#i need to write all of them down or else i WILL forget

[dazevi]

CHAPTER FIVE: TELL HER

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

synopsis: vi doesn’t take your response well, falling back into the one thing that always drags her down even further—alcohol. meanwhile, you’re left to reflect on your own reaction, struggling to figure out what it is you truly want. when jayce decides to give vi a reality check, she decides to pull herself together and sets her mind on planning something special.

content warnings: MDNI. slightly suggestive content, more angst, some fluff, hurt/comfort??, rockstar!vi, bookshop owner/writer!reader, exes to lovers, friends with benefits dynamic (kinda), so exes to fwb to lovers, alcohol/drinking, smoking, bestfriend!jayce, kissing, vi is sooooo in love … if im missing anything else please lmk!

wc: 20,080 (slightly inaccurate since i made some edits)

notes: ok ok ok im so so so so sorry for the long wait when i kept saying that i was gonna upload this chapter soon. i have gotten so busy these past couple weeks with work plus taking care of my grandma, so i’ve been struggling to write for a bit, but i finally got this chapter done! it’s also currently the longest chapter of the series, i hope i didn’t stretch it out too long to the point it gets boring, but i hope you all enjoy it :) ty for ur patience! also lovely fanart by bunimint_ on IG !

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Her head fucking hurts. She’s lost count of how many drinks she’s had—whiskey, mostly, the sharp burn of it sliding down her throat, but never really reaching that part of her that needs numbing the most. Besides that, the club is too loud. Music pounding through the speakers, some deep, bass heavy track that makes the floor vibrate beneath her boots. It was full of shouts, laughter, the clink of glasses—but it’s all just noise.

Vi sits slouched in the corner of the bar, a cigarette tucked behind her ear, the smoke of someone else’s drifting too close, burning her nose. The lights are dim, neon flickers bleeding red and blue across the bottles lined up behind the bar. She rubs at her temple, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the liquid swirling in her glass.

It’s been weeks since she last saw you. Since she watched you pull away from her, watched you cry, watched you remind her of the rules she stupidly agreed to.

Your words ring inside her head.

Then, she takes another slow sip. It doesn’t help.

Vi’s phone buzzes against the surface of the bar, but she doesn’t look at it right away. It’s probably Ekko or Loris wondering where the hell she is, why she’s ghosted them for the past few days. Or maybe it’s Steb sending her some dumb meme to make her laugh, like that’s gonna fix the massive fucking hole in her chest.

It could even be her manager. She’s gotten too many calls from him this week—all of them she ignored.

She swallows the thought down with the rest of her drink, signaling the bartender for another. She just sits there, drowning in the noise, wishing it was enough to make her forget you.

Her phone buzzes again. The screen lights up on the bar, her manager’s name glowing and flashing across the top of the screen. She watches it ring, until it goes silent.

That’s the fourth call tonight. The tenth this week. She doesn’t bother listening to the voicemails—she already knows what he wants. She can already hear him over the phone, telling her that her time’s up, and that it’s time to get back to work.

She used to jump into the thought of work.

But now, she doesn’t even want to think about. All of it feels too big, too exhausting.

And, she’d rather think about you.

And it’s fucked up—she knows that—but you’re the only thing her mind keeps circling back to. She replays that night in her head—the way you looked at her that night, standing there in your apartment, eyes glistening with tears, the way your voice cracked… the way you didn’t say I love you back.

Vi knocks back the rest of her drink and taps the bar for another.

She’s drunk. She knows it. She drags a hand down her face, her and leans back forward against the counter.

She’s so fucking drunk, and still, the ache in her chest is sharper than ever.

“Holy shit… it’s Vi!”

Oh, for fucks sake.

“Vi! From The Lanes!”

She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t move. Just grips the glass a little harder, teeth pressing into her bottom lip.

Of course. Of fucking course.

“Guys! It’s Vi! Right over here—come look!”

A few heads turn. The man—some guy she doesn’t recognize, drunk off his ass—waves his arms like he’s discovered some kind of rare fucking animal.

“No way.”

“Vi? Like—Like, Violet Lanes?”

“Shit, get a picture—”

Her head is pounding. The music is too loud, the lights too bright, and now there are people inching closer, whispering and grinning, phones already coming out.

She shoves her glass away from her, ice clinking too loud against the counter.

“Not tonight,” she mutters under her breath, voice rough, but the guy doesn’t get the hint. He’s still calling people over, still beaming like this is some fan meet-and-greet she didn’t agree to.

“Vi, man—you gotta let me buy you a drink,” he says, his hand reaching out, like he might actually touch her shoulder.

Vi flinches back. “Don’t.”

Her head is fucking killing her.

“Fuck off,” she says, louder this time, not even bothering to look at them. “I’m not in the mood.”

The guy laughs, like she’s kidding—like this is all part of the show.

But it’s not. It’s really fucking not.

And he still doesn’t take the hint. He’s still grinning, still too close, and Vi can feel the heat creeping up her neck. It’s the alcohol—making her blood too hot, her patience too thin—but it’s also everything else.

“Come on, Vi,” he says. “Just one picture—”

He touches her arm.

She shoves him back, not hard enough to send him flying, but hard enough to make a point.

“Don’t fuckin’ touch me.”

The guy stumbles a little and his friends go quiet.

“Vi, chill—” someone mutters.

She stands, the bar stool scraping back with an ugly screech. Her jaw locks, and she’s already picturing how it would feel. Just one hit. Just to make him back off.

Her knuckles twitch.

But she doesn’t.

She doesn’t—because she knows what happens if she does. Knows the headlines that’ll follow. Vi from The Lanes Punches Fan in Nightclub. Knows her manager will tear her apart the second she picks up her phone. Knows this asshole isn’t worth the trouble.

“Fuck,” Vi mutters.

She pushes past them—shoulders stiff, teeth grinding—ignoring the half-hearted apologies, the drunken protests, the phones still aimed at her.

She doesn’t stop until she’s outside.

The air hits her—cold and wet—and Vi realizes it must’ve just rained. The pavement glistens under the glow of a flickering streetlamp, puddles pooling along the alleyway. The club’s bass still thuds behind her, muffled now, but it’s better for her head.

Vi leans against the wall, bracing her palms against the rough brick, head hanging low.

And all she can think about—all she ever seems to think about these days—is you.

Vi squats down, her back against the brick wall, the damp chill seeping through her jeans. She rakes a hand through her hair, then presses the heel of her palm against her temple. Her head tips back, hitting the wall with a soft and dull thud.

She’s not sure how long she stays like that—seconds, minutes—but then she hears the scuff of shoes against wet pavement, footsteps coming closer. She doesn’t move, doesn’t look up at first. Just stares at the ground, at the smear of neon reflected in a puddle a few inches from her boot.

Then the shoes stop.

Right next to her.

Dark brown leather, a little worn at the toes but still clean. Familiar.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Vi knows that voice.

She lets out a long breath through her nose, her jaw clenching once before she finally looks up.

Jayce stands there, hands in the pockets of his coat, his brows drawn tight in that way they always do when he’s about to give her a lecture. His tie’s a little loose, like he came from some fancy dinner or meeting, but he’s still all crisp lines and polished shoes, the perfect picture of a man who’s got his shit together.

It pisses Vi off more than it should.

“How did you find me?” she mutters.

Jayce lets out a sigh. It’s not the kind of sigh that means he’s annoyed, though.

“Checked Vander’s first,” he starts. “But you weren’t there. Then checked a few of the nightclubs in town… there’s not that many, so…”

“Just leave me alone, Jayce,” she huffs.

“Can’t. Come on, I’ll drive you home.”

Vi doesn’t move at first. She can feel his eyes on her, like he’s waiting for her to push him away again. She lets out a frustrated breath and drops her head back against the wall again. The throbbing in her skull hasn’t stopped and her fingers itch for a cigarette

“I don’t want to go home yet.”

Jayce sighs and thinks for a moment, weighing the options in his head. When he’s done deciding, he moves to stand next to her, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his gaze lingering on the city lights in the distance, even though he’s not really looking at them.

Vi pulls out a cigarette, and lights it with her lighter, a cheap one, yellow and plastic, she bought at one when she stopped to get gas, the soft flare of the flame briefly illuminating her face before the smoke curls into the cool air.

Jayce doesn’t say anything, just watches her. He knows she’s not okay, knows that she hasn’t been for a while now. But he doesn’t push.

Vi exhales a long, slow breath of smoke, watching it twist and fade in the air. She wants to scream, wants to throw something, anything. She’s so damn tired of feeling like she’s losing everything.

She glances over at Jayce from the corner of her eye. There’s concern in his gaze, but no judgment.

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispers.

She’s not sure why she says it. Maybe it’s because she’s drunk, maybe because Jayce is the only one who hasn’t looked at her like she’s already gone. Maybe because she needs to say it out loud for someone to hear.

Jayce doesn’t respond right away. The alleyway smells like wet concrete and stale smoke, and Vi’s head still pounds as she rolls the cig between her teeth, the taste of tobacco bitter on her tongue.

She hear Jayce shift beside her, leaning against the wall with a quiet sigh, “Mel says that… ____’s mad at you.”

Vi’s lips curl into a smirk, slow and humorless. She lets out a sharp breath through her nose, shaking her head softly.

“Understatement of the century,” she says roughly.

She keeps her gaze fixed on the slick ground in front of her, a single puddle catching the glow of a distant streetlamp. Anything to keep from looking at Jayce. Anything to keep from seeing the pity that’s probably written all over his face.

She can still hear you—your voice, the way you said her name like it was a weapon.

I told you what this was, Violet.

She shakes her head at the thought of Jayce even being here. She doesn’t need a lecture. She doesn’t need a pep talk. She doesn’t need someone else telling her how badly she fucked up—she already knows.

“Have you talked to her at all?”

“Jayce.” Vi furrows her brows, throwing her unfinished cig into the puddle she was staring at before standing and turning towards him, “What the fuck is this?”

Jayce doesn’t flinch at her sharp tone, but he exhales through his nose and watches the cigarette fizzle out in the puddle, a tiny hiss of smoke rising and disappearing into air.

“I’m just asking,” he says softly.

Vi scrubs a hand over her face, her palm dragging down the length of her scarred cheek before she plants it firmly on her hip, the other hand raking through her already-messy hair.

“No, what the fuck is this?” she repeats, louder this time. “Did Mel put you up to this? Did she tell you to come track me down and play therapist? Huh?”

Jayce tilts his head, his jaw flexing. “No one put me up to anything, Vi.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not.” His voice is firm when he speaks. “Believe it or not, I care about you, Vi. I care about you and I care about ____. And, clearly, you’re spiraling.”

Vi lets out a bitter laugh, pacing two steps back and then forward again, like she can’t stand still, like the walls of the alley are pressing in on her.

“You don’t know shit,” she snaps.

“Don’t I?” Jayce’s voice hardens. “I know you’re drunk right now. I know that everyone’s wondering where you are. I know that they’re worried about you. I’m worried about you. Just because you haven’t been here for a while doesn’t mean we don’t care.”

Vi looks away.

“And everyone knows it’s because you’re still in love with her.”

“Don’t,” she warns.

Jayce watches her carefully. “Vi…”

She looks up at him then, eyes bloodshot and glassy, her throat bobbing as she swallows hard.

“Just leave it,” she mutters. “Please.”

“Talk to her,” he says softly.

Vi lets out a bitter laugh, “She won’t even fucking listen to me!”

Jayce clenches his jaw, but he doesn’t move from where he��s leaning against the wall, watching Vi pace around right in front of him—something she recognizes her doing every time she was feeling hot headed.

“She doesn’t even love me anymore, so what’s the fucking point?” Vi says again.

Jayce exhales through his nose, “You don’t know that.”

“Trust me, I do.”

She’s pacing again, boots scuffing against the wet pavement. Her hand twitches toward her pocket—probably for another cigarette—but she stops herself.

“You didn’t see the way she looked at me,” Vi mutters, more to herself than to Jayce now. “Like I was a mistake. Like she regretted ever—”

Her voice breaks off, and she presses the heel of her palm to her eye, like she can shove the tears back in before they even have the chance to fall.

Jayce watches her quietly for a moment, “Vi…”

But Vi’s already shaking her head, blinking hard.

“She told me—” she pauses, swallowing hard. “She told me she didn’t want anything more with me.”

She lets out a shaky breath.

“And I said okay. I said fucking okay because I thought… I thought maybe if I just stuck around long enough, she’d change her mind. That she’d see that I still—”

She cuts herself off again, biting down on the words before they can fully slip out. Her shoulders sag, head tipping back against the brick wall as she stares up.

“She doesn’t love me anymore,” Vi whispers, so quiet now that Jayce almost doesn’t hear it.

He shakes his head, his brows pulling together. “You really believe that?”

Vi’s gaze moves away—down the alley, anywhere but him.

“Vi,” Jayce says again, “If she really didn’t love you, you think any of this would hurt her so much?”

Her throat bobs. “She doesn’t even want to talk to me.”

“Maybe because it’s easier than admitting what she actually still feels for you.”

Vi lets out a shaky breath, running both hands through her hair now, tugging at the roots like it might pull the thoughts straight out of her head.

“Look… people don’t get that angry—don’t get that hurt—unless they still care,” he says quietly.

Jayce’s voice softens as he steps closer.

“She’s just scared, Vi.”

Vi opens her mouth to argue, to push back, but nothing comes out. She knows it’s true.

“She’s not gonna let anything else happen unless she believes you’re really here to stay.”

Her heart beats heavy in her chest, and she feels Jayce’s words on her shoulders. And to be honest, she’s scared, too. Scared to face everything she’s fucked up. Scared of making another stupid mistake. Like asking for more with you, telling you she loves you, when you weren’t even ready for it yet.

And maybe, just maybe, Jayce is right. Maybe she hasn’t lost you completely. Maybe she still has a chance.

Vi leans her head back against the wall, her eyes closing for a moment as she lets out a long, shaky breath.

“Just get your shit together, Vi. You can talk to her whenever you’re ready,” Jayce says, kicking himself off of the wall, dusting his jacket off. “And be honest. If you just give her some time, she’ll think it through… And I’m sure she’ll wanna talk to you about it… with whatever she decides.”

And for a moment, Vi looks at him, raising a curious eyebrow.

“You got all this from Mel, didn’t you?”

“Fuck you.”

Vi smirk and shakes her head, turning away to think for a moment.

Minutes of silence pass between them and Jayce begins to think about what might be going on in that head of hers. Vi can be reckless sometimes, for sure, but…

“I think… there’s something I wanna do first.”

Lately, your phone has been more like dead weight in your pocket than anything else. It vibrates, it chimes but you don’t check it. Not right away. Sometimes not at all. It’s easier that way. You just can’t. The screen lights up on the counter now, another message coming through, but you keep your eyes on the open book in front of you. You haven’t turned a page in ten minutes. The words blur together, the sentences dissolving into meaningless shapes, but you keep staring anyway.

You already know what’s waiting for you if you look.

Mel’s worried messages. Your mom’s reminders about dinner this weekend. And Vi—you don’t even want to see her name glowing on the screen.

Now you’re staring right at it. And you don’t even remember picking up your phone. But here you are.

The last message from her is still there: can we talk?

You never answered. It’s been days. Probably weeks. Time feels weird lately—slipping by too fast and too slow all at once. But that message lingers. Just like she always does. And fuck, you wish it didn’t. You wish Vi didn’t still take up so much space in your mind but she does.

And you know exactly why.

Because you still love her.

And that’s what makes all of this so much worse.

But what would you even say? That it still hurts? That you still think about her? That no matter how much you try to push her away, she’s still there in your mind, even when you told yourself time and time again that you’d forget about her.

Now, the days have started to blur together.

You wake up to the sound of your alarm, the same sound every morning but it still feels like a knife to your brain when your eyes flutter open. Just another day starting, just another reminder that you have to get up, have to keep moving. You swing your legs over the side of the bed, the sheets start to feel cold all over again—because there’s never anyone there to warm the other side.

You don’t think about it too much. Or at least, you tell yourself you don’t.

Then it’s the bookshop.

The same key turning in the lock, the same creak of the door as it opens, the same scent of pages and worn leather covers. You used to love it—still do, in a way—but the magic has dulled a little. Maybe it’s because you’re reminded of the way you started, when Vi was here to keep you company and help you out when the shop was just opening.

You water the plants by the front window, straighten the stacks of books people left behind in the wrong spots, flip the sign to Open. Some customers trickle in—a few regulars who smile politely, some who don’t even make eye contact—and you help them find what they need, ring them up, thank them for coming.

And then it’s quiet again.

You check the time too often. Tell yourself not to, but you do. And it’s always slower than you expect.

By the time you flip the sign again and lock the door, the sky is a dark. Streetlights buzz faintly above you as you walk home every evening, your bag slung over your shoulder, your thoughts too loud.

And then it’s back to your apartment.

The place is too still when you walk in. You kick off your shoes, drop your bag by the door, and stand there for a second too long like you’re waiting for something. But nothing happens.

You shower. Eat something—usually whatever takes the least effort. And then you crawl into bed, the sheets still cold. Your phone sits on the nightstand. You don’t look at it.

Then, you sleep.

And wake up.

And do it all over again.

And no matter how hard you try not to, you think about Vi.

It sneaks up on you, when the shop is quiet and the only sound is the soft flutter of a page turning, or when you’re lying in bed at night, staring at the ceiling, the space next to you too empty.

What is she doing? The question echoes in your head more often than you’d like.

Maybe she’s packing her things right now. Shoving worn tees and jeans into a duffel bag, zipping it up without a second glance, like it’s easy. Like it’s nothing. Maybe she’s already left—got on a bus or a plane, disappearing to some other big, fancy city.

She could. Vi could leave.

Maybe this time, though, it’s not about chasing a dream or a career. And maybe she’s finally too defeated to fight for you anymore. Maybe this was the moment she realized there’s nothing left to fight for. That she lost. That you’re gone.

But you were just protecting yourself, right? Weren’t you?

Sometimes, you’d think about asking Mel for some more advice.

You love her. You really do. She’s always been the voice of reason. But tonight, even though you know she’d pick up on the first ring, you don’t call her.

Because you already know what she’d say.

She’d sigh, probably a little exasperated but mostly concerned, and she’d tell you that you need to talk to Vi—really talk to her—because this silence, this distance, is only making it worse. She’d remind you that you still love Vi, that it’s obvious to everyone, that pushing her away hasn’t stopped that hurt in your chest or the way your thoughts circle back to her every damn night. She’d tell you that Vi is a mess without you.

You saw, peeking at one of her messages, that Jayce found her flat out drunk outside of a club one night.

And most of all, she’d tell you that you’re scared.

But, you know all of this already.

So you don’t call Mel.

You can lie to yourself about a lot of things. You can tell yourself that this distance is what you wanted. That you were the one who pushed her away, the one who set the rules, the one who told her no commitment—and that Vi was only ever following your lead.

But what you can’t lie about—not to yourself, not to anyone—is how much you miss her.

It’s a hard thing to admit, even when there’s no one around to hear it.

It means that no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise… you still love her.

The truth might be hardest part.

Because, deep down… all you’ve ever wanted was for Vi to be with you. Not just in pieces, not just in passing—but wholly, fully.

Maybe it’s time to be honest with yourself.

You’ve spent so long hiding behind the walls you built, pretending that the space between you and Vi was what you wanted. You told yourself it was for the best, that it was easier this way—no complications, no expectations, no getting hurt again. But you know for a fact that it’s all been a lie.

Because every time you push it away, every time you convince yourself it’s better to stay away, it only gets harder to ignore what you’re really feeling.

So, maybe it’s time to stop running from it. Maybe it’s time to stop pretending that you can move on when all your heart wants is to turn back, to let her back in.

Maybe you should be honest with Vi.

You owe it to yourself. You owe it to her. No matter how much you try to tell yourself otherwise, you know you can’t keep living like this… can’t keep hiding behind you r feelings. You’ve already spent years hurting yourself trying to ignore it.

And it might be terrifying. But for the first time in a long while, you wonder if maybe that’s the way forward—not hiding, not pretending, but facing what’s been there all along.

And maybe that’s why you’re standing outside of this club in the middle of the night, the cool air biting at your skin.

You didn’t even realize how you ended up here. It almost felt like an out-of-body experience. Your feet carried you here on their own. You didn’t plan it—hell, you didn’t even really want to come.

You called Jayce earlier, your voice shaky even though you tried to hide it. Just a simple question. Where’s Vi?

His response was almost too quick. He didn’t even seem surprised you were asking.

And now, here you are. Outside the club, standing out in the open, feeling like a fool.

What the hell are you doing here?

You don’t know if it’s courage or madness that brought you to this here, but now that you’re here, you feel a little paralyzed. There’s a lump in your throat, your hands cold as you wrap them around your arms for warmth. Your thoughts are racing, but they’re all tangled up. Should you go in? What if she’s not here? What if she sees you and walks away?

You could turn around and go home. You could pretend none of this ever happened, that you never came searching for her.

But, before you could even take a step forward towards the door, Vi stumbles out.

You freeze in place, your breath catching in your throat as you watch her. A cigarette dangles loosely between her lips, the smoke trailing behind her as she stumbles just a little. She’s not looking where she’s going, lost in whatever space she’s in, completely unaware of you standing there.

For a second, it almost feels like you shouldn’t be here. Like you shouldn’t even be watching her like this, as if you’ve caught some part of her that wasn’t meant for you to see. She looks… tired. Defeated, almost. And you’re left standing there, staring at her, your heart pounding in your chest like it’s going to break through your ribs.

Vi stops a few feet away, her hand fumbling with the cigarette, eyes still unfocused as she exhales a cloud of smoke. Then, finally, she looks up, and when her eyes meet yours, it’s like everything comes crashing back.

Her face softens just slightly. She doesn’t say anything right away, but the look in her eyes makes your heart race. She opens her mouth, as if to say something, but the words seem to die before they can leave her lips.

Vi takes a step toward you, then stops herself, like she’s unsure if she should. Her eyes flicker between you and the ground, her fingers twitching at her side as if she wants to reach out but can’t bring herself to. The cigarette is still hanging from her lips, now forgotten, burning down to nothing. She takes a long, slow drag from it and then finally tosses it to the ground, grinding it out beneath her boot with a soft sigh.

“Why are you here?”

She didn’t say it in a mean way… just… curious. And confused.

You look at her and answer honestly, quietly, “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” she repeats.

You shake your head slowly, “I don’t.”

It’s true, though. You don’t really know why you’re here. Maybe it’s because you missed her. Maybe it’s because you don’t want to lose what little of her you still have left. Maybe it’s just the way your heart aches every time you think about her, every time you let yourself wonder if there’s a chance to make things right again.

Vi stares at you for a moment, her eyes searching, like she’s looking for something in your face that might give her an answer. And just when you think she’s about to pull away, retreating back into the walls she’s built around herself, she steps closer. Her hand rubs the back of her neck, that nervous habit of hers. She looks at you, then away, and you can tell she’s trying to figure out whether this is real or just a dream in her mind, watching it like it’s in front of her.

“I… don’t know what you want from me,” she says quietly.

You open your mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. Instead, you study her face. Her eyes look tired, a steady frown on her lips as she looks at you, dazed.

“Maybe, we should talk about this later…” you murmur softly. “When you’re sober.”

“I’m not drunk,” she says too quickly.

She opens her mouth again, but her words falter, as if she’s trying to convince herself more than you.

“I’m not—” she starts again, but her voice sounds quieter than before, and she trails off.

You sigh and take a step back, keeping the distance between you just enough to give her space, but not too far away to make her feel abandoned. For a brief moment, she looks like she wants to protest all over again, like she wants to tell you she’s fine, that she’s been through worse and this doesn’t bother her.

But instead, her eyes soften, just slightly. Her lips tighten, and she simply nods, though it’s a reluctant one.

You take a late bus ride home with her—back to that old neighborhood you both used to live in.

The bus ride felt like it stretched on forever, the city lights flickering past the window in flashes of neon and fading streetlamps but none of it mattered.

Not when Vi couldn’t take her eyes off of you.

She hadn’t said anything in the last few minutes. She didn’t know what to say. But her eyes were glued to you, tracing the soft curve of your profile as the light hit your face. She wanted to reach out, to touch you—her fingers aching for soft feel of your skin. She wanted to press her cheek against your shoulder, close her eyes, and breathe you in like she used to. The simple, familiar warmth of you against her. She wanted to hold your hand, to intertwine her fingers with yours, but the fear of rejection all over again kept her frozen in place.

So instead, she just stared.

Her eyes lingered on you, taking in every small detail, from the way your hair fell softly around your face to the way you absentmindedly tapped your fingers against your knee, to the way your lips press together tightly for a quick second whenever you were lost in thought. Everything about you felt so familiar, so desperately close, but so far out of reach.

When the bus finally pulled to a stop and you both got off, Vi still didn’t say anything.

The neighborhood looked the same as it always had, the houses standing like quiet sentinels on either side of the street, the trees lining the road, long shadows just beneath them.

She walked beside you, close, her steps almost too quiet. She couldn’t help herself—her eyes kept darting to you, taking in the way you held yourself, the way your shoulders shifted ever so slightly when you took each step.

And when you reach Vander’s house, Vi’s childhood home standing just in front of your mother’s, Vi felt her heart race again. She wanted to ask if you were okay, wanted to say something, to close the gap between the two of you.

But then you stop walking, just as your reach the end of Vi’s driveway, turning to look at her. Her eyes meet your immediately and you know for a fact that Vi didn’t want you or her to go anywhere.

“You should go,” you say politely, nodding your head towards the house behind her.

It wasn’t meant to push her away, not exactly, but you both knew how fragile things were between you at the moment, and you weren’t really sure what else to say. What else could you say?

But Vi didn’t move, didn’t take the step toward her front door like you had expected. She just stood there, staring at you, her face unreadable as she fidgeted with her hands, unsure of herself.

Finally, her voice cuts through, “Do you wanna come in?”

Vi’s voice trembled, just a little, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should have said it at all. Her eyes searched yours, looking for something—permission, maybe reassurance. It was so different from the confident, stubborn woman you’d once known.

A hundred things flashed through your mind in an instant: the memories of Vi in this house, her old bedroom—laughing, arguing, falling asleep on her couch, her bed with her arm around your shoulders, the sound of her voice soft in the dark.

But all those thoughts felt so far away now, like a dream you could barely reach.

“Maybe not tonight,” you whispered.

She nods.

Not tonight. Vi tries to study your face, like she wasn’t sure what your words meant. But her gaze softened, and the slight tremble in her hand betrayed how much this moment mattered to her, how much she needed something—anything—from you.

She take a breath before muttering, “I miss you.”

Those three words were almost enough to knock the breath out of you.

Vi waited, her eyes never leaving yours. She stood there offering something you still weren’t sure you could take—or something you weren’t sure you should take.

You shook your head, the concern rising again, but your heart already knew the answer.

“You’re drunk, Violet,” you whisper softly, not wanting to be harsh, but—

“Just because I’m drunk doesn’t mean I don’t miss you,” she said.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the distance between you closing with every word she spoke. Maybe it was the way she looked at you. Maybe it was the fact that you missed her too.

But still, you hesitated, unsure of what to say back.

“Vi…” you started, but the words didn’t come easily, and you could see the way she stiffened, like she was bracing for the rejection she expected.

Her eyes softened and she sighed, before taking a step back, giving you some space.

She nods again.

“When I’m sober,” she says.

“Yeah…” you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Vi’s looking at you, waiting, her breath uneven, her hands twitching at her sides like she wants to grab you, pull you in, make you understand. But all you can do is swallow the lump in your throat and try to call yourself, even though your heart seems to be pounding so loudly in your chest.

You nod your head towards her house again. “You should go in—”

“You first.”

You sigh, already knowing Vi won’t budge. It was familiar.

Back in high school, after nights when she’d take you out on a date, take you home after some school dance or game, whatever it was, she always made sure you got home safely, watching you outside of her own house as you stepped into yours. And it’s only when she sees the door shut after you when she finally turns on her heel and goes home.

“Can I call you?” she asks, just as you turn to walk away.

You stop. Your heart skips, and you let out a soft breath before turning halfway, catching the way she’s already bracing herself for a no.

Buy you look back at her and smile softly, “When you’re sober?”

The corner of Vi’s mouth twitches, but the smile never really makes it, “Yeah.”

Your game lingers on her for a moment, watching as she stuffs her hands into the pocket a off her jacket.

“Goodnight, Violet.”

You don’t look back this time. You just keep walking, the night quiet except for the soft scuff of your shoes against the pavement as you head towards the house a cross the street.

Vi stays frozen at the edge of her driveway, watching your silhouette disappear behind the front door of your old house.

Three days pass since you same her that night. Watching her stand there, half-dazed from the alcohol, eyes tracing, trying to memorize each and every detail of you.

You wondered if she remembered. Did she? Or did she wake up, head pounding, wondering how she even got home?

You try not to think about it, but you really can’t help it. You can’t stop the thoughts that slip into your mind. You wonder if she’s forgotten about it. If she’s forgotten about you.

But a big part of your heart doesn’t let you believe that.

You know it’s a foolish thought, it’s hard not to think about. You wish she’d call. Just to hear her voice, even if it’s only for a minute.

Then, she does.

It’s late when your phone buzzes, and the sound startles you. You’ve been lying in bed for what feels like hours. You’re not sure what you were expecting tonight, but it certainly wasn’t this. Not at this hour.

When you glance at the screen, your heart skips a beat.

You stare at the name for a moment.

It’s been three days. Three silent days. Your thumb hovers over the screen, uncertain, as if maybe it’s some mistake. Maybe it’s just some fluke, a wrong number or a dream.

But it’s her name.

Your thumb is already swiping across the screen, and before you know it, you’re answering, “Hello?”

It’s quiet for a moment on the other end, and you wonder if she’s second-guessing this, if she’s having the same hesitations you did before she called. You can almost hear her breathing, like she’s trying to find the right thing to say.

“Hey,” she says.

You sit up in bed, your eyes closing as you press the phone closer to your ear.

“Sorry, I know it’s late…”

You swallow, your mouth dry. “It’s okay.”

“I… I’m sober,” she lets out a shaky breath.

You can’t help but smile softly. She remembered.

“That’s good, Vi.”

She sighs on the other end.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot… but…” She hesitates, “I… I want to talk about it in person.”

In person.

“When?” you say nervously.

“Uh, can you come by Vander’s tomorrow? After work? I-If you’re working, I mean. Or whichever day you’re free.” Her voice is soft, nervous, like she’s afraid you’d say no.

You nod to yourself, though she can’t see you. Your heart races as you say quietly, “I’ll go after I close the shop.”

“Yeah… okay.”

There’s another pause, and then Vi’s voice comes through again, quieter than before.

“I miss you.”

You probably shouldn’t say it, but you do anyway.

“Me too.”

On the other end of the line, Vi lies flat on her back in her childhood bedroom, the phone pressed tight against her ear, her free hand draped over her face as if that could somehow hide the flush creeping up her neck. She’s staring at the ceiling—at the faint cracks in the paint, the old band posters she put up when she was seventeen, the ones she never bothered to take down. It smells the same in here, but now with the faint scent of the cigarettes she now smokes outside but somehow still manages to drag in with her.

Her heart is racing and it almost feels stupid, how nervous she is, how her whole body feels like it’s buzzing, like she’s back in high school, lying in this exact room, talking to you on the phone late into the night, whispering so Vander wouldn’t hear that she’s awake past midnight.

And Vi swears her heart stumbles in her chest when she hears your voice, her hand dragging down her face. She’s blushing—full-on red as a damn tomato—and it’s so ridiculous that she actually closes her eyes, biting back a smile, because it’s you. It’s always been you.

Her voice is quieter now, rough but tender, the words slipping out before she can think too hard about them.

“Really?” She asks softly, the tiniest smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Your cheeks instantly get hot and your clear your throat before quickly saying, “See you tomorrow.”

The line goes dead before she can even get a word out.

And then, Vi smiles.

The soft beep of the call ending echoes through her room, and for a second, she just lies there, blinking at the ceiling, the phone still in her hand. Then, she drops the phone onto her chest. You blushed. She heard it in your voice, before you hung up so quick.

She’s nervous. And she can only hope everything she planned, goes well.

The sky is a deep orange when you close up shop and start your walk towards Vander’s bar. The air is warm but it was cooling fast, a breeze slipping beneath your jacket and brushes against your bare legs.

You don’t know how long you’ve been standing here when you arrive, outside of The Last Drop, just staring at the worn sign hanging above the door, just like you did the time Vi asked you to come on Benzo’s birthday. The neon letters are bright against the brick wall, hanging just above the door.

You tug your jacket a little tighter around your shoulders, the simple dress beneath it fluttering lightly with the wind. It’s nothing fancy—you told yourself you didn’t dress up for this. Didn’t want to. That you wouldn’t. But there’s still a small part of you that combed through your closet this morning for something just nice, pretty enough—something Vi might notice anyway.

The street is mostly empty, just a few people lingering further down, the occasional sound of a car passing by. The bar’s windows glow dimly from the inside, soft lights spilling out onto the sidewalk, but it’s quiet—just a bit early for the late night crowd.

And from where you’re standing, you can’t tell if Vi is even here.

You swallow, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, biting the inside of your cheek as your eyes stay fixed on the door. It would be so easy to turn around, walk back the way you came, head home to your apartment and pretend you never came here at all.

But your feet don’t move. You promised yourself that you’d be brave. And honest.

So, you step in.

The door creaks softly as you push it open, and the scent of old wood and faint cigarette smoke wafts over you. The bar is quieter than you expected—just a few regulars hunched over their drinks, the clink of glasses and the low hum of some rock song playing through the crackling speakers filling the room.

Vander’s behind the bar, wiping down a glass with a rag, his broad frame taking up space behind the counter just as you remember. His beard’s a little grayer now, but his eyes still looked the same—the kind that always made you feel welcome, even on the nights when you and Vi would stumble in after one of your countless fights after school, both of you pretending you hadn’t just spent the walk here arguing, bantering, even though he knew that you’d make up an hour later.

The door swings shut behind you with a soft thud, and Vander’s head lifts at the sound.

“Hi, Vander,” you greet.

“Welcome back,” he says with a smile. “Vi’s out back. Had her help with some of the new supplies that came in today.”

You manage a small smile, tugging your jacket a little closer around yourself, unsure what to say. But you don’t have to, because before you can even open your mouth, Vander’s already turning, peeking his head into the small kitchen behind the bar.

“Vi!” he calls out.

Your heart jumps.

A clatter sounds from the back; a faint curse, something heavy being set down and then there’s the sound of footsteps, slow at first, then quicker, like she was rushing.

And all you can do is stand there, staring at the kitchen door, bracing yourself for the moment she walks through it.

The kitchen door swings open just enough for Vi to peek out, her shoulder braced against the frame, and the moment her gaze lands on you, standing there, soft and still and backlit by the dim glow of the bar lights—her heart skips.

Her hair is a mess, unruly and half-falling out of the loose, low, short ponytail she must’ve tied back hours ago. There’s a smear of flour or maybe grease across her forearm, and her knuckles are dusted with something dark—soot from the ancient stove, probabl—and for a second, Vi’s painfully aware of how she must look. Like she just climbed out of a fight with the kitchen itself.

And then there’s you.

Vi’s lips part—not because she knows what to say, but because she doesn’t. She just stares for a beat too long, her chest rising and falling a little too fast, her fingers tightening around the edge of the doorframe.

“Uh…” She finally says, like it had to fight its way out of her throat.

Her brain’s moving too slow—still caught somewhere between how pretty you look and how completely unprepared she suddenly feels.

You don’t say anything yet. Just look at her with those wide, unreadable eyes—the ones that always made her feel like you could see right through her. Vi swallows. Her free hand rakes through her hair, trying to smooth it down, but it only makes the strands stick up more, and she curses softly under her breath. You smile just a little and it’s enough to knock the air right out of her lungs.

Vi’s voice cracks just a little when she stammers, “O-One sec. Let me get my things.”

Then, before you can respond, she disappears back into the kitchen like she’s running from a fire.

You hear a clatter again—something metal hitting the floor. There’s a shuffle of movement, the sound of a zipper being yanked too hard, and then Vi’s voice again, muffled: “Shit—where the hell—”

You stand there, still, your fingers idly brushing the hem of your jacket as Vander watches from behind the bar with an amused smirk, wiping down another glass. The warm hum of the bar seems distant—the soft chatter of conversations, the scrape of a chair against the floor but all you can really focus on is the faint noise of Vi scrambling around in the back.

She’s nervous. You’ve known her long enough to tell.

And you are too.

When Vi reappears, she’s breathless—hair still a little disheveled, but free from they messy, low pony she had on earlier, cheeks a little flushed—but she’s shed the dirty apron, now holding a leather jacket in one hand and shoving her phone into her back pocket with the other. Her boots scuff against the floor as she stops just short of you, swallowing hard.

“Okay,” she says, like she’s still catching up to the moment. Then, with a quick glance down at herself—like she’s realizing, too late, that she still smells faintly of smoke and whatever the hell she was cooking back there—Vi clears her throat. “Uh… ready.”

You blink at her, tilting your head slightly. “Are we going somewhere?”

Vi’s eyes widen and for a split second, she looks like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh, right! Y-Yeah,” she stutters, the words tripping over themselves. Her gaze darts to the window, like she’s only just noticing how the sky outside has deepened from soft orange to dusky purple, the last light of the sun slipping away. “I… I wanted to show you something.”

She doesn’t elaborate.

Your lips part slightly, a question at the tip of your tongue—but you don’t ask. Not yet.

Instead, you watch as Vi fiddles with the zipper of her leather jacket, her fingers twitchy and restless. She keeps stealing glances at you when she thinks you’re not looking and then drop to the way your dress falls around your legs, soft and simple, before she hastily looks away again like she’s scolding herself.

She’s nervous. It’s endearing.

You smile gently, adjusting your jacket over your shoulders, and let the silence stretch just a little longer—enough to make Vi’s throat bob as she swallows hard.

“Is it far?” you ask softly, finally breaking the silence.

Vi’s gaze snaps back to yours. “Its, uh, a bit of a drive… but not too far. Promise.”

You give her another small smile and nod. “Okay.”

Relief flashes across Vi’s face so quickly you almost miss it. She steps back, motioning toward the door with a jerk of her chin.

“Come on,” she says. “It’s better if I just show you.”

Vi leads you through the back door of the bar, her hand hovering near the small of your back but never quite touching, like she wants to guide you but thinks better of it at the last second. It’s a bit colder outside now, the heat slipping away into a soft breeze.

Her truck is parked there, a beat-up thing that looks like it’s seen better days—faded red paint, a dent in the front bumper, a sticker peeling off the back window. Just like you remember. And without a word, Vi steps ahead, pulling open the passenger side door for you. You climb in, the worn leather seat creaking softly under you, and Vi closes the door carefully, before roundjng the truck and jogging over to the driver’s side.

There’s a beat of silence got a moment—just the two of you sitting there. Then Vi reaches forward, twisting the key in the ignition. The truck starts, and the radio clicks on—low music filtering through her old speakers, some soft, indie song you don’t recognize. And it’s quiet enough that you can still hear Vi’s shaky breath as she shifts into gear and pulls out of the lot.

The drive is silent, for the most part.

You steal a glance at Vi, the way her fingers flex around the steering wheel, her thumb tapping against it. Her jaw is tight, her left knee bouncing ever so slightly.

She’s nervous. Extremely.

She hasn’t looked at you once since you got in the truck. Not directly. But her knuckles are white where they grip the wheel, and you can tell—she’s thinking about you.

“You okay?” you ask softly, not because you don’t know the answer, but because you want to hear her say something.

Vi’s fingers tighten around the wheel.

“Yeah,” she says too quickly. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

Thinking.

You don’t ask about what.

Instead, you just turn your gaze back to the road ahead, watching as the lights of the town blur past. The road twists and turns as Vi drives, the town slowly fading behind, buildings growing fewer. The truck hums along, the music still playing softly through the speakers, though neither of you has said much since you left the bar.

You glance at Vi again, at the way her fingers grip the wheel, her jaw working like she’s chewing on a thousand words but swallowing every last one. She’s tense, sure, but there’s something kind of bright in her eyes, the corner of her mouth twitching like she’s holding back a smile.

You begin to wonder now—Where are we going?

But then… you start to notice the way the road curves just so. The familiar slope of the hill you know all too well. The buildings growing further and further now in the rearview mirror, until there’s nothing left but open sky and that long, winding road that stretches upward on the hill.

There’s no way, you think.

But… you can see it from here now.

That old drive-in movie theater at the top of the hill, long abandoned but still standing. The massive, weathered screen towers above the lot, cracked and peeling but somehow still proud. Rows of broken, overgrown parking spaces stretch out before it, grass pushing through the cracks in the ground.

It’s exactly the same. Older. But the same.

And suddenly, you remember the nights spent here, years ago—sneaking in after hours when the place had already shut down, lying on the hood of Vi’s old car, watching the stars instead of whatever movie was playing, because Vi could never really sit still long enough to actually watch anything… especially with you there next to her.

It was the first date she took you on, after years of growing up together, secretly crushing on each other, after finally confessing to you when sophomore year had barely started. She took you here, soon after Vander had gifted her the truck on her sixteenth birthday. She saved up for weeks, trying to make it all perfect, grabbing dinner at that pizza place you like, picking flowers in some random field after band practice and giving it to you when she finally mustered up the courage to ask you out. You remember the way she’d steal glances at you instead of the screen—the way her fingers would twitch like she wanted to touch you but didn’t know if she should. The way she’d finally work up the courage, lacing her pinky with yours, cheeks flushed even in the dark. You kissed her here for the first time, surprising her, and not only did Vi fall more in love with you, she fell in love with kissing you.

And now—here you are again.

Vi pulls the truck into the middle of the lot, the perfect spot for a good view of the screen, before cutting the engine.

Silence.

The sound of the radio dies, leaning only the distant chirp of crickets and the faint whisper of the wind through the grass.

Vi’s fingers are still curled around the steering wheel, like she’s gathering the courage to let go.

Finally, she clears her throat.

“I, uh… I thought we could—” She stops, shakes her head, then tries again. “I just… I used to bring you here all the time, remember?”

Her voice is quiet. Tentative.

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the edge of your jacket.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “I remember.”

Vi lets out a shaky breath, her thumb still tapping nervously against the steering wheel.

“I thought this place shut down a couple years ago,” you say, looking out the window.

In fact, you knew it did. You came here from time to time, while you and Vi were still dating—while you were here, and she was off far away chasing her dream. You’d come here alone from time to time when you were missing her, maybe in between months to watch a movie to pretend she was with you. You liked doing that.

But, the people who ran this place decided to shut it down, you heard. Bad business. Less and a less people coming. Not enough money coming in to keep this place running.

Your heart broke with it.

“It looks clean,” you say, eyes scanning what looked liked freshly cut grass and no sight of trash littered across the field.

Vi clears her throat before speaking again.

“I… I actually spent a few weeks getting this place fixed up,” she says quietly, glancing at you nervously.

Your heart skip another beat.

“You… What?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

She shifts in her seat, her thumb still twitching against the wheel, a nervous habit you recognize all too well. Her other hand scrubs at the back of her neck, and you catch the faintest hint of red creeping up from her collar, disappearing beneath the jacket she’s wearing.

“I, uh… yeah,” she mumbles, eyes darting to the dark screen towering above you both, the massive structure still cracked and weathered but now oddly… clean. Cleared of the overgrown vines and layers of grime that once clung to it like a second skin.

Vi lifts her gaze back to you, “I figured I could fix it up.”

You blink at her.

And she clears her throat again.

“Ekko, Steb, Loris… even Jayce. They all helped. Took a couple weeks to clean the place up. Three days just this week to make sure everything was working—” She stops herself, clears her throat. “The projector, I mean. It’s old, but… we got it running again.”

Your mouth opens—then closes.

Because suddenly, it’s so clear.

The smudges of grease on Vi’s fingers when she rushed out of the kitchen earlier tonight. The faint streak of dirt on her shirt. The way she kept checking the sky, the time—so desperate to get you here after the sun completely set.

She’d been working on this for you.

Your throat feels tight.

“You did all of this?” you whisper.

“Yeah,” she breathes, nodding nervously. “I just… I wanted to bring you back here. I thought maybe… we could talk here. And it’s quiet, so...”

She laughs softly—bitterly, almost.

“Or, y’know… we don’t have to talk, if you want. We could just sit here. Stare at the screen. Like we used to.”

Your chest aches.

Because Vi isn’t just showing you this place—this isn’t just about an old drive-in movie theater. It’s about all the time she lost, all the ways she’s trying to piece something back together. She’s standing in the ruins of what you once had, and instead of walking away… she’s trying to build something new.

For you.

You swallow hard, fingers tightening around the edge of your jacket as you glance back at the screen, the rows of parking spots, the cleared out grass—everything Vi touched, cleaned, and fixed looking back at her.

“Vi…” you whisper, but you don’t know what to say.

The smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it.

You don’t realize how long you’ve been staring at each other until you quietly say, “Can you put a movie on?”

It takes Vi a second to notice—like she wasn’t expecting it—but when she finally turns her head and really looks at you, her own smile creeps up slow. It’s tentative at first, like she’s afraid to let herself feel too much, but then it grows brighter and wider, spreading across her face until her dimples flash like she’s suddenly seventeen again, sitting in front of you with a heart too full to control.

“Y-Yeah,” she stammers, the excitement in her voice is clear—impossible to hide. “Yeah—uh, just gimme a sec.”

And then she’s moving—quickly, almost tripping over her own feet in her rush to get out of the truck. She doesn’t even bother closing the door properly, leaving it cracked open as she jogs across the lot, her jacket nearly slipping off one shoulder as she reaches the small booth tucked at the back of the theater—the projector room.

You watch her climb up the short set of metal stairs—two at a time—before fumbling with the old lock on the door, muttering something to herself when it sticks for a moment. She manages to shove it open with a rough push of her shoulder, disappearing inside.

For a moment, it’s quiet.

Then, after a few seconds, a faint flicker of light appears on the blank screen in front of you.

You lean back in the seat, your heart still beating a little too fast, watching as the screen brightens as the picture starts to settle. A movie starts—and you smile, shaking your head as the music fills your ears before anything else. Star Wars: A New Hope.

And a few seconds later, Vi comes sprinting back—slightly breathless, a wide grin plastered across her face as she throws herself back into the driver’s seat.

The iconic opening is already rolling, those bold yellow letters floating through the starry sky, the score blasting through the old speakers Vi must’ve rigged back to life.

You remember the way she used to kiss you during the this movie. How she’d slip her hand into yours when Leia appeared, saying something cheesy like, “You’re prettier than her,” and you’d roll your eyes, laughing—but your heart would race, and you’d kiss her in the cheek anyway.

You smile again.

And Vi notices.

“What?” she asks, a little shy, like she’s bracing herself for you to tease her.

You shake your head, still smiling, eyes glued to the screen. “Nothing.”

But Vi doesn’t look away—not right away.

She keeps watching you, like you’re the only thing worth watching tonight.

The movie plays on, echoing softly through the speakers Vi must’ve dragged out here, though the sound’s a little scratchy, like it’s crackling at the edges. But it doesn’t really matter. Neither of you are really watching it anyway.

You can feel Vi’s gaze drift toward you every few minutes—like she’s checking, like she’s still waiting, like she’s terrified this might all be too much, too soon. But she doesn’t say anything.

It really is quiet up here, like she said—no passing cars, no city noise—just the wind brushing through the grass and the soft hum of the projector behind you.

You pull your jacket a little tighter around yourself.

And then you glance at Vi.

She’s watching the screen—or at least pretending to—but her jaw is tight, her lips pressed together, like she’s biting back words. You can tell she wants to say something, the way her knee won’t stop bouncing, the way her hand keeps flexing against her thigh, like she’s thinking about reaching for yours but doesn’t dare.

So you speak first.

“Why’d you fix this place up?” you ask softly.

Vi blinks. She looks at you for a long moment, mouth parting—but nothing comes out at first.

“I… I don’t know,” she admits, running a hand through her hair—messing it up even more, if that’s possible. “I just… I remembered you saying you used to come here.”

She glances away for a moment.

“I know I wasn’t always… there. Back then.” Her jaw clenches, struggling to find the right words. “But I remembered you telling me how you’d come here sometimes—when I was on the road. After we broke up, I was on a call with dad and heard that it got shut down.”

You swallow, hard.

“I guess… I just wanted to fix it. Make it… I don’t know. Make it something good again. For you.”

You remember those nights. The ones where Vi wouldn’t call, or would miss your texts—too busy chasing the dream you told her you were proud of, even if it meant you were left behind.

You clear your throat, blinking back the sting in your eyes. “Vi…”

She shakes her head quickly, like she doesn’t want you to say anything.

“I know it doesn’t fix anything,” she mumbles.

Her gaze drops to her lap.

Silence again.

But before you can stop yourself, your hand moves until your fingers brush against Vi’s on the seat between you. Just a light touch. Just enough to let her know you heard her.

Vi’s breath hitches in her throat. She doesn’t look at you—but she doesn’t move her hand away either.

The movie rolls on, the light flickering on the screen softly, and uneven shadows dance across Vi’s face. Your fingers are still there, resting lightly against hers—not quite holding her hand, but not pulling away either.

Vi hasn’t moved. Hasn’t even dared to breathe too loud.

She’s still nervous. You can feel it in the way her knee keeps bouncing, in the way her thumb twitches, like she wants so badly to close the distance and link her fingers with yours.

But she doesn’t. She stays there, still as a statue, letting you set the pace.

You glance at her out of the corner of your eye.

She’s not watching the movie anymore—hasn’t been for a while. Her gaze is fixed on the screen, sure, but you can tell by the way her eyebrows twitch slightly, by the way her lips press into a thin line, that her head is somewhere else entirely.

She’s thinking about you. You know her too well. She’s overthinking, pulling herself apart, wondering if all of this was too much.

She thinks you might pull away any second now.

So you don’t.

You shift slightly in your seat, letting your pinky finger loop gently around hers. It’s barely anything but Vi notices immediately. Her body goes stiff for a second. Then, slowly, she moves her hand—just enough to let her pinky hook back around yours.

It’s almost nothing.

But to Vi, it’s everything.

She lets out a shaky breath, like she’s been holding it in for too long, and finally dares to look at you.

“I wasn’t sure if you were gonna show up today,” she admits, “After… the other night.”

You hear the words inside of your head again. I love you.

You swallow the lump in your throat and speak softly, your finger still hooked with hers.

“I told you I’d see you tomorrow,” you say.

Vi’s lips twitch once more, but there’s still a question in her eyes, like she’s waiting for you to reject her all over again.

Like she’s still afraid you’re going to run.

And maybe a part of you is still afraid too.

The movie continued to fade into the background. You shift a little, the leather seat creaking softly as you move. Your pinky was still hooked around hers, but the rest of your hand stayed still. Waiting for something from her.

It was too quiet now. Neither of you looked at each other. Vi’s chest tightened with the silence. Her fingers fidgeted where they rested against the seat as she thought about how much she wanted to say but didn’t know how. She wasn’t sure if it was too late, or if you’d even believe her if she told you how much she still loved you, how much she regretted everything that had happened between you both.

Then, the words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop them. Vi’s heart skipped a beat as soon as she said it, and she immediately regretted the rush.

“I’m leaving the record label,” she blurted out.

You stopped and turned your head to look at her.

“What?”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at you, her eyes glued to the screen ahead, even though she was barely watching. Her other hand curled into a fist over her lap. She hadn’t planned on telling you this way. She wanted to ease into it more. And she wasn’t ready for this conversation—hell, she wasn’t sure if she’d ever be ready—but now that it was out, it was impossible to ignore.

Vi sighs, her mind racing. It had been a decision she’d been turning over for the past year, before coming back here, before seeing you again, something she’d thought about while staring at the ceiling of her hotel room, when the loneliness finally sank in. She was done with it. The constant demands, the fake smiles, the busy schedules. She was done pretending. Done with the things that had pulled her away from everything that had once mattered.

And that included you.

“It’s just… it’s not what I thought it was.” She says, voice shaking as she spoke.

Vi finally turns her head, just enough to catch a glimpse of you, though she wasn’t sure if she could hold your gaze yet.

“I’m tired of it,” she breathes.

She was tired of being someone she wasn’t sure she recognized anymore. The pressure. The distance. The mistakes. The demands. Constantly touring. Strict deadlines for recording and making music. Promotions. Events. She was tired of pretending she was fine with drowning in the endless work, tired of feeling like she was losing herself more every day, when all she ever wanted was to make music and play it with her best friends.

Her knuckles whitened, clenching her fist hard.

“I didn’t realize how much I was… letting go of until it was too late,” Vi continued, her voice dropping, vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to. “I let everything else slip through my fingers. And you—”

Her throat tightened, and she cut herself off, shaking her head, her breath catching in the back of her throat.

“I was so focused on everything else, I didn’t even notice… I didn’t even notice how far I was from you.”

She wasn’t sure what she expected, if anything. Maybe she was just hoping to get it out, to let you know she wasn’t the same person anymore, that she was ready to change. Ready to fight for what really mattered. For you.

“Violet,” you say softly. “You love the band…”

Vi’s smile was soft as she looked over at you. She let out a breath, shaking her head.

“I do, yeah… but…” She trailed off, her eyes flitting to the dashboard as if the answers were hiding somewhere in the worn leather seats.

“I’m not quitting the band… I don’t want to do that any time soon and I didn’t think you’d want me to do that either,” she added, running a hand through her hair. “But I’m tired of the way things are going. The stuff we have to do… It’s not fun anymore.”

She let out another deep breath, her eyes briefly meeting yours again.

“I want a place where we’re not being told what to do, where we can just… make music and play what we want,” Vi smiled a little again, more to herself than to you, as if she was starting to believe it herself. “I guess… I just need to find a label that’s willing to let us have more freedom, you know?”

“What does the band think?” you ask her. After all, they did sign to a major label—you know it won’t be smooth sailing if they quit. But a part of you also knows how popular the band is, how big they’ve gotten, how successful they are, and that if this happens, people are still going to want to listen to them anyway.

“Yeah, they’re on board,” Vi smiles.

She was scared, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. Her eyes found their way back to the screen, the flashing lights of the movie scenes dancing across her face, but… she couldnt think about anything else.

“And I also… I wanna be closer to you,” Vi whispered, almost as if she wasn’t sure she even had the right to say it.

Her lips pressed together. She was nervous again.

The truth was, she didn’t know how to make you believe her. How to make you see that she wasn’t the same person who had let you go before.

That this time, she wanted you. All of you.

She cleared her throat awkwardly, “I-I mean… T-There’s a record label I’ve been looking at. I-It’s independent, and it’s just several hours away, but it’s closer than New York and Ekko and I were already thinking about setting up a studio here at home so—I-If it works out, we’ll just finish our contract and move right after… Besides—”

She’s rambling.

After a minute of talking out of her nerves, her gaze flickered toward you again, against her better judgment, and for a split second, her heart stuttered in her chest.

You looked… perfect. Beautiful. So much more than she remembered, and yet so familiar, like she was coming home.

Fuck, she thought. You look so pretty.

Vi immediately turned her head back to the screen, suddenly feeling the heat spreading across her cheeks. She wanted to look at you again, to let herself drink you in, but she was scared. It was easier to look away, to focus on the movie in front of her. But she couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every little thing about you—your laugh, you smile, the feeling of your hand against hers—was driving her crazy.

She sneaked another glance anyway, this time a little longer, though she quickly darted her eyes away again when she realized how easily her breath hitched. You weren’t even doing anything, just sitting there, your gaze soft on the screen, yet everything about you felt so magnetic to her. It was hard to ignore, harder still to pretend that she wasn’t still in love with you.

“I spent a lot of time trying to forget about you, you know.”

For a second, Vi wasn’t sure if she had heard you correctly.

But she could hear the honesty in your voice. And suddenly, she wished more than anything that she could take all of that pain away. That she could erase the hurt she had caused, make it right. She wanted to apologize, wanted to explain everything she had never said, but the words felt stuck in her throat.

You turned your head slowly, and though she couldn’t see your face clearly, she knows that tears were threatening to spill.

“I spent so long convincing myself I was okay without you,” you continued. “I told myself I was fine… and for a while, I believed it. I really did.”

Vi’s heart twisted painfully as you spoke. It was hard to hear, but at the same time, she couldn’t tear her eyes away.

“But no matter how much I tried to push it all down, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Sometimes, I wondered if we could ever go back to the way we were.”

You turned your head away, trying to hide the tears that found their way down your cheeks.

“I figured you’d forget about me too… that you were out there living your dream already… and that you didnt need me anymore.”

“You’re wrong.”

Vi’s heart raced as she quickly scooted closer to you, the long seat in her truck creaking slightly, like she couldn’t wait another second to close the distance between you.

Her hand hovered over yours for a split second, then laced her fingers with yours. She pulled your hand into her lap, her hands big, warm and rough—the same way they’ve always felt before. Vi stared down at your intertwined hands, her thumb tracing the soft curve of your knuckles, over and over again, as though she was trying to memorize the feeling of your skin. She couldn’t look at you just yet; her gaze was fixed on your joined hands, touching you, holding you.

“You’re wrong,” she repeated, her words spilling out, desperate for you to hear her, to believe her. “I never stopped needing you. Never stopped wanting you.”

She swallowed hard, shaking her head.

“I thought about you every day,” she whispered.

Vi didn’t look at you as she spoke—her eyes still fixed on your hands, her thumb continuing to trace small circles over your skin.

“I thought about all the things I’d do right the next time… if I got the chance. All the ways I’d be better for you.”

Her fingers tightened just slightly around yours, pulling you a little closer. Her side was pressed against yours, but even then, she wanted to be closer.

“I also wondered if you found someone else. Someone who’d be there for you the way I wasn’t,” she said, smiling sadly at the thought. “It’s been three years since I saw you so… I don’t know. That’s a long time and I…”

Always thought it was too late.

Her head dropped, chin tilting slightly downward, as she let out a shaky breath, trying to keep herself from falling apart. There was so much regret, so much pain for the time she had wasted, for the distance that had grown between the two of you.

“When I saw you at the wedding… All the bullshit I’ve been running through my head, all the walls I’ve put up… they just… disappeared,” she said, eyes shifting to meet yours for just a moment. “And all I could think was, ‘I’ve wasted so much time. I’ve been so stupid.’”

Her breath was shallow, unsteady, as she ran her thumb back and forth over your skin. She wanted to make you feel safe, wanted you to feel the sincerity in her touch, the way she wanted to be close to you.

“You deserve more than… than everything I gave you,” Vi sniffles quietly. “I wasn’t ready then, but I’m ready now.”

She squeezed your hand slightly, to reassure herself that you were here, that you hadn’t let go, that you were still holding onto her.

Her thumb continued its slow path over your knuckles.

“You’re my dream, too.”

Her chest feels tight as she says it.

“And if you don’t want this with me… that’s okay,” Vi says softly, though her voice cracks at the end.

She stares straight ahead, at the flickering lights of the drive-in screen now, though she’s still not really watching the movie.

“I just… I want you to know it’s not about what I want. It’s about what you want. If being close to me again—if it hurts too much… then I get it. I swear, I do.”

Vi’s grip on your hand loosens, hesitant, like she’s preparing herself to let go. Her heart is racing, her stomach twisting. She’s trying to be strong, to give you space, but the truth is, the thought of losing you again—this time for good—is tearing her apart piece by piece.

“I want to be happy… and if you think you can’t be that with me, I’ll understand.”

And finally, Vi turns her head just enough to look at you, her eyes glassy. But she doesn’t push. She doesn’t beg.

She waits.

Tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them.

It hurts. God, it hurts.

Without thinking, you move closer and lean your head against Vi’s shoulder, tucking your face near the curve of her neck. You feel her go still beneath you, afraid to move, afraid to even breathe, as if one wrong move might br the reason you pull away from her again.

“You’re an idiot,” you mumble against her neck, your voice breaking somewhere in the middle.

And then the tears come harder. Your shoulders tremble, and you try to keep it together, but it’s useless.

Vi’s heart is pounding—you can feel it beneath the fabric of her t-shirt. She doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t shift or fidget. She doesn’t want to. She just stays frozen, her fingers still loosely laced with yours in her lap, her thumb still now, resting against your knuckles like she’s forgotten how to do anything but sit there and let herself feel you this close.

She stares straight ahead at the drive-in screen, but it only blurred in her vision. All she can think about is you. Your head against her shoulder. The brush of your hair against her neck. The way your arm grazes hers, how your hand is still in hers, even as your shoulders tremble with silent tears.

Vi closes her hand a little more firmly around yours. Your soft, broken sobs are barely more than a whisper against her shoulder, but to her, they’re louder than the movie, louder than her own heart pounding in her chest.

Slowly, her gaze drifts down to your tangled hand resting in her lap, to the way your knuckles look small in her rough, calloused palm.

She remembers how many times she’s held your hand like this before—when you were both younger, when things were simpler. She remembers pulling you through the halls in school, in her house, on dates, lacing your fingers together on long drives with the windows down, slipping her hand into yours just because she could—because back then, she didn’t have to wonder if you’d let her.

Her thumb brushes over your knuckles again before she squeezes your hand softly. And then, hesitantly, Vi lifts your hand from her lap, her fingers trembling ever so slightly as she brings it closer. Her lips graze the back of your hand as she kisses you there, just barely. Her mouth stays for a moment longer than it should, her breath warm against your skin, and when she finally pulls away, her hand still holds yours, cradling it carefully like its something she’s scared of breaking.

“Violet,” you whisper again.

Vi’s head snaps up instantly in a panic, worried you’ll pull away from her soon.

But you don’t.

You’re still there, still leaning into her, your face close enough that she can see the faint trail of tears drying on your cheeks, the way your lips tremble, the way your eyes are focused on her, and only her.

“Yeah?” She breathes.

You don’t say anything right away.

But carefully, you let your other hand move upwards, your fingertips brush along her jaw, so softly, and Vi swears she forgets how to breathe. Her skin is warm beneath your hand as your thumb gently ghosts over the scar that cuts through her the tattoo on her cheek—the one that spells out her name. She leans into it instinctively, like she’s starved for the feeling of you, like she’s afraid this might be the last time you’ll ever touch her like this.

Her eyes flutter shut for just a second before they open again, and now she’s not staring at the screen or at your hands.

She’s staring at you.

Vi’s breath hitches. Her eyes fall shut for a moment, the feeling of your soft skin against hers comforting her in a way she hasn’t felt in years.

“I think I’ve forgiven you a long time ago,” you say.

Vi feels the walls she’s been building around herself start to crack, just a little. She’s so close to breaking, but she’s scared. Scared of what this means, scared of how much she still needs you, how much she’s missed you.

You continue, quietly. Nervously. “I panicked because I… I was scared of repeating the same things that happened in the past… I was scared of wanting more with you… not knowing if anything would actually change.”

She opens her eyes, her gaze darting over to yours immediately. And she could lose you again, she knows that. But what scares her most is that she’s not sure she’s strong enough to let you go, even if she wanted to.

“I don’t want you to be scared,” she whispers, almost desperately. “I don’t want to be the reason you’re scared anymore. I just…”

Her voice cracks as she continues.

“This… This is the one thing I wanna get right.”

Vi can see the shimmer of your tears in the faint glow from the screen, and it makes chest ache.

“I will get it right,” she promises.

Her eyes search yours, trying desperately to figure out what you’re thinking.

But soon, you’re crying again.

Vi watches helplessly as tears begin to fall again. The sight makes her feel like she’s breaking all over again. She feels her own eyes welling up, but she blinks back the tears, trying to hold it together, trying to be strong for you. Her eyes trace your face, and her hand still tangled with yours, thumb brushing gentle circles against your skin. Her heart is pounding so loudly she’s sure you can hear it, but she doesn’t say a word. She’s too scared. Scared that this might be the moment you pull away from her all over again—that despite everything she’s said, you’ll decide it’s too late, that she’s too late.

But then, in a voice so soft that Vi barely hears, you mutter quietly.

“Okay.”

Vi freezes. Her mind stumbles over the word, running it back over and over again like she misheard it, like it couldn’t possibly mean what she thinks it does. Did you mean it? Did you really mean it?

She blinks down at you, your tear-streaked face still pressed to her shoulder, and she feels like her heart just forgot how to beat.

And then, like the air’s been knocked out of her, she sighs. She couldn’t believe it.

“Okay?” she echoes softly.

“Okay,” you nod against her, sniffling softly. “I think… we should take it slow, at least—”

It feels like the air has been knocked out of Vi’s lungs. She’s still staring at you, eyes wide, like she can’t fully process what you just said.

“Wait, wait—” She swallows hard. “You… you mean it?”

You lift your head just enough to look at her, and the sight of your tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes almost undoes her entirely.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding your head.

Holy shit. Vi stares at you. It doesn’t feel real.

The word echoes in her head, over and over, her brain still trying to convince itself that you really said it. That you really meant it. Her chest feels tight, and for a second, she wonders if she’s forgotten how to breathe.

And yet, Vi doesn’t move. She doesn’t blink. She doesn’t speak.

Honestly, a part of her is still bracing for you to take it back like this is just a dream she’s about to wake up from, or a cruel joke the universe decided to play on her—that any second now, you’ll realize you made a mistake, pull your hand away, and tell her you can’t do this.

But you don’t.

You sniffle instead, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand before tilting your head slightly to look at her. Vi is still frozen, staring at you like you just spoke in another language.

A slow, bittersweet smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“Vi…?”

Vi blinks rapidly, mouth opening slightly, but no words come out and—shit.

You tilt your head slightly, eyes still glossy, still searching her face, and Vi swears she’s about to pass out because fuck, you’re beautiful. Even after all that crying, the way you’re looking at her, like you’re really seeing her for the first time in years, like she’s something worth looking at—

Vi feels her entire body go up in flames.

She’s red.

Like, really red—cheeks burning, ears practically glowing, and the moment your eyes meet, she panics. Her face heats up so fucking fast she’s sure she’s about to combust, the tips of her ears burning, and before she can stop herself, her forehead drops against your shoulder in pure mortification, and she groans.

“Fuck,” she mutters, muffled against your jacket. “I—just—gimme a second.”

She can feel you shaking slightly, and for a second, she thinks you’re crying again, but—it’s the quietest little laugh that falls past your lips and into her ears.

And despite the fact that she’d do anything and more to make you laugh forever, out of pure embarrassment, she groans quietly, “Don’t laugh at me.”

You sniff again. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

And you don’t say anything else after that. Neither does Vi.

She just stays there, forehead resting against your shoulder, breathing slow. Her fingers are still tangled with yours, her thumb absently running along your knuckles like she needs the reassurance that you’re still here with her. Then, slowly, almost hesitantly, she moves her face closer—nuzzling in closer, her nose brushing the curve of your neck. You feel her breathe you in, sighing softly against your skin.

She smells like cigarettes and the faded remnants of whatever cologne she’s been using since she’s got back home, but underneath all of that… she smells they same as she did before. She smelled like thr girl who used to hold your hand and kiss you under the bleachers after school, who used to sneak through your bedroom window at midnight just to fall asleep beside you. The girl who kissed you like she meant it every single day. The girl you thought you lost.

You swallow the lump in your throat, blinking against the sting behind your eyes, and Vi must’ve noticed—must’ve felt the way your breath hitches because her grip on your hand tightens just slightly.

She lifts her head carefully a moment later, afraid to pull away and when she finally does, her face is close. And maybe it’s because she had already scooted over on the bench seat earlier, maybe it’s because the space between you has been shrinking all night, but suddenly, she’s no longer in front of the steering wheel—she’s right there, so close that her jeans are brushing against your legs, so close that you can feel the warmth of her body against your side, boxing you in against the truck door.

You don’t know if she planned it, if she even realized what she was doing, or if her body just naturally moved toward you the way it always used to. But she’s so close now.

And she’s looking right at you, like she’s trying to memorize every inch of your face—like she’s scared you’ll slip through her fingers if she so much as blinks.

Her eyes drop to your lips, just for a second.

Then back up, meeting your gaze.

Vi searches your face, her thumb absently brushing over the back of your hand.

“Are you sure about this?” Her voice is barely above a whisper now. “Because if you’re not, if you need time, I—I’ll wait. I swear, I’ll—”

“Vi.”

She shuts up instantly.

And then, she just looks at you. You’re so fucking pretty, it’s practically driving her insane.

Her eyes keep dropping to your lips, no matter how hard she tries not to. Soft. She knows how they feel, knows the way they move against hers, the way they part just slightly when you sigh into a kiss. She’s addicted to it, the memory of it burned into her mind, something she’s thought about every time she’d think about you.

And now you’re here, looking at her like that, so close, your breath warm against her cheek, and Vi is losing her goddamn mind trying to hold herself back.

Her fingers twitch against yours, grip tightening for just a second before she forces herself to loosen it.

You exhale softly, and Vi feels it against her lips.

She doesn’t even realize she’s leaned in this close until she sees the way your lashes flutter, the way your breath hitches just slightly. Her grip on your hand tightens again.

Fuck… Should she ask? Is she allowed to ask? Well… Its too late now, becuase her mouth is moving even before she could even think.

“Does… taking it slow… mean that I can’t kiss you right now?” Vi asks quietly.

She watches you, searching, waiting for any sign of hesitation, of doubt on your face that might tell her to back off.

But you don’t pull away.

You just look at her, eyes soft, lips parted, so heartbreakingly close that Vi swears she can feel your warmth pulling her in like a moth to a flame.

She’s drowning in it.

And she wants to kiss you so badly it hurts.

You don’t say anything right away. She watches your eyes, how they linger on her mouth for a beat too long. It sends a shiver down her spine, a spark of hope that she tries to smother, but you’re already under her skin.

“I…” you trail off.

Fuck. Maybe she should’ve kept her mouth shut. Maybe this was too much. Maybe you’re not ready—maybe she’s already ruined this before it even started. Maybe—

Your free hand moves. Just barely. Fingers brushing against her knee.

It’s the lightest touch, but Vi feels it anyway. You’re looking at her like you’re thinking, like you’re considering it. And she’s desperate, holding her breath, waiting for anything—any sign that it’s okay to close the distance between you, to let her feel those warm, delicious lips of yours against hers.

“I didn’t say that,” you whisper, heat spreading across your cheeks.

But that’s all it takes for Vi to lean in, forehead brushing against yours first, slowly, like she’s giving you one last chance to pull away. You don’t. You stay, your eyes half-lidded, waiting. She leans in slowly, so slowly it’s almost agonizing. Then, her nose nudges softly against yours, the faintest graze of skin on skin, and she shivers. She can feel the warmth of your breath, smell the faint trace of your perfume, fingers lace tighter with yours. Her other hand lifts, trembling just slightly as she cups your cheek, her thumb grazing over your tear stained skin.

You feel her lips brush against yours. Gentle. And careful. Giving you every opportunity to change your mind.

Still, you don’t.

You lean into it, soft and sweet, your hand tugging around the front of her jacket. She kisses you slowly, savoring the warmth of your mouth, the way you taste, the way your lips part just enough for her to deepen it.

And for the first time in years, Vi doesn’t feel lost. She doesn’t feel empty.

She can’t breathe. She doesn’t want to breathe.

She just feels you.

All she wants is you.

The second your lips move against hers, Vi completely melts into you, helpless against that need that’s always been there. Her thumb smooths over your cheek, hand moving down to pull you closer by your neck, the other still clinging to yours, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. She kisses you as if she’s afraid she’ll never get to again.

There’s no hesitation now. No fear. Just you. Every sensation sinks into her, overwhelming and intoxicating.

She tilts her head, chasing more. The kiss gets desperate, messy, and Vi doesn’t care. She’s starved for this… for you. You sigh softly against her mouth, and Vi feels it everywhere. It makes her kiss you deeper, hungrier, like she could devour every sound you make. She tugs you closer, her body instinctively leaning into yours. The truck’s old leather seat creaks beneath you, but neither of you pay it any mind.

God, she’d kiss you forever if you’d let her.

She’s always been like this—hopelessly addicted to the way you fit against her, the way you always responded to her touch. Her thumb brushes over your cheek again, and Vi can feel the warmth of your skin beneath her calloused fingers, the slight dampness of the tears you’d cried moments ago. It only makes her hold you tighter, to keep you closer, thinking about never ever letting you go again—doesn’t even give it a second thought.

You pull away first, your breathing ragged, soft as you try to catch your breath. Vi’s eyes stay closed for a moment, like she’s trying to hold on to the feeling, imagining what your lips feel like even though you’re just right there, mere centimeters away from her.

When she finally opens them, she looks completely dazed. Her pupils are blown wide, her lips parted, still tinged with the lingering heat of yours. She looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

And maybe, to her, you are.

It takes her a second to realize how close she’s gotten. Her arm is resting along the back of the seat, her body practically caging you in. You’re pressed up against the cool leather of the truck door, your legs tangled with hers, her hand still clutching your, afraid to let go.

Vi blinks, then quickly leans back, her cheeks burning. “Shit, sorry.”

She doesn’t go far. She couldn’t, even if she wanted to. Her hand stays in yours, her thumb absently tracing over your knuckles, but she forces herself to give you some room. Barely.

“Didn’t mean to…” She trails off, shaking her head with a huff of a laugh.

You don’t say anything yet, your chest still rising and falling as you catch your breath. Vi can’t help but stare at the flush dusting over your cheeks, at your slightly swollen lips.

She wants to kiss you again. God, she wants to kiss you a thousand times over.

But somehow, she finds the strength to stay put.

“I didn’t mind,” you say softly.

Vi’s heart stutters. She swears it stops entirely.

You’re so beautiful. More than beautiful. And she’s pretty sure she could stare at you like this forever.

Vi tears her gaze away from you, her eyes drifting toward the glowing screen past the window. Her breath hitches, a shaky sigh falling from her lips. Barely a second later, her eyes move again, looking down at your intertwined hands resting on her lap. Her thumb brushes over your skin slowly.

She knows what’s coming, and she’s terrified of how it’ll feel, how you’ll react… if you’ll pull away from her again, like you did before.

But she can’t stop herself from saying it.

Slowly, Vi lifts your hand to her lips, pressing a soft, tender kiss to the back of it all over again. When she pulls away, her eyes meet yours. And before you can speak, before the words even leave your mouth, Vi swallows hard, and opens her mouth.

“I love you,” she whispers.

You don’t respond immediately, but she isn’t expecting you to. But she needs you to know. She needs you to hear it. She looks down again, her grip tightening around your hand, and her voice cracks slightly when she continues.

“Y-You don’t have to say it back… I just… I wanna remind you that I do… and I always will.”

Vi’s heart is pounding in her chest, and she looks away again, unable to hold your gaze any longer. Her eyes fall to your hands once more, still clasped together in her lap, tracing the lines of your hand with her fingers, her thumb lightly brushing the back of your palm. It’s automatic, almost like her body knows how to do it without thinking.

She thought she was prepared for this, for the possibility that you might not be ready to say it back. How could she expect you to feel the same way, right this second, after years of not being there for you—with you?

She smiles weakly, more to herself than anything.

And yet, it’s hard to ignore. She loves you, so deeply. And the thought of not having you in her life again—it’s unbearable. She’s willing to do whatever it takes.

Her eyes stay locked on your hand in hers, still unable to look up at your face, scared that she might see something she doesn’t want to. Maybe you’ll change your mind about her. Maybe you’ll tell her that this can’t happen again—that this shouldn’t happen again… Maybe, you don’t love her as much as you used to… Maybe—

“I love you.”

Wait, did she say that? Vi blinks, her heart skipping a beat. The words echo in her mind, like she’s misheard them—like they can’t possibly be real. It takes her a moment to register that it wasn’t her voice that said it. It was yours.

Her eyes lift slowly, hesitantly. But when she finally looks at you, she sees the truth written all over your face. The way you’re biting your lip, the way your gaze moves away from her, your cheeks flushed. You’re nervous.

“I…” She can’t find the words.

And then, so softly, you speak again.

“That part’s never changed, Vi.”

She can’t tear her eyes away. She studies every inch of your face, trying to convince herself it’s real.

Because you said that you love her.

The lump in her throat grows, and for a second, she’s sure she’s going to cry. She wants to say something, to respond, but all that comes out is a shaky breath.

“God,” Vi whispers, barely able to get the word out. “You—”

She shakes her head, her lips parting as if to try again, but nothing comes. And then she’s smiling. It’s small at first, soft and disbelieving, like she can’t believe how lucky she is.

“I thought I’d never hear you say that again,” she finally says.

Vi feels the sting in her eyes, the tears threatening to spill. She hates it. Hates how overwhelmed she feels, how her chest feels tight, like her heart’s too full, and for a second, it’s all too much.

She tips her head back, resting it against the worn leather of the truck’s seat. The ceiling stares back at her, cracked in places from the years that passed. Her throat works around a shaky breath, and then she sighs.

“Fuck.”

It slips out before she can stop it, the word practically laced with everything she couldn’t put into words, knowing how badly she’s wanted this, how afraid she still is that it could be gone agin. She feels you move slightly beside her, your hand still tucked firmly in hers. But Vi can’t bring herself to look at you just yet. If she does, she knows she won’t be able to hide the way her eyes are glossing over. She’s always wanted to look brave and tough around you… but, it’s getting harder and harder to hide with each second that passes.

She bites her lip, forcing down the sob that threatens to crawl up her throat.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, though she’s not even sure what she’s apologizing for.

Your thumb brushes lightly against her hand, and it’s enough to make shut her eyes tight, like she can will the tears away. But it doesn’t work. One slips free, trailing hot down her cheek anyway…

Vi barely makes a sound. She just sits there, head tilted back against the seat, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths. The tears slip down her face but she doesn’t even bother wiping them away.

She sniffles softly, her jaw clenched as another tear slips past her lashes. God, she hates crying. She hates how vulnerable it makes her feel. But with you, it’s different. She feels warm with you.

Vi finally brings a hand up, swiping roughly at her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. It doesn’t do much. But when she drops her arm and finally dares to glance at you, there’s nothing but softness in your eyes.

“Sorry,” she whispers again, cracking at the end, betraying just how much she’s holding back.

But you just shake your head, squeezing her hand. “Don’t.”

She sighs in response, her chest rising and falling as she tries to keep it together. Her thumb continues to trace slow, absentminded circles against your skin, and suddenly, the truck feels too small.

You don’t rush her. You never have.

Vi doesn’t say anything at first. She can’t remember the last time she felt this bare. It’s terrifying. But with you, it’s also… safe.

She lowers her head, her forehead brushing against your shoulder again. For a moment, neither of you move. The sound of the movie in the background drifts through the truck’s open windows, but neither of you are paying attention.

“I missed you,” she whispers against your shoulder. “I missed you so fucking much.”

“I missed you, too,” you reply just as softly.

Vi squeezes her eyes shut. She wants to say more. She wants to tell you how every city, every stage, every goddamn after party felt hollow without you. How she’d check her phone after every show, hoping for a text that never came. How she’d lie awake in hotel rooms, thinking about you, about being with you, about how much she missed you, about how much she wanted to turn back the time and do everything differently.

But instead, she just presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder, her lips trembling against the soft fabric of your shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers again. “For everything.”

“I know,” you say. “Me too.”

Her eyes search yours, her brows furrowing like she can’t believe what she just heard.

She shakes her head, “Why are you sorry? You don’t have to—”

“I could’ve tried harder too, Vi.”

Your voice trembles, as Vi stares at you. She looks like she wants to argue, to tell you that none of this was your fault. That she’s the one who let you down. That she’s the one who made you feel like an afterthought while she chased a dream that didn’t feel half as good without you in it.

But you keep going.

“I could’ve said more. I could’ve told you how much it hurt when you didn’t call back, how lonely it was waiting for you to come home,” you whisper. “But I didn’t. I just… I convinced myself it was easier to pretend I was fine. To act like I didn’t care as much as I did… I assumed that you had bigger things to worry about than me… and I got scared to tell you. I-I should’ve told you—“

“You don’t have to apologize,” Vi cuts in. “I’m the one who made you feel that way and—”

“Vi,” you interrupt softly, your thumb brushing over her hand. “You don’t have to take all the blame… It wasn’t just you… It was me, too. I let myself think that I was the one who had to adjust, to accept whatever you gave me. I pushed away my own feelings so I could make sense of the distance… and I left when all I wanted was to be close to you.”

She stares at you, chest heavy with guilt, but she’s not interrupting now. She’s listening—really listening.

“I just wanted to matter to you,” you muttered.

Her eyes soften, her lips trembling, “You do matter to me. You’ve always mattered.”

Vi pauses, her gaze always seems to fall to your hands, the way her fingers are wrapped around yours.

“I was stupid… and selfish back then. I didn’t realize how much you needed me—how much I needed you.” She reaches up to gently tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear, “I never stopped thinking about you. Even when I was out there… none of it was ever as important as you. Not even close… And I’ll keep showing you. Everyday. Until you’re sure… And even after that, I’ll keep showing you anyway.”

After a quiet pause, Vi watches you, her heart beating fast as you shake your head, that small, tired smile tugging at your lips. And then, without a second thought, you lean into her, your head finding its place on her shoulder all over again.

“I already said okay,” you say softly, muffled slightly against her jacket, tears threatening to spill again.

Vi lets out a shaky breath, the corner of her mouth twitching into the smallest smile.

“I know,” she smiles.

Her eyes dart down again, catching the sight of your hands resting in her lap, smilimg at the way your fingers fit so easily with hers.

Truthfully, she wants to say more. Tell you how much she loves you. How sorry she still is. How she’s going to spend the rest of her life making sure she never breaks your heart again.

But all she does is run the pad of the thumb along your knuckles as she dips her head just slightly, brushing her lips against the crown of your hair. The smell of your shampoo is sweet and soft, and Vi only holds on to your hands tighter, determined to be the best version of herself that you deserve.

It’s quiet now. You both stay like that for a while. And all Vi can focus on is the feeling of you beside her.

“Thank you,” she says after a while, you almost didn’t hear it.

For giving her a chance she wasn’t sure she deserved.

Vi drives back into town when the movie ends. And in truth, she wished the movie lasted forever if it meant being able to sit beside you like that for the rest of the night.

The ride back was quiet… but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Every so often, Vi’s knuckles would brush against yours on the bench seat, the way they used to when she’d drive you around town. And every time it happened, she’d swallow that lump in her though and grip the steering wheel a little tighter, afraid to push her luck.

She brought you to that same old pizza place near the edge of town—the one you two used to hit up on late nights like these—Vi had pulled over without thinking. It was late and, in her mind, it wouldn’t be a proper date if she didn’t take you to get food.

“Still open,” she’d said, half-relieved, half-nervous. “You feel like splitting a pizza?”

You nodded when she asked.

And now, with the lingering scent of melted cheese and warm dough filling the truck, you both sit parked in the lot. The pizza box is cracked open between you, the last couple of slices mostly forgotten. Vi’s trying not to make it obvious, but she’s been eating slow. Suspiciously slow. Every bite takes twice as long as it probably should—not because she’s savoring it, but because she’s trying to stretch the her time with you, desperate for it not to end.

She glances at you for what must be the hundredth time. You seemed relaxed enough, though maybe a little bit tired, soft light from the streetlamp beside her truck glowing slightly on your face. Vi thinks you’re beautiful like this. She always has. But now that you’re here, it’s all she can do not to stare.

“Pizza’s still good,” she tries, something to fill the silence. “Tastes the same.”

You hum in agreement, chewing thoughtfully. “I think they changed the sauce a little.”

Vi blinks, looking back at her half-eaten slice. “Really?”

You shrug. “Just a little sweeter. Or maybe I’m imagining it.”

A beat passes. Vi’s lips twitch into a small smile. “Still better than that place in New York.”

You laugh softly, and god, the sound of it has Vi’s stomach doing flips.

“That place was awful,” you agree. “Why’d we even go there?”

“Because I swore it’d be authentic.” Vi chuckles, as she throws in finger quotes. “I think I hyped it up for, like, a week.”

“Well, I think it’s impressive that you found a bad pizza place in New York,” you tease.

Vi huffs a laugh, tapping her fingers against the steering wheel. “Never living that one down, huh?”

You shake your head softly.

It gets quiet again. Vi risks another glance your way, only to find you already looking at her. She quickly looks down, her fingers fidgeting with a stray napkin in her lap.

“I, uh… I could take the long way back,” she offers, trying to sound casual. “If you’re not in a rush.”

You hesitate for just a moment bedore shaking your head. “I-It’s late. I should probably get home.”

Vi nods quickly, forcing a smile. “Right. Yeah, of course.”

The words are easy enough to say, but they taste bitter. She doesn’t want this night to end. Not when things feel… good. Almost like before.

Still, she doesn’t argue.

It’s a silent ride on the way back to your apartment. Vi’s fingers drum softly against the steering wheel, her other hand gripping it a little too tightly. Occasionally, she sneaks a glance at you, but you’re gazing out the window, lost in your own thoughts.

She likes it better than nothing.

After all, it wasn’t too long ago when silence meant something worse.

But now you’re here. Right next to her. And even though her heart aches a little from how much she still wants, Vi wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

Her truck rolls to a stop in front of your apartment building. She lingers for a moment, trying to think of something clever or easy to say, but...

You beat her to it. “Thanks for the ride.”

Vi swallows. “Yeah. Anytime.”

You reach for the door handle, but her voice stops you.

“I’ll walk you up.” It comes out quickly, afraid you might say no if she hesitates.

You blink, surprised. “Vi, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.” Her eyes soften as they meet yours, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I mean, if that’s okay.”

It takes a second, but then you nod.

Vi’s out of the truck before she can second guess herself. She jogs around to your side, and even though you’re perfectly capable, she still opens the door for you, just like she used to. She doesn’t say anything about it, and neither do you. But the corner of your mouth twitches, and Vi catches it.

The building is quiet as you both step inside. You lead the way to the elevator, Vi trailing just half a step behind. It’s strange, how familiar this all feels. She knew this place so well now—the smell of some faint lemon cleaner, the creak of the old elevator doors, even the way the number buttons lit up. She’d spent countless nights walking these same halls, on her way up to see you… to kiss you… to make love to you—well… that’s what she always thought of it… And, even the same as before, it feels like she’s holding her breath with every step.

The elevator ride is short, but the silence makes it feel longer, really. Vi shifts on her feet, hands stuffed into her jacket pockets as she sneaks another glance at you, catching the way your teeth tug at your bottom lip—a habit she knows all too well. You’re nervous.

She wants to say something. Something to make you feel at ease… comfortable… to make you smile, maybe. But her throat feels tight, and by the time she thinks of anything, the elevator dings, and the doors slide open.

You make your way down the hall, and Vi follows closely. She can’t help but notice how her palms are starting to sweat. Fuck, it’s so ridiculous.

Eventually, you stop in front of your door. For a moment, neither of you speak. You pull your keys from your bag, fidgeting with them, and Vi watches you turn.

“Thank you for tonight, Vi,” you say softly. “And the drive-in… It was really nice.”

“Y-Yeah.” She nods, then rubs the back of her neck. “Of course.”

“Really,” You smile, though it’s small. “I had a really good time.”

“I’m glad,” Vi returns your smile, feeling a bit proud. “We, uh… should go again some time… I mean, i-if there’s another movie you wanna watch, I could… I could figure out something.”

And then it’s quiet again. She almost hates it. Because she knows this is where you’re supposed to say goodnight. She’s supposed to turn around, head back to her truck, and let the night end.

But god, she doesn’t want to.

Vi’s voice is softer when she speaks next. “Can I see you again soon?”

Your fingers tighten around your keys, but you don’t look away.

“Yeah,” you say simply, unable to fight the way your lips curved upwards. “Soon.”

She nods, and despite the nerves eating away at her, she smiles. “Okay.”

And just when she’s about to take a step back, to let you go, you surprise her.

It’s soft. And gentle. And before she can even think, you lean in, just enough for your lips to brush her cheek. It’s quick, barely there, but Vi freezes. Her eyes widen slightly, heat rushing to her face. You pull back and turn around, your own cheeks warm, too nervous to look at her again. Vi stands there, staring at you like a complete idiot. Her fingertips brush over the spot where your lips had been, and she can still feel the ghost of it.

And although you don’t see it, a grin slowly spreads across her face.

Your fingers barely brush against the keys in the lock before you hear Vi sigh behind you, like she’s been holding her breath. And before you can turn the key, her hands are on yours. And now, it’s your turn to freeze. Her palms against your skin is nothing but warm as she pulls you away from the door. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just turns you toward her, slowly and carefully.

Her thumbs brushing over your knuckles and you don’t meet her eyes right away. But you feel her looking at you, staring hard. And when you finally lift your head, her gaze meets yours immediately.

“I…” Vi starts, but the words disappear in her throat.

She opens her mouth again, then closes it, clenching her jaw—maybe in frustration.

And then she tries again.

“I didn’t want to leave without—” Vi pauses, her brows knitting together. “I mean… I know I should, but…”

Her voice drops, trembling only slightly as she looks down at your hands.

“I don’t want to… just yet.”

She’s so close. Close enough that the scent of her—smoke and some of her cologne—is all you can focus on.

“Vi…” you whisper, her name barely leaving your lips.

“I’m sorry.” She shakes her head, her grip on your hands tightening just a little. “I just—”

She stops, exhaling sharply like she’s frustrated with herself again. Her hands twitch, and for a moment, you think she’s about to let go, but she doesn’t.

“I missed you,” she says softly.

“I missed you too, Vi,” you admit.

Deep in her mind, she feels like this isn’t real… that she’s dreaming and that she’ll wake up soon. Fuck, please…

“I… I really wanna kiss you again, ” She whispers, stepping closer. “Can I?”

You don’t answer right away. Not because you don’t know, but because you feel a little overwhelmed… in a good way, really. Vi waits, her breath warm against your skin, her hands still cradling yours.

And with the softest nod, you give her the answer she’s been waiting for.

Vi doesn’t waste a second. She leans in, her lips brushing against yours so gently and when you kiss her back, just as softly—she fucking melts.

A shaky breath falls past her lips, hands tightening around your own as she kisses you like she’s memorizing the shape of your mouth all over again. And god, she’s so close. Her forehead brushes against yours, and her breath mingles with yours. You can feel the cool metal of her nose ring brush against the side of your nostrol as she pulls you in closer. And as your fingers trail up, your hands finding their way to her neck, Vi feels herself lean in even closer. You cup the strong curve of her jaw, your thumbs brushing along the sharp line of it, and the touch sends a shiver down her spine.

Vi kisses you deeper. Her big hands, rough and calloused, move carefully from your hands, sliding down to your waist. Her fingers curl against your sides and the way you tilt your head, the way your body instinctively presses just a little closer, makes her feel dizzy. She can’t stop the soft groan, that desperate little noise muffled by your lips. And your fingers thread gently into the hair at the nape of her neck.

She’s not sure how long you stay like that, and even as her lungs beg for air, Vi doesn’t want to stop.

But eventually, she pulls away slowly, her forehead lingering against yours as she tries to catch her breath. Her chest rises and falls, lips still parted, tingling from the kiss—from you.

She blinks, trying to set her mind straight, but it’s impossible when you’re so close.

Her thumb brushes absently over your waist where her hands still rest, rough fingertips trailing the hem of your shirt. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it, like touching you is second nature, a habit she never really broke. She doesn’t want to stop touching you. She doesn’t think she could if she tried.

But then she lifts her head just enough to meet your eyes, and whatever she was about to say dies in her throat. You’re staring at her, cheeks flushed, lips parted like you’re just as overwhelmed as she is.

Fuck, you look so pretty.

“I…” She starts, but the rest of her words never make it out. She shakes her head slightly, letting out a breathless laugh. “I didn’t mean to…”

Get carried away? But that’s a lie. She did mean to. She’s been thinking about kissing you like this again since you left the drive-in.

Her hand tightens just slightly against your waist as she opens her mouth again, “I-I mean… I did mean to. I just—Fuck, sorry—I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”

She searches your face briefly, desperate for any sign that she hasn’t just ruined everything. When she catches the faintest smile tugging at the corner of your lips, her heart trips over itself.

“You okay?” She asks softly.

You don’t answer right away, but you don’t pull away either. Vi can still feel your hands on her neck, your fingertips brushing against the strands of her pink hair. She swears she could stand here forever if you let her—just holding you, breathing you in, memorizing the way you feel pressed against her.

“I’m okay,” you finally whisper so softly.

Relief washes over the girl in front of you. Her lips twitch, almost forming into a smile.

“Good,” she breathes, her hands lingering at your waist. “That’s good.”

And it’s quiet again… but this time, Vi doesn’t mind it. Her eyes flicker down to your lips without meaning to, and her fingers flex slightly against your waist. She doesn’t really know how the hell she’s supposed to walk away from this now—from you.

But she knows she should. She already kissed you multiple times tonight, and it was more than she ever thought she’d get. She can’t push her luck.

“I should… probably let you get inside,” Vi says, although it’s clear even she doesn’t believe it. Her grip loosens just enough, her hands still hovering close to your hips. “It’s late.”

You nod shyly, barely meeting her eyes. “Yeah,” you reply, but you don’t sound all that sure either.

Vi forces herself to move, her hands dropping to her sides even though every nerve in her body screams to stay. She takes a step back, putting some space between the two of you that she instantly hates. She shifts on her feet, awkward now, her heart still beating a mile a minute.

“Goodnight,” you say.

Vi nods quickly.

“Night.” Her voice cracks slightly, and she winces. “Uh… goodnight. Sleep good. I mean, well. Sleep well.”

“Thank you, Vi,” you say again.

“Mhm.”

You smile, small but amused, and Vi thinks she might just die right there on your doorstep.

Her cheeks are burning. She can feel the heat crawling up the sides of her neck to the tips of her ears. She’s pretty sure her cheeks are just as red, and hell, she probably looks like a mess, but she doesn’t dare cover her face. Not when you’re still standing there.

She watches as you turn toward the door, your keys jingling softly in your hand.

You glance back at her one last time, eyes falling to her neck where her skin meets that tiny glint of her silver necklace—a peice of jewelry you know all too well—and then you’re gone, the door clicking shut behind you.

Vi lets out a long breath, dragging a hand down her face.

“Fuck,” she mumbles to herself.

She doesn’t exactly know how long she stands there, staring at your front door. To some stranger, she might look like some creep standing in front of some random apartment, but all she can think about in her head is replaying the way your lips felt against hers, the taste of your mouth, your hands on her neck, how soft you felt under her fingertips—she misses all of it.

But eventually, she turns, heading down the hallway, her hands shoved deep into her jacket pockets.

And even though she’d wanted nothing more than to stay,to press her forehead against yours and ask for just one more kiss, one more minute, Vi couldn’t bring herself to feel anything but grateful.

Because for the first time in what felt like forever, she didn’t drive away from your apartment feeling empty.

God. She is so screwed.

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[twoflowers]

Best Behavior- Sanji x Reader (Explicit)

Here's my contribution to InfixOP's One Piece x Reader fic exchange. This is for @mere-mortifer, who I hope enjoys it and forgives me for the late posting date. I don't know why or how this is so long, but I loved writing it.

Prompt: Forced proximity when sleeping due to extremely cold weather outside leads to cuddling, which leads to kissing, which leads to sex. Bonus points if Reader has to almost beg Sanji to share a sleeping bag/bed/whatever with them because Sanji doesn't want to make them uncomfortable while trying to sleep, meanwhile he's the one freezing in the open air. Even more bonus points if they have to be very careful and quiet while having sex cause someone else might hear them.

Description: Sanji has been more reserved in his affection recently. Being stranded in the cold and forced to share a sleeping bag may be just the remedy.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: sub!Sanji, virgin!Sanji, gentle femdom, first time, getting together, forced proximity, biting, (attempted) oral sex, worship, praise kink. Reader is described as a cis woman but there are no other references to her appearance.

Read on AO3.

Word Count: 9k+

Best Behavior

It takes a fifteen mile hike up a steep, cliffside trail in weather so cold your fingertips turn blue to realize that your sleeping bag and tent have been replaced with several large beef shanks.

It’s a miserable night. You’re separated from most of your crew, and all of your crewmates with a functioning sense of direction. Rain has soaked through your shoes to make your socks squelch with every step, and your coat is doing little to stave off the chill. Both of your coats, actually, because Sanji has long abandoned his suit jacket to drape it over your shoulders. You let him do it solely because he looked more miserable with it than without it; you look at him now, swearing and shivering pitifully as he attempts to start a campfire in the clearing that the four of you have decided to camp out in, and feel a pang of guilt. He looks back up at you with a smile so beatific you almost forget that you were about to commit murder. 

“Luffy,” you breathe. You keep breathing, loudly: you’ve figured out breathing exercises for just about every form of Luffy-induced rage or anxiety imaginable. “Luffy, what is this?”

Luffy is standing on the opposite side of the clearing with Zoro, who is searching for sake amidst the myriad bags he insisted on carrying up the mountain as training. Luffy leans towards you with wide-eyed curiosity, which quickly turns into wide-eyed joy as he sees your bag.

“Oh, meat! That’s where you went!” He beams, throwing an arm to hook onto a tree behind you. It twangs cartoonishly like an overstretched rubber band; Luffy hurdles towards you at top speed, whooping like a maniac - and lands directly into Sanji’s outstretched foot.

“You idiot!” Sanji scolds Luffy, now laying on the floor and nursing a large bump on his head. “How dare you take her sleeping bag? She’s freezing! Apologize!”

“Sorry…” Luffy whines petulantly, still rubbing his head. 

“Now give her yours!”

“Eh? I didn’t bring mine.”

“You didn’t-” Sanji stops, rubs his temple, and turns to you. “It’s okay, angel, I’m sure the marimo can spare his. If you can stand the body odor, that is.”

“Huh?” Zoro is in the middle of getting situated, sword carriers arranged carefully against a rock, wet haramaki loosened. “Why don’t you give her yours, shit cook?”

“I need to avoid frostbite or you’ll die within a day when Luffy cleans out the food stores.”

Zoro scoffs. “Nobody wants to touch your sleeping bag anyways. Who knows what you’ve done to the thing.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Sanji and Zoro dissolve into a blur of motion lines. Over the kicks and grunts and shouted insults you hear the smacking of lips and look down to see Luffy eating meat out of your bag with the desperation of a starving street dog. You glare at him for good measure; he doesn’t seem to notice.

You take the opportunity to sneak to Zoro’s area to continue the search for that sake. It’s freezing and you need something to warm you, if there isn’t fire or dry clothing or a sleeping bag. The first bag you check is suspiciously heavy, and you open it to find… rocks. 

The second bag is also full of rocks, and so is the third. You take a very deep breath before stomping over to the fight to clock both Zoro and Sanji over the skull, a skill you’ve been developing for months under Nami’s careful tutelage. (It really is difficult to estimate where their heads are at any given point, but it’s really more of a gut feeling than anything.)

“Stop fighting!” You shout down at them. Sanji immediately apologizes, looking very honored to have been hit by you. You pretend that it doesn't send a shockwave of pure want through you and continue on, scowling down at Zoro.

“What the fuck did you do with the supplies?” 

“Huh?” Zoro glares up at you. “The cook brought them.”

“Mine! I brought mine!” Sanji pokes a finger right into Zoro’s forehead. “And my precious angel’s, but someone decided to replace her things with food!” 

He wheels around to Luffy, who’s shoved an entire bone into his mouth to suck on, cheeks stretched absurdly to accommodate it. Blankly, he spits out the bone, and it shoots over to hit Sanji square in the nose, and Sanj springs up to slug him again.

You love the boys, really, but moments like these are why you rely on Nami and Robin to keep you semi-sane. Every man on the crew is somehow a complete idiot, even Sanji. Woefully, this is a huge part of the appeal. He’s a complete fool and you adore him for it, drooling, nosebleeds, and all. 

The fighting winds down just as your shivering reaches an intolerable level. Your teeth are bashing against each other and nicking your lips. Distantly, you’re counting down the minutes until you inevitably get hypothermia, and the boys don’t look like they’re faring much better. Luffy sees you shivering and you watch in real-time as his neurons fire just enough for him to realize that it is, in fact, incredibly cold outside. He immediately shrieks and wraps his arms around himself like a weird, rubbery coat.

Besides the rocks and food, Sanji is the only person who managed to bring actual supplies. Between the four of you, there are two tents, one sleeping bag, and four packaged emergency blankets.

“Okay,” you huff. “Okay.” Your arm spasms with cold as you point to the tents. “How do we want to do this?”

“Of course, angel, you get the sleeping bag,” Sanji assures you, smacking Luffy as he tries to protest. 

“Men to one tent, woman to the other?” You suggest, knowing that Sanji will take issue with it.

“But angel, there could be wolves!” Sanji looks profoundly worried. His bangs are windswept back, and you get the full effect of his pout with both eyes visible. “You need someone to stand guard. I can-”

“Sanji, it’s practically sub-zero. You need to be inside a tent, and all of us need to get our clothes off as soon as possible.”

Sanji gulps, wind-chapped cheeks somehow flushing even redder. His gaze traces down your body and turns dazed: you aren’t sure how, given that you’re drenched and wearing a shapeless jacket. Ugh, what a sweetheart. The abstract concept of you taking your clothes off in a separate tent is getting him all hot and bothered.

It’s a relief. 

Recently, Sanji has been downright distant, by his standards. Still doting, of course; still appearing every few hours with a special drink and snack for you. Still overusing pet names and offering to be your knight and making sure you and the other women get the best of the best of everything.

But the opportunistic touches to the lower back have vanished. His eyes barely linger when you wear a low-cut shirt. You haven’t even seen him have a nosebleed in a while. 

You wonder idly how your love-life got to the point of you eagerly awaiting being perved on, but one glance at Sanji vanishes those thoughts. You know exactly how you got here: you thrilled at meeting this tall man with his lovely long legs and thin waist and broad shoulders, his large, careful hands, tapered chin and well-kempt facial hair and slight youthful roundness clinging stubbornly to his cheeks despite his manly man act. You were completely gone after learning that he essentially devoted his life to the pleasure of women, called you miss and blushed when pushed around and followed pretty girls blindly like a lost puppy, and all without an ounce of irony or malicious intent. The Straw Hats- all of them- are so sincere that it still blindsides you sometimes.

And after two years apart, seeing him mature… Muscles and jawline more defined, a bit more hardened, a bit more world-weary but still as kind and giving and genuine and lovely as ever… His reaction to seeing you essentially topless after that time apart was very charmingly him, even if it snowballed into recurrent bleeding episodes necessitating a well-stocked blood bank aboard the ship. 

As bad as it sounds, you miss the attention. You like encouraging that side of Sanji.

You look around you at the pathetic campsite and measly supplies and think that maybe fate has blessed you with a good hand indeed.

“Luffy and I could share a tent, but then you and Zoro would be together…” You say it like you haven’t already done the mental math and gotten the exact result you want, like you aren’t already internally whooping in victory. “I don’t want to break up any more fights.”

Sanji glances rapidly between you and the other men.

“And now that you mention it, I’m not sure if anybody should be left alone tonight. We should pair off for safety. Like you said, there might be wolves.” You look up, pursing your lips in thought. “Zoro and I could share.”

Sanji sputters immediately, stepping forward to cast a protective arm between you and Zoro. “No! No way! There’s no telling what that animal might try! My angel, n-n- undressed in front of that brute-!”

The two men are forehead to forehead at this point, and you quickly grab Sanji by the collar of his rain-soaked shirt and haul him backwards. He goes willingly, but his glare remains fixed on Zoro… until you stroke the back of his neck with your thumb and he flushes and slumps towards you, deactivated.

“Or you and I could share, Sanji.” 

He looks at you like you’ve just said something incomprehensible. His eyes slowly drift to your neck, then snap quickly back up. You flutter your lashes and Sanji goes scarlet. 

“Would that work? I’ll just get changed in the sleeping bag.”

“Abababa-” Sanji babbles. 

“And you can protect me?”

“Hahh-” Sanji makes a punched out sound and looks upwards as if imploring some deity for help. He clears his throat and pushes his bangs back. When he looks back at you the flush comes back full-force, and he has to look to the ground before he nods, twice.

“Perfect.” You clap your hands together. “Please tell me one of you knows how to set up a tent. Not Luffy.” 

Despite the biting cold, despite the numb fingers that can barely function to hold the pegs that secure the tents to the ground, you are a very happy camper. Sanji is moving with a manic efficiency that you hope is a good sign. He alternates between staring at you unblinkingly and pretending not to look at you while shooting desperate, furtive glances. This is your favorite Sanji, the one who’s wrecked by the mere idea of a woman being anything resembling familiar with him. Roping him into close quarters may be the perfect solution to the recent distance.

Or, you think with a frown, he might be put off by the whole situation. If asked two years ago you would have declared Sanji incredibly easy to read; recently, you’re not so sure what he’s thinking.

Still, your mind is flooded with all sorts of delicious images: Sanji furtively touching himself in the tent next to you, blanket stuffed into his mouth to stifle his whines, or Sanji accidentally finding a pair of your used underwear in his sleeping area and being unable to resist temptation. There’s an idea you go back to again and again, inspired by one time months ago that Sanji visibly licked his lips when you mentioned needing to wash your intimates.

The rain slows just as the tents are set up. Sanji finally manages to start a small fire in the clearing, and everyone strips their top layers to dry on logs overnight. You distribute the emergency blankets and watch Luffy’s eyes dazzle in wonder at their metallic sheen. You can’t help but smile softly at him: of course near death by hypothermia is just another big adventure to him.

You warm up to the best of your ability by the fire before taking Sanji’s sleeping bag and scrambling into the tent before the cold catches you. Your shorts, underwear, and tank top are soaked completely through and you’re so cold and exhausted that you don’t have an hour to spare to get dry by the measly fire. 

You can’t help but think about Zoro’s earlier words as you unzip the sleeping bag and line it with a blanket. Who knows what he’s done to the thing… Your shivering reaches new heights and you quickly strip to your underwear, crawl into the bag, and zip it up, wiggling to get comfortable and listening to the blanket make awkward crinkling noises around you.

You lie in the dark waiting for Sanji, listening to Luffy loudly get ready for bedtime and recount the story of today to Zoro, who grunts in return. They’re on the opposite side of the fire from your tent, but Luffy’s laughter rings throughout the clearing. If there are wolves, you think, they’ll probably be scared away.

You sit up after about fifteen minutes. You can see Sanji’s shadow through the tent, sitting in front of the fire with his knees drawn to his chest. You wriggle to the entrance and unzip it slightly, peeking out at Sanji as he huddles miserably in his wet undershirt and boxers. 

“Sanji, come here. You need to get out of those clothes and into a blanket.”

Sanji turns to you, nodding absently. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He turns back to the fire and takes a few deep, steady breaths, as though preparing himself. Paired with the sparks flying up into the clear, starry night he almost looks like he’s performing some kind of spell. His hands clench into fists and unclench, and then he stands up to enter the tent. 

You scoot backwards to give him room, but the action inadvertently makes the sleeping bag slip down. Sanji lets out an eep and covers his eyes with a hand, the other thrown out in front of him like a shield.

“Angel, your modesty!” He squeaks, waving his hand around helplessly. “I’m sorry!”

Is Sanji passing up an opportunity to swoon over a naked woman? 

“Sanji, it’s no big deal. It was an accident.” You get back into a lying position while Sanji stutters and tries to find his blanket with a hand shielding his eyes. “Modesty doesn’t count for much when the alternative is hypothermia.” 

“Ah- but, but-” He trips over your pile of clothes and peeks between his fingers to see your bra dangling from his foot, then squeaks and shakes it free. “But it’s-” He looks up and sees that you’re fully covered, and takes his hand from his face. 

“But it’s improper.” 

His lip is quivering in misery. His wet hair seems to sag even further down his forehead. You notice that at some point he’s put an unlit cigarette between his teeth, and he gnaws at it viciously as his eyes nearly well with tears.

You’re not sure whether to laugh or cry along with him. “Sanji, you’ve seen me naked before. In the shower? When the lock broke? Remember?”

He nods, the spitting image of a puppy watching his bag of treats sink to the bottom of the ocean.

“And you got a nosebleed and told me I had the most beautiful body in the world? Ringing any bells?”

Sanji’s lip quivers harder, and he shakes his head, then nods. “But I-” 

“So what’s with the sudden change of heart, huh?” Your eyes soften as you look at Sanji… Soggy, pitiful, desperate Sanji. “You’re shaking. Get your shirt off.” 

Sanji gulps. You admire his Adam’s apple and his sculpted neck. How is it fair that a man this beautiful is also the sweetest man in the world?

You roll over to give Sanji some privacy, and hear him peeling his wet shirt from his body. You let yourself lick your lips because you’re feeling quite self-indulgent now that you’re out of the freezing cold and marginally warmed by the fire, blanket, and sleeping bag. When you hear Sanji unfolding his blanket, you clear your throat.

“Can I turn back over?”

“Ah. Yes. You’re okay now, angel.” 

You roll back over and grin at the sight of Sanji’s head peeking out from above his foil blanket. His shirt is folded and placed at a respectful distance from your things; presumably, he’s still wearing wet boxers. 

“Warm?”

“Warmer,” he smiles, and leans towards you to appraise your sleeping situation. “And you? Are you warm enough? If not, I can give you my blanket and sit back by the fire.” 

“I’ve already taken your sleeping bag, Sanji. I don’t want you to actually die here.”

Sanji’s smile melts across his face, soft and sweet and wobbly. “Ah, my angel cares about me!” 

“Of course I do.” You smile up at him from your bundle, and he tucks a hand under his chin to better gaze at you adoringly.

“You look so snug, all tucked in…” 

For some reason, this makes you shiver with desire. You’ll never get enough of being fussed over and cooed at like a baby duckling. Sanji has seen you stumble into the kitchen, hungover and in last night’s makeup and has reacted by pressing a hand over his heart like he was ready to melt through the floor. He makes you feel unconditionally adored; more than that, he seems to adore you even more under what you think are the worst possible conditions.

A companionable silence ensues. You can hear the sporadic popping of the fire outside and the whistling of Luffy snoring. You drift off a bit; Sanji puts up a valiant fight, but when you wake up to hear the rain starting up again, he’s asleep. 

You see the fire die out and huddle your blanket closer to you. Sanji shivers. 

“Sanji?” 

His blanket crumples as he stirs. “Hm?” 

“You’re cold, huh?”

You can faintly see him shake his head. “No, angel. Don’t worry about me.” 

“I do worry about you. I worry about you a lot.”

There’s a beat. “...Thank you. I’m honored.”

You glance over and blink a few times, eyes adjusting to the darkness and allowing you to make out Sanji’s trembling outline.

“Sanji, come over here.”

He audibly swallows, but obeys, scooting close and leaning down enough that the fog of his breath is visible. 

“Come in here with me.”

His breath disappears for a few long seconds. You can see enough of his face to get the impression that his eyes are darting rapidly from you to the sleeping bag and back again, and you reach your hand out into the night air and slip it under his jaw. He makes a sound like a deflating tire.

“I- you mean-” He reflexively reaches up to his lips; not finding a cigarette, he places his hand briefly over yours and then flinches away like it burns. “Come in where?” 

“Sanji, you’re cold. There’s space, really.” You scoot backwards to demonstrate, grabbing his hand and slipping it into the sleeping bag. “See?” 

“But the-th-” he chokes, feeling around in the empty space beside you. “Not much space, there’s- really, there’s hardly any space, and-” He shivers, head to toe.

“Please,” you whisper. “I’m cold, too… Really cold, and I need you to help.”

Sanji gasps, hand reaching out past the empty space to connect with your shoulder. “Is that true, angel? Is that true? You need me?” 

“Yes, I really do. Could you-?” You reach out to gently tug his arm. He doesn’t resist at all- you don’t think Sanji could ever resist being manhandled by a woman- but he’s stiff and emanates hesitance as he’s pulled towards you.

“Angel, I’m not decent.” 

For a moment you think he’s being self-deprecating, but you quickly remember that neither of you are wearing anything but underwear. The thought makes your stomach clench. All that skin against skin, the possibility of feeling the warmth of Sanji’s body tucked right against yours... 

“Neither am I.”

Sanji draws in a harsh breath. He brings a hand to his nose to check for blood. It comes back clear, and he exhales shakily and gently places his hand on your head. His fingers twitch as they settle into your hair.

“And I’m so happy that you trust me enough to allow me near you when you’re vulnerable,” he says with great effort. “But I don’t want to do anything to make you uncomfortable. I don’t want to… react in a way that makes you uncomfortable.”

Heat blossoms between your legs, radiates to your belly and chest until you’re almost dizzy with it. But once the initial burn subsides, his comment gives you pause.

It’s not that Sanji hasn’t cared about your comfort in the past: of course he has. He cares very much about you being well-fed and relaxed. He’s offered to clean your room, do all of your laundry, carry you any time you seem even slightly tired. But he’s also, on multiple occasions, coyly lifted his blanket to invite you to snuggle on the couch, eyelashes fluttering. He’s assured you his bunk is always available to share after you have a night of poor sleep. He’s offered massages and manicures and haircuts and baths together, always with earnest eagerness to please and enough puppy dog desperation to make it toothless. 

It does sting a bit that he isn’t immediately jumping into bed with you.

Sanji’s hand is still in your hair and you can feel that it is shaking from a combination of cold and nerves. You wish you could see his face. You’re sure whatever expression of profound shame he’s making is very charming. 

You decide you need to do something. If Sanji is going to dial down his advances, you need to dial yours up until you reach equilibrium. 

“You mean you think you’ll get aroused?” 

His hand jerks away from your head; he jolts back with a squeak. “Angel-! That’s- That’s such a crude word-!”

“But it’s true, isn’t it? You’re worried about how you’ll react if we sleep together?”

Sanji is breathing like he’s overheating. He nods shamefully. “I’m sorry! I know it’s wrong of me. I just… I can’t control it sometimes. Especially around beautiful ladies. And you’re not…” He gulps. “You’re not wearing anything right now, and… We would be touching.”

“We would be,” you agree. “But skin-to-skin contact is very effective for warming up. Sanji, if you’d rather I send you to cuddle with Zoro, I will. I want you to warm up. Just because you could spend the night shivering in a blanket in only wet underwear doesn’t mean you should have to. We’re nakama. I want you to be cozy. With me.” 

“Cozy…?” He repeats vaguely. He shifts closer, close enough that his knee knocks into yours. “With you?”

“With me.” 

You sit up, making sure to pull the sleeping bag with you so your breasts are covered, and unzip the side. “Now get in here. I’m freezing my ass off and I know you are, too. We can lay back to back or something.”

“Princess…” He says helplessly, but his legs are already slipping into the sleeping bag. 

You make room for him. He keeps the blanket wrapped around him and you’re feeling frustrated, sexually and emotionally; you’re cold and nervous and desperate for reassurance that he also wants to touch you. 

“Can you put the blanket on top of me, too?” You reach out to Sanji, who’s halfway into the sleeping back, and tug lightly on the little cocoon he’s made around himself. “That way we can both have two blankets and be skin-to-skin. For minimal heat loss.”

You smile when Sanji practically rips the blanket off of himself and tuck it over you, then slips quickly next to you to get out of the cold. 

You’re side to side now. Sanji’s entire bare arm is against your bare arm. You hope you aren’t breathing too loudly, but even if you are, Sanji is surely drowning you out: he’s practically huffing. 

“Can you zip us up?” You turn your back to Sanji. He seems to be having a hard enough time already, and jumping straight into cuddling while practically naked might spook him.

“Yeah… yeah.” He turns so that he’s on his side, a slight gap between your backs, and zips up the sleeping bag. 

It feels so final, like he’s closing the boundary between the outside world and the place where the two of you are lying, and you can feel the heat between your legs ramping up in intensity. The space between your back and his feels charged with potential. 

You lie in silence for a few moments. Sanji asks if you’re comfortable and you tell him that you are. A few times you attempt to subtly press your back into Sanji’s, but he’s apparently migrated as far to the other side of the sleeping bag as possible. 

“Sanji?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?” 

“Of course,” he says, but sounds unsure. You worry your thumb over your lips.

“You’ve been distant lately. Touching me less, being less… Well, eager, I guess. Normally, I would have expected you to be very excited about a girl inviting you to share a sleeping bag. Is everything okay between us?”

“Yes! Yes, of course everything’s okay! I promise, if there was any problem, I’d fix it right away!” Sanji shifts to the best of his ability so he’s lying on his back, speaking right into your ear. “I’m trying to be better…”

“Better?”

“I know I can be a bit much. Sometimes I get so excited about being around you ladies that I can forget my manners, and it’s… Unbecoming of a gentleman. And you deserve a gentleman. You deserve nothing less than the best.”

You can’t help but laugh. You’d been so worried that Sanji was pulling away, or that his recent behavior was how Sanji acted around a girl he wasn’t romantically interested in. You realize that you’re so used to Sanji’s love sonnets and borderline ogling and gentle touches to the small of your back that normal behavior, or anything closer to normal behavior from him, puts you on high alert. Anything less than over the top feels like a rejection.

“Sanji, that’s it? Really? You’re not-” You turn so that you’re on your side, hands crossed over your breasts to avoid getting too close too fast. “You’re not… I don’t know, disinterested?”

“Disinterested?” Sanji sounds horrified. “My princess, I could never be! Have I been making you feel neglected? Please tell me I haven’t!”

“I mean, a little bit? I know you’ve probably gotten negative feedback, but with me… I like it when you’re yourself. You don’t need to tone it down.”

Sanji seems to realize that the front of your body is pressed flush against his side. He gasps an exhale but doesn’t pull away, and you let yourself even closer, gently hooking a foot between his legs. 

“You can’t mean that,” Sanji mutters. “Can you?”

“You’re not too much for me,” you say, and it’s such an understatement. You adore Sanji, completely, but aren’t sure how to verbalize it (I love you, I want to keep you, I need to hold your hand constantly and play with your hair, I want you to beg for a taste of me and then slobber all over my pussy-?). “I like the attention.”

“You really do?” He leans closer. You can feel his breath on your lips. “I can give you more attention. So much more, if you’ll let me. Please. I want to make you happy.” 

“You do make me happy. But right now, what would make me even happier is if you let me cuddle you.” 

“Hah- are you-? Cuddle? As in-?”

“I want you to be warm.”

“Angel, I’m very warm right now. That’s the problem.” 

And you can’t control yourself, because really, the way he sounds tortured is so delicious, and his breath is so hot and he smells like cigarettes and rain and his arm is pressing right against you, elbow to your ribs. You lean forward and kiss him.

Sanji is stock-still. You don’t relent. You slip a hand up to cup his jaw, move your lips against his: they’re so soft you can’t help but lick at them, and Sanji lets out a noise halfway between a moan and a cry of distress. 

You pull away and feel Sanji’s breathing start up again after a few seconds.

“Am I dreaming?” He mutters. “Do I have hypothermia? The cold is getting to me and I’m dreaming, right?” 

His hand cups your shoulder like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re solid, actually there. His fingers move to stroke wondrously down your arm. Those big, careful hands that you’ve admired for years are every bit as gentle as you’ve always imagined.

“Do you dream about me often?” You aim for teasing but end up choking the words out, because his hand is getting dangerously low.

“Yes. God, yes…” Sanji rolls to face you, and your chest presses right against his, and you feel him jolt like he was electrocuted. “God, oh my god, angel, is this okay? Is this-” He cups your cheek and strokes your face from eyebrow to chin and leans forward so he’s breathing right into your mouth. 

“It’s okay.” You lean into his touch to encourage him. 

“It’s okay,” he repeats, sounding awed. “Can I-? May I-?” 

He leans forward and tentatively brushes his lips against yours. He gasps into your lips, pulling slightly away before placing a series of small smooches around your mouth. It’s so achingly sweet and shy and lovely and you respond by stroking your foot up his calf. You can feel his leg hair and are so inexplicably endeared by him that you chase down his lips again and kiss him long and slow. 

Sanji seems inexperienced but is a quick study: he lets you lead. Your hand settles comfortably on his face and you take the opportunity to stroke his goatee. You refuse to squander this opportunity to explore by touch as much of him as possible. He makes a pleased little humming sound and it makes your heart jump in your chest. You need to get more noises out of him, need him falling apart in your arms in this sleeping bag on this mountain right now.

You lick at the seam of his lips and he opens his mouth immediately, a bit too widely. You’re dizzy with affection and then with pure lust as he presses his tongue against yours. It’s wet and messy and he groans into your mouth and you love it. 

You’re struck with the need to find out how Sanji will behave if given free rein. You bury your hand into his hair and allow your lips to go pliable against his. He licks into your mouth exploratorily, humming in pure pleasure at every new angle he tries kissing you from. You scratch his scalp and he redoubles his efforts, rolling over to slot a knee between your legs so he’s hovering slightly above you. His hard cock presses against your hip and you nearly black out. 

You pull away to catch your breath, and Sanji collapses to bury his face into your neck. 

“Was that good? Is this okay? I want to- I’ve been trying to- to be good for you.” He huffs the words into your neck, his warm breath on your skin. His facial hair is scratching you and you adore it, need so much more of it, are secretly hoping it leaves marks.

“It’s good. Sanji, it’s so good, you’re being so good for me.” You stroke his hair and he responds with a bitten off moan and a kiss to the crook of your neck. “Such a good boy for me.” 

Sanji’s hips jerk unbidden, and he lets out a small, embarrassed whimper as his cock grinds into you. Before you can praise that noise and try to get more out of him, he pushes himself up and away from you, supporting himself on shaking arms. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” He mutters. His voice is trembling; he sounds completely destroyed. “Inappropriate of me, I… I should’ve controlled myself…” 

“Sanji!” You’re incredulous. “You’re apologizing for being turned on?”

“I don’t want to take advantage-”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t get a boner from making out with me!” You reach up and put your hands on his sides and yes, yes, he feels just as incredible as you’ve always dreamed. Soft skin, hardened planes of muscle, a dappling of goosebumps that spread as you run your hands up to his chest and stroke from his breastbone across his pecs. “Your nipples are hard, too…”

“Angel, please–!”

You run a thumb around his left nipple and he trembles like his arms are about to give out. 

“You don’t like when I tease you?” You coo. Since when do you coo? That’s a special tone, one reserved for fantasies of how exactly you’d treat Sanji. 

Your heart slams in your chest as the totality of this moment settles in. This is like one of your fantasies, exactly like one of your fantasies, and you intend to live it out to its fullest.

“I like it-!” His hips buck, erection grazing your stomach. “I really like it, please– Please, I can’t– I’m trying to be good! I haven’t even–” A delicious whimper. “-Even taken you on a date yet, and I wanted to–”

Your hand stills. Sanji sighs in relief, or disappointment, or both. 

“Do you not want to do this right now?” You ask. “You can say no and I won’t be mad at all, Sanji. I don’t want to pressure you.” 

“Pressure me?” He repeats in a sort of hysterical whisper. “I’m worried about pressuring you! You were so cold earlier, and scared, and I’m supposed to be protecting you! Not–” He swallows. 

“Not having sex with me?”

“Having–?” He gasps, and apparently gives up on supporting himself entirely, sinking down so his elbows meet the floor. It inadvertently presses his hard cock snug against you, but you decide to politely wait for him to process this turn of events before doing something stupid like grabbing his ass and dragging his hips against yours. You knew that if you ever did propose sex to Sanji it would at the very most kill him and at the very least render him inoperable for a while.

“I–I– my beloved, my goddess, please forgive me,” he breathes into your neck. “I must have misheard you.”

“I said ‘having sex with me,’” you repeat, gently patting his back to help him through this trying time. “That’s not what you expected tonight, huh?”

“No!” He shakes his head vigorously. “No! Having– making love to you would be the greatest honor, my angel! But I don’t have ulterior motives, I promise!” 

You don’t mention that he’s laying flush against you with his boner pressing inches from your soaking wet pussy. 

“Tell me to leave and I will!” He sobs. “I can go back outside and guard your tent from there. If the wolves come, they can take me! They don’t deserve meat as pure as yours…” 

“Sanji!” You can’t keep the smile out of your voice. “Sanji, what the hell? What’s wrong with you? Nobody’s asking you to be self-sacrificial! We’re literally just camping.”

He peeks up at you, and you can feel his pout spiritually despite the darkness.

“Should I ignore that you just compared me to meat?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–!”

“And you’re not the only one capable of having ulterior motives.” 

“...Huh?”

“Sanji, I wasn’t scared of the wolves. And I don’t actually need you protecting me. I wouldn’t be on the crew if I couldn’t fend for myself- uh,uh-!” You reach up and put a hand over his mouth as he starts to protest.  “I know you don’t want me to have to. I know that, Sanji! But I wouldn’t die if I slept in a tent ten feet away from yours. I said those things because I wanted to share a tent with you. I wanted to be intimate with you. I’ve wanted it for a really long time.”

Hand still clamped over Sanji’s mouth, you can feel his breath stop. If he was still when you kissed him, he’s a statue now, hovering motionless above you. You take your hand away in case you’re suffocating him, and it works: he starts panting like he’s letting off heat. 

“Darling, you mean that? You mean it?” 

“Yes, of course I mean it. Sanji, you’re the sweetest person I know, and I really care about you. And you drive me completely insane, I mean…” You stroke his cheek with your thumb, up and down. “The pet names and the declarations of devotion and all that. It’s not every day an incredibly attractive man treats me like a queen.” 

Sanji gasps and turns his face to kiss the palm of your hand again and again. “You deserve nothing less. You deserve the world– A-Attractive–? You really think so?”

“Very attractive. Such a cute boy…”

Sanji’s head falls down to your shoulder, and he kisses at your neck with a desperation that surprises you, sweet, chaste pecks quickly turning into long, wet drags of his lips. “Thank you,” he gasps. “You’re so beautiful, you’re so good to me–” 

“Oh, Sanji…” You moan, and Sanji moans with you, right into your neck. His hot breath against your neck makes your pussy throb; your thighs clench involuntarily and you know that Sanji feels it, because he stills for a moment before wetly kissing your collarbone.

“Did that feel good? I’m making you feel good?” 

“Sanji, you’re incredible, you’re doing perfectly–” You bury your hand in his hair and pull his head insistently to your jaw, and he yields immediately, allowing himself to be manhandled with a small, happy whine.

“My princess, my love, let me worship you…” He kisses a line under your jaw, then moves down the column of your neck. The damp patches he leaves cool almost immediately, and the chill makes you want more of his warm, bare body against you. You loop your hands around his back and tug him into you, chest to chest.

“Keep me warm,” you murmur. “Need to feel your skin against mine.” 

“Oh…” He sounds reverent. “I’ll keep you warm. I’ll take care of you. What do you need? Please tell me. You can order me around or– or pull me like you did. I want you to take what you need from me.”

“God, Sanji, you’re incredible… Can you bite my neck?”

“Bite you?” His hands settle uncertainly on your shoulders. “Angel, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“No, no, it’s not about hurting. It feels good for me. Just light bites, Sanji. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

“Gentle? I can be gentle?”

“Yes, yes, that’s a good start– oh–” You’re cut off by the first exploratory nibble to the base of your neck. You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging, and he hums and bites again, slightly harder.

“Oh, god–” You gasp, abandoning any effort at holding back. Sanji responds like a man starved at any reaction he can get out of you, lavishing your neck in attention and readjusting to target sensitive areas. 

“I’m not hurting you?” He barely manages to ask it, he’s so breathless.

“No, no, keep going– You can touch me.” You grab his hands and guide them away from your shoulders.

“God– please, please–” He palms your sides, just below your breasts, and you can feel that his hands are sweaty, shaking. “I want to be good. Can I touch you here? Please? I need to be a good boy for you.” 

“You can touch me anywhere, please…” You nearly forget to breathe as his hands skate up to settle under your breasts. The way he’s panting, begging, makes you feel so hot and feral, and you reach down to find the waistband of his boxers.

His hips snap forward and he lets out a trembling moan. 

“So sensitive for me…” You mutter, slipping your hand down to cup him through his boxers.

“Angel, my angel–” He nearly collapses, his kisses devolving into needy licks at your neck, living up to the image of the desperate puppy you’ve always known him to be. “Please, please, let me pleasure you first. I’m not going to last if you keep touching me–!”

He whines as you move your other hand to squeeze his ass. 

“I’m barely touching you. So desperate for me…”

“Yes, yes! I’m desperate, I’ll do anything. Please, please let me take care of you.” 

“Already begging and I didn’t even ask…” 

“Oh, god! You’re perfect, you’re truly an angel– no, a goddess–” He grinds into your hand and licks down your chest until he finds a nipple to lap at greedily. 

“Fuck!” You squeeze his cock through his boxers and he noses between your tits, pressing wet kisses to your sternum. You can hear him sniffing you, feel him tilting his head back and forth, and you laugh in affection and disbelief as you realize this is probably Sanji’s heaven: his face in a woman’s tits as she palms his erection. 

“You’re so hard for me…” You trace his erection and swipe a thumb over where the head must be. He whines into your tits. 

“You did this to me…” His voice is muffled. “Please, please, I’m about to cum. Let me take care of you first! I’m here to serve you, just call me your dog…” 

“Fuck, fuck, I’m going to go insane if you don’t touch my pussy right now–” 

Sanji whines, lifting his head up to look into your eyes. His hands scramble downwards, squeezing your tits once as if to say goodbye and then pushing desperately at your hips. You take your hands off of him and push your panties down. 

“Feel how wet I am, all for you…” 

“For me?” He huffs. “You really are? You’re wet, just for me?” 

You guide his hand between your legs and he trembles, shaking fingers brushing your folds. He carefully strokes down and gasps, gathering slick on his fingers and drawing them in a circle around your entrance. 

“You’re so warm… God, you’re so wet and hot here. Is this really for me?”

“I’m wet because of you, Sanji. You make me so wet.” You guide his fingers upwards and groan as his middle finger brushes your clit. “Right there, that’s the spot–”

“Oh…” He gasps in pure wonder, gently swirling his fingers around it. “Oh, that’s it… Is this good for you? Please, I’ve never– Never touched anyone here before…” 

You nearly come just hearing that you’re his first. He’s so excited, so nervous and eager to please, so careful in his exploration of your body, and you can’t resist pulling him down to kiss him, open-mouthed and hungry.

You break away and kiss the corner of his mouth, feeling his fingers slide wetly against you. 

“I’ll show you,” you mutter against his lips. “I can teach you.” 

You guide his fingers gently over your clit, showing him how to circle it, the right amount of pressure, the right tempo. He nods his head at each new scrap of feedback, immediately adopting your preferred method.

“You have– mm– you're very talented with your hands.”

He sighs in pure bliss, sounding every bit like he's just stretched out in a lawn chair in the sun. “It comes with the job. All this time, I thought I was training to improve my culinary skills… I know now it was all for you, to help you feel good.”

You laugh at his dramatics, then melt into a deep exhale as he strokes you just right. He picks up on the cue effortlessly, and keeps doing exactly what you like, fingers at just the right angle and pressure to draw more noises out of you. His fingers briefly dip down to gather more slick and your entire body tenses, toes curling at his fingers teasing your entrance.

“Beautiful, beautiful,” he chants. “You're so warm. Can I put my fingers inside of you? Please?”

“Yesss–” you hiss, hips rolling up into his waiting hand. “God, yes, please-”

He very gently inserts the tip of his middle finger, checking that you're okay. Frustrated, you buck forward so that his finger slips all the way in, and Sanji lets out a noise so awed you'd think he just found the All Blue.

“You're even hotter in here, and wetter–” He shivers as you clench around his finger. It's equal parts endearing and torturous when he begins thrusting his finger into and back out of you; you still his hand by taking his wrist.

“Am I doing it wrong?” He murmurs. You stroke the tender skin of his lower arm and he gasps out a delirious little laugh, like he can't believe his luck. “Please, mellorine, show me…”

“Hook your finger towards yourself, like–” you let out a squeak- “Like that–! Fuck, Sanji, right there- right there, right there, good boy–”

“F-faster? Or is this good?”

“Give me another, I'm ready– Please, I'm so wet for you I'm dripping–”

Sanji whines and quickly fumbles to add another finger, which sinks into you with a squelch that makes your jaw clench in pleasure. 

“You're so perfect,” Sanji babbles. “I can't believe this is happening, You're so beautiful, such a beautiful angel. Thank you for letting me touch you. Thank you, thank you!”

“Harder, harder, right there!”

Sanji hesitates for only a moment before giving into your demands and thrusting against your inner wall until you're near sobbing. He lets out noises of awe and words of praise at every clench around his fingers.

“Sanji, Sanji—” You keen as he finds the perfect tempo, back arching off the sleeping bag. “My clit, too – use your thumb!”

Sanji finds your clit after a moment of effort and rubs it in time to the thrusts of his fingers, remembering the amount of pressure you need, changing speeds until your breath is hitching and your hands are clamped to his shoulders. 

“Is this good for you? Are you close?” Sanji moves to kiss your ear, your throat, your chest.

“Yes, yes, it’s good– you’re such a sweet boy for me–” 

Sanji finds a nipple and begins sucking on it in earnest, face pressed insistently into your breast. His fingers curl into you again and again, his tongue swirls your nipple before he gently nibbles it, and that’s all you can take– you come with a stifled yell and shaking legs.

“Oh angel…” Sanji’s hand stills. “You just had an orgasm, didn’t you? I made you feel that good?” His voice is distant, awed, and he moves to kiss your lips as if in a daze. His mouth is wet and so is his chin, and as you come down from your high you realize your tits are soaked: he was drooling all over you. 

You cup his cheeks and pull his mouth into yours, possessed by some strange urge to lick the saliva off of him, and are met with the taste of iron. You pull away with an amused huff.

“You’re bleeding.” 

“Ah-” One hand shoots up to his nose, and he reaches out of the sleeping bag and into the cold night air to grab his shirt and wipe his face off with it. The action makes his cock graze you and you feel heat ripple through your belly, searing even hotter than before. 

“Get back in here.” You tug Sanji back to you by his shoulders and he happily complies. “Obedient boy. You’re like a little puppy dog, huh?” 

Sanji makes the happiest sound you’ve ever heard as he slumps back down into you, apparently on a new plane of bliss after successfully making you come. He scoops an arm under you and pulls you to his side, slotting a thigh between your legs and threading a hand into your hair. 

“I was good for you, wasn’t I?”

“You were excellent. And such a fast study.” You ruffle his hair and your cunt clenches as he gives a happy little moan in response. “Are you up for round two? I still have another one in me. Or more.”

“Really?” He perks up immediately: it’s action time. “Oh, mellorine, you need me again? Can I taste you?” 

“Holy fucking shit,” you gasp, closing your eyes as you feel an intense wave of pleasure crash over you. You pull his thigh closer to your core and barely resist humping him shamelessly until you’re coming all over his bare skin. “Yes, yes-”

Sanji scrambles into the sleeping bag with such urgency that it’s pulled down with him, exposing you to the biting chill of the air. 

“Sanji, Sanji–!” You grab him by the shoulders. “This isn’t working. I’m going to freeze to death!”

Sanji quickly comes back up and fusses like the sweet mother hen that he is, tucking you both back into the blankets and holding you to him. He smooths his hands up and down your arms to warm you back up.

“Is this better, sweet princess? I can’t have my beloved turning into an icicle.” 

God, he’s so sickeningly sweet it makes you need to see him made a mess of. You ponder the logistics of fucking in the sleeping bag, but decide it’s both implausible and also probably not the romantic and atmospheric way that Sanji would want to lose his virginity to you. He seems like more of a rose petals and candles type of man, and you’re happy to play along. 

“Give me your thigh.”

He presses his leg back to your core and you hiss in delight as his firm muscle puts delicious pressure on your clit and entrance. 

“Angel, you’re so wet! Please, please, can I–?” His fingers slip greedily down, and he strokes an affectionate circle over your vulva, waiting for permission.

Thinking he’s going to touch your clit again, you nod rapidly, but instead he dips his fingers into your pussy to gather slick and bring it to his mouth. He moans loudly, shivering in ecstasy as he gets a taste of you.

“You’re perfect, you’re perfect–!” He gasps into your ear, pressing his thigh upwards to give you more pressure. “You taste perfect! I always knew you were an angel. Thank you, thank you–” 

He licks every last drop from his fingers, slurping loudly and unabashedly and humming in contentment, and it drives you so insane that you thrust yourself into his thigh until you’re coming again. 

You feel your slick wetting his leg, dampening his hair (now there’s a thought that makes your already spent pussy throb, the idea that it’ll be dried by tomorrow); you waste no time in reaching down to grip him through his boxers.

“Angel– My goddess–!” He moves his hips immediately, chasing the friction you’re giving him. “You don’t have to–!” He protests, but makes no move to pull away.

“Fuck, Sanji, you’re incredible. My good boy, all for me. I want you on your knees as soon as you get back to the Sunny. Will you do that?”

“Yes! Yes, please, yes!” He sobs.

“Everyone’s going to hear how loud you’re being,” you tut, beginning to jerk him off. “They’ll know how desperate you are.”

Sanji whimpers pitifully, lips bitten to prevent the noise from carrying. Realistically, you know that if Zoro and Luffy were going to hear it, they’ve probably already heard about twenty minutes of noises they’ll want to forget by morning. 

“You’re all wet already for me, huh?” You tease, and slip your hand into his boxers to test your theory. You were absolutely right: he’s soaked in precum and achingly hard. “Did you like touching me? Did you like tasting your goddess?”

Sanji buries his face into your shoulder to stifle a shout, and comes hotly against your hand. His cum spills onto your wrist and drips down your hand, and you love it, love the physical reminder of how insane you managed to drive him: just a few strokes and he became a trembling mess.

Sanji recovers slowly, breathing hot and slow on your neck and trailing lazy kisses over your collarbone. You gently clean him and yourself with his boxers and he mumbles a thank you, kicking them off and to the bottom of the sleeping bag once you’re done. 

And then he just… gathers you in his arms and holds you. He cradles you to him like you’re the most precious thing in the world, squeezing you to his chest and threading your legs together. He presses kisses to your hairline and you let yourself melt into his chest, sticky and warm and sated.

“Did you really mean it?” He mutters into your hair.

“Mm?”

“When you said you don’t want me to tone it down. Did you mean it?”

“Of course I meant it. You know, I’m hesitant to say something in case it eggs you on too much, but I like how insane you are about women. Especially when it’s about me. You know, I might leave the bathroom door unlocked next time I bathe.”

“You– angel, you wouldn’t–!”

“I would. And you’d have to get there first before one of the other men did… I have my purity to protect, right? You wouldn’t want Zoro seeing me naked.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Maybe a little. But seriously, Sanji. I’m crazy about you and I want you to feel free to be crazy about me, too. I mean, I’ve never been more flattered in my life than I was at how quickly you tried to eat me out. When we’re back at sea, I’m all yours. I want to see you eat me out like you’re starved.”

He gasps, cupping your cheeks and kissing your nose. “I am starved, I am…” 

“I know, baby boy.” 

Those last words break him. He squeaks and then starts to babble, and you let him process tonight’s events as you tuck the blankets in around the both of you and settle into a comfortable position. 

At some point Sanji snaps out of it and scooches towards you to be snuggled. You wrap your arms around him and pull him to your chest, and he rests his face in your breasts and instantly falls asleep.

“Idiot,” you smile widely, looking down at his head of fluffy hair rising and falling with every breath you take. 

The rain patters against the tent’s roof, and Sanji’s breath whistles while he sleeps against you, and it takes no time to drift off yourself.

[coquitokisses]

Apple pie life | Dean Winchester

Pairings: Dean Winchester x female!reader, dad!Dean Winchester x mom!reader

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: Reader and Dean finally move out of the bunker to start living their lives as parents.

A/n: no, they’re still not together lmao I just love the idea of them getting along super well and just co-parenting, but I do plan on making them official 🤭 and sorry for taking so long to upload this part, I was writing other things lol

You and Dean both were standing there in front of your new house just looking at it. Already missing the bunker, but kinda excited to finally have a “normal” life. Or at least you were. You knew Dean was gonna have a hard time getting used to it.

“Well at least Sam did a good job finding a house.” He mentioned “It’s not bad.”

“No, it’s not.” You shook your head “Should we, uh.. get the things out of the car?”

“We should.” He nodded

“Yeah.”

“Let’s just.. let’s have a look at it first, hm?” He said looking at you

“Yes, please.”

If you were being honest, you both were kinda nervous. It was the first time (or at least yours) that you were gonna be leaving the hunting life for good and were finally gonna start a normal one. One that included raising a little girl. So the hunting life just had to be over. For both of you.

“It’s nice.” You say walking around the living room

“It is.” Dean walked out of the kitchen and then he stared at you for a few seconds in silence

“What is it?” You ask walking towards him

“I don’t know.” He sighed “It’s just.. well I don’t know, it’s just weird, that’s all.”

“I know, I feel the same way.” You said “But it’s for her.” You looked down at baby Oakley who was sleeping peacefully in his arms

He looked down too “Yeah, I know.”

“So we just gotta try our best to get used to it.”

“I know I can get used to it, it’s just that.. bad things are still out there.” He says with a small shrug

“And we’re gonna be here to protect her in case anything happens.” You add trying to reassure him “You forget we’ve been hunting our whole lives.”

He let out a soft chuckle “No, I know.”

“We know how to protect ourselves and now we have the responsibility to protect her.” You say leaving a small kiss on your daughter’s head “And she will learn to protect herself when she gets older.”

“Oh definitely.” He nodded

“Now, you wanna go upstairs to see the rooms?”

“Fine, let’s go.”

“Are you sure? I mean, I can sleep here to help you.” Dean suggested

It’s already nighttime and you both could finally shower and head to bed after spending the whole day organizing everything.

“You don’t have to.” You said to him

“It’s my responsibility too, you know?” He sat next to you on the bed

You smile “I know, but you can use the sleep, you drove for hours.”

“Honey, I’m fine, I don’t mind taking care of the baby.”

“I know you don’t.”

“So let me.”

“Okay, fine.” You roll your eyes with a small smile “Stay.”

“I can sleep on the floor.”

“You’re not sleeping on the floor, you idiot.” You said “You can sleep on the bed with me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, but I swear if you make a wrong move, I’ll push you off the bed.”

He chuckled “Oh, I know.”

You went to sleep minutes later and then at 3 am you heard your daughter crying, but just as you were about to get up from the bed, you saw Dean walking around the room with her in his arms, trying to soothe her.

“You’re gonna wake up mommy, thing.” He muttered walking towards the window

You couldn’t help but smile a little at the sight in front of you. You never thought he would look so cute with a baby.

“What else do you want? I already burped you and changed your diaper.” He said rocking her in his arms

“Why don’t you bring her here so I can help you?” You say turning on the lamp on your side

Dean turned around to look at you “I didn’t wanna wake you up.” He said walking towards the bed

“I know, but you can whenever you need help.” You replied “We’re a team, you know?”

He lets out a tired sigh “I know, honey.” He sat down on the bed

“Come here, baby.” You picked up your daughter and Dean finally laid down on the bed “Shh, it’s okay, mamas.” You kissed her head

“Is she cold?” Dean asked

“I don’t think so.” You reply after touching her feet and feeling that they weren’t cold, but she wouldn’t stop crying

“Oh my god, I think I’m the one who’s gonna cry now.” Dean covered himself from head to toe with the blanket

You laughed. “Why?”

“Because I don’t like hearing her cry so much, I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” He moved the blanket to look at you “And it drives me crazy not knowing what to do.”

“Hey, you’re doing great, okay?” You say as you start rocking the baby softly

Her cries soon start to cease and she starts to close her eyes falling asleep.

“If she was so tired, why didn’t she just closed her eyes and fall asleep, hm?” Dean said

You couldn’t help but laugh quietly because you didn’t want to wake her up “Because, babies are like that.”

“Here, I’ll put her in the bassinet.”

“Please be careful, we don’t wanna have her crying all night.” You say as you pass the baby to him

“I know, I know.”

He got up and very carefully put Oakley down in her bassinet before getting back in the bed with you.

“I could sleep for three days straight.” He said closing his eyes once he threw the blanket over your bodies

“Tell me about it.” You say yawning “You’re doing good, you know?”

He opened his eyes to look at you “You’re doing good too.” He says and you smile “We deserve some vacations already.”

“Ugh, yes, please.” You say pulling the blanket more to your side

“Hey.” Dean pulled it back to his

“I’m cold!” You grabbed the blanket in your hands trying to pull it back to you but Dean was holding it tight “Dean!”

“I’m cold too!”

“But you have the whole damn thing to yourself, don’t be so selfish.” You yanked the blanket to your side

“Dude, you’re the one who’s getting it off me.” He said “I’m gonna freeze.”

“But you’re pulling it way more to your side.”

“Then get closer, the fuck?”

“Nuh-uh.” You shook your head

“Well then freeze to death, not my problem.” He pulled the blanket once again

“Dean!” You groaned, he just ignored you

You definitely were not getting up to grab another blanket, one, because the whole house is dark and two, because you’re really, really tired. After a few minutes, you let out a sigh and decide to just get closer to Dean, who welcomes you with open arms allowing you to snuggle in his chest.

“I hate you.” You muttered against his neck

“Sure you do.” He smirks resting his chin on your head

And soon you start to drift into a deep and very much needed sleep.

series masterlist • main masterlist

A/n: I think I’m gonna upload one more part and then a few drabbles so stay tuned for that lol (also, taglist is open so comment if you wanna be part of it!) 🫶🏼

Likes, comments and reblogs will be appreciated! <3

Taglist: @mychemicalfalloutpilotsstuff @multiversefanfics @ladykitana90 @mostlymarvelgirl

[devdozes]

Bye idk if this sent twice.. BUT CAN YOU DO A BLADE X KANADE READER FIC like Just her personality and stuff and make it depressing i am DYING for more blade fics from you..... I LOVE UOUR WRITING BTW

ilysm AAAAAA HTNAK YOU OS MCUCH I HAVE LIKE 8 BLADE FICS IN DRAFTS HAHA I JSUT NEED TO REFINE AND POST IT

The air in the room is thick, heavy, like it’s been stuck here for far too long. The only sound is the faint hum of your computer, the occasional tapping of your fingers on the keyboard. You’ve been here for hours, maybe days—time seems irrelevant now. The light from your screen flickers intermittently, casting shadows in the corners of the room, where they belong. You never bother to turn on the overhead light. The darkness is comfortable. It's familiar. It shields you from everything outside, from the world that feels so far away.

Your bed is a mess. Clothes are scattered on the floor, and dishes are piling up on the desk. The window is shut tight, blocking out the sun, keeping you cocooned in your little space. You don’t mind it this way, not really. The sunlight hurts your eyes, and the thought of facing the outside world? That’s too much. It’s easier to stay here, where it’s quiet, where no one can ask anything of you. No one can expect anything. You don’t have to be anyone else when you’re here. You can just exist.

You haven’t been out of this room for days. Meals are a quick affair—instant noodles, maybe a sandwich if you’re feeling particularly motivated. But that’s about it. Nothing real. Nothing to take care of yourself, nothing that could actually nourish you. Your body feels heavy, sluggish, like it’s getting more and more difficult to keep going. But it doesn’t matter, right? You’re not doing this for you.

You don’t remember the last time you took a real shower, or put on clothes that weren’t just the first thing you grabbed. You barely even look at your reflection when you pass the bathroom mirror. What’s the point? It’s not like anyone’s going to see you. Not like it would matter.

The only thing that matters is this—your music. The only place where you feel like you can make a difference. It’s the only time you can breathe, the only time your heart isn’t suffocating under the weight of everything. When you compose, it’s like you’re pouring every last ounce of yourself into the notes. Every painful emotion, every tear you can’t shed, every word you can’t speak—they go into the melodies, into the harmonies that fill the empty space in the room.

You tell yourself that this is why you do it. To save people. To help them feel seen, to help them heal. You pour your heart into every song because if it can make just one person feel less alone, then maybe, just maybe, it’s worth it. But even as you tell yourself this, there’s a gnawing ache deep in your chest that won’t go away.

What about you? Who’s saving you?

You don’t know. You don’t think anyone could. You don’t think you deserve saving, not when you’re stuck here, in this endless loop of forgetting yourself.

It’s always about others. Always about helping, always about making someone else’s life better. You’re a fixer, a healer, someone who believes that if you can just make enough people feel better, if you can just write that perfect song that will fix someone’s broken pieces, maybe you’ll finally feel like you matter.

But what if you can’t? What if all of your efforts are meaningless because you can’t even save yourself? What if, despite everything, the emptiness inside you can’t be filled?

You close your eyes, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The songs are coming slower now. Your fingers hesitate over the keys, unsure. Every note feels like it’s just a cry into the void. It’s never enough. It never fixes anything.

You let out a breath, soft and shaky, and the tears come before you can even stop them. They fall silently, rolling down your cheeks, mixing with the sweat of exhaustion. You wipe them away with the back of your hand, trying to stay composed. You can’t afford to break. Not now. Not when there’s so much work to do. Not when there’s still more people to help, more songs to write.

But it’s hard. It’s so hard. You want to give up. You want to sink into the dark, pull the blankets over your head and never come out. You want to disappear, to stop feeling so alone in this never-ending cycle of giving and forgetting yourself.

Your vision blurs, your breath catching in your throat.

You wonder if anyone would even notice if you were gone. Would it matter? Would anyone care? No. Not the time. You have to keep going. You had to keep going. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

Blade had been passing by the library when he saw it—a missed call from you.

It wasn’t unusual to get a message or a missed call from you. You’d call him sometimes, usually with that quiet, almost fragile voice of yours, asking about some random piece of engineering trivia or questioning a theory. But there was something in his gut that twisted uncomfortably. Something in the way you’d been acting lately. He couldn’t put his finger on it—he never could with you—but something about your silence was different this time. The way your texts were getting fewer, the responses shorter. Almost like you were pulling away.

He tapped his phone and called you back, his thumb hovering over the dial button. You didn’t pick up.

He cursed under his breath, slipping the phone into his pocket as he turned and headed toward the direction of your place.

It had been days since you last spoke in person. Blade wasn’t a person who dealt with emotions very well. He kept his distance, his walls high, his words sharp and guarded. But with you... there was something that drew him in. He couldn’t explain it. Maybe it was because you always seemed so quiet, so withdrawn, yet the way you cared for people, even when it tore you apart—it pulled him in like nothing else.

He tried to push it all down, tried not to let the worry rise in his chest. You were fine, right? You always managed to keep going, always found a way to keep moving forward. It was just who you were.

But then, why did he feel this gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach?

As he neared your apartment building, his eyes flicked to the entrance, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. He hesitated. Maybe it was the late hour, or maybe it was the strange sense of urgency that had settled over him, but Blade found himself stepping up to the door of your unit without thinking.

He knocked.

No answer.

He knocked again, harder this time, his hand balling into a fist. The second time was met with a faint shuffling sound from the other side. A soft, almost imperceptible sigh.

“(Name),” he said, his voice low, a gruffness slipping through, though he didn’t quite know why. “Let me in.”

There was a pause. Silence. And then, the sound of the door unlocking. Blade pushed the door open, stepping inside, his heart heavy.

The apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the glow of your computer screen. Your room looked as if it had been untouched for days—clothes piled on the floor, dishes left in disarray, the air heavy with the smell of stale noodles. Blade’s eyes scanned the room, immediately drawn to where you sat hunched over your desk, the soft glow of your screen illuminating your face.

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t even acknowledge him.

“(Name)...” His voice softened, the cold, gruff edge of it cracking for just a moment. “What are you doing?”

You didn’t respond. He felt that familiar ache in his chest, like something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite put it together. He watched as your fingers hovered over the keys of your computer, hesitant, almost lifeless. It was as if you were just going through the motions, disconnected from everything, even from yourself.

His instincts kicked in, and without thinking, Blade crossed the room, kneeling beside you. “Talk to me.”

You flinched at the sound of his voice, your shoulders tensing. The sight of your tear-streaked face and the mess around you made his gut twist painfully. Your eyes didn’t meet his. Your gaze was lost in the screen, distant, like you were somewhere far away, lost in a place he couldn’t follow.

“(Name),” Blade repeated, his voice firm, but there was something uncharacteristically soft in his tone now. “Stop it. This is insanity.”

You finally glanced up at him, and for a split second, he saw the emptiness in your eyes. It was a look that made his heart ache—a look that made him want to do anything, everything, to take it away.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

The words were so flat, so lifeless, Blade knew they were a lie. You weren’t fine. He could see it—see the way you were falling apart, see the way you kept pushing everything, everyone, away.

“You’re not fine,” he said quietly, leaning closer. “You���re not fine, (Name).”

There was a beat of silence before you exhaled shakily, your breath hitching. “I don’t know how to fix it. I don’t know how to fix... me. I just... I just want to help people, but I don’t know how to save myself. I feel like I’m failing... at everything.”

His heart clenched in his chest at your words, at the vulnerability you were showing. You always hid behind your mask of quiet strength, hiding all of this from everyone. But Blade wasn’t stupid. He knew you too well.

“You’re not failing,” he said gently, a rare softness creeping into his voice. “You’re not alone in this, (Name). And you don’t have to save everyone. It’s not your job to fix everyone else while forgetting about yourself.”

You blinked rapidly, the tears threatening to spill over, but you bit your lip and held them back. “I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to stop being the one everyone relies on. I don’t know what to do with myself if I’m not helping...”

Blade’s hand reached out, resting gently on your shoulder. The touch was firm but comforting, like a steady anchor in a storm. “You don’t have to be that person all the time. You’re allowed to take a step back. You’re allowed to need help, too.”

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath as he stood up and walked to your desk. He reached over and closed your laptop, turning off the screen that had been your sole focus. The room fell into an eerie quiet, and it felt like the tension had been temporarily lifted.

You finally looked up at him, your eyes glossy, full of unspoken words.

“Just... take a break,” Blade murmured. “Take a break for once. It’s okay to be selfish.”

You didn’t say anything for a while, and for a moment, Blade thought you might shut him out like you always did. But then, slowly, almost hesitantly, you spoke.

“I’m tired,” you whispered, your voice breathy and fragile, as if breath wasn't reaching your lungs.

Blade’s heart twisted in his chest, and he stepped closer, his hand gently resting on top of yours. “I know,” he said quietly. “I know. And I’m here, (Name). I’m here, You.. don't have to do this alone. My hand will always be with yours.”

The words weren’t much. They weren’t some grand, flowery speech. But they were honest. And sometimes, that was enough.

The silence between you two wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was calming. Blade stood by your side, ready to be the one who supported you, no matter what.

♡

[bigsoggyboots]

Saccharine

Mel x Assistant!Reader

pt. 2 of Tantalizing

(pt. 1 here)

Saccharine: Overly or sickishly sweet.

summ: For the first time in your life, you're questioning if you're good enough.

wc: 1.1k

an: I wasn't originally going to make a pt. 2 to this but someone asked and I delivered. (I have them tagged!) You can sorta see when I locked in and proceeded to put my whole foot into the writing. I really enjoyed this tbh because it helped me write Mel's character. anyways, enjoy! have a good rest of your week.

(posted on my AO3)

“You and Councilor Medarda, what are you?”

Viktor snapped you out of your work. Literally and figuratively, he snapped a piece of chalk at your ear.

You look towards him and he's already set his tools away to look at you. “What?”

Viktor repeats, “You and.. Mel,” He has to familiarize himself with the name, “Are you lovers?”

You processed the question, feeling a sudden dryness in your throat. Just thinking of her makes your heart frolick and it makes you forget how big of a deal this is to everyone but you.

After all, what you've come to notice over the years is Piltover's obsession with having a status, and a name. It's never something you could quite wrap your head around, even as a kid. You see the quality of a person more than what society deems their quality to be; and you forget how this isn't universal thinking.

The one thing you seem to worry about is if Mel thinks the same. You have to dull down that little voice in your head every time the pursuit of a relationship with her comes to mind. You have to remind yourself that if she's reciprocated a lot of her feelings so far, what is there to worry about? Even if it hurts your heart to think otherwise.

“I guess so. I haven't had time to really talk to her about it.” You sensed Viktor heard the hopefulness in your tone as his eyes glimmered knowingly. That made him more happy than you would've wanted, but you're not truly mad. You just pretend to be. “That obvious?”

“Obvious enough to your boss.” You laughed at that. Viktor's not one to push power roles but does it affectionately, and as a reminder. Times like this are when it's felt best, when reassurance is needed most.

The hand on you is sudden; it shocks you away from your laughter. “You should go to her..” Viktor trails off as your face scrunches in confusion. “..and ask.”

“Viktor, you never give advice like this..” Whatever else you were going to say is stopped as his face scrunches in seriousness. He looks disappointed in a way.

“Your love for her is.. saccharine.”

“Saccharine?”

“Saccharine.” Viktor got up from his seat and stood over you in a way that felt like he towered you, crooked stance and all.

“The love you and Mel share is innocent- a innocent love un-misunderstood. It blinds me and I can't deny how much you two radiate off of one another, so please, go to her.” Viktor shooed his hand to the door. Then he did it again. And again. ..He did it a fourth time.

“Oh you mean now-”

“Yes I mean now.”

“Mel?”

“_________.” You look like you actually caught her off-guard. “What a pleasant surprise.”

Not pleasant really; she was expecting you. She gave you the keys to her home not too long ago, and for you to stop at her door to see her was nice.

“Can we talk?” You under the evening sunlight was captivating. Mel almost didn't want to look away.

“Why of course.” She took your hand in hers. “Come inside.”

The inside of Mel's house was how you envisioned it. Simple yet put together and in many ways pristine. It screamed her with all the decorative gold and red around. Perhaps you'd have more time to look if it wasn't Mel taking away all your attention.

You both sat on her couch facing each other, her fingers curled and traced around all the lines on your fingers. The only thing you two kept was eye contact.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous. Her gaze on you was sweet, sickeningly so, perhaps like Viktor mentioned. It made you smile. Her at peace felt like sunshine. It almost felt like something you shouldn't have, or would take up her time.

Your gaze hits the floor and, for a moment, you think back on your last words.

‘Take up her time.’

The underlying dread in your bones. The feel of your throat sinking. You can't shake that. That you somehow now care about status. Not for you, but for her.

Did she love you enough to risk the downfall of her career for it? Did she care about the risk it may put you in because of your association with Jayce and Viktor? And what about the public? Did she care for their opinions?

Your breathing picked up as these storms of questions took wind. Your face felt hot, there were tears prickling in the corners of your eyes.

How was this happening?

Why was this happening?

Then, it hit you.

For the first time in your life, you were questioning if you were good enough.

You questioned yourself so much so that you didn't register Mel's touch; her soft, pliant hands cupping your face. She looked as scared and as scatter-brained as you.

“_________, are you alright?” You unbeknowingly lean into her hands. “You.. looked off somewhere into the distance. Where did you go?”

If you had the words, you'd answer and if your heart wasn't still hammering in your chest, you'd make the effort to.

Mel's thumb comes to wipe away at the tear rolling down your cheek.

“Do you want us to be a couple?”

She almost couldn't believe you'd asked. Was this a decision that weighed so heavily on your heart?

“Is that what this is all about?” A faux exasperated chuckle left her as she leaned into you for a hug.

Mel's warmth and softness of her skin grounded you, tore you from the place you called your mind. You wrapped your arms around her without a second thought. You clinged on to her tighter than you would admit.

You breathed into her neck, inhaling as much of it as you could. “Yes because,” You know what you want. “I don't want to be a shadow of you. I want to be your equal. I want us to be equals.”

Equals?

That wasn't something her brain wasn't ready to hear. She wasn't prepared for that or the words that tumbled out for her next.

“I like the sound of us.”

All Mel was ever prepared for was war and business. She was used to be expected something, being somewhere, having her hands on the new biggest thing and all sorts of other things. She was a Medarda above anything else, it was something she came so deeply to care for.

But, for the first time in forever, she wasn't worried about that. She didn't care for devising strategies nor pulling out a facade made to please; she was Mel Medarda.

Mel Medarda, daughter of Ambessa Medarda.

Mel Medarda, the richest person in Piltover.

Mel Medarda, one of 8 seats In Piltover's Council.

Mel Medarda, top investor of Hextech.

Mel Medarda, a person.

Strip her of everything and she only becomes a person. Something with no worries. Something she's been wanting to be all her life.

Now, she can be that with you.

taglist: @jiungmcvv @sevikaaaalover @gl1ttor1is @maybelateriwilldecide @zombieeepup @hardunknownkitty @russoishot123 @abbyanderswife @mxrwell @puppiesandrain @supermaunaro @awesomealadin @kaylschipss @sum0y @local-enby @cority @autumnaticallyy @sevikaiswife @bunbunpudding @spleeniexox @martachm @joon1uvr @arcaneflorist @charliepoopyfart @igothoes @craz1er4you

[spacemothes]

hnnnngggg i have.. to finish secret santa drawings

i have to stay focused.. but

hnrbfhjiewjk

I want to write isafrin mermaid au

or write a fic where sif is obsessed with photography

or mayhaps

write a sif as spiderman fic

hnnnnnnnggggggg

torture

this is

hell

[milolunde]

We all know Timmy is Wanda’s mama’s boy but we need to keep in mind he’s still Cosmo’s kid too and that Cosmo would love him just as vehemently as Wanda

[bell-swamp-fitzjames]

mcdonald goodsir talking scene but its like an hour bc i just would like to see them talk more

[sfsolstice]

exurb1a, from "Mum" in Poems for the Lost Because I'm Lost Too

[millionsknives]

i want to do a 3rd trigun cowboy piece for yeehawgust this year but i can't decide who 2 draw........... too many to choose from.....

[the-one-who-lambs]

oy vey i am cooking a massive character arc that MIGHT necessitate a couple extra chapters for risen/fallen

[theorentayuun]

Real photo of me my WoL upon receiving a copy of Encyclopedia Eorzea vol.1

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Had an ADHD assessment a few years ago and the fuckwit that assessed me said, as a direct quote, "You're too smart to have ADHD." Like that's not any type of paraphrasing, that stupid fucking statement is burned in my brain forever and has been since I heard it.

I talked to my psychiatrist about getting a referral to a different psychologist for assessment, and she agreed and sent it in.

Today I got a call that said they don't agree that I need reassessment, and I'm welcome to pursue it elsewhere, but they won't provide reassessment. Which is just.

I don't even know where to start with that one. I just needed to get it out. I'm so tired.

[violet-jessop]

insane that once a month i lose my mind alongside my uterus' lining

[zipquips]

feeling incredibly unprepared for my med appointment today

[ifyourereadingthisblinktwice]

i need to stop forgetting things exist the fucking second they leave my field of vision. why is is impossible for two things to occupy my mind at once especially when im tired. like. i feel like a sim. i feel like actions are being canceled and i just. move on. and completely forget what i was doing moments before. i fucking hate it