writing-the-stars

[writing-the-stars]

Im the anon who sent the request of the kol fic you posted and i want to thank you so so so much 🫂🫶🏻 i love this fic so much, it’s everything, you blew my mind and i come to re read it 🩷 you are so talented and i can’t wait for more kol fics my heart melts 🥰🤭🫶🏻🫂

I am SO happy to hear that!!! Thank you so much. I’m so glad you loved it!!! You are so kind

[writing-the-stars]

Bambi's Game

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader, Nancy x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Shy and careful, you’ve never been the type of girl who stands out — until Billy Hargrove, the cocky heartbreaker of Hawkins High, notices you. After a fleeting encounter at a party, his obsession with you becomes personal, and suddenly you’re caught in a dangerous game of push and pull.

Warnings: Angst (But I feel like it's actually barely there), Mature Language, Cliché, Flirtation and Sexual Tension (It's Billy Hargrove, Duh), Self-Doubt and Identity Struggles, Slow-Burn. Let Me Know If I Forgot Anything

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: I like my men with a taste of danger and I am such a bad boy apologist, so I'm super excited about this Billy fic. It is very cliché, but I like that. Things are cliché for a reason. Anyway, thank you so much for reading. I hope you all and enjoy and that you have a wonderful remainder of your day.

Masterlist | Stranger Things Masterlist

 You shouldn’t be here.

That much is obvious by the way you’re cowering by the back wall of Tina’s party, clinging to your Red Solo for dear life. You’ve been slowly sipping the sugary drink ever since you got here — the ice has long since melted, leaving it flat and watery — but it’s your only shield against the pressure to drink something stronger. It’s not that you don’t drink — you’ve definitely had your fair share of wine coolers — but tonight isn’t the night to lose control. Not here. Not with these people. 

You hate parties like this. They’re loud, messy, and filled with people you don’t know or don’t care to know. You’re always just… there. No one really notices you. No one really cares.

A Blondie song pulses through the speakers — synthy and loud enough to drown out your thoughts. The air is thick with a sickly mix of beer, sweat, and cigarette smoke that clings to your clothes and makes your nose wrinkle.

You definitely were not meant to be here.

You had only come for Nancy because you do whatever she asks of you. Ever since Barb’s disappearance, she’s been clinging to pieces of her old life, trying to stitch something familiar out of whatever is left. You’re one of those pieces.

So when she asked — guilted really — you to tag along, you couldn’t deny her. She swore you’d only stay an hour. Tops. But now she’s vanished into the crowd with Steve and taken the car keys with her. Your ride is gone, your buffer is gone, and you’re honestly tempted to just say fuck it and walk home. 

You’ve held up your end of the bargain.

You swallow the rest of your pathetic soda, about to leave when he walks in.

Billy Hargrove.

The name alone makes your stomach flip. You can feel the temperature shift in the room. Everyone just… moves aside for him. Makes space. Even the loudest parts of the party seem to quiet down when he enters, like everyone can sense the chaos he brings with him.

Shirt unbuttoned halfway like it’s his party. Cigarette tucked behind his left ear, rings glinting on his fingers. He moves like he owns the room — like he owns everything. Eyes scanning the crowd, slow and lazy, like he’s hunting. And then those blue eyes find you. 

You freeze. 

Your first instinct is to look away and your neck twinges with the effort. But it’s too late. He’s seen you.

You felt it. The moment his attention clicked into place — hot and heavy. A smirk already curling at the edge of his mouth.

You know that smirk. You’ve seen it on him enough times to know it means trouble.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, panic threading through your chest. Your heart kicks into high gear. You shouldn’t have come. You knew he’d be here. Why did you let Nancy talk you into this?

You swallow hard, trying to make your legs move. You should just walk away, get out of his sight. Disappear into the crowd. But his presence is closing in on you​​, looming, like a shadow falling over everything.

“Hey, Bambi,” he drawls, voice smooth and slow, soaked in confidence. “Looks like someone wandered into the wrong forest.”

​​There’s something about it — like someone dragging velvet across bare skin. Something dangerous underneath all that ease. You feel your cheeks burn, the nickname already settling deep inside you.

You turn — because you have to — and there he is. Hawkins High’s resident heartbreaker. Beautiful. Arrogant. Bored.

“And you must be the wolf that thinks he’s charming,” you shoot back before you can think better of it.

Crap. Why did you say that?

You barely recognize your own voice. It comes out sharper than you intended, like you’re trying to hide behind something. You want to shrivel up. But Billy laughs — actually laughs — a low sound, amused, like you’ve surprised him. And it makes your pulse race. You weren’t expecting that. 

“Oh, I like you.” He says it slowly, like he’s savoring the words. His eyes roam, but not in the gross, lecherous way most guys do. It’s focused. Intense. Like he’s really seeing you. 

The thought causes your heart to hammer in your chest. 

“What’s your name again?”

You stare at him, unimpressed. He should know your name. You have two classes together. You’ve shared a lunch table, sat behind him at assemblies, stood near him at the lockers. He should definitely know your name, but of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

You exist in the periphery of his world, and he’s never once noticed.

You mutter your name, quick and low, but he catches it anyway. He repeats it, like he’s trying it on his tongue. Like he wants to remember how it sounds in his mouth. It sends a strange chill down your spine. He makes your name sound different. Like he’s taking possession of it, somehow.

 Then, he dismisses it, saying “I think I like Bambi better.”

You roll your eyes, but feel your stomach do a humiliating flip. And you hate that. Hate that his stupid, cocky grin — the one he uses to get cheerleaders in his backseat and girls to come completely undone — actually works. You despise it. 

Because of course it does. Billy Hargrove is beautiful in that reckless kind of way. He’s sharp and dangerous. Pretty in the way fire is as it eats through the world. The kind of boy your mom warned you about.

And for just a moment, you wonder what it would feel like to let yourself fall into that gaze. To stop analyzing and second-guessing and controlling everything. To just melt into the attention he’s offering so freely.

But you know better.

Billy doesn’t see girls like you — not really. He flirts. He conquers. He forgets.

You’ve seen him do it a hundred times. You’ve heard the way he talks about girls like they’re trophies, disposable. You don’t want to be another notch on his belt. You don’t want to be a story he tells later.

So you do the only thing that feels like control.

You walk away.

Your heart pounds like crazy, hands shaking a little as you put your cup down and grab your jacket from the nearby couch. You don’t look back. You don’t give him the satisfaction. 

But if you did?

You’d see Billy watching you, eyebrows raised, lips parted in disbelief.

No one denies Billy Hargrove.

Except you just did.

And now?

He’s interested. 

-*-

You and Nancy walk shoulder to shoulder down the hallway, her voice humming in your ear as she talks about something — probably her lit essay — but you’re not really listening. You nod when appropriate, offer the occasional “Mm-hmm”, but your mind keeps wandering back to Friday night,  the memory of it simmering uncomfortably beneath your skin. You’ve replayed it a dozen times in your head — the way his voice dipped when he said your name, the way his eyes dragged across you like he was seeing something he wasn’t supposed to.

It didn’t mean anything. You know that.

Billy Hargrove flirts with anything in a skirt. You’ve watched him wrap girls around his finger like it’s no big deal — because to him, it isn’t. You're not special. You're just new.

And yet…

It felt like something.

You shake the thought off, telling yourself to stop being ridiculous. Yet, you find your eyes wandering, scanning the crowd for the denim-clad devil. Not that you're necessarily looking for him.

You're just… making sure he’s not around.

You round the corner, Nancy still talking at your side, when you see him, leaning against a row of lockers. Your row of lockers.

You freeze for half a second. Your stomach flips.

He’s standing in your space, boots crossed like he’s been waiting on you, and for one crazy second, you think maybe he has.

That thought sends a surge of panic down your spine, and you immediately try to steer Nancy the other way, subtly tugging her sleeve and veering left. But it’s too late. He spots you. 

“Hey Bambi.”

That voice. That lazy drawl, so smooth, so sure of itself, like he already knows how this is going to play out. And then, that nickname… Bambi. It slithers down your spine like warm honey, and you hate that it still makes you shiver.

Nancy falters beside you, her voice higher than normal.  “…Did he just call you Bambi?”

You groan under your breath and pick up your pace, hoping if you ignore him, he’ll get bored.

He doesn’t.

Billy peels away from the lockers as if gravity has no claim to him. He moves with that effortless confidence, like everything he does is deliberate. And for some reason, that makes your insides twist even more.

“What, you’re not gonna say hi? That’s rude, sweetheart.”

You bite your lip, desperately trying to push the heat from your cheeks. Your heart’s racing. Nancy’s head whips toward you. “Sweetheart?” she repeats, the incredulity in her voice making your stomach churn.

You’re actively dying. Right here. In the middle of the hallway. 

“I don’t… I don’t know,” you mumble quickly, hoping that if you downplay it, she’ll drop the topic. But of course, she doesn’t.

“Since when do you talk to Billy Hargrove?” she asks, whisper-shouting. “What happened at Tina’s party? You said it was boring!”

“It was!”

You say it too quickly. Too defensively. Nancy catches it immediately.

Billy’s matching your stride effortlessly, like you belong beside him. Like this is something you’ve been doing all along. Something you’ve shared. Your stomach does that awful flip again, that stupid mix of dread and something that feels a little too close to anticipation.

“Aw, come on. Don’t be shy now,” he teases, his voice dipped in that fake innocence you can’t quite buy. “I thought we had a moment.”

You roll your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “You also think sporting denim makes you look like a member of The Outsiders,” you quip. 

Nancy gasps softly, eyes wide. Her hand flies to her mouth as if she’s just witnessed a catastrophe. “Oh my God.” 

Billy grins like you just kissed him.But it’s not just the grin. It’s the way he looks at you now, like you’ve caught his attention in a way no one else has. He leans in a little, his eyes gleaming with approval. “Feisty,” he says, voice low and hungry, like he’s enjoying this far too much.

Your stomach turns over in that weird way it always does when he’s close. It’s not just embarrassment anymore. It’s… something else. Something unfamiliar and unsettling.

Why does he like that you talk back? Why isn’t he brushing you off already, moving on to someone easier? Someone with more makeup and less hesitation? Someone who wants this.

You stop abruptly at your locker, spinning the dial with more force than necessary. You focus on the numbers, trying to keep yourself grounded, trying to ignore the way your heart is still pounding. Nancy is practically vibrating beside you, her eyes wide with questions she won’t let go of. You can feel her eyes drilling into the side of your face, waiting for the answers you don’t have.

You don’t know what’s happening. But somehow, you feel like Billy knows exactly what’s happening. And you can’t make sense of it.

“Seriously,” she whispers. “What is happening?”

You glare at her. “Nothing. He’s messing with me.”

You don’t let yourself look at Billy, even though you know he’s still standing right there. Watching you.

“You wound me, Bambi. And here I thought we were building something real.”

You slam your locker shut and grab your books like armor. This has to end.

“We’re going to class. Now.”

You tug Nancy by the wrist, trying to escape whatever weird flirtation-parade this is. 

You shouldn’t look back. You know that.

But you do. Just once.

And there he is — still standing where you left him, watching you go. Smirking. But it’s different this time.

He’s not amused.

He’s not smug.

He’s interested.

-*-

You’re barely two steps into the restroom after class before Nancy swings the door shut behind you with a bang.

"Okay," she says, folding her arms, giving you the look. "What was that?"

You blink at her in the mirror, trying to feign innocence. "What was what?"

She doesn’t dignify that with a response — just arches an eyebrow and purses her lips, waiting for you to cut the crap. 

You sigh and turn to face her fully. "I don’t know. Nothing."

Which is a lie. A big one. And you're both aware of it.

Nancy steps closer. Her voice lowers a notch, teasing but edged. "He called you Bambi. Twice.”

You roll your eyes. "He calls everyone something. It’s just a stupid nickname."

“Yeah,” Nancy says, narrowing her eyes. “But you didn’t hate it.”

Your face burns instantly. Mortified. You want to deny it, but it’s too late. Your reaction says it all.

"I did hate it," you stammer.

"You blushed."

“I did not!” You hope your protest sounds convincing, but it’s a weak defense. And she’s not buying it.

Nancy smirks. “You did. Right here.” She taps your cheek lightly, like a detective closing in on her suspect.

And she’s right. You both know it. You did like it. Much to your chagrin. You liked the way he said it — like he named you. Like you were something he was claiming, or maybe just starting to notice. Something worth paying attention to.

And that — that’s the part that really messes with your head.

Because it’s not just about Billy Hargrove looking at you. It’s about what that look made you feel. What it stirred up inside of you. The thing you never thought would happen.

That someone like him could want someone like you.

You can still feel the heat in your cheeks, the flutter in your chest. It is aggravating. 

"And don’t even get me started on the way he looked at you." Nancy’s voice is a little too delighted now. "Like he found a new toy he wasn’t allowed to touch."

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Please don’t analyze this.”

"I mean, he was flirting with you. Billy freakin’ Hargrove. Actual cigarette mascot and heartbreaker-in-chief. And you held your ground." 

Nancy pauses, eyes thoughtful now instead of teasing. “You were kind of badass, actually.”

You peek at her through your fingers, caught off guard. “Really?”

She shrugs, leaning a hip against the sink. “Look, he’s still the worst. But that whole scene? Total power move.”

Power move. The idea is almost laughable. You were barely holding it together. Your heart had been trying to pound its way out of your chest the whole time. You’d thought you were going to pass out in front of everyone. And Billy…

Billy looked like he was enjoying himself. Like he could see straight through you — through the panic, the denial, the blush. Like he was testing you, to see how long you'd last. To see just how much you’d take before you crumbled.

You lower your hands. "I wasn’t trying to pull a power move. I was just trying not to have a panic attack."

Nancy smiles, softening. "Well, for what it’s worth, I think you might’ve fried his brain."

You snort, trying to suppress the warmth flooding your chest. "Good. Maybe it’ll stop him from bothering me again."

Nancy nudges your arm lightly, the grin on her face a little too knowing. "You want him to bother you again."

You freeze. 

Do you?

It shouldn’t even be a question. He’s every bad decision wrapped in denim and cigarette smoke. He’s cocky, reckless, way too used to girls melting at his feet. You’re not supposed to want him. You’re supposed to be smarter than that. You are smarter than that. Right?

The heat of his body just inches from yours. The way his voice curled around your name, like he was trying it out, seeing how it felt in his mouth. The look in his eyes — hungry and amused, like you were a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet.

And for a split second, it didn’t feel like a threat. It felt like attention. Focused and sharp and entirely on you. It made your skin prickle. Made your breath hitch. Made you feel seen. And not in a way you’re used to.

But you don’t say that. You can’t.

Instead, you shake your head, trying to force the thoughts out. "He’s just another guy who thinks he can have anything he wants."

"And you told him no," Nancy says, her tone matter-of-fact. “That’s kind of rad.”

You glance at your reflection in the mirror. Your face is still flushed. Your heart is still racing. And somewhere under all the nerves and confusion… you feel something else.

Pride.

Maybe a tiny bit dangerous.

You’ve never felt dangerous before. But maybe… maybe you could get used to it.

Nancy nudges your arm again, grinning, a little too smug now. "C’mon, badass. We’re late for chem."

-*-

The house is still. Your room is quiet. The window’s cracked open just enough to let the cool night breeze in, soft against your skin.

It’s late — not too late — but the house is quiet in that specific way it only gets after dinner dishes are done and your mom and sister retreat to their separate corners of the house.

Echo and The Bunnymen’s The Killing Moon plays softly on your Walkman, the melancholy synths bleeding into the air like a soundtrack to your thoughts. You’re sitting cross-legged on your bed, a worn notebook open in your lap, pen tapping against the edge of the page like it’s supposed to summon brilliance.

But it’s been ten minutes, and you’re stuck on the same equation.

You sigh, dropping your pencil and pushing the notebook out of your lap.

Your eyes wander toward the window. It’s dark outside, that quiet, empty blackness that makes Hawkins feel smaller than usual. As though the night could swallow it all up — like there’s nothing beyond the trees but more darkness.

You should be thinking about valence electrons. You should be focused, responsible, anything but this.

But your brain — traitorous thing that it is — keeps drifting back to him.

Billy Hargrove.

Your pulse stutters at the thought, like a glitch in your otherwise orderly brain.

You’re not used to being the center of anyone’s attention, let alone someone like him. No one ever looks at you like that. Not the way Nancy gets looked at. Or Carol. Or Tina.They have something you’ve never had: an edge.

You’ve always been soft-spoken. Careful. The kind of girl people overlook until they need help with their notes. So why did he notice you?

And why can’t you stop wondering what it means?

The nickname. The look in his eyes when they dragged over you, like he could see through the walls you’ve spent years building around yourself. The way he smirked when you walked away — not like he’d won, but like he’s waiting. Like he’s expecting to see you again.

You exhale slowly, closing your eyes to shut out the images, but they only get stronger. 

You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. That it shouldn’t. That he’s just another guy with too much swagger and not enough sense. That you’ve seen his type before and you’re not interested.

But your body betrays you. Your pulse picks up, heart beating faster. There’s something deep inside you, a pull, an undeniable tug that you can’t ignore.

You press your fingers to your cheeks, still warm from the memory of his gaze.

Still remembering.

You shake your head like it’ll help — like you can shake away the way his eyes made you feel. You’re not going to be one of those girls. The kind who fall for trouble just because it calls their name. You refuse to be that cliché.

Even if deep down, a reckless, traitorous part of you already is.

You don’t know what this thing with Billy is. You don’t even know if it is a thing.

But you feel it. You can’t escape it. You feel it buzzing under your skin like electricity.

And for the first time in a long while, you feel seen.

Even if it’s by the wrong person.

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[writing-the-stars]

Quiet Withdrawals

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader

Summary: As Emily Prentiss begins to withdraw under the weight of a dangerous secret, her partner at the BAU struggles to understand the silence growing between them.

Warnings: ANGST (The self-proclaimed Queen of Angst has returned), No Happy Ending, Implied Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Distance/Distress, No Use of Y/N or Physical Descriptors (At least, not that I recall). Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

Word Count: 3.4k

A/N: Hi guys! Thanks for tuning in. So happy and excited about this one. I have been working on this one for MONTHS. It's a multi-part series following the Ian Doyle arc from Season 6, so lots of sadness, lots of tragedy. All the things I love in a story. Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I truly hope you enjoy. Have a wonderful day!

Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist

The plane ride back to Virginia is quiet. Still. The low hum of the engines is the only sound drumming through the jet. 

It was a hard case. Hostage situations usually are— especially when a child is involved. The waiting is the hardest part. Constantly on edge, holding your breath for the smallest window of opportunity. That tension, that emotional drain— it settles into your bones and refuses to let go. 

Across the cabin, your team decompresses in their own ways. But you can’t seem to settle. The adrenaline from the day is still cemented in your body, your fingers tapping restlessly against the armrest. 

Then— a gentle hand covers yours, grounding you with a quiet squeeze.

The warmth of the touch stills you. You smile softly, already knowing who it is. You look anyway, savoring one of those rare moments when you can openly admire her.

Emily’s eyes are closed, her face partially illuminated by the soft glow of the overhead lights. In the dimness of the jet, her sharp features seem softer. Her lips are pressed together in that familiar way she does when she’s thinking. If not for that subtle tell, you might think she was sleeping. There’s a steady calmness about her, a poised elegance you’ve come to rely on. It’s integral to her. 

But tonight… it’s different. There’s a quietness about her that does not feel like the usual Emily Prentiss calm. It’s heavier. 

She hadn’t said much on the way back to the jet— not that there was much to say— but something’s off. It makes you wonder if the case got to her more than she let on. The spree-killing addicts, the child… it had rattled everyone. But Emily is practiced at hiding the impact.

Still, you worry.

You wonder if she’d tell you if you ask. She’s been opening up to you more lately. Little things. Stories from her past. Some nights she even lets you hold her when the day’s been too much. But you crave more. You want her to let you in, to lean on you for once.

But you know better than to push. You respect her boundaries. You’re willing to wait— however long it takes. Share as many silences as needed until she feels safe. 

And you don’t mind the silences as much as you used to. In the beginning, they felt raw, uncertain. Now, they’re part of your rhythm.

You feel another gentle squeeze. When you glance back, Emily’s already watching you. You flush, caught staring. She’ll tease you for it later, you’re sure.

Her smile is soft— private. The kind of smile she only gives to you, when no one else is looking. It warms you in that quiet, weightless way, like the moment stretches just for the two of you. Your chest fills with a quiet sense of being chosen and you smile back, bashful under the weight of her gaze.

It’s the small things you love: the moments like this, the way she scans for you first when she walks into a room, the little notes passed during long meetings, the brush of her thumb over your knuckles when no one’s paying attention. This thing between you— it’s slow. Careful. But Emily feels worth it.

She shifts, picking up her phone from the armrest. 

You feel the moment she slips away. 

The brush of her thumb on your hand stops. Her posture changes— shoulders tightening, jaw clenching. Something flickers in her expression. The usual control she possesses falters, giving way to something more vulnerable. Then it’s gone.

But you feel it.

Your stomach tightens. You want to ask what’s wrong. The question rises but you stop it on your tongue, swallowing it down. Emily doesn’t like being cornered. Whatever this is, she’s not ready to talk about it.

Instead, you try something softer.

“It doesn’t seem like we’ll get back too late. Do you want to come over? We can finally try that recipe I’ve been telling you about.”

You say it casually, like it’s nothing. It isn’t unusual— your time together often spills into the quiet hours after cases. A bottle of wine. Old movies. Easy comfort. But there’s something hopeful in the offer. You’re reaching for her, even if she doesn’t realize it.

So when she simply says, "I’m tired," retracting her hand from yours, the disappointment hits you harder than you expected. It’s not just the words. It’s the way she retracts her hand. 

Quiet. 

Final.

A small gesture. But it cuts.

You don’t press. You’ve learned to be patient with Emily Prentiss.

Still, the weight of her withdrawal settles deep in your chest. The sting lingers longer than you want to admit.

-*-

You wish you could say that quiet little sting had dissipated, eased by some reassurance from Emily. But it metastasized— settled deep in your bones. A slow-burning ache that hasn’t left since that moment on the plane— since the line she drew, the one you had come so close to crossing.

Since then, she’s only drifted further away. Each day, the chasm between you further expands. Her absence isn’t loud, but it’s heavy— an invisible weight pressing into your chest. You feel it in every missed glance, every silence that stretches too long. Another boundary added to your relationship. Another wall you don’t dare climb. 

You try to bury the ache under profiles and evidence, throwing yourself into this new case with a sort of unbridled restraint. But her absence is constant— lingering like a shadow in the corner of your mind. It makes the pen heavier in your hand. Makes every profile harder to focus on. You can’t tell anymore if it’s the job wearing you down, or the emptiness she’s left behind.

Across from you, you watch Emily sit at her desk— it’s all you’ve been subjected to now— her attention fixed on her phone like it’s the only thing anchoring her to the world. Whatever’s on that screen has become more important than this— more important than you. The warmth she used to bring has cooled into something distant, unsettling. Like everything the two of you shared has been erased, leaving only a hollow echo in its wake.  

She’s been late more often, sliding in with weak smiles and vague excuses that don’t sound like her— too polished, too practiced. She won’t meet your eyes anymore, and when she does, it’s like she’s looking through you. Like you’re just another face in the bullpen.

This isn’t like her.

And you hate that thought. Hate how it lodges itself deep inside you every time she does something uncharacteristic to the version of her you’ve gotten to know so intimately. Because if this version of her is unfamiliar, then what does that mean for us?

You’ve tried reaching for her in all the small ways that used to matter, things that had won her over before— light-hearted jabs at Morgan or Reid, lunch from her favorite deli, kind words, small shared victories. Each attempt being met with a polite smile that never reaches her eyes. A flicker. Nothing more.

The ache in your chest deepens. You're not speaking the same language anymore. The connection you fought so hard to build feels like it’s unraveling in your hands.

Your eyes catch on her fingers. Fresh wounds along her nail beds. She’s picking again. You remember when she slipped her hands in yours to stop the habit— intertwined fingers, quiet comfort, a gentle squeeze that said I'm here. It worked. Her hands had healed. Now, they're raw again.

And this time, she’s not reaching for you to help her stop.

You can’t say anything. You want to— but every attempt feels like walking a tightrope over something fragile and doomed. The uncertainty gnaws at you. You wish you could reach across the divide and remind her that you’re still here, waiting— hoping she might let you in again.

You fiddle with the pen in your hand, a remnant from the discarded paperwork you are meant to be focusing on. The tapping is the only thing tethering you, your nervous energy echoing in the lull of your thoughts. You’re not even aware of it until you feel her gaze. 

Emily’s eyes flick to yours— sharp, fleeting. Her attention drops to the pen, then returns to you, just for a breath, before sliding away again.

It’s the first time she’s really looked at you in days.

You’re about to say something— anything— when she stands.

“I need some air.”

The words are clipped, a poor excuse— there’s plenty of air in the bullpen. But she’s already walking toward the door, every step tight with tension, her phone still clenched in her hand like a lifeline.

Your feet move before your mind does.

By the time you reach her, she’s already leaning against the balcony railing. The city sprawls beneath you— neon lights and the distant hum of traffic— but her gaze is far away, locked on something you can’t see. Her body is so still it hurts to look at. The cool night air doesn’t seem to reach her, and the distance between you both feels unbearable.

You stand there for a while, uncertain. The quiet stretches between you, taut with everything unsaid.

“Emily.”

She doesn’t move.

Your hands curl into fists, nails biting skin. “Are you okay?”

Silence.

The question hangs there, unanswered. Heavy. Cracking something in you. Your stomach twists— tight and bitter. 

You hate this. Hate that she won’t let you in. Hate that she’s shutting you out, not with harsh words but with this impenetrable wall of silence. Hate that you don’t even know why.

You contemplate leaving. Walking away from this, from her, would be so much easier, but your eyes fall to her hands. The raw flesh at her nail beds. The tension in her fists, clenching and unclenching like she’s barely holding herself together. And you can’t walk away from that.

So you take a step forward, slow and cautious.

She doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. But she doesn’t turn toward you either. Her body is rigid— like any contact might shatter her. Still, you reach for her hand— gently, cautiously, the way you’ve always done. No force, just an offering.

And, for a brief moment, she lets you.

Her fingers brush against yours. It’s like breathing again, like stepping back into something familiar, something you thought you had lost.

But then, she pulls away. Not cruelly. Not sharply. But with quiet, devastating finality. A soft, deliberate retreat that leaves your hand cold.

“I should get back inside,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. She’s already moving before you can respond. You don’t even try to chase after her this time.

You just stand there, rooted to the spot, the cool wind against your skin the only thing holding you upright. Your hands rest on the railing, the city lights blurring through the burn in your eyes.

She’s slipping away.

And you don’t know how to stop it. The fear— raw and suffocating— settles into your chest. What if this is how it ends— quietly, with no fight, no explanation, just the fading echo of something that once mattered? 

You want to scream. Demand answers. It shouldn’t hurt this much, but it does. Because you thought you were moving forward. That you were building something real, something steady. You thought she wanted it too.

But now, all you have is the space where she used to be— and the silence she left behind.

-*-

 “You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” Reid notes, his eyes flicking toward the pen in your hand— mid-bounce— before returning to the yellow legal pad in front of him. 

You freeze, blinking down at the pen you’re only now realizing is in your hand. The soft, steady tapping against the desk you realize had been anchoring your mind— keeping it from spiraling. 

"Sorry," you murmur, setting it down.

Reid doesn’t look up, still engrossed in deciphering the partial tattoo on the screen in front of him. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry— just states it like an observation, like a fact. But facts have weight. And this one lands heavy.

Because he’s right.

You have been doing that a lot lately.

Tapping your pen. Chewing the inside of your cheek. Crossing and uncrossing your legs. You’ve been restless, your chest a knot of unease. The anxiety from watching your relationship with Emily rapidly decline has only been compounded by the lingering aftermath of the shooting. The image of her and Derek collapsing in that dark alley, shots ringing out, still won’t leave you. You haven’t stopped watching her since, worried about how she’s handling the aftermath.

But Emily hasn’t let you get close. 

She’s pushing everyone away— especially you. And you can’t stop wondering what changed. What happened to the woman who once trusted you, even if only a little?

Every time you try to check in, she brushes you off with that same quick, sharp wave. “I’m fine,” she says. “It’s nothing.” But her voice is clipped, too sharp around the edges. She’s not convincing anyone— least of all herself.

You know she’s not fine. She’s carrying something. You can feel it.

You press your fingertips to your temples, trying to clear your head, but it only makes the discomfort worse. You’re frustrated, but more than that, you’re terrified. Why won’t she let you help? Why is she shutting you out?

Reid speaks again, soft this time. “You’ve been holding your breath, haven’t you?”

Your mouth goes dry. “What do you mean?”

Reid shrugs, his eyes flicking back to the screen. “I’ve seen you before— when you’re waiting for something that never comes. It’s like you’re bracing for a punch you’re not sure is coming, but you can’t stop holding your breath. It’s exhausting.”

You blink. It’s as if he just cracked open a window into your mind, exposing the rawest parts of you. How could he see it so clearly? Holding your breath... it’s a perfect description of what you’ve been doing. 

Just as you take a steadying breath, the door to the bullpen swings open. 

“Reid, you got anything?” Morgan’s voice cuts through the tension, his footsteps heavy on the floor as he strides in, leading the charge. 

Emily follows close behind him, her expression unreadable. But you recognize the tension in her shoulders instantly. You’ve come to expect that her eyes will no longer meet yours when she enters the room, but it doesn’t make the sting any less hurtful. Your fingers start inching toward the pen again, craving the comfort of the repetitive motion. But you force yourself to keep still, clasping your hands together. You direct your focus on the room, willing the nagging feeling in your chest to subside. You need to keep it together.

“The damage is pretty extensive, but luckily some of the tattoo remains,” he reports back, still hunched over his legal pad, eyes glued to the paper as he continues his quiet analysis.

“Seaver, get the victim’s photo out to the press,” Hotch commands the young blonde, his tone clipped and efficient as always. 

“I think I know who dug the hole,” Garcia bursts in, her energy jarring against the slow-burn anxiety that’s been building in your chest. She flips open her notepad, breathless, explaining how all the victims are tied to Clear Water Securities.

As Garcia talks, your attention slips toward Emily, whose eyes narrow in recognition as Reid finally pieces together the tattoo, the last clue falling into place. For a moment, her face lights up, as if the pieces of the case are finally coming together in her mind. But that brief spark of clarity quickly evaporates, replaced by something more guarded, more distant.

Before anyone can react, Emily’s already dashing out of the room, her movements sharp and quick, the air around her suddenly heavy with urgency. 

Garcia, who noticed the exact same thing, gives you a look. It’s one of understanding, an unspoken bond that passes between the two of you in the absence of words. You don’t need to say anything to her. She’s seen the same thing you have.

With a small nod, you break from the group, a knot forming in your gut. That feeling returns— the one that tells you something is wrong. That she’s slipping further away, and you don’t know how much time you have before she’s completely gone.

You follow Emily out of the bullpen, your footsteps quiet but deliberate. She’s already halfway down the corridor, her pace quick and rigid— faster than usual, like she’s trying to outrun something. You jog to catch up, your heart hammering in your chest— not from exertion, but from the quiet storm of everything that's been left unsaid. The heavy weight of your unspoken questions presses down on you, but it’s not enough to hold you back. You need answers. You need something— anything— to bridge this gap that’s growing between you.

You push the restroom door open just in time to catch a glimpse of her as she snatches the phone away from her ear, the movement sharp and defensive.

“Emily, what’s going on?”

The words spill out before you can stop them. The careful caution from before is gone. It’s replaced by frustration, a biting edge in your voice. You’re done dancing around it, done tiptoeing over the cracks in your relationship. You need the truth. You need her to stop hiding from you. 

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink.

“I don’t have time for this.” Her voice is sharp, dismissive. It cuts through the air between you like a blade, and your stomach clenches painfully.

This. She says it like you’re a problem. An obstacle.

“I just–” Your voice falters, softer now, her words draining all the fight out of you, “I’m just worried about you, Em. You’ve been different. Distant. And you were shot at. I’m allowed to be concerned.” 

She stiffens. Her jaw tightens, and when she speaks again, her voice is colder than before.

“Worried?” she echoes, bitterness lacing the word. “You’ve been clingy. Needy. I don’t need someone hovering over me every second, asking if I’m okay.”

The words slam into you, sharp and sudden. You flinch, eyes stinging. “That’s not fair,” you breathe. “I’m not hovering— I’m trying to be there for you. Because I care.”

The air thickens with tension, the space between you both charged with something unspoken, raw. Her lips press into a thin line, the silence stretching for a beat before she speaks again.

“I just–” her voice raises slightly, causing you to tense. “I need space.” 

That professional detachment creeps back in, sealing the distance between you like a door closing. “I’ve been through enough without feeling like I can’t breathe around you.”

The words wind you. You stagger under the weight of them, unable to speak for a beat. When you finally do, pushing past the ache in your throat, your voice is hoarse.

“I’m just trying to help,” you whisper. “I don’t know what happened, but I’m not going to let you go through this alone.”

Emily exhales sharply, eyes hardening. Arms folding across her chest.

“You’re suffocating me,” she spits, her words bitter, burning you like acid.

It’s the final blow. Brutal in its precision. You feel it crack something inside you.

You nod, barely able to force the word out. “Okay.”

It leaves the tart taste of defeat on your tongue. The weight of it settles on you like a stone, every syllable heavy with the crushing finality of it all. The reality that she’s shutting you out— completely, unequivocally— sinks in. There’s no coming back from this.

Emily exhales again, and for a split second, her posture softens. It’s brief— so brief it’s almost imperceptible— but you catch it. For just a heartbeat, you think she might regret her words, might take them back. But before she can say anything, the door swings open.

Seaver bursts in, oblivious to the tension, her presence a sudden interruption. “Hotch needs you in the SCIF,” she announces to Emily, her voice bright with urgency, unaware of the quiet devastation unfolding between you.

Emily swallows whatever emotion she was feeling and turns toward Seaver, the remnants of whatever she was about to say fading away. Without a glance back at you, she turns and walks out, leaving you standing in the hollowed-out space of what used to be something— whatever it was— between you.

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[writing-the-stars]

sorry i can’t come i’m too busy hurting my own feelings over nothing

[writing-the-stars]

Where the Fire Settles

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Fem!Reader, Rebekah x Fem!Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Kol Mikaelson has always been chaos wrapped in charm—fire and fury personified. But with you, he's something softer, quieter, settled. You can't help but wonder if Kol really sees you, or a lesser version of what he lost.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: Angst (Of course! Are we surprised?), Insecurity, Hurt/Comfort. Let Me Know If I Forgot Something

A/N: This is based on this request. Thank you so much Anon for sending this in. I hope this is exactly how you envisioned it! As always, thank you all so much for reading. I really hope you enjoy and that you have a wonderful day from this point forward!

Masterlist | TVDU Masterlist

The chandeliers above the compound flicker with warm candlelight, casting long shadows over the worn brick walls and aged leather. Jazz drifts in from somewhere deep in the French Quarter—lazy and low—mingling with the clink of crystal and the occasional burst of laughter. Real laughter. The kind this house almost never hears.

At the heart of it all, Kol lounges on one of the vintage leather sofas, grinning like a king who’s conquered death itself. He’s practically glowing—relaxed in the way he only gets when he’s fully adored, which, tonight, he is. Surrounded by his siblings, and for once, no blood spilled, no daggers drawn. Just a toast to his eternal existence.

You’re tucked in beside him, a half-empty glass of champagne in hand, your fingers laced with his. The candlelight catches on the ring he gave you— antique, intricate, older than most empires. It gleams like a promise whispered across centuries. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, lingering just beneath the stone— a grounding gesture you’ve come to know well. He always touches you like he’s making sure you’re still there. 

The room smells like bourbon and birthday cake.

Rebekah is deep into one of her favorite stories, hands carving the air as she reenacts one of Kol’s more infamous escapades.

“You nearly exposed us that night in Madrid,” she says, laughing. “Nik was ready to dagger you on the spot.”

Kol scoffs. “Nik’s always ready to dagger me.”

“Only because you bloody earned it,” Klaus adds smoothly, swirling his bourbon with a smirk curling at the edges of his mouth.

“You impersonated a Spanish nobleman,” Elijah adds with a chuckle, “and seduced both the wife and the mistress. Simultaneously.”

Laughter erupts. You join in, but mostly, you watch. Listen. Trying to imagine this version of Kol— reckless, gleefully unhinged. It feels impossible. Not when the man they’re describing just gently tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. Not when he looks at you like the world isn’t something to burn but something to protect.

It’s like hearing stories about a ghost. A Kol who doesn’t exist anymore.

Your Kol makes you breakfast in bed. He reads to you when you can’t sleep. He kisses your forehead like you’re made of glass. So different from the man who once danced on a burning bar with blood on his shirt and laughter in his lungs. 

Rebekah turns to Elijah, mischief dancing in her eyes. “What about the time he and Davina took on those cursed covens in the Quarter?”

You stiffen, just slightly. But Kol feels it. You know he does.

Davina.

The one name Kol never says around you. The one part of his past that stays locked away.

Elijah’s eyes gleam with the memory. “Ah, yes. Quite the spectacle.”

“She was a hell of a witch,” Klaus says, grinning into his glass. “Young, fierce, dangerously gifted.”

“She matched Kol in every way that mattered,” Elijah muses.

Something inside you twists.  

“They were inseparable,” Klaus continues, almost fond. “He adored that little spell of hers. Snap a neck with the flick of a wrist.”

Kol’s fingers are still laced with yours, but they feel heavier now. Or maybe it’s your heart.

You hadn’t heard much about her—just whispers, fragmented echoes. His partner in mayhem. The girl who nearly became Mrs. Kol Mikaelson. She had magic. Power. She had him when he belonged to the blood and chaos. The world he still carries in his bones. The world you’ll never fully touch.

What were you, compared to that?

Just… human.

Kol turns to you with a lazy smile, eyes warm. “You’re awfully quiet, darling. Everything alright?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

And you mean to be. Because it’s his birthday. He’s happy. And you love him more than anything.

So you swallow the ache pressing against your ribs. You laugh at the next story. You raise your glass when they toast. You kiss him when they cut the cake.

But somewhere deep in your mind, a whisper takes root:

Why would he choose you?

-*-

You stand alone in the parlor, stacking a few stray glasses onto a tray. The air still holds the scent of melting wax and leftover cake. From the kitchen, Rebekah’s voice drifts in—giving Kol hell over something, probably the way he butchered the cake. His laugh echoes back, warm and carefree.

Your fingers drift unconsciously to the ring on your hand. You twist it slowly, again and again, the way you always do when your thoughts get too loud. A silent comfort. A grounding weight.

You should be happy. Content. The night went well. Kol is happy. The house hums with family, laughter, warmth.

But your mind keeps drifting.

To her. To those stories. To Elijah’s voice, low and reverent.  

She matched Kol in every way that mattered.

Your stomach churns. Not in anger. In something softer. Meaner. The slow, creeping ache you could never explain out loud.

Hearing about his time with the witch wasn’t new. You knew the broad strokes— the engagement, the subsequent heartbreak, the legendary love wrapped in blood and fire. You heard the whispers about her. The legacy. The power. Kol never talks about her, but the world does. Witches who whisper her name, Vampires who remember how fiercely they fought for each other. A girl who lit the Quarter ablaze and stood her ground beside an Original Vampire.

And you? You’re just… human.

No magic. No bloodline. No armor.

No place in this world except the one directly next to Kol.

You don’t hear him come in until his arms slide around your waist from behind. He presses a lazy kiss just behind your ear.

“You vanished,” he murmurs into your hair. “Thought I’d been abandoned on my own bloody birthday.”

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Just cleaning up.”

He turns you gently in his arms, his fingers warm against your sides. His eyes— soft, brown, and endlessly mischievous— study you. His gaze narrows slightly.

“You’re quiet, darling. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

You look up at him. Hesitant. 

It’s stupid, really. It’s not fair to ruin his night.

And yet.

“She meant a lot to you.” 

It isn’t accusatory. It isn’t bitter. Just factual. But it drops between you like a stone in still water.

You don’t say her name. You don’t have to.

His expression shifts— subtle, but immediate. The warmth drains just a little.

He lets out a slow breath, stepping back just enough to really look at you. He waits a beat, then nods. “She did.”

You nod too. You already knew that. That’s not what hurts.

Your eyes drop to your hands, to the ring on your finger. You twist it once, then again, like the motion might steady your thoughts. Like it might anchor you to him. But tonight, even that familiar weight feels unsteady. 

“She was powerful. Fierce. She was part of your world in a way I’ll never be.”

“Hey,” Kol’s voice sharpens slightly. He lifts your chin with two fingers, trying to catch your eyes. “Don’t do that.”

“I’m not trying to start something,” you say quickly. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about it. The stories. The way everyone talks about her like she’s fire and fury. Like she fit beside you. And I’m—”

“Mine,” Kol interrupts, firmer now. “You’re mine. You belong with me.”

You try to laugh, but it cracks halfway through. “Do I? Or are you still trying to convince yourself?”

Kol’s eyes narrow, the first real flicker of temper rising.

You keep going. The words are tumbling out faster than your brain can catch them.

“Everyone looks at us and wonders what an Original Vampire like you is doing with someone like me. And maybe they don’t say it out loud, but I see it. I feel it in every single one of their gazes.”

You take a shaky breath. Your voice softens.

“I don’t have magic, Kol. I don’t have power. I don’t even have a place in this city unless it’s beside you. And I know you love me — I do — but part of me keeps wondering…”

Your throat tightens. The ache crawls higher.

“If you ever miss what you had with her.”

Kol tenses. “This again?”

“Yes. This,” you snap, louder than you intended. “Because she fought with you. Bled with you. She was part of the fire and the dark. And me? I just sit here and hope you come home in one piece.”

Kol’s jaw tightens. “You think that’s what I want? That chaos again?”

“I think part of you misses it,” you whisper. “And if not the chaos… maybe just her.”

Kol runs a hand through his hair, exasperated. “Maybe I do miss her— at least she didn’t turn every bloody conversation into a trial.”

The words are out before he can catch them.

Silence.

Your breath catches, unable to breathe around the impact. You stare at him— disbelieving, shattered.

Kol’s face shifts instantly. “Wait—darling, that’s not—”

You don’t give him a chance.

“No.” Your voice is low. Flat. “That’s exactly what you meant.”

You step back. The weight of the ring on your finger suddenly unbearable.

“Maybe you should go find her, then.”

You twist the ring off your finger, undoing something that you thought was sacred. You shove the piece of jewelry into his palm like it’s searing through your skin. He doesn’t stop you.

“I’m sorry I’m not her,” you whisper. “But I won’t stand here and be punished for it.”

You turn, tears finally spilling over. The sound of your heartbeat drowning out the sound of your footsteps on the tile. You barely register Rebekah’s voice from the hall. All you see is the bedroom door and the blur of tears as you lock yourself inside. 

And when the sob finally breaks from your chest, it doesn’t stop.

Kol stares at the closed bedroom door, the ring heavy in his palm. The warmth of your hand still clings to the metal like a ghost. His brain hasn't quite caught up to his mouth— the words still hang in the air, ugly and unforgiving.

What the hell had he just done?

He takes a step forward, ready to knock, to beg, to undo it all— but a voice cuts through the tension, sharp and low.

“Don’t.”

Rebekah.

She steps out from the hallway shadows,arms folded, posture stiff with fury. Her heels click against the floor — precise, deliberate — as she closes the distance between them.

There’s a long beat. A quiet standoff between siblings, too alike in their anger. 

“I need to talk to her.”

“No,” she snaps, stepping firmly in front of her brother. “You don’t get to hurt her like that and then chase after her two seconds later like a kicked puppy looking for forgiveness.”

Kol clenches his jaw, frustration bubbling up. “You don’t understand—”

“I understand perfectly,” Rebekah cuts in. “I understand that the best thing that’s ever happened to you is in that room, sobbing her heart out, because you couldn’t keep your bloody ego in check.”

Kol flinches, jaw ticking.

“You’re one to talk,” he snaps suddenly, eyes flashing. “You’re the one who brought up Davina in the first place— stirred the pot and walked away. You practically lit the match.”

Rebekah doesn’t even blink.

“Oh, don’t you dare try to put this on me.” Her voice drops low, dangerous. “I mentioned Davina. You turned it into a bloody wrecking ball. Don’t confuse your guilt with my honesty.”

She steps in closer, her presence fierce and unshakable.

“She loves you. Do you get that? Do you have any idea how rare that is? Someone who loves you— not your charm, not your power, not your name. You. She’s stood by you when any sane person would have run. She makes you better, Kol.”

He looks away, guilt twisting his insides.

“You're softer with her. You smile more. Hell, you even think before you kill now— most of the time.”

He lets out a bitter breath.

“She’s not Davina,” Rebekah continues, softer now. “And thank God for that. Because Davina may have matched your darkness, but that girl in there? She made you want to leave it behind.”

Kol’s fingers tighten around the ring, knuckles white.

“She stands by you even when it terrifies her. Even when she feels small and breakable and wrong for you. She worries she’s not enough, that she’ll never be enough for someone like you. And instead of proving her wrong, tonight, you proved her right.”

“I didn’t—” he tries again.

“But you did.” Rebekah cuts in, merciless. “You did, Kol. And you need to fix it. Not with flowers or pretty words or that half-smirk you use to charm your way out of trouble. You apologize. And you mean it. Grovel if you have to.”

Kol is quiet. He looks smaller now— or maybe just exposed. The kind of pain he usually masks with cruelty bleeding through in silence.

Rebekah exhales and softens. Just slightly.

“She’s not a witch. She’s not a warrior. She doesn’t belong to this world like we do. But she’s chosen you anyway. She’s still choosing you. Don’t be such a bloody fool that you make her regret it.”

Kol stares down at the ring.

The weight of it— the weight of everything— presses against his chest.

“Give her time,” Rebekah says, finally stepping aside.Her voice lowers, warning laced with sibling affection. “But when you go to her, Kol… mean it. Or I swear, I’ll dagger you myself.”

-*-

You sit curled on the edge of the bed, knees hugged to your chest, eyes red and swollen. Rebekah steps inside, her heels now silent against the rug. She doesn’t speak right away. She just crosses the room and sits beside you.

The silence between you is gentle. Compassionate.

“I didn’t mean to ruin his birthday,” you whisper.

Rebekah glances over. “You didn’t. He did.”

You let out a small, broken laugh. “I just… I couldn’t take it anymore. All of it. The stories, the way people talk about her. About them. Like they were this perfect match. What do I have to offer compared to that? I’m just…”

“Human?” Rebekah supplies gently.

You nod, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand. “I just don’t understand why me. I can’t fight beside him. I can’t protect him. I don’t belong in this world, Rebekah. I’m not strong. I’m not... anything like what he needs.”

“You are,” she says instantly. “And that’s not me being nice. It’s the truth.”

You let your gaze drop. “I just… I saw him tonight. The way he lit up talking about that time in his life. With her, he was… alive. Untouchable. He didn’t have to hold back.”

“He also left a trail of destruction in his wake,” Rebekah replies, her voice dry. “Kol back then was a storm with teeth. Dangerous, reckless, impossible to rein in. You think that’s something to envy?”

Rebekah’s tone softens. “You don’t tame him. You anchor him. You make him want to be still. To be better. And trust me— Kol Mikaelson has never wanted to be better for anyone.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“And look,” she continues, quieter now, “Kol lives in that same fear. Of being unworthy. Of not being enough. It’s been carved into him since we were children. Which is why what he said tonight…” She pauses. “It was cruel. And he knows it.”

You close your eyes. “It just hurt so much.”

“I know,” she says, placing a steady hand over yours. “But if there’s one thing I know for certain— and that’s saying something— it’s that Kol loves you more than he knows how to handle. That doesn't excuse anything. But it means he’ll fight to make it right.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Then, softly you speak, “I don’t know if I can forgive him tonight.”

“Good,” Rebekah says bluntly. “He doesn’t deserve it yet. Let him sit in it. Make him earn it.”

You manage a soft laugh through your tears.

“Come on,” she says, rising. “Take a breather. Let him wonder if he’s truly ruined it.”

You nod slowly, rubbing at your face. “Okay.”

You stand. Rebekah walks you to the door, arm lightly around your shoulders.

As she opens it, you glance up at her.

“Thank you.”

She squeezes your hand. “Always.”

-*-

You return just after dusk.

The Quarter is quieter now— its usual pulse slowed to a soft hum of distant music and street lamps flickering to life. You walk slowly, trying to breathe in the cool air, hoping it will help wash the hurt away. But your heart is still bruised. Your fingers twist absentmindedly in the absence of your ring.

When you reach the compound, Rebekah is sitting near the door with a glass of wine. She looks up as you enter, eyes scanning your face carefully.

“You okay?” she asks.

You nod once, offering a tired smile. “Is he here?”

She sighs. “Upstairs. Been pacing like a madman. Looks like someone gutted him and left him standing.”

You nod again and make your way up. Each step feels heavier than the last.

You open the bedroom door slowly. And stop.

The entire room is covered in flowers.

Hundreds of them— your favorite shade of pink, full and soft, overflowing from mismatched vases, lining the windowsill, scattered in delicate trails across the bed. The air is thick with the scent of honey and roses.

Kol stands near the bed, shoulders rigid, hands twisted together like he doesn’t trust them not to shake.

When he sees you, his whole body stills. His red-rimmed eyes lock on yours, wide with something raw. Desperate.

“Before you walk away again,” he blurts, voice ragged, “please. Five minutes. You don’t have to say a word. You can hate me. Just… let me speak.”

You hesitate in the doorway.

“I’m not ready to talk,” you murmur.

“I’ll talk,” he says. “You listen.”

You step inside.

He doesn’t move toward you. Just begins.

“I’m sorry.” The words scrape out of him, cracked and unpolished. “Not just for what I said— though that alone was bloody awful— but for even letting you feel that way in the first place.”

You don’t speak.

“I was an idiot,” he continues. “No, worse. I was cruel. I lashed out and I used the most painful thing I could find to hurt you because—” He cuts off, jaw tight. “I got scared.”

You blink. “Scared?”

“That I don’t deserve you.” His voice is quiet now. “Because I don’t. I never have. You’re kind, and human, and good. You let me be soft with you, and that scares the hell out of me.”

You’re still frozen in place, but your heart is beating louder now.

“I’ve never had anything this real,” he confesses. “Not in a thousand years. And I’ve done nothing in this world to earn it. So when you started doubting us tonight, I panicked. Because some part of me still believes that one day, you’ll wake up and realize you deserve better.”

His throat works around the next words.

“I don’t want her,” he says. “I want you. The woman who brings me back when my instincts scream to destroy. The woman who looks at me like I’m worth something. The woman who taught me that peace isn’t boring. It’s just... safe.”

You take a trembling breath. Your chest tightens.

“I’m sorry I made you feel small,” he whispers. “You are not. You are everything.”

The quiet stretches long between you.

Then softly, you say, “You can’t expect everything to be okay with an apology.”

“I don’t,” he says. “But I had to try.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls something out.

Your ring.

He walks to you slowly, then kneels— petals crunching faintly beneath him.

“I’ll wait,” he says. “If that’s what it takes. But I’m asking again. Will you still marry me?”

Your lips part. Tears finally spill over, silent and warm against your cheeks. You don’t speak. You just step forward and drop to your knees in front of him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He clutches you like you’re the last thing anchoring him to the world.

“Yes,” you whisper against his shoulder.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. Gently, reverently, he slides the ring back onto your finger, then presses a kiss to your hand like it’s sacred.

“I’m still mad,” you murmur.

“I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

“And you still have a lot of making up to do.”

“I plan on it,” he says. “Starting with dinner. Just us. Sushi. The good kind.”

You nod, breath catching on a laugh. “Okay.”

He kisses you then— slow and full of apology. Full of promise. His hands frame your face like you’re the only thing in the world that’s ever made him feel steady.

And in that moment, you believe him.

-*-

The next few days are… different.

Kol is everywhere.

He holds your hand when you walk. Wraps an arm around your waist while you make tea. Follows you from room to room like a cologne-wearing shadow who thinks everything you say is the most brilliant thing he’s ever heard.

And he is absurdly affectionate.

Every kiss is too long. Every compliment is too loud. The flowers multiply daily— fresh blooms on your pillow, tucked into your boots, even braided into a crown he insists you wear around the house until Rebekah snaps a picture (and promises to use it as blackmail).

You should be annoyed.

But you’re not.

Because he means every word. Because every brush of his fingers feels like a promise: I won’t hurt you like that again.

This morning, he’s curled beside you on the couch, your legs draped over his lap. The TV hums softly in the background, but Kol is more interested in playing with your fingers, absently twisting the engagement ring like he’s still marveling that it’s back where it belongs.

You sip your tea and side-eye him. “You do realize the ring’s staying on this time, right?”

He grins. “I’m just making sure it fits. Permanently.”

The door swings open. Rebekah strides into the room holding a half-empty vase, her expression one of theatrical exasperation.

“Kol,” she says flatly. “If I find one more flower in my shampoo, I’m going to make Freya hex your eyebrows off.”

He doesn’t even flinch. “Please. I’d look dashing with no brows.”

“Seriously,” Klaus calls from the hallway, voice full of disdain, “it’s like a bloody florist exploded in here.”

You glance at Kol, who only smirks.

“I’m in love,” he says, utterly unrepentant. “We’re celebrating.”

“With daisies in my coat pockets?” Klaus mutters.

“You’re welcome,” Kol replies. Then he turns to you and drops his voice to a dramatic whisper, “Ignore them, darling. They’ve simply never known love like ours.”

You roll your eyes, but the grin tugs at your lips anyway.

Rebekah sighs. “I actually liked you better when you were brooding.”

“Impossible,” Kol declares, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’m radiant now.”

Klaus snorts and disappears upstairs. Rebekah mutters something about needing more wine.

You shake your head, laughing softly. “You know they’re never going to let this go.”

Kol just pulls you closer. “Let them tease. I have you.”

You glance down at your ring again, your heart full.

Peace doesn’t come easy in this world.

But right now, it’s wrapped in a floral-scented Original Vampire who won’t stop looking at you like you hung the stars.

And for the first time in a long time, forever doesn’t seem so scary after all.

If you want to be a part of my tag list, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you (If you don’t specify, I’ll just assume you want to be on the general list)!

Taglist: @chaoticfanpeach @hazgold @devotedlycrookeddonut @catmikaelson20 @stargirly05 @sc4rrc

[writing-the-stars]

About a request I was thinking about: You are human and engaged with Kol and so in Love and happy. You tame Kol and his family see such a big change in him before and it’s all too you. When he is angry and is ready for destroying, just by hearing your voice directed at him he immediately stops. They haven’t seen him so in love, sweet, gentle and protective not even when he was with Davina. So one day, you guys were fighting when he tells you that Davina wouldn’t do this/be like that and you can’t believe him and yelled that you aren’t her and you’re sorry that you aren’t good enough and to just go to her then and you throw your engagement ring to him and ran to yours and Kol’s room with tears streaming down your face. You locked yourself in the room and start to sob in your hands. Kol wanted to go after you bc he realised what he really did but Rebekah stopped and told him that he did enough damage and give you space and that he is a big idiot who doesn’t think at all and you are the best thing that happened to him and love him with your whole heart and are always by his side regardless and how could he compare you to his ex when you are so insecure about not being good enough for him and much more and he throws these things to your face and tells him he has a lot of making up to do. Rebekah comes into your room to calm you down and not get yourself sick and you told her that you can’t imagine your life without him but can’t help but feel like he could do so much better and why would he be with a human and he also thinks that after his comment. Rebekah tries to reassure you none it’s true and that you have to talk about this things with him bc he doesn’t know about it. After a while, you go outside for a walk to clear your mind. You arrive back and see Rebekah and asked her if kol is home and then you went upstairs. When you open the door to the bedroom, he is there but the whole room is filled with flowers, pink ones that you like. Your eyes fill with tears but you don’t want to cry anymore and want to leave but he is pleading you also with his puppy eyes that you can’t resist and you tell him that you don’t want to talk and he’s like I’ll talk you’ll listen. You tell him he has 5 minutes and he told you how sorry he is and that he is an idiot and much more and pleading to forgive him and he wants only you and you are the most gorgeous girl just for him. You tell him he can’t expect that with an apology everything to be ok but you’ll forgive him and he has a lot of making up to do. He kisses you and hugs you so tight and comes with the rings asks you if you’ll still marry him which ofc you do and say sorry about it. You eventually talk about your insecurities also which he tries to reassure you. You’ll go tonight just the two of you out for sushi. The coming days he is more clingy and affectionate with you than usual which you love and always compliments you and buys you flowers and it results with teasing from his siblings and clips them back but all he cares is about you and you’re well being. Thank you sm for doing it 🥰

Sure thing! You can find the fic here. I hope you love it!!

[writing-the-stars]

Uuuuuuu 🤭🤭🤭 I’m so excitedddd 🥰🥰can’t wait to read this kol fic and all your next ones 🫶🏻🫂

I’m so anxious for it to drop you don’t even understand!! Very excited😆

[writing-the-stars]

Truer words have never been spoken. I want to hear your thoughts!!

people who write fics. how do you feel about comments on super old ones you wrote like 2+ years ago

[writing-the-stars]

Hi !! 🩷 can we still send kol requests or ?? Thank youuu and can’t wait for more kol fic I love love love them so much, I come to re read your works 🥰🤭🫶🏻

Oh my gosh, stop! That's such an honor!! Thank you so much!!!

I am still working on some other Kol requests at the moment; however, if you want to send 1-2 more requests, that's fine. Just anticipate it will take me sometime to get to them.

[writing-the-stars]

New Kol Fic Dropping

Who wants a sneak peek at next week's post??

This reminded me of the Four Seasons baby

Rebekah turns to Elijah, mischief dancing in her eyes. “What about the time he and Davina took on those cursed covens in the Quarter?”

You stiffen, just slightly. But Kol feels it. You know he does.

Davina.

The one name Kol never says around you. The one part of his past that stays locked away.

Elijah’s eyes gleam with the memory. “Ah, yes. Quite the spectacle.”

“She was a hell of a witch,” Klaus says, grinning into his glass. “Young, fierce, dangerously gifted.”

“She matched Kol in every way that mattered,” Elijah muses.

Something inside you twists.  

“They were inseparable,” Klaus continues, almost fond. “He adored that little spell of hers. Snap a neck with the flick of a wrist.”

Kol’s fingers are still laced with yours, but they feel heavier now. Or maybe it’s your heart.

You hadn’t heard much about her— just whispers, fragmented echoes. His partner in mayhem. The girl who nearly became Mrs. Kol Mikaelson. She had magic. Power. She had him when he belonged to the blood and chaos. The world he still carries in his bones. The world you’ll never fully touch.

What were you, compared to that?

Just… human.

Kol turns to you with a lazy smile, eyes warm. “You’re awfully quiet, darling. Everything alright?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

And you mean to be. Because it’s his birthday. He’s happy. And you love him more than anything.

So you swallow the ache pressing against your ribs. You laugh at the next story. You raise your glass when they toast. You kiss him when they cut the cake.

But somewhere deep in your mind, a whisper takes root:

Why would he choose you?

Hope you enjoyed! I'm excited for this to drop!!!

UPDATE: It's posted!! Where the Fire Settles

[writing-the-stars]

Literally my music listening experience

you ever listen to a song 47 times in a row and every time you’re like wow what a good song. I’m gonna play it again.

[writing-the-stars]

Hiii bestie !! I saw on your wip post that you have a kol fic named “Where the Fire Settles” that you cross out, did you posted and I missed it or ? Btw love your fics so much and can’t wait for more 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Hi! No, you didn't miss it. I crossed it out because I finished it. It will be posted on June 7th!

[writing-the-stars]

The Brightest Star

Meet the Star Behind the Other Stars You See

Hi, I'm Nebula!

Star-born, moon-touched, and mostly made of Dr. Pepper and quiet thoughts.

This galaxy is made of stray thoughts, imagined memories, and fragments of feelings I couldn’t say out loud, so I turned them into stars instead.

Aries. Dreamer. Hopeless Romantic. Lover Girl. Certified Yapper. Chronic Overthinker. Self-Proclaimed Queen of Angst

Sometimes I vanish. Sometimes I Shine Too Hard. Either Way, I'm Here

Chat me anytime!

[writing-the-stars]

Hiii 🫶🏻🩷 i sent you an request, did you get it by any chance ? Thank youuu 🥰🥰🫶🏻

Hi Anon! I did receive a couple of Kol requests. I promise you I am slowly but surely working on them. I have one that will be posted early next month, so be on the lookout! Thanks for your support!!!💕

[writing-the-stars]

Lovedddddd your fic sooooo muchhh !!!! It was so amazing 🤭🩷 can’t wait for more kol fics from you 🫶🏻🫶🏻 you are so talented and your fics are so amazing !! Can’t wait to see what you have in store for us next 🤭🥰

You are so sweet, oh my goodness!!!! Thank you so much for your kind words. I really appreciate it!!💕 I definitely have more Kol fics on the way and I’m excited to share them. Thank you so much for your support! It means the world to me!!!

[writing-the-stars]

Love your fics so so so muchhhh 🤭🩷🥰 can’t wait for more kol fics 🫶🏻🫶🏻🩷so exciteddddd🥹

Oh my gosh, stopppp😊 More Kol fics are definitely on the way! I’m so glad you’re enjoying them!!!

[writing-the-stars]

We're Friends At the Party

Pairing: Maddy Perez x AFAB!Reader

Summary: To the world, you were just friends. But at home, you knew the truth.

Warnings: It gets a little smutty in there. Nothing too major. Sorta angsty. Reader's gender isn't specified, but female anatomy is implied. Let Me Know If I Forgot Anything

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: This is inspired by one of my favorite King Princess songs. I don't typically do song fics, but I was listening to Homegirl one day and I felt ✨inspired✨. So, here we are! I hope you all enjoy. Thank you so much for reading! I really appreciate it. Have a wonderful day!

Masterlist | Euphoria Masterlist

They stare, when you walk in the room, like they’re looking at Heaven

Madeleine Perez commands attention wherever she goes. The moment she enters a room everything changes. The air thickens, gravity shifts, and time slows as if the universe itself is marveling at her beauty. There is something otherworldly about her— not just in her beauty, but in her presence. Like she belongs in a softer realm where the rules are written in silk and heat and perfume. She is incandescent. Ethereal. And you have loved her since before you even knew what love feels like. 

Tonight is no different. It was a house party. A senior’s cousin’s place. The room is humming— low lights and flickering shadows, the scent of spilled beer mixing with cheap vanilla candles someone thought would be classy. Laughter drifts like smoke, curling around bodies packed too tightly on old couches and a sticky kitchen floor.

The door opens, and just like that, the atmosphere shifts. 

Maddy walks in wearing deep red— the kind of red that burns slowly, that lingers on your tongue. She shimmers under the low glow of the hallway light, all soft skin and sharp eyes, a contradiction wrapped in satin.

People ogle her the way they always do. Yourself included. But not like them. You watch Maddy the way you watch the sky right before it rains— quiet, reverent, already drenched in what hasn’t happened yet.

She floats through the party like she was borned to be watched. The rest of us background noise to the movie that is her life. Her perfume hits you before she does— warm, floral, familiar. And when her eyes finally meet yours, you forget how to breathe for a second.

She smiles— small and real.

And for a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe Heaven can look back.

Oh you know that those boys will do more than just look if you let them

Maddy is well aware of the allure she wields. She’s felt it all her life— the slow turn of heads when she walks into a room, the loitering gazes that trail her like shadows. She learned to read them early on— the way their eyes pause, too heavy to be casual. The unspoken desires hiding in their smirks. The silence that hums just before someone makes a move.

Their admiration is never quiet. It’s heavy with intention. Eager. Always one heartbeat away from action. 

And she knows— if she gives even the softest nod, the slightest tilt of her lips, those boys will take their chance.

So she lets them watch. Leans into the game. Sometimes, she lets them hope, turning their want into something she can control. Not because she wants them, but because she knows the rules. Because power, in a world that’s always trying to take from you, is a kind of safety.

She performs her part with ease. Her hands brushing against shoulders, her laughter a little too loud, too free. And they fall for it, every time. The boys, the whispers, the too-long looks — they’re all part of the same play.

You watch her from the outside, seeing how she lets a guy get too close. Watching as her smile falters when she turns away. The way she exhales as if she’s just now catching her breath. The flicker of something softer behind her eyes — something she never lets them see.

And you have to remind yourself to stay still. To not reach for her hand. To not pull her away from it all. For you are just a shadow in her world, moving only when she lets you.

And I don't wanna be like them, with you

To them, Maddy is surface level. A skin-deep fantasy with a diamond-cut smile — something pretty to parade, a prize to claim. She fits so easily into the spaces they want her to fill: on their arm, in their bed, in their dreams.

Everybody wants her, but never for the right reasons. No one cares to look beyond the shimmer. Past the precision of her makeup or the arch of her laugh. No one ever looks to see the complexity of the girl within— no one except for you. 

Because you’ve seen her when the world isn’t watching. When her voice gets small and uncertain, when her hands shake just a little and she pretends they don’t, when she lets the silence settle without needing to fill it. You know the stillness of her— the delicate, rare kind of quiet that lives beneath all that fire. And in those quiet moments, the ones no one else gets to see, you fall in love with her all over again.

Fall in love with the invisible scars from wounds inflicted in battles she fought in the shadows. Fall in love with the moments where she truly is just a girl. Fall in love with the strength and resilience that pushes her forward each day. 

You want her to know that you see all of it— the shadows and the light. The depth beneath the polished exterior that she presents to the world. That you want to hold all of the pieces of her, even the ones she deems undesirable. That when you reach for her, you don’t want to be another pair of hands staining her body with fingerprints. That you want to be more than a warm body in the dark. You want to be the one she reaches for when the lights come back on. 

But you still look at me like him

But Maddy is wary of letting anyone too close to her heart. She has learned, in the cruelest ways, what intimacy can cost. What love can become when it turns sharp and violent and possessive. Her trust now something she keeps hidden away.

And yet—

There are moments.

Moments when she rests her head on your shoulder in the dark and exhales like she’s safe. Moments when her breath catches in her throat as if she’s on the verge of saying something real. Moments like now when she leans into the warmth of your presence, scooting closer to you on the sofa as she laughs with B.B. about the latest guy to try and claim her as a prize. Her fingertips brushing yours like she’s asking for permission to stay. 

In those moments, it feels like she could believe in something gentler. That maybe she could love you without condition. That she almost sees you.

But then she looks at you and you see the shadow in her eyes. The ghost that still haunts her. See how her mind goes back to him. To Nate. To something twisted and familiar, something that taught her love is a transaction, a trap. Something that still lives in the marrow of her instincts. That tells her to hold herself back, even when she wants to fall forward. You see that when she looks at you she’s really searching for him. 

And it breaks you— quietly. Because she doesn’t mean to, but you feel it all the same.

And you taste like danger but I feel so safe in your arms

You know loving Maddy is dangerous— and not just for your heart. 

But being with her is like standing at the edge of a precipice: breath caught, toes curled against the drop, wind kissing your skin with the promise of something wild. Her kisses are intoxicating, a blend of heat and hunger and something just out of reach. They taste like cherry gloss and blurred intentions— a tantalizing mixture of danger and allure. Like something meant to be touched but never held.

It scares you, the intensity of what you feel. The way your body hums beneath her touch. The way your heart aches in the quiet after.

But still—you reach for her.

Because when her arms wrap around you, the world finally hushes. The chaos stills. All of the doubts and fears melt away. 

There, in the curve of her shoulder and the brush of her fingers, you find a safe haven— a comforting refuge. 

It’s a strange kind of safety.

The kind that doesn't come with promises or permanence. But in the way she exhales against your neck like she’s never known rest until now. In the way her legs tangle with yours like she’s afraid to let go.

She pushes your boundaries. Tests your heart, then holds you close, softening in your arms like she’s afraid of breaking her own.

And you let her. Every time.

Because she is a beautiful contradiction— the fire that could burn you down, and the shelter you’d still crawl back to if she did.

And I like the way that you talk, slow

Your late-night conversations are a sanctuary— a confessional only the moonlight is allowed to witness.

It’s in those quiet hours, when the world is hushed and the rest of the house is asleep, that Maddy lets herself soften. She sheds the armor she wears in daylight and speaks in a voice dipped in silk and shadow.

You talk about nothing and everything. About the first time she cried over something stupid. About what she’d do if she could run away tomorrow. About how hard it is to feel safe in a world that only sees your beauty, never your soul.

These whispered moments are sacred. Each word she gives you feels like a gift, a little piece of the real her— not the curated version everyone else gets, but the unfiltered, aching, hopeful Maddy Perez beneath it all.

And every time she lets you see her—really see her—it deepens something in you. Something reverent. You find yourself hanging on her every word, not just for what she’s saying, but for how she says it. The rhythm. The warmth. The quiet laughter that curls at the edge of her sentences.

She doesn’t know what her voice does to you. How every syllable paints her in richer hues— a living, breathing portrait of someone you could spend forever just trying to understand.

And tonight is no different.

The party is too loud, the air too thick with perfume and posturing.

But then she turns to you—her gaze lazy and glittering—and takes your hand like it's the most natural thing in the world. She leans in, lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Let’s get out of here.”

And just like that, you follow. Because you always do.

You wonder what words she’ll bless you with this time, as she leads you away from the noise, the crowd, the pretense— to conclude the night how you always do: in her sheets, in her world, wrapped in the quiet thunder of her voice and the ache of what might never be said.

Spelling my name with your tongue, so

Maddy has a way of making every moment feel like magic.

Otherworldly. Like you’ve stepped into a dream she’s invited you to share. And nothing is more enchanting than the time you spend alone together, cloaked in silk and shadow.

Nights with her blur at the edges, soft and slow like honey melting over warm skin. Her room is hushed but heavy, the kind of quiet that pulses. Outside, a street lamp flickers against the window, casting shadows that sway like ghosts.

But inside, it’s only her. Only you.

And the way she tastes like pomegranate and sin.

The warmth of her fingertips as they trail your skin. The sound of your name when it falls from her lips—like a secret only she knows, something intimate and sacred. She says it like she’s unraveling you with each syllable, and maybe she is.

Her kisses hold a gentle passion, a quiet vow exchanged between breath and tongue. Whispering promises of a someday where she will love you without fear, without walls, without running.

Tonight she’s in control, exploring you like you’re sacred, like you might vanish if she moves too fast. Her fingers trace your sternum, her mouth following behind, writing something sacred into your skin as she trails lower.

And then her lips finally meet you where you’ve been longing for her, spelling your name with her tongue—slowly, deliberately, like she’s engraving it into the shape of her memory. 

It’s more than pleasure. It’s reverent. A whispered devotion traced on to you,

as if she’s claiming you, letter by letter, and you let her—gladly.

You arch beneath her, exhaling her name like it’s the only word you know. The sensation of her devotion, her branding of your body, is enough to make you come undone around her. 

And when she raises up to kiss you, she kisses you like she’s drowning. In these moments, when the world dissolves around you, you swear you feel it—the possibility of being loved by her.

You don’t have to say it

As you lay tangled together in the afterglow of your shared passion, the room a sanctuary of tangled sheets and soft breath, something inside you settles—an understanding that had been blooming quietly for some time now. You recognize what’s been there all along.

It’s in the way her eyes soften during every stolen glance. The gentle squeeze of her hand under the lunch table. The way she leans in just a little closer than necessary, like she’s tethered to you by something invisible but unbreakable.

Maddy doesn’t say it. But you feel it. 

In the way she traces lazy patterns against your skin like she’s writing poetry in a language only you understand. In the breath that she’s holding like she’s afraid of breaking something fragile.

You’ve always spoken in silences, in touches, in glances that last too long. So you don’t say anything either.

You thread your fingers through hers and squeeze once. Just once. She squeezes back.

She doesn’t have to say it.

It’s all there. Everything she’s too scared to say.

We’re friends at the party, I’ll give you my body at home

You play your roles perfectly throughout East Highland. 

Masquerading as friends, exchanging subtle touches and careful smiles that betray nothing of the truth buried beneath the surface. It’s a performance you both know by heart. The laughter is measured, the glances fleeting—just long enough to feel something, never long enough to be seen.

But you know the promise hidden in every passing look. You know how each night will end.

Because to the world, you’re just her friend. That’s what everyone sees: two girls who orbit one another like it's coincidence, like there's nothing more waiting beneath the surface.

And you understand.

This is the price of her vulnerability. Of the intimacy you share behind closed doors. 

But later, after the glitter, after the noise and the practiced distance, she’ll find your hand in the dark. She’ll lead you away like she always does. 

And in the privacy of her room—in the hush where the masks come off and the walls dissolve— she gives herself to you fully.

Not just her body, but everything she can’t say out loud.

Here, she’s not a fantasy. A symbol. A trophy to be claimed

Here, in the warmth of tangled sheets and whispered exhales, she’s just Maddy. Soft. Unmasked. Reclaimed.

You trace your fingers along the curve of her spine like you’re learning her all over again, like you’re memorizing the map to a place only you get to visit.

And in this silence, in this sanctuary, she’s finally free to love you the way she’s been aching to—not with words, but with everything else.

If you want to be a part of my taglist, please submit an ask specifying series, fandom, or all and I will happily add you!