered at you with eyes of mirthful topaz.

Your cheeks puffed with defiance, and you kicked him. 

“Ow!” Adrian rubbed at his shin and blocked your next attack. “Keep your stupid, stubby legs away from me!” 

“Stubby legs?!” Your face flushed molten hot. You kicked at him with reckless abandon, and Adrian had the gall to laugh. “They are certainly not stubby!” 

“They are.” He caught you by the ankles and yanked, sending you, and consequently himself, tumbling down to the floor where he scrambled to hold you down while you squirmed to get free. 

Quickly, like a rabbit in a wolf’s jaws, you gave up and melted into the floorboards, letting the little blonde menace pin you with a smug smile. You mustered the fiercest pout you could in retaliation. 

“I gave up—you didn't win,” you whined. 

“No, I've won, fair and square,” Adrian said. “Did you even try?” 

“I said I gave up!” 

Adrian rolled his eyes and got off, flopping onto the ground next to you. 

“It's not fun if you don't even try,” he sighed. 

“I don't caaare.” You rolled onto your stomach and wriggled closer to him again. “You're a dreadful winner.” 

“You're an annoying loser.”

You huffed. “Horrible wretch.”

With as much care as a child could muster, you combed out the tangles in Adrian's blonde mane. The boy made a show of each ‘ow’ with every knot you worked free, but you ignored him, too intent on starting a new collection of braids in his long, lovely hair.

“Don't make them too small,” Adrian hummed, voice sleepy and warm. “Mother'll get upset again.”

Your mouth turned downwards in a rainbow of a frown. “I’m not daft! I listened to what your mother said, Adrian!” You shifted on your elbows and ran your fingers through his hair again. It carried the soft scent of rosewater. “You're incredibly horrible, you know.” 

The other snorted, but otherwise fell silent, content to let you do whatever you wanted. 

Your eyes buzzed. Every inch of your skin vibrated when that forgotten, sealed-away thing yawned awake inside of you. It found what bound it and gave a lame tug, testing, pushing, but not yet attempting to break free in pursuit; there were too many unknowns, too many uncertainties, and answers did not yet lay in sight. 

You swallowed. You straightened your posture and fixed creases and crinkles in your clothes, paying close attention to imperfections over your heart. 

“You've just come back,” you whispered. “Don't make things complicated, you fool.” 

But our mere existence is complicated, that horrible, caged creature lamented. It's all so, so complicated, isn't it?

You clenched your teeth and turned sharply away from Adrian's bed—but your boot caught something, giving you pause.

You followed the sound of leather skidding across hardwood and spied a book: leather, antique, worn. It boasted embossed, flaked gold text and symbols that summoned festering terror and wonder like a flesh-eating disease. 

Ars Goetia. 

Your lip curled; you hated that thing. You hated everything associated with Solomon. You hated the fact that his wicked knowledge had granted you the illusion of salvation.

Everything in your being willed you to take the grimoire, to forget the pleasant past and shake Adrian awake to demand answers. The unholy terror you still lived with wanted to take control and erase all evidence of Hell and its acolytes—

But Adrian shifted. Just a twitch, just the most minute, kinetic pulse in a still person.

And you stared. Holding your breath, clenching your teeth, refusing to blink, you watched and waited, hoping you hadn't just seen evidence of wakefulness. But you had. It was too clear. 

So you left, resisting the childish urge to lash out; you could ask questions tomorrow, you could destroy that God forsaken book tomorrow, you could deal with everything tomorrow. 

—-

“So, you're a demon, then?” 

Alucard saw you jolt. You cursed colourfully as your teacup and its saucer clattered against the kitchen countertop, sending a wave of scalding Russian Caravan onto your shirt. 

“Fuck,” you hissed, smacking at the spot like a man posessed. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—!” 

Alucard almost pitied you. Almost. 

“What kind of stupid fucking question is that, hm?” You bit, though the trembling lilt of your voice dulled your fangs just a bit. 

Alucard tilted his head with a smirk. “Oh, just a thought that came to me. Those markings on your skin sparked some inspiration, I suppose.”

You pulled the cuffs of your sleeves down further. You didn't turn his way and spew vile words, though; you only wiped clean the counter and refilled your cup, quiet. 

The dhampir shifted. “Are those why you left?” 

“You'll have to be more specific.” 

Alucard stifled a sigh. Always so difficult. “Fine. Did you leave to get those, or did you get those after you left, for whatever reason?” 

You spared a glance his way before evading again. “A little of both, I suppose.” 

Alucard hummed. He watched you turn your cup with small, fidgety pokes. You used to do that when you were younger, too. The dull grind of porcelain against porcelain was soothing to you, you once said.

“I've always had these,” you continued, “you simply couldn't see them.”

“Really.” He tried to think back. “The marks on your back and stomach?” 

You crumpled a bit, shoulders falling with your proud head, degrading your posture into that of a soaked beggar. 

“Yes,” you said. 

Alucard dared a few steps closer. He could almost get a clear look at your profile. “Why would a child have Solomon's symbols engraved onto them?”

Your expression shattered out of dismal gloom and into your usual, ticked-off state. Sharp eyes jabbed at Alucard's, but luckily couldn't pierce too far. 

The dhampir smiled. “You're like a feral cat, you know.” 

Your lips parted and your brows rose and a phantasmal force trembled against Alucard's ribcage. You breathed with such unbelievable brilliance for that one, short moment. Inevitably, you'd return to the purgatory of incessant acrimony, but while you shone, Alucard couldn't look away.

“A cat?” You squawked, indignant, awfully charming.

“A cat,” he agreed. 

“You fucking—do you take anything seriously? I'm standing here like a fucking idiot giving you answers to questions and—and you—!”

“Would you prefer to be compared to a rabid squirrel instead? Or, I don't know, a manic woodpecker?” 

Your eye twitched. Alucard snorted.

Your mouth snapped shut with an audible clack of your teeth. You picked up your cup and saucer with angry care and stormed off, muttering blasphemies and curses all the while. 

Alucard let himself chuckle when you disappeared around the corner. He rubbed his bare chest beneath his jacket to smooth away the prickling warmth teasing his skin, and then he paused. 

“Ah.” He stared at where he'd last seen you. “He didn't answer my question.”

–

Lisa's home was quaint. It was small, but held a sort of humble grandeur with its collection of herbs, medicines, instruments and the like that aided in her practices. The house was warm, too, filled with swathes of earthy colours and wooden structuring that was so, so different from the cold bricks of that dark castle. 

You quite liked it there. Adrian liked it, too, but often got bored of such a small place with little to do; oftentimes, he'd choose to stay home to pester his father whenever you accompanied Lisa to her work—that which suddenly revolved around you. 

“Fascinating,” she whispered, tracing a hexagram's lines on your back with a soft touch. “You don't remember how you got these?” 

You shook your head and stared hard at the hearth across from you. “No. I woke with them.” 

Her touch left you, and you froze still as she walked around you, stopping and kneeling before you. “I'm going to ask you something a bit strange, alright?” 

You focused on picking at a stray thread on your pants, but nodded. 

Lisa pursed her lips and tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. A strange look muted her for a long, tense moment where everything seemed too loud but so dull and distant at the same time. Your heartbeat filled your throat with words of rejection and remorse, but you kept such things locked away behind clenched teeth.

“You're not entirely human, are you?” 

You rubbed your face. How could it be that both Lisa and Adrian would figure it out so quickly? 

“Stupid question,” you decided. You paused, looking around the boiler chamber, through the forest of copper pipes, seeking company. “Isn't it?” 

You know we can't hear your thoughts, a gruff whisper answered.

Another voice sighed, heart-wrenchingly fond. There's no need for that and you know it. Let's not make life any harder for the boy.

The “boy” is a man, the other huffed, indignant but weakening in resolve. 

Your knee started bouncing, and you rubbed your face again. It wouldn't make them quiet down, nothing ever did besides asking them to leave, but solitude wasn't something you were ready for just yet. 

You should speak to Adrian, she said. Tell him what's happened to you. He'll understand. 

You gripped handfuls of hair and tugged lightly, grounding yourself. “Perhaps. Or perhaps he'll think I'm lying. There's nothing to prove my…affliction.” 

At least give him a chance. 

You let go of your hair and got up in a huff, suddenly intent on busying yourself with the boiler. 

“With all due respect, I don't think you understand how badly this'll end; he's a dhampir from a devilish lineage and I am—” You held your breath, then sighed. “I didn't come here to relay my pathetic story to him. He has much on his mind. I won't add more.”

“Well, you're certainly going to if you keep talking to yourself like this.” 

You cracked your head on a pipe as you turned. With a loud, agonized groan, you stumbled and leaned against the main water basin, holding your head. “Fuck.” 

Adrian whistled from beyond the wall of twisting pipes. “Are you alright?” 

“I'm—yes, I'm fine.” But the glisten of crimson against your palm when you took it from your forehead suggested otherwise. “What is—what do you want, stupid beast?” 

“I smell blood,” he said instead of answering. “You're sure you're alright?”

You scoffed and found your way out of the chasm and back into the engine room. “It's just a cut.” 

“Oh.” Adrian nodded, his eyes a little big, his lips pursed. “Just a cut.” 

You felt wetness curve against your nose and seep down your neck, and you twitched. “It's not just a cut, is it?”

“I'd call it a stab wound, more like.” 

“Fucking Christ.” 

Somehow, in a way only Adrian could manage, he convinced you away from your project so he might actually treat your flowing wound. He talked you into it with such refined finesse and ease, you had to wonder if you'd always been so easy for him to boss around. 

He took you to the place like the one from your daydreams, so like the place Lisa learned the truth and vowed to keep it hidden until you were ready to confront it all. You were glad; the doctor's workroom, though not as warm as her old home, calmed your wild soul. 

“Would you stop making that face?” He asked as he pressed a cloth to your wound. He sat close to you, beside a long table filled with components. “I'm not torturing you.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but instead sucked in a sharp breath. “It hurts, you idiot.” 

“I'm the idiot?” He pulled the cloth back and looked over the wound. “You're the one who headbutted the pipes and is shocked with the outcome.”

You glared childishly at the side of his face when he turned to prepare an ointment. The sun dappled his cheekbones and made his eyes glow from within, sending a wild array of warm, prismatic shards dancing across his cheeks. It was hard to look away; for all the divines you'd seen, a half-mortal was still the most transcendent being in existence.

“Are you listening to me?” Adrian said, and you watched his lips form each and every syllable. The teasing flash of pointed fangs lit wildfires in your imagination. 

You looked up from his mouth, finding his unimpressed gaze. “Hm?”

He clicked his tongue. “I said, the ointment should help with the wound, as should resting until tomorrow.” 

You scrunched up your nose. “I'm not a child, Adrian, I don't need bed rest.” 

“I know you're not a child.” He turned to you, fingertip raised and ready to apply the tincture. “But a little bit of help and rest never hurt anybody. Besides, I can't have you passing out somewhere I can't find you—the rats might eat you before I even know you're missing.”

You rolled your eyes but stayed very still as he treated the wound. “Ha-ha. Very funny.” 

“I'm serious. We have a rat problem.”

“We must burn this place down.” 

“I’ve thought about it.” Alucard pulled away and cleaned his hands before unravelling a measure of gauze. “But I still like it here, despite everything.” 

“Hm.” You watched him unspool enough bandage, too, no doubt meant to secure the gauze in place by wrapping it around your head. He was neat and meticulous about it, sometimes whispering under his breath words and lessons his mother had taught you both in the past. 

Speak to him, that sweet voice beckoned. It whispered through the ajar window, like a pleasant spring breeze. If not now, then when? 

You shifted in your seat. Your eyes flicked from his face to the outside and back again before you found the humility to talk. 

“What happened here, exactly?” You asked. “After your mother passed. What happened?” 

“I thought you'd know,” he said. “Wasn't that why you came back? Because of what happened?”

You opened and closed your mouth a few times like a useless, landbound fish. “Well, I—yes, I was told Dracula passed and that the castle was here, but…” 

Alucard stopped what he was doing and affixed you with a hard stare. “You were told? By whom?” 

You shifted. “The news has spread. Most know.” 

“Most think Dracula is a myth. Fewer know where the castle ended up.”

“Adrian—”

“Who was it that told you?” 

You scowled. “Tch. Forget it.” You stood and turned on your heel, eager to put distance between yourself and the lab. “This is a waste of time.” 

But the world blurred and your head felt empty, yet stuffed so full of cotton it nearly popped your eyes from their sockets. Fuzzy blackness filled with sparking colours encroached on your vision, threatening to eat it whole as gravity yanked you by your chains back towards Hell.

You didn't collide with the ground, though. Instead, you found yourself hooked in the arm of your favourite dhampir. His arm was solid and firm against your stomach, and did so much to ground your whirling mind in that tumultuous, dizzying moment. 

“Now do you believe me about needing rest?” Alucard murmured, voice far too close. 

Your brows furrowed and you looked aside, glaring at the wood grain of the floorboards. “Perhaps you have a point. For once.” 

The dhampir chuckled and helped you stand straight before guiding you to sit again. He grabbed the bloodied rag and dabbed at the fresh gush of blood from the aggravated wound, fuelling your humiliation further. 

“I tried to stop my father,” Alucard nearly whispered. You held your breath, too mindful to interrupt for once. “He put an end to that quickly, as you've already seen.” 

You glanced at his chest, still bare beneath his jacket, and followed the jagged, bright path Dracula had left. 

“I took time to heal. Woke up to a Speaker and a Belmont trying to kill me.” Alucard huffed a smile. “We became close, I guess. They helped me put a stop to my father.” 

You chose to ignore the part about Alucard having met new friends. That was completely irrelevant and, frankly, annoying. 

“Do you loathe him?” You asked. “Your father. Do you despise him for what he's done?” 

Alucard sighed softly. “I hate what he's done, how he punished the world for the pain he felt.” His eyes flicked to yours. “But it was the love for my mother that pushed him to the edge, and his love for me that pulled him back. I can't see him as evil. I can't feel remorseless for what needed to be done. He was my—”

“He was your father.” You looked down, gaze boring through your thighs, remembering a long, lost memory. “I understand. I did everything for mine. Anything He asked, I accomplished, even when my siblings could not. I was rewarded, but swiftly forgotten when things went awry, and yet…” You frowned and closed your eyes with a sigh. “I cannot hate Him, either.”

“Seems we're quite unlucky with our fathers’ temperaments,” Alucard chuckled. He tilted your head up with a finger under your jaw to fasten the gauze and bandages. “At least they don't hate us, I suppose.”

Your scowl softened with the stabbing in your chest.

 At least they don't hate us. 

“Well, we can't know that for certain, Adrian.” You winced as he tightened the bandage. “Though I know Dracula loved you incredibly.” 

“And you don't think your father loved you?” Alucard wondered. He let his hands fall into his lap after his work was done. 

You reached up and fidgeted with the strip of linen serving as a headband. “I don't know. I know they say He loves everything he creates, but I've never heard the words, no. I'd be surprised if anyone has.”

“Well, some think professing love of any kind is a show of weakness,” Alucard sighed. “It's a shame, but…well, we can't change our fathers, whether they be an immortal devil or God himself.”

Your gaze locked onto the dhampir's, searching. He met yours just the same. 

“One seems much worse than the other, actually,” you mumbled.

“Which? Mine, or yours?” 

“I was speaking of the devil and God.”

“My question still stands.”

You scoffed. “You'll have to be more—”

“Is God your father?” He asked, finally. 

You grimaced and leaned back in your seat. “Did you decide that because of some nonsense drabble you read in Ars Goetia?” 

“Ars Goetia helped rule out some possibilities, yes.” 

“Don't tell me you truly thought I was a demon.”

“The markings are quite suspect,” Alucard said, flippant and smiling. “They leave much to the imagination.”

You pursed your lips then sighed, looking everywhere and anywhere but at your interrogator. “I suppose I cannot fault you for that. Though it does make you much more annoying and nosy than I previously thought.” 

“You still didn't answer my question,” Alucard reminded, careful. “Is God your father?”

“Isn't God everyone’s father?” You retorted.

“The avoidance only makes me more suspicious, you know.”

You shifted and squirmed in your seat. Your hands, the infernal things, needed to do something, too, and so reached towards the dhampir, fixing the somewhat-off crease of his lapels while letting your knuckles brush against his bare chest. His skin was cool but warm, like riverstones basking in sunlight. You wished you could find the hubris to touch more.

“Why do you want to know?” You asked slowly, unsteadily.

You swore Alucard leaned into your fidgety touches. “Because I want to know you properly,” he said. “Because I'm realizing I might not have asked enough back then.”

Your face burned. Your fingers trembled. You didn't trust your voice, but spoke anyway. “You were a child.” 

“So were you. But you were full of questions for me,” Alucard recalled. “‘What's your favourite colour? Do you like your hair braided, or down? What season do you like the most? Why can you—’”

“Why can you walk in the sunlight?” You asked, voice stuffy and crackly from whatever cold you'd been facing that Autumn. Plein air in the chill perhaps wasn't the best idea.

Adrian looked at you, raw citrine eyes glimmering like the sun. His nose and cheeks were rosy red, so unlike the way his father's skin reacted to the cold. A little colour made your friend look quite cute.

“Because of Mother's blood,” he explained with a shrug. He focused back on his painting.

“So, because you're half human, you can walk in the light?” You reiterated. “Why doesn't every vampire try to be half-human?” 

“Well it's not like they can choose to be so, you know. I got lucky.”

“Perhaps,” you hummed, staring hard at your pigments. The yellow ochre was your favourite. “Or you're just better than them.” 

A faint smile sparked before dimming just as quickly. Words evaded you, still, too lost in the easy rhythm of conversations passed. It was so simple back then. 

Alucard took your hand from his chest and held it with both of his, lowering the collection to his lap as he leaned in toward you, ochre eyes blendable and transparent. 

“Would you ever tell me?” He asked. “Who you are?”

“No.” You swallowed. “It’d change too much.”

“It wouldn’t change anything.” 

“You say that without knowing anything.” That beast in your chest roused again, much more frantically than the last time. “I’ve changed.”

“You still call this place your home,” Alucard murmured, his thumbs ghosting over your knuckles. “Like I do. You came back when everything fell apart, and you’re trying to put it all back together.” He chuckled lightly. “I can’t help but feel you’re fixing more than just the house, too.”

You scoffed lightly. “Don’t be dramatic.” The chair creaked as you squirmed. “And that has nothing to do with—”

“Even if you’ve changed, your heart hasn’t,” Alucard interrupted, tone sharp and quick like a whip, but fond. “That’s all I care for.”

Your face immolated. The caged secret exploded with life, wings fluttering, eyes widening, purr ripping from its mighty chest as it thrashed against its cage and filled your sore head with the heavy beating of excited drums. You couldn’t tame it that time. You didn’t even try. 

“Azrael,” you wheezed. You cleared your throat and pulled your hand from Alucard’s to press it against your pulsing wound. “He called me Azrael.”

“Azrael,” Alucard repeated like a prayer. His brightness made your head hurt more. “I don’t think I’ve—”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t have.” You stood. You had to. Sitting still and staring at that wretched dhampir was no longer an option. “That name is not written in many places.” 

“There are normally multiple versions of the same name, isn’t there?” He asked, a frantic, or perhaps desperate, edge to his tone. 

You scoffed and straightened your clothes with aggravated finesse. “I suppose there should be.” Sharply, you turned on your heel and made for the exit, being sure to clack the hard leather soles of your shoes against the hardwood, drowning out the secretive whispers trying to reason with you. “Good luck figuring it out, vampire.”

[jasonsbruce]

[arolesbianism]

I caved and made them real. Obverse me losing more and more motivation to draw as I made each of these back to back lol

[dairyfreenugget]

I could count the amount of original stories of mine that don't have horror elements on one hand and idk what that says about me

[thewhizzyhead]

being a busy ass student with student journalism gigs on one hand and comm academic shit on the other is very interesting because with the jam-packed life I live I only really get to breathe at like late lAAATE night when no one can bother me about my responsibilities other than myself. that being said that's also when creative brain goes into overdrive and now misfits finally has the final draft of its opening number woo

[tommygotwrittenoff]

i need eddie to get another guy friend in season 8, and buck loses his shit about it (again), so he breaks up with t because he's convinced that the weird feeling he gets when he sees them together is because he is Really attracted to the new guy.

[moth-mart]

Outlaw status reachieveeed 🎉🎉🎉

[angelssfeathers]

J watching in shock and horror as his threats to khs work less and less on the people who genuinely cared about him