#you would be on fire too if you heard them. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sylusplushie · 24 hours ago

Text

''My dragon...''

summary; when mc is facing death and has no choice but to save her, sylus is forced to show his other side. in the end, no matter how much he tries to hide it, his horns are visible

This was my end, I was sure of it. I couldn't go any further; my strength was completely depleted. Warm blood streaming down my face blurred my vision, but I knew they had surrounded me. They were shouting; their voices reached me in a muffled way. I could hear my own breath, my heartbeat. I felt like I could faint at any moment.

I had no strength left to fight them; all I could think about was Sylus. I thought of all the moments we had spent together. If my life was flashing before my eyes, then my entire life was about him. Without realizing it, I felt myself smile. Despite being on the brink of death, just thinking about him soothed my soul. When I noticed the weapon raised toward me, I knew everything would end. I knew he wouldn't hear me, but I wanted to call out to him anyway. "I love you, Sylus."

I closed my eyes tightly, bracing myself for the end as much as I could. But suddenly, a violent sound rang out. It was so intense that I had to cover my ears, thinking the sky had split in two. Filled with chaotic emotions, I, like everyone else, looked up at the sky. My heart was racing; could things get worse than this?

The sky looked more terrifying than ever. The redness blending into the night's darkness was captivating. Everyone was stunned and frightened. "Did you do this?! Is this one of your tricks?!" they shouted at me, but I was too frozen to answer. There was something moving in the sky—a silhouette? I didn't know, but it seemed like… something huge.

"ANSWER ME, YOU BASTARD!" They aimed the weapon at me again, and that sound echoed once more, like an enraged roar. I was trembling; I had never heard anything so terrifying. When I looked up at the sky again, I couldn't believe my eyes. Was a massive creature flapping its wings, or was I losing my mind? Before I could comprehend what was happening, the ground began to shake. The creature roared with such fury that I was sure even the atmosphere was trembling. Everyone was running in fear, but I was losing so much blood that I felt my vision darkening.

I fell face down; the ground was shaking, everything was shaking. My vision was getting blurrier, and I had no idea what was happening around me. I wished so desperately for everything to be a nightmare. I was going to die there; there was no escape or salvation. I could clearly hear the creature's roars. It looked furious, destroying everything and everyone in its path. The surroundings had turned into a ring of fire and chaos. I was forcing myself to stay awake, but it was futile; my strength was dwindling.

I saw the creature descend, its massive body hitting the ground with a thud that shook everything. My vision was blurry, and I couldn't help but think my mind was playing tricks on me. Could the thing I was seeing in front of me be a dragon? No, it couldn't be. I wasn't in my right mind; this had to be some kind of illusion. Until I felt its breath. Warm and ash-scented, it surrounded me. Damn, it was real. I was face-to-face with a dragon, and I had no strength left. What could be worse than this? Maybe this was worse than death itself.

Yet, there was an inexplicable feeling of safety I felt toward this creature. It was as if I knew it wouldn't harm me from somewhere. I thought if I had encountered a dragon before, I wouldn't forget it. For some reason, I felt very calm; my heart and mind were at peace. It was a strange feeling, one I couldn't even explain to myself.

My vision was getting blurrier; the blood flowing from me was no longer warm. I felt my body starting to freeze. I had no idea how much blood I had lost, but I didn't even have the strength to move a finger. Even though my vision wasn't clear, I was sure the dragon had transformed into a human form. "I'm losing my mind… I must be… or maybe I'm already dead…"

This couldn't be possible, it shouldn't be. It was approaching me with heavy steps, and at that moment, I began to tremble like an injured bird. I didn't know what would happen to me, and I had no strength left to endure. Just before I fully closed my eyes, a familiar scent reached my nose. I knew this scent. I definitely knew it. My body was screaming silently to wake up again. I had to see, I had to be sure. My mind wasn't playing tricks on me; I had to be sure of it. I was battling with my consciousness as if it were a war, trying to open those delicate eyelids had never been this difficult.

I managed to barely open my eyes, and I was being carried by someone. When I lifted my gaze, I saw the owner of that familiar scent. Sylus. It was him. It was really him. I wanted to cry, to shout, but I could barely keep my eyes open. What was all of this? Could it all have been a simple illusion? I didn't know. All I knew was that I knew nothing.

My consciousness was slowly returning. I tried to open my eyes, but the light was so intense that it took a while. I looked around; I was in a hospital room. I was bandaged all over, and I still hurt a lot. Everything I had seen came rushing back to my mind. I had remembered everything; it was impossible to forget. My heart was racing, and I couldn't control my breath. It felt like a dream, but it wasn't. I didn't want to consider the possibility that it was a dream. The door opened, and Dr. Zayne entered. The last thing I remembered was being carried by Sylus; he must have brought me here. Dr. Zayne was taking the best care of me.

Finally, I found the energy to speak. I parted my dry lips. "Dr. Zayne, do you know who brought me here?" My voice was so faint that Zayne had to lean in to hear me. I saw him sigh and frown. I hoped he wouldn't hide anything from me. "Sylus brought you here, but don't worry, I'll take care of you—"

"Can you call him?" I felt bad for cutting Zayne off, but I couldn't suppress the excitement and the need for answers inside me. I wanted to know. I wanted to know what my visions meant. I wanted to know what had happened. Zayne looked at me silently for a while. "I don't know where he is, and I don't think I can reach him. You just need to rest and relax. Don't think about it now."

If only it were as easy as he said, not to think. I didn't have the energy to argue. I thought Sylus would come to see me eventually. I didn't know how many days had passed, but only Luke and Kieran had visited. Sylus hadn't come at all. I knew he was getting information about me from Luke and Kieran, but what I didn't know was why he hadn't come personally. When I asked them, I always got the same answer. "The boss is very busy."

The days in the hospital felt endless. Even though Zayne was taking the best care of me, I had been eagerly waiting to be discharged, and finally, that day had come. Luke and Kieran were accompanying me. I wanted to ask them more questions about Sylus, but I tried to comfort myself, thinking he might be home. It was a silly thought, I knew. Finally, we arrived; I was still having a bit of trouble walking, but I refused to accept any help. "I can manage on my own." When I entered the house, it was exactly as I had expected—Sylus was nowhere to be found. I narrowed my eyes, clearly, he was avoiding me. I turned to Luke and Kieran, who seemed ready to give me the same excuse. "No, Sylus is not busy, and you two are going to tell me where he is."

They looked at each other. I was sure Sylus had instructed them; I knew him well. I stared them down, determined not to leave them alone. "Something is going on, and I'm not stupid. You're going to tell me where he is, or I'll go look for him myself." My wounds were still healing, but I was already prepared to search everywhere. "No! Something could happen to you, your wounds haven't healed yet," Kieran said in a panic, which gave me a chance to manipulate him. "Oh yes, but you can't stop me forever. So, tell me where Sylus is, and I won't exert myself. Or I'll go everywhere to look for him and lose sleep." It wasn't exactly manipulation; I could do more than my best to find him.

Luke and Kieran looked at each other again, knowing how stubborn I was. I crossed my arms and gave them a challenging look. I wasn't going to give up. Sylus had never avoided me before, and I wasn't going to sit idly by when there was an obvious problem. Finally, Luke sighed. "The boss is going to kill us."

According to Luke and Kieran, Sylus was at an abandoned church in the forest. I had no idea what he was doing there; I couldn't even guess. Even if I thought about it, I wouldn't have imagined him being there. By the time we reached the forest, it was already night. I turned to them and said I wanted to go in alone. They weren't very eager to argue with me; both looked uneasy.

The forest was gloomy and silent; I could hear the crows. The ground crunched under my feet. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself. No matter how much I hesitated to admit it to myself, I was nervous; my palms were sweating. When I stood in front of the church, the only thing I felt was the urge to run. There was something inside that was causing me to feel that way; it was heavy, sinister, mysterious. Still, my curiosity and longing for Sylus didn't let me take a step back. Slowly, I opened the old door. I had to put all my strength into it, but eventually, it opened with a creak.

The interior was dark and dusty. I had to cover my mouth with my hand. There was very little light inside, just a few candles lazily placed on the floor. It was clear they had been lit recently, which meant he was here. I took a few steps inside, unable to see anything until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I looked around, but it seemed as if there was nothing. The sound of my footsteps echoed inside. My heart began to beat faster; I didn’t know what awaited me and I was scared. "Sylus…?" Even I could barely hear my own voice, but for some reason, I didn’t want to call out to him loudly. I moved forward into the church, I had come this far, and I wasn’t going to turn back. Near the window, I finally saw a silhouette with its back to me. It was him; it couldn’t be anyone else. He knew I was here; it was impossible that he didn’t. But he didn’t move; he just stood there as if waiting for me to approach. I even began to doubt whether this was the Sylus I knew. I was scared, and I didn’t want him to sense it. Yet I slowly walked toward him; he still didn’t turn to face me.

"Is it always this hard to get rid of you?" His voice rooted me to the spot, my whole body stiff. He spoke without looking at me. "Why did you come? Couldn’t I have wanted to be alone for a bit?"

"You don’t want to be alone; you’re running away from me, Sylus." I took another step toward him; the least he could do was look at me while we talked. "I’ve come this far, but you’re still running from me; you’re not even looking into my eyes." I was filled with complex emotions; I felt like I was going crazy as I failed to understand what was happening. "What’s going on, Sylus? This isn’t you. You’ve never acted like this."

Sylus sighed, his breath fogging up the glass. "Maybe you don’t need to know everything. Some things aren’t worth bothering your little head over."

I frowned; yes, the situation was becoming increasingly infuriating. "I almost died there, and when I opened my eyes, I was in your arms, and then you started avoiding me. You didn’t even visit me in the hospital. And now you’re telling me I don’t need to know everything. Something is happening, but am I supposed to act like nothing’s wrong?"

I heard Sylus growl, though I couldn’t tell if it was out of anger or impatience. His fists were clenched. Slowly, he turned to me, his cold red eyes seemingly piercing my soul. He was still the Sylus I loved, but there was something off. "Why are you so eager for answers? I saved you in some way, and you’re alive; focus on that."

I took a few more steps toward him, now standing directly in front of him. Whatever was going to happen, let it happen; he could be as mad at me as he wanted, but I wasn’t going to hold back anymore. I looked into his eyes, but there was no sign of softening. "What did you do there? Was it some kind of illusion? What are you hiding from me?"

Sylus closed his eyes and lowered his head slightly. I couldn’t see his expression, but I was sure something was deeply troubling him. I cupped his face in my hands and lifted his head to look him directly in the eyes. The coldness was gone; instead, he looked so vulnerable, as if he had no strength left to hide anything. I gently caressed his cheeks with my thumbs; there was no rush to speak. I had to understand him too. "Please, Sylus, I want to know what’s bothering you so much," I whispered, looking into his eyes.

Sylus placed his hand over mine and brought it to his lips. I felt his cold lips on my skin. He stayed like that for a while, then looked at me with his half-open eyes. "Would you promise never to give up on me, no matter what happens? Or no matter what I become?" His voice was soft, very soft. I looked at him for a moment, trying to understand his words. "I would never give up on you. I care only about you, not what you are."

He slowly released my hand, his brows furrowing. I didn’t know if I had said something wrong, but I was sincere in my words. He stepped back a few paces, leaving some distance between us. I was afraid he would disappear again, run away. My heart was beating rapidly. He never broke eye contact with me. "Turn around."

I turned around immediately. I had no idea why I didn’t hesitate. I wasn’t afraid of him; I could give him my very soul. I just hoped he wouldn’t disappear anymore. The only sound I heard was the fluttering of something. "Look at me."

I turned around, trying to prepare myself for whatever I might see. But there was no way I could have been prepared for this. I held my breath. I had no idea what expression was on my face at that moment. Sylus… he had horns on his head, a tail behind him. He opened and closed his wings as if to show me. He stood so calmly. I knew he was waiting for me to say something. At that moment, everything felt surreal. While seeking answers, I found myself with even more unanswered questions. My tongue felt tied, as if I couldn’t utter a single word. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Are you happy?" His voice brought me back to reality. I was still in shock, but I knew I had to shake it off. "Sylus…" I whispered; it was the first word that escaped my mouth. He chuckled, nodding as if he had received the reaction he expected. "Now you understand why I hid myself, why I ran from you, don’t you? I didn’t want you to know what I was."

Sylus looked at his claws for a moment, while I still didn’t know what to say. "I didn’t want to show you this side of me anymore. I was trying to leave it behind. You should have believed everything you saw was a dream." He looked at me again with those cold eyes; it felt like a dagger to my heart.

"What are you talking about?" I walked toward him; he wanted to distance himself from me, but he couldn’t. "What made you think I would give up on you?" He leaned in close to me, our noses nearly touching. "It seems like you still don’t remember anything."

At that moment, I felt like I had shattered into a thousand pieces. I had no idea what he was talking about or what he meant. Before I could gather myself, he continued. "I was hoping you would remember in some way; then I wanted to show you my true self because if you remembered, you would…" He sighed deeply, locking his gaze away from me. "Forget it. Even if you remembered, you wouldn’t want to continue your life with a monster. Nothing would change."

My body moved without my will. I suddenly held his face, looking directly into his eyes. I could feel my eyes filling with tears, and I was trembling… I was filled with so many emotions that I couldn’t describe them. My breathing was becoming irregular, but he didn’t break eye contact. "What nonsense are you talking about…" I finally managed to say, unable to hide the trembling in my voice no matter how hard I tried. "How can you call yourself a monster, Sylus? After everything we’ve been through together, how could you think that I wouldn’t want to be with you just because of this?" Finally, tears started streaming down my cheeks. I held his face tighter; I didn’t want to see anything but his eyes. I wanted to see him, just him.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about when it comes to remembering. Maybe… maybe you’re talking about those illusions I saw. And you wanted me to think that what happened that day was also an illusion. You wanted me to think that the dragon that appeared in the sky to save me was an illusion, but it was so real…" I smiled softly; I would give anything to see that illusion again. To fully remember, to completely understand what Sylus was talking about. But here we were, in this moment. Just because I couldn’t remember something from the past didn’t mean I couldn’t guide this moment. Sylus listened to me silently, saying nothing.

"I love you, Sylus. I love you. I don’t care what you are or what you’ve become. I love you with everything you are. I love you in this life too—"

Sylus suddenly pressed his lips to mine; I could taste the salt of my tears. His kiss wasn’t filled with desire but with longing. We had kissed before, but this was the first time he kissed like this. I held him tightly, grasping his horns. I had no intention of breaking the kiss. Our tongues entwined, our breaths mingled. He held me so tightly I felt like I might be crushed.

When he slowly broke the kiss, he wiped the tears from my eyes. I leaned into his touch, words failing to describe the emotions between us. He planted a kiss on the top of my head and held me tightly again, as if he never wanted to let go. I inhaled his scent, feeling his wings wrap around me. I buried my nose into the crook of his neck and closed my eyes.

"My dragon…"

this is the first time i have written so long. PLEASE let me know your feedback, good or bad. i hope you liked it ໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১

173 notes · View notes

jarofstyles · 3 days ago

Text

The Heart Of The Woods

Hi my loves! I wanted to give you guys a peek into our grumpy mountain manrry! He’s different to some that I’ve written before but I think you’ll like him if you give him a chance

Read the series ( 9 parts ongoing) and 220+ exclusive writings on our Patreon!

WC- 1.4k

Warnings- tiny bit of rejection, asshole h

He hadn’t been sure what he was thinking.

Hiring a housekeeper had not been on his agenda, but it put his mum at ease. Being far from her, up in his large cabin in the middle of the mountain, she had said she worried a lot about not only his well being, but about him overworking himself. His days started early, working on splitting wood, emails, driving down to deliver it, and all of that. His group of employees that worked on the lot not too far from his own place up the mountain were his main source of socialization and even they knew not to bug him too much.

Harry preferred to be left alone.

So why hire a housekeeper? It sounded okay at the time. Someone to keep the fire stoked and the house warm so he could come home and not have the house be cold for him and his animals, someone to cook and clean and… another body in the house. Make it less lonely. Maple was a good companion, Ash was too, but a dog and a cat didn’t replace human connection. Perhaps that’s why he had found himself feeling more irritated lately.

Watching the car pull in, he had to wonder how she could fit her belongings into such a small vehicle. Weren't women supposed to have a lot of stuff? The question was answered as she stepped out of the car, light wash jeans clinging to her thighs and pink sweater hanging on her form as she waved up to him. "Hi!" she grinned a tad bit too brightly for his comfort, jogging up to the wraparound porch. "I’m so sorry l'm a little late. I got lost at the turn- the split in the road? and I didn't have good service to call and let you know. I usually try and do that.”

She was rambling.

He grumbled, wiping his hands on his work pants. “Late's fine. I didn’t have any plans today, just don’t make a habit of it.” Glancing at her car, then back at her, he gave her a little bit of a look. “You got everything you need?” He wasn’t the best at socializing, famously, but she wasn’t aware of that yet considering their talk had mainly consisted of emails. It would be something she quickly found out.

“Oh!” Her chuckle was nervous as the man stood tall above her on the wooden porch, making her look up a bit at him. “Uh, yeah. I.. I kinda had to get out of my place in a hurry, so this worked out.” She smiled up at him before looking back to her car. “Did you want me to grab my stuff now or did you want me to do it after you give me the run down of what you want me to do?”

He sighed, stepping aside to let her pass. “Follow me.” He led her inside, shutting the door behind her. It was weird feeling someone else in his space. It had been a long time since he’d heard footsteps other than his own or his pets in the hall, and he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it yet. Leading her down the wooden hall, he brought her towards the main part of the house- a large step down living room he mentally referred to as the den. The stone fireplace was lit with the fire going already as he gestured to a chair by it. “Sit.”

Y/N was distracted a little by the skylight- and then the view outside. It was absolutely gorgeous. The whole place was. She had slightly underestimated it despite the size of the place when she had applied to work eyes but she would make it work. At least the view was great. She could see that there was a deck outside, the view of the mountains sprawling behind them sort of blowing her away. The awe only lasted a few moments though, when she heard him clear his throat. Oops. “Sorry.” She smiled nervously. “The view distracted me. You’ve got a beautiful home.”

He grunted, not really used to compliments. Small talk wasn’t his thing. He sat down in his recliner, stretching his legs out in front of him before resting his hands on his knees. “So, as your employer, I expect you t’keep this place clean. Cook meals, do laundry, that sort of thing.” He paused, looking at her critically. “M’not home most of the day, and when I am I’m usually in my workshop. It’s the building out to the side that you saw.” He clasped his hands together. “We don’t need to have a ton of interaction. I need you to keep the fire stoked, maybe feed Ash for me if I get back late. I don’t have a lot of rules, but I ask you to respect my space.”

“Uh, alright.” She nodded, taking out her phone to take notes. “I figured the normal house stuff. I…” Her body felt the cringe as she went to ask it. “I haven’t really stoked a fire longer than it’s taken to do a bonfire while camping so, if there’s some sort of magic you know to keep it going longer I’d love to know it.” The girl didn’t want to fuck it up. The man worked with wood. The last thing she wanted to do was waste it.

It did make her a little unsettled to hear the other part, though. “Um, and what do you mean exactly by not needing to interact? Like, you don’t want to see or hear from me?”

Harry paused, his gaze sharpening a little on the girl. He was used to being alone. He liked being alone. He didn’t want to come home to some sort of chatty roommate. “I mean exactly that.” He said gruffly.

“Oh.” She replied quietly, swallowing the lump on her throat. Her gaze averted when his sharpened on hers, looking towards her lap. He was a little intimidating and she felt embarrassed for some reason- but logically she knew she hadn’t done anything wrong. Didn’t mean her body knew that, though.

“O-Okay. I’ll make sure to give you your space.” Her head nodded, convincing herself it would be good for her. Maybe akin to rejection therapy. She had hoped for something a little different, but this was the escape she had needed- she couldn’t complain. “Can you tell me what kind of foods you like, or don’t, so I can make what you’ll eat?”

Harry grunted, his expression relaxing slightly at the mention of food. He hated being bothered with small talk, but food was something he could appreciate- it was part of her job, anyways. He could talk abojt that. “I like meat and potatoes. Steak, roast chicken, mashed potatoes, that sort of thing. Don’t bother with fancy shit. Just straightforward, hearty food.”

He paused, thinking for a moment before continuing. “And coffee. Black coffee. None of that fancy latte crap. Just straight up coffee.” He stood up, stretching his arms over his head. “That’s all you need to know for now. You can start preparing dinner and I’ll be back later.”

“Oh! I… are you sure?” She stood up too, following him. “Where should I put my things?” Part of her felt a little nervous she had fucked up with how fast he seemed to want to get out of there, but she didn’t know what she could have done to offend him. Was this just the way he was? Probably. She shouldn’t take it personally- but part of her did, just a bit. “I don’t know which room I should set my things up in.”

Harry turned around, his expression still stern. “You can set up in the spare room down the hall. It’s the first door on the right.” He pointed down the hallway before continuing. “I don’t need any help with my things. Just worry about your own shit for now.”

Her eyes fell down towards the floor, nodding at his words. It must just be the way he was, she concluded. He didn’t bother saying goodbye as she heard the door close, the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the den the only sound until the start of his pickup was muffled outside.

Who the hell was this man? And what had she gotten herself into?

164 notes · View notes

moralesluvr · 3 days ago

Text

FABLE AND TRUTH 4 | billie eilish

୧ ‧₊˚ love was the law & religion was taught…. ↳ summary: you had always been raised on being poise, feminine, classy. but what was most important to your family was your religion— and it had embroidered itself into your daily life. but when it’s time to pick between feelings and faith, which will you choose? pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. religious backgrounds & guilt | mature language | sexual content | substance use author's note. CHAP 4 IS HERE! i'm so sorry my loves this lowkey took forever but here ya go <3 wc. 12k (my god)

✧ 3:07 am, wednesday ✧

sleep felt like a distant relative right about now.

it would come, and then it would quickly vanish— leaving you absolutely worn, but never enough to where you could slip into a slumber. you were wired yet exhausted, fueled yet so sleepy, and it was driving you borderline insane.

you wrestled with yourself all night. it was too hot, and then too cold— and the constant back and forth of temperature seemed to line up with your tangled emotions. you were certain, and then confused again, and then more certain that you were even more confused. but you knew one thing, though— you were stressed out of your mind.

billie asking you to hang out shouldn’t have been the issue. the issue was that your heart twinged with nerves when you read the message, and you couldn’t seem to calm yourself down no matter how hard you tried. she was a friend now— yes, but she felt much closer than, and it was all too much for you. this girl was making you feel things you’ve never felt before. safe, secure— like you didn’t have to have everything figured out right now.

but that’s what infuriated you. not having everything all sorted out and linear made you feel like you were a mess. you’d tidy up one area of your life, and the next would become deranged, off of your path. you had finally figured out your life, and here billie comes, sweeping you off your feet.

it wasn’t comfortable to feel like this, and you were sure it never could be. you didn’t like how she made your skin feel when she stared at you too long— and how easy it was to stare back. you didn’t like that when she touched you, it made your nerves light on fire, half out of annoyance at yourself and half out of anxiety.

it wasn’t a crime to appreciate beauty, you knew this. but what was a crime (or so it felt) was appreciating it to the extent of wanting to be the only one to see it. to be the only one who could talk with her the way you do, to smile and laugh at her jokes the way you do, to keep your skin pressed against hers the way you do.

your dilemma was what to do with yourself now. everything felt a little blurry, so unclear, like everything you’d kept so dear to your heart was now just a distant memory. it felt out of the question, when you really should be considering it most.

well, what did you value most? feelings, or faith? truth, or temptation?

you weren’t sure now. and that’s what made pesky and hot tears bubble in the corner of your eyes, what made you slip further underneath your sheets, wishing you could just disintegrate into them, your thoughts and feelings following.

your bed was suffocatingly warm now. it felt like you were burning alive— and you weren’t sure if it was because it was actually hot or because of the thoughts swirling in your mind. it was as if the mattress had turned into a bed of coals, each fiery ember igniting the guilt and shame festering inside you. you tossed and turned, trying to escape the unbearable heat, but it clung to you like sin.

it felt too fitting, in a way. the warmth reminded you of every sermon you’d ever heard about fire and brimstone, about straying too far from the path and finding yourself engulfed in flames. was this what it felt like to drift? to teeter on the edge of everything you believed in?

you couldn’t shake the thought that this heat was deserved, that it was your punishment for letting your feelings spiral out of control. the suffocating warmth of your bed felt like a taste of the consequences you feared, and no amount of shifting or turning could make you feel any lighter.

but you knew yourself better than that, you knew your faith all too well. you knew you’d find yourself back on your path one way or another— because you always have. you’ve always figured it out, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how many late nights you laid awake, fingers tucked against your Bible and praying until your voice croaked and your eyes wept.

but tonight felt different. heavier. your faith was the foundation that had carried you through so many storms, but now, it felt like it was shaking under the weight of everything you couldn’t even say out loud. you could barely even think about them without feeling sick to your stomach— much less speak them into existence, because then that made them real.

thoughts weren’t a sin, but actions were. and as much as you could imagine what it would be like to run your fingers through her hair, to kiss her, to hold her— it’d better not weave itself into how you acted. it’d better not become habitual.

your thoughts swirled like a storm until you felt sick of tossing and turning. they were crashing into each other, leaving you stuck in this cycle of confusion and guilt, and you longed for sleep to undertake you, to leave you with peace for just a few mere moments, if your anxiety allowed it.

you loved God, you lived for God— but it felt oddly strange that you were souled out for something you couldn’t see, couldn’t touch. you knew that deep down it was what you believed, and nothing was wrong with it, but doubts crept in. everyone had doubts— whether or not they’re with the right person, whether or not they should eat this or that for lunch, but this was so much bigger than that.

you felt like a spider in a cage. though you could easily slip through the cracks, though you could easily set yourself free, you remained captive. the illusion of being trapped in this confinement, this box that you allowed yourself to be shoved in— that’s what kept you stuck. and you hated it.

could you not do both? could you lean on faith and feelings? how could something so minuscule dictate your life?

things seemed so black and white. there was no mix— there was no gray with God, it was always either this or that. if you choose these feelings above Him, was it eternal damnation? would He still love you after all your faults, selfish desires, your confused prayers at night?

it wasn’t just about billie. it was about you —the parts of yourself you’d spent years trying to bury, trying to pray away, hoping they’d dissolve into nothingness. but they never did. not really. and now, with billie here, with her laugh and her eyes and the way she made you feel so seen, those parts were louder than ever.

you finally rolled onto your side, staring at the dim glow of your phone screen across the room. ignoring her text wasn’t going to make the feelings go away. you could block her number, avoid her altogether, but what would that really change? the problem wasn’t her, no— it was you.

billie wasn’t confused about who she was. she didn’t spend her nights tossed within her bedsheets, hoping and praying that her feelings would melt. you could envision her laid on her back, limbs outstretched on her mattress, dreaming peacefully about any and everything.

oh, how you longed to feel that way. how you longed to be content with who you were, even if it wasn’t perfect. even if you did mess up, if you were wrong— or even if you were right. but fear encapsulated you. it strangled you until you lost your breath, it had wrapped itself around your soul, coiled itself around your thoughts, made you beaten and broken until your limbs felt weak.

living in fear was preferred by no one. but it kept you in line, kept you on a straight path. and if that was what it took to make you as seemingly perfect as possible, you couldn’t complain.

it’s four in the morning when you almost fall asleep. you were so close— almost in that temporary paradise, your body nearly collapsing in the soft velvet of your sheets. but then you feel your heart groan and your eyes water, and your mind takes you to places that you hadn’t been in so long, old feelings and memories collecting dust in the back of your conscious.

you’d known since you were younger, even before you could put words to it, that something about you didn’t fit neatly into the boxes everyone else seemed to fit into. you felt like the black sheep of your community, even though it was a secret that you kept so dear, so quiet that you couldn’t even write it down.

you remembered being twelve, sitting in the back of a church service, gripping your knees tightly as the pastor spoke about sin, about purity, about love. you remembered how the words cut deeper than they should have, how they made you feel like something about you was broken and beyond fixable.

“a man and a woman,” the pastor had spoken firmly, like any deviation from those words was an abomination. “that’s what love is. anything outside of that is frowned upon by God.”

and so, that’s what you believed. that’s what you practiced.

boys had never appealed to you before, but they did now. if it was favored by God, it was favored by you, too— and you let yourself grow wild. you liked almost every boy that you were around, and they always had interest in you back. you’d playfully flirt, go out on as many dates as you could— but the second they found something deeper, the second they’d tell you how badly they wanted to be with you, you ran.

you ran because you knew it wasn’t real. it wasn’t fair to them, and it wasn’t fair to you, but it felt like the only way to survive. you weren’t looking for love; you were looking for approval. boys were safe, primitive, easy to explain. no one questioned you when you smiled too wide at their compliments or leaned too close during conversations. no one doubted your intentions because they were what they were supposed to be.

and for a while, you convinced yourself it was enough. you let the feeble attention fill the empty spaces, let the fleeting thrill of being wanted make you feel whole. but it never lasted. no matter how many boys you flirted with, no matter how many dates you went on, there was always that hollow feeling waiting for you afterward. that gnawing sense that you were playing a role you didn’t quite fit into.

because deep down, you knew the truth. boys didn’t set your heart racing. they didn’t make your palms sweat or your stomach flip. they didn’t leave you staring at your ceiling at 3 a.m., questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself.

but girls did.

you tried to ignore it, to push it down, to tell yourself it was a phase or a test of faith or something you could overcome with enough prayer and discipline. but no matter how hard you tried, the feelings were still there, simmering just beneath the surface. and now, with billie in the picture, they were impossible to ignore.

she wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met before— bold and unapologetic, with a laugh that made you feel lighter even when you didn’t want to be. she made you feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying, and you hated how much you craved it. how bad you wanted it.

because craving it meant admitting something you weren’t ready to admit. it meant acknowledging that the life you’d carefully constructed for yourself might not be the life you were meant to live. it meant stepping into uncharted territory, where nothing was certain and everything felt like a risk.

and you weren’t sure you were brave enough for that.

so you kept running. from the boys who wanted more than you could give, from the girls who made you feel too much, and from yourself most of all. you ran because staying still meant facing the truth, and the truth was messy and complicated and scary as ever.

and now, years later, those same feelings had crept back in, wrapping themselves around your chest and making it hard to breathe. was it wrong to feel this way? to feel drawn to someone who made you laugh so easily, who made the world seem a little less daunting? to want something more than the lines of scripture could explain?

your faith was supposed to be unshakable, unwavering. but right now, it felt like it was cracking under the weight of your heart, and you hated yourself for it. you wanted to be better. stronger. you wanted to want the right things, the things you were supposed to want. but billie made it so hard.

you pressed your hands to your face, letting out a shaky breath as tears slipped down your warmed cheeks. you didn’t want to be this version of yourself— the one who questioned, who doubted, who couldn’t find clarity no matter how hard she tried.

and yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered, soft and persistent: what if it’s not wrong?

but you couldn’t listen to that voice, not right now. not when everything you’d ever been taught, everything you believed, told you otherwise.

by the time your thoughts fall dead and slumber almost captivates you, your alarm clock jolts against your nightstand, making a groan slip between your teeth. it was five, and that meant it was time for morning Bible study.

you felt your whole body ached as you sat up, running a tired hand through your untamed hair. your steps feel hallow and slow as you reach for the light, flicking it on gently and squinting at the sudden glare.

you had to focus. it was a new day, with new opportunities to grow, with new possibilities and endless outcomes. you couldn’t keep letting your fears trap you, prevent you from making your days exponentially better than the last.

‘This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.’ is what pushed you to pad across the cool floor of your dorm room, plopping into your desk chair with your tired eyes fixated on your Bible.

the cover was worn and beaten, little sticky notes and page markers flooded between the sheets of the book, nearly every line highlighted in specific and special colors.

you used to find peace in that. and you knew that you could find it again, as long as you stopped being so hard on yourself. you just needed to relax, to fall back in habit, to let yourself breathe a fresh wind.

so you flipped your Bible open, landing in Psalms— a place you often went when your heart felt too tangled to sort out on its own. “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.” you whispered the words aloud to yourself, the quiet atmosphere of your room soaking the sound up, your throat dry and scratchy.

but as you read, the usual familiar comfort didn’t come. instead, the words seemed to blur together, their meaning slipping through your fingers like water. it was like they had no weight to them— like you were just reading to read. nothing made sense anymore.

you let out a heavy, frustrated breath, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip so hard that you were sure you’d draw blood. your mind wandered back to the night before, to billie’s text, to the way her laugh lingered in your memory, warm and inviting. you hated how easily she crept into your thoughts, how she made you question things you never thought you’d have to question, how bad she made your inability to focus.

you shook your head, trying to regain your thoughts and start over. you placed your finger on the next line of scripture, your head aching from concentration.

“Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.” is what comes next. the verse was supposed to reassure you, like it usually does— but instead, it felt like a plea, a desperate attempt to cling to something solid while your world felt like it was tilting off of its axis.

what if you were being cast away? what if your feelings for billie, these things you couldn’t control, were pulling you further and further from God? the thought made your chest tighten, guilt curling in your stomach like it was alive.

your hand froze on the page, your breath hitching. these thoughts felt like a betrayal, like a crack in the foundation of everything you believed in, everything your entire life had clung to. but all your questions and skeptics remained, undeniable and persistent, and no amount of prayer or scripture seemed to silence it.

you closed your Bible gently, resting your hands on the cover as you leaned back in your chair. your eyes drifted to the window, where the first hints of sunrise painted the sky in soft hues of pink and gold. it was beautiful, serene— a stark contrast to the living chaos inside your head.

you wanted to cry again, to let the frustration and confusion pour out of you until there was nothing left. but the tears didn’t come this time. instead, there was just a deep, aching exhaustion that settled over you like a heavy blanket.

you couldn’t think, so you prayed. it was like second nature to you, and you had your hands clasped so hard that your knuckles popped.

the silence stretched on, and for a moment, you thought you might get an answer. but none came, just the quiet hum of the world waking up around you.

eventually, you stood, stretching your stiff limbs before heading to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face. the chill jolted you awake, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.

you glanced at your reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark circles under your eyes, the redness clinging to the edges of them. you barely recognized yourself, and that realization stung. you let out a thick sigh before heading back to your dorm, peeking into emma’s ajar door, hoping she’d be awake and willing to talk. but she was dead asleep.

you sighed and pulled your phone off the nightstand as you walked back to your own space, billie’s message still sitting unread in your notifications. you stared at it for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the lit screen, but you didn’t respond. you couldn’t.

your heart felt like it was waging a war against your mind, one side pulling you toward her, the other screaming for you to stay away, and draw to what was true.

but before you could make a decision, to text back or to not— your alarm buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts. you sighed, setting the phone back down and grabbing your notebook instead. if you couldn’t sort out your feelings, maybe you could at least start your day right.

you sat back at your desk, pen in hand, and wrote the only thing you could think to write: God, I don’t know what to do. I need You to guide me. Please, show me what’s right.

it wasn’t the answer you wanted, but it was all you had. and for now, it would have to be enough.

✧ 8:50 am ✧

you weren’t really sure how you managed to stay awake this long.

it’s almost nine when emma emerges from her bedroom, dolled up head to toe, her red hair pressed straight and resting gently against her shoulders. it was such a huge contrast from your gray leggings, pink hoodie, and bare face, but you still smiled when she walks into your dorm, grinning from ear to ear, “morning, sunshine. you sleep good?”

you nearly tell a lie just to keep the peace, but it wasn’t worth the immense guilt that you’d feel later. so you shrugged, “i didn’t sleep.”

“why not?” emma questions, twirling the ends of her hair around a freshly painted fingernail, “what’s going on with you? you’re being awfully weird.”

you shake your head at her defensively, “i’m not being weird?”

emma squinted at you, her grin faltering as she studied your face. she didn’t speak for a second, but when she was done reading you, she cocked a brow, “you can’t lie to me, y/n. we’ve been best friends for years. and plus, you’ve got that look on your face.”

“what look?” you asked, trying to play dumb as you picked at a loose thread on your hoodie, trying to avoid eye contact.

you had really had enough of the pestering with her. was it so hard to leave you alone?

as much as you want her to shut up, though— she continues, her eyes narrowing.

“the look you get when you’re overthinking really bad or you’re hiding something and you won’t tell me. is this about class? or—” she paused, narrowing her eyes even further, “hold the fuck up, is this about billie? again?”

your heart stuttered in your chest, and you immediately busied yourself with your phone, pretending to be scrolling aimlessly through apps you weren’t even paying attention to. all you could really pay attention to was the unanswered text on your phone. but you still shrugged her off, “not everything is about billie, okay? you’re like, obsessed with talking about her.”

emma tilted her head at you with such slit eyes, you really didn’t know if she was actually looking at you. you knew deep down that you were projecting, but it seemed like the only way to push your feelings aside and be content for once.

your best friend took a shaky breath, leaning against the edge of your desk like she was gearing up for an interrogation, “dude, what’s your issue? i mean, i ask you genuine questions to try to understand your situation, and you talk to me like i’m a fucking idiot, or like i’m the one that’s being all cold and sarcastic. fine, whatever— i’m done asking you questions. i’ll leave you alone, since that’s what you want so bad.”

the room felt thick and heavy after emma’s outburst, her words hanging in the air like a hazy fog. you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. your throat croaked and cracked and you almost shed a tear, but instead, you sat there, frozen, clutching your side as guilt started to gnaw at the edges of your chest.

it’s one thing to be going through something alone, but it’s another to drag someone else into you— especially emma. you felt horrible because through any and everything, no matter the degree, she was always there for you. and this is how you repay her? with mistrust and secrecy?

“emma, wait—” you started, but she waved you off, pushing herself up and grabbing her purse, slinging it over her shoulder with little to no care.

“nah, it’s fine. really. i get it,” she said, her voice tight as she turned toward the door. she doesn’t face you when she speaks, she just shrugs, “you don’t want to talk about it? cool. i won’t bring it up again. ever.”

she wasn’t yelling, not at all— but the calmness in her voice made you feel even more sick. it was the kind of tone that meant she was hurt but refusing to show it, and it made your stomach twist. you felt like your body was caving in on itself, all this stuff with billie was bad, but now emma’s mad at you, too? you felt like you were losing your grip and there was nothing you could do to stop.

“em, i didn’t mean to—”

“save it,” she cut you off rapidly, her back still turned as she opened the door.

and then she left.

she didn’t wait for you to get up and run to her, to throw yourself in her arms and cry to her about how much pain you were in— she just…left.

you rose a cold hand to wipe your watery eyes before lifting yourself off of your mattress, grabbing your belongings before heading out, starting your walk to your 9 a.m.

it was a cold and companionless one, too. jules wasn’t there to humor you with her dry wit and dark toned jokes, no naomi to offer up her sweet spirits and constant laughter, no oliver to make you feel safe and included, even though he never talked much.

but what killed you— what hurt you the most, is that there was no emma to tease and poke fun at you, even though you always claimed that you hated it. there was no emma to always ask you ‘are you okay?’— and not just to fill a silence, but because she actually cared.

there was none of that. you were alone, the opposite of what you wanted to be, but it was like you couldn’t help it. you couldn’t stop yourself from being pushed into isolation, it was snowballing and squeezing you so tight with no opportunity to escape.

emma’s absence felt louder than anything else. you replayed her words to you in your head, her sharp tone even more spiked than you had experienced beforehand, the way she didn’t even look back at you before shutting the door making your lips curl downward.

save it.

two words that cut deeper than she probably intended, though you couldn’t really blame her. not entirely, anyway. you had pushed her away. you’d been cold, defensive, and for what? to protect a secret you weren’t even sure you could define?

your steps felt faltered as you reached a quiet path lined with trees, the golden light filtering through their branches. it was a place you usually loved, a rare pocket of peace on a campus that always seemed to escape the loud, the too crowded. but today, it only reminded you only of how isolated you felt.

you pulled your phone out of your pocket, your thumb hovering over the screen. you choked up when you saw a picture of you and emma at your high school graduation— she was making bunny ears behind your navy blue cap, both of you smiling as you held her side tightly.

you let out a quiet sniffle, unlocking the device and clicking on your messages to keep yourself from crying, especially right before class. but there it was again— billie’s text. the one you still hadn’t answered.

it was such a simple question— if you wanted to hang out or not, but it held so much weight. you thought about emma’s accusations, about the way your chest tightened whenever you thought about billie. she was right— you were being cold and sarcastic, and insanely secretive, even though she was only trying to help you, like a good best friend would.

you thought about how easy it would be to type out a response, to say yes, to meet her and let yourself drown in whatever this was. whatever little thing you had going on— to let yourself bask in it, to enjoy it, because that’s what you deserved.

but you didn’t. you didn’t respond to her text. instead, you locked your phone and shoved it back into your pocket, quickening your pace as you approached your building, pushing the doors open and heading to your class.

when you reached the hallway to your classroom, the familiar smell of coffee and old books hit you, and you tried to let it ground you. the lecture hall was already half-full, students chatting, scrolling through their phones, or flipping through notes quickly, preparing for tests and quizzes. you walked into your psych class and found an empty seat near the back, sinking into it as you unpacked your things.

your professor’s voice droned on as the class began, but you couldn’t focus. your notebook remained blank, your pen hovering uselessly over the page. your mind kept wandering back to the morning, to emma’s disappointed face, to billie’s unanswered text, to the gnawing uncertainty that had taken root in your chest.

you thought about how easy it had been to run from boys. to shut them out when they got too close, when they wanted more than you could give. it was almost second nature, a defense mechanism you’d perfected over the years.

but with billie, it was different. you didn’t want to run. you wanted to stay, to see where this could go, even if it terrified you. even if it meant confronting parts of yourself you weren’t ready to face.

your pen pressed into the paper, the ink smudging messily as you scribbled aimlessly, trying to distract yourself. but the more you tried to focus, the more your thoughts spiraled.

is this what it feels like to lose yourself?

the thought came unbidden, sharp and cold. you stared down at your notebook, the words and lines blurring together as your vision swam.

you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. you couldn’t fall apart here, not now. not in class, and not when the day had only just begun.

the lecture dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. you were completely lost, missing virtually everything that your teacher was saying. you tried to hold out as long as you could, but to no avail, you were just…confused.

when class finally ended, you packed up your things quickly, keeping your head down as you made your way out.

the hallway was crowded, voices and footsteps blending into a chaotic hum. you slipped through the throng of students, little ‘excuse me’s and ‘i’m sorry’s slipping through your lips as you bumped into shoulders and bags. your mind was still tangled in a mess of feelings you couldn’t untangle, and it felt just like this hallway was— a blurry sea, a messy mix, a path almost impassable.

and as you stepped out into the sunlight, the weight in your chest felt heavier than ever, pressing down with every step you took, every move that you made.

you contemplated on skipping class, but the fear of your grades slipping was what kept you pushing down the sidewalk, and you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t realize emma was perched on a stone hedge, chatting with some guy from her class.

she gives you a glance, and then she sighs, looking back at the brunette with sparkling eyes, completely unaware of your presence as you kept walking.

it made you feel horrible that she was upset with you. she was doing just what she said— dropping it. just like you wanted, right?

but deep down, you wished she just pushed one more time. asked you how you were feeling again, and you’d finally tell her— you’d break down in her arms and hold her, letting all your confusion and doubts fall at her shoulders. but it was too late now.

your next class is math, and it’s definitely your easiest, so you don’t stress about being attentive. you find another seat in the back and pull your phone out, lost in recent texts and instagram posts that you had ignored from the night before.

you really needed to make a solid decision. this constant confusion wasn’t in your favor, and living in constant fear and frustration wasn’t ideal. but everytime you think you’re set on something, it fades into gray, and doubts began to creep in.

it was driving you absolutely crazy.

you sniffle quietly, slumping further into your seat that you’re comfortable, but not enough to make it seem like you’re not paying attention. though your teacher can sense otherwise.

“y/n?”

“hm?” you hum back, and your professor gives you a cocked brow, her eyes beaming into your own.

“the answer?” she asks you, and the class’ mumbles fall silent, “are you paying attention?”

“uhm…” is all you say, your eyes welling up. she just offers you a look of disappointment, “we have a quiz friday. please pay attention.”

you give your teacher a slow nod, and that was your breaking point. you slumped your head into the desk, tears flowing silently down your face as you tried to keep your sniffling to a minimum. a frown meets your lips as you hope and pray this class goes by quicker than it feels.

when it finally does end, professor walkins meets you at your desk as you grab your things, her hand resting on the wooden surface, “is everything okay, honey?”

she can see right through your teary eyes, even though you nod your head at her. the last thing you needed was to appear seemingly off to everyone around you— especially people that didn’t even know you at all.

“i’m sorry that i embarrassed you,” mrs. walkins apologized, “i understand now. but whatever it is, it’ll pass. have a good day, sweetie.”

and then she’s off, her heels clacking against the floor with her briefcase in hand, slipping through the door. you follow her after a second, down the hall with your earbuds tucked in your ears, thinking about her words longingly.

whatever it is, it’ll pass.

you wish it just would already.

the hallways are still just as crowded as they were after your first class, but you thanked God that you only had two classes today, because you didn’t really think you could hold it together much longer.

you’re walking out the building when you see a figure slumped against a brick wall, a cigarette in hand and long, black hair flowing in the autumn wind. it’s billie.

you hadn’t expected to see her all day, and you thought you were doing a good job at avoiding her. but of course, her being her— she finds a way to pop up randomly, right when you don’t need her to.

she’s effortlessly beautiful as always. her hair is braided on the sides, though some loose strands find themselves engulfed in the wind, curling around her face. her eyelashes look long even from a distance, and she’s clad in a pair of baggy jeans paired with a navy blue sweater, a white tee underneath. a tote bag slouches on her shoulders as she takes another drag of her cigarette, and you try your hardest to go unnoticed by her, your eyes captivated by her.

you want to look at her forever. she’s so pretty that it feels like it’ll hurt if you take your eyes off her, but you feel your heart squeeze with guilt as you blink, debating whether or not you should go up to her and say something.

but you couldn’t push everyone in your life away. she was the only person who wasn’t upset with you or pestering you with a bunch of questions, and you longed for peace, even if it was just for a moment.

you looked down at your phone, and nothing but a Bible app notification waited for you. no calls or texts from emma, naomi, oliver, jules— you literally had nothing from anyone in your entire friend group.

“hey, little drummer girl.”

your eyes travel to billie’s figure that’s still slumped against the wall behind her, her head now turned to look at you. her cheeks are red due to the harsh winds that float through the air, her eyes blinking rapidly to keep the cool breeze from making tears form in her pretty, blue orbs.

you bit your lip, really hoping that you could’ve stayed out of her view for just a second longer. you only liked looking at her when she didn’t notice— because then, she couldn’t look at you back. and you could stare as long as you wanted. but now that she had noticed you, she’d offer that eye contact that she always did— the kind that made your heart flutter, made your mind wander, made your pupils grow.

neither of you move for a second. and then you step forward before you can really think, your nikes scuffing the pavement as you find your own spot on the wall next to billie. you flash her a weak smile, “hi, billie.”

she seems to elate in the way you say her name, or maybe it’s the way you dragged over to her so quickly— whatever it is, it’s enough to soften her edges. she just shakes her head at you, “your class just end?”

“yeah,” you nod, shoving your hands into your hoodie, “math. not eventful at all.”

billie hums, and you expect her to tell you about how her class was, but she doesn’t. she’s quieter than usual, and you can infer that it’s probably about the message that she sent you, which was still…unanswered.

and now that you were standing in front of her, it made things a little more awkward. you tried to muster up an excuse to brush things over with, but you came up with absolutely nothing.

the air between you felt hot, like tension was raining on the both of you. you just stayed silent for a moment, watching as billie took another hit of her cigarette, her lips pursing like she was thinking really hard about something.

your heart was pounding in your chest. you couldn’t think straight— if billie was upset at you, that was pretty much it. you’d have virtually nothing left, and even though the two of you were only beginning to get close, she was a good friend, and had a caring spirit.

you take initiative to speak, and you’re honest when you do so, “i saw your text.”

billie pauses for a second. she takes another slow drag of her cigarette, the smoking curling around her face and fading into the wind as her eyes flicker to yours, “yeah? and?”

you can’t mess this up. you can’t keep running, avoiding everyone who actually cared about you, and you definitely couldn’t keep pushing everyone off just because you were going through…whatever this was. so you take a deep breath, shifting on your feet, your fingers curling into fists in your pocket.

“and… um, i didn’t know what to say. or—” you hesitate, the words catching in your throat. was it too soon to be so honest?

you take a deep breath.

“i just didn’t want to say the…wrong thing.”

billie’s brows knit together slightly at your words, her expression almost unreadable as she watches you. she takes you in— your somber eyes, your withdrawn body language— she studies you, like she always does. her cigarette lingers between her fingers, smoke curling up into the air like a question mark. you feel your chest tighten under her gaze, her silence pressing into you harder than any words she could ever say.

“why would you think you’d say the wrong thing, y/n?” she asks finally, her voice softer than you expected. there’s no edge to it, no sharpness— just genuine curiosity. it’s almost worse because it means she’s taking you seriously, she called you by your name, and that’s almost unheard of.

you glance down at your shoes, scuffing the toe of one against the pavement as you search for words, but they’re somewhere in the back of your mind, buried beneath layers of doubt and second-guessing.

“i don’t know,” you mumble, your voice hardly even audible, “i just… i guess i didn’t want to mess things up. billie…i’m…i’m confused.”

there. you said it. the truth hangs in the air between you, raw and vulnerable, and you can’t bring yourself to look at her. not yet.

billie lets out a small sigh, one that sounds more thoughtful than frustrated, and it makes you glance up at her, just for a second. her lips are pressed into a faint line, her head tilted slightly as if she’s trying to figure you out.

“you’re not gonna mess things up,” she reassures you, and there’s a certainty in her tone that makes your chest ache. “at least, not with me. i don’t know what’s been up with you, but… i don’t scare off that easy.”

you want to believe her, but the knot in your stomach tightens anyway. it’s not just about billie— it’s about everything. your friends, your classes, your entire life feeling like it’s slipping out of your hands faster than you can hold on. faith was the only anchor you had, and even that felt like it was fleeting— like you really had nothing left.

nothing but these jangled emotions that you couldn’t figure out.

“it’s not you,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. it was kind of untruthful, but you didn’t care. it was already a blessing that billie was listening to you right now, so you tried to get at least some of your emotions out, practically begging for advice.

“it’s… everything. i feel like i’m messing up all over the place, and i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t even know where to start. i’m a wreck.”

the confession spills out of you before you can stop it, and you bite down hard on the soft inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. the last thing you need is to cry in front of billie, but the lump in your throat is making it harder and harder to breathe.

billie doesn’t say anything right away, and for a second, you think you’ve said too much. you think she’s going to brush you off or change the subject, but instead, she shifts her weight, her shoulder bumping yours lightly.

“start small,” she says, her voice low and steady, “you don’t have to figure everything out all at once. just… take it one step at a time. one thing at a time. you seem like the type of person to drive yourself batshit until you’re bruised and beaten. yeah, don’t do that. don’t do it to yourself.”

her words aren’t groundbreaking or revolutionary, but something about the way she says them— the calm certainty in her voice— makes you feel like maybe she’s right. maybe you don’t have to have all the answers right now, and that’s okay.

your problem was that you never let yourself feel for too long. it wasn’t like you were numb, but you weren’t always present, either. you always thought that you were running out of time, and every mess-up or mishap was cutting it shorter and shorter. but you couldn’t do that anymore. these aren’t the types of feelings that you solve just within a few days, no— they linger, they sting, and getting rid of them or making sense of them altogether wasn’t something that would just happen overnight.

you strived for perfection, and it wasn’t really your fault. it was all you had ever known.

growing up, your best wasn’t enough— because you could always be better. you could always make better grades, say long prayers, memorize more scriptures. and you worked at it everyday, fixing and molding yourself into a box that even you were too small to fit into.

you aimed for perfection, but it was never enough— because better always lingered just out of reach, whispering that you were still falling short, but looking back to make sure that you were still chasing it.

you feel your chest tighten.

you glance at billie, and she’s looking at you, her blue eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. it’s almost too much, the way she looks at you like she actually cares, like she’s not just saying this to make you feel better but because she means it.

“i’m serious,” she adds, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “you’re tougher than you think, saint. you’ve just gotta give yourself a break.”

you let out a shaky breath, her words settling over you like a warm, heated blanket. it doesn’t fix everything— it honestly doesn’t even fix most things— but it makes the weight on your chest feel just a little bit lighter.

“thanks,” you say softly, and it’s not enough, but it’s all you can manage.

billie shrugs, taking another drag of her cigarette before flicking it to the ground and stamping it out with the heel of her sneakers, “anytime,” she says, and you know she means it.

the two of you stand there for a while, the silence between you no longer heavy but something closer to comforting. the wind picks up, tugging at your hoodie and billie’s loose strands of hair, and for the first time all day, you felt safer. more secure.

“so…” billie starts, “what’s this little secret that’s making you like this, anyways?”

it hurts not to tell her. after everything that she’s said, after she went all soft on you, you almost feel inclined to tell her, but you hold your tongue, avoiding words that even you yourself haven’t admitted.

her voice is light, teasing, but her eyes are locked on you, blue and piercing, like they’re sifting through every layer you’ve built carefully to keep the truth hidden. you feel the weight of her question settle in your chest, pressing hard against the fragile walls you’ve tried so desperately to reinforce.

you swallow, your throat tight. the words are there— just barely formed, barely coherent— but you can’t let them out. not here. not right now.

“it’s nothing,” you mumble, your hands fidgeting in the pocket of your hoodie, fingers finding loose threads to pull at anxiously, “just… stuff.”

billie raises an eyebrow, unconvinced at your statement, “stuff?” she repeats, leaning her shoulder against the wall further, wrapping her arms around her body, “you’ve been walking around like a fucking zombie, and you expect me to buy ‘stuff’? come on, virgin mary. try harder.”

you wince at her words— not because they’re harsh, but because they’re not. she’s right. and her tone is steady, patient, even playful, and that makes it so much harder to hold back. you almost feel inclined to confide in her, but you hold your tongue.

“i’m fine, billie,” you say, forcing a smile that feels heavy, “really.”

“you’re such a bad liar.” she says after a beat, her lips quirking up in a small, but sad smile.

your stomach twists, and for a moment, you think about spilling everything— about the guilt that weighs you down, the doubt that claws at your insides, the way your heart aches and your mind won’t stop spinning. you think about telling her how you feel like you’re falling apart, how you’re scared that if you let anyone see the mess inside you, they’ll walk away like everyone else seems to.

but you can’t. so you lie.

and for the first time, you don’t really feel guilty about it.

“guess i’ll have to work on that,” you say instead, your voice quieter than you mean it to be, “but it's still nothing.”

billie’s done fighting it. she sighs when she looks at you, though you can tell it’s full of understanding. she leans in closer to you, her hand lightly brushing your own as gives you eyes that are scribbled with words that you can decipher, even though she doesn’t say them. you just know.

you had to get out of this headspace, out of this environment. it wasn’t good for you.

you felt sick, yet numb all at once. your heart was aching like none other, every nerve in your body felt like they were dying on you, like you were frozen.

but you can’t go on like that. you can’t keep pretending like isolation is preferred by you, like being alone is your remedy for the exhaustion you were feeling.

you don’t move away from billie’s light touch. you bask in it for a second, “billie?”

she hums at you, her eyebrows quirking at the sound of her name. it falls sweetly off of your tongue, and you let your eyes bore into hers for a second before speaking lowly, quietly.

“can we still hang out?”

the smile that creeps onto her face is priceless, and she tries to keep her composure as she nods fervently, “i’d thought you’d never ask, sunday school. yeah. let’s go.”

you nod at her, walking beside her as you make your way to the student parking lot. billie doesn’t say much when you leave the building together, her steps slow and deliberate. you follow close behind her in silence, her tote bag slung lazily over one shoulder, the faint scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to her sweater. it’s not uncomfortable, the quiet between you two— billie has a way of filling silences without saying a word. but it still makes your stomach churn because you know she’s waiting for you to speak first, like she always does.

“so… where are we going?” you finally ask, your voice a little louder now as you trail a step behind her.

“you’ll see.”

the walk to her old, black mustang isn’t far. you can tell it’s one of those vintage cars that people go crazy about, and the model makes you examine the vehicle with curiosity as she unlocks the door. it smells faintly of lavender air freshener and leather, mixed with a little smoke, and the mix of scents makes your nose flair.

you climb into the passenger seat, pulling your hoodie tighter around you as billie starts the engine, reaching to flicker on the heat before looking at the road intently, pulling off into it. the soft hum of the radio fills the space, some indie song playing faintly in the background.

the drive is honestly not that long, but it feels like forever. you don’t ask where you’re going again, too caught up in your own thoughts to care. you’re just happy that you’re finally going out, happy that you’re giving yourself the chance to escape yourself and relax a little bit.

“i’m gonna take us somewhere that’ll calm you down a little,” is what billie says as she pulls off an exit of the highway and onto the main road again. that gets you a little bit more giddy.

you’re hoping that she’ll take you somewhere that you’ll find a little peace— a bookstore, church, maybe even to God himself, but the smile that has found its way onto your face quickly fades when you pull into a huge brick building, with red lighting that looks like your absolute worst nightmare.

it’s a rage room.

as billie pulls into a parking spot, you let out a vulnerable whine, “billie, really? a rage room?”

“you’ve never experienced real peace until your throwing shit against the wall and screaming your heart out,” she giggles, putting the car in park and pausing the music, “you’ll like it. i promise.”

you feel cool air wisp against your face as you open the passenger door, circling back around billie’s car as you both start to walk in the building, “i’m gonna hate this.”

she just giggles at you, her laugh strong and reassuring, though you’re face doesn’t even flinch. this wasn’t what you had in mind at all, but you’re here now— so you might as well make the most of it, you think.

as you both step inside the building, the cold air from the outside seems to follow you in, hitting you with a rush of discomfort as you glance around. the walls are lined with shelves of broken, donated items, but the most expensive ones are locked up, probably just for display. there’s a pool table in a separate room to your left, and to your right is a bar with people sitting on red and black stools, listening to soft jazz and laughing as they take sips from their drinks. it's loud, chaotic, and everything inside your mind is screaming to leave, but you try to hold it together as you and billie step up to the front.

a clerk behind the counter, with a bored expression on their face, glances up at you both before clicking some button on the register, “do y’all want the couple deal?” they ask, with a rehearsed tone and very tired, droopy eyes.

billie glances at you before answering, her eyes glinting with mischief. and then she shrugs, “yeah, sure, why not?”

you blink, slightly taken aback by her quick agreement. the words settle in your mind, making you think for a second. it’s not the kind of thing you’d expect someone to do in the heat of the moment— but then again, billie was always the type to go with the flow, to not think twice, especially if it meant saving a few bucks.

but still, couple deal? that’s what this place calls it? you can't help but wonder for a second, what does it mean for her? does it feel like something meaningful? was it just about saving some money? you glance sideways at her as she hands the clerk her card, and the thought quickly slips away. she’s too calm about this— she honestly doesn’t seem to care, so why should you?

the clerk nods and hands billie her card back, muttering a slow ‘follow me.’ as billie leads the way further into the chaos of the establishment. you can feel the weight of uncertainty creeping up on you, the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead seeming to hum louder as you pass the racks of broken, smashed objects, and your stomach flips in a way you can’t ignore. what kind of place is this, really? the air smells faintly of old dust and something metallic, mixed with alcohol and smoke, and your nerves feel like they’re tightening with each step that you take.

billie’s excitement is almost tangible. she’s practically bouncing on her heels, eyes glinting with that spark she always has when she’s onto something she’s sure you’ll hate, yet she knows you’ll secretly love. secretly, because you haven’t fully let go yet. you haven’t let yourself give in to the absolute absurdity of this place.

the clerk motions for you both to follow, guiding you over to a corner of the room where various protective gear is lined up— thick plastic helmets, gloves, goggles, and heavy jackets that look like they belong to someone working with power tools. you pick up the jacket, feeling its weight in your hands before sliding it on. it’s heavy, and as you zip it up, it feels more like a costume than something that’ll actually protect you from the wreckage of sharp objects and whatever else this place had for you to throw around.

you glance at billie as she straps a helmet over her two dutch braids. she’s grinning like a kid in a candy store, and for a moment, you almost wish you could share her enthusiasm. but you don’t. the look on your face has ‘i want to go home’ written all over it as she looks at you, giving a playful wink that’s so contrast from how you’re feeling underneath this gigantic jacket and helmet.

“you ready to break some shit?” she asks, her voice practically bouncing with energy as she shook out her arms, watching you slide on a pair of thick goggles to protect your eyes. you swallow, tightening the straps of your gloves as your heart pounds in your chest. you’ve never felt so out of place, so off-kilter. there’s something wrong about all of this, something about the whole idea that makes your insides twist. what is this even supposed to fix?

but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to be the buzzkill— not wanting to ruin this for billie, who’s already bouncing on her heels, waiting to see you finally let loose and throw something across the room. you sigh and force a smile for her, though you’re hardly feeling it.

“i mean, i guess,” you mumble, “let’s do it.”

billie’s grin widens at your answer, and you wish you could feel it too— that spark, that joy she gets from the chaos of whatever you could call this place. but right now, all you feel is the weight of the unknown, the tension in your shoulders, the knot of anxiety that wraps around your throat.

the clerk leads you both into the actual rage room. it's a huge space, walls lined with thick, cushioned coverings, and in the center is a table stacked high with glass bottles, plates, mugs, and other objects begging to be destroyed. it’s all there for the taking— for the throwing, the smashing, the shattering. your feet feel impossibly heavy as you step inside, like you're walking into a trap that you led yourself into. you can feel the weight of your own breath underneath the thick jacket that swallowed your whole frame whole, shallow and quick, as if your body knows that something’s about to happen.

the clerk gestures to the pile of objects, “pick what you want,” they say with a shrug. “nothing’s off-limits. have fun.”

and then they’re off.

billie wastes no time to get active. she picks up a wine bottle and taps it against her palm, eyes shining with mischievous excitement, “you pick something too,” she says, tossing the bottle lightly in the air before catching it again, “we’ll throw it at the same time.”

you look at the pile of objects, feeling strangely detached from every single one of them. there’s a weird sense of distance between you and everything in this room. what’s the point of this again?

but then, you reach for a plate. it’s small and unassuming, a simple ceramic dish that’s decorated with an intricate pink and blue lining, painted on the perimeter. you hold it in your hand, turning it over, weighing the weight of it in your palm. it’s just a plate— just a thing that could be easily replaced, something that’s meant to hold food, to be useful.

but right now, it’s in your hands, and the urge to throw it across the room— to hear the crash, to watch it break into pieces— suddenly seems strangely satisfying. you glance over at billie, “let’s do it.”

she cheers at you, her stance becoming heftier as she readies herself to hurl the bottle against the wall.

“ready? she asks you, and when you nod reassuringly, she’s ready, too.

“one, two, three!”

you raise your hand and swing it as hard as you can, your ears splitting as you hear glass and plastic crack against the wall. your plate and billie’s bottle crash all at once, and at first, you feel a little guilty.

billie lets out a laugh, her leg raising as she claps at you, “fuck yeah! do it again!”

you’re trying to collect your thoughts, looking at billie, who’s already swung another bottle against the wall, the shattering sound ringing out like a loud cheer. she’s laughing, loud and free, picking up things and smashing them onto the ground like there’s no tomorrow.

can you let go, too?

the question lingers in your mind as you reach across the table to pick up another plate. billie’s looking at you now, waiting for you to throw it. she knows you’re hesitating, knows that you’re struggling with this whole thing just by the look on your face. but she doesn’t push you. instead, she just stands there, the light of anticipation still burning in her eyes.

you take a deep breath, a shaky one, as your fingers tighten around the plate.

“you sure you’re okay?” billie asks, her voice softer now, sensing the tension that’s still there. you nod, though it’s half-hearted, because you’re not really sure if you are. but she smiles again, a little softer this time, and for a moment, you forget all about the chaos, all about the fear of breaking.

maybe it’s just about the release.

you throw the plate. it doesn’t fly the way you imagine it would this time, but it hits the wall hard enough, sending shards flying across the room in a messy explosion. the sound of it is loud, harsh, and something inside of you shudders, but it’s not bad— it’s not as bad as you thought it would be.

billie cheers, clapping her hands, her smile wide and unguarded, “hey, see? i told you you’d like it!”

you don’t know if you liked it, but the rush of breaking something— of letting it go, just for a moment— does something to you. you’re usually much more reserved, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the way the plate had laid victim to your throw, how it crumbled so quickly against the wall. something cracks open in your chest, just enough to let the air in. you feel lighter, in a way. still unsettled, still unsure, but alas, lighter.

billie picks up a plate that’s a little bigger than yours, ready to throw it herself. you can’t help but watch her, the way she seems so in tune with this whole mess. she doesn’t care about the mess, the chaos. she just wants the release.

you wonder what it would be like, to let go that easily. to not care about what comes after. to just be.

you want it too.

as billie throws the porcelain— the sound of it smashing against the wall echoing through the room— you can’t help but feel a flicker of something inside of you. it’s not peace. nothing of that sort. but it’s something. and maybe that’s enough for now.

the next few minutes pass in a blur of noise, motion, and broken things. billie and you are tossing objects back and forth, laughing manically as you throw things across the room, your arms feeling lighter with each smash. the tension in your body begins to ebb away, and for the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is completely empty— just the satisfying sound of glass shattering and the feeling of letting go.

billie’s face lights up with each throw, and she grins at you after each object breaks into a thousand pieces. “you’re getting the hang of it!” she shouts over the noise, her voice half-laugh, half-scream. her eyes are wild, her hair falling out of her braids as she throws another bottle, the force enough to send it flying across the room. it crashes against the wall with a satisfying thud, and she jumps, her laugh echoing.

you can’t help but laugh too, the sound a little less guarded now, a little more free. your body moves on autopilot as you pick up the next object— a ceramic mug, its chipped edges jagged in your hand. you feel the rush of adrenaline again, the beat of your heart quickening as you swing it towards the wall, flinging it as hard as you can.

crash!

the mug shatters, and for a second, you stand there, your breath coming faster than it should. the world around you is loud, but you’re starting to feel lighter, like all that tension you’ve been carrying is slowly starting to fade. billie’s right there beside you, giggling, grabbing more stuff to toss. you both keep going, throwing, screaming, until your arm aches and your throat is sore from all the yelling.

then, in the middle of a particularly wild throw, your hand brushes against a jagged piece of glass. the sharp sting of pain lances through your palm, and you gasp, pulling your hand back instinctively. the glass shard had sliced across your skin, leaving a thin but pretty deep cut.

“oh my gosh!” you scream, clutching your hand as blood starts to trickle down your fingers, crimson red dripping onto your leggings.

billie notices immediately that you’re hurt, her eyes flicking to your hand, “whoa, hey— are you okay?” she says, her voice immediately serious, her playful demeanor melting away like snow in the beaming sun as she takes a step toward you.

you nod, gritting your teeth. “y-yeah, it’s just a cut. i’ll be…i’ll be fine.”

she frowns, shaking her head, “no, c’mere and let me see.”

before you can protest, she gently grabs your injured hand, inspecting it with a mix of concern and attentive focus. her touch is soft, and for some reason, it makes your heart race in a way that feels entirely out of place.

this wasn’t the time for that.

you take a sharp breath, the intensity of the moment settling in your chest. “it’s not that bad,” you say, trying to downplay how hurt you were, but there’s something in the way billie’s holding your hand— tender and careful— that makes the air between you two suddenly shift.

"you're really hurt," billie murmurs, her voice quieter now, and the seriousness of it hits you harder than it should. you swallow hard, your pulse picking up again, but this time it’s different—slower, deeper.

“it's just a cut,” you say again, but it comes out softer this time. billie’s gaze flickers down to your hand, then up to your face, and before you can say another word, she’s pulling herself out of the gear and tossing it onto the ground. you’re unable to even move your arm without it aching, and billie seems to understand that, so she pulls your jacket and goggles off for you, adding to the pile of her own discarded protection.

she then pulls you out of the rage room, guiding you towards the door with her hand on your arm, another on your shoulder. you follow mindlessly feeling strangely disoriented by how close you’re standing and with the mix of pain that won’t stop shooting up your arm.

once you’re outside, the cool night air hits you, a sharp contrast to the heat that’s inside. billie leads you over to her car, her fingers still lightly brushing against yours as she pulls open the door and motions for you to sit. you get in, still slightly stunned by how everything literally just shifted in the span of a few minutes.

billie opens the glove compartment and pulls out a first aid kit, all business now, her eyes focused as she looks at your hand, “I’m gonna patch it up, okay?”

“okay.” you nod, feeling a strange wave of warmth flood your chest despite the discomfort in your palm. you whine as billie grabs a wipe, tearing it open with her teeth before giving you soft eyes.

“i’m so sorry, but this shit is gonna burn.” she whispers before gently cleaning the cut, and the alcohol content makes you feel like your whole hand is splitting open.

“i know, i know, i’m sorry.” she apologizes, wrapping a bandage around your palm slowly, sweetly, like she doesn’t want to hurt you any further. her touch is soft, her movements careful and steady, and every now and then, her fingers brush against your skin in a way that feels intentional, like she’s lingering, even if just for a second.

you’re still caught in the aftershock of the moment— of the rage room, of throwing things back and both, of the way her touch feels, of the wild energy between you. you try to focus on the sting of the cut, but your mind keeps drifting back to her, to how close you are, to the way her eyes meet yours with that subtle, knowing look.

she finishes wrapping your hand, her fingers lingering on your wrist as she looks up at you, her expression softer than you expected. “better?” she asks with a small smile, but there’s something in her gaze that makes you pause.

“yeah…a little better…thanks.” you whisper, your voice unexpectedly shaky as you try to keep your cool, ignoring the throbbing pain that has slithered its way up your wrist.

billie’s smile deepens as she leans closer to finish the wrap tightly, her breath warm against your cheek, “you sure you’re okay, for real?”

you want to say yes. you want to pretend like everything’s fine, like you’re not feeling that strange flutter in your chest, the one that’s completely at odds with the chaos of previous events. but the way she’s looking at you makes it impossible to ignore. there’s an energy between you, a spark that’s been there all along, but now it’s real— too real to deny.

and then, before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in, closing the distance between you and her, your lips finding hers in a kiss that’s sudden and full of heat. her lips are soft, and for a second, everything around you goes quiet—just the feel of her, the pressure of her mouth against yours, the warmth of her body close to yours as she presses against you.

when the kiss breaks, your heart is racing, your skin flushed and hot.

shit. you’re in trouble.

billie pulls away, her eyes dark, her lips slightly parted as she looks at you, “y/n?”

you sit up abruptly, the energy shifting immediately as you run a finger over your lips, and tears are already forming. your mind is spinning, your chest is pounding, and you can’t deal with this right now— can’t deal with the weight of it all, the electricity between you that’s starting to feel way too heavy for you to bear. without another word, you grab your things and storm out of the car, slamming the door behind you, your breath coming fast and uneven as you walk quickly, walking to somewhere, anywhere that can get you out of this situation.

billie watches you go, calling after you, but you keep walking. your breaths come shallow and uneven as you pull out your phone. there’s only one person that can help you fix this, one person that can make a good enough cover up after the horrible thing that just took place.

you click on your contacts and hold the phone up to your ear, hoping and praying that they pick up.

you hear the line connect on the other side, and your breath hitches as you hear a deeper voice sound through the device, “hello?”

“oliver,” you breathe out, “i need your help.”

send an ask to be added to my taglist !!

#‧₊˚✩ — 𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒!#billie eilish #billie eilish fanfiction #billie eilish fluff #billie eilish smut #billie eilish x female reader #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish x you #billie eilish fic #billie eilish imagine #billie eilish x y/n #billie eilish oneshot #billie eilish fics #billie eilish blurbs #billie eilish blurb #billie eilish x fem!reader #billie eilish series

113 notes · View notes

snowysosturn · 3 days ago

Text

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 4

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, tension, toxic relationship, arguing

I woke up feeling groggy and disoriented. My eyes flickered open, it took me a minute to realise that I wasn’t in my room. Then it hit me, I was in Matt’s bed.

My heart sank, I sat up quickly, wiping the sleep from my eyes. I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling a weird mix of comfort and awkwardness. Why did it feel so nice to be here?

I didn’t ponder on the thought for too long. Pushing myself up, I walked out of Matt’s bedroom. I sauntered into the living area, and there he was, sprawled on the couch, one arm resting lazily over the back of the couch, the other holding his phone. His eyes looked up as soon as he heard me approach.

“How are you feeling now?” he said, his voice low

I stalled for a moment, still caught between the fog of sleep and the awkwardness of the situation. “Better..” I admitted. “Thanks for letting me sleep in your bed.”

He shrugged, a small smile forming at the corner of his lips. “No problem. You needed the rest.”

The atmosphere in the room felt.. odd. Not in a bad way, just unfamiliar. Too nice. The kind of nice that would make you second guess everything. I scratched the back of my neck, trying to shake the feeling.

“I should go grab my sketch pad” I said quickly, breaking the silence. “I need to finish off some designs.”

Matt nodded, his expression unreadable as he watched me.

I gave him a quick side smile before turning and heading up the stairs to my room. I flicked on the lights and my gaze shifted almost immediately to the corner of my room. A white AC cooler now plugged in, keeping the room at a perfect temperature. My eyes then fell to my bed. Sitting on top of the neatly made covers was an eye mask and a pair of earplugs, placed carefully as if someone had intentionally left them there.

I stood there in slight shock. “Did Matt do all this?” I muttered to myself, picking up the eye mask and turning it over in my hands.

Maybe this was Matt waving a white flag. A quiet, small gesture of goodwill to make things easier between us. Maybe it would actually be easy to live here now. It was almost like a weight lifted off my shoulders, cutting through the animosity between us. I should go thank him,

Eye mask still in hand, I turned to make my way back downstairs. But just as I reached the door, the sound of voices carried up the staircase. Chris and Nick were back from their day of meetings.

“I genuinely should be your Director forever” Chris’s voice was loud and triumphant, with a bit of arrogance. “I would make such an impact working at Space Camp!”

Nick laughed, his tone sarcastic. “You took a few photos, Chris. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

I hesitated in the doorway, before walking down the stairs, all four of us now gathered in the living area, but I felt a shift in the atmosphere again. Matt immediately returned to his usual cold demeanor. He shot me an arrogant look. "Look who's finally out of bed"

I raised an eyebrow, questioning why he’d say that, especially since he knew how I was feeling, how he went out of his way, in multiple forms to try fix it. It felt petty.

Chris tilted his head, curious. "Did you sleep all day?"

I shook my head, brushing off Matt’s comment. "No, just a nap. I had a migraine earlier" I explained. "But I’ve nearly finished my sketches for the patches." I added, eager to prove myself.

"Nice!" Chris said with an approving nod. "Can you show me them?"

Nick flopped onto the couch beside Matt, giving me a quick smile. “Of course she nearly has them done, it's like witchcraft how she gets things done so fast.”

I smiled back faintly, trying to settle into the group dynamic, though Matt’s comment still lingered in the back of my mind. It was a reminder that even with small moments of truce, things could snap back to how they were in an instant.

’Yeah let me go grab them” I agree.

Before I can leave, Chris’ phone buzzes, the vibration loud enough to catch both of our attention. The screen lights up with a name: Nate.

Chris grins, already reaching for it. “Hold that thought. Nate’s calling. I gotta answer this first.” Without waiting for a response, he picks up and disappears toward the bathroom for privacy, leaving the rest of us in the room.

I wander upstairs ti grab my sketch pad, not wanting to sit in the awkwardness with Matt. I step over the AC cooler, carefully avoiding the tangle of wires on the floor, and grab the sketch pad from my desk. My hand lingers for a moment over the cover, my mind racing with everything I still need to finish.

By the time I make it back downstairs, Chris has come back from the bathroom, grinning from ear to ear. His energy is even higher than it was before, showing a stark contrast to the tension that’s settled between Matt and I. Again.

“So, Nate’s in.” he says, sliding his phone into his pocket.

I blink, caught off guard. “What?”

“Nate” Chris repeats, his grin widening. “Nick and I called him earlier and convinced him to come to Hawaii with us. He’s flying into LA tomorrow morning since there’s no other available flights, told him he could stay here while we’re in Vegas.”

“Wait, Nate’s coming here?” I ask, trying to keep the surprise out of my voice. He was only someone I met briefly once, but he seemed cool.

“Yup. He’ll crash here until we’re back, then fly with us to Hawaii.” Chris explains, looking proud of himself.

Matt perks up instantly, his face lighting up with a genuine smile, which around me was a rarity. “That’s sick!” he says, leaning forward with sudden enthusiasm. “This is gonna be good.”

I can’t help but notice the shift in Matt’s tone. It’s the kind of warmth and excitement he never seems to have when he’s talking to me. Amazing, really, how he can be so happy with five people in this house but act so cold when it’s just four.

I drop into the chair across from him, clutching my sketch pad a little tighter. The contrast stings more than I want to admit, why is he like this with me? I decide to focus on Chris instead, who’s still riding the high from Nate’s call.

Chris plops back onto the couch, gesturing toward the pad in my hands. “Let me see what you’ve got.”

I hesitate for a moment, unsure if I even have the energy to go through the designs, but I set the sketch pad on the table and flip it open to the latest pages.

Chris leans forward, his expression genuinely interested as he studies the designs. “These are unbelievable” he says after a few moments, nodding in approval. “Exactly the vibe I was thinking. We’ll go over colorways tomorrow, but this is a solid start.”

“Great I was thinking adding letters into the patches too, all we need to decide on a font.” I say, but realistically my thoughts are already elsewhere.

It’s hard not to feel like the outsider in this group sometimes, and Matt’s solely the reason. But then days like today confuse me, I catch myself thinking about the small things Matt has done, the AC, the earplugs, the eye mask, letting me sleep in his bed. Maybe I’m the problem?

I glance over at Matt, who’s back to scrolling on his phone, his expression unreadable. I sit back in my chair, flipping through the pages of my sketch pad while the idea lingers in my mind. I really should thank Matt for what he did, even if he’d probably just shrug it off or make some snide remark. Still, it feels right.

But how do I do it without the awkwardness? Without it becoming another weird, tension filled moment between us? Especially with other people around.

I pull out my phone and open the Uber app, scrolling through nearby stores. Target pops up, and I click on it, searching for something simple, like a Thank You card. I scroll past the overly formal ones and find one that feels more neutral, a plain white card with a gold "Thanks" embossed on the front.

As I add it to my cart, I pause for a moment, debating whether to leave it at that or add something else. A thank you card alone might come across as too formal, like I've not made that much of an effort. My finger hovers over the snack section before I give in and start browsing.

Matt isn’t exactly hard to read when it comes to his tastes. I’ve seen him tear through a bag of jelly worms during one of his late night streams, so I add a pack of those. Then a couple of chocolate bars for good measure. It feels like a decent enough gesture, casual, thoughtful, but not too over board.

I double check the delivery address and confirm the order. The app tells me it’ll be here within the next half hour. Perfect.

I glance across the room at Matt again. He hasn’t looked up from his phone, completely absorbed in whatever he’s scrolling through. Part of me wants to say something now, just to break the silence, but I don’t trust myself not to fumble over the words. This will be easier, quieter, but hopefully meaningful.

Chris, meanwhile, is still flipping through the sketches. “Seriously, you’re killing it with these” he says, his tone casual but genuine.

“Thanks” I reply, though my mind is still focused on the delivery.

About twenty minutes later, my phone buzzes with a notification: Your Target order has arrived. I slip out of the living area as discreetly as I can and head toward the front door.

The small brown bag is waiting at the door. I grab it quickly and head upstairs to my room, where I can put everything together without an audience.

I pull the card out first, grabbing a pen from my desk. I keep the message short:

Thanks for today, and the new bits for my room. I really appreciate it. - Y/n

It feels slightly awkward writing it, but at least it’s honest. I slip the card into its envelope and tuck it into the bag with the snacks.

Now comes the hard part. How do I get this to him without making it weird? After a moment of hesitation, I decide to leave it outside his bedroom door. He’s bound to come across it eventually, and it saves both of us the awkwardness of a face to face.

I wait until the living area clears out, Chris and Nick head to their rooms, and Matt disappears into his. Then, with the bag in hand, I quietly creep toward his door and set it down infront of the door.

Now all I can do is wait, and hope this can smooth out whatever tension is between us.

I head to my room and for once, the air feels bearable, thanks to the cooler Matt got me. I drop onto my bed, sighing into the quiet. I grab my phone, ready to set an alarm for the morning. My thumb hovers over the clock icon when a notification pops up at the top of the screen:

Thanks for ordering! How was your order? Tip Ethan.

I stare at it for a second, my stomach twisting. Ethan. God, that name. It feels like it’s haunting me, popping up when I least expect it.

I push the notification away reflexively, not clicking into the Uber app. I set my alarm and toss my phone onto the nightstand, my chest slightly aching. Why does something so small feel like a punch in the gut?

Shaking my head, I pull the blanket over me, turning onto my side. Tomorrow is a new day, I tell myself. A day to focus on work, on designs, on anything but ghosts from the past.

I close my eyes, hoping to let sleep take control.

The next morning, I wake up to the sound of my alarm blaring on the nightstand. I groan softly, but I force myself up, knowing I can’t afford to hit snooze. I stretch, pull on a hoodie, and head downstairs to the kitchen. The house is quiet, which I’m grateful for. Matt’s probably still asleep, and Nick doesn’t emerge before 10 if he doesn’t have to.

I make myself some scrambled eggs and toast, moving quickly around the kitchen, aware of the time. Chris and I have a meeting scheduled for 9am to finalize designs, and I’m thankful we get to do it here, at his kitchen table.

Chris walks in just as I’m finishing my coffee. His hair is slightly messy, and he’s wearing a black hoodie and joggers, looking like he just rolled out of bed.

“Morning” he says, voice husky.

“Morning” I reply, offering a small smile.

He gets himself a soda, leans against the counter, and takes a sip. “Ready for this meeting?”

“As ready as I can be for 9am” I say, grabbing my sketch pad and laptop from the chair beside me.

We settle at the kitchen table, Chris leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against the edge of the table as we go over the color options. The table is scattered with swatches, mockups, and half drank liquids.

“So” he says, holding up a navy, white and red combo, “I think this one is clean. It’s classic, but it’s fresh.”

I nod. “Agreed. Navy, white and red always works.”

We scribble down notes on the mockup before moving to the next pairing. Chris points to a pink and red combination I’d suggested earlier. “I actually love this. It’s bold but not obnoxious.”

“Right? It’s kind of unexpected but still wearable” I reply.

We continue debating until we settle on a full lineup: navy, white and red, pink and red, lilac and violet, and an all black option.

“All black is always a hit” Chris says, jotting it down. “This is solid. I think we’ve got something here.”

We sit in silence for a moment, both of us looking over the finalized ideas. It feels good to have something concrete, a sense of accomplishment settling over me.

Before we knew it, everything was finalized and sent off to the manufacturer for samples. I was filled with a sense of relief and excitement.

“Alright” Chris said, pushing his chair back and standing up. “I’d better get going to the airport. Nate’s flight should be landing in an hour.”

As if timed perfect, Nick appeared at the bottom of the stairs, yawning and stretching dramatically. He leaned against the wall, still in his pajamas. “You’re heading to the airport?” he asked, his voice groggy but intrigued.

Chris nodded. “Yeah, to grab Nate.”

Nick’s eyes lit up. “Take me with you! I need breakfast. Please.”

Chris raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “You just woke up, and you want me to detour so you can fill your face?”

Nick clasped his hands together in mock pleading. “Yes! Please!. It’s a win win. You get company driving, and I get tater tots. Come on, you love me.”

I couldn’t help but smile at the exchange. Chris sighed, shaking his head in defeat. “Fine. But we’re not making a whole morning out of it. Quick stop and that’s it.”

Nick grinned triumphantly and darted back upstairs, calling over his shoulder. “Give me five minutes! I’ll be ready!”

Chris glanced at me, a smirk tugging at his lips. “He’s like a child sometimes.”

I laughed. “That’s rich coming from you.”

As Chris grabbed his keys and jacket, he paused. “You good here?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve got plenty to do” I assured him as he headed out.

A few moments later, I heard Nick bolting back down the stairs, still pulling on his Ugg’s as he followed Chris out the door.

Now that the chaos of work had settled, I decided to take a rare moment for myself. I sank into the L shaped couch, grabbing the remote and began catching up on some shows. For once, it felt like I could truly relax.

Then all of a sudden, I hear this loud, insistent pounding at the front door, completely shattering any calm I created. I froze, unsure of what to do. I didn’t like answering the door in general. Maybe it was just a delivery? But the pounding continued, more urgent this time. Should I get it? I hesitated, glancing at the empty stairs. I mean, I did live here now, sorta. If it was something important and it was missed, it would be on me.

I hopped up from the couch, cursing under my breath about how Matt should really be the one to deal with this. Each step down the stairs felt heavier as the pounding persisted. I reached the door and swung it open.

And there he stood.

Ethan.

Of all people, Ethan.

The world around me started to spin. His face was the last thing I expected to see. He looked rougher around the edges, but unmistakably him. For a moment, neither of us spoke, just staring at each other.

“Hey” he said, his voice steady, but his eyes searching mine.

“What.. are you doing here?” I finally managed, my voice barely above a whisper.

“I needed to see you” he replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

My instinct was to shut the door, panic and adrenaline coursing through my veins. My mind spun. How did he know I was here? Then it clicked in my brain.

The Uber notification.

He was the driver.

“Wait!” Ethan yelled, shooting his hand out to block the door before it could fully close.

“Ethan, what the fuck? What the fuck are you even doing here?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low enough not to draw attention.

“Just hear me out” he said, his tone becoming more insistent with every sentence.

“No. Absolutely not. You shouldn't even know where I am.”

His lips pressed together into a thin line, already getting frustrated. “It wasn’t intentional. I seen the name and recognised the address and I just couldn’t leave it so-”

“So you thought randomly showing up was a good idea?” I interrupted, my voice now raising.

Ethan sighed aggressively, leaning against the doorframe, his hand keeping the door open with his firm grip. “I didn’t come here to fight. I just.. I wanted to see you. We didn’t exactly end things on the best terms.”

I let out a pitiful laugh, trying to keep my composure. “And who’s fault is that?”

“Look” he said, his tone softening, “I know I fucked up, but I’ve been thinking about you. About us.”

I shook my head, stepping back trying to make the distance between us known. “Ethan, whatever you’re looking for, you’re not going to find it here. You’ve honestly lost it, showing up here like this. After everything you did? Trashing my apartment, stealing my things, making me homeless. You crossed every line.”

Ethan threw his hands up defensively. “I came here to talk. To explain.”

“Explain?” I snapped, my voice sharp enough to cut. “Explain what? How you thought destroying my home was some way of winning me back? You’ve got to be fucking joking. I don’t want to hear it, Ethan. I just want my locket back. That’s it.”

Ethan’s expression darkened, and his voice dripped with venom. “You really are a bitch, you know that?”

His words hit me across the face, but I didn’t flinch. I’d dealt with his manipulation long enough to know how to stand my ground.

“Call me whatever you want. Just give me my locket.” I said firmly, trying to hold back tears longing for my locket.

Ethan smirked, taking a step closer. “I was going to give it to you. I really was. But not now. Not after you acting like this.”

I took a step back, my blood boiling. “Me? Acting like this? You’ve got some nerve, Ethan. Leave.”

He didn’t budge, his presence suffocating the space between us. I repeated myself, louder this time. “Go, Ethan. I’m serious. Leave. Now.”

But Ethan stayed firmly rooted in place, his defiance infuriating and almost threatening. Just as I was about to speak again, a voice came from behind me.

“She’s asked you to leave, kid.”

I turned to see Matt standing a few steps above me, his tone calm but carrying an unmistakable edge. His arms were crossed over his chest, his posture relaxed, but his eyes told a different story.

Ethan’s face scrunched. “This isn’t your business, man.”

“It is when you’re standing at my front door,” Matt replied, his voice low and steady. “She’s told you to leave. I suggest you do before this gets embarrassing for you.”

Ethan’s stance finally cracked, and with a final glare in my direction, he muttered something under his breath before stepping back.

“This isn’t over” Ethan said, pointing at me as he turned to walk away.

“Oh, it is.” Matt laughed after him.

The door clicked shut, and for a moment, silence filled the hallway.

“You okay?” Matt asked, his face softening as he looked at me.

I nodded, though my heart was still thumping. “Yeah.. Thanks for that.”

Matt shrugged. “No problem. Guy’s a fucking loser.”

I displayed a small smile, but the feeling of the encounter lingered. Ethan may have left, but his shadow loomed, reminding me that he wasn’t out of my life just yet.

As we walked up the stairs at the front door, the sound of voices and footsteps echoed from the garage staircase. A second later, Chris, Nick, and Nate appear in the living area, their laughter bouncing off the walls.

Chris stopped mid laugh when he saw us standing there, his gaze flicking between Matt and me. “What’s going on?” he asked, his tone curious.

a/n: protective matt unlocked

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

#snowy speaks #fire & desire #snowys sturniolo series #snowys series #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #nicolas sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #nick sturniolo #enemies to lovers

83 notes · View notes

nosferatini · 3 days ago

Text

Writers Guild Presents: The Evening of Nightingales

Cover art by my incredible friend @daneecastle! Why yes, she does have a Patreon! Go check it out!

Fluffy first time smut, anyone???

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Ineffable Turbo Virgins

Status: 10k, Complete

Summary:

The Book of Life told Aziraphale that a Holy Union would make the two of them inseparable. Two names—one demon and one angel—now written as one, in permanent ink. Well, that covers their ethereal souls… but what about the rest? It’s their wedding night, and the nightingales are singing in Berkeley Square. What magic is abroad in the bookshop air tonight?

Read it on AO3:

The Evening of Nightingales

Excerpt:

Crowley’s eyes darkened as he watched, breath hitching under the sound of Aziraphale’s noises. A moan escaped the angel’s mouth around the shiny surface of the apple, and the demon bit his lip. “Mmphh…” Crowley was glad he’d stripped out of the wet outer clothes. His smoking jacket’s silk lining yielded under his body’s reactions as pinpricks of excitement quickened his pulse. He could smell the fruit burst into the air with every cherubic nibble. He inhaled Aziraphale’s fading cologne and that delicious honeydew and ginger emanating from his hair. A tiny trickle of juice collected at the corner of Aziraphale’s mouth, and Crowley had to school himself against licking it away. Too soon… he thought. They would make this last. They’d earned that. He had never ached so. And Aziraphale, his posture melting to something languid and lazy, felt quite the same. The angel tilted his head back to look at the demon. His eyes were wells of emotion as he chewed the apple with leisurely content. Wells that begged one to dip the pail in, to taste the water. To drink deeply… Crowley swallowed so loud the storm could have heard it. Outside, great dapples of water washed against the window, a Van Gogh of purple and amber hues reflecting the seasonal lights strung down the street. Then all at once, the street lights went out, and every splash upon the glass was black as the vast night beyond. The two celestial entities within the bookshop flat vaguely registered the dimming of the light, but their world currently consisted of the warmth of the fire and each other’s breaths, the noises they were making, and the unmistakable charge in the air between them. If they’d had a mind to think about it, they might have realized that was where all the power had just been diverted to. But their eyes weren’t looking at the firmament. Trueform and corporeal alike were transfixed with the motions of an angel's jaw and the twitching of a demon’s slitted pupils. Aziraphale took another bite of the apple. Crunch. Juice was rolling down Crowley’s thumb and Aziraphale’s chin. The angel made a move to reach for a handkerchief. But Crowley smacked the hand like a chef chasing away prying fingers from an unfinished dish. His voice was firm, but hushed. “Leave it.” The palpitation of Aziraphale’s heart matched the rhythm of the rain for a moment. He swallowed, accidentally downing a larger chunk of apple than he’d intended, and watched as Crowley fixed him with a roguish smirk. The demon drew a slow breath before speaking again. “What do you want, angel?” Aziraphale brightened, his mouth glistening with the wet of consumption. “I want…” he breathed, “to taste… you .”

Hello fandom! This is my contribution to the goodomensafterdark Pillow Fight!

It is a stand alone work, as well as a tasty teaser (an appeteaser if you will!) for The Season of Nightingales, which I hope you will consider reading! It also serves as an EXPLICIT replacement for Chapter 35, (so if you're already reading Nightingales, keep going and you'll get to this!)

Oh, hi by the way! My name is Nos, and I am a beta addict. 🫣 Please join me in a toast to my beta readers @addledmongoose, @dbacklot99 @demonsandpieohmy @on1occasionfork @brenna and u/blackjeans93 for all the love, attention and patience they gave! I am so spoiled!

Okay I swear I’m ACTUALLY done with this fic now. lol.

@kotias I will tag GOAD now. I mean goodomensafterdark. I mean... Shit I forgot how? Let me google it....

"Am I GrdOmensAftrDrk?" — no?

"how to know if I am at grdominzdick?" — that didn't work.

"AT ERMAGRRDomenzafyerdark?" — am I close yet?

Wait, I forgot, you're French! Lets try…. Au BonnesOmenzApresNuit!!!

No? lol. Fine. @goodomensafterdark

#good omens after dark #good omens fanfiction #good omens smut #good omens fluff #First Times #Ineffable virgins #ineffable husbands #I'm actually really done with the fic this time you guys #It's so fluffy my teeth hurt from writing it #Ineffable Turbo Virgins #top crowley #pillow principality

78 notes · View notes

scary-grace · 3 days ago

Text

PARIAH - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Shigaraki Tomura was buried three days ago, struck down at last by the affliction that’s haunted him all his life. Now, with muffled screams emanating from the graveyard and the same affliction striking down villagers left and right, the priest has ordered Shigaraki raised from the grave and put to death properly this time. It falls to Spinner, wracked with guilt over his best friend’s fate, to seek help from a monstrosity equal to the one that haunts Shigaraki — the witch who dwells in the darkest part of the forest. In other words, you.

Nosferatu AU, Spinner POV, 5k+ words. Vampires, wolves, and witches, oh my! If you like Gran Torino this is not the fic for you.

Not far now, Midoriya said the last time they stopped to catch their breath, but the woods seem to go on endlessly, and Spinner feels as though he’s been running for even longer. He’s no stranger to fleeing for his life. In one way and another he’s been doing it since he was born. But he’s never run for someone else’s life before. Never before has someone else’s survival hung in the balance of his heavy footsteps through the snow and the breaths of air so cold it sears his lungs. Spinner is the weakest of them, with the least to offer, closer to dead weight than a valuable ally. But in this moment, he’s the only one who can save Shigaraki’s life.

They came to this village six months ago, and for six months, life was quiet. The villagers were wary of strangers, of course, particularly strangers like Spinner and his friends, but for once, they all managed to keep their heads down. Toga made friends among the maidens in the village, while Twice made himself useful., and Dabi did them the favor of putting out fires rather than starting them. Spinner helped where he could, but mostly he watched Shigaraki. The evil that haunted Shigaraki had done so all his life, but it had only attempted a fatal strike when their backs were turned, and when they fled with the city in flames behind them, Spinner swore he would never allow such a thing to happen again.

Spinner kept a careful watch, but it didn’t matter. The affliction came again, weakening Shigaraki to the point where he could barely rise from his bed, and worse, it began to spread through the village. The villagers blamed Shigaraki and came to punish him, but they were too late. Spinner’s best friend died before his eyes three nights past, and the villagers buried him in an iron coffin before the sun could rise.

Or at least, Spinner had thought Shigaraki was dead. On the first day, he believed the muffled screams issuing from the graveyard were the manifestation of his own guilty conscience. But on the second day, the others heard them, too, and although the villagers believed they had locked away the source of the affliction, it continued to spread. The priest came to the graveyard, heard the screams, and ordered Shigaraki exhumed. Fool that he is, Spinner thought they meant to help him.

Then he and everyone else saw the ash stake in the priest’s hand, sharpened to a deadly point. It was an error to bury him whole, the priest said. This will quiet him forevermore.

They could not reason with him. No logic could overcome the priest’s certainty, nor the absolute faith the villagers had in him. It did not matter that Shigaraki had not left the house since falling ill. It did not matter that the coffin had been locked shut, nor that the surface above the grave was undisturbed. The priest and his followers buried Spinner’s best friend alive, and now they mean to dig him up and stake him through the heart.

Spinner hung back as Dabi and Toga and Twice argued. He’s worthless at arguing, just as he is at everything else, but as he stood at the edges of the conversation, someone caught his hand and drew him away. When Spinner looked down, he found Midoriya Izuku looking up at him. The strangest child in the village, known for daydreaming so vividly and so often that he falls into potholes at least twice a week, wore a determined look that shocked Spinner in its ferocity. You cannot stop the priest, he said. Only the witch can do that.

Every rural village has its superstitions, and this village has the witch – never seen, never spoken to, always blamed for blighted crops, missing livestock, and bouts of ill fortune. It is said that the witch is monstrous, raised by wolves and lies with them, too, an enemy of all that is holy. But when the affliction struck, not a single villager placed the blame on the witch. And when Midoriya Izuku spoke of her, he did so without fear.

He bade Spinner follow him, running across the bridge over the stream and down the sole path into the northern woods, and although Spinner questions the wisdom of challenging a mundane evil with a supernatural one, he has no other choice. He swore to protect Shigaraki, just as the others did, but he’s the one who failed. The witch will drive a hard bargain for her help, and Spinner will take it. What happens to Spinner doesn’t matter. Better by far that Shigaraki survives.

Not far now, Midoriya said, but each twist and turn in the path reveals only further twist and turns ahead. When Midoriya stops again to catch his breath, Spinner’s patience snaps. “There is no time. We must hurry.”

“The ground froze hard these past nights,” Midoriya gasps, “and they buried him deep. We have time. After this I will not need to stop again.”

“You had better not, or I will leave you here and find the witch myself.” Spinner says that, only to feel his nerves turn to water at the thought. “How do you know she will help?”

“I don’t know what she can do,” Midoriya says, and Spinner’s heart sinks further. “But I know that when the priest ordered me to kill a wolf-dog pup from my dog’s last litter, she came down from the woods to take it away.”

He straightens and picks up the pace, and Spinner chases after him, questions upon questions queued up on the tip of his tongue. “You’ve seen her?”

“Not – not really,” Midoriya admits as they careen around a corner. “She wore a veil over her face, and dressed all in white. But her voice sounded ordinary. Not as a monster’s voice should, or I think not. If she is not one, I have never heard a monster speak.”

Spinner has. It’s unmistakable – not just a hearing or a feeling, but a knowing, a terror beyond thought and reason. “I had to cross the bridge to bring her the pup,” Midoriya continues. “She would not cross to me, but when I gave it to her, she promised to raise it well.”

Spinner knew Midoriya was naïve, but this is ridiculous. “Did it not occur to you that she would lie? Monsters know only how to deceive.”

“She didn’t lie,” Midoriya says sharply. “I know when someone lies to me. She wouldn’t have hurt my pup. She –”

He stops talking, and stops running, too. Spinner fails to stop in time and bowls him over from the back, and as he picks himself up, he sees what caused Midoriya to balk. The path continues still further into the woods. But a wolf sits sentinel in the middle of it, blocking the way.

No, not a wolf. Spinner has seen wolves, more than his share of them, far more than he would have wished to. This is – “A wolf-dog?”

“Yes,” Midoriya says, his voice trembling with something like awe. “Mine.”

The wolf-dog’s ears prick upwards, and its tufted tail wags, scattering long-dead leaves away from the path. All at once it rises to its feet, turns, and lopes away, but only as far as the next bend in the path. There it turns and looks at them. Waits for them. “She wants us to follow,” Midoriya says, and he does so. Spinner follows, too, wondering who exactly Midoriya meant by she.

The wolf-dog keeps a brisk pace as the path, lined on either side with thick brambles, narrows such that Spinner and Midoriya must walk single-file. There are strange lights tucked away within them, emitting a pink glow that Spinner can classify neither as unholy nor divine. The wolf-dog rounds one turn in the path after another, and only when Spinner has thoroughly lost his sense of direction does it come to a stop. They’ve stopped at the edge of a large clearing, ringed in yet more of the odd pink lights. Within the clearing, there is a fence, its posts laden with wildflowers — the same flowers that climb the walls of the small cottage in the center.

It looks like something out of a children’s story. Not at all somewhere that a witch with the power to challenge the priest should live. Midoriya starts forward eagerly, and Spinner seizes his arm. “No. Even sweet things can be a trap.”

The wolf-dog noses the iron gate, and it swings open. “You want to save your friend, don’t you?” Midoriya asks. “She’s the only one who can help you. And you were wrong. She didn’t hurt my dog.”

Spinner is not at all convinced that it’s the same dog. It seems more likely the product of Midoriya’s wishful thinking. “I don’t like your friend,” Midoriya continues. “He frightens me, and everyone else. But he shouldn’t die for our fear. If you won’t go in, I will.”

Spinner is a coward. He knows he is. But even in his cowardice, he cannot allow this — a child taking the risk that belongs to him. He lets go of Midoriya’s arm and shoulders past him, past the wolf-dog, through the iron gate and along the path through the witch’s garden to the cottage’s front door. He knocks hard enough to bruise his knuckles. “Witch! I am here on a matter most urgent. Come out, or –”

“There’s no need to shout,” a perfectly ordinary voice says from behind him, and Spinner’s heart nearly stops in his chest. “I’m right here.”

Spinner wheels around, and there you are. There you have been sitting the entire time, concealed from view of the path behind your flower-entangled fence, dressed all in white just as Midoriya described and blending in with the snow. Just as Midoriya described, your face is veiled. All around you in the snow, wolf-dogs sit and sprawl, some ancient and grey-muzzled, others with the gangly clumsiness of pups. White roses are scattered around you, and even as you harken to Spinner, your fingers continue to weave them deftly into a crown.

“I thought I might have visitors today,” you say. “What are your names?”

“I don’t share my name with strangers,” Spinner growls, in the same moment as Midoriya blurts his out. “Shut up, you idiot!”

“The point of sharing names is to remove the designation of strangers,” you say mildly. Your veil is not quite opaque; Spinner sees your lips move beneath it. “I cannot blame you for your caution, but you mentioned an urgent matter. What brings you to my door?”

“The village,” Spinner says, biting down on the desire to curse its name. “It has been struck by –”

He runs out of words. He and the others have been careful in their description of it, for fear of being called insane. Even a village with such superstitions as witches is too skeptical to believe in – “Vampires,” Midoriya announces. He’s apparently abandoned caution; he’s crouched in the snow at the edge of the path, petting the wolf-dog he believes was his. “Each night more wake with bites, and not long after they fall desperately ill.”

“Are they drained of blood?” you ask. “Or is their skin simply rotting?”

“They haven’t been drained,” Midoriya says, frowning. “But the bites –”

“My friend was drained,” Spinner says, and you look to him. “He grew weak. He could not eat or drink, and visions tormented him at the end — or what we thought was the end –”

“They buried him,” you say, and Spinner nods. “But people continue to fall sick, and they believe your friend is the cause, so they intend to exhume him and put an end to him properly this time. Am I incorrect?”

Spinner can barely believe his ears. “How do you know?”

“Fear strips away reason. It comforts them to think that killing your friend will end their misery, and their desire for comfort only serves the greater threat.” Your hands work more quickly, plaiting the crown together. “You’ve come to me for help. What is it you wish me to do?”

“Stop the priest,” Spinner says. You tilt your head, studying him. “Prove my friend’s innocence.”

“That is within my power,” you say. You add a few more flowers to the crown, set it upon your head, and rise to your feet. “Is there time?”

“When we left they had already started digging,” Spinner says uselessly. “What price do you ask for your help?”

“None,” you say. You brush past Spinner, slipping into the house and emerging seconds later with a small satchel slung across your body. White deerskin with silver fastenings — not at all what Spinner would expect a forest-dwelling witch to possess. “We must travel with haste.”

“Yes. Have you horses?”

You shake your head, then raise one hand to your mouth and whistle, high and wavering. Within moments, Spinner hears the sound of heavy footfalls, and the shape that moves within the trees is so monstrously large that even Midoriya is scared up from the ground and closer to Spinner. “What is that thing?”

A wolf. Not a wolf-dog, but a true wolf, hulking and enormous, standing taller than Spinner at the shoulder. It dwarfs you as you approach it, but you approach without fear, and it lowers itself to the ground so you can speak quietly in its ear. You use no language Spinner can understand, but it is not the language of the demon, and in your ordinary voice it does little more than raise the hairs on the back of his neck. “This is a friend of mine, who has agreed to aid us,” you say, straightening up. You throw one leg over the wolf’s back and climb up, seating yourself just behind its head. “If time is as short as you say, it is not wise to hesitate.”

Spinner climbs up first, followed by Midoriya. “Keep low until we leave the trees behind,” you order, “and hang on.”

Midoriya promptly grabs hold of Spinner, but Spinner has no easy recourse. “To you? It’s not proper.”

“Would you rather be proper or survive the journey back to the village?” you ask impatiently, and Spinner secures his arms around your waist, his face miserably red. “Hold on.”

You whisper something else to the wolf, and it lurches into motion with such violence that Spinner tightens his grip in terror. He learns instantly why you ordered them to lower their heads — at the speed at which the wolf moves, a collision of their heads with a branch would result in decapitation. Spinner can’t watch the trees speeding past without feeling ill, so he shuts his eyes only to feel sicker. Opening them, keeping them fixed between your shoulder blades, is the only solution. That, and occupying his mind with something other than how inappropriate it is to hold you this closely.

You feel human. Spinner’s taken women in his arms before, human women of his own will and vampire women against it, and while the unholy attraction of the undead is absent from you, there is something undefinably strange about your presence. Perhaps all witches are thus. You have yet to do anything more witchlike than speak to wolves and live deep in the woods, and once again, Spinner begins to doubt. Who are you to challenge the priest, to counter the village’s faith in him? How could you save Shigaraki, when Dabi and Twice and Toga could not?

The wolf breaks through the tree line, and you sit up quickly. Spinner does the same, although it makes the ride significantly bumpier. Out of the woods, it’s easier to gauge the wolf’s true speed. It barrels down the hillside, as fast as any horse, and ignores the bridge in favor of leaping across the stream in a single bound. At the apex of its flight, Spinner feels you startle, then flinch, a sharp gasp exiting your lips. It’s as if you’ve been shot or stabbed, and for a moment, you go completely limp, your grip on the wolf’s mane relaxing. Only Spinner’s arms around you keep you from slipping sideways into the water – but then the wolf’s paws touch land, and you straighten up again. Spinner would think it his imagination if not for the audible catch in your breathing.

When the wolf reaches the graveyard, Spinner’s own breath catches in horror: Shigaraki’s coffin has been raised up from the earth, its lock shattered and its lid shoved aside. Between the coffin and the priest stand Toga and Dabi and Twice, and before Spinner can call out to tell them help has arrived, villagers seize his friends and drag them out of the way. The priest approaches, stake held high, and a shaking hand rises from the coffin in a weak attempt to forestall him. Shigaraki is alive, and awake – awake just in time for Spinner to watch him die.

“Wait,” he tries to call, but his voice shakes so badly that he can barely raise it above a whisper. “He isn’t –”

“Father Torino!” you call out, your voice strident and strong, and the priest stops in his tracks. He turns towards the sound of your voice and flinches as he beholds the wolf, and you and Spinner and Midoriya on its back. The villagers cower, and Dabi and the others seize the opportunity to get free and return to guard the casket — but they, too look wary. “Is it now the custom of the Church to murder innocent men by hand after burying them alive has failed to do the job?”

“This is no man, but an abomination,” the priest growls. He is a small man, and old, but neither matters when righteous fury animates him. “It is the custom of the Church to carry out God’s will and remove such things from the face of His earth.”

“If this man’s death is God’s will and not your own, then it can wait a few moments more.” You slide down easily from the wolf’s back and start forward across the graveyard, the villagers scattering from your path. “I will examine him, and prove his innocence or his guilt.”

The priest does not challenge your ability to do so, and a small measure of hope is turned loose in Spinner’s mind. He slides down from the wolf’s back as well, much less gracefully than you did, and seizes the back of Midoriya’s coat to prevent him from going face-first into the snow when he does the same. Ahead of him, you confront Dabi. “Stand aside. Let me see him.”

“What, so you can kill him?”

“Do you see a stake in my hands?” You spread them out, revealing them empty. Spinner notices for the first time the silver rings on your middle fingers, and the web of silver chains extending from them to connect to a matching bracelet around your wrist. “I only wish to examine him.”

“She can help,” Midoriya says, and Dabi’s eyes flicker to him. “Let her help.”

Dabi looks to Spinner. Spinner nods, and Dabi stands aside, allowing you to approach the coffin.

Spinner does the same, and what he sees fills him with a guilt so powerful that it nearly strikes him dead on the spot. As terrible as Shigaraki looked when they believed him dead, he looks worse now. Paler, sicker, more haunted than before. Blood stains his fingernails — what’s left of them, at least. Spinner imagines his best friend clawing at the lid of the iron coffin, desperate to get free, and nearly vomits at the thought.

Shigaraki is barely conscious, barely breathing, as you come close. Spinner was unsure of what to expect from you, but your first act strikes him as completely incongruous — you lift the crown of white roses from your head and settle it on Shigaraki’s. Shigaraki doesn’t stir, and on the other side of the coffin, the priest’s shoulders stiffen. “That proves nothing.”

“White roses are anathema to vampires. They teach you that in your book of demons,” you say. You unclasp one bracelet from around your wrist, slide one ring from your finger. “They speak of silver, too.”

You lift Shigaraki’s hand and slide the ring onto his finger. His hands are larger than yours, yet so skeletal that the ring fits easily. As does the bracelet, when you snap it shut. Once again, Shigaraki does not stir. The priest scoffs. “You expect me to believe that’s real silver?”

“I expect you to ask yourself what reason I among all others would have to collude with this affliction,” you say. You of all others? Spinner sees his confusion writ large on Toga’s face, on Dabi’s and on Twice’s. “But if it will satisfy you, I will ask someone else. Who here has something silver?”

It’s silent. Midoriya disappears into the crowd, then comes back pulling his mother. “Mother. Mother, show her — you have some –”

The woman clutches at her necklace, as though she expects you to rip it from her throat. “You will have it back unharmed,” you promise in that ordinary voice. Spinner no longer doubts that you are no monster; rather, you seem so human that he doubts your ability to help at all. “Either you will help to protect your village from a grave threat, or you will save an innocent man’s life. To save one life is to save the world entire.”

“Cease such pagan nonsense in my presence,” the priest snaps. “Even if he is no vampire, he has forfeited his right to life by bringing the affliction upon our village.”

You ignore him, and after a moment, so does Midoriya’s mother. She unclasps her necklace, and Midoriya places it in your hand. You hold it for a moment, then set it down in the hollow of Shigaraki’s throat. He does not move beyond the rise and fall of his chest. “Odd,” you remark. “A vampire should flinch from such things.”

The priest doesn’t answer. You gesture for Spinner to come closer, to stand alongside Dabi and the others. “Bite marks,” you say, and Spinner startles along with the rest of them. “Where were they?”

“He had many,” Toga says. She tended to Shigaraki most closely, and took his apparent death nearly as hard as Spinner did. “On his throat. His chest. Both wrists and ankles.”

“Were there others?” you ask. Toga shakes her head, and you raise your voice, addressing the crowd in the graveyard. “In the legends, a true vampire’s body bears no bite marks. The transformation erases them. Is it not so?”

The crowd mumbles assent, and Spinner wonders if this is why Midoriya insisted on summoning you. The priest’s frothing rage looks particularly mad when contrasted to your calmness. You look to the priest next. “Is it not so, Father Torino?”

“In tales and in history.” The priest speaks through gritted teeth. “Let us examine him. I — what are you doing?”

“My eyes must be clear,” you say, and you lift your veil.

Half the village recoils, but when you fold it back, Spinner sees nothing out of the ordinary about your face. There is no mad light in your eyes, no distorted sneer on your mouth, no dark magic writhing visibly beneath your skin. There is an odd pallor to you, but nothing more. You turn back to face the priest — the priest, who did not flinch. “Let us examine him.”

Shigaraki does not react to your touch, but when the priest reaches in to grasp his arm and haul his wrist into the light, he shrinks back. “You see?” the priest demands. “He recoils from a man of God –”

“A man who was about to drive a stake through his heart. I’d recoil, too.” You have Shigaraki’s other hand, holding it carefully, and you turn it to expose his wrist to the light. “Look, Father. Those resemble bite marks to me. And here –”

You lift the wrist that Shigaraki pulled away from the priest. “More bite marks. Just as the maiden said.”

Shigaraki’s mouth opens, and the voice that issues from it is hoarse from three days of screaming. “Spinner –”

Spinner hurries forward, and without a word, you shift your examinations to Shigaraki’s ankles. “I’m here,” Spinner tells Shigaraki. “I’m sorry.”

Shigaraki shakes his head. “What’s — happening?”

“Midoriya took me to see the witch. She came back with us to help.”

“Witch?” Shigaraki rasps. “Doesn’t sound like a witch.”

“Her voice is wrong,” Toga agrees quietly. “I don’t know what she is.”

“You do not need to know. She is unclean, and those who fear God should stay far from her and her accursed woods,” the priest says. “And you, Shigaraki — you fear death a great deal for a man who does not fear God.”

Shigaraki’s red eyes flutter shut. He seems to have exhausted his strength, and Spinner finds himself watching the rise and fall of Shigaraki’s chest, fixated on the smallest motions. He kept this same vigil before, three nights ago, dreading every new second until the motion stuttered and stopped — or rather continued, so imperceptibly that everyone believed him dead. Whether you’re a witch or not, you are an effective counter to the priest, but what happens after you spare Shigaraki’s life? His affliction will not fade, and the evil that stalks him will not relent. Has Spinner saved Shigaraki’s life only to consign him to a slow, agonizing death?

Spinner’s thoughts are interrupted when your hand appears in his field of vision, parting the buttons on Shigaraki’s shirt to expose the bite marks directly over his heart. The priest grasps Shigaraki’s jaw and turns his head roughly to one side, revealing the bite marks on his throat as well.

Spinner remembers the first time he beheld the evidence of Shigaraki’s affliction. Shigaraki had kept it from them as long as possible, but one by one, they saw things that could not be explained, heard things in the night that could not be dismissed. They knew too much to find safety in ignorance, but they could not protect themselves if they did not know the truth, and so Shigaraki shared what he knew of the evil that had clung to him since childhood. They doubted him at first, but he must have expected it. Spinner will never forget the shiver of disgust that tore through him at the sight of the marks on Shigaraki’s throat – and how it grew ever worse with each set of marks he revealed.

The reminder alone of what Shigaraki suffers fills Spinner with disgust. He cannot imagine experiencing it and surviving with his mind intact, and yet Shigaraki has survived. And he will survive this, too. Faced with all the evidence you have revealed, the priest cannot kill Shigaraki now.

“Are you satisfied?” you ask, when the priest fails to respond. “This man is not the source of the affliction. He is its victim, as much as any of the others who have fallen ill.”

“Perhaps,” the priest says – and he raises his stake. “I’d rather be sure.”

Before he can bring it down, you seize it. Dabi does the same, and so does Spinner, while Toga and Twice throw themselves across the coffin to shield Shigaraki. “Careful,” you say to the priest. Your grip tightens, and Spinner feels the fire-hardened stake buckle slightly. “If you kill this man now, it will be murder, and your list of sins is not so short as to allow for the addition of one more.”

It’s a long moment before the priest releases the stake, and when he does, it splinters to pieces. Perhaps it was Dabi’s grip that shattered it; your hand is too small. “If you wish to save him, begone with him,” the priest says. “He is barred from the village until his affliction is cured. If it can be cured.”

Spinner’s heart sinks, but once again, you remain calm. “I will cure it,” you say. “I will take him with me, if he will go.”

“No,” Twice says at once. “He stays with us.”

“Let her take him,” Midoriya’s mother urges. Spinner thought she would have fled, but then again, her silver necklace still rests against Shigaraki’s throat. “The others will come for him tonight, and kill you to get to him, no matter what the priest says. It is safer to let him go.”

“We should come with him,” Toga says. You shake your head. “Why not?”

“The forest is unkind at night. I cannot shield your minds and heal his at the same time.” You look regretful, and ill at ease. “Stay here for the night, and visit in the morning. My friends will guide you to me.”

The wolves and wolf-dogs. Spinner remembers the rumor that you were raised by them, that you lay with them, and feels a surge of distaste — not for you, but for those who would start such rumors and spread them. “It’s Shigaraki’s choice,” he says. He looks down into the coffin at Shigaraki, at his pale face and bloody hands, swathed in silver with a crown of flowers on his head. “Do you wish to go with her?”

“Spinner.” Shigaraki’s voice is little more than a whisper. Spinner leans close. “Can she do as she promises?”

There seems to be nothing magical about you at all. Spinner doubts you can do anything — but he does not doubt that Shigaraki will be safer in the heart of the forest tonight than anywhere else. He nods. “I can’t face him tonight. Not like this,” Shigaraki says. “I’ll go.”

“Good,” the priest says. His disgust is etched deeply into his wrinkled face, and as he transfers his gaze from Shigaraki to you, it only grows. “As the filthy beast you rode in on has fled, I have no idea how you expect to remove him from my sight. Do you honestly think someone will lend you a horse?”

“I have no need of one.” You nudge Spinner to one side and lift the necklace up from Shigaraki’s throat, handing it back to Midoriya’s mother. Then you lift one of Shigaraki’s arms, looping it around your neck, and he expends what appears to be his last measure of strength to lift up the other. “I can walk.”

You can’t mean to carry him. Even half dead, half-starved, Shigaraki is bigger than you are. But as Spinner watches in horrified fascination, you slide one hand behind his best friend’s head and the other beneath his bent knees, and you lift Shigaraki from the coffin as though he weighs nothing at all.

Shigaraki slumps against your shoulder, barely conscious once more, and the crowd of villagers parts before you again. Your voice, still ordinary, carries not even a hint of strain when you speak to Spinner. “Come visit at first light,” you say. “No harm will come to him while he is with me.”

Dabi’s hand comes down on your shoulder, just as Toga grasps your elbow. “Swear it.”

You incline your head, and Spinner sees a web of faint scars across your brow. “I swear it by my blood.”

You set off walking at an easy pace, as though you aren’t carrying a grown man in your arms the way a lord might carry a maiden. Dabi’s voice is low in Spinner’s ear. “What did you do?”

“What?”

“Her kind don’t do favors,” Twice says. “What did you give her?”

“Nothing,” Spinner says. “She took nothing.”

“Except Tomura,” Toga says grimly. “In the morning we’ll take him back.”

“Damn right,” Twice says, ignoring the look the priest gives him. “We’ve tried everything but witches to heal him. Maybe she will fix him.”

“What’s wrong with him isn’t inside. It’s out there somewhere,” Dabi says. “Whatever she fixes, it won’t last.”

Dabi’s right, as much as it burns Spinner to admit it. All Spinner’s done in retrieving the witch is buy Shigaraki a little more time. One night where the villagers can’t come for him, howling for his blood the same way the evil that stalks him lusts for it. Spinner’s best friend has spent so many nights in misery and pain. If the best Spinner can do is secure for Shigaraki one night of relative peace, he’d have paid all you asked for and more.

But you asked for nothing. Spinner watches you approach the bridge, still walking smoothly with Shigaraki cradled in your arms, and wonders why.

#shigaraki x reader #shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tomura shigaraki x you #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki tomura x you #x reader #reader insert #man door hand hook car door #nosferatu au #a bisquared production

55 notes · View notes

gods-favorite-autistic · 1 day ago

Text

Selkie Fabian with selkie Hallariel au you see the vision

Bill accidentally stole Hallariels pelt while he was pillaging in Fallinel and Hallariel fucking hunted him down

Bill fell in love the second she took his eye out but Hallariel only married him because he promised her a life of freedom and adventure on the sea something she’d never had before and she fell in love with him along the way

Telemaine was extremely protective of his daughter because he knew that like a half elf half selkie wouldn’t be very well received in Fallinel so she always hid her selkie-ness up until she left and stopped giving a shit about what Kei Lumennura thought

Part of why she left was because Telemaine refused to let her near the sea (he insisted that her mother learned to live without the sea to keep herself safe so she could too) but he finally caved after Bill stole her pelt because “I’m in danger either way at least I’m not miserable at sea”

She planned on only marrying Bill for a few years before going back home until she actually fell in love and then got pregnant

Fabian was allowed a lot more freedom than Hallariel had growing up but he was still told a bunch of horror stories about selkies getting their pelts stolen so he is very protective of his pelt

Like so protective that the Bad Kids didn’t even find out until like halfway through sophomore year (he only told them because Riz jokingly tried it on when they were all hanging out and Fabian snatched it away in a panic)

The main reason they have as big of a pool as they do is because Hallariel insisted on having someplace her and Fabian could shift

Fabian still misses the ocean terribly and travels down there on weekends he can get away

When Kalvaxus set their houses on fire he had to stop himself from running to check his room and find his pelt because his parents were in danger

When he got home after prom Cathilda immediately handed his pelt to him because she knew he’d be panicking about it

Cathilda knows about Fabian being a selkie (of course she does she practically raised him) but he didn’t realize she knew until he was about 12 (he thought he was being sneaky) so it became sort of a game for her to see how much she could tease him about it before he realized she knew

She insists on washing his pelt because he insists on storing it with the rest of his clothes and she doesn’t want it to get dirty (she always framed it as something similar to giving his selkie form a shower) but she has a rigorous washing process that she insists on doing every time despite it taking like an hour each time

The first week after she gets sober Hallariel takes Fabian down to the beach and gets in the ocean for the first time since she had him

Before Fabian she always insisted she would not become some trophy piece lying around Bill Seacasters house like most of the selkies she’d heard about who married pirates (and the she had Fabian and then…yeah)

Fabian and Mazey have a tendency to borrow each others clothes and it’s all great fun until Mazey takes his pelt without realizing thinking it’s just a regular coat (he is scared to death of telling anyone he’s romantically involved with that he’s a selkie cause, y’know, horror stories) and he has a genuine panic attack when he can’t find it

About an hour after this happens Riz (who Fabian had asked to find the pelt) shows up at Mazey’s doorstep demanding the pelt back and Mazey is just so confused

Fabian finally tells her like a week later and she feels just so bad

Hallariel doesn’t fully trust the Bad Kids until she learns they know Fabian is a selkie

Gorgug starts joining Fabian on his late night oceanside trips after they all find out (he says it’s because it’s not safe for Fabian to be out there alone but it’s really because he just wants to hang out with his friend)

So so many beach trips with the party over summer after junior year (would’ve been sophomore but yknow night yor-*I am shot in the head by Riz Gukgak killing me instantly*)

Kristen challenges Fabian to an underwater breath holding contest and like just to freak them out he just kinda stays under for like 5 minutes

He can stay underwater for a while when he has his pelt but when he got possessed on Leviathan sophomore year he had to leave it behind and when he doesn’t have it he’s kinda shit at holding his breath naturally (he never trained it because he assumed he wouldn’t have to deal with being in the water without his pelt a lot but he started training it after that)

He has control over how much he shifts when he’s in the water with his pelt so unless it’s been like a while and he’s craving the ocean he’ll usually go for just like patches of seal fur along his body and occasionally he’ll let his feet turn partially tail-like if he feels like swimming a lot

The Bad Kids think his patchy form is just so adorable (he would be fully human around them since he’s still not fully comfortable with it but the halfway form is kind of the lowest he’s able to dial it when he has his pelt in the water)

Jawbone finds out partway through junior year (Adaine makes an off handed remark about Fabian’s pelt and he was just very confused) and once he finds out he immediately starts researching the shit out of selkies

He finds out that there’s a support group at Aguefort for selkie students and he gives Fabian the information

Fabian very reluctantly goes and actually enjoys it a lot (it’s less like a support group like it says and just kinda like a place for selkie students to hang out and bond with other selkies) so he keeps going weekly

They were all very skeptical of him when he first showed up (I mean the most popular kid in school who is also the son of a world renowned pirate showing up to a selkie hangout when nobody knows he’s a selkie feels like a red flag) but he brought his pelt with him just in case to make sure they knew he wasn’t an enemy

At first he has a bunch of people giving him pity because they assume Bill basically abducted his mom but he shuts that shit down quick (“if my papa tried to abduct my mama she would’ve taken out his other eye and slit his throat”)

They are all so jealous of the fact that he actually lived on the sea for most of his life (they have a monthly trip to the beach because most of them aren’t able to go out that much and a good majority of the people in Elmville have lived there all their lives or most of their lives)

Ok yeah that’s it for now I just got selkie Fabian in my head and couldn’t get it out

#autism (mads) speaks #fabian aramais seacaster #fabian seacaster #fantasy high #hallariel seacaster #bill seacaster #dimension 20 fantasy high #d20 fantasy high #the bad kids

59 notes · View notes

friendlyneighborhoodslut · 1 day ago

Text

The Roommate Agreement | 1-The Line.

Pairings: Eventual Steve Harrington x Reader, slowburn.

Summary: ‘New Girl’ inspired fic starring Reader, her older brother, Steve and Eddie. Your first day of college is a dumpster fire, but luckily your big brother lives right down the road… with some very interesting roommates.

Warnings/Extras: Strong language, mentions of shitty parents, cockroaches/bugs, psycho roommate (we’ve all had one), of-age drinking, Steve and Eddie being slight pervs. Let me know if I missed anything!

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

“Who the hell drinks pumpkin spice in August? It’s 85 degrees outside.” Daizy states her opinion loudly, catching the scowl of a the poor girl minding her business and drinking her latte on a bench. I snort, rearranging my grip on the box labeled Books.

“You’re just a ray of sunshine today, aren’t you?” I tease her as we climb the Dormitory steps.

“I just can’t believe you’re leaving me for some stuffy college in Chicago,” she complains.

“I can’t believe you’re not coming with me,” I retort. We slip past a couple making out in the hallway. Daizy makes a face at them before catching up with me.

“This place is well above my tax bracket,” she tells me. I count down the door numbers until we reach our destination. Room 203B. I kick the slightly ajar door with my foot, the waft of fresh paint and stale air hitting me.

My roommate has beaten me here, marking her territory by setting off an apparent bomb in the room. Foul smelling clothes are strung about, boxes sit in groups everywhere, including both beds. She’s got messy black hair and a general unpleasant disposition to her, staring at me as I walk in.

“Um, hi. I’m your roommate. You must be Hailey?” I readjust the box to shake her hand but she ignores it, returning to a box on her chosen bed. I wade through the landfill that was once our room. I try to set the box down without disturbing any of Hailey’s things, but Daizy makes a show of sweeping all the items off my bed with her arm. A waterfall of junk falls to the ground loudly. Hailey’s head turns to quick I think she’s snapped her neck.

“HEY!”

“Ever heard of manners, Halsey?” Daizy scolds.

“It’s Hailey,”

“Whatever.”

“Dude!” I whisper-yell to my best friend. The last thing I need is to get off on the wrong foot with my roommate and have to endure her wrath the entire semester. Honestly, I can’t help but be disappointed; my faith in the college’s random roommate assignment program completely shattered.

Their silent standoff awkwardly disperses, leaving a thick blanket of tension in its place. I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe and my clothes feel too tight. I squeeze my left hand in my right, tugging on my fingers one-by-one anxiously. Daizy glances down at my hands and sighs, “Alright. Let’s get all your stuff up here and call your brother.”

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

I’m buzzing with a concoction of anticipation and excitement as I sit in the cafe, my oat milk latte long forgotten. Staring out the glass front of the shop, I perk up a little at every man with dark hair that passes by. Daizy occasionally laughs at me, reminding me it’s only been two years since I’ve seen my older brother, not a lifetime.

It feels like a lifetime.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t chose this college because Benjamin had chosen it. Well, he played a great factor in it at least. Whilst I had Daizy and am forever grateful for her, Ben had practically raised me and his absence left a palpable hole in my life. I didn’t blame him for leaving; a prestigious school in Chicago and an excuse to leave our parents in the dust would bend the strongest wills. I was simply collateral damage, and I endured two years of torture at the hand of our parents until I graduated high school.

Besides, getting into The University of Chicago was damn near one of the highest honors someone in our family could receive. With a 7% acceptance rate, I felt like I’d received a letter from Hogwarts when my acceptance came in the mail. It was probably the only time I’d ever seen my parents proud of me, despite yay 4.0 GPA and several letters from different sports. “Your brother was Valedictorian with a 5.0 in Honors,” they’d tell me. Yeah, well, fuck Honors.

“I drove 16 hours from Houston to see this asshole, he better show,” Daizy says affirmatively, and I imagine what she’d do to Ben if he ditched. Wring him out like a rag, probably. I cock a brow at her and she rolls her eyes. “And to be with you, of course.”

“Thank you again for driving me,” I smile. Daizy drives like she’s got 10 lives, but given that the alternative was to ask one of my parents to drive, I was more than happy to risk my life on a cross-country journey with her.

She grins, flipping her insanely long black and purple hair over her shoulder before reaching across the table to grab my hand. She squeezes it reassuringly.

The French doors of the Cafe swing open, prompting the dainty ring of a brass bell hung from the ceiling. Both of our heads snap in that direction, my brother standing with his hands in the pockets of his blue jeans.

I stare at him, gobsmacked, until he opens his arms.

“No warm hello for your big brother?” He laughs. I stand abruptly, running across the room to him. I jump into him with a thump, and he lets out an oomph on impact. I hug him tightly, and suddenly I’m that annoying little kid who’d follow him around everywhere again. He squeezes me tightly as we rock side to side a bit.

“Holy shit, you look old! College has aged you,” I tell him when I finally let go.

He shoves my shoulder. “Still a Shithead, I see,”

I pretend like it hurt, but he’s not looking at me anymore. He’s looking over my head, jaw hung slack ever so slightly.

“BEN!” Daizy says, way too enthusiastically, jogging to him. I’m suddenly very awkwardly in the way as they embrace each other and he plants a kiss on her cheek.

Ugh, gross. They’ve been obviously in love with each other since we were kids, but God forbid either of them admit it. The closest they’ve ever gotten was a New Years kiss at a sweaty high school party, but they never mentioned it after that night. I’m not opposed to the idea of them together, only apprehensive; because in the event they’d split, I’d have to chose one over the other. The idea alone makes my stomach churn.

“It’s been so long!” Daizy pulls away form him barely, still gripping onto his shoulders.

“Are you in town a while? You should come by the apartment. We live just down the road,” Benjamin starts.

“We?” I echo.

He shrugs. “My roommates and I,”

“You didn’t tell us you had roommates,” Daizy adds inquisitively.

My brother nods. “Used to be four of us, now there’s three. Some guys I met in school,”

“An apartment filled with college boys, what’s the worst that could happen?” I joke.

“We function quite well. Thank you very much,” my brother dismisses as his phone starts ringing. He digs into his pocket, face falling as he swipes the screen. “Hey, what’s up?” There’s muffled words on the other end. “He did what? Jesus Christ. Yeah. Let me run by the bank, I’ll be there.” He hangs up, rubbing his face.

“What’s wrong?” I query.

“It’s my friend Eddie. Got himself into trouble, again. I gotta go. Call me later, yeah?” He says hurriedly, leaning forward to kiss the side of my head and hug me. Then he’s gone, just as swift as he’d arrived, and for a moment I question if he was ever here at all.

I scrunch my nose up, trying not to feel bitter. My fantasy of catching up with my brother just that, a fantasy, I relent and decide it’s time to face my creepy roommate.

It’s just one year, right?

Grabbing Daizy’s hang, I tug her out the doors and into the busy streets of Chicago.

⊱ ────── {⋆❉⋆} ────── ⊰

The unfortunate part about August is that, while beautiful, it’s hot as fuck. Not quite as ‘I’m going to melt alive’ hot as July, but enough that the lack of air conditioning in the Dorms has been wanting to peel my skin off for a semblance of relief. I toss and turn in the night, sleep evading me. I’m sticky with sweat and my chest heaves against the stuffy air. Giving in, I lay on my back and stare up at the ceiling.

I sit there, in the darkness, questioning every choice that lead up to this point, when my legs begin to tickle and itch.

Fantastic, I’ve got heat rash. I lean down to scratch at my legs like a wild animal, but stop when my nails brush against something soft and smooth.

Something crawls up my leg.

I squint against the darkness, the faint glow from the streetlight outside reflecting through the blinds. A cylindrical bug, about the size a quarter, scurries against my sheet.

A cockroach. There’s a fucking cockroach in my bed.

I scream, kicking my blankets off and scrambling to turn on my bedside lamp. A face—shrouded by darkness before—meets mine at the edge of the bed, just inches away. Hailey grins down at me. I scream again, petrified, and tumble out of bed.

“JESUS CHRIST! THERE’S BUGS IN THE ROOM!” I cry, running my hands over myself to check for more.

“I know,” Hailey smiles.

I stop dead in my tracks. “Did you… did you put fucking roaches in my bed?!”

She tilts her head to the side.

I think I saw this in a movie once. She’s going to skin me alive and wear me as a hat.

I scoff. “Psychopath. God!” I exasperate, snatching my phone off the nightstand. “I’ll see you on the 5’o clock news for murder.” I murmur but I don’t think she hears me. She watches me leave, that uncanny grin never leaving her lips. I shiver to shake the sickening feeling.

It doesn’t settle in just how screwed I am until my bare feet hit the pavement. A drizzle of rain trickles down my face and wets my hair. I roll my eyes and groan. Of course. This is just perfect. Murderer roommate, bugs, and now rain.

I clutch my pone tight in my hand. I contemplate calling Daizy, but I feel I’ve asked her for enough favors recently. Defeated, I sigh and click on my brother’s name.

The last thing in our text thread is his address, with the message: sorry to run out like that. Stop by sometime. I click on it, pleasantly surprised by the 8 minute walk icon. Peering up at the black, starless sky, raindrops getting in my eyes, I sigh heavily and begin my barefooted decent to my brother’s apartment.

It’s 1:04 AM when I reach the red brick building. I double check the address and triple check the apartment number before knocking on the bright blue door. Aggressively, unwavering. At some point knocks turn into pounds as I’m desperate to awaken my big brother.

The door flies open. Ben stands in the doorway, beer in hand and eyes hooded.

“There’s cockroaches in my dorm, it’s the temperature of Hell and I’m pretty sure my roommate is the Jeffery Dahmer reincarnate,” I blurt out, tears stinging eyes.

He blinks. “Normal people start with ‘hi’.

I frown and he shrugs, opening the door the rest of the way and gesturing for me to come inside. I oblige, turning back around to face him.

“Bugs, Ben. She put bugs in my bed. You know how I am about things with too many legs—“

“—Nothing should have more than four legs, it’s excessive and creepy,” he mimicks me. “Yes, yes. I know. The legs,” he shakes his hands and raises his voice, pretending to be a girl, which he’s terrible at.

“She was staring at me, while I was sleeping. Like she wanted to—“

Someone clears their throat.

I spin around, hair whipping me in the face. My heart drops into my ass as I lock eyes with two boys sitting on the weathered leather couch. One with long, unruly black curls; covered in tattoos and plucking at a guitar. And the other, all puppy dog eyes and sandy hair, sipping on a beer of his own.

“Hello there,” the one with dark hair chuckles, grabbing his own beer to slyly take a swig of his PBR can.

“Eddie, don’t start. Your stupid ass is still grounded for getting yourself thrown in jail,” Ben groans, stepping between us.

I’m suddenly feeling very self conscious in my sleep shorts and t shirt, not much left to the imagination. I wrap my arms around myself, a useless gesture.

“That guy was asking for it,” Eddie defends.

The guy next to Eddie on the small couch is silent, arm stretched over the back and staring at me. I sweat, unable to peel my eyes away from his. He’s beautiful, to put it simply. Sun-kissed skin against dark eyes and oaky hair that frames his sharp features.

“Hey, man. Didn’t your mom ever teach you that starin’s rude?” Eddie scolds jokingly, covering the other’s eyes. “How come you don’t ever look at me like that, huh Stevie boy?” he cackles, and I realize he may be drunk, as he grips Steve’s face and plants a loud kiss to his cheek.

Steve recoils, pushing his friend away. “Gross, get off me dude,” they take turns shoving each other.

“Alright, you delinquents. That’s enough,” Ben speaks to them like a disappointed parent, ripping the blanket off the back of the couch and handing it to me. I take it graciously, wrapping it around myself. “This is my baby sister Y/N. She’s off limits, that’s a line you don’t cross, ever. She’ll sleep in my room tonight though, since you two can’t be trusted,” he steps between myself and the sofa, drawing a metaphorical ‘line in the sand’ mid-air.

“The line,” he appoints theatrically. “Do. Not. Cross it.”

Steve nods. Eddie salutes drunkenly, his eyes nowhere near focused on Ben. I suppress a laugh.

Ben wraps his arm around my shoulders, spinning me around to walk down the hallway. “Now, why don’t you calmly tell me what happened?”

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #eddie munson #female reader #friends to lovers #slow burn #x reader #joe keery

54 notes · View notes

halfmoonshines · 1 day ago

Text

marc spector/steven grant/jake lockley x reader

summary: you loved all of your boys equally. most days.

or; they're all amazing in their own ways, but definitely have their strong suits.

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

You were going to strangle Marc Spector, you were sure of it. You were also sure that Steven would forgive you, and Jake probably wouldn't bat an eye.

How many times had you told this man that you had a laundry basket for a reason? Fist of Vengeance or not, his socks still stunk and you were getting tired of padding around the apartment twice a week collecting them all.

You slammed the washer door shut a little too hard just as you heard the front door open and click shut.

"I'm home, love! They had a great deal on your favorite cream cheese at the shops." Steven's honey accent pierces the quiet of your anger and you immediately simmer; his sunny disposition a cold water on your raging fire. You had nearly forgotten that he was the one who went to the store.

"That's great." You said as you rounded the corner, a smile on your face.

Steven paused in his unloading the groceries, a furrow creasing his brow. "Are you alright, sweets? You look tense." He crossed the small kitchen over to you, hands settling lightly on your shoulders. Leave it to Steven to see the slightest bit of tension in you.

You have a loving eye roll, moving closer to wrap your own arms around him. "I'm okay, Steven. Just slightly peeved at Marc for being so messy."

His hold dropped to your waist and he rested his chin on top of your head, a mirthful chuckle rumbling out of his chest. "That he is, love. Right disgusting bugger. Shall we do something about him?"

"I thought you wouldn't take kindly to me choking him with the next dirty sock I find."

"I'm sure I can look the other way."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

"You're being ungrateful, you need to actually listen to me-"

Conversations with your mother never went over well, but this time you were well tired of listening to it.

"I am not being ungrateful, Sharon. I'm being realistic. Don't call me again." You slammed the phone down with a force, shaking the glass of water you had perched on the dining table. You winced, knowing that smart phones weren't made to take that kind of beating but you were far past the point of caring.

She always knew how to rile you up; to upset you and make you feel guilty. You didn't even know why you bothered to pick up her calls anymore. Some sick sense of ownership.

The hands that turned you were warm and familiar, the chest that greeted you smelling of musk and pine.

"You want to talk about it?" Marc's voice made you wince. Steven was the one that left the house this morning, you hadn't been aware that they planned to switch. You hated talking about this stuff with Marc, knowing full well it never compared to the relationship he suffered with his own mother.

You gave a shake of your head and met his dark brown gaze. "It's fine, babe. Same old attitude."

Marc's smirk lacked the usual humor. He raised one of his hands to twirl a loose piece of your hair, tracing the movement with his eyes. "You know you don't have to bottle it up, right? How you feel is important. Don't ignore that just because I have my own issues."

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. "That's quite the self aware statement, Mr. Spector. I'm impressed."

Marc's smile morphed into that familiar one and he returned your earlier eye roll. "Don't deflect. I'm here if you want to talk."

You dropped your hand to his and started to pull him towards the kitchen. "We can talk while we cook. I'm starving."

"I can agree with that."

..••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••....••°°°°••..

You were being followed, you were sure of it. You tried not to hasten your steps too much, knowing full well that the person who had been following you for the last six blocks would give chase.

You wouldn't escape them.

You and the boys had obviously gone through this kind of situation before. Being the fist of Khonshu didn't come with a fan club, but it certainly did build a repertoire of enemies. If they lived, that is.

Your breath was puffing out of you in clouds as you power walked down a road parallel to your own, debating the merits on showing this man where you lived on the off chance that Marc was home.

You could hear the footsteps behind you speed up and you returned it in kind, kicking into a slow jog - all pretense of being unaware going out the window.

You glanced over your shoulder to see the man approaching quickly, and that was the first mistake you made.

The second one was hesitating when another men stepped out of the shadows of a store front. You knocked into him firmly, breath escaping out of your chest while his harsh grip dug into your shoulders.

Oh, you were fucked.

The man who had been following you caught up to you then, hand clasping over your mouth to muffle the strangled scream you had attempted.

Those training sessions in the living room with Jake felt like a distant memory with the blood pumping through your veins. You kicked wildly at the man in front of you, managing to graze that sensitive bit between his legs.

"I'm going to enjoy this so much more now." The accent was Irish, but you were quickly distracted by the large knife he brought up to your throat.

You stopped thrashing, all too aware of the sharp tip of steel biting into the sensitive skin on your neck. A stray tear rolled out of your eye, fate becoming more concrete.

"Hurry it up, Joey. We don't have time to dally."

"Shut yer pipe-" The man holding the knives voice gurgled briefly before he collapsed on the ground in front of you, the tips of crescent moon shaped knives poking out of the front of his chest.

You found him instantly, half masked by the shadows on the street.

"Bloody fuck." The man holding you simply tightened his hold, one hand fisting in your hair and yanking your head back. The squeal you gave wasn't by choice but you could see the start that the suited man watching you gave. "Stay over there, white devil, or she will die with me. Do you hear-"

You almost didn't see it, the knife being thrown but it was embedded in the goon's throat before your next breath. He released you all at once and you fell forward from the force, gloved hands catching you before you could hit the pavement.

You were heaving breaths, vaguely aware that you were going into something akin to shock but unable to pull yourself out.

"Breathe, mi corazon. You need to take slow breaths." Jake's own hands were shaking almost imperceptibly, you could tell that he was struggling to keep a lid on his fury.

You dragged in a deep breath through your nose, forcing yourself to sit on it before exhaling. You folded into his embrace, fresh tears springing into your eyes. "I'm sorry."

Jake's scoff was almost offensive. "What the fuck are you sorry about?"

You gestured to yourself haphazardly. "Completely losing my shit the first time that something happens to me."

The suit disappeared then, his bare hand gripping your chin lightly, bringing your gaze to his. There was fire churning there, and you realized you mistook some of his anger. There was fear there too. For you, though. Never himself.

"Don't you ever apologize to me when there's," His hand lowered a bit, ghosting over the line of red that the knife had left on your throat. "Blood dripping down you. Blood that's my fault." You understood then, the hard clench of his jaw. "Mierda, babe. This could've ended so differently."

Your hand wraps around the his wrist, bringing it into your lap, willing him to look at you instead of the wound he was fixated on. "But it wasn't. Because you were here. I'm okay, Jake."

Something flashed in his eyes, and a cloud passed over his face. He was bottling it up, you could tell, but there wasn't much you could do about that right now. "Let's get you home."

You let him help you off the pavement, keeping a grounding hand on his arm. Jake hesitated a moment, question poised on his tongue.

"What is it?"

"Are you sure you're okay? If you want to talk it out, I can step back. It would probably be good to have someone to talk to-"

Your kiss was chaste, but served its purpose of shutting him up. "If I wanted to talk about it, I could do that with you, Jake. You don't need to go anywhere."

"You know I'm not very good at that-"

"You're perfect." You insisted. No room for arguments.

He smiled wryly, arm wrapping around your waist. "How about I run you a bath when we get home and we order some takeout. What are you hungry for?"

"Surprise me."

#marc spector #marc spector x f!reader #steven grant #steven grant x f!reader #jake lockley x f!reader #jake lockley #moon knight #mcu #my works #moon knight fanfiction

47 notes · View notes

blueberrypancakesworld · 3 days ago

Text

Meeting at the snack machine

Simon Kalivoda x fem!reader (nurse)

warning : fluff, kiss, mutual feelings, implied past relationship

Summary : What was for them a normal night shift at the Shadyville hospital was for Simon and his friends a nightmare that had just begun. A nightmare that seemed to have arisen from the town's past and that, by pure chance, brought Simon to a person he hadn't seen in a long time, but the shared memory was all the stronger.

info : I knew I had to write for Fred again and the stories for Simon are far from over. I wish you lots of fun ;)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The evening began as usual with her alarm clock which seemed too shrill and too loud, a yawn and a tired look later she was standing in the bathroom under the shower trying to keep her eyes open.

A quick breakfast in the evening and less than two hours later she was in her blue uniform in the nurse's room, stowing her things in her locker before setting off for her shift.

It was the same every day, every week and every month, getting up, eating breakfast and trying not to fall asleep on the way to the hospital before she started her shift, taking turns with her tired colleagues who were glad to get home.

,,Have a good shift!” she heard the goodbyes of her colleagues before she took the clipboards and went through the individual complaints and requests of the patients.

Whether it was refilling water, emptying a bag or washing hair after there was food inside, there was always variety and even though she had vowed to get out of the city, this feeling of helping and doing something good for others was somehow addictive, especially here.

Addiction was a word that meant a lot in her job and her freedom, gone were the weekends and weeks when she had gotten a little too drunk, taken a few pills and worried about nothing in the world.

Now here the only dependency was the money she got from this job, ,,And only for another forty years,” she muttered as she stepped out of the hallway and decided to just check the medicine cabinet.

Although her tiredness was gone, the toast with jam and the few pieces of fruit made themselves heard a few hours into her shift, a growl that was audible to others but was unmistakable to her.

Especially in Shadyside the later it seemed to get the less interesting the town seemed to become, especially from the other side you could hear the partying and the loud music of festivals something the inhabitants here could only dream of.

Festivals and concerts here in the city would probably lead to a fire and a storm, which is why people were rather glad that everything was quiet and still and that there were no accidents and murders, which were not only bad enough but also turned the otherwise uneventful hospital into a crowd of onlookers.

Sighing to herself, she just said, ,,Maybe there's a banana in the hall” and decided to go to the front of the floor where the reception area was located and she found one of her colleagues and coworkers looking just as bored and tired as she was.

The night shift was the shift where no one called in despite the little extra pay, it was like being a ghost in Shadyside it was so dead quiet.

The morning and midday shifts were busier, more people came in and there was even a sense of hope, which was helped by seeing the sun instead of the moon whenever you looked outside.

The same brief smile was exchanged between them and a ,,Thank you lifesaver” came from her as she was handed the yellow fruit and opened it, so it seemed like it was going to be another uneventful shift...what she didn't know though was as she disappeared back to her floor, footsteps and more importantly screams approached the hospital.

A small group in the middle of which was someone who had the same hunger as her and whose circumstances were slightly different from hers, but both would meet again sooner than they thought.

The papers and folders had priority but when the phone rang at her station she picked it up, ,,Emergency room on the line, what's up?” she asked and heard her colleague on the other end, ,,A couple of kids just showed up, could you pick up some bandages but could also be a Halloween prank” and hung up again.

A sigh came over her lips as she walked a step faster and rummaged through the cupboards and drawers for the utensils, there had been many times in the last few years and especially weeks and months since the incident in the mall the teenagers seemed to be particularly amused and play such false alarms.

If not she could at least do her job and get some variety, mostly it was just small cuts from broken bottles anyway, rarely anything bigger.

With the bandages and the necessary extra to make her way to the lobby, she didn't see the gang tampering with something down the hall, ,,I hope you're not taking the piss, do you need anything else?” she said to the group, spotting a few familiar faces from parties and especially fights with the sunny, happy bastards.

But the nervousness and the blood, which looked a little too dark to be artificial, made her a little uneasy - what had happened?

She was just about to exchange a few words with Kate when Deena asked her for some tape to fix the whole thing, which she acknowledged with a ,,Sure, wait a minute” and headed back to her room where more equipment was stored.

But first of all, she passed a certain snack machine where she saw someone who made her pause, ,,Simon? What on earth are you doing here?” she asked even though it was obvious and the blonde looked up from the vending machine.

A familiar broad smile appeared on his face and he leaned against the machine, ,,My nurse, it's been a long time,” he said, yet he seemed happy to see his former companion and perhaps more since she had left school early to start here at the hospital.

A chain of unfavorable events, as they often were in Shadyside, had brought them apart and also brought them together again, ,,Still the broadly grinning, troublemaking Simon,” she replied, not quite knowing whether she should shake his hand, wave, talk or embrace, a decision he took from her and she got into a brief, intimate embrace.

Hands clasped briefly and yet not unfamiliar, a verne memory something that made her heart beat, ,,You know me, Doc,” he winked and she rolled her eyes at the nickname they had really thought she was going to be a doctor and now she was a nurse almost the same.

He hadn't changed in the past month still had the slightly curly hair, a hopeful slightly silly smile and a cute demeanor, ,,Are you assigned to pick up snacks?” she asked, pointing to the glowing vending machine from which he leaned away and pointed to some of the merchandise.

Apparently Simon and his friends had had more than one successful night with the odd creepy incident, ,,I'd love to but no change” he replied and she pushed him aside only slightly not seeing him look away embarrassed as her hand settled on his chest.

How gentle and yet guiding she was, something that had been reflected not only in the bedroom but also in the consumption of pills.

A consumption that had often led them both to each other, from taking them together, smoking, drinking and perhaps the first kiss and more.

With a few deft grabs and a final tap on the drink symbol, the machine gave a rustle and jerk before all the snacks fell down one by one, ,,Who needs change when you've got me?” she replied, pressing the snack bags into his hands, hands resting on top of each other for perhaps a moment longer than necessary.

Maybe she should have walked away, let Simon and the past they had experienced together be a thing of the past and maybe she shouldn't have looked into those blue, engaging blue eyes.

,,Does this work?” Simon's question took her out and she followed his gaze to her chest where the stethoscope lay in her hand, ,,Sure here" she replied and held it out to him, at first he seemed to want to give it back to her but when he realized what he could do with it he took it.

Putting the earpiece of the stethoscope in her ear, she moved a little closer to him, ,,Don't be frightened, my patient,” he grinned and pressed the surface of her breast lightly, wishing her body wouldn't betray her, her heart seemed to jump out of her chest as much as his.

It was like when they used to lie on the couch, cuddling and foggy-headed from a little too much grass, hearts united and just enjoying each other's company. ,,I-I think you're fine,” he stammered, handing her back the stethoscope, which she put back on and silence fell between them.

Their eyes met again and again, hands brushed past each other and only when they heard the shouts and voices of the others did they both flinch, ,,I think we should go back,” she cleared her throat and pointed into the corridor when she suddenly felt his hand on hers.

Turning around, she felt his lips on hers the next moment, finally feeling the kiss again that she had hoped for so long, ,,I still had to thank my nurse,” he had found his mood again and with a wink pulled her after him to the others...maybe they should meet at the snack machine more often than just every few months.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@tori111777 , @simonsrealwife , @bel0ved-heretic , @amecchii , @xxxibgdrgons , @lordbelzeebub , @cowgyaru

#fear street #fear street 1994 #fear street simon kalivoda #simon kalivoda #simon kalivoda x reader #male x female #reader is female #fred hechinger

37 notes · View notes

damn-stark · 19 hours ago

Text

Chapter 36 Have you left a seat for me?

Final chapter of Moonlight

A/N- The final chapter! but there will be an epilogue!!

Warning- some angst, FLUFF!!!! Talks of death and violence, SPOILERS!! FOR FUTURE EVENTS OF HOTD, USING FIRE AND BLOOD, long chapter.

Pairing- Aemond Targaryen x Velaryon!fem-reader, Cregan Stark x Velaryon!fem-reader

Episode/Pages- Past 578

(If you want to be tagged let me know)

————

And there he is ever so gracefully under the moonlight, like a wild wolf admiring the beautiful moon. Only Cregan is very quietly watching over your son as he continues to talk to Alys, making sure that she doesn’t…cast a spell on him you assume? He is very wary of her because of what she can do.

“How is it going?” You interrupt his silence even though he already heard you approaching him since you were a few paces back.

“I do not know,” he shares as he peers over his shoulder and watches you break the barrier of space that was between you by wrapping your arms around his waist, and then pressing a kiss on his shoulder blade before resting your chin on his shoulder.

“He left dinner a while ago to come talk to her again,” he adds as he turns his head away to continue watching the pair distancing themselves from the Weirwood tree—“At least he hasn’t turned into a frog.”

You roll your eyes and gently knee the back of his leg, causing him to laugh breathlessly as he cups your hands wrapped around him before drifting his gaze to the corner of his eyes to be able to look at you.

“We can ask in the morning,” you try to assure him. “Just trust her okay? Has Alys given you a reason to distrust her? Alys likes the kids. All of them. If she didn’t she wouldn’t have agreed to help.”

Cregan hums in comprehension and then turns around to be able to look at you, letting you see his conflicted eyes brewing under the moonlight. “I tried talking to Jacaerys, but he brushed me off. Again.”

You watch the desperation in his eyes and lift your hand to stroke his jaw. “My love, he’s drinking right now and carried away with his brothers. Try again when he’s sober. Alright?”

Cregan nods his head and then lifts his hand to caress your arms. “I have been dropping my woes on you, how was your funeral?”

The softness taking ahold of your eyes fades and that sorrow and ache once again contorts your face. Cregan notices right away and interjects rapidly. “I am sorry I could not be at your side. I wanted to…”

“But Aemond would not have liked it,” you finish his sentence and move away from him to start leading him away from the Godswood. “So it’s okay. I already told you it was. Besides, the girls were at my side in your place.”

“And because they wanted to be there too,” he adds, causing you to respond with a small smile that tells him that you know that too.

“And I'm grateful for it…” You trail off and your smile fades whilst agony quickly takes over the sorrow as you think back to what Aerion said and did earlier.

“Do you think…I did something wrong to make Aerion and Daenys forsake their father?” You have to ask out of helplessness because what Aerion said has been gnawing at your mind all night and wounding your heart for Aemond— “You know I tried to keep our people from speaking ill of him when they lived in Winterfell, and I never talked bad about him to them either, but they still don’t acknowledge him. That’s why Daenys didn’t bother showing up for his funeral.”

Cregan glances at you and sees your distress and guilt clearly spewing out, making this conversation easier to navigate. “They know what you told them. They remember your efforts of painting him in a good light so they can look at him fondly, but, my darling, they are adults now and you cannot keep the world silent.”

Your frown deepens and you whisper. “I know.”

He swallows back nervously and continues to be brutal but honest. “They were going to learn about their father's doings and form their own opinion about him one way or another. Besides, they…didn’t know him as you did, so the good shared by one person cannot outweigh the bad written in history and shared by thousands.”

You draw in a shaky breath and nod, leaving a silence to spread between you and linger as you make your way to your dragon. Cregan doesn’t know that but he follows you anyhow with the silence not bothering him.

“One time,” you break the silence and keep the melancholy emotions running high. “A Red Priestess told me that three of my children would be followed by sin,” you pause and Cregan looks at you bewildered, not because he finds what you’re saying absurd, but because he can’t believe you seem to take words from the priestess so seriously.

“I have tried to break my head trying to figure out what she meant for so long…”

Cregan sighs out of annoyance but he doesn’t fail to amuse you. “What does it mean?” He probes.

You glance at the starry sky and share what you assume. “Daenerys is a bastard. We cannot deny that. We can't spin it any other way. She was created while I was married to Aemond,” you say with no actual guilt or distress because you don’t let that fact bother you anymore—“And Daenys and Aerion will always be overshadowed by the actions of their father and me. Kinslayers. Every time someone figures out who their parents are, that's the first thing that will come to mind. That sin.” Your voice breaks but tears don’t spill. You continue to look distressed.

“That should not bother you. They’re words of a witch. I have told you this many times.”

“But it does,” you retort and drop your eyes on him. “Because it’s what makes me a bad mother.”

Cregan lifts his eyebrow and leans his face towards you to whisper. “If you’re a bad parent then I am one too. I cannot talk to my sons and in turn, they don’t trust me enough to bear their sorrows on me. They think I hate them because I cannot simply talk to them. I am too cold. I am their Lord rather than their father, so don’t bear that burden alone.”

You hold his gaze and your eyes soften with awe as you let out a soft and relieved scoff. In turn, Cregan strokes your chin and then drags his hand up to caress your cheek, making you lean into his touch.

“I love you,” you remind him, making a warmth creep onto his cheeks and a timid smile tug on his lips.

“I love you too,” he doesn’t hesitate to redirect.

You hold his grey eyes for a second longer before you look ahead and pick up your speed as you walk past the castle gates and see Astraea curled up outside the wall since she’s too big to fit within the castle walls and too protective to stray far to find a nice open space to rest.

“<Look at you!>” You exclaim to your beloved dragon in High Valyrian and skip before you jog to her. “<Too worried to go far?>” You ask. “<Good girl,>” You coo as you reach Astraea and throw your arms around her snout.

This time Astraea fills her silence by letting out an affectionate growl. You proceed to caress her and press your forehead against her, choosing to leave it there for a moment, but then getting interrupted by the sound of a word that sends you in alert. “Mother.”

Your eyes snap open and you move away from Astraea without letting her go to follow the sound and that’s when you catch Jacaerys sitting against Astraea with a goblet in his hand that he lifts in the air for you, and Cregan walking up behind you.

“Father.”

You share a quick glance with Astraea and then let your hands slip to slowly approach Jacaerys. “I’m surprised you’re out here, Jace.”

He scoffs and takes a long drink of wine before he gives you his response. “Why? You should know I’m going to enjoy my last bits of freedom before I am forced to wither away at the Wall.”

You blink repeatedly out of nervousness and then you snap at him. “Jacaerys. We already talked. Don’t—”

“All for you father,” he cuts you off and pushes the cup toward Cregan slowly making his way to you and Jacaerys.

“Jacaerys.”

“It's alright,” Cregan assures you. “He may speak his mind.”

Jacaerys rolls his eyes away as he turns his head away. Cregan reaches where you are and pats your arm before walking past you to be closer to Jacaerys.

“Why are you mad at me, Jace?” Cregan asks, making your stomach knot with concern. Especially as Jacaerys keeps quiet for a while.

Astraea senses this and turns her head to gently tap your side with her snout so you can relax. And you do take a breath but you still feel worried. More so as Jacaerys finally meets his father's eyes.

“Because of you and this need to send me away to the Wall,” he finally snaps with his eyebrows quickly furrowing. “I may not be next in line to be Lord like Rickon or Maekor. I may not have dragon dreams like Torrhen, or be married to a lady with a powerful family, but have you ever thought about what I wanted and not what you wanted? Have you thought about the fact that wasting away with a bunch of old men is not what I consider honorable? It’s always, “It's an honor”, or “It’s your duty”, that I started to be someone that I wasn’t to believe it, but I’m tired. I do not want to be a Brother of the Night's watch. That’s not me.”

Cregan drops his head and places his arms on his hips, whilst Jacaerys glances over at you with a flicker of surprise over the fact that he just said all that to his father. And as Cregan remains quiet Jacaerys speechlessly asks for reassurance so you offer him a small nod and a gentle smile, letting him draw in a deep breath and return his attention to his father.

“Then what do you want, Jacaerys?” Cregan interjects as he lifts his eyes off the ground to look at Jacaerys without anger. It would be heard in his voice if he was angry.

“I,” said man pauses but not because he’s caught off guard or clueless. He just exhales and then continues. “I cannot have a dragon like mother, but maybe I want to sail and…see the world like Yi-Ti, or some other distant land. This world is big. I don't want to just waste away in some corner imagining what it might look like when I have the ability to actually know it.”

A proud smile spreads on your face as you hear your son's dream. One similar to the one you had once upon a time.

“It was told to me that a Stark always had to serve the Wall. With all your brothers having a place in this world, I placed that duty on you without taking your opinion under consideration. And maybe if your mother had been another woman I would have forced you, but…” Cregan pauses and looks back at you with an admiring smile. “I have heard your words before. I know that girl would want nothing more than to let you go and do what she couldn’t,” he says, making your smile tremble—“So go if you want Jace,” he directs back at his son. “Or stay. Follow your heart. Be free and keep dreaming in ways that girl couldn’t.”

Jacaerys eyes fall and you see his mind racing so you approach Cregan and hook your arm around his. He turns his head and presses a kiss on the top of your head.

“Mother…is it true?” Jacaerys questions since your past desires are something you haven’t shared with your kids. It’s been forgotten for a long time until now.

“Once. I always wanted more, but your father helped me see that I already had so much in what I was given. I just had to learn to see it and enjoy it. Besides…my place was always here. I learned that long ago, but your place…is wherever you want it to be because you don’t have the burdens we did…so be free Jace.”

Said man nods in comprehension and his breath shudders as he lowers his head again. Cregan takes this time to approach him and take a seat beside him without uttering a word. He just sits with his son, causing the boy to slowly look at his father with an appreciative smile.

Cregan slowly meets his gaze and offers a sweet smile in return, making your heart swoon as you watch the silent interaction from where you stand.

——

*A FEW DAYS LATER*

“<Trust me we’re getting out of here now,>” you assure Astraea since she’s not a fan of the Riverlands. “<But I do have to tell you that when we get to King’s Landing you’ll have to fly to Dragonstone. Aegon…” you breathe out as you stroke her face. “Is not a fan of you, so stay at Dragonstone until it’s time to leave okay?>”

Astraea, like always doesn’t respond, you know she listens but she can’t respond.

“Are you flying Astraea to Kings Landing?” You hear a voice travel into your ears, making your hands fall off Astraea to turn and face Torrhen joining you and your dragon in the field past the castle walls.

“Not yet. I don’t want to leave you all behind for two weeks,” you let him know and watch Astraea as she pushes herself up and crawls closer to Torrhen to nudge him gently.

“About that,” Torrhen brings up softly as he lays his eyes on Astraea. “I am going to stay with Alys. Just until you make your way back this way. After that, I am leaving back home with you.”

You blink in surprise and then your eyebrows knot together. “Are you…sure? You don’t want to go see your sister? Or your uncles?”

Torrhen's grey eyes slowly find you and he sighs before he explains his reasoning. “I would like to, but I have been learning so much from Alys, and she still has a lot to teach me. I don’t want to waste this opportunity, not while my mind is still rampant. I still cannot make sense of what I see, but…the weight of them is not as heavy anymore and it’s thanks to her.”

Your confusion and concern falls and the corner of your lips show your amusement as it rises. “And you didn’t want to talk to her,” you remark teasingly, making him laugh under his breath.

“Maybe after this, I can be unburdened by my dreams and visions and be carefree like her,” he adds, causing you to fall serious and close the space between you to wrap your hand around his arm and gently caress him.

“If that's what you believe then stay,” you assure him since even if he wasn’t asking, he was still seeking your opinion without demanding it. “And then come home,” you press, but quickly break into a smile to let him know you’re not all that serious about demanding him home.

“Or don’t. If that’s what you want. I will be sad, but it is normal.”

Torrhen shows his pity, but he quickly consoles you. “My place is still at home. Do not worry.”

You scoff and nod lightly in comprehension before you let go of his arm and offer him a sweet smile. “Stay then, and after…talk to your father? Him and Jacaerys talked, so maybe you can try talking with him now.”

Torrhen sees the desperation and the plea in your eyes so even if he’s hesitant he tries to please you. “I will try. I swear.”

You let out a breath of relief and when he notices the change on your face he flashes you a faint smile before he licks his lips and tries to share his concern. “Will you be okay when you return to King's Landing?”

You have returned to King’s Landing many times already, so going shouldn’t bring you so much conflict, but you still grow stiff and nervously avert your gaze. “I always am,” you respond in a stiff voice and then drift your eyes over to him to offer him a faint smile to go with your response.

“Now,” you avoid going deeper into that conversation since he knows more than anyone you're depressing history with King’s Landing. “See us off?”

Torrhen doesn’t deny your request, he happily lets you hook your arm around him to return to the castle side by side.

The moments that follow aren’t eventful, you stick to your schedule and depart from Harrenhal to head to King’s Landing whilst also leaving Torrhen behind with Alys with no protests from anyone. Then again what could they say? Even if this would be his first time being alone away from home, he’s a man grown trying to make sense of his abilities. It’s best to leave him be so he can get his help.

Besides, the further you get away from Harrenhal and your youngest child, the less you worry about him and the more that you feel distressed by returning to King's Landing, the land where you once lived your life for fifteen years.

Happy memories were made there. Good memories you cherish, but the grief, agony, torment, and the violence that you lived through there is what makes itself present every time you think about King’s Landing and every single time you've returned because it’s a constant reminder of what you lost. Just like Dragonstone. Albeit you can actually step foot in King’s Landing, you cannot and have not returned to Dragonstone—Even if it’s been twenty-five years since your mother died.

Time was supposed to heal you. Turn your wounds into scars, and then distant and faded memories, alas, the moment you arrive to the great capital and lay your eyes on the amazing Red Keep, you curse everyone who said such a stupid thing because twenty-five years since your mother's death, twenty-six years since Aemond’s death, and twenty-seven years since the war started has not passed in your heart or your mind. The memories and the anguish are not vivid anymore, but the scar hurts, and the ache is a reminder of what you no longer have.

At least there is happiness and light in the family you do have living here though. They keep the storm at bay and break a smile on your face.

“Grandmother!” The sweet little sing-song voice of Naerys rings as she breaks out of formation and makes her way to you.

You beam right away as you see your young granddaughter running to you and meet her halfway to quickly sweep her off her feet and hold her against you. “Hello, my little songbird,” you coo as you hug her tightly. “How are you feeling, hm?” You ask right away.

“Oh grandmother I have missed you,” she lets you know before she pulls back to face you with her sweet blue eyes. “I am better.”

You grin brighter. “I’m glad to hear it. And for that, your grandfather and I have brought you a present.”

The little girl's eyes brighten as she grows giddy. “What is it? Where is it?” She asks and looks past your shoulder.

“With your grandfather. You’ll have to wait for him to get here,” you tell her, making her even more eager to know. “Now let’s put you down—”

“Hey! Where is Astraea going?!” Another young voice interjects, making you drift your eyes down to see your grandson Aemon running past you to watch Astraea fly away with a pout—“I wanted to ride her,” he complains as he crosses his arms over his chest whilst you put Naerys down and approach him from behind.

“Forgive me little one. I don’t want to distress your uncle Aegon, so she has to leave,” you tell Aemon, Daenys’ oldest child with her husband and your brother Viserys, making Naerys their youngest child and Aemon’s sister.

“Well,” Aemon huffs and turns around to face you. “Then can you promise that I will ride her with you before you leave?” He pleads and bats his eyes, making you touch your chest and melt.

“Of course, I promise, but first,” you add and crouch to be at his level. “Why don’t you show me some love, hm?”

The little boy grins brightly and then throws his arms around you, causing Naerys to join in and throw her little arms around you too.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you all. You’ve grown so much since I last saw you,” you mutter as you embrace them against you.

“I lost a tooth since we saw each other last,” Aemon shares as he peels back to show the gap where his tooth is meant to be. “Because Aegon pushed me during training.”

You stroke his chin and whisper. “Did you get a coin for that tooth?”

Aemon closes his mouth a nods, causing you to flash him one last smile before you let Naerys go and stand to your given height to turn around and face your daughter Daenys.

Once your eyes are on her, much like her daughter, she breaks from formation and makes her way to you as you make your way to her to meet each other halfway with an embrace.

“I am sorry I could not go to Harrenhal,” Daenys chooses to make that the first thing she still tells you without knowing that her brother already told you the real reason why she chose not to go.

Albeit you don’t bring it up. Like with her brother, you let her be angry and have her own emotions toward her father. Instead, you caress her back and assure her. “It’s alright. I understand. I’m just glad Naerys is okay and I could make it here to see you.”

Without needing to see her you know Daenys is smiling timidly and that’s all you need from her to let the ordeal go.

“When do the others get here? Is Alysanne coming?” She asks as you both pull away from each other and hold each other's hands.

“She is. And they should be here by the end of the day.”

Her smile widens at the sound of the news, making you stroke her cheek before you move to greet your brother Viserys, who was thought of as dead for a while, but a few years after peace was officially announced throughout the realm, a family from Lys sailed to Westeros with him aboard to bring him back home. With conditions of course, but alas, that condition abandoned Viserys a year after she had their son Aegon the Fourth.

After that condition left is when Daenys and Viserys married, out of duty, but also because they grew a liking to each other as Daenys was the Queen’s Lady-in-waiting.

“Vis,” you greet sweetly and don’t greet him with an embrace, instead you cup the back of his neck and offer him a sweet smile that he mirrors with a charm added to it.

“Sister. I’m happy to see you and I know our brother Aegon is eager too, but…” he trails off and you finish for him.

“Astraea. Yes, I assumed. How are you?”

He shrugs. “I have no reason to complain. My daughter made it out of her illness and you are here with the rest of our family soon to join…Aerion is coming, yes?”

You giggle and nod. “Of course.”

His smile grows wider and he nods in comprehension. After that, you step to the side and look down at the little boy standing beside him.

“Hello, Aegon.”

Said boy offers you a faint tight-lipped smile, but that’s it. He doesn’t mirror his siblings' excitement, so you move on to greet the Queen, Daenaera Velaryon, one of your cousins, and the second wife to your brother Aegon after Jaehaera sadly passed away not long after she was crowned Queen and before she and Aegon could have children.

Daenaera is sweet and charming. Kind and understanding which is why you were comfortable greeting your grandchildren, daughter, and brother first, because she doesn’t mind it and because to her your title as the Dowager Queen commands more respect, so she lets you be, plus she knows you’ll never leave her out, and you don’t. After you greet her, you then greet her children standing at her side, but then hastily return to her to touch her expecting belly since you treat her like you do your brothers, with affection and warmth.

Once that greeting is over nevertheless, as all the noise of your welcome has calmed down, you make your way to a drawing room in the royal apartments. One that you would spend your time at with your mother and brothers. One where the setting sun would shine through the balcony window and bask your mother ever so perfectly, making her look ethereal and angelic as she listened to you read your books in Valyrian, or sing a song.

You always liked the end of the day in that room because of that detail. You looked forward to it every day because it was always so warm and comforting. She was always so warm and comforting…

When you're there now, all that's gone, leaving only a sad memory. Thus your exhale is heavy and not relaxed, and when a knock raps on the door you expect to see someone who’s been dead a long time, but instead you see your brother Aegon walking in so you quickly get up and curtsy. “Your Grace,” you greet, and right away Aegon puts his hands out and interjects.

“Please, you do not have to do that when we’re alone. You’re the Dowager Queen. I owe you my respects,” he says and then offers you a small bow, making you giggle before you make your way around the couch to reach him.

“Dowager Queen or not you are still my King,” you argue, causing him to lower his head and then shake it.

“Perhaps but I prefer to be your brother first,” he counters and you sigh before taking his hands in yours.

“Alright…sweet brother. I’m glad to see you.”

He lifts his solemn blue eyes off the floor to meet your gaze, causing a shuddering breath to escape through your nose as a memory of your mother flashes in your mind. Aegon doesn’t look like your mother, he doesn’t have her eyes or the same color hair. His hair is also pin straight and he’s impressively tall and lean, but even so, as you look into the eyes of the little brother who was with you when your mother died, you see her in him for a fraction of a second.

“And I you,” he redirects as he gently rubs the back of your hands with his thumbs. “Is your dragon…”

“Gone?” You cut him off and then nod. “She flew to Dragonstone. She’ll stay there until it’s time to leave, so you can rest easy.”

He nods stiffly in comprehension and you proceed to take a long look at his thin face, noticing he looks a bit thinner than usual. “Aegon, my sweet, have you been eating?” You ask and he pulls his hands away and nods quickly as if to brush you off.

“Quite well in fact,” he dismisses you and makes his way over to the couch to take a seat, making you walk back to sit beside him.

“Why do you come here first every time you come to King's Landing?” He cuts the other conversation short. “I always mean to ask, but I always forget.”

You intertwine your fingers together and exhale deeply as if trying to work up the courage to share the reason. As if it was costly to your scarred heart. “Uh…when I was a little girl I used to come here with our brothers and mother…”

Aegon shifts slightly at the sound of the memory but you continue.

“…it was not every evening, just some, but we would spend time here whether it be playing, talking about our day, and or doing some different activity, but,” you pause and your eyes flicker to your hands as the memory becomes more vivid than before. “One of my favorite things to do was read or sing to our mother right here on this couch because when the sun was setting it would peek through the balcony doors and all the windows and kiss her ever so gracefully, making her look…absolutely breathtaking, so I would admire her and hope every time that I would grow up to be as beautiful as her…” you trail off and peel your hands away from each other to gently rub the couch before finding the strength to look at him without feeling like you’ll cry.

However, you notice that Aegon is teary-eyed, so you reach over for his hand and cradle it.

“I wish I could have seen that,” he mutters and averts his gaze. “I wish I had been born earlier so I had more time with her like you and our brothers did.”

You give his hand a soft squeeze, causing his eyes to pull back to you and catch your pitiful smile.

“I try to talk to Viserys about our mother, or our father, but…he doesn’t remember how they look like or actually hold a single memory about our life before, so I’m alone in my grief until you’re here.”

If only he knew how alone you felt in your grief whether it was with him, or without him over the simple fact that he never lived in the earlier years when you still lived with your mother and brothers. But you don’t tell him that to avoid breaking his heart.

“If you ever want to talk you can send me a raven,” you remind him. “I’ll answer as soon as I can or even fly here if need be.”

He giggles softly and you can’t help but smile before you drag yourself closer to him and share a small story about your mother since he loves hearing them. Albeit there was a time when he was a boy that he wanted nothing to do with you because of the fact that you left; he was so livid that you left him all on his lonesome, but when he got older and a bit mature he figured out that you left because you had your duty to your husband and your family, and well…older sisters eventually have to leave their little brothers behind to live their lives. He was never aware of the fact that you couldn’t continue living here, and you would never tell him.

“One time when I was a little girl, as you know, I liked going down to the platform by the sea,” you begin your story, sparking eagerness within him to know more.

“I liked to sneak away from my Septa’s, and our mother never got me in trouble even if she was told to, but,” you giggle. “She got curious as to where I always ran off to one day, so she followed me without my knowledge. Every step I took, she took in secret without making a peep. She was rather sneaky. Eventually, when I reached the platform, she came up behind me as I reached my straw man and announced her presence so abruptly that she frightened me so badly that I fell over the ledge with my straw man falling under me, breaking my fall, but not shielding me from the wave that crashed over me. So I got soaked, and after our mother helped me back to stable ground she laughed…and I laughed with her.”

A smile tugs on Aegon’s lips before he laughs softly, making his shoulders shake and his solemn eyes spark with a flicker of joy.

That reaction makes you laugh with him, giggle in fact as you watch him and admire the way he laughs because it’s so rare to hear. You have to grasp and internalize the scraps you’re given. However in doing so, even though the sun is not seeping through the balcony door and all the drawing rooms windows, sunbeams still find their way inside and cast Aegon in its illuminating hue, making his usually dark blue eyes gleam brightly, and making him appear as beautiful as you mother looked when she was basked by the same sun.

For the first time in twenty-five years since her death, for a fraction of a second, your mother was in the same quarters as you in the body of her son. And then…as fast as that second same, she left and you were orphaned all over again.

——

*SOMETIME LATER*

After some time of being in King's Landing, it’s finally time to leave, and yes, you’ll miss your brothers, your daughter, and your grandchildren, but besides the memories that haunt you, this place is not as grandeur as you once believed. Thus you’re eager to leave with Alysanne to the Riverlands until she gives birth—albeit you will miss the sea; it’s so far from Winterfell...

Nevertheless, before you can even attempt to leave, you enter your chambers to grab what you need before you meet up with Daenys and Aerion, but as you come across your bed; you see that there's a rather long and wide gift box sitting on the bed.

You look around in confusion before you approach the gift box and notice a small square folded note attached to the ribbon that has your name neatly written on it.

Cregan comes to mind, but he has not eluded to gifting you something. He usually would, but he hasn’t and neither have any of your children, so, you eagerly grab the note to see who it could be from.

“Dear sister,

I found one of Mother’s gowns so I had it tailored for you so you could cherish and wear it. And that’s not at all, in my search I also found one of her rings and I noticed that you fidget with your rings the same way she did, so I had it customized for you.

From,

Aegon.”

Whether you wanted to or not, tears run out of your eyes without warning and stream down the curve of your cheeks whilst your heart dances with pure bliss. You try to open the gift box, but all you can do is put the note down before you start sobbing, and your heart starts aching out of genuine bliss.

You can hardly breathe for quite a while so you have to sit down and catch your breath first before you wipe the tears off your face and pull the box onto your lap. More tears do quickly well up in your eyes, but you ignore them and pull on the ribbon to loosen it and put it aside before you open the box. Thin paper presides over the gown so you yank it off and when you lay your eyes on the black and crimson gown you break down again, but to avoid staining the gown with tears you cover your face to cry into your hands.

After a few more tears you pull your hands away to wipe them off your face and then wipe your hands on your thighs before grabbing a small velvet box that was placed on top of the gown.

Of course, more tears stream down your face and your shoulders tremble as you take in the simple yet beautiful gold ruby ring that once belonged to your beloved mother.

After she fled the city and after she died you never thought you’d find any of her things. Most of the smallfolk took off with the jewelry and the clothes she had to leave behind, leaving only a few things behind, so you didn’t have much until now. And it’s all thanks to your sweet melancholy brother, Aegon.

You smile at your gifts and gently smooth out the gown. You would wear it right away, but the day is coming to an end so you’ll have to save it for later. As for the ring, well, you wear that now and get surprised when it fits just right.

You proceed to linger on the edge of the bed after that with the things resting on your lap until you feel like it doesn’t look like you’ve been sobbing uncontrollably. After that, you set the gift box down on the bed again and grab what you came here for before meeting up with your children.

As expected they’re already waiting for you where you told them to with quite the impatient look painted on their faces.

“Mother,” Daenys complains as she unfolds her arms. “Where have you been? We’ve been waiting here for ages.”

You snicker and roll your eyes as you walk past the pair, catching the way Aerion tries to study your face as evidence that you’ve been crying still remains on your face.

“Mother,” Aerion speaks up as he trails right behind you. “Are you alright?”

You hum in agreement and unlatch the tall windows to push them open and reveal the roofs. The same roofs that Aemond and you would escape to when you were children—“Come,” you urge them and step out of the window to stand on the roofs.

“Mother,” Daenys calls out. “Are you mad? What are you doing?!”

“Just come on,” you brush off her panic and lead them away from the window and around the corner where no windows decorate the walls so you aren’t seen. Aerion and Daenys are hesitant to follow, you almost believe that they won’t follow you, but eventually, you see them peeking around the corner.

“Mother,” Aerion calls out now with worry, but you just pat the empty spots beside you.

The siblings look at each other with concern but Daenys takes the risk and falls by your side, Aerion lingers behind cautiously, so you interject with amusement. “We will not fall, trust me. I have done this hundreds of times.”

“I believe you,” Daenys mutters and raises her head to peek over the ledge.

“We will not stay long,” you assure them, and then turn around to dig into the bag that you brought with you and pull out things they have not seen before.

Aerion notices that you’re pulling things out of your bag so he carefully makes his way over to join you and his sister. “This is completely unsafe,” he mutters. “You are meant to safeguard us, not put us in harm's way.”

You snort and cover the things by pulling back a thin layer of your gown. “I fought in a battle with your sisters in my belly, and have taken you on dragonback when you were babes. I am not someone who takes safety as my priority, besides, you will be fine. Unless you’re reckless. Are you?”

Aerion carefully takes a seat beside you and then shakes his head and deadpans. “No.”

You shrug to brush him off and then move along with the matter at hand. “I brought you here today because when we were in the capital together a few years back, I…never took your feelings toward your father under consideration. I worried about my own grief and my own loss that I disregarded yours and thought lies that I would only recently uncover. So now that the three of us are here I summoned you to a…rather unexpected place, but it’s a place where Aemond and I would come to when we were kids. So it’s special.”

Aerion and Daenys share another quick glance before their eyes fall on your lap as you yank off the layer of your gown to show what you brought.

“This,” you continue to speak before they have the thought of interrupting and pick up a hand-carved wooden siren. “Is a siren your father carved me when he was a boy. He lacked a dragon so he picked up other talents, and whittling was one of them.”

You put the siren down and grab the heart-shaped book that holds songs and ballads in Valyrian. “This,” you move on to the book. “Is a rare book of ballads and songs he scoured the earth for because he knew how much I loved to sing in Valyrian, and well, he really liked it when I sang in our mother tongue.” You giggle and pass the book to Aerion since he’s more musically inclined than Daenys.

“And this,” you move on to the third thing made of glimmering gold and beautiful gems. “Is a circlet inspired by one of my favorite ancestors, Daenys the Dreamer. He,” you pause and draw in a deep breath to calm your racing heart—“he had this done like one Daenys wore in a drawing of her in one of the history books because he knew how much I looked up to her. It was after I had you, Aerion.”

Said man sits in silence for a moment and when he returns the book to your lap he quips, “expecting a girl?”

You smile bashfully. “Desired a girl, yes, but we were still rejoiced when we had you…he really did love you Aerion, and you too Daenys. He never got to meet you, but he loved you. He cared about you both,” you finally share what you came here to say as you put the circlet down to give them your attention.

“If he really did love us like you say,” Aerion cuts in while Daenys remains quiet—“he would have tried harder to make it back to us, but he fought and died. He left and died.”

You nod rapidly. “Yes. Yes, don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I was furious too? I was left widowed with three children. Newborn twins and an infant. I was mad too Aerion, because he died after he promised that it was just us in this world that mattered. Him and me…Me and him, but he left with only traces of him to haunt me.”

“Then perhaps he should have fought harder,” Aerion continues to be hard-headed as he pouts down at the surface beneath his feet.

“I…” you trail on with tears pricking in the corner of your eyes. “I was angry at my father once too. I forsook him because he left too. I carried that hate in my heart because I was betrayed by him and my mother. All I felt pulsing through me was my anger, so I know, I know some of that resentment you hold for your own father, but as someone who went through that, as someone who knew how much Aemond loved and cared for you both, I just want you to change your perspectives. Open your hearts and accept a little piece of him at least.”

“But,” Daenys’ sweet voice finally fills your ears. “He was a monster. You have your scar to prove it.”

“And you have a new part of the city to prove my sins,” you defend him by shedding light on your own wrongdoings. “He did bad things, yes, but I did too. Everyone who fought in that war did bad things, some worse than the others, but it was done. It doesn’t make him any less of your father. It doesn’t take away that he still loved you.”

“But you have your life to make up for it,” Aerion argues, making your eyes drift to him. “And you raised us. You were here and made sure that we did not only think of the bad parts when we thought of you. When I think about Aemond…I see the death, destruction, and pain he left behind.”

“Because,” you pause and drop your head to fiddle with the wooden siren. “That’s what you hear. That’s what they all say about him, but he was much more than that. He,” you laugh softly and with a fond smile. “He would watch you sleep to make sure you were breathing when you slept. He went out to make sure you found your dragon so you didn’t feel ostracized like he did. He was selfish, but that made his love that more passionate.”

“I wish…we had memories together,” Daenys whispers in such a way that can only be heard if you’re sitting next to her, so you barely catch what she said—“Not just words spoken by you and others. That’s why it makes seeing him as a monster easier because I can’t even dream of him. At least Aerion can cling onto that, but me…I only have his name and trinkets that have no meaning to me.”

You look at her with pity and you catch tears crawling out of her eyes, but she’s quick to wipe them away.

“I am sorry, my Sweet,” is all you can offer her besides the wooden siren he had made for you—“keep it. It was made by his own hands. It’s not him, but it’s something made by him.”

Daenys carefully takes the siren and looks at you with worry. “Are you sure?” She asks.

You nod and pat her hand. “Positive.”

With a faint smile, Daenys looks down at the hand-carved siren, assuring you without words that she will try to look at her father under a different light, leaving you to seek Aerion’s response to all this now.

“You can’t ask me to forgive him just like that,” Aerion says and tries to hide his quiver.

“Nor will I ask you to,” you reassure him as you take his hand in yours. “Just change your prescriptive.”

Aerion takes a deep breath and then shudders. “I’ll try.”

A relieved look unfurls on your face and you squeeze his hand. “That’s all I want. Monster to man.”

Aerion meets your gaze and shares a faint nod, causing you to raise your hand to stroke his cheek and look into his striking blue eyes for a second longer before you look away and watch the horizon with contentment just like you would so long ago.

Life has been hard. It is still hard sometimes, but you can admit that you know what peace means now. You’re not falling into any abyss. You know happiness, you can find it in every member of your family. You know love, and it’s true you miss so many people, but their loss is not like being pierced in the heart or getting it torn and shattered, it aches when you remember the good moments, but you’ve preserved through your agony and grief, and that’s your greatest achievement because you can love again. You can smile with your lips and your eyes, and you can enjoy the sun's warm embrace as it seems to shine just for you as you dip your feet in the sand and let the salty sea waves crash over your feet on the morning of the day you have to leave King’s Landing.

Everyone else is barely starting to stir awake because you made it your mission to get up as the sun was rising to find serenity by the sea before you left.

Albeit there is one presence who does join you in your moment of solitude, but they don’t announce themselves. They watch you from afar as the sun completely shines just for you, kissing your skin, and making your silver-white hair glimmer like untouched snowflakes on fields of snow.

They can’t see your face since they’re behind you, but they know you well, they can picture your blissful smile as clear as day as you take in the sun and welcome the cold touch of the water. Perhaps—no, this is the best part about departing from the North and visiting King’s Landing and or visiting Driftmark, they get to see you completely enamored by the sea as if you were a mythical creature parted from their home. It’s always breathtaking to see and be a part of it that they don’t want to move from where they are, but after a while of stillness, you’re the one who looks over your shoulder with your smiling gaze.

“Come. Join me,” you wave Cregan over and his lips show off a fascinated smile before he breaks away from his spot and joins your side unable to part his eyes away from your face.

“What?” You quiere with a giddy smile. “Will you dive with me this time? Just a few miles offshore. I swear it this time.”

Cregan’s smile softens and his eyes darken as his pupils dilate even bigger as you’re all that reflects over his gaze.

“You are and have always been my heart's keeper,” he interjects assertively and catches you off guard. “Everywhere you go my heart follows. Even in death, where the sea meets the edge of tomorrow.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you look as if this is the first time he’s ever made such a passionate confession, when in truth he has never stopped reminding you how much he loves you. Physically and with sweet and romantic words. You're the one who lacks in reminding him sometimes, but your heart has never faltered, it has only grown fonder.

“And you, are the reason I am here,” you now offer him a confession of your own filled with just as much passion. “You are the reason my heart beats and why I draw in air. You are my morning and evening star. My light and the color that forbids me from looking at the world in black in white. Everything about you fascinates me, from the inner markings of your soul to your stormful grey eyes.”

Cregan scoffs softly as he stands in disbelief, causing you to react by cradling his cheeks to close the space between you. He follows by wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and pushing you to him to rest your foreheads against each other and just breathe in and be in each other's presence under the shining sun, and by the peaceful blue sea.

——

*SEVERAL YEARS LATER*

A loud gasp escapes your lips as your heart jolts and your eyes spring open. However, you’re quickly forced to shield your eyes from the blinding light that shines before you, letting your other senses take in your surroundings instead, like your ears, that catch the sound of louder chatter, laughter, and music in High Valyrian. Your nose also kicks in and you smell freshly made strawberry tarts, roasted pig, and every other traditional Valyrian food that you love.

But it’s weird because the last thing you remember is…getting swallowed by darkness. It was slightly terrifying, but you couldn’t resist its call, you let it take you…here…

You slowly pull your hand down and open your eyes, catching at that moment, the sight of your hands missing the wrinkles that once marked your skin to proudly show off how long you’ve lived. Now besides seeing the expensive and extravagant jewelry decorating your hands and fingers, you see that your hands look like they did when you were a young adult…

You would ask yourself why and start to panic, but as your surroundings come into focus you realize that you’re in a corridor you don’t recognize, but one still so familiar that doesn’t let you feel estranged. You feel at home like this is where you were meant to be the whole time. It’s why your jolting heart that had started to race calms down to a relaxed beat.

That’s not all, the bright light that once blinded you is not actually before you, but casting through the colorful stained glass set on the stone walls that all tell a story of…your Targaryen ancestors. Every major event that you read in books or got told is told on the glass, even the past you lived through.

You see a visual summary of the war, the dragons that fell, and the family that got torn apart. It’s there and as tempted as you are to walk to it to admire it from up close, the commotion coming from behind the tall doors ahead of you is more tempting, so you break away from the spot you woke up from, walk past grand stone dragon heads sitting at the sides of the doors, and without hesitation you push the doors open, catching sight of the beautiful lilac gown on your body made of your favorite silk from Yi-Ti, and catching sight of your long white-silver hair flowing past you with the swift movement.

Yet what does the sight of a beautiful gown and unique colored hair hold compared to what you see in front of you, the marvelous and breathtaking sight of so many different people, all whom you know in your heart have Targaryen and Velaryon blood running through them just like you. They’re all your family…every body and soul is your family that once lived…just like you…That’s right…you’re dead and now you’re…yet in another space you don’t recognize, but it doesn’t feel at all strange; not with the warm setting sun embracing your figure, or the sight of your family.

You could melt with all the heartwarming bliss you’re already filled with, however, before you can melt, the sound of your name breaks through the commotion, snapping your attention straight ahead.

Albeit you don't catch a thing. The sound of your name continues to be called though so you walk down the stairs and go toward the crowd. Before you can make an attempt to break through though, none other than Jacaerys and Lucerys come out, catching you off guard and paralyzing you right where you are.

“Jace,” you breathe out with your eyes set wide with bewilderment and fascination. “Luke.”

The pair look at one another with a teasing smile before they both offer you heart-warming smiles that you start to mirror as your eyes immediately brim with hot tears.

“Jace…Luke,” you call out again and then laugh, making them flash you a grin before they giggle too and set off toward you, causing you to break away from your spot and run at them. When you meet each other halfway you can’t contain your excitement, you jump on them and they don’t fail to catch you or laugh with you the moment you’re wrapped in each other's embrace.

Nothing is said when you’re tangled in each other's arms; no witty remark, and no funny joke, nothing is passed between you but a comfortable silence as the three of you take in the fact that you’re together again. After so much longing, you’re together again and nothing will tear you apart ever again.

“Mother!”

Your eyes snap open and ahead of you comes Alysanne; the girl who reintroduced you to an agonizing grief when she died after the birth of her first child. Following at her side is your eldest boy, your Aerion who died alongside his step-brother Rickon as they fought a war his cousin Daeron started against Dorne.

They were both gone from your life for so long. You mourned their death until your dying breath because losing children was a different and more painful heartbreak than you had felt before. Alas, there they are and every muscle in your body takes you to them right away.

“<My loves,>” you mewl in High Valyrian as you embrace the both of them the same way you embraced your brothers so you wouldn’t leave either of them out.

“<Mother,>” Alysanne cries as she's overcome with emotion. “It's been so long.”

“I’m here now my darling,” you console her as you rub her back. “I’m here.”

Alysanne nods, you can feel her head moving as she welcomes your comfort as if that’s what she’s been needing since she died.

“Oh,” you gasp and step back to turn around and face your brothers. “I’m assuming you know my brothers, your uncles. Jacaerys and Lucerys.”

“Yes, we do,” Aerion lets you know while Lucerys confirms with a nod.

“Don't worry we’ve been looking out for them since they got here,” Lucerys offers you some consolation, making you smile brightly.

“Not that we needed looking out for,” Alysanne quips. “But we’ve been together all this time. We hardly separate.” She says with the corner of her lips perking up.

“Because mother hardly lets them out of her sight,” Jacaerys interjects and your curiosity piques while every single thought becomes about her.

“Mother…” you mouth and let your children go to step forward and probe. “Where is she?”

Jacaerys’ eyes point forward, past the bodies of your children, so you turn around swiftly as if afraid your mother would disappear, and as if intertwined with each other's thoughts, the dancing crowd in front of you begins to drift away, making a path that leads you to the middle of the floor where your mother is under the twinkling candlelight.

She doesn’t spot you right away, it’s not until she probably feels you staring that she turns and steals your breath when your eyes lock together.

“Mama,” your voice quivers and your heart skips a beat as the commotion around you drowns out, the dancing light all over the room dims except for the lights above her, making her the center of all your attention, and making her beauty that much more enchanting to your eye.

Maybe it is because you haven’t seen her in so long, but something about her just glows.

“Mama,” you say again and start moving toward her with a wobbly smile tugging on your lips and tears flying past you.

Your mother doesn’t lack a reaction; her lips part slightly as her eyes glimmer at the sight of you. She doesn’t keep still either, the moment you make your way toward her she comes after you too, letting you meet in the middle of the hall with a tight embrace that connects your hearts and finally feeds that yearning they felt for each other's connection once again.

“<Oh my sweet,>” she coos as she cradles the back of your head and keeps you close.

“<Mama,>” you keep saying as you weep happy tears, feeling the world around you completely disappear, leaving only you and her in the large hall.

No more yearning and no need to strain your mind to remember how she looked or how she smelled. You’re together again, drawing in her calming scent, and basking in the comfort and warmth only she could provide.

You died an old lady, but here, now, with her and the others you’re the age you were mere days before the war started, that brief period where you were endlessly happy and you had it all; your brothers, your son, Aemond, and your mother.

“<We have all eternity together now,>” she assures you, making you beam and grip onto her tighter.

“<And I’m glad for it. Thank you for looking out for my children. Thank you for loving them while I was gone.>”

She scoffs softly. “<I would do it all for your children because they’re my grandchildren too, so there’s nothing to thank me for…you did good my sweet. I’m so proud of you.>”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of her neck and pamper her with more tears.

“Someone’s been waiting for you,” she interjects, pulling you away from her to look her in the eyes, but not ask who because the moment those words leave her mouth, you think about one person. Thus without asking and without guidance of any guide you let her go and drift away from her to head toward the tall windows that decorate the massive stone walls.

The people around you make way for you without needing to be told, or at least you don’t care to excuse yourself because you’re so consumed by the thought of him; of seeing him, of touching him, and being in his arms again. So much so that when you finally make it past the sea of people and find him outside the window sitting on the roof and watching the sun go down, you stop breathing. Your heart feels like it stops beating and the entire world around you freezes except for him, Aemond.

Just like with your mother, there’s no need to say his name, he turns around and your eyes meet, making sparks fly, and reviving your heart. Whilst his jaw drops and his eyes widen while he slowly stands up.

When he starts moving, your legs move in unison, and after breaking every single barrier of space that was keeping you apart, you throw your arms around each other to bring each other as close as you can manage to be without being in each other's skin.

This time unlike the others there’s no words exchanged because no amount of words can explain how enthralled you both are for being reunited. The longing looks speak for themselves when you pull away at arm's length to take in the sight of each other. The matching breaths share how in sync you are, and the smile your faces hold share how connected your souls are.

Still, he gently cups your cheek, and you cradle his face, taking note that he looks the same age he was when you were the happiest; that moment in time before the war, where you had it all. He chose that moment too, leaving you both to be forever young.

“<Me and you,>” he mutters and pulls you toward him to crash his lips on your forehead.

“<You and me,>” you echo and smile tenderly as your heart feels forever content now.

A/N- Lived to watch her family die and then outlived her younger brothers and two of her children…

Tagged- @namelesslosers @stargaryenx @chainsawsangel @lauftivy @winxschester @cloudroomblog @llarue @padsdarlg @sofietargaryen @gracielikegrapes @dreaming-of-the-reality @itzelpeyton @patdsinner33 @mrsdominickstark @elaena-aerrin @todoroki-slut @snh96 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @nifujiswhore @sweethoneyblossom1 @kaetastic @lightdragonrayne @squidscottjeans @oh-you-mean-me @wallacewillow0773638 @icefrye19 @thescottpack @fiction-fanfic-reader @crazymusicgirl104 @r-3dlips @strangersunghoon @just-pure-trash @ethereal-athalia @missyviolet123 @callsignwidow @xunquish-blog @tabathastan @weepingfashionwritingplaid @answer-the-sirens @silverlightsaber @rosey1981 @amortentiaaaa

47 notes · View notes