#that song is meant for her ! meant for her! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dazevi · 1 day ago

Text

CHAPTER TWO: BY YOUR SIDE

heart to heart series | vi x fem!reader

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

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

wc: 13,144

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

navigation | series masterlist | previous chapter

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sure is.”

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

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

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

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

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

She blinked, turning slightly to face him.

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

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

You’d probably be there.

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

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

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

“Well it might be good to go see—”

“I said I don’t know.”

The tone of her own voice shocked herself.

“Sorry.”

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

Fuck. She couldn’t help herself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Car keys.

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

Then he left.

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

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

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

But mostly, she remembered you.

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

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

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

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

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

But Vander was right.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gave her a small smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi.

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

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

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

And she’s staring right at you.

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

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

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

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

Vi stared the entire time.

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

And when she finally saw you… God, fuck.

You were beautiful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Because she was desperate.

She realized that now, sitting here and watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi hated how much it bothered her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kind of like you.

She saw you in everything she looked at.

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

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

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

Maybe she should just leave.

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

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

“You started smoking?”

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

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

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

“I, uh…” she stammered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But she couldn’t push for that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her eyebrows lifted at the mention of your book.

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you like it?”

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

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

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

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

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

It felt too final. Too much like closure.

And closure was the last thing she wanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mel definitely agrees with that.”

Then, there was silence.

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

“How about you?”

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

“Huh?” she breathed.

“How have you been?” you repeated.

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

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

I miss you, she wanted to say.

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

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

You nodded slowly, her words repeating in your head.

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

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

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

“Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you only offered a small, polite smile back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay…” you say softly.

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” she murmurs. “Okay.”

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

You give her a gentle smile.

“It was nice seeing you, Violet.”

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

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

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

“Yeah… yeah, you too.”

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

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

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

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

It was maddening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It seemed awfully familiar, though.

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

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

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

But she never made it on time.

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

Still, she had sent the text.

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

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

Voicemail.

Again.

And again. And again.

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

But you never answered.

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

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

And still, nothing.

The messages didn’t stop after that.

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

But you never did.

And Vi was pretty sure it killed her.

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

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

“I love you,” was her last message.

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

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

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

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

“Vi, it’s for you!”

Her breath caught in her throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“T-Thank you,” she mumbled.

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

“Oh?” she managed.

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

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

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

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

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

Your mom’s face brightened instantly.

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

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

Your mom beamed. “I appreciate it.”

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

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

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

“Uh-huh.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she wasn’t ready for this at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Stop. Stop.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neither of you spoke.

Vi was nervous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She didn’t want to push.

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

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

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

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

So instead, she just focused on the road.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God, she looks good. Too good.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Vi keeps showing up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you let her.

Maybe because it’s comfortable… and familiar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink, a little surprised by the suggestion.

“Vander’s?” you repeat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The truth is, you’re scared.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mhm. Friday.”

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

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

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

“I’ll see you then,” you murmur.

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

Fuck. She’s still very much in trouble.

series masterlist | next chapter (coming soon)

taglist: @norwayromanoff @killuomi @wicked-laugh @bunnyrose01 @jupitism @sawaagyapong @trulyzizi @saturnhas82moons @oidloid @mk-a-1 @pornoangelz @savedforlaterr @catrapplesauces @ishamyshaylaaa @baylegend6 @auraclus @theapollochronicles @jivimatcha @chobssss @mystar-girl57 @narislvr @danonered @mikellie @xxyourlocaledgelordxx @thalchmy @ddandelionfluff @atittueball @brooks-lin @alex-thegiraffeboyy @visexualfemme @sugrcookiiee @fallingstarsburn @cupcakesnviolets @brbaabs @antobooh @london-uhmye @pen900 @quiquerwfx77 @violetszn @womenlover0 @tamale-4 @everybodyhatesari

if you would like to be added to the taglist please leave a comment on the series masterlist post (its easier for me to track that way!)

#— heart to heart // series #b’s writings #vi x reader #rockstar!vi #arcane #vi arcane #arcane x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #arcane fanfiction #violet x reader #violet arcane #league of legends #angst #smut #x reader #reader insert #vi x fem reader

180 notes · View notes

bapeach · 2 days ago

Text

Boombastic

Just a short story while I try to get back into writing. Don't love it, but it's better than nothing 😁 Constructive criticism is always welcome. Find my masterlist here :)

Pairing(s): Nika Mühl x female!reader Word count: 1.3k+ Summary: You catch Nika watching TikTok edits of you.

------------

When you enrolled in UConn, your only plans were to play basketball and get a degree. You didn’t care about making friends or getting a girlfriend. You only really wanted to play ball, but you knew you needed to have a backup in case something happened and you could never play again. So a degree in communication it was.

It’s not like you struggled making friends, you just didn’t ever have your own little friend group. You hopped from group to group, always a friend to everyone, but never letting anyone get too close. Well, that was before you came to university. If you really thought you were going to be able to only be teammates with your basketball team, you thought wrong. Joining that team means joining a family. And thank God for that. You loved those girls to pieces and were happy to call every single one of them your best friends.

You were especially close to Nika, however. Which was a good thing, seeing as she was also your roommate. And maybe you also had a tiny crush on her, but no one needed to know that. Sure, you two playfully flirted with each other all the time, but that was all just a joke. To the Croatian, at least. You meant every single thing you said to her. Things like how she was the prettiest girl you’d ever seen, how her smile could light up the darkest rooms, and how if she were yours, you’d treat her right.

There are moments when you think she might like you back. The way she looks at you isn’t the way friends look at each other. Friends also don’t blush the way she does when you lean in close to mutter a compliment. But then you start overthinking it and make yourself believe that you’re just imagining things. Because there is no way that the goddess that is Nika Mühl will ever like you.

----

You hum your favorite song to yourself as you walk through the hallways. You’d just gone out for some errands and were on the way back to your dorm. You wonder if Nika is already there or if she’s still with Paige. You hope she’s home, maybe then you two could finish the show you’d started a while ago. You quicken your step a little as you near your dorm. When you open the door, you take a step inside to see Nika already on the couch, her back towards you.

A grin appears on your face as you quietly put your stuff down on the table next to the door. You open your mouth to say something, but you know that wouldn’t do much. Nika is wearing those annoying headphones that you complain about at least once a day. They’re great for the person wearing them, the sound is clear, and outside sounds are completely muffled. They aren’t so great for the people around them, though. You can clearly hear everything the wearer is listening to, while they can’t hear you yell at them to turn it down.

You start taking off your shoes as you hear the song playing on Nika’s phone. You smirk a little as you recognize the music. Boombastic by Shaggy. The song has been all over your fyp all week, so you figure the brunette is scrolling on TikTok. Your face scrunches up in confusion when you’ve finally taken off both shoes. The song was playing on repeat. “I swear to God if she’s watching an edit of herself to that song,” you think to yourself as a mischievous grin grows on your face.

You walk over and pause behind her, watching her phone from over her shoulder. Your mouth drops open as you see yourself in the video. A smirk appears on your face as you watch Nika play the TikTok over and over again. You see that she’s already liked it and has it saved to one of her folders. You shoot forward, snatching the phone out of her hands as you quickly back up.

The brunette bolts up as she looks at you with wide eyes, her cheeks blazing red in embarrassment. “Y/N, give me back my phone!” She huffs. She tries to take it out of your hands, but you hold your arm away from her as you look at her cockily. “Damn, I look good,” you hum, pursing your lips.

“Y/N, please,” she begs, looking at the floor. You tap her profile as you check out in which folder she saved the video. “Oh. My. God… You have a folder with 102 edits saved of me?” You laugh in shock and amusement. The Croatian girl burns an even brighter red as she stops trying to steal the phone from you, having accepted defeat. She sits back down as she puts her face in her hands. “Shut uppp,” she whines.

You look away from the phone towards the brunette, your smile softening. “God, she’s adorable,” you think. Nika huffs as she hears you take a screenshot of the number and send it to yourself. She wishes the ground would open up and swallow her whole. Once you’re done, you throw the phone next to her, not looking as it bounces against her thigh.

You grab your own phone, saving the screenshot before opening your TikTok. After a few swipes, you put your phone back in your pocket as you look at Nika with a grin. Feeling her phone buzz, the brunette grabs it and unlocks it to check your message. She stares at the picture you sent for a few seconds. It was a screenshot of your own TikTok account, a folder with her name on it visible. The number “253” on display.

“You… you have 253 TikToks saved of me?” She says as she looks up at you, her eyes wide. “102 is a rookie number. I thought you liked me?” You tease as you cross your arms. She rolls her eyes as you walk over, a smirk forming on her face. “253 of me? People are gonna think you have a crush on me, Y/N/N,” she grins. You grab her hand and pull her up from the couch. Her cheeks flaming as you pull her against you. “Hmm, and so what if I do?” You say with a low voice as you grab her chin.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she replies, looking up at you with doe eyes. “Is that so?” You mutter, leaning a little closer to her. “Mhm… Why don’t you show me how much you like me?” She mumbles back. She barely has time to finish her sentence as you pull her face towards your own. You kiss her hard and deep as you grip her a little tighter. When you’re out of breath, you back up a bit and smirk. “How was that for proof?”

She rolls her eyes at you, a grin on her face. You soften a bit as you look at her. You move your hand to cup her cheek as you rub your thumb across it. “I really like you, Niks,” you say, your voice barely louder than a whisper. You don’t care about the fact that you’re looking at her with vulnerable, desperate eyes. You needed her to know.

She grabs your face in her hands, pulling you close. You stare into her eyes, only being a few inches away from her. “Then why haven’t you asked me out yet?” She murmurs, her lips a small pout. You look at her in adoration and a hint of regret. “I’m sorry for being too scared to… Let me make it up to you? Dinner at 6 tomorrow?”

She grins at you, pulling you in for another kiss. “Deal.” You beam a wide smile at her before smirking. “So… Do you often watch TikToks of me on repeat?” You let out a deep laugh as Nika slaps your shoulder, pushing you away. You grab her wrists, pulling her back against you in a hug. “You’re a jerk,” she mutters against your chest. “Yeah, but you love me,” you reply, feeling her smile against your shirt. “Hmph,” she huffs, but squeezes you tighter.

You suppose those damn headphones aren’t so bad after all.

#nika muhl x reader #nika mühl x reader #nika x reader #nika muhl oneshot #nika muhl #oneshot #imagine #uconn huskies #uconn wbb #nika muhl x you #wlw fanfic #Spotify #BaPeach writes

97 notes · View notes

communist-hatsunemiku · 2 days ago

Note

this might be a strange take but as someone who was groomed and who had what i would call an "elitist" mindset towards it, zako really seemed like it was about that mentality. of knowing you were playing with fire but feeling like you were above it. and for that i was really attached to it for the 2 hours it was out. the more logical side of me KNOWS its more likely a play off mimukawa nice try but i would love to believe it was meant to cater to a different audience than loli-cons. what's your take on the fiction vs reality of it? do you think westerners are just overreacting

I think you're interpretation of the song is valid, and pretty interesting tbh! I had not thought about that at all, and it's a case for letting people interpret the song in their own way. Instead of kowtowing to the loudest, most offended people. I also think the fact the creators literally took down the song amid backlash is pretty strong evidence they didn't make a song "for lolicons". They obviously did not anticipate this reaction, Channel admitted to having reservations, and tried to make Yuuki somewhat older-looking in the video. Whether you think she does or not, is up for (good faith!) debate. I do think she does not look like the literal box art version of the character, but that's kind of beside the point.

there is no fiction vs. reality debate because there are no real human beings harmed in the making of this song. Like, full stop. The "well kaai yuuki has a child VA" shit doesnt hold water cuz that person is an adult now anyway, and there are plenty of other songs featuring her that go wayyyy beyond this one. Like it's just something people reached for out of convienence. Same for "it violates her TOS!" like no one gave a fuck about Kaai Yuuki's TOS before it became a convenient cudgel in this particular situation.

The thing is, no one can have conversations about stuff like this in good faith because you are immediately labeled some kind of monster for trying to have any kind of nuanced opinion. Any dissent from "this song/movie/book is irredeemably evil and your sick for defending it" is taken as proof that you are a pervert monster. It's such a clear example of people, willfully and gleefully, diving into reactionary thinking without a shred of thought.

When really, I do think having an actual conversation about lolicon causing you discomfort is totally normal, and it's a pretty reasonable response to this stuff! But people can't just say that, they have to burn the whole thing to the ground, in the name of "protecting kids" or whatever bullshit they come up with. I don't actually like a good portion of Miku art for the same reasons people didn't like Zako! There was art going around on twitter of Miku with a literal binkie in Her mouth like a baby, and that shit was kind of weird! But I just didn't engage with it, that's it. People whipped each other up about the "harms" of this song, when simply not liking or engaging with it at all would have been the normal thing to do.

Freak outs like this do not protect anybody from anything. My big hot take is that having a moral panic about literally anything has more potential for actual harm than whatever it is people are panicking over. You simply cannot make rational, thoughtful decisions that prioritize protecting people from abuse when you are in a panic, or listening to people who are in a panic. You just can't!! It's not how shit works!

I know I have other asks about this, but I'm kind of trying to answer here, definitively, and let the topic dissipate. I'm glad I got the video downloaded, and we'll see what they release to appease all the weirdos who freaked out about the song. People objected to both the video and the lyrics themselves, so I don't know how they're going to come out with a new version that isn't radically different than the original. We'll see.

#vocaloid #zako #hiiragi magnetite #I myself am getting annoyed at constantly litigating this song but i liked this ask and appreciated it

88 notes · View notes

moeitsu · 3 days ago

Text

The Dark Tide Siren!Arthur Morgan x Reader Modern AU Ch 7 - Bound Beneath a Sirens Song Summary: With a storm looming on the horizon, the air crackles with an undeniable energy—every moment, every touch is charged like lightning waiting to strike. When Arthur invites you to take a swim, how could you possibly refuse? After all, it’s just a swim... what harm could come from that? wc: 11k tw: none! Swim Back! ↞ ﹏𓊝﹏ ↠ Sail Ahead!

AN: Longer chapter, got a little carried away. But reader finally gets to kissy on her fishy :3 (also like 80% of this takes place underwater, so pls don’t read too much into the logic of it)

tag list: @photo1030 @v3lv3tf0x @ireallyhonestlydontcare @shygamergirl01 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @sevikaspuertoricanwife @abducted-cowz @ilovethatforyousworld @gatodebiquini @onyxlune @bomdada

I was searching for trouble and I knew it

The pull toward him was undeniable, like the tide dragging me into deeper waters, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to fight it. There were a thousand reasons why I should pack up my things and head home, but none of them were strong enough to make me leave. Every day, his voice echoed in the back of my mind, a secret siren song ringing in my ears, impossible to ignore.

I told myself this was an adventure—something new, something extraordinary. When in my life would I ever experience something like this again? But deep down, I knew it was more than that. He wasn’t just some fascinating creature to be studied, he was a person. A complicated, intriguing, wonderful person who had been through hell and somehow still found the strength to trust. Over the past week, I had watched him transform before my eyes, shedding his fear and anger like an old skin. Seeing that change unfold lit something warm and dangerous in my chest.

I knew I was going down with this ship, but I refused to raise the white flag in surrender.

Not when he had come so far. Not when I had seen the way his shoulders relaxed when he listened to Mary-Beth ramble about her favorite books, or how he watched Tilly’s hands with quiet fascination as she scribbled down notes and hypotheses, pausing only to tap her pen against her lip in thought. He was still wary of the men, his trust slower to form, but he was trying. And that effort—it meant everything.

Tilly pestered him with inquisitive, practical questions, always seeking to unravel the mysteries of his existence. She wanted to know what he remembered about his mother, about his people, about the depths of the ocean he had never been free to explore. She wanted to see his lights up close, to hear the cadence of his native tongue, to piece together the puzzle of his biology with a scientific curiosity. At first, Arthur was hesitant, his answers clipped, wary. But I was always there with them, and at times, it felt like he looked to me for permission. A gentle smile, a small nod, and his face would soften just slightly, his bioluminescence flickering to life.

It was as if I was telling him, Go ahead. You’re safe to be yourself here.

Mary-Beth, on the other hand, was smitten with his personality. She had a habit of chatting his ear off, switching from one topic to another with the ease of someone who never ran out of things to say. She talked about her love for writing, about her life back at college, and the not-so-secret crush she had on a certain fisherman at the facility. And Arthur—he listened. Really listened. He hung onto every word, his curiosity evident in the way he tilted his head, the way he asked his own questions. It was clear that as much as we were fascinated by him, he was just as eager to understand us.

And for the first time in his life, he was free to learn without the shadow of pain and fear looming over him.

It was the end of the week. The summer sun was sinking low in the sky, bathing the outdoor section of Arthur’s tank in molten gold. The facility had closed to the public not too long ago, and the girls would need to head home soon. The warm eastern wind carried the briny scent of the ocean, filling my lungs with something grounding, something familiar.

I, for one, did not plan on leaving with them.

There was a part of me that longed to dive into the unknown. To explore someone who, in ways I couldn’t yet explain, felt just a little bit like me. Every day, the pull had grown stronger, the ache sharper. I wasn’t sure if it was curiosity or something more—but tonight, I could no longer ignore it.

Mary-Beth was carefully braiding a section of Arthur’s sandy blond hair, her fingers moving with practiced ease as she wove small strands together. Arthur sat comfortably with his elbows resting on the platform, arms crossed as his long tail floated lazily in the water, the gentle sway of it almost hypnotic. Tilly, stretching her legs with a sigh, checked the time before nudging Mary-Beth.

“We better get moving. My mom doesn’t like when I’m late for dinner.”

Mary-Beth groaned dramatically, her lips forming an exaggerated pout. “Oh, come on, Tilly. It’s Friday! We’re young adults—we should be spending our weekends staying out late, having fun! Can’t we stay with Arthur a little longer?”

“Ouch, guess I’m just chopped liver,” I muttered with a laugh, shaking my head. Though, in truth, I didn’t really mind that they preferred Arthur’s company. Because it meant I got to spend time with him too.

Arthur chuckled, the deep sound vibrating through his chest as he gave them a reassuring smile. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere,” he said, amusement dancing in his glowing blue eyes. “We can pick up where we left off when you girls come back. Go home, get some rest—study up on those science books so you can teach this old fool some new tricks.” He added a playful wink, making Mary-Beth giggle as she gathered her things.

I stood as they did, walking them to the door, dragging my feet ever so slightly. The anticipation in my chest was a restless thing.

And then, finally—the door shut behind them with a heavy thud. Their footsteps echoed down the hallway, growing softer until they disappeared completely.

And just like that, it was just us.

Arthur and I.

This was what I had been waiting for all week—just a moment alone with him, without the others, without distraction. But now that it was here, now that the opportunity had fallen right into my lap, I wasn’t exactly sure what to do with myself.

I wanted to talk to him, to ask him questions, to know him in ways no one else had. But I had already spent every day listening to his stories, absorbing the pieces of himself he was willing to share with the others. And yet, there were still so many things I desired to know. More personal, more intimate details about his life that I had no business prying into.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I barely registered the way Arthur tilted his head at me, eyes searching mine.

“You alright, darlin’?”

The smooth timbre of his voice pulled me back to the present, washing over me like the tide pulling in.

I blinked, offering a small smile. “Yeah, I was just thinking.” I hesitated for half a second before adding, “Mind if I hang out for a bit?”

His eyes lit up, and it wasn’t just the setting sun catching in the water.

“Sure,” he said, shifting slightly as he regarded me. “This ain’t gonna get you in trouble, though, right?”

He had a point. There was no reason for me to stay after hours. But surely, I wasn’t breaking any rules. Not really.

I smirked. “Only if I get caught.”

Arthur huffed out a laugh, the sound warm and familiar, as if we had known each other for years instead of days. I realized just how much I needed to know him. Not as some scientific marvel, not as a myth brought to life.

But as Arthur.

As I moved toward the edge of the ledge, letting my legs dangle in the water, Arthur followed without hesitation. It was as if we were tethered by some invisible thread, an unspoken pull drawing us together. He stopped just before reaching me, lingering in that space between caution and longing, his hesitation palpable. I could see the gears turning in his mind—how close is too close?

I reached out, offering my hand in a silent invitation. And when he took it, I felt the warmth of his palm against mine despite the coolness of the water. He pressed himself against my legs, his chest firm and solid, his heartbeat strong beneath my skin. Wet arms came to rest on my thighs, soaking through my shorts, but I barely noticed. The moment was too charged, too fragile, as his gills fluttered against my legs, I parted them slightly as if breathing him into my embrace.

He was so close now. Close enough that I could study every detail of his face—the faint scar hidden beneath his short beard, the dimple at the base of his nose, the way his lashes curled like delicate brushstrokes. Freckles dusted his cheeks and shoulders like constellations etched into his skin, mapping stories I would never fully know. His second eyelids, faint but visible, reflected the soft light filtering through the water, a feature evolved to protect his irises, and yet, he still looked at me with such openness. His lips were smooth, and when he parted them, I caught the glint of sharp teeth, a stark contrast to the tenderness in his gaze.

Content had settled over his handsome rugged features.

“Arthur.” His name slipped from my lips, quiet but sincere. And before I could stop myself, the question that had been lodged in my heart finally surfaced. “Are you happy here?”

I felt him tense, his body stilling against mine. He took a slow, measured breath, but there was no avoidance in his gaze, no flicker of hesitation. Only the truth.

“Happy is... a foreign word to me,” he admitted, his voice carrying the weight of a lifetime of uncertainty. “I like it here, but it’s not exactly what I’d call… home.”

The word sounded strange coming from him, like he was tasting it for the first time, unsure of its meaning. My chest ached.

“It’s a bit lonely when you’re all workin’,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “Quiet. But it’s a nice feelin’, like I can just be.” He shrugged, as if that small solace was enough, as if it didn’t matter.

A sigh escaped my throat before I could swallow it. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I wish there—”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, sweetheart. You’ve given me more freedom than I’ve ever tasted in my whole miserable life.”

I smiled at that, but it was a poor attempt to mask the tightness in my chest. I wanted to do more for him. I wanted to erase every wound, every scar of his past. Show him true happiness, not just some artificial slice of freedom.

“Besides,” a slow, knowing grin tugged at his lips, revealing more of those sharp teeth. “If you had never brought me here, I never would’ve met you.”

His hand—webbed, calloused, yet impossibly gentle—lifted to my face, his fingertips tracing the curve of my cheek with aching reverence. Like he was afraid I might dissolve beneath his touch, fade into the air like seafoam.

“And I’m happy when I’m with you.”

The words settled between us, sinking into my bones, heavy and undeniable. I should have said something back. Should have acknowledged what was happening between us.

But I couldn’t. Because if I did, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to pull myself away.

Arthur held my gaze for what felt like an eternity, a storm of emotions swirling between us like the eye of a cyclone—hot and cold currents colliding, the pressure building, pulling us into a dance neither of us dared to break free from. It was unspoken, this tether between us, but I felt it with every pounding heartbeat, with every inch that closed between our bodies.

“Would you swim with me, my girl?”

My breath caught. The words barely registered, not because I hadn’t heard them, but because of the way he said them.

My girl.

It rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, like it was already a truth neither of us had acknowledged yet. My stomach twisted, and a rush of warmth bloomed across my cheeks under the golden light of the setting sun. Arthur watched me, eyes shimmering with mischief, but there was something else there too—something deeper, something that sent a shiver down my spine.

“S-swim?” I squeaked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur chuckled, the sound low and rich, like I had just recoiled from something ridiculous—like he had asked me to eat a raw sea urchin instead of simply taking a swim. “Yeah. If you can ignore the sharks and stingrays, it’s practically paradise,” he teased, tugging at my hands as if I might just leap in fully clothed without a second thought.

The meaning of his request finally sank in. My pulse kicked up a notch. This wasn’t what I had planned when I stayed behind with him, wasn’t how I thought I’d fill my time. I had imagined more talking, maybe more of those easy laughs he shared with the girls. But this—this was something different. Something thrilling.

I’d be in the water with him. In his natural element.

A voice in the back of my head stirred, whispering a reminder of what Lenny had said about siren courtship. His bioluminescence, the purring, the gift-giving—he’s in mating season.

I shot those thoughts straight to hell.

This wasn’t about that. This was just swimming. Nothing more. Nothing dangerous. What harm could be done?

Right? Right.

A grin broke across my face, excitement bubbling in my chest as I practically sprang to my feet.

“I’ll go change into my wetsuit.”

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

I bounded down the corridor, my heartbeat matching the quick, eager rhythm of my steps. Excitement thrummed in my veins, bubbling up inside me until it felt like I might burst. This is happening. I could barely contain myself, giddy at the thought of what was to come. To see Arthur as he was meant to be—in the water, in his element. To watch the way the water broke for him, how effortlessly he moved, commanding the space with just the flick of his powerful tail. The thought sent shivers down my spine, a thrill unlike anything I had ever known.

I was so lost in the fantasy that I didn’t notice the electrical closet door swinging open until I nearly barreled straight into a solid chest.

“Woah!”

Hands gripped my shoulders to steady me, and I blinked up to find John staring down at me, brows raised in surprise. “Hey, uhm—didn’t realize you were still here…you going for a swim or something?” His gaze flickered down to my wetsuit, to the towel in my hands, then toward the hallway that led to Arthur’s tank. His expression shifted, concern knitting his features. “Shit, is Arthur alright? Did something happen?”

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. Just like John to assume the worst. He always played it cool, pretended not to give a shit, but deep down, I knew better. The fool had a heart bigger than his ego—not that he’d ever admit it.

“Arthur’s fine,” I assured him quickly. “I’m just… going for a little swim. That’s all.”

John’s eyebrows shot up, but before he could grill me on why exactly I was voluntarily diving into the water with a half-siren, I cut in.

“What are you still doing here, anyway? You hate working late on Fridays.”

He sighed, exhaustion lacing his tone as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Hosea asked me to check on the generators. Since we got that big storm coming this weekend.”

Right. The hurricane. I had been so wrapped up in Arthur, in my own tangled emotions, that I had almost forgotten.

“Oh, right. Hurricane Eliza.” I rocked back on my heels, clutching the towel to my chest, suddenly feeling exposed. “I heard she’s gonna be a real beast.” I tried not to sound uninterested, but all I really wanted to do was turn back to Arthur.

John hummed in agreement, but his eyes lingered on me a beat too long, as if he could see straight through my flimsy attempt at nonchalance.

A quiet laugh rumbled from his chest. “Yeah, uh—I guess I’ll leave you to it then.”

He turned, heading back down the hallway, but not before shooting me that look. The one that said he wasn’t buying it.

“John! Uh…” I swallowed hard, nerves creeping back up my spine. Why did I feel like I was a child getting away with something? “Please keep this between us. I-I’m just—” I fumbled for the right words. Just what? Just going for a swim? Then why did it feel like I had been caught sneaking off to do something much more nefarious?

John smirked, dragging a finger across his lips like he was sealing them shut. “Your secret’s safe with me. Have fun with your shark boyfriend.”

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “He’s not—”

John was already strolling away, ignoring my rebuttal. “If he tries anything, I’ll gut his ass personally,” he called over his shoulder, his voice echoing down the corridor.

I laughed, shaking my head. “Think I’ll take my chances, Marston. Seeing as you still can’t swim!”

Without turning around, he raised a middle finger in the air.

Grinning to myself, I clutched my towel a little tighter and turned toward the hallway that led to Arthur’s tank. My heart pounded for an entirely different reason now. This was finally happening.

The moment I stepped onto the platform, my heart clenched with a brief flicker of doubt. Would he still be as eager now that I was actually here? But before that worry could take root, the surface of the water broke, and Arthur emerged with effortless grace, resting his arms on the ledge like he had been waiting for me all night.

“Took you long enough,” he teased, his voice a low rumble beneath the gentle crashing of the waves beyond the facility. “Was startin’ to worry you changed your mind.”

I grinned, shaking my head as I tossed my towel onto a plastic chair. “Like I’d pass up this opportunity,” I mused, reaching for my flippers. “Spoke too soon about getting caught. Ran into John in the hallway.”

Arthur hummed in acknowledgment, but his attention was already elsewhere. I followed his gaze down to my feet, watching the way his expression softened with curiosity. Slowly, he reached out, his webbed fingers glistening under the golden light as they ghosted over my ankle.

I stilled as he lifted my foot slightly, his thumb brushing over the sharp ridge of ankle bone before gliding downward in a slow, deliberate motion. When the back of his claw traced up the arch of my foot, I couldn't help the quiet giggle that escaped me, my toes curling instinctively.

Arthur's eyes flicked up at the sound, his lips twitching with amusement before he focused back on my foot, turning it this way and that as if studying an artifact he couldn’t quite make sense of.

“Why do you wear these?” he asked, finally shifting his attention to the flipper I had yet to put on. He tapped the stiff rubber with his claw, brows furrowing.

I chuckled, slipping the other one on. “They’re flippers. I can’t swim like you do. My feet aren’t smooth or streamlined, and I don’t have the muscles like you.”

Arthur’s lips parted slightly as he mouthed the word to himself. “Flippers,” he repeated, testing the sound on his tongue before looking back at me. “So these make you more like me?”

His question sent a strange warmth through my chest. There was something so earnest in the way he asked, his fingers trailing along the length of the fin as if he were trying to understand what it meant for me to move through his world.

“Essentially, yes,” I murmured, a small smile playing at my lips. “They’ll help me keep up with you.”

Arthur let out an exaggerated snort, giving me a pointed look. “Darlin’, that’s a bold statement.”

Grinning, I kicked my foot out of the water, sending a spray into the air. He flinched slightly, watching the droplets rain down before glaring at the stiff black rubber with playful disdain.

“That’s just insulting.”

I laughed, adjusting the strap on my other flipper before sliding a pair of goggles over my forehead. Arthur cocked a brow, tilting his head as he eyed them.

“Ain’t even gonna ask,” he huffed, but then his tone shifted, growing more serious. “How long can you hold your breath?”

The change in his voice sent a shiver down my spine. The playful banter faded, replaced by something quieter—something deeper.

I swallowed, my fingers tightening around the edge of the platform. How long could I hold my breath? I was about to dive into his world, a place where he was strong, fast, in control. The thought sent my pulse skittering, but I forced a steady breath, meeting his gaze head-on.

“Less than a minute,” I admitted, though I knew it was probably closer to thirty seconds.

Arthur took in the information with a slow nod, his ocean-blue gaze flickering downward to the depths of the tank. The water reflected against his skin in shifting ribbons of light, making him look even more otherworldly. “Just stay close to me, alright?”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

Pulling my goggles over my eyes and nose, I inhaled deeply, letting my lungs expand before slipping off the ledge. The cool water embraced me instantly, a rush of sensation flooding my senses as the world above blurred into nothingness.

And then, through the clearing bubbles, there he was.

Arthur moved—no, glided—with an effortless grace that no human could ever hope to match. The full arc of his powerful tail cut through the water like a blade, propelling him forward with a strength that sent ripples cascading outward. The bioluminescent blues and purples that traced his scales shimmered like stardust, catching the fractured light that filtered down from above. His tail fin, a broad, elegant half-moon, unfurled behind him with each movement, undulating like the slow, hypnotic pulse of a jellyfish. The way it rippled through the currents, fluid and weightless, was mesmerizing—a dance like the ocean itself was draped in silk.

For the first time, I was seeing him as he was meant to be. Free. Powerful. Impossible. A gateway into a world unknown. He belonged to nobody, and no man.

His sandy blond hair drifted around his face in feathery strands, framing the rugged lines of his features, softening the sharp edges of his jaw and cheekbones. His gills flexed slightly, expelling a faint trail of bubbles as he moved, blending into the swirling currents. And then there was his smile—devastating, knowing, teasing. It was the kind of smile that made the world tilt, that made my stomach tighten with something warm.

He belonged here, in the water, in the vastness. And yet, as his ocean-blue eyes met mine, glowing faintly beneath the surface, I couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, in this moment—he belonged with me, too.

Arthur reached for me, and without hesitation, I took his hand.

Webbed fingers curled around mine, warm even in the cold water, and with the smallest tug, he guided me deeper. The tank transformed before my eyes—the artificial world of rock formations and coral structures now seemed vast and infinite from this new perspective. Schools of fish darted past us in flashes of silver, weaving effortlessly through the currents.

But I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

Arthur twisted effortlessly, rolling onto his back so he could watch me, his tail propelling him smoothly as I floated just above him. Watching me with that same toothy, teasing grin.

I kicked my feet, feeling the resistance of the water as my flippers sliced through it, but it was nothing compared to the sheer power he held in every movement. His tail moved in slow, deliberate strokes, adjusting his speed with fluent precision, allowing me to drift above.

I suddenly wished I had a tail like his—to feel the strength coiling in my muscles, to move through the water with that same primal ease. To command the currents as if they were an extension of myself. But I was clumsy in comparison, merely paddling while he swam with the mastery of something born from the deep. And yet, he didn’t seem to mind. If anything, he looked amused, watching me with a quiet adoration, like I was the marvel here—not him.

For the first time in my life, I felt truly weightless. Suspended in the water, drifting between reality and something almost dreamlike, I had never felt so free. Despite the vastness around us, Arthur was the only thing keeping me tethered.

Then my chest tightened. A sharp, familiar burn spread through my lungs. Shit. Has it been a minute already?

With my free hand, I pointed to the surface, signaling to Arthur that I needed air. But instead of guiding me upward, he pulled us deeper. My stomach dropped. A chill slithered down my spine as his grip on my hand remained firm. What is he doing?

I tugged, trying to free myself, but his hold only tightened. Panic began to set in, my heart hammering wildly in my chest. No… No, no, no! My limbs burned, my body screaming for oxygen. The water suddenly felt too thick, too heavy. It was crushing me, swallowing me whole.

He shook his head.

A bolt of horror shot through me. No? What the fuck do you mean, NO?!

Was this some kind of sick game? Had I been a fool to trust him? My mind raced with a thousand possibilities, each one darker than the last. What if I had just made a terrible mistake? What if everything we shared had been a lie? What if Arthur wasn’t what I thought he was?

Was he going to kill me? Am I going to drown?

Just as the last ounce of my strength gave way, just as I thought I was about to give in to the burning need to draw breath and fill my lungs with water, Arthur pulled me against his chest. I expected him to kick his tail sending us upward, to break the surface in a powerful burst. He had asked how long I could hold my breath, surely that wasn't to plan my demise in a timely fashion.

But instead, he did something I never could have anticipated.

His hands came up to cradle my face, his touch gentle even as I writhed against him. His bioluminescent veins pulsed with soft light, a delicate glow between us. His eyes, deep and steady, locked onto mine, silently urging me to trust him. But my mind was blind with panic, lungs burning as they gave out.

Then he leaned in and pressed his mouth to mine.

A kiss? Now? My mind screamed at me to pull away, to fight, to swim for the surface before it was too late. I felt it crawling under my skin, a desperate need for air or I was going to die!

I gasped but instead of choking, instead of water rushing into my lungs—

I breathed.

A rush of oxygen filled my chest, sharp and startling, like drawing the first breath of life. Arthur's lips parted against mine, his tongue slipping past in a way that was less about hunger and more about necessity. He was giving me his breath, sharing something vital and instinctual, something so intimate it sent a shiver down my spine and ignited each of my nerves in white hot fire.

I inhaled, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I clung to him, taking in the air he offered me in desperate, greedy gulps. My lungs burned, but not from lack of oxygen—it was the lingering ache of panic, the rawness of fear ebbing away, replaced by something deeper. Something calming.

Relief. Arthur never meant to let me drown. He was never going to harm me. I silently cursed myself for not trusting him. But this was something I never would have expected.

The rhythm came naturally after a few moments. A slow, controlled exchange. Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Arthur matched me, his chest expanding against mine, his gills flaring as he cycled the air between us. Drawing in enough breath for both our lungs. Somewhere in my frantic attempt to survive, my goggles had been pulled off, floating aimlessly somewhere behind me.

Now, nothing separated us. No barrier, no confusion. Just the warmth of his lips and the steady strength of his body as he held me in place. His breath kissing every pore.

My arms wound around his neck instinctively, fingers tangling in his billowing hair. I could feel the powerful ripple of his muscles as he kept us suspended in the water, his tail moving in slow, effortless sweeps. His veins pulsed softly beneath his skin, casting an ethereal glow between us. It was mesmerizing, hypnotic even.

I consumed him like a fire that devours, drawing him in deeper. Seizing his lifeforce. Claiming it as my own. Taking.

The air he breathed into me was unlike anything I had ever tasted. It was liberating, pure—like petrichor. When the earth is warm with rain-soaked soil after a summer storm. Rich and electric and unmistakably him. It filled every aching part of me, chased away the fear, replaced it with something that left me dizzy.

This wasn’t just survival. This was something else entirely.

Arthur wasn’t just giving me air—he was threading himself into the very fabric of my being.

With every inhale, he poured into me like the tide rushing into a hollowed-out cave, filling the spaces I didn’t even realize were empty. A piece of him—vast, ancient, and arcane—flooded through my heart, echoing through its chambers, coursing through my veins in a heady, intoxicating rush. It curled into the hollows of my lungs, wove through the sinew of my muscles, and settled deep into my skin. Clinging to me like the saltwater after it dries.

It wasn’t just breath. It was him.

He invaded me, not with force, but with something far more meaningful—an offering, a communion. A sacrifice. Reaching inside me his presence wrapped around my very cells, touching every inch of me in ways I had never imagined. It was like swallowing starlight, like sinking into the depths of the ocean and becoming part of it, losing myself to something endless and infinite.

I felt the ocean’s pulse, a steady rhythm thrumming through me. It was life, boundless and eternal. And gods above, it was mighty.

With each exhale, he didn’t pull away—he gave as much as I would take. As much as I needed to calm my thundering pulse. Traces of him held me, saturating my body with something more than air. He left himself in the marrow of my bones, in the pulse of my wrists, in the spaces between each heartbeat.

I was no longer just breathing. I was becoming.

Somewhere in the tangled mess of our situation, I hadn’t noticed Arthur bringing me back to the surface. When we finally broke through, the rush of cool ocean air kissed my cheeks, sending a shudder through me. I felt like I had just stolen something forbidden, something ancient—like I had partaken in a divine secret that was never meant for human hands. As if I had slipped past the gods unnoticed, grasping at eternity, daring to hold onto something beyond biology, beyond comprehension.

And still, despite the overwhelming weight of what had just happened between us, my instincts took over. I gasped for breath, gulping down fresh air, grounding myself in reality—even as I mourned the loss of that impossible intimacy. I pushed myself back onto the platform, slumping onto my back with a heavy huff, my limbs trembling from the lingering adrenaline. I barely registered Arthur rising beside me, his own chest rising and falling in deep, measured breaths.

Poor thing. I really did steal the breath from his lungs. Literally.

The thought sent a dizzy rush through me. Had I gotten too carried away? Had I taken too much? I wasn’t even sure what too much meant in this situation. My mind reeled as I tried to make sense of it, to unravel the impossibility of what we had just shared.

“Holy shit,” I exhaled, still trying to steady my racing heart. “Arthur, why didn’t you tell me you could do that? I thought you were trying to drown me!”

I pushed up onto my elbows, my gaze locking onto his face as he hovered in the water between my legs. He looked just as disoriented as I felt, the glow in his veins pulsing slow and steady, like the aftershocks of something neither of us could fully comprehend. He blinked up at me, his gills fluttering slightly as if he was still catching his breath, too.

“M’sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer now, more careful. “I asked how long you could hold your breath… I—I thought you knew what I was doin’. I never meant to scare ya, sweetheart.”

His eyes held nothing but sincerity, and yet I still couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that?” The words came out sharper than I intended, my emotions still tangled up in the lingering panic.

Arthur flinched—not physically, but I saw the way something in him pulled back, just slightly. The guilt in his expression sent a pang of regret through my chest. He truly hadn’t meant to frighten me.

“I thought humans did it all the time,” he admitted, scratching at the back of his head. “I’ve seen ‘em press their mouths together, sharin’ breath. Never really understood why, though… Since you’ve got plenty of it up here.” He waved a webbed hand through the air as if the concept itself was baffling to him.

This caught my attention. I stared at him, dumbfounded, my heart giving an odd little stutter. Oh, Arthur. I sat up fully now, moving closer to the edge as his words sank in. He’d seen humans do it before? It took a moment for it to click, for realization to dawn over me like the slow crest of a wave. Oh. He’d seen humans kiss.

“Oh, honey, that’s not—” I hesitated, rubbing my temples with a sigh. How the hell do I even explain this to him? “It’s not the same when humans do it,” I tried again, my voice softer now. “We’re not actually sharing breath. Not like that… not like what we just did.”

Arthur tilted his head, his brows knitting together in confusion. He was trying to understand, I could see that much, but I was probably upending his entire perception of human behavior in real-time.

“Then… why do you do it?”

I let out a slow breath, trying to piece it together in a way that made sense. “It’s called kissing. It’s a way humans express affection. Like a silent conversation… a way to say things without words—like ‘I care about you,’ or ‘I want to be close to you.’” My fingers curled against the damp fabric of my wetsuit. “When two people press their mouths together, they’re sharing a connection, and sometimes…” My voice faltered, realization creeping up on me as the words formed on my tongue. Gods above. It hit me that we had just done practically the same thing. “...sometimes even a little piece of their soul.”

Arthur was completely still. His eyes, dark and fathomless, locked onto mine like the pull of the tide, widening ever so slightly as his pupils expanded. A shiver ran through me, the weight of his gaze so intense it felt like he could see straight into my core.

Then, as if drawn by some unseen force, he moved closer.

The water rippled gently around his body, his movements slow, deliberate. He mirrored the way we had sat together earlier, but this time, he braced his hands on either side of me, his arms caging me in a way that sent a deep warmth curling in my stomach. The space between us was nonexistent, the air suddenly thick, charged with something I couldn’t quite name.

“Kissing…” Arthur repeated the word, barely more than a murmur, tasting it on his tongue.

I could almost see the gears turning in his mind, the way he was processing everything I’d just said. And I knew, with startling certainty, that he was thinking the same thing I was.

What we shared underwater… was far deeper, far more intimate than any human kiss could ever be.

“Yes, kissing.” My voice came out softer than I intended, and I swallowed against the sudden tightness in my throat. Fuck, why did I feel so nervous? He was so close I could taste the salt on his breath, feel the warmth radiating from his skin despite the cool water between us. Those deep, knowing eyes never left mine, watching me like he could read every thought flickering through my mind.

“Th-there’s many different ways to kiss,” I went on, my voice betraying my nerves. Why the hell am I even telling him this? “It’s not always on the lips. You can kiss pretty much anywhere on the body.”

His pupils dilated slightly, the dark pools nearly eclipsing the striking blue of his irises. “Anywhere?” His voice had dropped an octave, rougher, like sea water pulling back before a crashing wave.

I nodded, feeling heat creep up my neck. “And it’s not always between partners. Parents kiss their children, relatives kiss their loved ones, some people kiss their pets.” My fingers fidgeted, he was so close now I could feel the smoothness of his chest as he drew breath. “You can even blow a kiss.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly, his expression shifting from something unreadable to pure confusion. “Why would someone do that?”

A soft giggle bubbled up my throat, his curiosity catching me off guard in the best way. “People do it when they’re beyond each other's reach. A way of sending your affection through the air.”

Feeling emboldened, I reached for his hand—broad, webbed, strong but gentle beneath my touch. His skin was cool and smooth, glistening in the fading light. Slowly, I lifted his arm and guided the back of his hand toward my lips.

“When you blow someone a kiss, you have to bring it to life before letting it go,” I explained, my voice barely above a whisper. Then, without breaking eye contact, I pressed a slow, deliberate kiss to the wet space of his palm, exaggerating the smacking sound just enough to tease him.

Arthur went completely still.

I felt the tension coil in his muscles, the way his fingers twitched slightly against my own. When I pulled away, my eyes flickered to his face—and oh. His cheeks were tinted a deeper shade of pink, a faint but undeniable flush creeping along his cheekbones. Was he… blushing?

I bit my lip, suppressing a grin as warmth curled in my chest. I had just made him blush.

Arthur blinked, looking between his hand and my face like he was trying to make sense of what had just happened, like he was trying to feel something beyond the physical sensation lingering on his skin.

“There,” I said proudly, admiring my work as if I had just painted something delicate and unseen across his palm. “Now, you blow it away.”

I gently turned his hand toward the ocean, the sky now fading to a deepening indigo as the sun traded shifts with the moon. The first stars flickered to life above us, their distant glow reflecting in the water, shimmering against Arthur’s iridescent skin. Then, slowly, I blew on his palm, a soft breath carrying the invisible gift away.

Arthur inhaled sharply. His gills flared at the gesture, pulsing with some unspoken emotion.

I released his hand, but instead of pulling away, he brought it to my face. A breath hitched in my throat as the rough pad of his thumb traced over my bottom lip, dragging slowly, reverently. The touch was featherlight, but I felt it everywhere.

His fingers trembled slightly. His eyes burned with something deeper than curiosity now—an insatiable hunger, a deep, aching longing.

I heard him swallow before he spoke, his voice barely rising above the whisper of the roaring waves, rich and weighted, like he was holding himself back. “…and where does the kiss go?”

The words rolled over me, sweeping me into the depth of his need. Arthur’s gaze searched mine, pupils blown wide, his entire body coiled with restrained tension. We were already so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath, hear the tremble in his voice.

“To someone you love.”

It mattered little to me which one of us closed the distance—only that we did. The moment our lips met, the world fell away, as if time itself had paused to bear witness. The moon, ever watchful, seemed to still the tides, holding her breath in quiet admiration, offering her silent blessing.

Arthur kissed me with an aching slowness, as if savoring something precious, something fragile. His lips were warm, firm but yielding, and impossibly gentle. Nothing like before—when he was breathing life into me. No, this was different. This was the slow unraveling of restraint, the surrender to something we had long denied. The intertwining of unspoken desire, of aching need.

The ship was sinking. And I finally raised the white flag.

A shiver ran through me as I brushed my tongue against the fullness of his bottom lip, teasing, testing. He groaned—a deep, guttural sound that sent heat pooling low in my belly—and parted his lips for me.

The first stroke of his tongue against mine was devastating, deliberate, and utterly alien. Silken and warm, but textured—each ridge on the top of it dragged against my own, sending sharp, electric pulses straight down my spine. It was longer than I expected, sinuous and impossibly agile, exploring me with a slow, unrelenting hunger. I gasped into his mouth as he curled it against the roof of mine, the friction sending a deep, aching thrill through my body.

He tasted of salt, like the sea breeze just before a storm, rich and heady with something darker beneath—the faint scent of musk, the wild pull of him. My fingers reached up around his neck, one hand cradling his jaw. Desperate to keep myself tethered as I drowned in the sensation of him, the way he felt—all sharp edges and smooth restraint, barely contained.

Arthur kissed like he knew what his touch did to me, like he had been waiting to unravel me, to steal the breath from my lungs and make it his own.

And I let him. I let him take me.

The soft bristle of his beard scraped against my skin, leaving a tingling warmth in its wake, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. His fingers skimmed my waist, pressing just enough to anchor me, as if afraid I might slip away.

All I could taste was him. All I could breathe was him. Arthur, steady and unshakable, yet trembling with want. The only thing that mattered in this moment was us.

I didn’t need to open my eyes to see the glow of his bioluminescence. Its colorful shimmer lit up the space between us, painting the darkness behind my eyelids in swirls of deep indigo, flickering like a living halo.

The heat of his body pressed against mine, damp and feverish, as he surged forward, rising from the water.

The platform was firm beneath me as he eased me down, his weight settling just enough to trap me beneath him. Then, suddenly, I felt it—before I even heard it. A low, resonant purr, vibrating deep in his chest and pouring into mine, rattling through my ribs like the hum of something ancient, something meant to lure and ensnare.

And like the vibration of his purr I could feel the need exuding off him in waves.

His lips crashed against mine, no longer gentle but desperate, fevered. His tongue, ribbed and serpentine, curled around mine, stroking, caressing, dragging across every sensitive nerve like he wanted to learn me by touch alone. The sensation sent a sharp pulse of need straight to my core. I moaned into his mouth, but he swallowed the sound, pressing closer, devouring me with each frantic kiss.

His bioluminescence pulsed in time with his heartbeat, casting a rhythm of shifting blues and purples against my skin. His fingers, slick with seawater, traced up my sides, leaving a cool trail that burned in contrast to the heat pooling between us. I wrapped my legs around him as strong hands curled against my waist, squeezing the tender soft flesh.

Powerful hips rutted against mine, the hard press of something unmistakable beneath his scales sent a shudder through me. Mixed with the slick proof of his arousal, the sensation was maddening. And I had no doubt he could smell my own—if not taste it.

The kiss turned messy, wet, tongues tangling in a frantic battle for dominance neither of us cared to win. My nails scraped against his shoulders, feeling the shifting muscles beneath his damp skin, and his purr deepened—a growl mixed with something more animalistic. He nipped at my bottom lip, tugging just enough to make me whimper, then soothed the sting with another slow, dragging stroke of his tongue.

I was drowning in him, in the salt, the heat, the way he tasted like the storm rolling in over the horizon. His hunger was intoxicating, and I met it with my own, chasing every kiss, every desperate movement.

Breath became an afterthought and the only thing that mattered to me was more.

We lay together like this for what felt like eternity, our breaths mingling in the humid air, bodies still pressed close, reluctant to part. My fingers traced lazy circles over the damp skin of his back, memorizing the ridges and dips of muscle beneath the glow that pulsed gently through his veins. Every flicker of light felt like a whisper, a secret between us.

And then he pulled away. I whimpered softly at the loss, my body instinctively arching toward him, unwilling to break the connection. A shimmering string of saliva still tethered us before he reached up, swiping his thumb over my swollen lips, his touch almost possessive.

His sapphire eyes—drowning in pools of endless black—studied me like I was something holy, something to be worshiped. His pupils had expanded so wide they reflected the moonlight itself, making him look less like a man and more like something wild that had crawled out of the deep to claim me.

He leaned in, breath warm against my ear, voice a low, husky murmur. "Did I do good?"

The words alone were enough to make me tremble, but then he nipped at the shell of my ear, his sharp teeth scraping before soothing the sting with the soft press of his lips.

I could hardly form a thought, let alone a coherent answer. His mouth was relentless, lips dragging over my throat, finding sensitive spots with an infuriating precision, nipping and sucking until I was gasping, grasping at his shoulders like they were the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. My wetsuit suddenly felt suffocating, unbearable. If he didn’t stop, I would shed it and take him right here, consequences be damned. It hardly mattered if our bodies could even fit—all that mattered was the heat, the need, the way he was unraveling me with every touch.

"Good—" I managed, the word rasping from deep in my throat, thick with want. "Doesn’t even begin to describe it. There are no words, Arthur. That was—"

He whispered something against my skin. A soft murmur, thick with devotion.

It made me pause. Whatever he said wasn’t English, and it certainly wasn’t human. The sound was rough, like the shifting of stones against the ocean floor, but it carried a melodic cadence, a fluidity that sent a shiver rolling through me.

I pushed myself up onto my elbows, my pulse hammering as I searched his face. "What do those words mean?"

Arthur slowly eased himself off me, sliding back into the water with a grace that reminded me he was not just a man. He belonged to the sea, to something vast and untamed, yet here he was, staring at me like I was the only thing anchoring him to this moment.

I followed him to the edge, pausing as my fingers hovered above the water.

He said the words again, softer this time.

"It has a few meanings," Arthur admitted, his gaze sweeping over my face, studying me with the quiet intensity of a painter capturing his muse. His throat tightened around the words, as if it hurt to speak. "My Ma used to say it to me when I was a kid, before I was taken."

I swallowed thickly as he held my gaze, and then he spoke the translation, each word sinking into my chest like a vow, like a promise meant only for me.

"My hearts will follow you to the end. Into every horizon."

Giving me little time to react, Arthur wrapped his strong arms around my waist and pulled me back into the dark waters. The shock of it stole my breath, the sudden cool embrace of the salt water wrapping around me like silk. The only light was his pulsing glow, shifting hues of deep indigo and soft cerulean, casting shimmering patterns against my skin. Above us, the stars blinked in quiet witness, scattered across the sky like tiny echoes of his bioluminescence that flickered beneath the waves.

I looked down, my breath hitching. The water was so dark now I could barely see the tips of my toes. An endless unknown stretched beneath me, and for the first time, I felt the tendrils of fear creeping in. My pulse pounded against my ribs, instinct screaming at me to retreat, to find solid ground.

But then I remembered his words. What they meant. What they implied. There was no turning back. I was being carried on the wind, letting the current take me where I needed to go. All I had to do was trust him.

Tentatively, I wrapped my arms around his neck, feeling the way his body moved against mine—fluid, effortless. It was like he could sense my hesitation, my uncertainty, because before I could voice it, he pulled me closer.

"Arthur…"

His warmth was a stark contrast to the cool water, his broad chest expanding with each measured breath. I could feel the steady exhale from his gills as they brushed against my thighs, sending a strange, almost soothing sensation through me. He held me tight, one strong arm wrapped securely around my waist, keeping me anchored to him, to this moment.

"There’s something I want to show you," he murmured, his voice low and steady, the promise of something unknown lingering in his tone.

"But… I—I can’t—" My throat tightened, the weight of the ocean pressing around us, reminding me of my limits. I wasn’t like him. I couldn’t breathe down there.

Arthur didn’t even let me finish the thought.

"Hush, darlin’," he soothed, his lips grazing the shell of my ear before pressing against my temple. His voice was a whispered vow, a quiet command laced with reassurance. "Let me be your breath."

Before I could protest, he sealed his lips over mine, the kiss deep and consuming, and I felt it—his breath flowing into me, warm and intoxicating. A strange sensation, like the ocean itself had bent to his will, filling my lungs with something alive.

And just like that, the fear ebbed away.

* ‧̍̊˙· 𓆝.° ｡˚𓆛˚｡ °.𓆞 ·˙‧̍̊ *

It took a few tries to get used to Arthur breathing into my lungs. At first, it felt unnatural, like my body was rejecting the very thing keeping me alive. My nervous heart devoured each breath like a greedy little sea snake, twisting around my chest, tightening, constricting. But Arthur was patient. He never seemed to mind.

I tried to hold it longer, to prove I could endure, but it was as if he could sense my discomfort before I even knew it myself. He never let it reach the point where panic crept in, never let my lungs burn from the inside out. The moment he sensed my struggle, his strong fingers would find my chin, tilting my face toward his. And then, with a quiet kind of reverence, he would seal his lips over mine and breathe life into me.

And, like before, he was never the first to pull away. Arthur let me take as much air as I needed, as many breaths as it took to steady the wild thunder of my pulse. There was no impatience, no frustration—only trust. A trust unlike anything I had ever known.

I was completely and utterly at his mercy.

The water was darker than I had ever seen it. A thick, endless abyss stretching in every direction, swallowing everything beyond the faint glow of the facility’s underwater lights. They cast eerie, shifting beams, just enough for monitoring water levels, but not enough to truly see what lurked in the depths.

And there was so much lurking.

Every creature we passed seemed to materialize from the void, slipping through the water like ghosts from a world I was only beginning to understand. I knew these animals, had studied them, cared for them. But here, under the shroud of darkness, they felt different. Unfamiliar. As if I were a trespasser in their domain.

A particularly curious stingray drifted above us, its broad body gliding effortlessly through the water. I looked up—and nearly choked on my own scream.

The pale, ghoulish underside of its body loomed above me, its strange, human-like mouth and vacant eyes staring down with an uncanny, haunting expression. My body acted before my mind could catch up—I jerked violently, nearly kicking Arthur square in the chest, my limbs flailing in pure, unfiltered panic.

Once again, he calmed me with his breath. His warmth spread through me, steadying the frantic rhythm of my heart, and I felt it—the quiet shake of his chest, the vibration of something light, and effortless. Laughter. It bubbled up his throat, muted by the water, but I felt it, a tingling hum against my lips before we pulled away.

His fingers found my wrist, strong yet careful, guiding my hand upward. With a slow, deliberate touch, he traced his thumb along my palm, unfurling my fingers one by one.

The stingray hovered just above us, its massive wings rippling like silk through the water. And then, with a slow, ghostly glide, it brushed its velvety skin over the tips of my fingers. Like a whisper, like a greeting.

I had touched stingrays before, plenty of times in the shallow touch-tank, where children giggled and splashed, reaching out to feel the slippery softness of their skin. But never like this. Never in their world, where the touch was theirs to give. It wasn’t me reaching out—it was them, exploring me.

He lifted his hand in front of me, and what he did next sent warmth blooming deep in my belly. With deliberate care, he hooked our index fingers together—a silent sign, one I recognized instantly. Friend.

My chest tightened at the realization. Not only had Arthur remembered that fleeting moment we shared when he was bleeding out on the beach, but he had learned the gesture. He had taken it as his own, stored it away like something precious, something worth keeping.

A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down, curling my finger a little tighter around his.

I made a quiet promise to teach him more later.

Arthur pulled me forward, guiding me through a submerged tunnel. The familiar structure clicked in my mind, recognition settling in my bones. We were entering the back section of the tank—the place away from prying eyes, from tourists pressing their faces against glass. This was his sanctuary. Where he spent his time when he wasn’t with me or the girls.

Curiosity sparked in my chest. What does he want to show me down here?

We swam deeper, the water thick with shadow, but I trusted his grip, the steady pull of his hands as he led me forward. And then, nestled within the rock and kelp, I saw it.

A small cave. A hidden space tucked away in the depths of the tank. I wasn’t sure how I knew—but I did. This was where he slept.

Something about it felt lived in, personal. The flattened kelp was arranged in a circular shape, almost like a nest. It wasn’t just a hiding place. It was his. I could picture him here, curled up in the quiet dark, unguarded, safe. For the first time since I had met him, I wondered what it felt like for him to rest. Unguarded, unshackled, away from cold prying eyes. To just be.

Arthur pulled me inside, his arm wrapping instinctively around my waist as his bioluminescence flared to life. Light bloomed from his skin, illuminating the space in shifting blues and purples, and what I saw nearly stole the breath from my lungs.

The rock-like walls were etched with various drawings, their rough surfaces covered in markings that varied in detail and size. Some depicted the sea life he shared the tank with—familiar outlines of stingrays, sharks, seals and fish. Others were delicate sketches of underwater plants, their flowing tendrils stretching across the stone like living things.

Curiosity tugged at me, pulling me away from Arthur’s side. I swam closer, reaching out to trace my fingers over the carvings. The grooves were deep, uneven, reminding me of ancient cave drawings. He must have used his claws, carefully etching each image into the stone, leaving behind proof of his existence in this lonely place.

Behind me, Arthur was searching for something, his large hands sifting through layers of kelp. He reached beneath the safety of his makeshift bed, pulling out something dark and solid. But my attention was still on the walls, my heart hammering as I took in every detail of his underwater art.

Then, Arthur waved a hand, pulling me from my trance. I turned to him just as he pointed toward the farthest side of the cave.

And I released my breath.

There, among the sketches of fish and plants—was me.

It was a simple drawing, lacking the fine details of his other works, but it didn’t matter. With the rough material he had to work with, it was still a masterpiece. My heart ached at the sight of it, at the thought of him carving me into the walls of his world.

But it was what he did next that truly unraveled me.

Arthur lifted a webbed palm to his lips, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his skin. Then, with a small smile, he released a stream of bubbles toward the drawing—just like I had taught him. An expression of affection, a gesture so sweet it made my chest tighten.

I could have kissed him right then and there. Well, I tried to.

But this gentle giant, ever concerned for my well-being, misunderstood my intent. The moment our lips met, he must have thought I was seeking air. He held me there for a breath longer, and though I wished I could stay pressed against him forever, he was already wrapping a strong arm around my waist, propelling us forward with effortless strength.

I barely had time to process what had just happened before we were darting out of the cave, leaving the warmth of his sanctuary behind.

Arthur still held something tightly in his other palm, and as he guided me through the darkened waters, I realized we were heading somewhere new.

The temperature dropped, the light fading into near blackness.

The deep sea exhibit.

Once we reached a spot he found satisfactory, we floated in utter stillness. The silence of the deep pressed around us, thick and all-encompassing, making me acutely aware of my own heartbeat thrumming in my ears. The nerves crept up my spine again, cold and slithering.

It was pitch black.

I couldn’t see my own hands in front of me, couldn’t even make out Arthur’s features except for the faintest shimmer of his dimmed bioluminescence. He was holding back, keeping his glow subdued, and I had no idea why.

Why did he bring me here?

Then, all at once, his light flared to life.

The sudden brilliance stunned me, a galaxy of blues and purples bursting from his skin like a supernova in the dark. But it wasn’t just him, his radiance set off a chain reaction.

And the void around us moved.

At first, I thought it was my eyes playing tricks on me, but then I saw them—hundreds of creatures emerging from the abyss, answering his call.

Arthur was a beacon, and the deep-sea life responded to him like moths to a flame. Lanternfish flickered in and out of sight, their tiny lights winking like stars in the midnight ocean. Jellies pulsed with ghostly luminescence, their delicate tendrils undulating as they drifted past. Squid, cuttlefish, sea angels—so many creatures I couldn’t begin to name—came to life before my eyes, weaving in and out of the glow like spirits caught between worlds.

They surrounded us in a slow, mesmerizing dance, silent sentinels bearing witness to whatever was about to unfold.

And at the center of it all was him.

Arthur’s radiance was breathtaking, his skin an ever-shifting nebula of color and light. But it wasn’t just his appearance that captivated me—it was the way the ocean responded to him, how it bent to his presence, how even the wildest, most elusive creatures drifted close as if he were something sacred.

He was neither fully man nor entirely mythical. He was something else entirely.

Something that felt indescribable. And in that moment, in the hush of the deep, I understood this pull toward him for what it truly was.

Love.

The solid object he had brought with him turned out to be a large oyster shell, its rough surface barely catching the faint, shifting glow of his bioluminescence. Holding it steady in one hand, he traced a pointed claw along its lip, prying it open with slow, practiced ease.

I watched him with quiet reverence as his fingers slipped inside, moving carefully, deliberately, as if retrieving something precious. When he finally pulled his hand free, his fingers curled tightly around whatever lay within—his fist closing around it with such purpose that my breath crawled up my throat.

A pearl. It had to be.

The empty shell drifted downward, spiraling slowly to the bottom of the tank, forgotten. Arthur didn’t watch it sink. His full attention was on me.

His hands found mine, and the moment our fingers met, my pulse thundered. Heat raced through my veins, my entire body suddenly hyper aware of the weight of the moment, of the way the water seemed charged around us. Before I could even find the words to ask what he was doing, his hand rose, his palm pressing gently against the curve of my neck.

Then, he breathed into me. Warmth spread through my lungs, steadying me, grounding me, but this time, it felt different. Because when he pulled away, his lips still so close I could feel the lingering press of his breath—his mouth moved.

Arthur was speaking. The realization sent a shiver rolling through me. And then I heard it.

His voice.

It was nothing like the deep, gravelly tone I knew from above water. Here, in his element, it was something else entirely.

A melody.

A song, resonant and fluid, shifting in pitch like the ebb and flow of the tide. It wasn’t just words—it was music, a chorus of sound that wrapped around me, kissed the deepest parts of me. It filled my chest, soaked into my bones, made my skin hum with the rhythm of it.

It was haunting. And heavenly.

Tears pricked at my eyes. I didn’t even understand the words, but I felt them. Like a current pulling me deeper, like a promise whispered between waves. And in that moment, I knew—he wasn’t just speaking.

He was singing to me.

Arthur opened his palm, revealing the pearl nestled against the warm glow of his skin. Its milky-white surface shimmered beneath the shifting blues and purples, catching the light like a tiny piece of the moon itself.

A gift. For me.

My heart thundered, a deep, resounding pulse that seemed to echo through every fiber of my being. My mind raced, recalling everything I had learned about his kind—about the significance of this. Gift-giving was a siren’s way of accepting courtship, of expressing mutual desire, a bond far deeper than mere affection.

Did sirens mate for life? Could they have more than one? Am I his first?

Why, of all creatures, did Arthur choose me?

The questions crashed over me like waves against the shore, relentless and unyielding. But then I looked at him. And every uncertainty melted away.

His gaze, luminous and breathtaking, held nothing but certainty. The sweetest smile tugged at his lips, his blue eyes alive with glowing radiance. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his expression. Only him—only us.

His lips moved again, shaping the words I now recognized, a melody that sent warmth cascading through me.

My hearts will follow you to the end.

Emotion swelled in my chest, thick and all-consuming. I reached for him, wrapping my fingers around his, closing the pearl between our palms—sheltering it, protecting it. Safe from the darkness of the tank, from the weight of the unknown, from all the uncertainties that once held me back. It was ours now, cradled between our touch, a silent vow sealed in the space where our hands met.

Arthur had brought light into my life, breath into my lungs, and adventure into my soul.

And as I pressed my lips to his, I knew—I would follow him too.

Into every horizon.

AN: Listen, lets just ignore the fact that aquarium tanks are absolutely NOT built like this. And we’re also gonna pretend that the reader can see underwater bc I forgot to add the goggles. OH WELL. We're getting creative. With the way everything is going, I'm hoping that the reader gets to fuck her fish man (husband) by chapter 9. YOU GO GIRL!

Also enjoy these inspo pics from that last scene. Utterly gorgeous creatures!! (CR to frida.yolotzin on instagram!)

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #red dead fandom #arthur morgan x you #ao3 #monster x human #monster romance #monster au #siren x reader #siren au #rdr2 modern au #arthur morgan smut

72 notes · View notes

lowkeyerror · 15 hours ago

Text

In Her Arms

Agatha Harkness x Reader

Word Count: 1.4k

Notes: Requested, Fluff, a bit short

Summary: You drag Agatha with you to a music Festival. She's not really a fan, but she does like having an excuse to hold you in her arms.

An: This is just very cute in my opinion 🥺.

Masterlist

You were somewhat of a concert enthusiast. You had been to many shows across a plethora of genres just for the experience. There was nothing quite like seeing artist perform their songs live. Each rendition a little different from the studio version and semi unique across the tours.

While you mainly went to concerts, you also enjoyed outdoor festivals. You didn’t go to them as much, because they could be a little exhaustive at times. However this festival in particular had too many of your favorite artists to pass up.

The only issue is that you didn’t want to go alone. None of your friends were available, so you only had one option left.

Agatha.

You loved your girlfriend. She was funny, smart, charismatic, and a true intellectual. She was not a fan of your taste in music. Of course she indulged you in the car or in the house, but you had tried many times to drag her to concerts and she always declined.

“Aggie?”

“Yes my love,” she combs through your hair as you cuddle on the couch.

“There’s this festival coming up and I really want to go, but I don’t want to go alone. Would you go with me?”

“A music festival?”

You nod in her arms, “I know it's not really your thing and we don't have similar taste in music, but no one else can go.”

“So I'm your last resort,” she’s teasing when she says it, but you tilt your head back to look up at her.

Your hand reaches to caress one of her cheeks, “You know if it were up to me, we’d go everywhere together.”

Agatha’s face softens, “I hate it when you're all sweet like that.”

“So you’ll come with me?”

How could she say no when you looked at her like she was the only person in the world? She couldn’t deny you.

She places a kiss on your forehead, “Fine.”

“Thank you, baby,” you say sweetly.

She brushes you off turning her attention back to the show you were watching, “Yeah whatever.”

Her response said one thing, but the way she pulled you further into her told you everything you needed to know.

Agatha didn’t have any regrets about agreeing to go with you until she was physically at the festival. It was hot, crowded, and loud. Three of the worst things in her opinion.

She was able to hide the distain in her eyes with sunglasses, but you saw the scowl on her lips. It made you chuckle a bit.

“Are you laughing at my misery?”

You gasp, “Me? Never.”

You can’t see it, but you’re sure she rolls her eyes, “Uh huh.”

You don’t allow Agatha to say another word as you drag her towards the first set. You arrived at a decent time, which meant you were able to secure a spot pretty close to the stage. Instead of standing at your side Agatha stays behind you. She doesn’t drop your hand despite the heat.

When the sets about to start, more people file in. Agatha’s hands wrap around your waist. She pulls you against her chest resting her head on top of yours. You place your hands on her’s, thumb caressing the soft skin.

It's partially for Agatha to find some peace in a space she’s not fond of, but more than that she just likes having her hands on you. You never mind her touch. It’s possessive, protective, and most of all caring.

When the first musician takes the stage, Agatha loosens her grip on you. She watches you in your element as you scream out lyrics that she's vaguely familiar with.

She can’t help but smile at how freely you dance and sing. It almost feels like when she sees you in the kitchen performing while you cook. Yet here you sing a little louder, dance a bit more wildly.

When a song with a slower tempo plays, Agatha takes the opportunity to hold you once again. Much to your surprise, the older woman sways to the beat. You lean into her hold, swaying with her. You look up at her as you mouth the lyrics to the song.

You reach carefully, pushing her sunglasses up, so you can look into her eyes. The adoration in them nearly makes you melt. You can feel your face heating under her stare. The lyrics to the song escape you.

You don’t know if she can hear you, but you go for it anyway, “I love you.”

She steals a quick kiss from you. It’s too quick for your liking, but soon her breath is on your ear, “I love you too."

You want to look at her again, but she directs your attention to the stage. For a second you don’t understand why, but then your favorite song begins playing. You can't help but lose your shit.

Agatha chuckles as you begin going crazy. She’s amused getting to see you in your element like this.

That was the first of many artist sets that you made Agatha endure. She wasn't too mad because every artist had a few slow songs that were the perfect excuse for her to wrap her arms around you.

Agatha was coming around to the idea of taking you to these type of events more often. Though she didn’t really care for them. It was like you were a kid at Disneyland. You were completely enthralled with this experience. The crowd, the music, the energy, she could tell you reveled in all of it.

She’d seen you happy plenty of times, but here you were ecstatic. Even when you weren’t dancing, she could feel your body just buzzing.

By the time the last artist was performing it was night. With the sun no longer beaming down it was chilly. Even with all the bodies around you, you felt cold.

A small smirk tugged at Agatha’s lips. She leans to whisper in your ear, “I’ll keep you warm, sweetheart.”

Once again, she hugs you close to her body. You were surprised by how warm she was. Her hands rub up and down your arms, working to warm you up.

When the last artist starts playing Agatha attempts to relinquish her hold, but you don’t budge. You had been yelling out lyrics all day, you were pretty sure your voice was shot. Your feet were definitely hurting too. That mixed with the cold meant the perfect place for you was in Agatha’s hold.

She feels you inhale deeply against her chest. She peers down at you, seen the tiredness in your eyes. Yet you’re still zeroed in on the performer on stage. There’s a childlike wonder in your gaze, Agatha knows it’s the only thing keeping you awake.

When the last set is over, you keep Agatha in place. When some of the crowd clears out, you turn to face her.

“Thank you for coming with me, Aggie.”

Agatha can’t help it, as she kisses you properly. You’re taken aback, but you melt into the kiss. Your hands hang loosely around her neck as she pulls you into her.

She laughs lightly against your lips, “I had a good time.”

Your eyes light up, “Really?”

She nods, “Really. I was thinking that maybe I could come to some more shows with you.”

Your grin widens, “I’d love that.” You make a grabbing gesture with your hands, “Carry me?”

You half expect her to protest, but the woman just signals for you to cling on to her. You wrap your legs around her and she easily walks with you in her hold. You kiss her cheek, before burying your head in the crevice of her neck.

The walk wasn’t incredibly far, but it wasn't close either. Your breath had evened out awhile before Agatha had reached the car. She attempted to put you in without waking you, but it was impossible .

However it didn’t matter as you climbed into the car with your eyes closed. Agatha buckled you in and then got in the driver’s seat. Your head was leaning against the window, but your hand was upwards in the middle console.

Agatha started the car before placing one of her hands in yours. Your hand closed around her’s. You were fully asleep.

She glances at you one last time before driving away from the venue. If every concert was like this, Agatha had been a fool not to go before. Agatha knew from here on out that she would definitely go to any show you asked her too.

#lowkeyerror #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine

90 notes · View notes

heliosunny · 2 days ago

Note

Hi, I enjoy reading your stories! For the request, can I please have yandere Robin x reader?

MYSTERY PLANT

Yandere!Robin x Reader

You never expected much from a simple sapling. The tiny Robin Pear tree had been left abandoned near a market stall, its leaves trembling in the wind as if pleading for someone to take it home. You had always been good at nurturing fragile things, so taking it in felt natural.

Days passed, then weeks. The tree flourished under your care, its thin branches stretching toward the sun, leaves unfurling in vibrant green. Then, one evening, beneath a moonlit sky, something impossible happened.

A petal drifted down from the tree's blossoms, shimmering as it landed in your palm. A sweet voice whispered through the room.

"You’ve taken such good care of me… Now, let me return the favor."

The branches trembled, then split apart with a shudder. A gust of wind filled the room, carrying a floral scent that made your head spin. And then, from the heart of the tree, she emerged.

She was breathtaking. Ethereal liliac-silver hair cascaded down her waist, curling slightly at the ends, a halo-like ornament resting atop her head. Pale wings, resembling those of a celestial songbird. Her teal eyes, brimming with warmth, met yours, her lips curving into a soft, knowing smile.

"Robin." The name left your lips instinctively, as if you'd always known her.

Her smile widened. "Yes, and you, Y/n… you are mine."

From the moment she arrived, Robin has been following you around. She hummed melodies as she watched you sleep, brushed her fingers through your hair when she thought you wouldn’t notice.

"I bloomed for you" she whispered one evening, her arms wrapping around you in an embrace "You wouldn’t abandon me, would you?"

At first, you weren’t sure how to adjust. But she made it easy. Despite her otherworldly presence, she was warm, affectionate, and endlessly kind—to everyone.

In the marketplace, she became a sensation overnight. With a gentle smile and a soothing presence, she helped merchants arrange their goods, guided lost children back to their parents, and sang in the town square, her voice drawing in crowds like a spell.

"Miss Robin, your voice is truly a gift!" one elderly woman praised.

"A gift meant to be shared" Robin replied, bowing gracefully.

And share she did. Her singing eased tensions, made quarrels dissolve into laughter, and even though she didn’t say it outright—influenced dreams. She once mentioned it casually, over breakfast, as if it wasn’t an insanely terrifying ability.

"I see glimpses of their dreams sometimes" she admitted, twirling a spoon in her tea. "A little adjustment here, a comforting presence there… it helps people wake up happier."

You nearly choked. "Wait—you’re controlling dreams?!"

Robin giggled, tilting her head. "Control? No, no, of course not. That sounds so… forceful. I simply guide."

"You have nightmares sometimes, don’t you?" she asked, voice softer. "I could make them go away."

You hesitated. The idea of her wandering into your mind while you slept should have been unsettling. But… when she smiled at you like that, when her voice curled around your ears like a lullaby, it became harder and harder to think of anything other than her.

The incident happened at the market.

A local vendor, a kind, older man who sold fresh fruit, was being harassed by a group of thugs. They knocked over crates, laughing as apples and pears rolled across the dirt.

"Pay up, old man. Don’t think we forgot your debt."

Robin was too far away, speaking with a group of women who had begged for one more song. So you did what any decent person would do.

You stepped in.

"Hey! Leave him alone!"

The leader sneered. "Oh? And what are you gonna do about it?"

You weren’t exactly intimidating, but you held your ground. "Just walk away."

For a second, it seemed like they might. Then, one of them used a knife aimed towards you. You felt blood on your arm. The fruit vendor shouted in alarm.

But then—

A melody cut through the chaos.

"Oh dear," Robin’s voice floated through the air, lilting and amused. "It seems I’ve come at the perfect time."

The thugs froze. Their eyes glazed over as the sound of her song wrapped around them like vines, twisting through their minds, rooting itself deep into their thoughts.

You watched in stunned silence as their expressions slackened. The one who had cut you dropped his knife, eyes unfocused, lips trembling like he was on the verge of tears.

Robin stepped between you and them.

"Now," she purred, tilting her head, "I could tell you to leave, but where would the fun be in that?"

The melody shifted.

The men shuddered.

Without another word, they turned and ran.

"What…?" You blinked at their retreating figures, confused. "How did you—?"

"Are you alright?" Robin cut in as she turned to you. Her gaze flickered to your injured arm, tears are about to fall from her eyes.

"That was reckless of you..." she murmured, stepping closer.

You gave a sheepish laugh, wincing as you pressed a hand to your wound. "I just… I couldn’t stand by and do nothing."

"You’re too kind for your own good."

Her other hand cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek in a slow motion.

"You should leave these things to me," she whispered. "I’ll always keep you safe."

You smiled at her, relieved. "Thanks, Robin. I don’t know what you did, but… I’m glad you were here."

"Of course. I’ll always be here."

By the time you returned home, the sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky in dusky purples and oranges. The weight of the day clung to your limbs, but somehow, having Robin beside you made everything feel lighter.

"You’re still bleeding, you know" she murmured, glancing at your arm as you stepped inside.

"I’ll clean it up in a bit" you reassured her.

Robin frowned, but didn’t push further. Instead, she turned toward the bathroom, stretching her arms above her head. "Then, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to freshen up."

You chuckled, watching as she disappeared behind the door.

The sound of water filled the quiet house as Robin bathed. You took the time to bandage your wound, then unpacked the things you had bought earlier—some vegetables, spices, and a small box of decorative hairpins. You had grabbed them on a whim, thinking they’d suit her.

By the time she emerged, steam curling from behind her, Robin looked more ethereal than ever. A towel was draped around her shoulders, her damp silver-blue hair cascading down in loose strands.

"Come here" you gestured, patting the seat in front of you.

Robin raised a brow but complied, sitting cross-legged on the floor. "What are you up to?"

"Your hair. It’s still wet." You reached for a cloth, gently running it through her locks, soaking up the moisture.

At first, she said nothing, only closed her eyes, letting you take care of her. The room was silent except for the soft sound of the towel brushing against her hair. You moved with careful fingers, untangling knots, smoothing out each strand.

"You’re so gentle" she murmured.

You huffed a laugh. "Is that surprising?"

"No. Just… nice."

When her hair was dry, you reached for the brush and slowly ran it through the silken strands, watching the way the light caught in them.

"You have really pretty hair, Robin."

Robin’s eyes fluttered open, tilting her head slightly to glance at you. "You think so?"

"Mhm." You set the brush down, reaching for the box of hairpins. "I, uh… got you these earlier. Thought they’d look nice on you."

Robin blinked in surprise as you opened the box, revealing delicate pins shaped like tiny birds and flowers. For a moment, she simply stared at them, then she let out a soft laughter.

"You’re too sweet, Y/n" she hummed, tilting her head. "Go on, then. Decorate me as you please."

You rolled your eyes at her playful tone but got to work. Carefully, you gathered sections of her hair, twisting them into an elegant half-up style, securing them with the pins. When you were done, you sat back, admiring your work.

"Beautiful."

Robin turned to you, smiling. "Why, thank you."

After taking care of her hair, you moved to the kitchen, determined to cook something nice for her. Robin sat nearby, watching with quiet amusement as you chopped ingredients and stirred the pot.

"You don’t have to do all this for me, you know" she mused, resting her chin on her palm.

"I want to," you replied simply. "You’re always helping others. Let me take care of you for once."

Dinner was warm, filling, and cozy. You ate together, sharing small stories and laughter between bites. But the real fun came afterward.

Robin had been humming absentmindedly, some melody she had sung in the market earlier, when you decided—for some reason—that you wanted to return the favor.

"I should sing for you too" you declared.

Robin perked up immediately, teal eyes glinting with amusement. "Oh? Please, go on. I’d love to hear it."

You hesitated. Bad idea.

But it was too late. Robin was already watching, waiting, anticipation clear on her face.

So, you took a deep breath and started singing.

And—it was bad.

Off-key. Wobbly. Nowhere near the enchanting, ethereal quality of Robin’s voice. But you kept going, determined.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then Robin burst into laughter.

"Oh, Y/n.." she gasped between giggles, clutching her stomach. "That was… truly something."

"Hey!" You huffed, throwing a napkin at her.

She caught it easily. "Don’t pout, don’t pout. It was adorable."

Despite her teasing, Robin’s laughter was light, happy. And as embarrassing as it was, you couldn’t help but feel warmth spread through your chest at the sound.

As the night stretched on, the two of you stayed like that—talking, laughing, simply existing in each other’s presence.

Morning came. You stretched with a yawn, blinking sleepily as the scent of fresh flowers filled the air. Robin had already woken before you—unsurprising, given her boundless energy.

"Good morning, Y/n" her voice drifted in softly from the other room.

You followed the sound, finding her standing by the small greenhouse extension you had built—just a tiny, sunlit space where you kept the plants you’d been tending for years.

Robin looked ethereal, dressed in soft pastels, her hair still pinned up the way you had styled it the night before. A teacup rested in her delicate hands as she gazed at the plants.

"You take such good care of them"

You chuckled, stepping beside her. "Of course. I’ve had them for a while. Some of these I even grew from seedlings."

Robin’s teal eyes flickered toward you, a small smile gracing her lips. "I see… so they are very dear to you."

"Well, yeah." You knelt down, checking the soil of a small potted rosemary plant. "It’s rewarding, watching them grow. But I guess you’d understand that better than anyone."

Robin hummed, sipping her tea. "Yes… though, unlike them, I can love you back."

You blinked, glancing up at her.

Robin smiled, serene and elegant as always, tilting her head slightly. "Plants do not think. They do not feel. They merely exist, waiting for your touch, your care. But me…"

"I can cherish you properly."

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "They’re just plants, Robin. I don’t love them like I love people."

Robin exhaled, her smile deepening as she reached out and plucked a small petal from one of the flowers. She twirled it between her fingers, watching it spin before it fluttered to the floor.

"Good" she whispered, almost to herself.

The rest of the day passed in quiet, domestic bliss. Robin helped you prepare lunch, her hands moving with practiced grace as she plated the dishes with an elegance that made even simple meals look like fine dining. She never ate much, but she always insisted on tasting anything you made.

"If you’ve prepared it, then it must be worth savoring" she would say, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Afterward, you found yourself lying on the couch, exhausted from the morning’s errands. Robin sat beside you, fingers combing gently through your hair.

"You should rest more" she murmured, her voice a delicate melody. "It’s no wonder you sleep so deeply."

"Mhm… guess I’m just used to staying busy" you mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

"Then allow me to lull you."

The familiar hum of her voice. It wrapped around you like silk, smooth and sweet, threading through your consciousness, urging you into the embrace of sleep. You barely resisted. Robin continued stroking your hair, her touch light, careful.

"That’s right," she whispered, almost inaudible. "Just stay close to me. Only me."

You didn’t hear it. You had already slipped into dreams.

That evening, as you stepped back into the greenhouse to water the plants, something felt… off.

A few of the smaller plants were gone.

Not withered. Not rotting. Simply… missing, as if they had never been there at all. The soil remained undisturbed, no signs of pests or animals. The pots that once held their stems sat empty, eerily clean.

"Robin?" you called.

She stepped in behind you, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "Yes?"

You gestured toward the empty pots. "Did you move some of the plants?"

Robin tilted her head, eyes wide with soft curiosity.

"Oh? Were they important?"

"It’s fine. Maybe I forgot I repotted them or something."

Robin smiled, reaching up to adjust one of the hairpins you had given her.

"Yes," she murmured, "perhaps that’s it."

The moment passed. The warmth returned.

And yet, as you continued through the night, laughing with her, cooking for her, letting her tease you over your terrible singing…

The missing plants lingered in the back of your mind.

Like something unseen, waiting in the dark.

That night, you saw her in your dream, you assumed it was simply coincidence.

You stood in a vast garden bathed in moonlight, flowers blooming in unfamiliar yet impossibly beautiful shapes. The air was thick with a gentle fragrance. Somewhere in the distance, the faint hum of a melody drifted through the stillness.

She stood under a tree heavy with pale blossoms, her hair cascading down while the same hairpins you had gifted her glinting faintly in the glow.

"Oh," she smiled softly, folding her hands in front of her. "You’re here."

Her voice was as delicate as the night breeze, carrying a warmth that made your chest feel light.

"Robin?" you asked, blinking. "Why are you…?"

"It seems your mind has called for me."

"I don’t remember—"

"It does not matter. We are here now, and that is enough, is it not?"

Something about the way she said it made you nod, despite the lingering confusion.

She reached out then, brushing her fingers along your wrist. "You are tired. Let me grant you peace, my dear."

And before you could say anything else, the world melted into warmth.

You awoke to sunlight streaming through the curtains, heart pounding faintly in your chest. The dream had been so vivid. You could still feel the cool night air, the scent of flowers, the softness of Robin’s voice lingering at the edge of your senses.

"Good morning"

Robin was there, standing by the open window, bathed in morning light. She turned to you with a soft smile, as if she had been waiting for you to wake.

"You seemed to sleep quite deeply," she mused, approaching with measured grace. "I do hope you found rest."

You sat up, rubbing the back of your neck. "Yeah… I had a strange dream."

Robin tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering in her teal eyes. "Oh? Do tell."

You hesitated. The memory of the dream was still fresh, yet the more you thought about it, the more distant it seemed—like mist slipping through your fingers.

"It was just… a garden," you muttered. "And you were there."

"How lovely," she murmured. "Perhaps your heart simply longs for me, even in sleep."

She said it so lightly, so effortlessly, that you almost didn’t catch the weight of her words.

You laughed, brushing it off. "You make it sound so dramatic."

Robin chuckled, shaking her head. "I merely speak the truth."

"Regardless," she continued, "I am pleased. You should always rest knowing I am near."

The day passed with a familiar rhythm. Robin accompanied you to the market again, her presence as radiant as ever. She spoke with people kindly, helped an elderly woman carry her wares, and even hummed a tune that made a crying child calm almost instantly.

You watched as stall owners greeted her with warmth, their expressions softening the moment she smiled. It was as if she brought ease wherever she went—like a breeze that smoothed out the rough edges of the world.

But when you glanced at her, you noticed the way her gaze lingered on you.

Not just fond. Something darker.

"Is something the matter?"

You shook your head. "No. Just… watching."

Robin’s lips curled slightly.

"Then please," she murmured, "watch only me."

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #robin x reader #robin hsr #robin honkai star rail #heliosmysplant

81 notes · View notes

billiesbabygirleilish · 1 day ago

Note

i dont know if you write platonic fics but can you write fluff about billie’s sister!drummer!reader ? ty if you do!

an: here ya go cutie 😚

Beats and Bonds

┏━━━━•*•*🥁❃°•°❀°•°❃••*.🥁*━━━━┓

┗━━━━•*•*🥁❃°•°❀°•°❃••*.🥁*━━━━┛ The low thrum of the bass drum vibrated through the floor and up into your chest. You grinned, relishing the feeling. Dropping your sticks, you wiped your sweaty palms on your jeans and stretched, the cool air of the studio hitting your heated skin.

"Alright, that's a wrap for today!" you called out, the sound echoing slightly in the large, soundproofed room. Immediately, a flurry of activity erupted. Roadies began dismantling your drum kit, coiling cables and packing equipment.

You spotted Billie slouched on a beat-up couch in the corner, her phone glowing in the dim light. She hadn't moved an inch during the entire three-hour rehearsal. You sighed, a familiar mix of exasperation and love bubbling up inside you. Being Billie Eilish's older sister, and her drummer, meant juggling a lot of responsibilities – practical, creative, and emotional.

Sometimes, you just felt like a glorified babysitter.

Walking over, you plopped down beside her, bumping her shoulder playfully. "Hey sleepyhead, you even hear me playing today?"

Billie jumped, startled, and shoved her phone face down onto the couch. "Of course! You were... amazing," she mumbled, avoiding your gaze.

You raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "Really? What song were we just working on?"

She hesitated, then blurted, "Uh... the one with the... drums?"

You chuckled. "Nice try. Come on, Bils, you gotta pay attention. We're dropping the tempo on 'Lost Cause' by five BPM. It's gonna give it a heavier feel, more grounded.”

Billie finally looked at you, her ocean-blue eyes softening. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm just... stressed. This new album is killing me."

You wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Hey, it's gonna be okay. You're incredibly talented, and you have an amazing team behind you. Including your super cool, super supportive, and super groovy big sister." You winked.

Billie giggled, leaning into your embrace. "Okay, okay, I get it. You're the best."

"Damn right I am. Now tell me what’s really bothering you. Is it the lyrics? The arrangements? Finneas breathing down your neck?"

Billie sighed, letting the weight of her anxieties spill out. "Everything, really. I feel like everyone's expecting so much, and I'm just terrified of disappointing them. And myself."

You listened patiently, letting her vent. You knew the pressure she was under, the constant scrutiny, the relentless demands. It was a lot for anyone to handle, let alone a twenty-one-year-old.

"Hey," you said softly, tilting her chin up so she met your eyes. "You are not going to disappoint anyone. You are Billie Eilish. You write incredible songs, you have a unique voice, and you have something important to say. Don't let the pressure crush you. Remember why you started doing this in the first place. Remember the joy, the passion, the love of music."

Billie sniffled, wiping her eyes. "Easy for you to say. You're just banging on drums. I'm the one who has to pour my soul out there."

You frowned. "Hey, drumming isn't just 'banging on things'! It's about creating a rhythm, a heartbeat, a foundation for the music. It's about feeling the energy and channeling it through my body. And," you added, nudging her playfully, "it's about making sure your songs sound freakin' amazing."

Billie smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. "Okay, okay, you got me. You’re pretty important to the whole thing."

"Damn straight," you repeated, grinning. "Now, how about we ditch this place and get some ice cream? My treat."

Billie's face lit up. "Seriously? Yes! I've been craving that mint chocolate chip from Dairy Queen all week."

"Consider it a reward for surviving another day of album production hell." You stood up, pulling her with you. "But you have to promise me something."

"What?"

"No more hiding behind your phone during rehearsals. You gotta be present, Bils. We're a team, remember? We're in this together."

"I promise," she said, squeezing your hand.

As you walked out of the studio, the setting sun casting long shadows across the parking lot, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. You knew the road ahead would be challenging, but you also knew that Billie was strong, resilient, and incredibly talented. And you were there, by her side, ready to bang on the drums, offer a shoulder to cry on, and provide endless amounts of sisterly love.

Later that evening, after demolishing two scoops of mint chocolate chip ice cream each, you found yourselves sprawled out on Billie's bed, watching a cheesy rom-com. Billie's head was resting on your lap, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on your jeans.

"Y/N?" she mumbled, her voice drowsy.

"Yeah, Bils?"

"Thanks. For everything."

You smiled, running your fingers through her choppy black hair. "Anytime, little sis. Anytime."

The movie continued to play, but neither of you was really paying attention. You were content, simply being together, two sisters sharing a moment of quiet intimacy amidst the chaos of their lives. You knew, deep down, that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would always have each other. And that, you realized, was the most important thing of all. You knew that your role, as her sister, was to be the steady beat in her life, the rhythm she could always count on. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

#billie eilish #billieeilish #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x fem! reader #billie x reader #billie eilish fic #billie eilish fanfic #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish x you #billie eilish x y/n #billiesbabygirleilish #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish comfort

58 notes · View notes

bad-omens-blog · 19 hours ago

Text

Dad's Day Out -- Dad! Noah Sebastian

Warnings: All the cute, fluffy feelings. Concert interruptions, but in the cutest way possible.

Summary: Noah's wife cannot take their daughter for the day, so it was bring your daughter to work day. Girl Dad Noah for the win, even if he's dressed all in black.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Noah barely had three seconds to open his eyes before his daughter jumped on him, knocking the air from his lungs, "Wake up! Wake up!"

"Fuck. . ." He gasped, rasping out, "Morning baby." He blinked awake to see the same brown eyes as his, "Sleep good?"

"Bestest." She nodded, "Pancakes for breakfast?"

Noah squinted at the clock. 8 am. Right on time for his little girl, "Yeah. Dad needs coffee anyway." He rolled out of bed, noting his daughter's pink strawberry-printed pajamas.

She ran ahead of him, knocking loudly at Jolly's door, "Wake up, Uncle Jolly! Wake up! The sun is awake!"

Noah met Jesse in the kitchen, who looked like hell froze over, "She got to you first?" Noah snorted, pouring a cup of coffee.

"No one should radiate that level of joy at eight in the morning, yet your child somehow pulls it off effortlessly..." He cradled Noah's face in his hands, his voice low and almost fierce as he continued, "Every single day, without fail. She’s fortunate to have that adorable face to back her up."

“I got Uncle Jolly up!” Scarlett declared triumphantly as they descended the staircase, the man effortlessly carrying her in his sturdy arms. His hair resembled a disheveled bird’s nest, wild and untamed, and Scarlett, ever the perfectionist, diligently attempted to smooth it down with her tiny hands. Scarlet Marie Davis was undoubtedly her mother’s daughter—exuding an air of entitlement and an unyielding desire for everything to be just right, all while basking in the lavish spoiling that came her way.

She was spoiled because Noah spoiled her. That was it. Noah smiled as he popped the frozen pancakes into the toaster. The four-year-old was his pride and joy.

"When I say I want a cute girl to wake me up, that's not what I meant," Jolly muttered as he sat at the bar stool; Scarlet was still trying to fix his hair but gave up with a huff.

"Alright, little miss." Noah's fake military voice made her look at him, "What are we wearing today?"

"My pink fluffy dress, Mommy, got me."

Noah hung his head in defeat. He had to dress her in white patent leather flats with lace socks and do her hair. Noah hummed, "Are we sure about this?"

Scarlet nodded, looking at him like he was crazy. Of course, she wanted to wear the pinkest, frilliest dress she owned to a rock show with Dad. "Mommy laid it out for me!"

Clad in sleek black attire that contrasted sharply with the vibrant surroundings, Noah carried Scarlet in his arms. She twinkled like a gem in her delicate pink dress, which billowed softly around her as they made their way to the venue.

"Oh my god! Look at you, prettiest girl in the world wide world!" Nick yelled as soon as he saw Scarlet.

Scarlet smiled, "Daddy even let me wear Mommy's perfume."

Nick excitedly ran up to her, burying his nose in her neck like an overly eager puppy, "You do! You smell so pretty." Nick snatched the giggling girl from Noah's arms.

"Do not get her dirty," Noah warned him. Nick gave him a look that said, No, Duh. Noah pointed at him, "I fucking mean it."

Noah went to Matt and grabbed his mic and earpiece. He was talking over the set when Scarlet found him again, saying, "Hey, baby."

"Daddy, lots of people here!" she said, her wide brown eyes clinging to his leg. "They here for you?"

"For me and your uncles." Noah told her, kneeling to her height, "How about you come out with me for V.A.N?" Matt started to say something, but Noah waved him off.

Scarlet nodded excitedly since that was her favorite song, and she loved to watch Poppy on stage.

Noah was hot and sweaty when he donned the famous ski mask.

"I would like your help in extending a warm welcome to a very special friend," Poppy announced to the assembled crowd, her voice filled with excitement. "We need to be exceptionally quiet so we don’t startle them." The anticipation in the air was palpable as everyone leaned in closer, eager to join in this enchanting greeting.

Fortunately, this unexpected delay offered Noah a precious opportunity to help Scarlet acclimate to the spotlight. "You'll be sitting on my lap the entire time," he reassured her, a comforting smile on his face. He gestured towards the drum set in the center of the stage, its glossy surface shining under the stage lights. "Look over there—Uncle Nick will be playing. And you'll get to see Uncle Jolly and Nik-Nik, too." As he spoke, he could see the curiosity spark in Scarlet's eyes, and he knew that soon she'd feel right at home in this vibrant world of music.

"Can I bring bun-bun?" She clutched her stuffed bunny to her chest.

"Yeah! Bun Bun wants to see it, too!" Noah smiled, "Ready? I'll even let you do your favorite part."

"Promise?" She asked, suddenly excited.

"I promise, sweetheart. Ready?" She nodded, and Noah scooped her up in his arms. He handed her his sunglasses for the lights.

"Stinky Daddy." She wrinkled her nose, making Noah laugh. He settled down next to the drumset with Scarlet securely in his lap. Then the song started.

The crowd erupted in wild cheers and ecstatic shouts as they caught sight of Scarlet perched playfully on his lap, her vibrancy adding to the electric atmosphere. His arm wrapped protectively around her waist, creating a sense of safety as he effortlessly provided backup for Poppy. Poppy waved to Scarlet excitedly.

Noah observed as Scarlet inhaled deeply, her eyes sparkling with anticipation for the moment she cherished most. With a gentle smile, he raised the microphone towards her, positioning it perfectly to capture the excitement in her voice. The air was thick with the expectation of a wildly known part of the song.

"Picture perfect image, more powerful every minute, baby. I am everything that you're not."

"ROOOR!" Scarlet growled, and the crowd went into a frenzy.

As the song's driving beat surged and the heavier lyrics kicked in, Noah gracefully slid from the high rise, his movements fluid and confident. He deftly balanced Scarlet on his hip, her laughter mingling with the rhythm as he twirled her around. With a joyful smile, he joined Poppy in a lively dance, their bodies moving in sync with the pulsating melody as they sang together with abandon.

Everything had gone splendidly, and Scarlet soaked in the thrill of her performance. As she made her way backstage, her excitement bubbled over, and she let out a jubilant scream that resonated louder than her fiercest growl, "MOMMY!" The sound echoed off the walls, filled with the warmth of her joy and the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

His stunningly beautiful wife stood nearby, conversing with Matt, whose expression suggested he was being gently reprimanded. The light from the stage cast a warm glow on her features, highlighting her frown. Her gaze fell on her daughter as she turned, and her face instantly brightened. "Hello, sweetheart!" she called out, her voice infused with warmth and affection.

"Did you see me? Did you see it? I'm a rockstar like Daddy!"

"I did see! You did so good! I am so proud of you."

Noah stepped back, his heart pounding as he surveyed the scene before him. The vibrant flicker of party lights cast an array of colors across the room, but the look in his wife's eyes truly grabbed his attention. A mixture of amusement and mischief danced within them, sending a chill of realization down his spine. He gulped, fully aware that he was in deep trouble. Her lips curved into a knowing smile as she recalled the night's antics, and he braced himself for the inevitable. "She had fun!" he said, a mix of dread and admiration swirling in his chest as he prepared to face the consequences of their wild evening.

"And you are so incredibly fortunate that I love you," his wife murmured softly, her voice laced with affection as she pressed her lips against his with warmth and tenderness.

#bad omens #noah bad omens #badomens #noah sebastian #noah sebastian bad omens #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian davis

55 notes · View notes

lazysoulwriter · 2 days ago

Text

is it casual now? - paul mescal.

You know it's stupid, the way you keep letting this happen. But it's Paul. And when it comes to Paul, you never think straight.

It's not just that he's devastatingly handsome, with his boyish smile and that ridiculous gold chain he never takes off. It's the way he looks at you sometimes, like he's not supposed to. The way he holds your wrist when he's making a point, thumb brushing against your skin absentmindedly. The way he always asks if you're warm enough before handing you his jacket, even though you insist you're fine.

The way he fucks you like he's in love with you.

Except, he's not. And you're not together. At least, that's what he says.

"You know what people are saying?" your friend, Lily, asks one night, sipping a gin and tonic at the bar. She raises a knowing brow. "That you’re just some girl he bangs on his couch."

You laugh, but it’s forced. "People say a lot of things."

And yet, it stings. Because it's not true. Not really. Right?

You're not just a late-night call. He takes you out, sometimes. He texts you good morning and sends you stupid memes throughout the day. He invites you over, and not just when he's drunk or lonely. He takes his time with you, always. And his touch—it lingers.

But then, there are the other times. The ones where he keeps his distance in public, introducing you as just a friend. The ones where he doesn’t reach for your hand. The ones where he shrugs off the question of what you are with an easy, "We’re just having fun."

Maybe you could handle it better if it was purely physical, if there wasn't that underlying sweetness to the way he treats you. If he didn't make you coffee in the morning, shirtless in his kitchen, humming some song under his breath. If he didn't pull you closer in his sleep, murmuring your name like it meant something more.

And now, this.

Knee-deep in the passenger seat of his car, his head between your thighs, your fingers threading through his curls as he looks up at you with that devastatingly soft expression.

He hums against your skin, and you shudder. "Okay?"

"Yeah," you breathe, though your mind is spinning, your chest tightening. "Paul—"

He presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh before sitting back up, running a hand through his hair. You watch as he exhales, his gaze flicking to you before he smiles, easy and content. As if this is normal. As if it doesn’t mess with your head every single time.

"Come here," he murmurs, tugging you onto his lap, pressing his lips to yours, lazy and unhurried.

If it’s just casual, why does he kiss you like that?

Two weeks later, his mom invites you to her house in Long Beach.

You almost don't go. But then Paul sends you a text the morning of, a simple, "Hope you’re still coming," and you fold. Because you always do.

His mom is lovely, warm and welcoming, and you help her prepare dinner while Paul watches with that quiet admiration that makes you feel unsteady. And when he reaches for your waist absentmindedly, pressing a hand to your back as he passes by, it feels real. It feels like something.

Later, when you're washing dishes together, she glances at you with a soft smile. "You make him happy, you know."

Your hands still in the sink. "I—"

She chuckles. "I can see it. The way he looks at you."

Your chest tightens, but you don't say anything. You don’t want to get your hopes up.

But later that night, when Paul pulls you onto his couch, tucking you under his arm, you decide to ask.

"Is it casual now?" you murmur against his chest.

He’s quiet for a long moment, his fingers tracing absent circles against your hip. Then, softly, "Does it feel casual to you?"

You hesitate, then shake your head. "No."

"Me neither."

Your breath catches. "Then what are we doing, Paul?"

He exhales, pressing his lips to your hair. "Falling, I think."

#paul mescal #paul mescal x reader #paul mescal imagines #paul mescal imagine #paul mescal fanfics #paul mescal fanfic #paul mescal x you #paul mescal x y/n #imagines #fanfic #paul mescal one shot #one shot #blurb #paul mescal blurb

55 notes · View notes

idontcare4urmom · 1 day ago

Text

˘ ͙ᵕ˘͈ “LACY,OH LACY”┊͙ ˘͈ᵕ˘͈

when being a bit too much of a secretive and insecure person lead to your best friend getting what you always wanted since kid,matt sturniolo

•*⁀➷ angst,mentions of insecurities and self doubt,traumas,mentions of crying,envy,jealousy,etc. (inspired by the song «lacy» by olivia rodrigo ✧*)

!! first language is not english ¡¡ (masterlist,taglist)

———————————ღ————————————

you’ve always been secretive, quiet,never sharing your personal information or preferences with no one. not because you wanted to be, but because the world never felt like it had space for you. your words, your wants, your feelings—they have always seemed like things to be swallowed, locked away. you never speak much.you never ask for too much.

you are the kind of person who lingers in the background, watching rather than stepping forward,observing in silence. it started young—this creeping sense that you were never quite enough. maybe it was the way people overlooked you in conversations, the way your parents never quite celebrated your achievements the way they did for your siblings, the way people always seemed to forget your name until they needed something from you.

you watched girls who were louder, who took up space without apologizing for it. girls who could make a room bend toward them, who didn’t hesitate before speaking, who didn’t second-guess their worth. you watched them and wondered what it felt like to wake up in a body that didn’t feel like something to be ashamed of, to exist without the weight of self-doubt pressing into your ribs.

and yet, deep in the marrow of your bones, you have always wanted him,matt.he is the boy who was once completely attached with you, but now only existing in the deep past,leaving you only with the heavy weight of vividly memories.

he was there in the soft haze of your childhood, in summers spent running through golden fields, in winters where you watched the snow settle in his dark hair, his laughter curling into the air like smoke. he was the first person who ever made you feel something close to special. the first to hold your wrist when you almost tripped, the first to call your name like it actually meant something.

but he was also the first thing she took from you.

your best friend. the girl who never needed to ask for things because the world placed them at her feet. the girl who shined so brightly, so effortlessly, that people mistook her glow for their own warmth. you love her —because how could you not? but love unfortunately does not erase envy,even though you really wish it did.

you compared your face to hers—the shape of her lips, the curve of her nose, the way her eyes caught the light just right. you compared your voice to hers, how easily she spoke, how people listened to her without her needing to beg for their attention. you compared your body, your laughter, your very existence, and every time you did, you came up short.

it all happened quietly and maybe way too fast.you saw the way he would start looking at her all the time, and the part of you that is still a child—still hopeful, still stupid—pretended not to notice. you watched as his laughter becomes softer whenever she would be near, as his hands would find her waist, as she would lean into him like she has a right to.

then one evening,sitting almost peacefully on the hardwood floor of your balcony,she told you that she decided to test out committing a relationship with him—she said it all so simply,so calmly, sickeningly unaware that it shatters you in the most silent way possible.

you forced yourself to remember that she loved you. that you were not an afterthought to her, not something lesser. but love does not make comparison disappear. and comparison was something you carried with you like a second skin,

and now—you try not to see the way he touches her. you try not to hear the way he says her name. you try not to remember what it was like when he still looked at you like you were something to be seen. but trying means nothing when the universe has a cruel sense of humor, placing them in your path at every turn.

she tells you stories about him, as best friends do. how he surprises her with coffee in the mornings. how he texts her goodnight with little inside jokes that make her giggle. how he kissed her in the rain like something out of a dream,

you only could listen,not realizing that you were slowly becoming an echo of your older self,the one who wished to be heard by anyone.

then it also comes the worst part—the guilt.the shame of it,curling around you like a suffocating fog.you weren’t supposed to ache for the person your best friend chose, and he had chosen her.

yet you couldn’t resist your thoughts,wondering what it would be if things were switched,different.if he ever would glance at you again as if you were something sacred,if you were the one someone had reached for instead of just passing by.

———————————ღ————————————

one evening, after too much pretending, you slip away from a party neither of them noticed you at and find yourself by the lake. the moon hangs low, it’s reflection fractured in the water, and you feel like something unraveling,

you swore your heart skipped a few beats when you heard a familiar soothing voice behind you,the one who would send tingles in your body and make you all warm,him.

you don’t remember when exactly you fell for him, it wasn’t sudden, not some grand realization that struck you like lightning. it was slow, torturing, like the tide pulling in, so gradual that by the time you noticed, you were already drowning.

he had a way of making the world feel lighter. he could turn anything into a joke, could tease you without it ever feeling cruel. and you loved that about him. loved the way he never treated you like you were fragile, like you were someone to be handled with careful hands. he made you feel real, solid, like you weren’t just floating through life unseen

but that of course,didn’t last long—cause when she stepped into the light,he followed right behind.

“are you okay?” his voice was practically dripping with kindness and softness,and it only made you feel like you were some sort of a pity,

you honestly didn’t know how you were even supposed to respond to him,the lump in your tight throat suddenly roping like a knot,desiring to basically let your emotions wash over and to cry your heart out.

instead you hollow a smile in the corner of your lips— explaining that you needed some air, and he hesitantly lingered his gaze on you,causing your stomach to flutter pathetically,

“you can go back,i will be there soon” you whispered out,afraid that if your voice was a tiny level louder it would betray your hidden tone of sadness.

he could sense you were yearning for some alone time,so he only nodded,eventually walking and disappearing in the shadows so he can step back inside,where she is waiting for him—like you always have been secretly,even though it wasn’t enough,and the truth is that it will never be.

———————————-ღ———————————-

ev’ note: colliding olivia with the sturniolo’s cause why the fuck not?😛 by the way i don’t know if it’s painfully obvious that this is my first angst,i hope it doesn’t suck but i can already picture it flopping hard🥹

love youu<3

taglist: @wiidfi0wer33 @chrislova @cutiepaiquill @zainabthescientist @jetaimevous @toysizee @chratts-left-ball @savvyratatouille @bellassturniolo @justexisting12 @mattsbrowser

#evelyn’s posts.ೃ࿐#sturniolo triplets #my works #matt sturniolo #sturniolo fandom #matthew sturniolo #angst #fic writing #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #idk how to tag this #matt x reader #the sturniolos #make me famous

50 notes · View notes

writingfics-passingtime · 21 hours ago

Note

Looking At Me by Sabrina Carpenter + Loki x reader! If you have an mcu character you’d like better for this then go for it! I’ve just really wanted to prompt you this song for a bit but didn’t know how.

This one-shot is part of JJ’s Mixtape - a mini series based on my followers’ favourite songs and characters. You can read more of them here!

Steal the Show

Song Prompt: Looking at Me - Sabrina Carpenter

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word Count: ~2560

CW: swearing, innuendo/sexual jokes, threats of violence, objectification of the reader

Minors DNI: this work does not contain smut, but contains a romantic/suggestive relationship between the reader and adult-aged characters. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

Note: Thanks, anon! This sat, almost complete, in my drafts for well over a month because trying to end this fic felt impossible to get right, but I'm releasing it into the world and making peace with how it turned out. This song was so fun, thank you for sending it in!

The van smelled like stale coffee, ironically cheap deodorant, and your own frustration. The monitors flickered, casting a headache-inducing glow that only added to your mounting irritation.

You adjusted your earpiece as you stared at the ballroom feed, where Sophie Vallienne - the untouchable French billionaire dripping in couture - stood in the middle of her carefully curated world. The black diamond necklace she wore was your team's objective tonight.

Hidden inside that necklace was a microchip containing classified national security data - data she planned to sell to the highest bidder.

Your job? Sit in the van. Watch. Provide tactical support while the rest of the team got their hands dirty.

And dirty meant flirty; getting close enough, for long enough, for the micro jammers in your team's pockets to corrupt the data on the chip.

“Anything?” you asked through gritted teeth, eyeing the live feed where Sam leaned against the bar near Sophie, his boyish smirk in full force.

“She’s not biting,” Sam muttered. “Maybe she doesn't like Americans.”

“Maybe she doesn’t like try-hards,” Bucky’s voice cracked through the comms.

You glanced at another screen - one showing Bucky, all dark stubble and brooding stares, approaching Sophie by the champagne tower, only to get rebuffed embarrassingly fast.

“She’s a stone wall,” Bucky grumbled as he walked away without any successful show of interest. “No interest. Not even a flicker.”

“Perhaps she prefers her suitors with more refinement.” Loki’s voice purred through the line straight into your ear, deep and low, and you instantly bristled.

On the screen, he was moving toward Sophie, a sinuous shark among the crowd. His sharp black suit decorated his frame with tailored perfection, and even through the grainy surveillance feed, you could see the beautiful smirk tugging at his lips as he approached your target. Sophie’s gaze flickered to him, a polite smile gracing her features as he leaned in and-

Bastard! He shut his mic off so the rest of you couldn't hear his line.

For a moment, you thought he might succeed. But then Sophie’s smile faltered, her eyes glazing over with that same disinterest she’d shown Sam and Bucky. She excused herself, slipping away toward the bar without a backward glance.

Loki's voice cracked back to life in your ear. "That... should've worked."

“She’s losing patience,” you murmured, more to yourself than the team. "She's going to get suspicious if you guys keep pushing. Back off for a sec. Let me think." You rubbed at your temple, trying to piece together a Plan B.

“What’s your brilliant idea, Overwatch?” Loki’s voice drawled, a mocking edge to it. “Come now, I can hear the cogs turning.”

“Just give me a second to-"

And then you saw it. Sophie’s eyes lingered. Not on Loki, not on Bucky, not on Sam. They followed the sway of a cocktail waitress in a sleek dress, her gaze trailing up her legs and over her shoulders before sliding away.

The realisation hit you like a freight train.

“Oh, fuck me."

“What?” Sam piped up.

"You chuckleheads never stood a chance."

You were already yanking open the disguise kit you kept in the van, grasping for the nanotech bracelet, fingers fumbling to secure it around your wrist.

"What's wrong?"

"Our intel was shit, that's whats-" you finally conquered the clasp, letting out a huff of frustration and relief. "She's into women," you explained.

Why the hell couldn't Natasha be here instead?

“What are you doing?” Bucky demanded over the comms.

"Improvising."

The van’s limited space left you no choice but to strip right there, kicking off your boots and pulling off your practical black pants with a string of curses. The cold air hit your skin as you pulled up the bracelet’s holographic menu, scrolling quickly until you found a floor-length, elegant gown with a thigh-high slit and a neckline that made your stomach twist just looking at it.

The nanotech shimmered across your body, and you felt the dress form around you like a second skin, fitting you in ways you weren’t prepared for. You kept digging through the kit until you found a tube of lipstick perfect for your skin tone, applying it with a deadly hand.

After a few minutes of work, a quick glance in the van’s rearview mirror was enough to make your stomach drop.

You weren’t used to looking so…

Before you could give yourself time to doubt, you grabbed the spare jammer and attached it to a thigh holster, slipping it up the leg not exposed by the dress's slit.

After only a second's hesitation - what the hell am I doing? why do I think I, of all people, would be able to tempt anyone, let alone a beautiful woman like her? - you shoved the van door open, stepping out into the cool night air.

The stilettos pinched, the dress was too exposing, and you felt like you might vomit; never in your career had your armour provided so little protection.

But none of that mattered.

You were the only one here who had a chance at this.

So you threw your shoulders back, and strode toward the entrance of the hotel like you belonged there.

The ballroom swallowed you in a haze of glittering chandeliers and murmured conversations.

Heads actually turned as you walked in, eyes following the sway of your hips, the click of your heels. You ignored them, scanning the room for Sophie, but your eyes landed on him.

He was leaning against a marble column, drink in hand. His ocean eyes snapped to you, and for the first time since you’d met him, the ever-smirking God of Mischief looked utterly at a loss.

His gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, and your pulse quickened under the weight of it.

You felt exposed. Vulnerable. And yet, something in the way he stared made you feel like the most dangerous thing in the room.

“Holy shit,” Sam muttered over comms.

“Did anyone else know she could look like that?” Bucky added, his voice incredulous.

You scoffed. "I can hear you, asshole."

Loki’s voice cut through, low and venomous, directed at Barnes and Wilson. “Eyes on the target, not on her.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t dare look at him again. Instead, you moved toward the bar, your shoulders steady with feigned elegance, every step a performance.

You perched on the edge of a stool, crossing your legs as you gestured to the bartender for a drink, letting your body language shift into something soft and coy.

Sophie didn’t make you wait long. She appeared at your side like a shadow, her smile sharp and satisfied.

“You’re new,” she said. Her French accent curled around the words like smoke.

“I am,” you replied, letting your lips curve into a slow smile. Her eyes dipped to your mouth, lingering. You leaned in, letting your voice drop to a low, teasing murmur. “How sweet of you to notice.”

Her laugh was light, intimate. “How could I not?”

Somewhere across the room, Bucky sidled up to Loki. “Good gods,” he muttered, his voice low enough that it wouldn’t carry over comms.

Loki’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on you, gaze sharp enough to cut, hands flexing at his sides. “If a single finger is laid on her... I’ll break every bone in Vallienne's body.”

You leaned against the bar, swirling the last sip of champagne in your glass while Sophie Vallienne’s laugh slithered through your senses. She was so close, impossibly charming, her fingers swirling light patterns along the bar near your hand. You'd been flirting for the better part of ten minutes, and it was progressing. Quickly.

Her touch trailed onto your hand that was resting on the stem of a wine glass.

It sent a shiver up your spine, though you weren’t sure if it was from nerves or sheer absurdity of the situation. You’d never been the centre of such focused attention, let alone from someone as devastatingly beautiful as her.

“Tell me, what brings you here tonight?” Sophie asked, her voice a low, intimate murmur. Her perfectly painted lips curved in a smile that promised danger and delight in equal measure. “What caught your eye?”

“The Rembrandt. It called to me in a way I couldn’t ignore. I’m not usually the type to attend events,” you replied, and it wasn’t a lie. You weren’t used to playing this part, but something about it - about the thrill of being someone else, the control you felt over Sophie’s attention - was exhilarating.

Her eyes roamed over your face, lingering just a little too long on your mouth. “A shame. A woman like you shouldn’t hide.”

Your earpiece crackled, breaking the moment. Sam's voice came over the comms from your spot in the van. “And... done. The chip's fried. Let's move out."

You stiffened, and Sophie’s smile faltered. “Something wrong?”

You set your glass on the bar, shaking your head. “I’m spoken for,” you said, standing. “I shouldn’t have let myself get so… distracted,”

"Distracted, or tempted?"

"Both, if I'm honest." You offered an apologetic smile.

Sophie’s smile returned, sharper this time, but not unkind. “Should you ever find yourself unspoken for…” She stood and whispered some brief instructions on how to contact her, before backing away respectfully, and allowing you your leave.

Her gaze lingered as you stepped away, the heat of her attention following you through the crowd.

You pushed past a sea of glittering dresses and tailored suits, heart pounding in time with the sharp click of your heels on the polished floor. Your confidence waned the closer you got to the exit, the allure of the dress and the night and a beautiful person looking at you like that - all crashing back to reality.

None of it was real.

The cool night air hit you as you stepped outside, and you paused on the grand stone stairs to take a breath.

That was when you saw him again.

Loki was leaning against the railing near the bottom of the staircase, the faint glow of the streetlights catching on the sharp angles of his face. He looked up, and it was his eyes that caught you - they moved over your body, darkening with every inch they traveled.

You fought the instinct to cross your arms, to shield yourself from the way his gaze seemed to strip you bare. “Don’t start,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended as you started down the stairs. “I know what you’re going to say.”

“Do you?” he asked, his lips curving into a knowing smirk. He pushed off the railing, his movements slow, deliberate. "Enlighten me."

You rolled your eyes, the heat rising to your cheeks betraying the nonchalance you were aiming for. “You’re going to tell me I look ridiculous.”

Loki’s smirk widened as you stopped two steps above him, putting you level with his eye-line. “Ridiculous,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, “is hardly the word I’d choose.”

The way he said it made your stomach flip. You rolled your eyes again, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. “What word would you use, then? Enlighten me.”

“Dangerous,” he said simply. “In the kind of way that makes men stop thinking with their heads.”

You swallowed, the intensity in his tone catching you off guard. “Ha-ha” you started, trying to deflect with sarcasm, “I'm sure the rest of the team had a good laugh at this, too.”

“Oh, no one was laughing,” Loki replied, his gaze dipping briefly to your lips before snapping back to your eyes. “If I were you, I’d be careful around Barnes. He’s likely still piecing together a coherent thought.”

Your laugh was breathless, unbidden. You looked away. “Bucky wouldn’t look at me like that.”

Loki’s brow arched, his expression almost amused. “Everyone in that room... was looking at you like that."

You dared to glance up, instantly regretting it. His eyes were fixed on you, dark and wanting, but there was something else there, something that made your breath hitch.

"It's fascinating," he cocked in head in thought, "these mortal men are so blinded by their fleeting desires, that they only see beauty when it’s presented just so... gift-wrapped in silk and sequins." His voice dipped, rich and intimate, as he leaned close enough that you could start to feel the heat of him. “I’ve always known what you are.”

“Always known?”

“Always wanted,” he murmured, and the raw, unapologetic hunger in his tone sent a shiver down your spine.

The silence that followed between you was crushing, heavy with everything he wasn’t saying, everything you didn’t know how to respond to. You felt the heat coiling low in your belly. But you weren’t about to let him win this game. Not yet.

You smirked, trying to mask the weakness in your knees. “That’s a nice line, but I’m not in the habit of falling for silver-tongued gods.”

“No,” he agreed with a curious tilt of his head, the other way now. “You’re not in the habit of falling at all, are you?”

You shrugged with one shoulder. “Men talk. Big promises, sweet words. Yet somehow, I’m always the one left unsatisfied.”

Something flickered in his eyes - something dangerous, amused, and wickedly self-assured. “Ah, poor thing,” he drawled, the space between you shrinking with every word. “You’ve been wasting your time on mortal men, with their fumbling hands and unimaginative minds. You don’t have the faintest idea of what it feels like to be truly satisfied, do you?”

Your breath caught as you fought to keep your composure. “Like I said - big talk,” you said, your voice wavering slightly despite your best efforts. “But words are cheap.”

“Words are foreplay,” Loki countered smoothly. “And I never disappoint.”

Your eyes narrowed in challenge. “Do you rehearse this? Or is this just natural-born arrogance?”

His smirk deepened, like he could hear the pulse thrumming in your ears. He didn't answer, letting you seep in the abashment swarming through you.

Eventually, you scoffed, rolling your eyes. "I don't know why I'm entertaining this. You're just flirting for sport."

"You sound disappointed."

"I don't like being played with."

"Oh, you've no idea the ways I could play with you."

Heat and want surged through your body, a shattered, flustered cough escaping you. "You mother fu-"

“Hey,” Sam’s irritated voice interrupted. “Whatever weird, sexually-charged argument you two are having, save it for later. Get in the damn van.”

You stilled as the moment shattered. Gathering yourself before looking over his shoulder to the van. "Let's go then, Trickster. Back to reality.”

“Gladly," he stepped closer, leaning down to whisper low in your ear. "When it comes to you, reality is far more enticing that fantasy or facade... Think about what I said."

He stepped away, hands sliding into his pockets, turning his back and sauntering towards the van with an arrogance that made you want to hurl your shoe at his head.

Think about what I said- who in the hell does he think he is? And what part? He talked a lot of shit. Surely he can't... he can't mean any of it.

But as you followed, dutifully returning to your real life and real job, you stood a little taller, had more surety in your step. And you realised, alarmingly, that this newfound confidence had nothing to do with dress.

Because when you thought about all the things he said, something, deep down, whispered those four little words in his beautiful velvet voice:

Always known. Always wanted.

You were in so much trouble.

#loki x reader #marvel reader insert #no y/n #loki x you #marvel fanfiction #answered #JJ's Mixtape #sabrina carpenter

41 notes · View notes