#or my horrible memory messing up

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[llumimoon]

Started thinking about the oak family again mood board

[morningmask27]

I do sometimes find it really annoying that most of the things I do right now are At Least tangentially related to a trauma I lived through.

I am living in a university dorm right now, it's a very typical thing to do, but most people return to their family home during the weekends and only really stay in the dorms because they have classes in the week and having to go from their home to the classes, especially the 9 am classes, can be heavy if they live somewhat further away. I stay in my dorm the entire week. For Reasons I don't want to go back to my old home for longer than half a day to drop my laundry and leave with clean clothes, some food and a chat with my mother. I wouldn't feel good doing so anymore, but mentioning that is weird because most people (except internationals because going to a full on other country just for the weekend, every weekend, would be a bit dumb) return to their home (My dorm feels more like home to me right now than my old house did btw).

When I say I stay in my dorm people are somewhat confused, as it on its own already implies that something must not be that good at the familial home for me to not go there for the weekends. By the simple fact I don't go back it's already implied there is something wrong, and it's true, there Is something wrong, but I can't just start explaining the whole thing, it's not really appropriate for most conversations, and I simply don't want to open up about this part of my traumas. So I just have to quickly and very blatantly brush off that fact and the unpleasant implications to continue the conversation without making it awkward and it's so annoying.

Most of my weird trauma responses at least have the added thing that if I don't verbalize them nobody will really notice. I am good at hiding them, I kinda had to, but this dorm situation is such a blatant sign of something Weird (and not the good kind) that I cannot hide since my actions on their own imply a situation already.

I am somewhat good at dealing with all of these issues, brushing off The Problems is a typical part of normal conversations, but it does get frustrating sometimes when I get severely affected by something traumatic, and it's The Only reason that my problem happened, but I cannot talk about it in casual conversations because of how heavy and intense it is. I have to vaguely mention The Horrors (They Are Complex) and move on before I make my conversation partner uncomfortable. It happened when I had to miss a class because of a severe relapse in my mental health, it happens every time I mention I stay in my dorm the weekends, it happens whenever I get too jittery and weird because of stress (I don't even always know Why I am stressed) and I just cannot explain anything about the cause because it's too heavy for most people to hear. (I do understand that fact, it makes sense you're not going to tell classmates casually about the horrific stuff you went through in your personal life, but it fucking gets annoying when it is fully related to a situation and I have to Shut The Fuck Up anyway.)

It's just frustrating to me that I have to deal with all these Weird Things because of trauma, and everyone sees them, but I cannot explain where they come from truthfully because of how much they are. It's in this weird middle state where people See I am weird hurt, but they don't Know why. I do things differently for reasons they can assume are unpleasant, but I cannot ever truly explain everything to them.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Just Like Dad (4 of 4)

Content & Warnings: referenced military career, domestic fluff

Word Count: 957

A/N: Part of the Imagines & What If Series

Checking through his daughter’s backpack strikes up a difficult conversation.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // just like dad masterlist

Price has no idea where his daughter’s disorganization from, but it certainly isn’t him.

Opening her backpack, Price cringes at the mess. It’s all crushed papers, broken pencils, scattered crayons, and food wrappers. Sighing, Price turns the backpack zipper-side down, the contents crashing to the dining room table.

She is going to sit down tonight and organize this. No exceptions.

Frowning down at the wreckage, Price begins sorting through the papers, glancing at a few just to find some order in the chaos. He picks up a piece of paper and pauses, his gaze landing on the title.

All About Me reads the top of the page.

Price smiles as he starts to read over his daughter’s answers.

Favorite color? Blue.

Favorite animal? Dragon—all capital letters with lots of exclamation points.

Happiest memory? That one just says “ghostie tree.” Her teacher will have no idea what that means, but Price knows, and he laughs so hard he almost chokes.

Price’s daughter adores Simon, and whenever he’s around, she turns into a koala, hanging off every limb. It doesn’t matter if Simon is standing or sitting down. And how does Simon feel about it? He’ll act bored, like it hardly bothers him, but then he’ll strike, tickling her until she runs away screaming only for her to return minutes later to do it all over again.

Flipping it over, Price continues to read, pausing when he reaches information about parents and guardians. This is where he slows and observers her writing. She already filled stuff out about mom, and Price knows you’d get a laugh out of her answers, but the sections about him cool his amusement.

Her answers are idyllic versions of himself, nearly whimsical in the way she describes what he does and how proud she is that he is her father. That makes him ache, brings a tightness to his chest that pushes out all other feeling. Price is proud of his work, and of his career, but it is not a beautiful thing.

It is not sweet or kind or tender.

It is rough. It is hard.

It is heartbreaking.

He has lost so many people. So many good men and women. He’s done horrible things. Stained his palms with blood. These are difficult truths he faces every day.

But there are softer moments in his career of watching those he’s mentored be promoted, of victories and celebrations, of marriages and births, and of all those he’s worked with who have gone on to lead fulfilling, happy lives.

All of that, and this isn’t what stops him.

It’s her answer to the question “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I want to be like my dad.

Price sighs and sets the paper down on the table.

How does he respond to that? Should he even take the initiative? Should he approach the topic at all?

Price isn’t certain.

“Daddy.”

Price starts at his daughter’s voice. He turns. She’s standing just inside the archway to the living room. She has a perplexed look on her face as she glances between him and the mess on the kitchen.

“What’ve you done with my backpack?”

Price blinks, and then chuckles. “It’s a mess, love. We’ve taught you better.” Her face flushes slightly as she slowly walks up to the table. “You’re sitting down and going through this. No exceptions.”

She nods sheepishly.

Price picks up the questionnaire. “Want to talk about this? I have to sign off on it.”

Her flush grows deeper. “Did you read it?”

“I did.”

She looks up at him expectantly and Price waits a moment to see if she’ll say anything. She doesn’t.

“You said some nice things about me,” he says softly, and she beams. It reminds him of your smile, and that melts his heart down to his toes.

“It’s true,” she says brightly, happy that he’s mentioned anything at all.

“You want to be like me?” She nods. “And what do I do?”

She blinks. “Didn’t you read what I wrote?”

Price barks a laugh. “Yes, love. I did. But I want to hear it from you.”

She squares her shoulders and looks up at him with fierce determination. “You protect people. I want to protect people.”

True. But not entirely.

“How do you think I protect people?” He can see her brain processing the question and attempting to formulate an answer. She chews on her bottom lip, shoulders sagging slightly.

“I don’t know,” she finally says. “But I know that you do. You protect me and mom.”

“That’s because you and your mother are mine to protect.”

Protect is not the right word. While his actions and the things that he does might prevent horrible things happening at a global level, doing so often results in pain and suffering. It’s just what happens even when he tries to prevent that.

“Can I not do that?” she asks.

“You can do whatever you want when you’re older.”

But military life? No. He doesn’t wish that for her, and it’s not because she’s a girl. He’d feel the same if she has been born a son. No parent wants to see their child in potential danger. Doesn’t matter what age.

“So I can be just like you?”

He wants to say “no,” but instead diverts the question elsewhere. “You can’t be anything if you don’t organize this backpack.”

She groans and starts rummaging around in the mess.

Price kisses the top of her head. When he glances up, you’re standing in the archway, a soft smile on your face. Did you hear the whole conversation? Or just the end?

You stride forward and reach out. Price meets your outstretched hand, threading his fingers with yours.

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @spicyspicyliving @childofyuggoth @miaraei @coffeecaketornado @aykxz98 @kayden666 @unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @keiva1000 @cherryofdeath @pertinentpostmortem @enfppuff @kittytiddywinks @berarenado @saoirse06 @ninman82 @no-oneelsebutnsu @marispunk @thewulf @hayleybarnesx @lxblm @ferns-fics @ooldcardigan @beebeechaos @enarien @sw33tsnow @kessi-21 @makayla-666 @lifes-project @burn1ngw00d @heeheehoohoohahahihi @lulurubberduckie @ravenpoe67 @jade1605 @contractedcriteria @lovely-ateez @gingergirl06 @kidd3ath @leed-bbg @nelladowney @blackhawkfanatic @suhmie @tulipsun-flower @ghosts-hoe @jaggersinclair

[celibibratty]

(sigh), yesterday was the day, the day that changed everything, the day I saw that damn story, whenever December 23th arrives I always think about that, i will talk about this day cuz i think It's important for me to talk about this💨, I even remember the clothes I was wearing that day, I was wearing a blue tank top with flowery purple short, it was 2019, I was in the bedroom and it was almost night, I was watching this ao3, checking to see if there was any new sean x daniel story, and I updated the page and with that a new fanfic appeared (which was this damn story), I looked at the tags and saw that the story was happening in blood brothers and there was something to do with rape/abuse, I thought "hmn, this must be just another story of Sean acting like a freak (and I also i used read all of the stories,so)", I put it on, the story had started with the first red flag, which it was the fact that the person put the homies from ep 3 (cough, cough cassidy) in it and made daniel being supeer okay with that 💢🔥, and i get super pissed because in the story the person put that daniel was jealous of finn stealing sean from him tho in the game daniel is jealous of sean WITH CASSIDY NOT WITH FINN!!!💢🔥(and in the story there was cassidy in the middle), i thought it was so stupid, but keep reading, well, then we got to the shocking part, I got to the part that is close when things...start happening, and I realized that daniel had some weird dialogues and a very strange way for being the victim, I just remember that I felt a pain in my stomach, a bad feeling and thought "wait!?, is daniel who going to do this to sean?, no, no, it can't be, it can't be that", then I went down and I got to the naughty parts, I realized it was really Daniel and I thought "yeah, it is", I was so shocked, so disgusted, it never crossed my mind to invent Daniel doing this to Sean, I never pictured Daniel that way (he was my bratty💧, the sassy pretty kid💧), i never thought of daniel like that with sean, i didn't imagine them like that even in redemption (even daniel being more masculine), imagine then in bb, never!, I got super anxious, I started to shake, my breathing was so labored, I couldn't even breathe, but my mind forced me to keep reading until I finished, because I thought that if I kept reading, if I endured it maybe it would hurt less...

(it's almost like I knew that from now on this version of their pair would be more frequent, so i should get used to it, a-and I didn't wanted to sound boring, or different, I don't understand why I thought that way, I don't care what others think, but at the time I remember that I didn't wanted to be different, i didn't wanted to be the only one), I felt like snow white in the scene with the trees, I had finished reading, totally devastated and a bit numb, I saw that there were some comments, I wanted to see even for maliciousness, i wanted to see if someone was complaining about this shit, but no, and to my surprise every single person that i knew that were the ones that "enjoyed" sean x daniel was praising it, i felt (sigh) so betrayed, the comments people saying things like "possessive daniel is so hot", " oh, daniel topping sean is such a concerpt that should be more explore" and I was like "no, what do you mean?, daniel is not like that, I thought you liked it them together because it was cute💧", I felt horrified, it was everyone, I remember throwing the phone on the bed in horror, then I got up and went to do my tasks to reflect a little, before I talk about this part I need to talk about another situation/fanfic that have a great influence on that day, but sometimes I forget about it (well, before this damn fanfic appeared, the most recent and famous story was a story that had a kinda of lolita vibe, that's what I call this story, the lolita story vibe, this fanfic was also one that had/has a kinda of heavy/nonsense vibe, but I had read it and thought it was okay, I even kinda of...liked it at the time💨, but then one day someone made a comment saying that they didn't like the story very much, because they thought sean didn't seem like sean, he was very pervert and that the story had a kind of strange vibe, very heavy, and the person didn't like it very much, I was so ashamed, I hadn't thought like that, I thought it was okay, I got like "yeah, y-you are right, this story is do weird💧💨"...

continuing, I remember cleaning the cats' potty and mentally saying "I hated this story, I thought it was disgusting, horrible, I want the person who invented it to suffer, I thought it was horrible" but then another voice appeared saying "no ana, don't say that, it's not cool to talk like that about other people's work, the person probably worked hard on it, the story was huge), but I thought "i don't care, I thought it was nasty, I hated it, that was horrible", and then the other voice said "oh, ana, but the lolita story was also horrible, and YOU liked it!, you don't have the right to complain, if you liked that one, now you'll have to like this one too" (it seemed like a dispute between my mind and my heart), I felt so bad, I wanted to take it away from me, but I couldn't open up to anyone, I was thinking about marina, what was I going to say to her?💧, I didn't wanted her to see these dolls like that, I didn't wanted that she sees them like that now too, I didn't wanted her to remain like me, I think it's horrible, but I swear I would give this story a kudo even though I hated it and it made me feel so sick, but it was because I thought that maybe giving a kudo I would feel less bad for having hated it, I finished doing what I had to do, I went to the bedroom and when I updated the page of this ao3 the story was gone, it gone in the same day(it seems like it only appeared to mess with my head cuz it gone right after it), the story had been deleted (and thank god it was gone, i swear i would have given a kudo if it hadn't and i would never-forgive-myself-for-it), i got so relieved, i even felt...happy, but what had it done to me , it was done, even relieved, I still felt strange, I felt that I had lost something, and I say, I feel that on that day I lost my love for these dolls, after that it was never the same, tbh i feel like i lost everything, everything that meant to me (my love for this dolls, my confidence, my stability, a-and my creativity)

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗧𝗛 𝗢𝗥 𝗘𝗔𝗧

　　　　　　　　　𝒄𝒉𝒓𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N participates in the TRUTH OR EAT video from behind the camera.

WARNING: None.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"What's the most romantic thing you've ever done?" Matt asked, taking his eyes off the open black notebook in front of him and focusing them on Chris, his hands playing with the green highlighter.

Chris let out a breathy laugh, looking beyond the camera, his blue eyes meeting Y/N's, who smiled, raising her eyebrows, awaiting her boyfriend's response.

"I think there are two most romantic things I've ever done, both obviously with Y/N, since she's the only girlfriend I've ever had. I know you only asked for one, but I can think of two with different spheres." Chris began, looking at Matt momentarily, who nodded.

"Hurry up Chris." Nick ordered with a smile on his face as he took Matt's notebook, already anticipating his brother's response. Being Y/N's best friend, he had inside information.

"The first was last year, when Y/N and I completed three years of dating and I gifted her a trip for both of us to Italy." Chris smiled big, his eyes shining as he counted while Nick and Matt looked at him with matching smiles, happy for their brother's happiness. "She always dreamed of visiting Italy, it being her favorite place in the world, and when the three years together came I thought this was the ideal way to celebrate. I really wanted to see her happy and achieving her dream."

"I remember that, it was the longest the three of us were apart from each other because you were there for seven days." Matt commented, nodding his head.

"Yes, I remember Chris planning the entire trip. We went to that travel agency with him and helped him choose the perfect package with the best hotel and best tours. It was like a honeymoon without a wedding." Nick continued Matt's reasoning.

"I was so nervous when I went to give her the envelope with the plane tickets, I don't know why, but I thought everything was going to go wrong." Chris said, rolling his eyes when Nick and Matt started laughing, commenting that they remembered all the times he asked if it was good enough or if they thought Y/N would like it.

The girl smiled big behind the camera, her eyes lit up with happiness as memories of the trip flashed through her mind.

"So I think that's one of the most romantic things I've done for her, and the other one I didn't even realize was that romantic until Y/N pointed it out to me." Chris began, gesturing with his hands, organizing the mess of tacos in front of him. "She has a horrible habit of tying only one bow on her sneaker, which makes the shoelaces come untied more easily. Whenever we're walking together, I'm the one who notices the untied sneaker first, so I always stop her, kneel down in just one knee, take her foot with the untied sneaker and place it on top of my other knee, and tie the shoelace for her-"

Chris stopped in his speech when he saw Nick and Matt making exaggerated expressions of surprise and "dying in love", laughing together, making him roll his eyes and look at his girlfriend in disbelief, who laughed quietly, sending him a wink, causing a blush to grow on his cheeks.

"May I continue?" The middle brother asked loudly, looking at Nick and Matt with a bored expression.

"Sorry." The two said in unison, wiping their eyes from the tears from their exaggerated laughter.

"And also when Y/N wears high heels on certain occasions, whenever we go out of the house together I don't let her buckle her heels, I kneel down on one knee and buckle them for her. This is kind of an act of service but that she finds super romantic, and I realized that it really is when I saw that no couple around us do it. There are many more romantic things that I have done for her, but if I were to say everything the video would last more than an hour. " Chris finished, smiling broadly and holding up a tumb to the camera, blowing an air kiss to his girlfriend, who pretended to take it with one hand and put it in her pocket.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

"Okay, next question, how long have you gone without showering?" Nick asked, glancing briefly at the question in the notebook before closing it with the highlighter in the middle, focusing his attention on Chris.

"Since almost four years ago I've been showering every day, Y/N rules!" Chris began, raising his arms in surrender. Nick let out a laugh as he looked at Y/N and saw her nodding quickly with her arms crossed.

Matt quickly looked at the girl when he saw Nick looking at her, laughing at her expression.

"Before I met my beautiful, perfect girlfriend, it was a weekend." Chris said, laughing as he mentioned his girlfriend in a joking tone.

"No, it was more than that. I know how long it was, let me answer." Matt jumped in, taking a sip of his soda when Nick told him to shut up, the sound of a low chuckle echoing faintly through the kitchen as Y/N tried to stop herself from laughing, watching the brothers bickering.

"I've already gone without showering from a Friday night until a Monday morning." Chris concluded, Nick muttering that he had already done the same. "Like, four days." He added.

"That example is less than four days, Chris." Nick commented while laughing, Matt following him.

"I'm a changed man, I don't do those things anymore." Chris said, crossing his arms and lifting his chin with a snobbish expression, increasing Nick and Matt's laughter.

"You men are so disgusting." Y/N whispered only for the three to hear, rolling her eyes.

Matt looked at her with an offended expression.

"Yeah guys, if I go a day without showering I'll sleep on the couch." Chris said looking at the camera as he opened the package of the next taco, putting an end to that discussion.

Nick passed the notebook back to Matt, starting the timer again so that Chris could go back to eating while Matt searched for the perfect question.

"The time is over!" The redhead announced, looking briefly at his phone screen while Matt closed the notebook, already with his question in mind.

"Okay, give me the inside scoop of the perfect Chris Sturniolo date night looks like?"

"What is this, Y/N who created my questions?" Chris asked after finishing chewing, letting out a laugh through his nose, his blue eyes looking briefly at his girlfriend only to see her with her arms raised in surrender as if she didn't know anything.

"Just answer the question Chris." Nick pressed, turning to face him.

"Can I give an example of a date I had with Y/N ​​and we always do it again because it was really good for us?" Chris asked, arranging the napkin on the table as he glanced briefly at his brothers, who nodded. "Okay, I guess first I have to establish here that for me, when it's a date, it's literally a whole date day. On my first date with Y/N, I picked her up with an Uber in the morning with a bouquet of flowers since I don't know how to drive and I didn't want to bother Matt, and we had brunch at a cafe attached to a bookstore, because when we were getting to know each other she said that she really liked reading books and drinking coffee. Boys, understand one fundamental thing, listen to everything your girl likes and has to say, it will help you a lot and contribute to your relationship." The boy said, pointing to the camera as he said the last part.

Y/N felt her body heat up with shyness and love as she remembered that day, holding herself back from going to Chris to hug him tightly and shower his face with kisses.

"Afterwards we went for a walk around the city while we talked and I took her to a place where they only have those teddy bear catching machines, you know?" He looked at his brothers receiving nods. "And we stayed there for a while, where I got her a teddy bear, she still sleeps with it to this day."

Chris informed the last part in a whisper as if it was a secret, ignoring his girlfriend who rolled her eyes exaggeratedly.

"Afterwards, as we were still satisfied from brunch, I took her to an amusement park close to where we were and we stayed there for hours, we even had dinner there at one of the hot dog stands, I remember I bought her some cotton candy later and I will never forget her happiness because of it." He counted with shining eyes, rolling his eyes at his brothers who made gestures of vomiting. "And finally, I took her to a park that had a lake with ducklings and we walked around there and fed them for a few hours, that's where we also had our first kiss." Nick and Matt made air-kissing gestures, making fun of Chris, who pushed their faces with his hands. "That was my perfect date."

The boy finished, smiling big and taking the taco in his hand, ready to finish eating and start to ask Nick questions.

"You two are so disgusting." Matt said in a joking tone, passing the notebook to Nick, knowing that Chris would sit there.

Y/N smiled behind the camera, her cheeks already hurting from how much she was doing it, her heart warming up while hearing Chris talk about them with so much love, feeling like she could fall in love with him all over again.

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

extra - comments:

"omg Chris seems like a really great boyfriend!!"

"they are so pretty together."

"one day I want to have a partner who cares about me as much as Chris cares about Y/N."

"the fact that he took her TO ITALY just because he wanted to see her happy 😭"

"Chris, the last romantic man on earth."

"the way he talks about her 😫"

"get married already."

"petition for Y/N and Chris to make a video talking about all his romantic acts ✏️📄"

[reidmania]

THIS IS WHAT THE DRUGS ARE FOR | spencer reid

good riddance x spencer reid one shot series masterlist

summary; when no one else helps spencer’s addiction after being kidnapped — you do, and you offer him help as a recovering addict yourself

warnings; mentions of kidnapping, early seasons reid, around the time of his addiction to dilauded, mentions of suicide, mentions of being shot (pass tense during a case) mentions relapsing, addiction to opioids mentions of being addicted to oxycodone, drug use, overdoses, hurt x comfort, angst, not a lot of romance but its sweet, fem reader, normal criminal minds stuff. mentions of the team completely ignoring spencers addiction bc that was messed up.

an; honestly this was difficult to write as a recovering oxycodone addict, a little bit self indulgent.. whoopsies!! but in honour of 5 years sober 🤗🤗 (i am too open with my issues on social media) this is probably horrible

‘This is what the drugs are for. Turn the lights off on the comedown I still get emotional, when I think about your old house. Hopefully, the high, works to change my mind’

You noticed quicker than you wanted to admit. It wasn’t like you could pinpoint a certain point, maybe it was when he turned back at you after standing up from the dead body of his kidnapper and you saw the way his pupils blew, something guilty behind them — maybe thats when your concern started.

You knew for certain when his focus was in and out daily. You knew everyone on the team had their suspicions, had the gut feeling that there was something more to the tiredness in Spencer’s eyes. You knew more than you wanted to admit.

Your hands twirled the pen on your fingers as your eyes stayed fixated on the male sitting in front of you, you watched as his hands came up to scratch the inside of his elbow. You knew the motion all too well, like muscle memory.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you heard Hotch ask a question to which only Spencer reid would know the answer to. You shifted your gaze slightly as you leant back in your chair, at his lack of response and focus.

It took Hotch saying his name a second time for his gaze to pull and a small apology to leave his lips. Hotch repeated the question and you watched as it took a minute too long for Spencer Reid’s all to long ramble to start about the detail.

Normally, someone would make a teasing comment about how Spencer had to think about it, but the tension stayed among the group as they all noticed the same thing — yet no one did anything about it.

You knew the feeling well, and it made your skin itch in anger.

Rossi handed out jobs, inviting you to stay back with Spencer to help with case work. You looked at Spencer noticed his eyes dropping, it made your chest ache.

Everyone else had left leaving you and Spencer in the conference room. Your gaze stayed fixated on him as his mind fell in and out of focus. You had to admit if you didn’t know Spencer Reid as well as you did, he hid it well.

“How long?” You muttered out, as your eyes pulled away from his to skim the case. You could feel his gaze on yours and you could practically feel the heavy breath that left his mouth.

His words came out snappy, but you knew he didn’t mean it. “What?”

You looked up at him again, seeing his gaze on yours, his pupils constricted and you could practically see the way his hand was twitching not to claw at the inside of his elbow.

You knew he knew what you meant, you knew he was playing dumb. You pulled the same thing for years. If he wanted to play the game you’d play, and you would outplay him every time. “How long have you been using?”

His face twisted up, he could’ve been an actor.

“Im not.” He pushed out. His voice betrayed his face, as it went an octave higher. For someone so smart you’d think he would know how to lie — but he didn’t, not well. Not to you. He could tell you didn’t believe him from the way your eyebrow quipped. “I don’t know why you’d think that.” He added, trying to sound convincing.

You hummed, “Your pupils are constricted for one. You aren’t focusing, you are all depressed. Oh and you’re slurring.. By the way” You pointed out with your pen in your hand directed towards him. You watched as his face fell for a split second. If you weren’t paying as much attention as you were you might’ve missed it.

But you were paying attention.

“Im just tired— and I have allergies ” He lied. It made you want to laugh at the familiarity of all his lies, the same ones you remember thinking you were so smart for thinking of in the moment so many years ago.

You let out an unconvinced ‘mhm’ as you nodded your head. You watched as it dawned in his eyes that he had been called out. You wondered if maybe he enjoyed the fact that no one pointed it out, until now, until you.

“I had allergies too, for a long time” You stated out simply, playing his game, outplaying him. Your goal here wasn’t to make him feel ashamed, in any way. It was purely to let him know that he wasn’t alone.

You remembered feeling so alone.

He spluttered slightly, his eyes widened the slightest bit. “What?” He breathed out, confused because he never would’ve guessed. You knew that. You knew the person you were now was nothing like the person you were a few years prior. You hid your addiction well but you were changed as a person, and you weren’t nearly the same person you were before the addiction.

You offered him a small smile, “I know an addict when I see one Reid, I know the addiction. I know your skin feels like it’s crawling right now and your head is probably spinning because you are going through withdrawals. I know all the lies, I used them all before” You said softly as you lean your forearms against the table; your eyes softened as your gaze stayed fixated on his.

You watched the words slowly process through his head. Slowly but surely he seemed to understand. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “How- How long have you known?” He asked, his voice small, evident how confronting this conversation was for him — but he needed it. He needed to know he had someone in his corner.

“I had my suspicions for a while. I wanted to be sure before I said anything..” You muttered out as you reached across the table to take his hand in yours comfortingly, “I was waiting— hoping someone else said something, I know I’m not your first choice of a person to help you through this — but I am here” You said softly.

You weren’t not close to Spencer. You were, close in age, had similar interests and you two got along well. The childish crush you had on him remained buried in between your ribcage — that was the thing about being an addict, it made you a good actor. You could act your way through any feeling.

He almost coughed at your words, his hand tightening around yours as you gave him a supportive squeeze. “Im- Thank you. I-“ His words seemed heavy on his tongue as his head shook. “I’m glad it’s you.” He said honestly.

You offered him a soft smile. You could almost see a question weighing on his mind, “What is it spence? What do you want to ask?” You prompted him, knowing his mind was properly almost complete fog at this point, overtaken by cravings.

“What- What were you addicted to? When?” He asked, eyebrows pushed upwards as if he was trying to figure out the timeline of your addiction, it caused an uncomfortable bubble in your chest.

“I was an oxy’s girl” You said, you knew it wasn’t funny but it seemed as joking was the only way to get through talking about this no matter the unsettling feeling it left in your stomach.

You exhaled heavily, “I started taking them in college after a surgery.. and well- I got addicted, obviously.” You ran your free hand through your hair as the memory dwindled in the back of your mind. Spencer’s hand squeezed your hand softly, making a half hearted tight lipped smile line your lips.

“I was clean when I first started here.” You said, fingers fidgeting. He listened with as much focus as he could with your words — you didn’t take offence to his half out of it mind. You couldn’t. “I relapsed after I got shot and they put me on them — no one knew about my addiction and I was too embarrassed to admit it to the doctors in front of the team, I relapsed once I got out of hospital.” You stated honestly.

You remembered it clear as day, after four years sober, the day you relapsed still stayed engraved into the walls of your mind freshly. You had been shot in the shoulder on a case, you were rushed to hospital and put on oxycodone and other pain medications immediately while unconscious. When you woke up and asked what they had given you, the team was standing around your bed so all you could do was nod, the relapse happened after that.

Spencer’s hand tightened on yours as his face pulled with guilt when he realised he didn’t notice. He opened his mouth to apologise but you cut him off, already knowing what he was going to say. “It’s okay.” You said, tightening your grasp on his hand mirroring his grasp on yours. “I mastered my lies by then, after years and years of lying to everyone around me.. I knew what worked and what did it.. I did it to myself” You spoke honestly.

He chewed on his lip as his gaze adverted to the table. You held his hand tightly as you felt it twitch slightly. You knew he wanted to scratch his elbow and you knew why. Your face softened all over again.

“It’s not worth it Spence. Trust me.” You said, voice heavy with honesty and you meant it more than words could explain. “You get mean, really mean, you lose yourself more and more everyday. Its not worth losing everyone around you, its not worth losing yourself” You gaze stayed on his face even when his eyes avoided yours.

You heard the shaky breath leave his lips, and then his hand left yours as his pinched his eyelids, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes as he squeezed them shut. It made your stomach ache.

“It- Its so hard” He said quietly. You didn’t think you had ever experienced heartbreak like hearing his voice break. Any sort of pain you felt in your life didn’t quite compare to seeing him fall apart from your words.

“I know- I know” You instantly stood up from your seat as you walked around the table towards him, he stood up as well and before you could do anything his hands were around your waist, pressing his body against yours and his head into the crevice of your neck. You arms wrapped around him without a second thought.

You could feel his tears against the skin of your neck, they were hot and thick. Your hand ran across his back gently. You always thought you’d know exactly what to do if this moment ever came to be — but you didn’t.

Words died in the back of your throat as all you could do was hold the boy in your arms as he let out the quietest soft sobs that made a gut wrenching feeling settle in your bones as goosebumps ran over your skin.

“I- I want to stop — I want to- How did you stop?” He said, wiping his face as he stood up straight, arms pulled back by his side. Your heart ached and your skin burned.

You shook your head, “Do you remember when I had to take emergency leave for family emergency?” You asked, eyes looking up into his that gleamed wet and dreary. It pulled on your heart strings and uncomfortable amount,

He nodded briefly, after he took a long moment to try to recall. You nodded back, a sigh leaving your lips. “I- Um.. I overdosed.” You stated, trying to speak stronger than your voice allowed you to. “I was in hospital for two weeks, connected to machines and wires — forced to speak to someone everyday until they deemed me healthy. I didn’t tell anyone- no one knows” You continued to shake your head.

“Do not let it get to that point Spencer — Shaking on the floor and literally frothing at the mouth, feeling so cold but not even functioning enough to know what being cold is, is not want you want. I know it feels good now — but you are going to kill yourself whether you want to or not if you keep taking it.” You spoke clearly, wanting your point to be perfectly clear. It was not worth it.

He held guilt behind fogged eyes, guilt that he didn’t notice, guilt that he almost lost you — literally and he had no idea. That you were alone during the lowest point of your life and he had no idea. He allowed your words to cloud his mind for a moment as they worked to overpower the cravings that were working to controlling his system.

“i- I don’t- Im sorry.” He stuttered over his words as he failed to think of anything better to say. Your face fell briefly as you wrapped your arms around him again.

“Im here? Okay. We will do this together day by day. I am here and I’m always going to be here Spence.” You comforted non the less.

He needed it and you needed him

[inf3ct3dd]

streamer!ellie pt.2

summary: i hated the other one of this that i made, so REMAKE TIEM!!!

warnings: miiinor sexual content, shit talking, gay people 😒

authors note: heheheh ples don’t flop this time..

- during her faceless days, she opened up a po box so ppl could send her things, and she made an amazon wishlist and she unboxed stuff on stream 😍😍

- one day she was unboxing a giant box of cat toys. string, those little feather stick things, even that weird automatic flapping fish thing (that she secretly loves and taped to her back one time)

- she was playing with this one toy that was a little fishing reel, and it had string and a little fish on the bottom. she went on and onnn about how shes a self proclaimed “fishing master” while garf chased it around, letting out little meows and growls of frustration.

- eventually, she lost her grip and let go of the pole. she bent down to pick it up, forgetting that her face would be in view. thus, the chat started blowing up.

ewwwbruh: FACE REVEAL

ewwife: EW WE CAN SEE UR FACE

ewwife: JUST THE SIDE BUT WE CAN SEE YOUU

ewssidechick: her nose looks so rideable…

- she got distracted petting garfield, and didn’t realize anything until she stood up. she was getting tagged over and over again on twitter, blurry pictures of her face (curtesy of the shitty webcam) circulating through her subreddit.

- “guys. im gonna erase this from ur memory…” and she literally held up this goofy ass hypnotizer pendelum and started fake hypnotizing everyone like “that never happenedddd” “you don’t know what i look likeeee” “that was fakeeee” “chat that was not reallll”

- and everyone literally js went along with it and pretended it never happened. like ppl were tweeting about it and everyone was like “huh??? what are u talking about bruh??”

- she did the same thing after falling off her rainbow unicorn scooter 😞

- one time she revealed that the “ew” in her username stood for her initials, and everyone was making the most horrendous guesses. elliam willace being the favorite one.

- “guys, my name is not edward wilson??? i am…not a man”

- shes gotten into so much drama…multiple notes app apologies have been issued via her instagram story.

- people would ask her opinions on other streamers, and she’d literally just be like “…i have no idea who that is.” and people would get so MADDDD but homegirl is literally just blatantly unaware

- or she would know , and would literally be like “they’re honestly super annoying and i would rather kill myself than watch them but whatever floats ur boat ig!”

- she played that “womp womp womp womppp” sound effect on her soundboard afterwards.

- SPEAKING OF. she abuses that soundboard sooo much. its so obnoxious and annoying like I SWEARRR!!! she’ll tell a horrible pun and play the crowd laughing and cheering sound effects while literally no one laughed.

“guys. whats the best way to watch a fly fishing tournament??”

“…live streaming.”

(crowd cheering sound effect)

“nooo thank you thank you, you’re all too kind, really!!”

- meanwhile chat was dead silent.

- every time she gets to choose her own name on a game its some dumb shit like "jizzmaster" or "chris fucker"

- “it appears you have entered innapropriate content.” “OHHH LOOK AT EPISODE LOOK AT THESE CORPORATE BIGWIGS TRYING TO CONTROL THE LITTLE MAN???”

- she just ended up naming him “chris phucker”

- like when she played episode on stream and made up really annoying voices for all the characters and made her character look like an elderly man, and made the love interest look like you 😍😍

- she messes up sm on games when she streams normally, but when you're there? she is LOCKED THE FUCK IN. sitting there so focused the entire time just to show off

- whenever she randomly goes silent she just starts SINGING. it's either nicki minaj or some fucking fnaf song

"IS THIS THE THANKS THAT I GET FOR PUTTING U BITCHES ON???"

- speaking of, her favorite fnaf song is def “stay calm” cuz she loves saying “hey kids. Nice to eat ya.”

- bought one of those "i paused my game to be here" tshirts…ironically. you refuse to let her wear it in public

- beefs w kids on fortnite sm... she has definitely gotten banned for saying she was gonna bomb a kids house or fuck their mom 😞

- every time she plays a game, she'll literally sit there and watch an 8 hour long video about the lore. she'll plop down on the couch and watch it like a movie

"did you know everyone actually thought that fnaf one took place in 1993, but it was actually 1992?"

- she definitely had you sit next to her when she played through fnaf because she was lowk scared the entire time whenever she heard you walking around the house while she was playing she'd hear footsteps in the hallway and be like. WHAT THE FUCKKK

-she'd have you right next to her, laying your head on her shoulder and messing with her free hand. if you fell asleep, she would be sitting there slapping her hand over her mouth whenever she gets jumpscared bc she doesn't want you to wake up 😞

- sometimes, while she streams , she plays one handed games and lets you sit and draw on her arm for fun. even got you a whole set of those skin markers so u could go ABSOLUTELY HAM. she got one drawing you did that said “r + e 4eva” tattooed in ur handwriting…such a sap

- she loves watching fan edits of herself...AND OF YOU. she'll be on her burner account with a whole collection on tiktok of edits of you.

ewwsbiggestfan: shes so bad i want her to hit me w her car...

- speaking of. imagine her using that account to make shitty capcut edits of you like

- shes ur biggest fan ongod

-WHILE WE’RE ON THE TOPIC OF “fans”…what if i made a completely new origin story for streamer!ellie and reader. what if they were both streamers….

- OKAY SO BASICALLY.

- you had started streaming about a year before ellie did. butttt, you two did very different types of streaming.

- you weren’t very into like, SERIOUS video games. sure, you played some stuff, like animal crossing and roblox and the sims, but nothing more than that.

- that wasn’t what you were streaming though.

- ever since you were younger, you had been wayyyy into…literature.

-by literature i mean fanfiction. heaps of it.

- actors, anime characters, BOOK CHARACTERS, you were in DEEP

- sometimes, for fun, you used to read them out loud in stupid voices. when you were alone, or with your friends, it was very entertaining

- that’s when you got the idea to start streaming it. if it could entertain your friends, and you, whos to say it wouldn’t entertain other people.

- well, it definitely did. in your first year, you hit 10k followers. people loved you. theyd make edits of you, send in requests of fics for you to read, everything.

- a while later, ellie started gaining more and more popularity. out of all the incomes of fame, fanfiction was the most. abundant!

- one day, you got a request to read an ellie x reader fic. at the time, you barely had any idea who she was, but you decided to just go with it 🤞🏽

- “who the fuck is elliam willace???”

- the fanfic was definitely very…graphic!

- “your hips rolled onto her thigh, her slender, tattooed hand palming at your waist. ‘you’re doing so good babe, fuck.’-“ “GUYS. ISN’T SHE NOT ON MUTE RIGHT NOW???”

- you couldn’t help but giggle the rest of the fic, feeling a nagging heat in your core. you didn’t even know who the girl was, but if this fic was accurate, someone would have to sedate you.

-“im actually. gnawing at the iron bars of my enclosure. GUYS. who is this woman…is she real… if she is. things are about to get WICKED.”

- not very thankful to you at the moment, she was very real. apparently, you and her were streaming at the same time, and your followers raided her stream telling her she was reading about you. her curiosity was obviously piqued, and why would she NOT join the stream?

- creeperewman: im definitely real!

- the text on your screen literally made your stomach fall into your ass. you stood up and legit just walked out of the room, camera still on. was she there the whole time???

- creeperewman: aww 😞 where’d she go she’s so badddd

- you eventually returned after a minute of calming yourself down, and low and behold, she gifted you 100 subs and followed you on instagram.

- she was definitely very real!! and that fanfic was…lore accurate. to say the least 😊

- after you two started dating, the two of you would often show up on eachothers streams. ellie, teaching you how to play cod, and you, reading with her.

- she secretly loves reading the fics people write about her and making fun of them, and every time you stream with her shes “subtly” hinting that you should read about her

sitting there pulling on her collar, looking away like “gee, wonder who you’re gonna pick today” with the worst fake laugh ever.

- “ellie can barely ride a scooter, idk why she’s in the mafia rn…” “you fall off ONE TIME and all of a sudden you cant ride a scooter. bullshit.”

- she makes fun of all the dumb pet names like “babygirl” and “darling” and randomly calls you them and bursts out laughing

- you still read those fics when you’re bored sometimes. and ellie MERCILESSLY makes fun of you for it

“yknow, if you missed me that bad, you should’ve just told me.”

[aemondluvbot]

𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖌𝖔𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖗𝖔𝖜 — 𝖎

✧ ⸺ aemond x reader︱part two

𝔞. 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢: i adore reading shy and timid heroines that are coaxed out of their shells. as such i adore writing them too. i'm also not incredibly well versed about the hotd universe. whatever i know is based only on the show, so it's possible there are errors. still, i hope you enjoy.

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: reader is quite shy but not overly so. smut, intercourse (p in v), horrible “riding a dragon” puns

“you wish to ride a dragon?” prince aemond’s voice startles you enough for you the drop the pillow you’re holding. 

it’s freshly fluffed, about to be placed on the bed you’d made so neatly just minutes ago. and now the pillow sits on it awkwardly while you stare at the prince like a scared little deer. 

“my prince…” you manage a faint squeak, “i was—”

“telling the other maids how you’d be a stellar dragon rider, i heard,” the prince’s mouth curls into a little smirk you’ve come to know well from stolen glances. you stare at his feet, too afraid to meet his eyes. well, eye. 

“i didn’t mean…” you fidget with the hem of your frayed dress, wondering what the punishment would be. lashings? cleaning pigsties for a week? a month? 

“but you said it.” aemond’s voice still has that tone to it that you can’t quite decipher. and so you stand frozen while he looks at you from across the room. “tell me, my lady—”

“i’m no lady,” you pipe up, shutting up instantly when you realise you’ve interrupted a prince. the prince. “forgive me, my prince, i didn’t mean to interrupt. i…i…”

“you’re no lady,” he hums, as if you aren’t standing there shaking like a leaf, “what shall i call you then, little sparrow?”

his voice is soft like it always is—never boisterous like the king’s or stern like the dowager queen’s. it’s quiet and lilting and compelling. as much as you don’t want to meet his gaze, you find yourself doing exactly that. 

“on second thought,” he crosses his arms behind his back, taking graceful steps towards you like he’s gliding on the floor, “sparrow…has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“it does, my prince,” you smile to yourself quietly, “if you like it then i like it.”

for anyone else it would have been a lie. for king aegon, it certainly would have been a lie. but for the prince…when he says it, it’s like the name belongs to you. so much so that for a moment you forget where this conversation first started. until you find prince aemond standing directly in front of you, towering over you that is. 

“so tell me, little sparrow,” he says again, voice so soft it skitters down your bones and makes you shiver in the middle of a long, hot summer, “you wish to ride a dragon?”

“the truth?” you ask, feeling a little braver than before. 

“i’ll have nothing but that.”

for a moment you chew on your lip, a nervous habit taken up in lieu of biting your dirty, already worn fingernails. aemond’s gaze snags on it, though, and quickly you let go, begging your body to be a little more brave and keep meeting his eyes. it’s not everyday you get to see so much of him. in fact, it’s the first time you’ve gotten to see so much of him. 

“they fascinate me, your dragons,” you begin, “sunfyre, mostly.”

“my brother’s dragon,” the prince raises an eyebrow, looking at you with much more curiosity than before. “not vhagar?”

“she scares me, to be honest…” you admit, flushing a little when the prince’s smirk turns into a full blown smile. the smile stays for just a fleeting moment, enough for you to store it in your memories like a stolen sweet.

“she does that, yes,” he chuckles. it’s barely audible and yet pride blooms in your chest for having coaxed that sound out of him. 

“i…” you look around a little awkwardly, at the mess in the room that’s yet to be cleaned. it’s not that you don’t want to stand here and talk to him, if anything, that’s the one thing you want the most. to stand here and talk to him about his dragons, and have him tell you about them. have him tell you about himself too…

but if you don’t do your tasks on time then there’s consequences to face. consequences the prince won’t save you from. and so you give aemond a guilty smile. 

you must go and you must go now. 

“of course,” aemond bows a little, stepping aside to make way for you. 

quickly, you fix the pillow to where it was originally supposed to be and gather the old linens in your arms. then you curtsey as fast as you can and leave. 

you leave and are almost our the door before aemond’s voice freezes you mid-step. 

“if you ever wish to ride a dragon, little sparrow… you know where to find me.”

the day passes, and all you manage to do is think about aemond. you think about him as you wash the linens and hang them to dry, you think about him while you help the kitchen maids with the pots and wipe the floors of the keep. 

you think about him as you eat and gossip away with your friends. 

you don’t tell them though… all they know is that you were the one to clean his room in the morning and gather his linens. nothing more. 

they will never know anything more. 

if you ever wish to ride a dragon, little sparrow… you know where to find me.

that… is for you and you alone. 

you do get teased a little for your absent-minded smiles and your lack of attention to their gossip. you get teased and asked if any of the stable boys have caught your fancy. stable boys…nothing more. not a soldier or a knight or a lord. certainly not a prince. 

and yet when night falls you find yourself idling in the hallways that lead to his quarters. 

if you ever wish to ride a dragon, little sparrow… you know where to find me.

“does the prince need hot water?” you ask one of the maids, “for…for his bath…”

she looks at you in confusion. “malina’s already taken it,” she says, “minutes ago.” 

and so you drop the apple in your hands and hurry outside towards the prince’s room. malina is old, she can’t have gone that far can she? just like you predicted, she’s there when you turn around the corner, carefully balancing the hot water in her hands while a few other girls carry similar pots. you quickly cross the gap and call out for her. 

“let me,” you offer, arms outstretched, “you can go rest, malina. i’m done for the day, i can take this.”

she smiles at you gratefully while grumbling about old knees and hands you the pot. and so you set on your way, hiding a quiet smile and ducking your head when one of the guards gives you a strange look. 

the prince’s bedroom is awash in the glow of candlelight. for a moment, the excitement in your belly turns to disappointment. he isn’t here… of course he isn’t, he’s important and busy and has more things to do than sit in his bedroom all day thinking about you like you’ve thought about him. 

“you’re back, little sparrow,” the softness of his voice send flutters in your stomach. the other girls look towards each other, quiet looks passing between them. you know this would take precisely half a minute to spread around the keep. and yet it does not bother you one bit. 

“my prince, we’ve got water for your bath.”

“ah,” he nods and gestures vaguely towards the bathing chamber. 

one by one all of you enter, emptying the buckets in the brass tub until it’s full of steaming water and soaps and oils. one by one the others start leaving, their job done… 

the towels are on the counter, the candles are burning, the tub is filled—there’s nothing more to be done. you know he usually prefers to be alone. and yet you linger. 

you linger until aemond targaryen enters the bathing chamber, naked as the day he was born. 

and then you turn around fast enough to bump into the wall. 

“you startle easily, little sparrow,” aemond laughs. “never seen a naked man before?”

you have… that’s not the problem. you’ve just never seen a naked man as…well-endowed as him. your back still to him and your heart in your chest, you nod. there’s a slight splash as he settles into the tub. some of the spilled water licks the soles of your feet. finally, timidly, you turn. 

at least under the cloudy water he’s not so naked anymore. although his (now wet) chest certainly does nothing to calm your racing heart. 

“tell me,” aemond says, “did you think about dragons all day?”

well… 

“maybe,” you hedge, “a little.” and it’s not a lie. you did think of vhagar for a little, and sure it was only to think about aemond riding her into the skies, but she was there in your thoughts. briefly. 

“and what do you know about them?” 

from most people it would have been a condescending question, one to point out your intellectual capabilities or the lack thereof. from aemond it’s simply curiosity. 

“i know they’re gods. i know they’re old and powerful and only someone with valyrian blood can claim one. i know targaryen babes get a dragon’s egg for their cradle.” you answer rather proudly. 

“very good,” aemond nods. “come here. sit.” 

you look to where he’s pointing, at a little step stool in the corner. and then you see where his eyes are pointing, at a spot right by the tub. 

“do you read?” aemond asks as soon as you’ve settle by the tub. you blush, a little embarrassed. 

“i can’t…”

“no worries,” his voice turns gentle, “i was going to give you a book about vhagar’s riders. now i will just have to tell you about her myself.”

that startles you a little. surprised, you look at him again, really look at him—at his face that’s soft in the candlelight and his one eye that twinkles with mischief. you look at the leather patch covering the other, at the scar that runs around it. 

“can i ask why, my prince…”

“well,” aemond moves a little, sitting up straighter so a little more of his chest is now visible to you. the water cascades down pale skin, the candlelight creates hypnotising patterns that are pretty enough that you almost reach out and touch. 

touch the water and the light and the skin. touch him. 

but that’s a silly thought for silly girls. 

quickly you ball your hand into a fist and look at him again only to find him smirking. 

“as i was saying,” aemond says a little pointedly, “you can’t be scared of her if you wish to ride her someday now, can you?”

your heart thuds so loudly in your chest, you wonder if he can hear it. perhaps the entire red keep can hear it, perhaps king’s landing.

“i can’t ride her, she’s yours and… and she’ll kill me if i… she’ll burn me alive if i even go near her! and that’s if the guards don’t take my head first—”

“hush, little sparrow,” aemond moves fast enough that you have barely any time to stop rambling before he’s out of the tub and kneeling in front of you, his finger on your lips. not that you need it really, the situation is entirely enough to stun you into silence. 

you gape at the prince, at his beautiful, wet body that looks like it’s gleaming golden in the candlelight. you gape at him kneeling on his knees for you. a nobody. 

“will you stay quiet or will i have to make you?” he asks, his tone a little coy. 

heat coils in your belly, “would you like to, my prince?” 

and that’s more bold than you’ve ever been in your entire life. but now that you’re here and desperate and wanting so so much, you can’t really let shyness snatch it away. and so you straighten up a little, letting your eyes roam freely on his body. 

there are scars on his skin, of course there are, but even they look beautiful. then there’s the muscle honed by hours of sword training. his beautiful silver hair is damp from the water and gleaming like molten metal. you reach out and touch—just one strand that’s managed to stick to his cheek. 

aemond groans. 

leaving would be wise… leaving right this second would be even wiser, and yet when aemond tugs on your wrist and pulls you closer, it’s you who kisses him first. it’s heady, dizzying, intoxicating. he tastes like night air and burns like fire. 

you feel quite the same. 

your frayed old dress is quick to go as soon as he pulls you up—discarded by the tub casually. it gets half caught up on the edge but neither of you notice, too lost in the kiss. to caught up in the feel of the other’s body. 

you know he knows this room like the back of his hand. you don't need to. you can trust him at least in this regard—to lead you to his bed and fuck you any way he wants.  

“little sparrow,” he half-speaks, half-moans, “i want you. i want you right now.” it’s a needy and desperate confession, and it turns you on even more, makes your blood sing.

his hands are fast and nimble, eager to remove the last layer of clothes on you. still, the prince takes a moment to watch your hair come loose from your bun and cascade down your shoulders, his lips parted in awe and pupils blown out wide. 

you watch him. simply because he looks beautiful. 

“like what you see?” aemond teases and and you flush. 

it’s certainly a sight—the two of you standing opposite each other, entirely naked and about to devour each other. 

he walks backwards, eyes firmly on your body, lingering in all the places that make you feel like the only woman on he’s ever been with. he walks backwards till he eventually finds the bed and sits. 

“come here,” aemond says, beckons more like. and so you do—walking with a deliberate sway to your hips that his eyes train on until you’re standing right in front of him. knees touching his. 

“beautiful,” he says, looking up at you in awe.

you’re not entirely sure it’s true. you’re no lady in the court or a pretty foreign beauty. you’re no beautiful woman of the night, but hearing him say the words is still a delight. he makes it sound like he’s consumed by your beauty (even though it’s likely the lust that’s hazing their thoughts).

and yet he makes you feel like his own little midnight sun—bright, unique, central to his universe. 

you from before would have never though such stupid thoughts. 

and now you let him pull you onto his lap. 

you kiss him again, slow and sensual this time, rolling your hips against his, grinding on his thigh. it’s a deliberate torment, a torturous build-up so he could finally relieve the ache between your legs. 

“please, my prince” you breathe, “touch me.”

so he does, gently gripping your waist to keep you in the steady rhythm while his mouth moves down to your breasts. his tongue flicks around your nipple, drawing out a gasp and making you arch your back. you want more, so much more. 

aemond seems to sense the need.  

in one fluid movement, he’s on his back, and you on top. his cock brushes against your clit, drawing out whimpers. moonlight filters in through the windows, illuminating his face only just so that you can see his swollen lips—red, delicious—you can’t resist stealing another kiss. 

can’t resist tangling your hands in his silver hair and tracing a finger down his cheekbones, his jaw. he hisses with every movement, hard and throbbing beneath you. 

“are you ready for me, little sparrow?,” he moans, lowering you on his abdomen. his erection is pressed against your ass now—ready is what you are… ready and aching, eager to feel him. 

“p-please, my prince…”

aemond tuts. “say my name…”

your heart speeds up a little in your chest. it’s one thing to be sleeping with the prince, it’s another to forget your manners entirely and address him like he’s your equal. 

“i c-can’t,” you whimper, moving your hips in a desperate attempt to feel something. 

“i’ll stop this if you won’t” aemond says it like a promise, and there’s no way you want to risk it. if there’s even a slight chance of him stopping and leaving you here like this, a mess at his mercy… 

“a-aemond,” you whisper his name like it’s an unpredictable thing. his breath hitches in his chest. “aemond please…”

“good little sparrow…” his hands come to rest on your waist, lifting you up and gently guiding you down on his cock, filling you in inch by inch. you splay a hand on his chest, barely registering his racing heart. all you can focus on is how good he feels; hard and stretching you out. filling you to the hilt. 

“so perfect,” he hisses. his hands grip your ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh while you roll your hips on his pelvis; too eager and desperate and full of want. you can already feel a bruise blooming on the back of your thighs where he grips so possessively.

“so are you, m–aemond,” you breathe, already consumed by the feeling of his cock hitting you over and over, in just the right spot. his hand reaches down and between your legs then, finding your clit and rubbing it in circles until you’re screaming his name and practically soaking him with your slick. 

aemond moves his hips too, thrusting up, fucking into you till a continuous string of curses falls out of his mouth. his chest glistens with sweat, sticky and warm and beautiful in the moonlight.

you’re lost in the pleasure, but you traces the scars on his chest—the faint dusting of hair and freckles, little nicks and cuts and faint bruises. you trace every part of him like he belongs to you somehow. like you belong to him too…

you suppose you do… at least that much is true. 

the pleasure builds and builds, your thoughts swirl more and disappear entirely the more he thrusts into you. he’s figured out your pattern—the rhythm that makes you tick and drives you crazy. and even when your thighs burn and tremble, you can’t seem to slow down. 

all you want to do is soar up and up and up until…

aemond’s hand is between your legs again, flicking your clit so roughly that it makes you cry out. and that’s what drives you over the edge. 

you moan his name again, chanting it like a blind devotee as waves upon waves of pleasure crash over you. you’re vaguely aware that you’re gripping onto his shoulders tightly, vaguely aware that you can feel his cock twitching inside you, coating your walls with his release.

gasping, you throw your head back, letting the orgasm wash over you. the loud, filthy, wet sounds are softer now, slower in pace as you both come to a stop. no one says a word—not a single teasing word or praise—there are only your breaths, out of sync and loud.

you slump forward, resting your warm cheek on his chest, hearing his heart beating loudly in your ear. 

“is that how it feels…?” your voice is ragged from screaming his name yet dripping with coyness. “is that how it feels to ride a dragon, my prince?”

aemond laughs—a real booming laugh that makes his chest vibrate and makes the sound permeate your skin, makes it settle bone deep. 

“i should say yes, shouldn’t i, little sparrow?” his fingers thread through your hair, much gentler now, lulling you to sleep almost. “do not worry about it. you’ll find out soon enough anyway…”

[mionemymind]

Chapter 2: Confessions for You

My Rival Series

Series Summary: The time where Y/n Y/l/n and Wanda Maximoff were academic rivals that fell for each other.

Chapter Summary: Y/n already is losing herself to her studies as competition looms closer and closer.

A/n: Gif credits to @elizabetholsens

Warnings: Rivals to Lovers, Obvious Feelings, Stubborn Reader, Cursing, Alcohol, Puking, Memory Loss? (ish)

Word Count: 5.1k

Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 |

Last Month - Spring Semester

‘I fucking hate losing to her.’ Y/n’s fists were tightly clenched as she saw Wanda celebrate another perfect score. The glimmer in her eyes almost made Y/n’s vein burst from anger. The competition was in three weeks and the last day of school was in four weeks. 

It's been almost a month since she spoke to Dean Holloway about her scholarship. Since then, Y/n’s mental health has extremely deteriorated. The lack of sleep and the inability to eat was catching up to the bright student. 

She was making more mistakes in math club, simple ones that even the freshman could do with their eyes closed. Her confidence has gotten lower and lower the more she was unable to perfect her craft. 

And as Y/n stared at the ninety nine written on her test, all emotion was devoid from her. She was tired. Something that Wanda had noticed. The brunette had kept up on her usual appearances around Y/n. She taunted Y/n slightly over scores, grinned at every question she got right at math club, and overall proved to everyone why she was number one. 

But that wasn’t to say that the brunette didn’t notice all the changes happening to Y/n. If anything, Wanda was the first to notice all the changes. She noticed the appearance of deeper eyes bags, the short temper Y/n had over small mistakes, and even worse, the lack of focus Y/n had during lectures. 

There were other changes too like the way Y/n no longer engaged at all to Wanda’s banter. Instead, she would walk away, fists clenched, as if Y/n was holding herself back. Or the times that Wanda no longer spotted Y/n with her friends at all. It was like she was distancing herself from everyone she knew. 

While Wanda tried her best to look out for Y/n, all her kindness turned bitter when she thought of that meeting. 

Sitting across from each other, the two were finishing their project, looking over the final draft before submitting it. Wanda was looking over Y/n’s part of the essay when she came across a large paragraph that contained a lot of circular reasoning and hardly any sources. 

Wanda circled it and leaned forward to show Y/n. “Hey, you made a mist-,” Y/n snatched the paper, already rereading the paragraph at lightening speed. Her shoulders were tense as she squinted her eyes to read the paper better. 

“You didn’t explain your side well enough. I see what you’re trying to say but you end up using circular reasoning to back up your point rather the the sources we’ve gathered.” 

Feeling already embarrassed enough from math club, Y/n had enough. She got up, causing the chair to make a horrible screeching noise. Wanda grimaced at the sound as she noticed Y/n packing up. 

“Where are you-”

“Fuck off, Maximoff. I don’t need your input.” Wanda was caught off guard at Y/n’s hostility, but the smart girl had a sharp tongue and there was no way in hell she was going to allow Y/n to talk to her like that. 

“Clearly you do when you’re making basic mistakes like that.” Y/n scoffed as she stuffed her backup. 

“Always quick to call out someone’s mistakes. Would love for the day someone laughs at yours.” Wanda got up, her chair making the same awful sound. 

“Why are you being so rude? We are doing a peer review. What did you expect? That I let you mess up my grade.” Y/n rolled her eyes as she swung her backup over her shoulder. The zipper was barely over the arch, the swing almost causing her backup to open up. Y/n grabbed the remainder of her stuff and held it.

“You’re the last person I would ever call my peer. Do what you have to Maximoff but I’m fucking done here.” Y/n left without another word.

Wanda stood at her spot, offended at the fact that Y/n even snapped at her. What was worse, she genuinely felt hurt by Y/n’s tone. Y/n had never spoken to her like that, not in the three years they’ve known each other. 

So as she grabbed her stuff, her paper being last, Wanda didn’t notice the lack of marks on her paragraphs. All she noticed was the painful feeling in her heart left by Y/n.

“Okay everyone, let's please settle down so we can talk about the format for this upcoming state competition.” Up at the front of the lecture hall stood Y/n and Wanda. Naturally they stood a couple of feet apart as Wanda took the lead of the meeting. 

“This year we have the amazing honor of bringing in three teams to represent Evergreen University. Fortunately for us, Dean Holloway was able to get the approval to send in another team this year.” There were several claps coming from the students as Y/n somberly looked at the floor. 

‘He just wants to increase the odds of me losing.’ Y/n thought. Noticing that Y/n was not paying attention, Wanda shook her head and continued with the announcement. 

“As tradition has it, we will hold a bracket competition for those that would like to compete. Each team will have four slots to fill. Naturally as your co-captains for the club, we will only have 10 slots available for those that want to participate.” 

Wanda walked over to Y/n, giving her a slight pat on the back as she walked past her. “Your co-captain will list off how the competition will go.” 

Y/n cleared her throat, regaining her focus as she addressed the crowd. “In order to better assess senior and new member abilities, we will be holding a kahoot style competition as this will best mirror the real competition.”

Walking away from Wanda, “In order to avoid embarrassment of who did or did not get the answer correctly, we will be using the clickers that the University has provided our club. On the sign up sheet, I will write down your name beside the clicker number. The top ten members will receive a place for the competition. However, the members that place 11th through 13th will constitute as our substitutes in the case of anything happening to our members.” 

Y/n sat over to the desk of clickers, ready to write. “For those that are not wanting to participate but would like to see who has made it to our team, you are more than welcomed to stay as the questions on the screen will provide great practice. You may start lining up now for your clickers.” Wanda ended her speech with a gratuitous smile. 

A long line of students started to form as Y/n wrote each name down. Coincidentally enough, the first two clickers were reserved for Wanda and Y/n. Unbeknownst to Y/n, she wrote Wanda’s name at first and her name being second. Even her subconscious knew the truth. 

So as Wanda got the questions ready, Y/n sat at the table, away from everyone, hoping that her extreme hours spent studying were going to be worth it. Y/n looked at Wanda who sat with some of her friends in the club. There was still that stupid smile on her face. 

‘Eat dirt.’ Was all Y/n thought as the first question popped up on the screen. 

“Wait - you’re unable to pick me up when spring semester ends? Why?” Y/n sighed, still feeling the bitterness from math club as she sat under a tree that observed the Hodgekins Math building. 

“I’m sorry honey - your father and I are going to attend an important meeting for his company in Europe. Unfortunately, we were unable to reschedule it as your father’s clients were only able during that time to discuss the merge factors. I do hope you understand.” 

Y/n’s eyes teared up, feeling lower than ever before as she spotted Wanda finally leaving the building, the brunette’s words still in her mind. 

“How are you expected to lead when you can’t even get in the top ten?” Wanda whispered as she smiled at the students who made the team. “If you can’t even score top five, how can I trust you? Get your head back or I’m going to have to get someone else to fill your spot.” 

“Can you at least send Percy to help me out?” Y/n wiped her tears before they got a chance to fall. The weight of everything was crushing her down and it felt like no one even noticed. 

“Of course. He’ll be there to help you. How is school going by the way? Are you having fun? Your grades still okay?” Y/n leaned back on the tree, making sure no one was nearby. 

“It's been…okay. My state competition is less than a month away and I’ve been trying my best to study a lot for it.” Y/n bit her cheek, the feeling of losing gripped her heart. “But other than that, my grades are still good.” 

Y/n couldn’t see it, but her Mom was smiling on the other end of the phone. “Is that girl - what’s her name - oh yeah, Wanda, still there?” Y/n froze at the mention of the brunette, even worse, Wanda was oddly walking in her direction.

“Mom - I really don’t want to talk about her.” It’s like no matter what, Wanda somehow managed to pop up everywhere in her life. 

“Well, it has been a while since you’ve talked about her. I was starting to think she was no longer around.” Y/n knew when her Mom was acting oblivious and this happened to be one of those moments. 

“Mom-”

“You know if you can’t stand it just come back home. Your father is more than happy to help you get enrolled into-”

“Mom - I’m not going to Langford University. Dad can keep wishing but I will stay at Evergreen University.” The topic of Langford and her father was always a strain. While Y/n’s father was an alright man and honestly a great father, his vision for Y/n’s future never aligned for what his daughter wanted. 

Ever since she got accepted to Evergreen University, their relationship grew complicated. He even stopped calling after Thanksgiving break of her first semester in college. While Y/n did have a better relationship with her mother, it was still complicated nonetheless. 

“Look, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later Mom. Bye - love you.” Y/n hung up before her mother said anything back. The brunette that’s been in her mind stood right in front of her with a blank look on her face. 

“What do you want?” Wanda rolled her eyes at Y/n’s hostility. She hadn’t even said a word and she’s already managed to piss Y/n off. Had it been earlier in the year, Wanda would have enjoyed just how quick she could get under Y/n’s nerves. But now, Wanda couldn’t stand Y/n either. 

Taking a deep breath, Wanda calmed her anger and said, “Have you thought about what I said?” 

Standing up, Y/n wiped any possible dirt from her pants and glared at Wanda. “Don’t even think about replacing me. I’ll be at the competition and I’ll make sure that my group wins it all.” 

“You better be on your A-game at our next practice. If not, I’m pulling you.” Y/n’s jaw clenched at Wanda’s threat. Who was she to call the shots? They were co-captains after all. 

“Don’t worry your pretty head about me, Maximoff. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

‘I need to focus.’ It was a weeknight. As usual, Y/n was using this time to study for math club. Wanda had sent out a new packet for the competitors to use as practice for the real competition. 

For a majority of the questions, she had gotten ninety seven out of the hundred correct. But Y/n was on the brink of losing it all. She knew that any wrong answer would immediately lead to a Maximoff victory and that was the last thing she wanted. 

‘I need to be perfect.’ Erasing her calculations, Y/n redid it but still wasn’t able to match to the correct answer. Tightening the grip on her pencil, Y/n tried to not let this get to the best of her. But the constant sound of Natasha practicing her guitar started to aggravate her. 

In addition small music was already playing in the background, something Natasha was trying to play along with. So when Y/n redid her calculations once more and still got the wrong answer, she could feel her anger start to resurface. Still, she maintained her best composure and erased the wrong answer. \

Retrying for the third time, Y/n was close to reaching the correct answer when her pencil tip broke. ‘Just bad timing. That’s all. Get a new pencil and move on.’ She spoke internally. But the rational thoughts mixing with her anger were not a good combo. 

Was she hallucinating or was Natasha’s music suddenly getting louder? Ignoring it, Y/n grabbed a new pencil when the sound of a new email alerted her attention to her laptop. Going to Outlook, Y/n looked at the new email, its subject already signaling alarms in her head. 

Dean Holloway 

New Scholarship Requirements 

Feeling all sorts of anger and embarrassment, Y/n broke her pencil and slammed her computer shut. Standing up quickly, Y/n looked at Natasha, and without thinking, said, “Can you please cut that shit off?” 

Y/n was already fuming with anger, not caring if she pissed her best friend at all. At first, Natasha looked shocked at Y/n’s outburst, quickly turning the music off. But the realization of Y/n’s tone offended Natasha. 

“What’s up with you?” Natasha placed the guitar up against the wall. Y/n had never yelled at her like this before. 

“I need to study and I can’t when you’re distracting me.” Y/n waved towards the direction of the speakers and the guitar as if it was so obvious. 

“You could have asked nicely rather than being a dick about it.” Natasha did not like Y/n’s tone one bit. While they were best friends, Natasha did not take shit from anyone. 

“You could have been considerate of other people in the room rather than assuming.” Natasha scoffed knowing that this was not the first time she played music in front of Y/n. Heck, she always played music ever since freshman year of high school. Natasha could vividly recall the amount of times she asked Y/n in the beginning days of them dorming. Y/n would always respond with a smile, saying she never minded. So why would things change now? 

“Bullshit - tell me the real reason.” Natasha stood up and crossed her arms, not giving into Y/n’s lie. 

“I’ve had enough. Maybe that’s the reason.” Natasha rolled her eyes. She walked closer to Y/n, quickly lifting her shirt up to expose just how skinny she had gotten. 

“You’ve hardly been eating.” Feeling defensive, Y/n backed up, pushing her shirt back down. “You hardly sleep anymore. Not only that, I’ve barely been able to speak to you without you running away to study. Something is up. So tell me.” 

Y/n glanced down to the floor. Tears pricked her eyes as she thought of a way to get out of this. Guilt consumed her as quickly as her anger did. And now, she doesn't know what to say. 

So when the red head saw her friend silently cry, her shoulders dropped and immediately went in for a hug. “Whatever is eating you up, just please tell me. I’ll make sure to help you through it so you don’t have to go through it alone.” 

‘If I’m not perfect…I’m going to lose you.’ But as Y/n clutched on to Natasha, no words escaped her mouth for the redhead had enough to worry about. 

Day Before Competition - Spring Semester

“I can’t believe you’re actually going to a party.” Y/n looked over the simple outfit she had on, blue jeans, loose white shirt, and converse. This was the first time she was going to a party, vividly recalling the multiple lies she’s used to get out of one in the past. 

“I don’t understand why this one is suddenly mandatory for club members to go to. We literally have a competition tomorrow.” Today was supposed to be spent for late night studying, but according to Wanda’s orders, this was a must for all twelve members. 

“Who cares? I know you’re going to do well.” Natasha says behind Y/n. The red head admired Y/n’s outfit before looking eyes with her through the mirror. “You’ve been studying your ass off. I just know tomorrow is going to be your day.” 

Y/n didn’t want to overthink Natasha's words. Ever since she outlashed that night, she refused to for her anger to get the best of her even though her circumstances weren’t so great. Offering Natasha a wide smile, Y/n said, “I’ll be only drinking one cup tonight but nothing else. I can’t be too drunk.”

“And I’m going to do the opposite, I will be getting drunk especially since finals are this upcoming week.” 

‘I want to leave.’ Hours into the party, the crowd grew more alive. More people were in the center dancing while many small groups formed around the frat house. The backyard was filled with people vaping or smoking. 

Y/n didn’t quite recognize all that attended the party. If she was being honest, people started to come even when they weren’t part of a club. There were a few outliers from chemistry and movie club, but other than that, the crowd was overwhelming. 

Sipping on the last few bits of her drink, Y/n watched Natasha with a small buzzing feeling. The red head was downing her fifth shot. A smirk was wide spread on her face as she wiped the small bits of tequila that were on the corner of her mouth. The crowd around her cheered as the next person got their shot ready.

Natasha walked to where Y/n was standing and stood beside her. Feeling touchy, she decided to lay her head on Y/n’s shoulder and observed the crowd. She knew a lot of the outliers from the many parties she’s been to. Plus, with how outgoing of a personality Natasha had, a lot of people gravitated towards her. 

But no matter how many people Natasha was friends with, Y/n was always her favorite. The two were opposites but that made the friendship even better. The red head always viewed Y/n as the black cat that never wanted to be petted. But the day she was finally allowed was one that Natasha always remembers. 

“Having fun?” Y/n could smell the alcohol from Natasha’s breath but didn’t mind. 

“A little bit. This drink is helping me not stress so much though.” Natasha smiled at Y/n’s confession. The two didn’t really have a long talk about her outburst many nights ago. And while Natasha always had her guesses, she remained at Y/n’s side, never wanting her best friend to feel alone. 

As for Y/n, vowed to keep her anger in check. While she did still feel irritated at times, she focused on not letting her anger consume her as much. Even with the given circumstances, it wasn’t fair to Natasha or any of her friends to get the short end of the stick. It wasn’t their fault for the way things were. 

“Ya know Nat, for this party to have mandatory attendance, I have not seen Wanda or any of the math club members anywhere.” Natasha looked around the crowd that was in the dance room and couldn’t spot the all too familiar brunette at all. 

“That’s weird. Did y’all agree for a meet up spot?” Y/n shook her head no. 

“I haven’t even gotten a text from Wanda. She’s usually on top of these things.” The two watched for a moment, letting the loud music fill the comfortable silence between them. Wanting to get another shot, Natasha almost left when she saw Wanda amongst the crowd. 

“Why does Wanda affect you so much?” Y/n almost hadn’t heard Natasha’s question, but when Y/n followed the direction of her gaze, she knew. 

“She doesn’t affect me.” Although it was a small buzz, the ability to lie knowing she had drunk a little was all the confidence Y/n needed. 

“Well you talk about her,” Natasha pointed out. “Plus, anytime she’s around, you end up bickering for a while. Sometimes you would go on rants talking about what she said to you during class.”

The blush that appeared on Y/n’s cheek was hard to spot in the dark setting. The brown eyed girl clutched on her red solo cup, feeling embarrassed that she was easily called out with compelling evidence. 

Looking back at Wanda, Y/n could feel her heart rate increase as she saw her talking to other people. There was this different aura surrounding her. Maybe it was the drink or maybe it was the fact that she seemed to really enjoy herself. Like academics wasn’t the only thing she excelled in. 

“Is she the reason you’re acting so differently lately?” Natasha lifted her head as she felt Y/n stiffen up. Feeling like she overstepped, the red head was about to spout an apology.

“Yeah,” Y/n continued to look at Wanda. Even though it was rude to blame the situation on her, it was easier to admit it than speak the truth. “It’s just..I hate Wanda Maximoff. I hate her face and the way she hides her freckles. I hate her smile and how perfect she laughs. I hate how smart she is and how she knows everything. I hate her.” Y/n complained. 

But how could she hate the girl that always took number one in everything? How could she hate the girl that captivated her mind 24/7? How could she hate the girl she would willingly be number two for?

And as Natasha looked back at Wanda then Y/n, a realization suddenly hit her. ‘You like her.’ But Natasha didn’t dare to confess this outloud but it was so obvious. ‘What else would eat her up this way?’ Natasha thought. 

On the other side of the party, Wanda could feel eyes on her. Looking around the room, she finally connected to the brown eyes she knew well. Unknowingly, the sight of Natasha being so close aggravated the brunette for some reason.

But all Wanda could focus on was how soft Y/n’s stare was. There was no jealousy or bitterness about them. And that captivated Wanda even more because this was the first time that Y/n had ever looked at Wanda that way. 

Suddenly, all the air shifted in the room, and Wanda couldn’t help but think, “Why does she hate me?” 

Natasha left after her tenth shot as her girlfriend dragged her away. Feeling no reason to stay any longer, Y/n made her way out the frat house when she bumped into Wanda. 

The red head was unable to stand up straight, almost falling if it weren’t for Y/n’s arms. “Hey - hey - are you okay?” 

Here was the gaze again, the same one Wanda felt half an hour ago. It was almost too much to handle the first time, leading Wanda to drink even more. It was stupid, nonetheless, Wanda was drunk and the very reason why was the same one holding her. 

Feeling too much, Wanda leaned away as she puked into the bush. Almost wanting to puke from the sight, Y/n held Wanda’s hair back as she patted her back. “There - there.” 

Y/n looked around and was thankful that no one was here to witness this scene. As much as she hated Wanda, Y/n didn’t want this image to be in people’s heads. 

Standing back up, Wanda teared up, hating the feeling of puking. 

“Hey - it’s gonna be okay.” Not knowing what compelled her to do this, Y/n used the bottom of her shirt to wipe Wanda’s mouth. She didn’t care if puke got on her. The idea of Wanda crying infront of her was worse than puke. 

“Let me take you back home. You can’t walk in these conditions.” Was Y/n thankful that Wanda had bumped into her? No…well at least that’s what she would say out loud. But as Y/n walked Wanda back to her dorm, the awful thought of Wanda unsafely walking by herself at night made her sick. 

Arriving to dorm 321, Y/n swiped the key card, opening the door to a cold room. Carefully leading Wanda to her bed, Y/n lifted the white duvet, allowing Wanda to crawl in. 

When Wanda looked comfortable, Y/n looked around the room, noticing the minifridge at the corner. Opening it up, Y/n grabbed a water bottle and placed it at Wanda’s nightstand. 

Although Y/n could leave, the sight of Wanda sleeping made her freeze. Many thoughts slipped through her mind, some that she would blame the alcohol on. But there was this worrying feeling in her heart as the thought of Wanda puking in her sleep crossed her mind. 

No one would be able to help her in time considering she didn’t have a roommate. Groaning at her predicament, Y/n looked around the room. There was no spare pillow or blanket. It would be a rough night and the competition was soon. Looking at the clock on her wall, the bus would be ready to leave at 8:00 am giving Y/n around six and half hours to sleep. 

Was it worth it to stay at all? Would Wanda be fine? But as Y/n helped Wanda turn on her side to sleep, the brown eyed girl knew her answer. 

“Wanda, I’m going to be on the floor. If you need anything, just let me know.” There was no response from Wanda. Figuring she could leave before Wanda woke up in the morning, Y/n laid down on the ground, feeling cold from the intense air conditioning.

‘I can’t sleep if I’m freezing to death.’ The thought of using the rug below her as a blanket crossed her mind. Before she could say fuck it, Wanda’s voice caught her attention.

“Why do you hate me?” Glancing towards the bed, Y/n couldn’t see Wanda’s face from her view at the floor. Laying back down, Y/n looked at the ceiling, surprised that Wanda was even up.

“What makes you think that?” It was rude to dampen a drunk girl, that much was common sense for Y/n. So rather than outwardly admit anything, she rediverted it back to Wanda. 

“I can’t recall a moment where you were kind to me.” Y/n froze as she thought about that moment back in the library, wondering if Wanda had her flannel in her dresser. “And I don’t think you’ve said a nice thing about me…so you must hate me.” 

Oh how wrong Wanda was. Because the truth of it all, Y/n never hated Wanda. She could never hate the girl that pushed her to do her best everyday. She could never hate the girl that would go above and beyond for people that need help. She could never hate the girl she lived and breathed for. 

“I have said nice things about you,” Y/n whispered. The two never spoke like this before and it terrified Y/n to even admit such things. “You just have to look inbetween the lines. You’re smart - so I guess I hoped you saw through them.” 

Wanda was too drunk to really recall anything. She wanted so badly to ask but was afraid of the truth. “Are you ready for the competition?” 

Looking back up, Wanda had scooted to the edge of the bed, her eyes connecting with Y/n. “I think so. Do you think you’ll win?” 

Pulling the duvet away from her mouth, Wanda looked away as she said, “If I don’t, I’ll just disappoint my father.” 

“You wouldn’t disappoint me.” Wanda looked back at Y/n. Had she not been drunk, the intensity of her words and stare would have made her combust. 

But as the long night finally reached Wanda, she suddenly fell asleep before she could respond back. “Nothing you could ever do would disappoint me, Wanda.”

Competition Day - Spring Semester

Waking up to the sound of her alarm, Wanda panicked at the time. Immediately rushing to brush her teeth and change her clothes, she rushed out of her dorm, almost forgetting the important papers for the competition. 

As she ran on to the bus, sparing ten minutes, she looked around to see that everyone besides two people were left. The migraine in her head was hard to ignore, regardless, Wanda was thankful that she made it on time. 

Soon, the remainder of the team hopped on board, choosing a free row for themselves. Since it was a four hour ride, Wanda didn’t bother lecturing the team this early about the competition. She could do that later. 

Finding a free row near the front, she sat down at the seat closest to the window. Cursing herself for even drinking so much, Wanda glanced over and noticed that Y/n was across from her. She had jeans and white shirt on with a weird stain at the bottom. 

Wanda almost wanted to yell at her for not being in uniform when she noticed that she was asleep. Feeling another headache, Wanda focused on trying to find medicine in her backpack, the events of last night gone from her memory. 

Taking an ibuprofen, Wanda pulled out her notes and studied some problems. And although she didn’t remember, the girl across from her did as she finally got some sleep, having been up all night making sure that Wanda was safe and sound. 

Chapter 3

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[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Eighteen

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warnings: Nothing super specific, but things get pretty dark (at least in my opinion). Mentions of torture.

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

Azriel grabbed Rhys by the front of his jacket, hands shaking horribly despite all his efforts to stop. It had started this morning, when another disastrous attempt to talk to Andrian had left Azriel with his mind in shambles, knife pressed against his own throat. It had been going on for weeks now. Someway, somehow, Andrian would find a way to break through Azriel’s defenses and force him to relieve his worst memories. Sometimes he dreamt of his burning hands. Mostly he thought of you, and the day he’d nearly killed you. 

“Tell me you didn’t,” Azriel growled desperately. “Tell me!” 

It was too easy for him to pick out when his brother was speaking with Feyre, and something about the way Rhysand had been looking at him— like he was a fraction of a second away from splintering into a million pieces — told Azriel enough about who had been sent for. You were the only one who could calm him. The only one who could do what he and Rhys had failed to do. 

Violet eyes shone from a perfectly handsome face. A face he knew too well. A face that he wanted to punch right now. 

“I’m afraid I can’t, brother,” Rhysand responded gravely. 

Azriel slammed his fist against the wall instead, taking out a chunk of granite that spit grey dust into the air. He swore beneath his breath, pacing the hallway and trying to steady his racing heart. He’d never wanted you to see this place. He’d never even wanted you to step foot on the island above, its rolling peaks a stark contrast to the tunnels below where Azriel conducted his business. Business that stained his hands a thousand shades of red. 

“You’ve been working yourself ragged, Az, and Andrian still hasn’t said anything. Not to you. Not to me. We need to know all we can about Koschei. Vassa’s on the brink of madness. Henna’s dead. I can’t even get past Andrian’s mental wards. What the fuck are we meant to do?” 

“So you thought to go behind my back and bring Y/n into this?! She’s not something for you to use, Rhys.” 

“She’s already in this mess.” Rhys reminded him, as he often did. His eyes softened as he looked to the locked door at the end of the hall with its small, rectangular window. Bars breaking up the lamplight glowing from within. “And you know she’d agree this is the best course of action. She’ll be able to do it.” 

Azriel’s hands shook. “Give me another week and I’ll get us the information we need. Tell Feyre to turn around. Don’t bring Y/n here.” Don’t let her see this part of me.

“The boy doesn’t have another week. He doesn’t even have a day.” 

The shaking traveled throughout Azriel’s entire body. His eyes darkened and he began the process of hiding his heart away within the void that curled inside of him. That wicked beast that was always on the verge of swallowing him whole. 

Feyre winnowed you both to the outskirts of the northern territories and you went from sweating in your fur-lined leathers to shivering in the knee deep snow. The Illyrian Mountains rose behind you like predatorial rows of shark teeth and the endless sea stretched in front, slate grey and empty except for lonely ripples of sea foam. Through the frosty haze you could make out a smattering of islands, each with their own tooth-like tips capped with snow and ice. Feyre looked at you, her eyes leaning more towards blue now that she’d tapped into the Winter Court’s power to stave off the cold. 

The Warren was protected by wards that made winnowing impossible, so you let Feyre scoop you up in her powerful arms, wings growing from her back like unfurling shadows before the ground dropped away from her feet and she took off into the sky. 

You clung to her shoulders, eyes slamming shut so you wouldn’t have to look down at the churning black waters and the rocks they crashed against. If you were to fall now, you could only hope you drown before the waves ripped your body to pieces against the rocks like meat torn between a pair of canines. 

You stayed frozen and tight as a coil until the rush of wind stopped and you no longer felt your stomach creeping up into your throat. You could have dropped to your knees and kissed the ground if you weren’t sure your lips would freeze there. You did shove your hands into the gritty sand though, breathing slowly through your nose until you finally had the strength to stand. 

Feyre led you down the long stretch of beach, waves whistling in the wind — a haunting, beautiful melody, like a woman crying. 

Azriel had discovered The Warren centuries ago. After a particularly brutal brawl that had left him with a broken arm and cracked ribs, he’d taken to the skies, desperate to escape the hard packed floors and burning scent of sex mixed with alcohol that seemed to invade every corner of the Windhaven barracks. He’d been fighting over a woman, a woman that had been dragged into the rowdy common room trembling with the telltale sign of a whisky haze over her burnt umber eyes, dress ripped and muddy. 

Did it even matter that he’d brought her back untouched to that leaning house with its wooden slabs frosted over and the chimney coughing up black smoke like a diseased lung? Azriel had wondered as he flew without a destination in mind. And when he’d finally collapsed on the island, frozen ground beneath his hands and knees and spitting out blood from his cut up gums, his shadows had tugged him towards the gaping mouth of The Warren, urging him to explore a darkness that was his and his alone. It had been his escape. A safe place in the world that had so few. But when Rhysand became High Lord and he the Spymaster, Azriel hadn’t hesitated to give up The Warren in the service of the Night Court, adding it to the long list of sacrifices he made so that he might actually start to feel like he deserved his place with his family. 

You stilled in front of The Warren’s entrance, black walls glittering and damp from sea spray. Jagged, cracked bone rocks hovered overhead like axes ready to fall, jutting out of a cliffside and curling over the beach in the shape of a hunched back or an unhinged jaw. Wind whistled from within like asthma — high-pitched and keening. 

“This is where you keep all your prisoners.” You weren’t asking a question, merely stating a fact. 

Feyre had had little time for explanations back at the House. She’d focused on defending your body against the frigid cold to come, her mind split between you and Rhysand as he worried over Azriel from miles away. 

“Not all of them. Only the ones Azriel finds useful.” 

“The ones he plans to torture for information.” 

From somewhere deep within the earth you swore you heard the clanging of chains, a growl, and a desperate groan that had the hair on your neck rising. 

Feyre’s usual warmth was gone, replaced by something with more tact and less care. “This isn’t a place for the faint of heart, Y/n. And neither is Azriel. He’s tried to hide this from you, but it’s as much a part of him as anything else and if you care for him as much as I believe you do, you’re going to need to get used to this.” 

There was the faintest flicker of doubt in your heart. “Andrian… he’s just a boy… you haven’t—Az hasn’t—”

“No,” Feyre said quickly. Horrified. “Azriel found him weeks ago trying to slip back into Day Court. We brought him here because it’s the most heavily warded place in Prythian and because the world needs to be protected from him as much as he needs to be protected from the world.” She grabbed your hands. They felt cold as ice. “Y/n. I swear to you, we haven’t hurt that boy. We won’t hurt him.” 

“I know. I just… I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking.” Already you felt sick to your stomach just for asking. Azriel was many things — dangerous, cruel to those he felt were deserving of it, maybe even murderous at times — but he was still Az… and you weren’t afraid. Not even as you let Feyre lead you into The Warren, and you were swallowed whole.  

The mouth of the cave quickly narrowed into a tunnel before turning at a severe angle and twisting like a corkscrew downward. If it weren’t for you and Feyre’s glowing bodies, you might have missed one of The Warren’s slick steps and tumbled down forever. 

You passed by two offshoots, each branching out into their own secret tunnels that whispered and echoed and smelled faintly of blood. Coppery and sour. 

One of the rooms you walked through smelled like metal and limestone. The rust-colored ground and drain in the center of the floor told you all you needed to know about its purpose and before you could stop yourself, before you could even think about whether this was truly a good idea, you found yourself pressing a hand against one of the chains hanging from the ceiling. 

If Feyre was right and this was truly a part of Azriel — something horrible that needed to come with all of the good that he was — then you wanted to know. You felt that you had some right to know, and if it was the power the Mother had granted you, then you would use it when you saw fit. 

Feyre froze when your power flooded the room without warning, feeling the energy and fury radiating off your skin without even turning to look at you. You kept the memories a safe distance away, but drank in the knowledge of every horrible hand that had hung from that ceiling like you were reading a list of names from a book. You read their crimes. You read every drop of blood that Azriel had spilled on the ground. 

“Y/n?” Feyre asked tentatively, fearfully, when you blinked and released the chain. 

She had every hope the bond would snap in place for you soon and that you’d help end Azriel’s centuries of loneliness. That you might be the one to finally show him he was deserving of kindness. But to love Azriel as he was, with all his rough edges and the pain he could inflict as much as he carried… it was not for the faint of heart.  

“I understand why Azriel wanted to hide this place from me. This part of him,” you said quietly and to no one in particular. Not even to Feyre. “But he shouldn’t have.” Your eyes turned harder than stone. “They deserved it. Each and every one of them.” 

Feyre stood, shocked into silence, and it wasn’t until you gripped her arm and nudged her into the next room that she found she was able to walk again. 

You passed by more hallways and more rooms, some disturbingly clean and empty, others with chains hanging from the ceiling or littered on the floor. But the strangest part was, you could smell Azriel within these cramped walls, and that alone made you quicken your steps. 

You chased that familiar scent, walking confidently through the dark and passing Feyre until you were spit out in a long, neat tunnel with one metal door at the end. Tendrils of shadow flickered from around the corner. 

“Azriel?” 

Your heart pounded in your chest when you saw him leaning against the wall, hands folded behind his back. Rhys’s eyes flickered to you, then to his mate as she followed closely behind. Azriel stiffened, his eyes locked and heavy. Shadows tugged at his eyes and accentuated the sharpness of his cheeks. He looked like he hadn’t slept since the day he left you… which wasn’t so far from the truth. Because the whole time he’d been here, he’d been thinking of you, and the ways you might hate him for what he did and the sick corners of his soul. For—

You sailed into his arms, wrapping yourself around his torso and pressing your face into the hollow of his neck. Part of your mind chastised you, calling you silly and desperate as it reminded you it had only been ten days since you’d last seen him. But you didn’t care. It felt far longer than that. Too long. 

You needed this almost as much as he did. 

You disappeared behind his wings, cocooned safely in membranous folds and shadows that kissed your skin. Azriel himself buried his face in your hair, feeling some of his worst worries dissipate. You hadn’t run away. You hadn’t been so disgusted as to leave just yet. 

“Y/n,” he murmured your name before kissing your temple. “Gods, I missed you.” 

“I would hope so.” You murmured into the curve of his jaw, “I might be a boring bookworm but I’m better company than this place.” 

Azriel winced. “You have no idea.”

You missed the pointed look that Rhys and Feyre threw your way, but Azriel didn’t. He was tall enough to see over your head as Feyre pointed to the door at the end of the hallway, eyes glistening. They had come here for a purpose, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner they could all go home. 

Azriel’s arms tightened around you. “I didn’t want you to come here. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see the things I do.” 

“I know.” You traced the curve of his jaw, thumb smoothing over his cheek. “But I’m not afraid, Azriel.” 

His eyes flickered from fear to relief to love, like one of those picture books you had to flip through to see the scene play out. 

“You’re not?” 

You shook your head no. Then you kissed him on the lips and whispered the words for him and him alone. “I trust you. You’re the most terrifying thing here anyway, and you’re mine.” 

Yours. 

Azriel quitel liked the sound of that. 

Even here in the dungeons burrowed beneath empty frozen lands, Azriel found it within him to hope. Horrid creatures might be hidden elsewhere, creeping like slugs under the earth that he’d have to crush beneath his boot or tear treasured secrets from, but for now you were still by his side. For now you were still his and he would always be yours. 

You looped your arm through his and moved towards that door at the end of the hallway, steeling yourself for what you already knew was behind it. 

The light from the barred window flashed warm and cool then warm again. Light warped and pranced. The scent of rot hung in the air, humid and choking. You touched the door handle, feeling the magic fall away like it recognized you and opened up into a makeshift, but quaint bedroom. There were no windows here for there was nothing to see below ground, but some of Feyre’s landscape paintings hung on the wall. Faelights bloomed overhead, throwing light and heat on a child’s bed with green sheets, a table, and a bookcase overflowing with an assortment of puzzles and novels and toys. You felt your blood turn cold. They’d once belonged to Nyx before being repurposed for the little boy trembling on the floor. 

You stared at him in horror. 

The little boy who’d been so violently bright that morning in the marketplace was dull. Although he was wearing fresh clothes, his skin had turned a stone gray, black marks dotting his once silken, silver skin like a disease. He was aware of his condition, weeping on the plush rug cut in the shape of a flower as he batted at his arms, willing them to turn healthy again. 

“No no no no no no,” he sobbed. He grabbed at his pillowy hair in frustration and tugged. A cloud of fragile strands came away and he cried harder, trying to stick them back to his scalp. 

Rhysand’s face was broken and pale. He tried not to look at Andrian. He was too young. Reminded him too much of his own son. 

“You were right.” Rhysand’s voice was hollow, laced with a pain that grabbed your throat and squeezed. “Koschei did kill him. He’s been dead this whole time.”

“NO!” Andrian screamed. “HE DIDN’T! HE PROTECTED ME!” 

Fat tears rolled out of filmy eyes, dusty and brown as pond water. Rage filled him with new energy and he tried to attack your mind as he’d already done with Azriel. But there was something altogether different about your magic, something flexible that morphed and rearranged your mental walls until it felt like he was trying to attack himself. 

He gave up when your walls didn’t fall, and chose the physical route instead. You recoiled as he took a swipe, bony arms reaching out in an awkward lunge. But his legs were too weak and crumpled beneath him. He looked like a fish laid out to rot on a summer day — bloated and slick. 

“Koschei brought him back to life for his powers—”

“HE LOVES ME! PAPA LOVES ME!” 

“To use as he saw fit when the time was right.”

“But he can’t survive being separated for so long from Koschei’s power, can he?” 

Just like Vassa. Left on their own without their maker they couldn’t handle the curses that had been placed on them. They’d bend until they broke… unless they found another way… 

“The killings,” You murmured as the pieces slowly fell into place, “He killed those Librarians and the tailor and the florist…” You didn’t want to be right about this. You prayed to the Mother that you were wrong. 

But Azriel read the thoughts in your eyes and nodded. Feyre could only stand still and Rhysand couldn’t do more than speak out in that dead voice of his. 

Andrian had killed those fae, not just to send a message, but because that was the price for going against nature, for being brought back from the dead. Power demanded balance. To stay alive, Andrian had needed others to take his place. Those Librarians and the Velarians hadn’t been murdered. They’d been sacrificed. 

What Koschei had done to this boy — what he’d turned him into — made you want to crawl into a dark corner and stay there forever. 

Andrian’s sobs died out. A crack of lightning followed by unnerving silence that had Azriel’s blood freezing in his veins. Andrian wasn’t much older than he’d been when he’d first been tossed into that dark cellar. When his brothers had set his hands aflame. 

“He loves me,” he declared, as if saying it would make it true. He stayed curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth on his heels. “He stayed when Henna left me. He wasn’t afraid of me like the others. He took care of me.”

But Koschei hadn’t taken care of him. He’d taught Andrian to love him. To worship him, because that’s what he craved above all else. He’d helped the boy control his powers and had allowed him to live so he could send him off to die when it was most convenient. You’d thought Henna was Koschei’s perfect soldier, but you were wrong. Andrian was. He’d been broken and molded into something that should never have existed. He’d been sent to Prythian after his sister’s death to take her place. A boy who would have no choice but to return to the lake or die trying. 

And he was dying. You could see it clear as day. Two teeth clinked onto the floor and Andrian’s hands flew up to his mouth. He whimpered, eyes locking on you like you might be able to fix this. 

You wanted to beg Rhys and Feyre to do something, to fix him, but it was a useless endeavor. They wouldn’t have brought you here if they could just reach into Andrian’s mind and end it all peacefully. Andrian was too powerful for that. But you could use another way. 

You approached him like a wild, injured animal, grimacing when he tried to run at you only for his ankle to twist and then snap. He fell to the floor in a pathetic sprawl. 

“Hey there, little feather.” 

Andrian paused at that familiar nickname, watery eyes looking up. You said it just like Henna had once upon a time. The same inflection in a differently pitched voice. His lips trembled. 

“She left me.” 

You shook your head before kneeling on the ground in front of him. He smelled of death. It clung to his linen shirt and trousers. It clung to the few strands of hair still woven into his scalp, skin so thin you could make out his skull. 

“She didn’t leave you, Andrian.” You poured your voice out over him, as soothing as you could make it, forcing the tears down. “She thought you’d died and that you’d stayed dead. She had a little ceremony for you out near the willow tree and buried your favorite toy beneath it with a handful of water lilies. Do you remember it? The little wooden doll you dressed up like a soldier with the red cap and the silver shoes?” 

He clamped his hands over his ears, shaking his head while his weak neck teetered dangerously atop his shoulders. 

“Andrian—” You pulled his hands away and in a bold, dangerous move brought them to your temple and slowly lowered your mental wards. You didn’t give him free reign, but rather guided him through snippets of memories you’d taken from Henna before her death. They all revolved around him. Before, and even after Koschei had poisoned their minds, Andrian had remained her true priority. 

The boy’s eyes flashed from anger to confusion then, finally, to despair.

“She didn’t leave you.” 

Andrian waited a few moments that had your heart seizing, then rushed into your arms, tightening them like a vice around your shoulders and burying his face in your hair. You held your breath, but tightened your grip. You weren’t his sister, but you were the closest thing he had. 

Slowly, like sand falling through an hourglass, you felt his arms weaken and fall from your shoulders. He stared at you, wide and terrified as his hand snapped off at the wrist and fell to your side in a grey heap. 

“Make it stop. Please make it stop.”

You smoothed back his hair, shoving down the tears that threatened to fall. His eyes were white now and unseeing. “It’s ok, little feather. It’s ok.” 

“I don’t—” Even his voice was crumbling apart. Raspy and broken like cracked glass. He had little time left. The fight in him gone. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go to that dark place. Please don’t make me go.”  

Azriel had been watching the entire time, trying not to picture the little boy with dark hair, weak wings, and bandaged hands. He went so, so still. 

“Hey, hey, it’s ok. It’s going to be ok.” You promised. You forced your trembling lips into a smile. 

He took in a rasping breath. “Will you go with me this time, Henna? Please.” 

You gritted your teeth, brows furrowed in an effort to stay here instead of turning and sprinting back to the surface. 

“I will. That’s why I came” You brushed his hair away from his forehead, saying nothing when the wispy white strands were torn away from his scalp like silk… just like the memories of Koschei’s lake you plucked from his mind without him knowing. You swallowed the pain of what you knew was coming. “I won’t let you be alone.” 

He went quiet after that. Maybe his voice had deteriorated beyond saving, maybe he finally felt at peace. All you knew is that you needed to keep brushing his hair and holding onto his hand when he laid down and placed his head in your lap. He was like a little windup doll that had run out of string. He kept breathing until he finally stopped. 

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

So... this was a rather sad one, bit of a tonal shift if you ask me, but I wanted to wrap up the stuff with Henna and Andrian before we continue on to other things.

BUT, you have to appreciate when Y/n walks into what's effectively a torture chamber and goes "yeah, nope, still in love with Azriel." It's just one of those things that gets brushed under the rug but like... this guy's WHOLE JOB is inflicting pain upon people.... and you know what, it's a fantasy book, so who the hell cares. We stan Y/n being supportive of Azriel's career lol

[mediumgayitalian]

“Come here, you dweeb. Let me fix it.”

Will pouts, dragging his feet over and slumping half on top of him. Nico allows it with a smile and a roll of his eyes, pinching Will’s shoulder. He doesn’t react except for a wounded noise, muffled in Nico’s lap, so the situation is evidently quite dire.

“It’s just hair, Will.”

“But I worked on it!” He shifts around until he’s got his head in Nico’s lap, face turned towards him, body curled up on the grass around him. Nico brushes his tangled bangs off his forehead, meeting his big sad eyes. “I spent forty minutes with a stupid brush! And yet!”

“And yet,” Nico agrees, unable to appropriately school is face into one of somber understanding. Will scowls at him for his lack of proper sympathy, a little bit of genuine hurt in his eyes, so Nico leans down and kisses right between his brows in apology. He seems mollified, if only slightly, or at least he leans into Nico’s touch and stops mumbling quite so much.

“‘S’not fair.”

“Mhm.“

“Your hair listens to your instructions.”

“Yep.”

“Even Cecil’s hair listens to him, and no one listens to Cecil.”

Nico purses his lips thoughtfully. “I think Austin listens to Cecil.”

“Yes, I know. It’s an ongoing issue. I’m trying to train him out of it.”

“And how’s that going?” Nico murmurs, curling a strand of golden blond hair around his finger.

“Oh, well, I’m doing my best, so of course it’s going horribly.”

Nico snorts. He resists the urge to hold his palms to Will’s cheeks and kiss every single freckle at light speed, because he will screech something about how Nico is one-upping him in the romance department or something stupid like that. Instead he settles for looking at his dumb dramatic boyfriend’s face and marvelling over the fact that the cutest boy in the entire world, and Nico is being totally objective, hunts around camp until he finds whatever tree Nico is hiding under and curls up into a ball around him and trusts Nico to hold him while he complains about stupid things that genuinely hurt his feelings a little. It’s nice. So many people at camp are still so rigid around him, like he’s collecting information for their judgement day or something. Will prefers to exercise his lesser-known Apollonian talent of being a bigger drama queen than the god himself.

“Stay still,” Nico says softly, moving Will around so he’s laying perpendicular to Nico, now, head centered in his lap and staring up at the sky. Will sighs and squirms a little and turns his head to press a kiss to Nico’s knee, scrunching up his face and releasing it, and then settles in the position.

Humming something soft that exists on the fringes of his foggy memories, he sinks his hands into Will’s hair.

“It’s not that bad,” he promises, moving slowly and pausing whenever he comes across a knot.

Will harrumphs.

“I mean it, Marilyn Monroe. You can tone down the histrionics.”

“I used gel.”

Nico flicks a dried clump of it onto Will’s forehead, amused. “I can see that.”

“I followed every single one of Mitchell’s instructions!”

“I bet.”

“And yet!”

“And, yet.”

Nico has a sneaking suspicion that someone made a comment about Will’s hair, in the last few weeks. He can never confirm it and Will has been shifty about it every time he asks, but Nico has noticed the uptick in hoods and hats the past month and his little flinches every time Nico reaches up and tugs on it. Despite being oddly confident about the oddest things — why he is so proud of being able to fit his fist in his mouth, Nico will never know — Will is very sensitive to how people think of him. He needs to know he’s liked, and when people don’t like him, he gets…desperate, pleasing. The opposite of Nico, who becomes worse in an attempt to push them away on his own terms.

Nico leans down and presses a long, lingering kiss to his forehead.

“I like your hair, you know.”

“It’s a stupid mess.”

He smooths down a handful of it, pressing it over Will’s eye. He manages to keep a straight face for one, two, three seconds before he huffs a laugh, batting Nico’s hands away. Nico grins.

“I like the stupid mess.”

“Yeah, well, you like a lot of weird things.”

“Like you?” Nico suggests, pressing another kiss to the tip of his rounded nose.

“Shut up.”

Another strange thing about him, that Nico has to duck his head to hide his automatic smile: he gets embarrassed easily.

Nico never expected it of him, with all the dorky, medical-themed pickup lines and general shamelessness in his affection towards everybody on Earth, but especially Nico. When the poking, prodding attraction is turned on him, however, he shuts down like an overloaded Playstation. Nico can sometimes see the error messages playing behind its eyes. It’s hilarious.

“Will.” He pokes him in the cheek. “Hey.”

“What,” Will grumbles.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

Watching the slow spread of red from below the collar of his shirt to the roots of his hair is a delight. Nico watches in glee, wrestling Will’s hands away when he tries to slap them over his face.

“Shut up! Leave me alone! Go — flirt with somebody else!”

“You’d curse them to speak in rhymes for ten years,” Nico teases.

Will makes an agonised noise. “Who! Asked you! Shut up!”

“You’d sic Kayla on anyone who so much as winks at me, you jealous bitch.”

“I would not!”

“You would so. You rolled your eyes at everything Percy said for three weeks when you found out I used to crush on him —”

“I did not!”

“— and you didn’t even have the balls to ask me out, back then.”

“You are a — peddler of falsehoods! A prevaricator, a perjurer, and a fabulist!”

“And you sound like you swallowed a thesaurus,” Nico snickers. He catches the hand Will flails at him, pressing a kiss to the wrist, which only serves to fluster him more. He decides to take mercy when the kisses he trails down his arms result in one loud, long, tortured screech, pulling back and giving him some space.

Notably, he doesn’t move from Nico’s lap.

“I like it,” Nico admits, once Will has calmed down some. “I like that you’ve liked me for so long.”

Will peeks through the fingers he has covering his eyes. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Yes.” Nico squeezes his shoulders. “And endearing, which seems to be your sweet spot.” He presses a much softer kiss to the underside of Will’s ear, lingering there until he sighs, slumping under all the tension finally leaving his body. “I love you, Will. I love your clumsiness and your rambles and your nose and your freckles and your awkwardness and your jealousy and your hair and I love you, Will, all of you. Even the embarrassing weird parts.” He kisses him again. “Especially the weird parts.”

Will breathes slowly, carefully, evenly, face pressed to the inside of Nico’s thigh. His long eyelashes tickle his skin. Nico can feel the press of his Adam’s apple when he swallows, pulsing against his calf.

“I never thought you were a freak.”

Nico brushes his knuckles over his cheek. “I know.”

“I used to — talk about you. All the time. And your oxytocin levels.”

He smiles.

“I know.”

“Lee had a — chart.” Some of the flush rises back up in his cheeks. “A ‘Days Since We’ve Heard About Di Angelo’ chart.”

Nico bites his lip. Hard.

“The number never got higher than six.”

“…I am trying really, really hard, Will.”

Will sighs.

“You can laugh.”

Nico cracks up, trying desperately to muffle his giggles in his bitten fist. It doesn’t work very well, but the glare Will sends him is somewhat softened by the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Gods, you are — a mess.”

“Mhm.”

Nico cups the side of his face. Will turns, slightly, enough to press a kiss to the centre of his palm and then stay there, eyes closed, breathing against his sword-callused skin.

“I love you too, by the way. Obviously.”

“I know.”

“Don’t Han Solo me, you bastard.”

“Go ahead and try to stop me,” Nico challenges, grinning into the passionately indignant kiss Will presses to his lips, finally, letting Nico curl his hands in his hair.

[steddieas-shegoes]

cw: discussion of past parental death due to overdose, mention of drug use

Steve stumbled upon the article when he was helping Robin collect articles for a project for her Industry Studies course.

He didn’t think much of reading about another small time musician getting caught up with the wrong crowd, and overdosing or getting in a drunk driving accident. It seemed like a pretty common theme. It was terrible, sad, horrible, but he’d seen about 30 stories like that in the last two days and he was kind of getting numb to it all.

Until he saw the name Munson.

Until a picture of a woman with long, curly hair and Eddie’s smile stared back at him next to a headline that read: “Kentucky Country Queen Dead at 27.”

He read the article with tears in his eyes.

Elizabeth “El” Munson, a hopeful country singer and guitarist, was found dead in her home by her six year old son, Edward. The boy reportedly tried calling his father at work with no luck before finally calling his uncle, Wayne Munson.

Toxicology reports show that she overdosed on multiple illegal substances. At this time, it is believed to have been accidental and no foul play is suspected.

It has now been made clear that Elizabeth was seeking a divorce from her husband, Al Munson, but had not been successful as lawyers were unable to locate him until her funeral. Their son has been put in the care of Wayne until further notice.

Robin found him 20 minutes later, staring at the page with swollen, red eyes. She took the paper, read the article, and put it back in the files wordlessly.

“I don’t think he wants us to know,” she finally said.

She was probably right.

But Steve had grown pretty close to Eddie over the last six months, had opened up to him about his parents, his fake friends, his concussions and nightmares. Eddie had started opening up to him, too.

He thought he had, anyway.

He told him about how his mom died when he was young and his dad was awful so he moved in with Wayne. He told him about how his dad appeared every couple years looking for money or a place to stay and Wayne always turned him away.

But he never really talked about his mom, always said he barely remembered her.

Did he know what happened?

——

Steve asked Wayne the next morning.

He’d come by to pick Eddie up for a day with the kids, but Eddie hadn’t set his alarm and was still asleep.

Perfect opportunity to find out more.

“So. Eddie’s mom.”

Wayne tensed over his plate of toast and scrambled eggs. He didn’t look up, just took another bite of food.

“Does he know how she died?”

“Do you?”

“Newspaper said overdose,” Steve tapped his fingers nervously against his thigh. “Says Eddie found her.”

“Trauma messes with your memory.”

It was final, a statement that left Steve with more questions, but a certainty that he’d get no answers.

“Yeah.” He gulped. “I’ve heard.”

——

Steve doesn’t bring it up to Eddie for a while.

He figured Wayne’s reaction said a lot about what Eddie knew or would be willing to share.

But they were a little high and alone and Eddie’s hand was warm in his and his filter was broken.

“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find your mom.”

The air around them was thick. The silence was deafening.

“Me too.”

Eddie’s voice was quiet, nothing like his usual playful tone.

Steve immediately wanted to put this conversation in reverse, pretend his curiosity didn’t matter.

“I’m sorry.”

Eddie moved closer to Steve, his arm a constant pressure against Steve’s. His head leaned against Steve’s shoulder.

“Wayne doesn’t know I know how she died. He doesn’t know I know my dad gave her bad drugs, convinced her all the up and coming musicians were doing a new strain of heroin. She’d kicked him out of the house,” Eddie’s breath caught. “She shouldn’t have let him come back that day. I heard them arguing before I left for school. She told him she was finding a manager and recording an album and that she was divorcing him. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was bad.”

“Eds, you don’t have to tell me.”

“I know, Stevie. But you know everything else.” Eddie’s face turned until his nose and mouth were pressed against Steve’s arm. “I went to school. Didn’t think about it. Figured my dad would be gone when I got home and might come back in a few days once they cooled off. But when I got home, he was gone and my mom’s bedroom door was closed. And I opened it and there she was.”

Steve turned so he was face to face with Eddie, cupping his jaw and rubbing his thumb along his cheek in encouragement.

“I don’t even know why I tried calling the store first. I didn’t even know if he still worked there. But then I called Wayne and it’s like he just knew.” Eddie’s eyes closed for a moment. “Don’t think he’d ever gotten to our house so quick.”

“Did he know all this?”

“He knew enough. I stayed with him and then my dad gave up his rights. Lied to the counselor about what I knew so Wayne wouldn’t freak. Kept it up for a while,” Eddie let out a small exhale that slightly resembled a laugh. “I read the article about eight years ago. A kid in my class made a joke about me being an orphan because of the drug problem in America as if he even knew what that meant and I decided to see what the newspaper reported.”

“Do you play because of her?” Steve asked.

Eddie blinked back at him.

“I play for a lot of reasons. But I started because of her, yeah,” he whispers. “You’re the first person to ask me that instead of give me that look of pity.”

“I’m sad about how it happened, but giving you pity doesn’t change it. I’d rather hear how it changed you,” Steve whispered back.

They were close, legs intertwined, hands touching bare skin under shirts and on faces and necks.

“It changed everything for me. Wayne packed us up and moved us here as soon as he legally could. Probably for the best. Well,” Eddie gave a small smile. “Definitely for the best. Wouldn’t be here with you if he hadn’t.”

“Do you ever go back?” Steve did his best to ignore the fluttering in his stomach.

“Her birthday every year. She’s got a nice spot near her mom.” Eddie bit his lip. “It’s actually coming up in a couple weeks. Maybe you could come with me?”

“Me? Are you sure?”

Eddie nodded. “If it doesn’t weird you out that I talk to her. I like to give her updates on my life, Wayne’s life, music. Think she’d find it quite funny that I bring the guy I’ve had a crush on for two years.”

It takes a minute for the words to sink in.

“Two years?” Steve’s lips curled up into a smile. “I hope I live up to expectations.”

“I think she’d like you. She’d definitely make fun of me for having a boyfriend who wears polos though.”

“Is that how you’d introduce me?”

“If you’re okay with it.” Eddie leaned his forehead against Steve’s. “I know we haven’t talked about what we-“

Steve pressed his lips to Eddie’s, nearly knocking their noses together painfully in the process.

After the initial shock, they both relaxed into the kiss.

“I’d love to go. As your boyfriend,” Steve said after pulling away for air. “What was her favorite flower?”

“Gardenias. Always wore perfume that smelled like it. Why?”

“Because I have to impress her, right?”

“You realize she’s not gonna actually see or hear you? She’s definitely dead.”

Steve snorted. “I know. But she can still have nice things. Maybe us bringing her nice things in death is a way to apologize for the not nice things she had in life.”

“You’re a pretty incredible boyfriend, sweetheart.” Eddie kissed the tip of his nose. “And you now know more than Wayne, so it’s time for a pinky promise.”

Steve giggled before holding up his pinky. “I swear I won’t tell Wayne anything.”

“And you’ll kiss me whenever I want…”

“That’s a guarantee.”

“And you’ll let me win at Go Fish…”

“Not a chance, Eds.”

Eddie laughed. “Worth a try.”

Steve curled his pinky against Eddie’s. “So do you think she’d like me?”

“Oh. Oh god. She’d love you. You’re exactly who she’d want for me,” Eddie rolled his eyes when Steve flipped his hair back confidently. “And she’d braid your hair every night while you gossiped and sipped tea.”

“And what would you do?”

“Probably just soak it in. Appreciate having her and you around. You’ll just have to gossip with Wayne.”

“Wayne doesn’t strike me as-“

“Oh, he’s got you fooled! He’s a worse gossip than the ladies at the hair salon. Just ask him about the mailbox at the end of the road sometime. Make sure you’ve got an hour to spare.”

“Really?” Steve’s eyes lit up. “Is he home now?”

Eddie pulled Steve forward until he was flush against his front. “No and I have much better plans than gossiping with my uncle.”

“Oh?” Steve’s brow raised.

“It involves my bed and handcuffs. You in?”

“Hopefully you’re in.”

“God, you’re ridiculous. C’mon, now I’m even harder from your stupid flirting,” Eddie sat up and tugged until Steve followed. “Can’t believe this is how my night’s going.”

“Believe it, baby.”

[bratzforchris]

MAFIA!MATT HEADCANONS

in which: headcanons about the boy with a stone cold heart that fell for his childhood best friend amidst his rather illegal activities (part of my mafia!matt au)

warnings: mentions of weapons/murder/substances/blood/violence and overall gang activities, mentions of/hints at sex

♜ though his gang is the smallest one in boston, do not underestimate matt sturniolo. he's spent the last several years seeking revenge and he's not going back on that now

♜ matt didn't plan on falling for you when he saw you walking out of the bakery that fateful day. you were just a girl from his past, a memory of the life he didn't have anymore. and yet, just like every time before and every time now, he found himself unable to stay away from you

♜ though he's moved on to more...illegal activities, matt is still the same kid you've always known when he pulled you into the alley for the first time

♜ "matt? what the fuck?"

"you've always been smart, sunshine. i'm a businessman, and you're the perfect addition to my company."

somehow, despite the cruel, cold look in his eyes, you know this is the same boy he's always been; the one who sold candy bars and chips at recess and was always wanting to be bigger, better

♜ your first kiss with matt isn't romantic or in a park somewhere. rather, it's when you're bandaging up his shoulder after he was grazed by a bullet

♜ matt who never lets you see his dirty work and it's not because you're a woman. instead, he realizes that your heart is too pure to witness the things he does to people for messing with him and the people he loves. you're an angel, one who isn't supposed to see the terrible, horrible deaths that he's responsible for

♜ sex with him isn't just good, it's otherworldly. matt has a dominant aire in everything he does, but especially in the bedroom when he's got you handcuffed to the bed, going round after round

♜ matt who takes you on deals, just so his customers know that he's a taken man

♜ call it cliché, but your boy makes sure you have a knife strapped to your garter underneath your ballgown when he's got some business to take care of at a fancy event

♜ matt who would burn the world if it meant having all of you forever <3

author's note: now listen i've never wanted kids but for mafia!matt...🫦 in all seriousness, thank you for reading! come yap with me about this au whenever<3

tags: @gxldenlush @theeternaloptimistt @st9niolos @sturnioloblues @new2024cats4life @pettydollie @udonknowmeh12 @riverwritez

[reiderwriter]

♟️ Please, Let Me Know That It's Real ♟️

Chapter 10 of That's What You Get

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Summary: Emily and Penelope take care of you after Spencer's dishonesty comes to light. They help you fill in some missing pieces of the puzzle that is your relationship.

Warnings: angst, but hopeful angst. Spencer is an idiot. No, you don't find out who the other witness is yet.

A/N: We're so close to the end 😭 I'm feeling bittersweet about this one because I'm excited to wrap it up but I also don't want to!!! It's been so fun to write. There are two chapters left after this, so please stay tuned for those ♥️ You can find my main masterlist here, and my special kinktober masterlist here if you missed the smut in this one. My requests are open until the end of the month too, so of you had any ideas, let me know!

There were no words to describe how you felt wasting away in bed that next day. You couldn't say whether a minute passed, or an hour passed or if time had simply ceased when he'd left. You just knew that there was a weight pressing down into your heart, a grief filling your lungs and stuttering your breath. 

You had the vague sensation of someone entering your apartment, wrapping their arms around you and telling you that you'd be okay before you drifted off into a coma-like sleep. Instead of escaping everything, though, you had to relive it all, again and again. 

You'd woken up chained to that bed again and he was there telling you how guilty and horrible he felt, and you'd practically shoved the words into his mouth. But he hadn't told you he didn't remember. 

You'd woken up in his bed again, and he still wasn't there, trying to avoid you getting your memories back, the one thing you were trying to work towards together. 

You'd woken up in his arms, walking you back towards his bed as you were telling him you remembered. The gleam in his eyes though wasn't excitement, happy to receive any news about what could've happened before, but fear. What did you remember, and would you figure out he'd been lying? 

You'd woken up a mess, and you wanted to go right back to sleep. 

When you finally did come to, the tears that had dried against your skin began to Spring again, the sobs silently wrecking your body as you disappeared under the darkness of your comforter.

Spencer had known. He'd known the entire time about everything that had happened, he'd practically told you as much from the very beginning. But he'd also let you assume that he didn't, and you weren't sure if you were angrier at him or yourself. Something happened on your wedding night, beside the intimacy, that he obviously didn't want you to remember, having gone to such great lengths to hold you at an arm's distance away whilst embracing you tightly. Parts of your body still held traces of him, and you were too emotionally exhausted to drag yourself out of bed to wash him away.

You wanted to call him. You wanted to make him come back and explain, and beg for forgiveness, or tell you it had been some kind of horrific miscommunication. You wanted to never see him again. 

Penelope bought food, and Emily got you cleaned up, pulling you into the bathroom and wiping the tears from your face as she ran a bath for you, helping your shivering form into it. You hadn't called or texted either of them, but you didn't question their appearance until after you'd eaten, feeling a little less broken. 

"How did you know?" The two of them looked at each other over the food on the table, unable to hide the worrying glances they were sending each other. 

"Spencer. He texted me, asked me to check in on you." Penelope explained, and you're heart cracked hearing his name. 

"Of course he did." You hated that even when you were supposed to hate him, he was still intent on taking care of you. You'd excused yourself from their company and climbed back into bed, grateful that neither woman had tried to stop you. They did follow you though. 

"Wait, Y/N. Spencer told us you needed us, but he didn't tell us what happened. Maybe talking about it would help." They sat carefully on opposite edges of your bed, waiting for you to un-cocoon yourself and talk. 

The first few attempts, you couldn't make it, too close to shattering to pieces again. With a gentle squeeze of your hand and a encouraging nod, you started telling them about the night before. 

"I chased after him yesterday and I caught him in the parking lot. And he never takes his car, but he was there and I thought it was some kind of sign." You sniffled and pulled the quilt off your face some more, sitting up to continue what you knew would probably be a long story. 

"We finally acknowledged everything and… God, I think I told him I love him. I do, and that's why it's all so shitty and ruined." Your throat grew thick with the pain and fluttering, memories from the night before seeping into you and grabbing a hold. 

"I told him I remembered, finally. He asked me how much, and I just kept trying to flirt with him. I didn't realize anything was wrong until  after we'd…" You flushed, shy all of a sudden as you felt all the shame of the previous night's interactions. 

"He said some things in the heat of the moment… he said I felt better than he remembered." 

"Y/N, that doesn't sound so bad, that's just-" 

"He wasn't supposed to remember. Neither of us were supposed to remember, fuck I think we would've been happier if we hadn't." You shut your eyes, the lights suddenly sparking a pain behind your eyes as your tears stung. 

"He didn't forget anything about Vegas. I think maybe it's my fault for assuming he did, because he just went ahead and reminded me of his stupid fucking eidetic memory." 

You let your head fall back to the pillow again and curse yourself, the extended cut of the last three weeks flickering to life in your head again. 

"Y/N…" Penelope started taking a gentle hand and patting your head as she struggled to find the words to comfort you. 

"Y/N, this is not the end of the world." Emily was blunt in her words and for a second they snapped you out of your self imposed pity party. "I thought he'd rejected you, or served you divorce papers or something." 

The anger crept up in you quickly as you shut your ears to what Emily was saying. 

"God, Emily, it's not that fucking easy you know.

"How would you know? Did you try to listen to him? Ask him why he did it?" You snapped your mouth shut, still angry but momentarily softened to the words she was saying. 

"Look, it's not like he confessed his love for me. He fucked me and then I caught him in a lie." You were exasperated at having to explain your emotions again and again but this time the wound had been ripped raw. He hadn't said those last words. 

"Oh, sweetie. That's what this is all about, isn't it? You think he held back because he doesn't love you?" Emily's tone had softened completely and you found yourself suddenly shaking with tears, unable to answer, just nodding your head back and forth while you contained the loud echoes of pain from escaping your body. 

"I need to stop starting sentences with 'don't hate me, but', but this time I think it's absolutely necessary." Penelope squeaked the other words from your other side and you drew yourself up again to hear her out. 

"Penelope, you're here making sure I am still breathing while I'm in the middle of an entirely selfish crisis. I think if I even thought about you negatively, a puppy would die or something." 

"Save that bravado for after this." She pulled out her phone then and scrolled through it for a second, searching for something. "Now I need you to know that I only withheld this in the hopes that I could play it at your actual wedding, where I would obviously be maid-of-honour, but as that plan has backfired I think I need to show you it now." 

She handed you the phone, and you noticed a video was playing. The camera was shaky, so it took you a few minutes to figure out what it was you were looking at.

The Elvis impersonator was the thing that tipped you off to the fact that this was probably your wedding venue. Sure enough, when the camera focused, zoomed in a bit, there the two of you were. 

"We're going to do the ring exchange now, if you'd like to repeat after me-" discount, slightly rotund Elvis said in a horrendous accent, but he wasn't allowed to finish. 

"We can do our own vows, right? That's allowed?" 

"For the amount of money you're paying me, you could consummate the marriage right here and I wouldn't give a damn." Your past self in the video had flushed at that, and you were glad that you hadn't jumped at the chance the way you had in the hotel room. 

Spencer brushed it off, clearing his throat and starting again. “Y/N, I don’t remember when I started loving you, which is absolutely ironic because I remember everything else. I think I just woke up one day and knew that I’d either spend my life watching you, or take this final leap to have you. Don’t look at me like that, I’m being serious, we’re getting married.” 

Your grin was wide, genuine happiness setting you alight. The two of you giggled a little bit before a glare from Elvis's direction led you to believe that his generosity only extended so far. 

“Let me try again. What I’m trying to say is, you’re too good for me. And I love you so much it aches. Everytime you say anything I’m caught hanging on any word. Every time you mention a book you’ve enjoyed, I read it cover to cover 50 times that week. Every time you tell me something stupid, like what your favorite flower is, I get this overwhelming urge to… to buy myself some flowers, so that if you ever turned up at my house, they’d be there waiting for you.” 

“I don’t know if you’ll remember this in the morning, or if I’ll be too scared to remind you, but I love you Y/N. And I’ll keep loving you no matter what happens.” His hands were gripped so tightly around your waist that he'd had to whisper some of the last words into the air between you, the space suddenly so narrow. 

You stopped the video there, throwing the phone back at Penelope, ready to bask in your idiocy, but she didn't let you. 

"You need to watch it all, come on, mother knows best." You rolled your eyes at her and sat yourself straighter again, taking the phone from her again and pressing play as Emily looked over your shoulder, watching too. 

It was your turn for the vows. 

“Spencer Reid. If I don’t remember how much I love you now in the morning, if I somehow manage to ignore this absolute feeling of bliss and rightness, I need you to fight for me. I need you to remind me how much I love you. I need you to remind me how we ended up here. I need you. I’ll never stop needing you.” The video had ended seconds after that, Spencer having lunged for you with both hands pulling your lips into his as he sealed the deal with a kiss. One you could swear you still felt tingling against your lips. 

"I paused it there because I didn't want to see if you'd take Elvis up on his deal." You heard Penelope's words but didn't register them, not really. 

"He didn't… He didn't fight for me." Your words weren't sad, but they obviously weren't the words either woman was expecting. 

"Y/N, did you not hear him? He loves you!" Emily almost shook you to wake you up from whatever daze you were in, but you were throwing your sheets off in a second and scrambling out of bed. 

"He didn't even tell me. Oh my god… I'm going to…" You ran a stray hand through your hair as you let out an incredulous laugh, not believing any of the last twenty four hours. Your next move was to lunge for your own phone, dialing his number before you could be stopped. Penelope did try though, before Emily out a warning hand on her shoulder, interested to see where it was you were going with this. 

"Spencer," you said into the receiver when he finally picked up. A single ring and he was there like he'd been waiting for you this entire time. 

"Y/N, I love you, I'm sorry." The words caught in his throat and his voice was weak but they made your heart skip a beat nonetheless. You hoped none of that reflected in your voice at all. 

"Spencer, I want to see you. Now." He barely had time to agree before you were hanging up, turning around with a half manic laugh again as you begin pulling yourself together. 

"Emily, Pen, thank you for everything but-" 

"You don't have to explain, I think we were just leaving actually." Emily smiled up at you, confident that you knew what you were doing. 

"No, no wait, please explain! I need an explanation, Y/N, what-" 

"If you'll excuse us." Emily guided Penelope swiftly out of the door and you were suddenly once again alone in your apartment. 

Pulling yourself together. You'd had a bath but you still felt groggy, so you hopped in the shower and thought about the time Spencer had taken a bullet for you. It had really only grazed his vest, but he'd been the one to grab you and change your positions so you were safe nonetheless. He'd done it and you'd never been sure why. 

You sat and dried your hair and contemplated. He'd helped you with countless case files ove the years. The others had joked before by putting their work on his desk, knowing he'd have it completed for them, serious or not. He'd only ever voluntarily taken files from your desk though. He'd said it was because he could do them quicker, but that was always a none answer. 

You picked your outfit out carefully as you thought about all the times you'd woken up with a blanket covering you after a nap on the jet. You'd seen JJ wrap them around team members before and just assumed it had been her, but now you weren't so sure. 

You stood at the door looking down at a message that said he was almost here and you thought about the last few weeks. And you thought about how much he loved you, and how much you definitely loved him and you waited at the door, engagement ring sitting on your hand as you waited for him to knock. 

🏷️ @w-windyy @multifandom-on-the-side @reidandhotchsgirl @babybluecakes @hugyourlungs @prentissesredtanktop @reidscaffeine @bethanyhaas01 @average-sunflower @academiareid @sailortongue @daddy-dotcom @high-functioning-cosplayer @anniewhalelover @abbyshmaby @isabel-ffl-xoxo @sujan39 @frxcless @bluestuesday @busy-buzzing @breadbrobin @maxinehufflepuffprincess @l0v3cam @booksandwonderlands @myescapefromthislife @ferrjulie @scoobydoopoo @aelinismyqueen @littlesingingbean @jamiemuscatosslut @xohoneybun @anchovy89freya @dysphoricsanity @ghostheartbeat @casss2111 @rebloggiest-reblogger @wishyoudaskme @imawhoreforu @academiacoffeelover @softservepunk @andiebeaword @r-3dlips @wakaladjarin @ratbastardchild @mcira @danika1994 @stargurl99 @whovianwholikesgirls @its-not-too-late-for-coffee @doriantomybasil

[mellowsadistic]

The Succubus - Valentine's Day

A sequel to The Succubus.

***

“Good morning, little cucky,” the monster cooed, peering over the bars of the crib. “Happy Valentine’s Day! Could you hear the grown-ups having their fun earlier, sweetie? I hope we didn’t wake you…”

Debbie glowered at her, all too aware of how ridiculous she must look trying to be intimidating with a pacifier bobbing in her mouth, lying at the bottom of an oversized crib beneath a set of Disney princess bedsheets. Her eyes were red, and there were tears drying on her cheeks as well. She had indeed woken up to the loud sounds of lovemaking coming from her former bedroom.

The Succubus laughed. “Oh dear! Someone’s a very grumpy girl today! Looks like we did wake you after all, huh? I guess you’ll just have to have an extra-long nap this afternoon to make up for it. But right now it’s time to get you up and dressed, little one!” She flung back the princess covers to reveal Debbie’s body, nude but for the thick disposable diaper around her waist.

Debbie slipped out of her crib, her nappy sagging heavily between her legs as she got to her feet. Her bottom lip trembled behind her soother. She’d woken up wet again.

The Succubus reached out, grinning like a Cheshire cat, and put her hand on Debbie’s crotch. Debbie could feel the cold, soggy padding pressing against her pussy. “That’s my little bedwetter,” said the Succubus softly. She slipped a finger past the leak guards, her eyes not leaving Debbie’s face. “Soaked again... Mummy’s poor widdle baby just can’t contwol herself, can she?”  Then she spun her around and pulled out the back of her diaper. “But you’re still not pooping at night.” She turned her back around, smiling horribly. “Don’t worry though. Sooner or later you’ll start waking up stinky.”

Debbie imagined waking up every morning to a yucky mess in the seat of her pants and no memory of how it had got there, and felt sick at the thought. The Succubus wanted her to be fully incontinent. Her horrifying voice power had served to strip Debbie of most of her daytime control, but her commands didn’t work as well when Debbie was sleeping. It had taken weeks of ‘special medicine’ in her baby bottles, but now she was starting to reliably wake up in pissy Pampers. Yet the creature who had stolen her adulthood clearly wouldn’t be satisfied until she was doing the most babyish thing possible in her pants while she slept.

Once her hair was tied up in pigtails, frilly socks had been pulled over her feet, and she was dressed in a pale pink frock that failed to reach past the drooping, discoloured seat of her nappy (her overnight diaper was never changed before she made her morning poo-poo), Debbie was ready to head downstairs for breakfast. Mealtimes had been bad enough from the start, when the demon liked to cram her body inside a tight highchair, tie a bib around her neck, and feed her jar after jar of bland, mushy baby food – but things had become even worse ever since she’d realised there was another, better way to feed her ‘baby girl’.

They headed into the living room rather than the kitchen once they’d gone down the stairs, to find John lounging in an armchair having just finished his breakfast. His empty tray was sitting on a table beside him.

“Go and kiss Daddy good morning,” said the Succubus, patting Debbie’s diapered bottom to send her on her way.

Debbie hurried over to her husband. She wasn’t really allowed to kiss him, she knew. Instead she pressed the shield of her binky briefly against his cheek and let him pat her on the head. “Good morning, pretty princess,” he cooed, and Debbie’s heart did a little flutter despite herself.

She turned around and felt her stomach roll, as it always did, at the sight of the Succubus sitting on the sofa with her large, heavy tits out of her top. A droplet of milk was glistening on the end of one of her nipples. “Come to Mummy, baby,” she said seductively, her dark eyes burning like coals. “Time for your feeding.”

Debbie toddled to the sofa, diaper crinkling noisily, and lay herself across the monster woman’s lap. It had taken a while for her milk to come in, but now she produced enough that Debbie had three meals a day from her boobs, supplemented in the evenings by oatmeal and store-bought baby food. With a wet pop, the Succubus removed the dummy from her mouth and guided her lips slowly towards her waiting breast, clearly savouring the look of revulsion on her victim’s face.

Debbie felt the warm nipple enter her mouth, and her lips closed around it and began to suckle instinctively, enthusiastically, against her will. Hot, creamy breastmilk ran down her throat at once. It had a rum-like sweetness to it that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, but no matter how hard she tried, Debbie couldn’t ignore the fact that she was guzzling milk from another woman’s tits. It didn’t help that the Succubus cooed to her in a sickening sweet voice while she fed.

“Good girl, Debbie! Drink up all your milkies, that’s a good baby. Isn’t it yummy-wummy? Straight from Mummy’s boobies to baby’s belly.”

The milk seemed endless, and Debbie’s stomach already felt full to bursting when she was moved onto the second breast. But she knew better than to try and fight. That would just make the creature use that cold, awful voice, and Debbie would simply end up doing as she was told anyway. She may even earn herself a spanking to boot. At last she finished her breakfast, and after being briefly burped with her head over the Succubus’s shoulder, the monster kissed her on the forehead, shoved her pacifier back between her lips, and got up. “Time for Mummy to have her breakfast too,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “I think pancakes sound tasty. You stay here and behave yourself, okay sweetie?” And she left Debbie sitting on the sofa feeling heavy and tired, with her tummy full to the brim with breastmilk.

But Debbie knew she had a rare opportunity. It wasn’t often that the Succubus left her alone with her husband. John was still in his armchair, reading the paper, and the moment the demon left the living room, Debbie got off the sofa and waddled over to him as fast as she could. She could feel the milk sloshing around in her stomach. John looked up from his paper at the sound of her rustling diaper just as she reached him. Pushing aside his newspaper, her gaze fixed on his handsome face, Debbie clambered into her husband’s lap and straddled one of his legs. She bounced impatiently on his knee, and John wrinkled his nose at the pee-pee smell, but he chuckled indulgently all the same. “Do you want a horsey-ride, little missy?”

“Yes please,” Debbie whispered breathily, her soother falling from her mouth and dangling on the end of its chord. It had been over two weeks since she’d last had the opportunity for a ‘horsey-ride’ on his lap, but she felt that if the two of them could just have something resembling an intimate moment today, on Valentine’s Day, it would somehow undo the Succubus’s brainwashing and make John see her as a woman again.

John raised his eyebrow at her.

“Yes please, Daddy,” she corrected, hating the monster that had done this to her loving husband.

John nodded, satisfied, and started to bounce his knee. “Horsey, horsey, don’t you stop,” he sang, “just let your feet go clippety-clop!”

Debbie suppressed a moan of pleasure as her padded pussy was pressed hard against his knee with each bounce. If she closed her eyes and ignored the singing, if she pressed her body against his chest and pretended her pants weren’t full of pee-pee, she could almost pretend that they were making love.

“Your tail goes swish and your wheels go round!”

Her clit was pulsing delightfully. She could feel herself getting closer and closer to orgasm. She was so desperate these days. She was almost there… She was right on the edge…

“Giddy up, we’re homeward bound!”

“I think that’s enough of that!” came the Succubus’s amused voice, and Debbie felt arms loop around her middle and lift her effortlessly off her husband’s knee.

“Noooo!” she shrieked, kicking her legs and humping the air desperately. Her pussy was spasming, tantalisingly close to relief. “No! No! No!”

Her feet hit the floor and there was a sharp smack on her bottom. “Aren’t you a lucky girl, getting to play on Daddy’s lap for a bit!” the demon crooned darkly. She swatted Debbie’s bottom again. “But settle down now, babykins. You can’t play horsey forever, and Daddy doesn’t want you rubbing your disgusting, piss-soaked diaper all over him.”

“Pleeeease…” Debbie begged, tears welling up in her eyes. She pressed her hand against the front of her nappy and started to rub. She couldn’t stop herself. She needed release.

“Bad girl, Debbie!” the Succubus scolded, pushing her hands away from her crotch. “Is that what Mummy’s taught you to do when you’re feeling naughty tingles in your no-no spot?”

Debbie whined. She clenched her fists at her sides and bounced on the spot. Her pussy was so achy. She hated asking, hated what it involved, but it was the only time the Succubus ever allowed her to orgasm. Most of the time the monster refused her. But occasionally, just frequently enough, she’d say yes.

“Mummy…” Debbie said through gritted teeth. “Please can I have sex?”

“Keep going, baby,” the Succubus said, her eyes glittering maliciously. “Ask properly.”

“I know… I know I’m too silly and little for real sex,” said Debbie, glaring at the floor, “but I want to play pretend. Please can I have sex with my teddy bear?”

The Succubus ran her fingers through one of Debbie’s pigtails, considering, letting the silence drag on. “Yes you may, baby,” she said finally. “Go get teddy.”

Debbie rushed over to the toybox that sat in the corner of the room and pulled out an enormous teddy bear, disentangling him from some of her dress-up clothes. But she’d only gone two steps back towards the Succubus when she stopped dead. For a moment, she couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Then a soft grunt escaped her lips. Her knees began to bend, and she found herself sinking into an uncontrollable squat. Tears spilled down her cheeks. “No…” she sobbed.

“Uh-oh!” sang the Succubus, and Debbie could hear the grin on her face. “Looks like it’s time for someone’s morning whoopsies!”

John laughed. “I’m just glad she waited until she was out of my lap!”

Debbie let out a loud, unladylike grunt, following by another sob, and then she got to work pushing last night’s din-dins into her pants. Her diaper drooped even lower beneath the hem of her frock as a heavy, smelly mess dropped into the back. Her face was scrunched up as though she was straining with all her might to make as big of a poo-poo as she possibly could in her Pampers, although the truth was that she was quite out of control of her own body. Her nappy sagged again as she dumped another load into it, accompanied by a fresh wave of wee-wee, so that her baby pants hung so heavily between her thighs they were halfway down to her knees. Then, with a final grunt, Debbie straightened up.

“Mummy…” she whimpered. “Please can I have a change before… before…”

The Succubus’s face was as full of delight as Debbie’s was with horror. She approached the quivering baby woman like a predator. “No, little one,” she said, her tone mocking. “If you want your special rub-rubs today then you have to have them now, in your dirty diaper.” She shoved Debbie’s dummy back between her lips, took her by the hand, and led her over to the centre of the room. “Put teddy down here,” she said, pointing at the floor. Arms trembling, Debbie did as she was told. She felt sick with shame, but even with the horrible, babyish mess in her pants, her pussy was still burning needily. “Good girl,” said the monster, flushed with arousal. “Now you can have sex with teddy, and I can have sex with your husband.” She looked over at John. “Ready for round two?” she asked, smirking.

John grinned back and started to undo his belt as his lover strutted over to him, stripping off her clothes as she went. Meanwhile Debbie lowered herself gently to the floor, on top of her teddy bear. She nearly gagged when the poop in her diaper squished against her bottom, but she was almost too horny to care. The first thrust against teddy sent a wave of pleasure coursing through her body, and she couldn’t stop herself moaning like a slut. She heard John and the Succubus laugh, but she kept going, grinding her aching, diaper-clad pussy against her bear, picking up speed. But then she made the mistake of looking up, and although she didn’t stop humping, Debbie started to wail at the sight of the demon riding her husband’s cock. She was straddling his lap, bouncing up and down on his manhood with her head thrown back in ecstasy. “Oh, oh, ohhh!” she moaned.

Debbie felt her orgasm getting closer and closer, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the nightmare happening before her. She sucked frantically on her binky and went cross-eyed as she thrust against her teddy bear, her head dizzy with need. She was right on the edge. And then she was over it, she was cumming in her stinky, sopping wet diaper – and as she did, the Succubus looked over her shoulder with an evil smile and whispered, “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby girl…”