#i just think it’s insane she had THIS weaving of them

[maddiesbookbag]

do you ever think about the tapestry of percy and annabeth sitting in arcane’s cavern for almost a year waiting for annabeth to arrive? more specifically, do you ever think about how out of all the moments from annabeth’s life that aracne could’ve woven she chose to depict her at one of the happiest moments of her life—finally together with a living percy post-war? do you ever think about arachne, basically alone in this cavern for decades, cursed into monstrosity for daring to best a goddess, weaving this image of pure love? of a connection so strong that it would send the pair depicted through the crumbling floor to tartarus together rather than be separated ever again? even as that tapestry, that image of devotion, crumbled with them?

no? just me?

[zeroxxlhero]

Beastly Instincts • Vi & Caitlyn Kiramman

Warnings: 18+ characters, begging, edging, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, dom! Vi, sub! Reader, dom! Caitlyn, hair-pulling, double penetration, blowjobs, rough sex, foreplay, biting, blood-sucking, gp! Vi and Caitlyn, multiple orgasms

Pairings: Violet x You, Caitlyn x You, Vi x Caitlyn

Fandom: Arcane (League of Legends)

Caitlyn and Vi’s growing desperation leads to them initiating a search for you, their hunger not just for your blood but for the power and control you exude. It’s a game of cat and mouse, but you’ve turned it into something far more dangerous—a trap they walked into willingly, even knowing they might never escape.

The night was still, save for the whisper of wind that rustled through the leaves and carried the scent of the hunt. Caitlyn and Vi moved through the dense forest, side by side but worlds apart in focus. Both were creatures of power, bound by their instincts yet driven by something far more dangerous: the memory of you. The two of them had felt the pull of your blood, the intoxicating lure of the power and pleasure you’d given them, and now they wanted more.

No, they needed more.

“I told you, she’s not just some ordinary hunter,” Caitlyn hissed under her breath, her sharp eyes scanning the undergrowth. Her voice was measured, calculated, but there was a fire burning behind her composed demeanor. “She’s clever. She won’t make this easy.”

Vi frowned, flexing her fists as she cracked her knuckles. “Doesn’t matter how clever she thinks she is. I can track anything. We’ll find her.” Her confidence radiated like heat, but even she couldn’t deny the gnawing frustration clawing at her gut. She could still feel the phantom touch of your hands, the intoxicating tease of your presence, and it was driving her mad.

They moved in silence for a time, their heightened senses alert to every sound, every shift of the shadows. Caitlyn’s nostrils flared as she caught a faint trace of your scent on the wind, and her heart raced despite herself. It was subtle, almost maddeningly so, but it was there.

“She’s close,” Caitlyn muttered, her voice low and sharp.

Vi paused, tilting her head to catch the scent as well. Her body tensed like a spring ready to snap. “I’ve got it too. Let’s move.”

The hunt continued, the two predators weaving through the trees with predatory grace. They followed the faintest traces of you—a broken branch here, a scuffed footprint there. You were taunting them, leaving just enough of a trail to keep them chasing but never enough to catch you.

“She’s playing with us,” Caitlyn growled, her fangs glinting in the moonlight. The edge of frustration in her voice was unmistakable, and Vi couldn’t help but smirk at her partner’s irritation.

“She’s good,” Vi admitted. “But she’s not perfect. Everyone slips up eventually.”

But deep down, both of them knew better. You weren’t slipping up. You were toying with them, leading them deeper into the forest, away from any semblance of control they thought they had. And that only made them want you more.

As they pushed forward, the air seemed to thicken, the tension between them growing. Caitlyn’s normally cold composure was fraying at the edges, her mind clouded with the memory of you—the way your blood had tasted, the way your voice had dripped with authority, the way you’d held complete control over her.

Vi, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with anticipation. She wasn’t the type to overthink things. She wanted action, and she wanted it now. The waiting, the searching, the endless chase—it was driving her insane.

Finally, the faint scent of smoke reached their noses, and both women froze. Their eyes locked, a silent understanding passing between them. This was it. You were close.

They approached the source carefully, their bodies low and their senses on high alert. The scent of smoke was stronger now, mingled with something that made their blood sing—the faint, heady trace of you. It was enough to make Caitlyn’s mouth water and Vi’s heart race.

The small campsite came into view, the dying embers of a fire casting flickering shadows against the trees. But the clearing was empty.

“Damn it,” Vi muttered under her breath, her frustration boiling over. “She was here.”

Caitlyn’s sharp eyes scanned the area, her mind racing. She didn’t believe for a second that you’d just left without a reason. “Be careful,” she warned. “This could be—”

Before she could finish, a low, melodic chuckle echoed through the trees, stopping both women in their tracks. It was your voice, smooth and mocking, and it sent a shiver down their spines.

“Well, well,” you drawled, stepping out of the shadows with a predator’s grace. “Look who came crawling back.”

Caitlyn and Vi spun to face you, their bodies tense and ready, but there was no mistaking the hunger in their eyes. You stood before them, calm and composed, as if you hadn’t been the one hunted all night.

“Miss me that much, did you?” you teased, your lips curling into a smirk.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Caitlyn snapped, though the sharp edge of her voice faltered as her eyes darted to the faint cut on your arm, the scent of your blood filling the air once more.

Vi growled low in her throat, her fists clenching at her sides. “You’re not getting away this time.”

You laughed softly, the sound like velvet, and took a slow step closer. “Oh, sweet Vi,” you said, your voice dripping with amusement. “You think this little hunt was for me? No, darling, it was for you. Both of you.”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched as she realized just how completely you’d played them. You hadn’t been running from them—you’d been leading them, controlling the entire game from the start. And now, standing before you, she felt it again—that pull, that undeniable need that made her knees weak and her resolve waver.

“Now,” you said, your smile widening as you looked between them. “Why don’t we see just how desperate you’ve both become?”

The tension in the clearing was palpable, the air charged with the energy of two predators sizing up their prey—or so they thought. Vi cracked her knuckles, her grin more animalistic than confident now, while Caitlyn’s glowing eyes locked onto you, her sharp fangs bared as she gauged your every move.

“Enough,” Vi growled, her voice low and feral. “Let’s end this.”

The first strike came fast, almost too fast. Vi lunged forward, her fist aimed squarely at your jaw, the sheer force of her punch enough to snap a tree in half. But you sidestepped at the last second, your movements smooth and precise, as if you’d been expecting it all along. Her fist sailed past, hitting nothing but air.

Before Vi could recover, Caitlyn was already on you, her speed a blur as she closed the distance and swiped at you with claws sharp enough to cut steel. You ducked low, feeling the rush of air as her claws missed your head by inches. With a fluid motion, you spun and brought your leg up, kicking Caitlyn squarely in the chest and sending her stumbling back a few feet.

“You’re both getting sloppy,” you taunted, your voice calm despite the adrenaline coursing through your veins. “I expected better from Piltover’s finest.”

Vi snarled, her frustration bubbling over. “Shut up!” She came at you again, this time with a flurry of punches that were faster and more erratic. But for every strike, you had a counter. You weaved between her attacks, your body moving like water, fluid and untouchable. The sound of her fists cutting through the air was deafening, but not a single blow landed.

Caitlyn, meanwhile, had regained her footing. She darted in from the side, attempting to catch you off guard. Her claws flashed in the moonlight as she aimed for your throat, but you dropped into a low slide, narrowly avoiding her strike. As you slid past her, you hooked your leg around her ankle, causing her to trip and tumble to the ground.

The two women regrouped, panting slightly but far from finished. Their eyes burned with determination, and something more—something wild. They weren’t just fighting anymore. They were hunting. And they were losing themselves to the thrill of it.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you asked, your smirk infuriatingly smug as you straightened up. “Letting the beast out. Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Shut your mouth,” Caitlyn snapped, her voice low and venomous. She wiped a trickle of blood from her lip, her eyes narrowing as she glared at you.

Vi growled, her muscles tensing as she prepared to charge again. “You’re not getting out of this one. Not alive.”

You feigned heartbreak, “Oh, Vi, I can’t believe you would do such a thing to me. I thought we were just getting closer.”

This time, they came at you together, their movements coordinated and feral. Caitlyn moved with the precision of a predator, her strikes calculated and deadly, while Vi was raw power, her punches shaking the very ground beneath your feet. But even as they pushed themselves harder, faster, more monstrous, you kept up.

You ducked under Vi’s punch, countered Caitlyn’s clawed swipe with a swift kick to her side, and leapt over a combined attack that would have torn any other opponent to shreds. Your movements were almost… effortless.

It was starting to sink in for them. You weren’t just skilled. You weren’t just lucky. You were something else.

“What the hell are you?” Vi snarled, her chest heaving as she circled you. There was a flicker of doubt in her eyes now, and she hated it. Hated that you were still standing, still smirking, still in control.

Caitlyn’s gaze was sharper, more analytical even in her feral state. She could feel it—the wrongness of you. The way you moved, the way you fought, the way you seemed to anticipate their every move. “You’re not human,” she said, her voice quieter but no less dangerous. “Are you?”

You tilted your head, your smirk widening. “I wouldn’t make that assumption.”

Their silence was telling. For all their bravado, for all their power, they were realizing just how outmatched they were.

But the fight wasn’t over. Not yet.

Caitlyn lunged at you again, her movements a blur as she aimed straight for your throat. You sidestepped, grabbing her wrist and twisting it behind her back with a speed that shouldn’t have been possible. She hissed in pain but didn’t cry out, her pride refusing to let you see her weakness.

Vi charged in next, her fists glowing faintly with a hint of her suppressed power. You released Caitlyn just in time to dodge Vi’s attack, her punch grazing your ribs but not quite connecting. You spun, your foot sweeping out to catch Vi’s ankle, but she jumped back, snarling in frustration.

“Getting tired, are we?” you teased, your tone infuriatingly calm as you faced them both. “You can keep going if you want, but I think we all know how this ends.”

They didn’t respond. Words weren’t necessary anymore. They were too far gone, too lost in the hunt, too consumed by the memory of you and the maddening need to have you at their mercy.

The fight reached a boiling point, the air around you thick with tension and fury. Vi and Caitlyn moved with increasing speed and power, their attacks fueled by frustration and primal rage. They weren’t holding back anymore, their monstrous sides emerging as they fought with a ferocity that would have overwhelmed any normal opponent.

But you weren’t normal, were you?

Vi charged forward, her punches coming in a blur of motion, each one powerful enough to shatter stone. You weaved through them effortlessly, your movements precise and almost lazy, like a predator playing with its prey. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws aimed at your side, but you ducked and spun away, leaving them to collide with each other in their frenzy.

“You’re getting sloppy,” you taunted, sidestepping another wild swing from Vi. “I thought you two were supposed to be the best of the best. Guess I was wrong.”

Vi growled, her voice guttural as her frustration mounted. “Stand still, you coward!”

She lunged at you, her fist glowing faintly with suppressed power, but you sidestepped her again, grabbing her arm mid-swing. With a fluid motion, you flipped over her, twisting her arm behind her back and forcing her into an excruciatingly arched position. She let out a strained snarl, her muscles trembling with the effort to break free.

Leaning in close, you grinned, revealing a pair of sharp fangs. “Tell me, Vi,” you murmured, your voice low and mocking. “Do you have a preference? Vampires… or humans?” Your teeth hovered dangerously close to her throat, the promise of a bite lingering in the air.

Before you could make good on your threat, Caitlyn’s furious snarl ripped through the chaos. She charged at you, her glowing eyes blazing with fury. You shoved Vi away just in time, sending her tumbling to the ground, and dissolved into a swirling black mist as Caitlyn’s claws swiped through where you’d been a moment before.

The mist reformed behind her, and when she turned, her eyes widened in shock. You stood there, no longer the calm, human figure they’d been fighting. Your amber eyes glowed like molten gold, and your hands had morphed into claws sharp enough to tear through steel. The faint outline of fur traced your arms, and your grin was sharp and predatory.

“Werewolves, Caitlyn,” you said, your voice a low rumble. “Not all of them are mindless beasts. Some of them know how to have a little fun.”

Caitlyn froze, her feral instincts clashing with the disbelief on her face. “You’re—you’re a wolf?” Her voice faltered, her confusion and rage warring with each other.

Vi, picking herself up from the ground, stared at you with wide, disbelieving eyes. “That’s not possible,” she muttered, shaking her head. “You’re—you’re human.”

You chuckled darkly, flexing your claws as you regarded them with an almost casual air. “You’re right, I am human. I bleed like a human. Smell like one too. It’s what makes the hunt so much more fun.” You took a step closer, your eyes flicking between the two of them. “But you’ve felt it, haven’t you? That little itch in the back of your mind telling you something’s off? You knew I wasn’t normal.”

Caitlyn growled low in her throat, her glowing eyes narrowing as she tried to reconcile what she was seeing. “What are you?” she demanded, her voice sharp with accusation.

You tilted your head, your grin widening. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Their rage reignited, and this time, there was no holding back. Vi lunged at you with a roar, her fists swinging with a force that made the ground tremble. Caitlyn flanked her, her claws slicing through the air with deadly precision. Their movements were faster now, more animalistic, their monstrous sides fully unleashed.

For the first time, you had to take them seriously. You met Vi’s punch with a block, the impact sending a shockwave through the ground, and twisted to avoid Caitlyn’s claws, her strike barely grazing your side. Their power was overwhelming, even for you, and you found yourself being pushed back.

But you didn’t lose your composure. Instead, you smirked, your movements becoming even more fluid as you dodged and countered their attacks. “You’re both getting desperate,” you teased, sliding under Vi’s swing and narrowly avoiding Caitlyn’s strike. “It’s cute.”

Caitlyn let out a snarl of frustration, her claws glowing faintly as she lashed out again. Vi followed up with a punch aimed directly at your head, but you ducked under it, grabbing her arm and twisting her to the side.

“You’re not human,” Vi growled, her voice strained as she tried to break free. “You can’t be.”

“Good observation,” you said with a smirk, tossing her aside and dodging Caitlyn’s attack in the same motion. “Took you long enough.”

Their feral instincts had fully taken over now, their attacks wild and relentless. But you knew when it was time to end a game. As Vi charged at you again, her fists glowing with raw power, you dissolved into black mist once more, letting her attack pass harmlessly through you.

The mist swirled around them, disorienting them as they tried to locate you. “Time to cool off,” your voice echoed from everywhere and nowhere, tinged with amusement.

When the mist dissipated, you were gone, leaving Vi and Caitlyn standing there, panting and furious, their monstrous sides still clawing for control. But in the quiet that followed, one thing was clear: they hadn’t even begun to uncover the truth of what you were.

Caitlyn’s rage was unstoppable. Her mind clouded by the thirst, her vision tunneled to the scent of your blood. It consumed her completely, driving her to abandon everything else—reason, restraint, and her usual calm. She felt herself losing control with every step, and though Vi’s voice echoed behind her, calling her name and trying to pull her back, Caitlyn couldn’t stop. The hunger was a beast inside her, and it was all she could do to keep it at bay long enough to follow your trail.

She tore through the streets with frightening speed, her senses sharpened, homing in on your scent as it led her to a small, dimly lit town. She stalked through the streets, her fangs already extended, eyes burning with that bloodlust that had taken over her. The people she passed didn’t even notice the air around her change, but she could hear the beat of their hearts, smell the warmth of their blood. She had to hold back. She was going to find you. She was going to make you pay, but she couldn’t show her powers to anyone, not yet. The town had no idea what was coming, and she was going to keep it that way.

Finally, she reached the bar where the scent of you was thick, almost suffocating. The door creaked open as she slipped inside, scanning the room with a predator’s gaze. And there you were. Sitting at the bar, so casual, as if you weren’t the cause of everything that had broken inside her. The moment your eyes met, she could feel that familiar wave of fury crashing over her again.

Her fangs elongated, her hands trembling with the effort to control her power. Her eyes flashed red, and a low growl rumbled from her throat. She didn’t care about the eyes that were starting to look her way; you were the only thing that mattered. She stalked toward you, her every step radiating pure menace. There was no reasoning left in her, no fear. Just the unrelenting need to tear you apart, to drink from you until there was nothing left.

But you didn’t flinch. Instead, you smirked, your posture relaxed as you watched her approach, your eyes gleaming with amusement. “Careful, Caitlyn,” you warned, your voice smooth, deliberate. “You don’t want to make a scene in front of a bunch of hunters. They’d take you down faster than you could say your mother’s name.”

Her eyes narrowed, and the rage in them intensified, but there was a moment of hesitation. She could feel the presence of others in the room now. The hunters, the ones who had been lurking, waiting. Her bloodlust was on the verge of consuming her completely, but you had her on the edge of two choices—fight or retreat.

She didn’t listen. She lunged, her body a blur of motion, intent on bringing you to your knees.

But you were ready. Faster than she could process, you reached out and grabbed her by the collar, yanking her forward with force that made her stumble. The shock of it hit her like a jolt of cold water, and for a split second, she froze. Her fangs were still bared, her lips curled in a snarl, but there was no action. Not yet.

And then, in one swift movement, you pulled her into a kiss. It was forceful, demanding, and Caitlyn’s mind went blank. Her breath hitched, her body stiffened in surprise, but there was something strangely calming in your touch, a strange power in your control. The hunger in her lessened, her senses buzzing as she tried to regain control over herself.

“Relax,” you murmured against her lips, your voice low and teasing. “You’ll be able to show me those scary vampire powers later.”

Something inside her shifted. The red in her eyes dulled, just a fraction, enough for her to think clearly again. She pushed against you, still furious, but she couldn’t shake the unsettling calm you had instilled in her.

You released her from the kiss and pushed her gently but firmly into a chair. “Stay seated,” you said, your tone firm but not unkind. “Let the storm pass for now.”

Caitlyn was still seething, her heart pounding with frustration, but the primal rage that had gripped her was fading. She remained seated, her fangs retracting, her breath returning to a more normal pace. She clenched her fists, silently simmering in the chair, the tension still thick in the air.

Moments later, the door to the bar creaked open again, and Vi stepped inside. Her eyes scanned the room, locking onto Caitlyn before her gaze shifted to you. The tension between the three of you was palpable. Vi’s eyes narrowed, her jaw clenched. She stalked toward the table, every step measured and cautious, a predator assessing her prey.

As Vi moved to stand beside Caitlyn, you leaned back in your chair, unfazed, a subtle smirk playing on your lips. “Don’t make any threatening moves, Vi,” you warned, your voice calm but edged with something darker. “One of the hunters in this room will be wearing your canines as a necklace before the night is over.”

Vi paused, her gaze flicking toward the people around the bar. She looked at Caitlyn, the two of them silently communicating with just a glance, both of them reluctantly understanding the situation. Slowly, without another word, Vi took a seat at the table across from you.

You watched the two of them closely, the tension between them and the room shifting into something more controlled, more calculated. The game had changed.

Now, you were in charge.

And they knew it.

“What now?” Caitlyn finally spoke, her voice quiet, but the edge of her anger still evident.

You met her gaze, your smile never wavering. “Now, we wait,” you said simply. “But don’t think for a second that I’m going to make this easy for either of you.”

Vi and Caitlyn exchanged another look, both of them more aware than ever that they were dealing with someone who wasn’t just playing by the rules—they were dealing with someone who made their rules.

And the night was just beginning.

The moment stretched unbearably for Vi and Caitlyn as they sat across from you, forced to watch while you leisurely sipped your drink. The tension between you all was palpable, a wire stretched to its breaking point. For them, it felt like an eternity of restraint, each tick of the clock dragging them further into frustration. You were composed, maddeningly so, your casual demeanor only fueling their growing impatience. Caitlyn’s knuckles were white against the table, her nails threatening to break the wood beneath them. Vi, though trying to appear calmer, had her leg bouncing under the table, a clear sign of her fraying patience.

Finally, Caitlyn snapped. She slammed her hand onto the table, leaning forward with a glare so sharp it could have cut glass. “Enough games,” she growled, her voice low but brimming with fury. “Why are you doing this? Why us? Everything you’ve done—every little game—it’s all been to get our attention, hasn’t it? You knew we’d fall for it. Every single time.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you smirked, the glint in your eyes both infuriating and captivating. Swirling the last of your drink, you finally set the glass down with a deliberate clink and leaned back in your chair, as if you were pondering her question. “You know,” you began, your tone playful yet cutting, “I think you’re starting to figure it out.”

Caitlyn’s glare darkened, her fangs peeking through as she fought to keep her composure. Vi’s gaze darted between you and Caitlyn, her own frustration evident, though she held back, letting her partner do the talking for now.

“You’re good little beasts,” you continued, your voice dripping with amusement. “Always coming running the second you catch my scent. Obedient, relentless… predictable.” You leaned forward slightly, locking eyes with Caitlyn. “You want to know why? Because you like it. The chase, the fight, the thrill—you crave it, even if you won’t admit it.”

Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, and Vi’s fists clenched, her patience wearing thin. But before either could respond, you leaned closer to Caitlyn, your smirk growing into something sharper, more dangerous. Your movements were slow, deliberate, as you bit down hard on your lower lip. The metallic tang of blood filled the air, and the effect was immediate.

Caitlyn froze, her gaze snapping to your lips, where a thin line of crimson welled up. Her nostrils flared, and her pupils dilated, a flash of red overtaking her irises as her vampire instincts surged to the surface. She gripped the table tightly, her claws beginning to dig into the wood as she fought to maintain control. Her composure was slipping, her breathing becoming shallow and uneven.

You tilted your head slightly, your voice dropping to a low, almost taunting murmur. “Do you want it, Caitlyn?”

Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her attention was solely fixed on the blood, the scent drawing her in like a moth to a flame. She barely registered your words as her instincts battled with her self-control.

“Go on,” you encouraged, your tone soft but laced with a challenge. “Clean it up. I won’t stop you.”

For a moment, Caitlyn’s restraint faltered entirely. She leaned closer, her fangs fully extended now, her breath ragged. Her gaze flicked to yours, and for a fleeting second, there was hesitation—perhaps a trace of shame or conflict. But it was quickly swallowed by the primal hunger surging through her.

She closed the distance, her movements almost trembling with need, and before she could second-guess herself, her lips brushed against yours. Her fangs scraped lightly against your skin as her tongue darted out, catching the bead of blood that threatened to spill. The taste was electric, a jolt that sent her instincts spiraling out of control.

Vi’s voice cut through the haze like a whip. “Caitlyn,” she snapped, her tone sharp, though it lacked the full conviction of disapproval. There was a flicker of something else in her voice—curiosity, maybe even jealousy.

But Caitlyn didn’t pull back. If anything, Vi’s interruption only made her grip on the moment tighten. Her hands, still clenched against the table, trembled as she fought to maintain some semblance of control while indulging in the taste of you.

You chuckled softly, your voice steady despite the ferocity in Caitlyn’s actions. “There you go,” you murmured, almost teasingly. “Good girl.”

The words seemed to snap something in Caitlyn. She growled low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your lips as she pulled back slightly, her crimson-stained eyes locking onto yours. For a moment, the room seemed to shrink around you both, the rest of the world fading into irrelevance.

Vi, still seated, was tense, her hands gripping the edge of the table as she watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. There was a flicker of conflict in her gaze, torn between stepping in and staying back.

You leaned back slightly, licking the corner of your lip as if reclaiming what Caitlyn had taken. “See?” you said, your voice smooth and confident. “You couldn’t help yourself.”

Caitlyn didn’t respond, her breathing still uneven as she fought to regain her composure. The hunger in her eyes hadn’t faded entirely, but there was something else there now—frustration, humiliation, maybe even a reluctant acknowledgment of the truth in your words.

You turned your attention to Vi, who was glaring at you with equal parts anger and intrigue. “What about you, Vi?” you asked, tilting your head slightly. “Are you going to sit there and pretend you’re above it? Or are you just waiting your turn?”

The challenge in your tone was unmistakable, and for a moment, Vi’s hands flexed, as if she were considering lunging across the table. But she stayed rooted in place, her jaw tight and her gaze locked onto yours.

“Thought so,” you said with a smirk, leaning back in your chair once again. The game was far from over, and you were enjoying every second of it.

The tension in the room thickened as you shifted your attention from Caitlyn to Vi, a slow, deliberate move that felt like a predator locking onto its next prey. Vi’s sharp blue eyes met yours, her expression a mix of defiance and barely concealed curiosity. You leaned back lazily, crossing your arms as if this were all a casual conversation instead of the charged, dangerous game it truly was.

“Hmm,” you began, your voice dripping with mock contemplation, loud enough to draw Caitlyn’s wary glare back to you. “I’ve always wondered what werewolves really liked. I mean, vampires? Easy. Blood, obviously. Power. Control. But werewolves…” Your eyes flicked to Vi, watching her jaw clench as her fingers gripped the edge of the table. “What’s the deal with them?”

Vi didn’t respond, but her eyes narrowed as she leaned slightly forward, her muscles tense. The corners of your mouth curled into a smirk, and you continued as if pondering the answer aloud.

“Is it the thrill of the hunt?” you mused, tilting your head. “The feeling of the ground under your claws as you chase your prey? Or maybe it’s the fight? That surge of adrenaline when you’re up against someone who won’t go down easy. Or…” You leaned in slightly, lowering your voice, and though your tone was quiet, it carried across the table like a taunt. “Maybe it’s something else entirely. Something more… primal?”

Vi’s breathing hitched ever so slightly, and you didn’t miss the way her eyes briefly flicked to your throat before she forced herself to look away. Her reaction only fueled your teasing.

“Do werewolves like to dominate?” you asked, your voice just loud enough for her to hear. “Or is it the opposite? Do they like to be pinned down, teeth at their throat, heart racing because they know they’re at someone else’s mercy?” You paused, letting the words hang in the air, watching as Vi’s hands flexed against the table, her knuckles turning white.

You leaned even closer, your voice dropping to a low murmur meant only for her. “What about you, Vi? Is that what you want? To take me down? Or…” Your smirk widened, your eyes gleaming with amusement as you delivered the next line with deliberate slowness. “Do you want me to do that to you?”

The reaction was immediate. Vi shot to her feet, the chair screeching against the floor as her fists slammed onto the table. Her expression was a volatile mix of anger and something darker, something she didn’t want to name but couldn’t entirely suppress. Caitlyn’s head snapped toward her partner, a flicker of concern breaking through her still-recovering composure.

“You think you’re funny, don’t you?” Vi growled, her voice low and dangerous. Her heightened senses made it impossible to ignore the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, and the maddeningly calm scent of you—human, yet not—only further stoked the fire in her veins.

You leaned back casually, unbothered by her outburst, and shrugged. “I mean, I’m entertaining myself, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Vi’s teeth bared slightly, and for a moment, it seemed like she was about to lunge across the table. Caitlyn’s hand shot out, gripping Vi’s arm, and though her strength was still shaky from her earlier loss of control, it was enough to hold Vi in place.

“Don’t,” Caitlyn warned, her voice sharp but tinged with the same frustration. She wasn’t defending you, not entirely—but she knew that causing a scene in this bar, surrounded by hunters, would end badly for both of them.

You watched the exchange with mild amusement, raising your glass for another sip before setting it down with deliberate slowness. “Careful, Vi,” you said, your tone mocking but underlined with a hint of genuine warning. “You wouldn’t want to prove me right, would you? That you’re just as predictable as your partner over here?”

Vi’s gaze burned into yours, her chest rising and falling with barely restrained rage. “I’m not predictable,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you shot back, grinning. Then, as if to drive the point home, you added, “You came running just like she did. And you’re still here. And you keep coming back. Why is that, Vi? What’s keeping you glued to that spot? Is it the thrill? The challenge?” You tilted your head slightly, your grin sharpening into something more dangerous. “Or is it me?”

Caitlyn’s grip on Vi’s arm tightened, her crimson eyes narrowing as she spoke, her voice low but filled with warning. “Stop provoking her.”

You glanced at Caitlyn, your grin softening into a smirk. “Oh, I’m not provoking her. I’m just asking questions.” Then, turning your attention back to Vi, you added, “She’s the one getting worked up. Must’ve hit a nerve.”

Vi took a step back, her fists still clenched, her entire body trembling with the effort to keep her composure. For a moment, silence hung between you all, the tension thick enough to choke on. Then, Vi let out a slow, shuddering breath and sat back down, though her glare never left your face.

“Good girl,” you murmured, the words dripping with condescension, and Vi’s knuckles cracked as her fists tightened once again.

Caitlyn shot you a sharp look, her voice low and dangerous. “You’re walking a fine line.”

You met her gaze evenly, your smirk unshaken. “Oh, I know exactly where the line is.” You leaned back in your chair, folding your arms behind your head. “The question is, how long can you two stay on your side of it?”

The clink of coins on the counter marked the end of your drink as you finished it in one smooth motion, savoring the silence that followed. You rose from your seat with a fluidity that made even the smallest movement seem deliberate. Vi and Caitlyn, ever vigilant, mirrored your movement almost immediately, their eyes trained on you like hawks circling prey. Despite the seething animosity that practically radiated from them, neither could bring themselves to break away from your orbit.

As you adjusted your coat, you cast them a lazy glance over your shoulder, smirking faintly at how they followed so closely. “Well,” you announced, your voice calm but carrying just enough of an edge to draw their attention. “I think it’s about time I turned in for the night.”

“Like hell you are,” Vi growled, stepping closer, her sharp glare boring into you.

Caitlyn stood rigid beside her, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her crimson eyes glowing faintly under the dim bar lights. “After everything? You think you can just leave?” Her voice was clipped, the words escaping through clenched teeth.

Your smirk widened, clearly enjoying their defiance. “Oh? And why not?” you asked, your tone light but steeped in mockery. “What’s stopping me from walking out that door? Surely you’re not saying you need me to stay?”

Vi bristled at the implication, her fists tightening at her sides. “Don’t twist this around.”

“I don’t have to,” you replied easily, your gaze sliding between the two of them. “You’re both doing that just fine on your own.” You took a single step toward them, your presence almost suffocating as the smirk on your lips softened into something more mischievous. “So tell me—why can’t I leave? What is it you’re both so desperate to say but won’t?”

Silence fell between them, the tension palpable as they both stared at you, their emotions warring just beneath the surface. Caitlyn’s lips pressed into a thin line, her jaw tightening as she fought to keep control. Vi, on the other hand, looked ready to throw a punch, her body vibrating with barely contained frustration.

When neither of them spoke, you chuckled softly, shaking your head. “That’s what I thought,” you murmured, almost pityingly. Then you tilted your head, feigning curiosity as you asked, “Or maybe…” You paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Maybe you just don’t want me to go because deep down, you like this. The chase, the thrill. The fact that I’m the only one who can make you feel this alive.”

Their reactions were immediate. Vi’s eyes narrowed dangerously, her nostrils flaring as she clenched her fists tighter. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes glowed brighter, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the storm beneath.

Before they could argue, you took another step forward, this time closing the distance entirely. Standing between them, you reached out, one hand gently brushing against Vi’s cheek, the other cupping Caitlyn’s with a surprising tenderness. They both stiffened under your touch, their bodies rigid and their breathing shallow.

“There’s no shame in it,” you said softly, your voice low and almost soothing. “It’s natural to want to follow your instincts. To give in.” Your thumbs grazed their skin lightly before you pulled your hands away, your smirk returning as you straightened. “So… are you coming with me, or do I leave you here to brood?”

They exchanged a brief glance, their pride clearly warring with something deeper, something primal. And yet, neither of them moved to stop you as you turned toward the door. Instead, when you stepped outside into the cool night air, they followed, silent but determined, their presence a steady weight at your back.

You cast a glance over your shoulder as they fell into step behind you, their reluctance betrayed by the fire still burning in their eyes. With a faint chuckle, you reached out and patted them both on the cheek once more, a gesture that was equal parts condescending and oddly affectionate. “Good little beasts,” you murmured, your voice dripping with amusement as you began to lead the way. “This is going to be fun.”

..

The tavern was dimly lit and smelled faintly of ale and woodsmoke. You strode up to the front desk with the same air of confidence you always carried, Vi and Caitlyn trailing just behind you like reluctant shadows. The woman behind the counter, a middle-aged tavern keeper with a tired but pleasant face, perked up as you approached.

“I need a room,” you said smoothly, your voice low and calm. “Something soundproof.”

The request was simple, but it hung in the air like a thunderclap. The woman blinked, momentarily taken aback, her gaze flickering to Vi and Caitlyn, who stood rigid behind you. Caitlyn’s sharp, elegant features were still taut with barely contained tension, while Vi’s fists remained clenched at her sides, her glare aimed at the back of your head.

The tavern keeper’s cheeks turned a faint shade of pink as her imagination filled in the gaps. “Soundproof, you say?” she repeated, her voice faltering just slightly.

You gave her a polite, knowing smile, leaning an elbow on the counter as you added, “Yes, soundproof. Privacy is very important to me, you see.” Your tone was calm, but there was a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes that didn’t go unnoticed.

Her gaze darted to Caitlyn and Vi again, lingering on the two of them with a flustered expression. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, her vampiric features giving her a dangerous beauty that likely unnerved the woman. Vi, with her broad shoulders and tense stance, looked no less intimidating. The tavern keeper cleared her throat and fumbled for the ledger in front of her.

“Right, well,” she said quickly, avoiding direct eye contact as she flipped through the pages. “We do have a room that should meet your… requirements.” Her tone carried a distinct undertone of awkwardness, and you could see the way her hands trembled slightly as she scribbled something down.

You tilted your head slightly, watching her reaction with thinly veiled amusement. “Perfect,” you said, sliding a few coins across the counter. “I appreciate your discretion.”

The woman nodded quickly, still avoiding eye contact as she slid a key toward you. “Room at the end of the hall. Quiet as a graveyard. Should be just what you’re looking for.”

Her choice of words earned a faint chuckle from you. “Graveyard, hmm? Fitting.” You straightened, pocketing the key before casting a glance back at Vi and Caitlyn. “Come on, then,” you said casually, gesturing for them to follow.

As you turned, you caught the tavern keeper’s gaze darting between Caitlyn and Vi again, her expression a mix of confusion and embarrassment. She clearly didn’t know what to make of the situation, but she was far too polite—or too scared—to ask questions.

The three of you moved toward the stairs, the tension between you palpable. Caitlyn’s crimson eyes still glowed faintly, her composure hanging by a thread, while Vi’s scowl deepened with every step, her fists clenching and unclenching as if itching for a fight.

When you reached the room, you unlocked the door and stepped inside, leaving it open just long enough for them to follow. You didn’t bother waiting for them to settle in before leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and surveying them both with a faint smirk.

“Well,” you drawled, “now that we have some privacy, let’s talk.”

You leaned casually against the wall, your smirk widening as your eyes flicked between the two of them. Caitlyn’s crimson gaze was fixed on you, unblinking and unnervingly intense, while Vi stood a little behind her, arms crossed and jaw clenched tightly enough to crack. They both looked like predators cornered into an uneasy alliance, trying to decide whether to lunge or retreat.

You grin, an expression that was predatory and chilling.

“So,” you began, your voice low and teasing, “why is it, exactly, that you two are chasing me like this? Hmm? Can’t get enough of me? Or maybe…” You stepped forward, inching closer to Caitlyn with an almost predatory grace, “…you’re just bored and need a little excitement in your lives?”

Caitlyn stiffened as you approached, her jaw tightening. Her fangs gleamed faintly under the lantern light, and her red eyes never left yours, but she didn’t move. Vi, behind you, let out a low, irritated huff, but you could feel her tension like a coiled spring. She wasn’t going to make the first move—not yet.

Caitlyn’s composure finally cracked. She took a step forward, her fangs fully bared and her voice trembling with fury. “You’re toying with us,” she spat. “You think this is some game you’re in control of, but you have no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“Or,” you continued, tilting your head slightly as you closed the distance to Caitlyn, “maybe it’s something else. Something deeper. A craving you can’t quite ignore. A thrill you can’t resist.” Your voice dropped to a near whisper, soft and coaxing. “Is that it, Caitlyn? Am I the only one who can give you what you really want?”

Caitlyn’s breath hitched, her composure cracking for just a moment before she forced herself back into control. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. She didn’t answer, but the way her crimson eyes flickered betrayed her struggle.

You smirked, taking another step closer until you were right in front of her. Her tall frame loomed over you, but you showed no fear. If anything, the proximity only seemed to embolden you. Behind you, you could sense Vi shifting slightly, her frustration simmering as she watched the scene unfold.

“And Vi,” you said suddenly, your tone light and almost playful as you glanced over your shoulder. “What about you? What’s your excuse? I know you’ve been itching for a fight, but this?” You gestured vaguely to the room, the tension, the chase. “This isn’t just about a fight, is it? No… you’re just as caught up in this as Caitlyn.”

Vi growled low in her throat, but her hesitation was telling. She didn’t deny it. She didn’t even move. You chuckled softly and turned back to Caitlyn, your gaze locking with hers as you reached up, your hand moving with deliberate slowness.

“Maybe it’s time to admit it,” you murmured, your voice low and intimate. Your fingers brushed lightly against Caitlyn’s cheek, your touch gentle yet firm. Her skin was cool beneath your fingertips, and her breath hitched again, her eyes widening slightly as you leaned in just enough to invade her space.

“You’re both here because you want to be,” you said, your words cutting through the silence like a blade. “Because no matter how much you hate me—or how much you hate yourselves for it—you can’t stay away.”

Caitlyn’s lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes darted between yours, her fangs still bared, but her resolve was slipping. Behind you, Vi’s breathing grew heavier, her frustration bubbling just beneath the surface.

Your fingers trail over the exposed skin of Caitlyn’s neck, her collarbone. She trembles beneath your touch, her fangs biting into her lower lip as you descend.

Lower.

Lower.

Your hand ghosts over the flat plane of her stomach, dipping into the waistband of her pants. The need to feel her, to explore the secrets hidden beneath the fabric, is a living thing inside you. But you have company. A warm, solid weight at your back. Vi flanks you, her front pressing to your back as she watches you with heavy-lidded eyes. A growl rumbles deep in her throat, a wordless approval as you cup Caitlyn through her pants.

Caitlyn hisses through clenched teeth as you stroke her through the fabric of her pants. The need to rip away that barrier, to feel her soft, pliant skin is an itch beneath your nails. But Vi's presence at your back is a steadying influence, a reminder that this is a game, a dance. So you hold back, contenting yourself with teasing swirls of your palm over her clothed length.

"You want this, love?" you coo, your lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Want to feel me wrapped around you, squeezing you so tight you forget your own name?" Your hand squeezes as if to punctuate your words, and Caitlyn's hips jerk into your touch. You smile, all teeth and wicked promises. She snarls, her hands clenching at her sides as she fights the urge to grab you, to take what you're so coyly offering.

You stroke her slow, maddeningly slow, keeping your touch feather-light to drive her wild. She’s squirming now, her hips rocking into your palm seeking more friction. You obligingly tighten your grip, humming low in your throat as she pulses against you.

"Such an eager vampire," you taunt, your thumb swiping over the tip of her cock. "So desperate for my touch. Will do anything for it, won't you?" To emphasize your point, you drop to your knees before her, pressing a line of open-mouthed kisses along her length. The need to taste her, to feel her slide over your tongue is an ache in your mouth.

But you have patience.

You suck her through the fabric, letting your teeth graze the sensitive flesh beneath.

She reacts sharply, hissing as your teeth scrape over her straining erection. You do it again, purposefully, your tongue a wet swirl against the hidden shape of her. The need to see her, to truly appreciate the sight of her cock is a burning demand. Without warning, you rip open her fly, your fingers delving into the newfound space.

Your hand wraps around her immediately, the hot, hard length of her against your palm making your mouth water. She's perfect, thick and veiny and hard enough to hurt. The need to swallow her down, to feel her stretching your throat, is a pulsing throb between your legs. But you hold off, settling for a gentle pump of your wrist as you lave the weeping tip with kittenish licks.

You swirl around the swollen head, collecting every drop of pearly pre-cum as it leaks from her tip. She squirms, her hands fisting at her sides as you torment her. The need to wrap your lips around her, to finally put her out of her misery, is a desperate clawing thing. So you do, hollowing your cheeks as you slide down her cock. The taste of her explodes across your tongue, musky and masculine and so deliciously hers.

You swallow around her, fighting your gag reflex as she nudges the back of your throat. The sound she makes is pure sex, a drawn out moan that has your cunt clenching. You do it again, over and over until she's reduced to a panting, pleading mess.

Caitlyn's hands bury in your hair as you release her from your mouth with an obscene pop. She's panting, her chest heaving as you continue to stroke her steadily.

The need to hear Vi's permission, her okay to touch and taste is a sudden, desperate thing. You gazed over your shoulder, your tongue peeking out to wet your swollen lips. "Want me to suck you too, baby?" you purr, your voice husky with desire. "Want to feel that pretty cock fucking my throat while I swallow Caitlyn's cum?"

Vi's answering growl is low and primal, her fangs flashing as she licks her lips. In an instant she's behind you, her hands making quick work of her pants as she frees her massive erection. The thick length slaps against your cheek, smearing pre-cum over your skin. "Yes," she hisses. "Fucking yes.”

You return your attention to Caitlyn, your hand stroking her with renewed purpose. You scoot forward, your free hand wrapping around Vi's muscular thigh for balance as you take Caitlyn's cock back into your mouth. Your lips stretch obscenely around her girth, your jaw aching as you force yourself to relax.

But she doesn't push for more, allowing you to set the pace as you bob up and down her length. Beside you, Vi hisses, her claws scoring your hips as she watches you. Your core clenches, arousal flooding your panties at the feral possessiveness in her growl. Your neck aches from the strain of your double task, the need to have both your beasts inside you, consuming you, a physical hunger. So you double your efforts, hollowing your cheeks as you swallow around Caitlyn's cock.

You alternate between the two cocks, your saliva mixing with their pre-cum to slick the way. One moment your mouth is wrapped around Caitlyn's impressive length, the next your hand is wrapped tight around Vi's massive girth. The need to taste them both, to feel them both, is a burning insistence in your gut. She reacts differently to your ministrations, Caitlyn's hips stuttering as you take her to the root, Vi's thrusting into your grip like it's the most natural thing in the world.

You work them together, your mouth coming down to gently suck Caitlyn's heavy sack. She doesn’t disappoint, her fingers tangling in your hair as she pulls you closer, chasing her pleasure on your tongue. Beside you, Vi grunts, her rhythm faltering as you jerk her off with practiced strokes.

Caitlyn curses, a litany of praise falling from her lips as you worship her cock. Her grip on your hair tightens, bordering on painful as she fucks your face. The need to be used, to be nothing more than a convenient hole for their pleasure, is a dark thrill that races down your spine.

You pull back, releasing Caitlyn's cock with an obscene pop. Your spit shines on her cock, a testament to your oral attentions. But there are other ways to pleasure her, other ways to drive her wild with need. So you let your fingers do the talking, jacking her off with a loose, easy grip. The need to multitask, to pleasure both your lovers, is a challenge you're eager to meet. The need to have them coming undone because of you, to be the center of their universe, is a burning desire.

So you lean back, your hand continuing its steady work on Vi's dick even as you lave Caitlyn's with kittenish licks. The combined sensations are heady, intoxicating. A drop of pre-cum lands on your cheek, the warm wetness a brand against your skin.

You turn your head to the side, your mouth gaping wide in invitation. Vi stumbles forward eagerly, her cock sinking into your waiting throat with a low groan. You swallow around her, your nose pressing into the wild thatch of hair at the base of her dick. The need to breathe is a distant concern, eclipsed by the burning desire to taste Vi's pleasure on your tongue. Your tongue undulates along her length as she thrusts, your hollowed cheeks hollowing and swelling with the force of her strokes.

Beside you, Caitlyn groans, her hand joining yours as you feverishly pumps her cock. The added stimulation is too much, Vi's thrusts growing erratic as your throat squeezes around her. You bite back your own moan, the vibrations of your vocal cords urging her on.

You bob back and forth between the two, your hand working Caitlyn with feverish strokes even as you release Vi from your throat with an obscene slurp. You need to have them coming, to see them falling apart because of your touch, is a chant in your head. You kiss up Vi's dick, nuzzling into her heavy sack as your fist tightens around Caitlyn's dick.

She doesn’t hold back, her hips snapping into your grip with animalistic grunts. You need to taste them, to feel their hot release coating your hand and painting your skin, is a screaming desperation. So you lean forward, your hand twisting on Caitlyn's cock as your lips wrap around Vi's weeping tip.

Caitlyn hisses, her hips jerking erratically as her orgasm crashes over her. Hot, sticky ropes of cum paint your chest, splashing against your waiting skin in a show of mark-making that has your cunt clenching. But you have no time to bask in the warm, squelch of seed on your breasts. Vi's hands are fists in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks your throat with abandon. She snarls, a broken sound of ecstasy that mixes with Caitlyn's panting moans.

You swallow, your cheeks hollowing as you fight your own gag reflex. The taste of her, salty and thick and so unmistakably Vi, floods your senses. It's perfect. You moan around her, the vibrations of your throat catapulting her over the edge.

You stay kneeling on the floor, Vi's cock slipping from your lips with a lewd pop. Your chest is sticky with Caitlyn's release, the white ropes splattered across your heaving breasts like macabre war paint. They look down at you, panting and flushed and oh so very ready for round two. You need to be filled, to be stretched, to be utterly ruined by these magnificent creatures is a pulsing demand between your legs.

But first, you want to admire your handywork. Vi's cock is bobbing obscenely, pearly drops of cum beading at the tip. Caitlyn's is no different, the head engorged and leaking. You want to have them inside you, surrounding you, consuming you is a roar in your skull. You scoop up some of Caitlyn's seed, painting your lips like you're about to eat the most decadent treat.

Your thoughts are swallowed by Caitlyn's mouth as she yanks you up by your hair. Her kiss is hungry, desperate, her fangs scoring your lips in a way that has you opening automatically. Your blood mingles with her tongue, the coppery taste a metallic counterpoint to the musky flavors of sex and sweat that cling to your tongues. Behind you, Vi is a warm, solid presence, her canines worrying the nape of your neck in a mirror of her lover's actions.

Your head swims, the combination of pain and pleasure shorting out your circuits until the only thing that matters is the mouths on you, the hands groping, the cocks pressing urgently into your curves.

You surrender to it, to them, your body pliant and yielding as they manhandle you between them. You fall in Vi's arms, your fronts flushed together as Caitlyn crowds you from the back. The sword of Vi's tongue duels with the press of Caitlyn's fangs, the dual sensations stoking the fire in your veins to a roaring inferno.

You want to be touched everywhere, to be worshiped and cherished and fucked until you can't walk straight, is a chant in your head. Caitlyn plays her hands over your ribs, her thumbs flicking across your nipples. You moan, the breathless sound dying against Vi’s lips. She grinds into you, the hard length of her cock nestling between your thighs like it was made to be there. Vi cups your ass, her fingers digging into the pliant flesh as she grinds against you.

"Fuck," Vi groans, her hips grinding harder into you as she watches you debauch yourself. "Fuck,you're so hot like this. So desperate for us." Her words are a dark promise, the rumble of her voice making your clit throb. Behind you, Caitlyn seems to silently agree with her, her eyes glassy with lust as she takes in the sight of you.

"C’mon," you whisper, your voice raw and ragged. "I need you. Need you both. Need you to fucking breed me." The words are a revelation, a baptism in the basest, most fundamental of needs. And they're only too happy to oblige.

Caitlyn grabs your hips, spinning you around to face her. Her lips claim yours in a bruising kiss, her fangs nipping at your lower lip in a silent demand for entry. You yield, your mouth opening automatically to grant her access. Your tongues dance, the taste of you mixing together in a perverse mockery of foreplay. Behind you, Vi growls, her hands yanking your ass up and back in a move that has you gasping into Caitlyn's mouth. The change in angle puts your cunt right at the perfect height, Vi's dick nestling between your folds like it was made to be there. You shake, the heat of her almost too much to bear.

But that’s the point isn't it?

To burn in their fires, to be consumed by them until there's nothing left but cinders and ash. Caitlyn’s hands roam your body, calloused fingers teasing and taunting until you're a writhing mess in their arms. Every touch is an inferno, stoking the flames of your desire until you're ready to incinerate from the inside out. She scoops you up like you weigh nothing, your legs locking around her waist as she impales you on her thick dick with a single, smooth stroke. You wail, your head falling back on a scream of ecstasy as your cunt clenches around her. The stretch is obscene, your walls straining to accommodate her girth.

But oh, it feels so fucking good.

So right.

Vi's hands on your hips guide your movements, lifting you up and down on Caitlyn's cock like you weigh nothing. The drag of her dick against your walls is delicious agony, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure racing up your spine. Behind you, Vi grunts, her own hips rocking forward to slot her dick between your ass cheeks. The slick slide of it, hot and heavy and oh so very her, makes you clench hard around Caitlyn.

Behind you, she snarls, her hands digging into your thighs hard enough to bruise. But you don’t care. You just want to be marked, claimed, owned in every way possible, is a pulsing throb beneath your skin. The greed to be theirs is the only coherent thought left in your head.

They work you between them, Caitlyn's thrusts setting a brutal pace that Vi matches beat for beat. Your head lolls back onto Vi's shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut as you lose yourself in the rhythm. It’s hypnotic, the push and pull of their bodies, the slap of sweat-slicked flesh on flesh. Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your throat, marking you in a way that goes soul-deep. The pain is fleeting, lost in the haze of pleasure as Vi's hips buck, her cock slipping between your folds to slide against Caitlyn's. Your mouth falls open on a silent scream, your vision whiting out as the dual stimulation shatters you. You fall, tumbling headfirst into bliss, into ecstasy, into a place where there are no more worries, no more cares.

Caitlyn stands, holding your quivering body aloft as Vi sinks her cock in your pussy, stretching obscenely around her girth. You are stuffed so full, so deliciously stuffed, you feel like you might split in two. But you don’t. You don’t because this is what you were made for, to be their plaything, their receptacle for all things depraved and delicious.

You sink down, taking them both to the hilt in a move that has you screaming. The pleasure is incandescent, searing, so all-consuming that you don’t even feel it when Caitlyn sinks her fangs into your breast or Vi clamps down on your neck. All you know is the bliss, the perfection, of being taken so hard and so deep. Of finally, blessedly, being home.

You can only hold on, your nails scrabbling for purchase on sweat-slicked shoulders as they fuck into you. Caitlyn's angle has her rubbing that perfect spot inside you with every thrust, sending stars shooting across your vision. Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she pounds into you from behind. You are sandwiched between them, a willing prisoner to their combined machinations.

Caitlyn’s hands roam freely, tweaking your nipples hard enough to border on pain before soothing the sting with gentle caresses. Vi nips and sucks at your throat, no doubt marking you as theirs for all to see. But you don’t need to look to know they belong to you just as much as you belong to them.

The thought is a revelation, a sudden burst of clarity in the haze of fucked-out bliss. The cree is binding, unbreakable, and in this moment you know you would do anything for them.

Anything to keep them, to preserve this moment of perfect connection. It’s a thing that scares you. It's something that, in your right mind, youwould run screaming from. But this isnt that. This isn't right or wrong, good or bad. It’s just is, a simple, pure truth that settles over you like a warm blanket. You surrender to it, to them, your body going slack in their hold even as your walls ripple around their cocks.

You're nothing more than a willing vessel now, a receptacle for all their pleasure. And that, you think dazedly as you're fucked into mindless oblivion, is exactly how it should be.

Caitlyn’s hands move to your hips, holding you in place as they fuck you with increasing speed. The need to come, to let go completely, is a desperate litany on your lips. Vi's rhythm steadied, her thrusts growing harsher as she chases her own release. They work together seamlessly, as if they've done this a thousand times before. Maybe they have, with countless others who weren't you, who weren't their mate.

The sudden surge of jealousy, of possessiveness, is enough to make you see stars. You clench around them, your cunt bearing down on their cocks as you teeter on the edge. You're so fucking close, every nerve in your body drawn tight as a bowstring. Caitlyn must feel it too, because she bites down, hard enough to draw blood.

And that's it.

That's all it takes to catapult you over the edge. Your orgasm slams into you, a tidal wave of ecstasy that rips through you with the force of a hurricane. You come with a scream, your cunt clenching and spasming around Vi's and Caitlyn's cocks. A flood of liquid heat gushes from your core, soaking their dick and dripping down your thighs. It's obscene, you know, but you can't bring yourself to care. Not when the pleasure is so sharp, so intense, it feels like it's splitting you apart from the inside out.

Behind you, Vi snarls, her hips slamming into yours with a force that would be bruising if you weren't so far gone. She doesn’t pull out, working you through your orgasm until you're writhing, oversensitized.

"Keep going, please keep going," you babbles, your words slurring together as they pound into you. Your overstimulated cunt spasms around them, aftershocks from your previous orgasm still rattling your frame.

But they don’t stop, if anything their thrusts grow harder, more insistent. It’s almost too much, pleasure bleeding into pain as your body is pushed to its limits. You scrap at their shoulders, your nails leaving red welts in their flesh. Caitlyn hisses, the sting only seeming to spur her on. Behind you, Vi grunts, her grip on your hips bruising as she fucks into you like a woman possessed. You're being used, claimed, fucked into oblivion, and it's perfect. It's everything you could ever want. You cum again, a high, keening wail tearing from your throat as your vision whites out.

But there's no respite to be had, not when Caitlyn and Vi are so close to their own finish. They work you mercilessly, pounding into your abused cunt with single-minded focus. You're nothing more than a toy to them, a warm hole to spill their seed in, and you've never felt so deliciously used in your life. Caitlyn groans, her thrusts growing erratic as she chases her release.

Behind you, Vi snarls, her canines finding your mating bite and biting down hard. Pain and pleasure short-circuit in your skull, the resulting burst of sensation sending you careening toward a third orgasm. You clench around them, your walls rippling along their lengths as you teeter on the brink of oblivion. Then Caitlyn’s coming, her cum flooding your channel in a scalding rush that pushes you over the edge.

You fall, your mind going blank as your body is wracked with pleasure. Your cunt spasms around Caitlyn's cock, milking her for every last drop as you squirt on their cocks for the third time. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already full channel with even more cum.

You want it, crave it, so much so that you can taste it on your tongue. The need used by them, bound to them in every way possible, is a frantic beat beneath your skin. They crush you between them, their mouths finding yours in a sloppy, three-way kiss that leaves you panting. Youcould die like this, youthink dazedly, sandwiched between these two magnificent beasts.

Vi's arms hold you aloft, your legs too weak to support your own weight after your mind-blowing orgasms. She slowly walks you towards the bed, Caitlyn's cock slipping from your pussy with a lewd squelch. Your legs hit the mattress, the sudden change in angle making you pitch forward. But Vi's hands are there to catch you, guiding you down onto all fours.

You collapse onto your elbows, your face pressed into the sheets as you tremble with exhaustion. But that exhaustion does nothing to dampen your desire, the need to feel them inside you once more an all-consuming inferno. Caitlyn scoops your hair away from your neck, her fingers tracing the ridges of your spine. Behind you, Vi hums, her palm flattening against the small of your back.

You squirmed between them, your hips wiggling back against Vi's in a clear invitation. You're so fucking sensitive, every brush of air against your swollen, well-used lips sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine. But that pain-slash-pleasure only serves to heighten your arousal, your cunt clenching madly around nothing as you crave to be filled again, to be stretched and stuffed and utterly used until your pussy is molded to their cocks. You beg them to take you again, your babbling pleas falling on deaf ears. Caitlyn chuckles darkly above you, her hands sliding down your sides to grip your hips.

"So greedy for us, aren't you?" she purrs, her breath hot against your ear. Behind you, Vi growls in agreement, her fingers pricking at your skin as she squeezes the globes of your ass.

You mewl, arching into their touches like a cat in heat. Your pussy is throbbing, the emptiness a physical ache that demands to be filled. You know you shouldn't want it, shouldn't crave their cocks like you do. But you can't help it, not when they make you feel so good, so cherished. Caitlyn slides a finger between your swollen folds, the lightest of touches enough to make you gasp. You're fucking dripping, your arousal coating her digit and dripping onto the sheets below. Vi groans behind you, her hand slipping from your hip to your core, swiping through the slick mess.

"Fuck, you're so wet," she growls, her voice rough with lust. She punctuates her words with a sharp spank to your ass, the sting only serving to heighten your desire.

Vi's hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you in place as she thrusts into you. Her thrusts are messy and desperate, the force of them jostling the bed beneath you. Over your back, Caitlyn makes her own slick sounds, her fist working her dick to the tempo Vi is setting. Your head spins at the sheer depravity of it, of being used so carelessly, so thoroughly, like a common whore. And yet it's the hottest thing you've ever seen, the knowledge that your body is enough to drive them to such heights. You sob into the sheets, your face pressed into the mattress as Vi takes you harder and faster. She's fucking you like she's trying to split you in two, her grip on your hips hard enough to leave lasting bruises. Behind you, Caitlyn grunts, her hand moving faster as she watches Vi rut into your aching cunt.

You can only take it, your body rocking with every savage thrust. Your cunt is on fire, the pleasure bordering on pain as Vi ruts into you. But you love it, love the feeling of being used so roughly, so thoroughly. Caitlyn groans above you, her fist flying over her cock as she chases her pleasure. You cry, a desperate, keening sound that's muffled by the sheets. Your orgasm is barreling towards you, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Caitlyn slaps your clit hard. The pain-pleasure rocket sends you screaming over the edge, your cunt clamping down on Vi's cock hard enough to make her snarl. Behind you, Vi follows, her hips jerking erratically as she floods your already cum-soaked channel with even more of her release.

Vi pulls out, her cum leaking from your well-used hole and dribbling down your thighs. You barely have a chance to miss the fullness before Caitlyn flips you over, hauling your limp body up into her arms. She sits back on her heels, settling your straddling legs on either side of her hips. Her cock slides against your folds, smearing their combined releases between you. Behind you, Vi moves to kneel on the bed, her chest pressed to your back. Her hands slide up your sides, cupping the swell of your breasts and teasing your nipples. You mewl, your hips rolling in Caitlyn's grip, chasing more of that delicious friction. But she holds you still, her grip bruising as she lines herself up with your entrance. You barely have time to brace yourself before she slides into you, impaling you on her thick cock in one brutal thrust.

Vi and Caitlyn work you between them, one thrusting into you as the other nudges her cock to your lips. Your pussy is stretched and filled to the brim, every ridge and vein of Caitlyn's cock kissing along your inner walls in a way that has you sobbing for more. It's a primal move that speaks to the most basic parts of you that crave to be owned and claimed most fundamentally. You claw at the bed, your nails biting into the sheets as you hang on for dear life. Behind you, she groans, the sound sending vibrations through his chest and straight to your core.

You gag on Vi's thick dick, spit bubbling from the corners of your mouth as she fucks into your throat. Your eyes roll back, your hands scrabbling at the sheets for purchase as they use you so thoroughly. You're just a set of fuck holes for their pleasure, a warm sleeve for them to dump their seed in. And it's perfect, so perfect, to be so utterly and completely theirs. Behind you, Caitlyn pulls nearly all the way out before slamming back in, the tip of her cock kissing your cervix with every thrust. The force of it rocks you forward, Vi's dick lodging itself even deeper down your throat. You gag, the muscles in your neck convulsing around her as your eyes water. They pound into you mercilessly, their rhythm ruthless as they chase their release.

The two of you exchange a long, heated look. Then, as if by silent agreement, they double their efforts. Vi's hands fist in your hair, holding you in place as she fucks into your mouth. Caitlyn's grips on your hips tighten, her nails digging into your flesh as she pounds into you from behind. The need to come, to let go completely, is a frantic rhythm in your skull. Just when you don't think you can take anymore, Vi roars above you, her dick pulsing as she reaches her peak. Thick ropes of cum paint your face, your hair, your open mouth as you struggle to swallow it all. But it's Caitlyn who steals the show, her thrusts growing erratic as she nears her own climax. You barely have time to gasp before she slams into you one final time, her dick erupting inside you.

You clench around her, your cunt milking her for every last drop of her seed as your own orgasm crashes over you. It's so intense, so all-consuming, that your vision blanks out at the edges. You fall forward, catching yourself on your elbows as you ride out the waves of pleasure coursing through you. Behind you, Caitlyn collapses against your back, her forehead pressed to your shoulder as she pants heavily. Above you, Vi grunts, slumping down to drape herself across the bed. You're sandwiched between them, a willing victim to their lusts and desires.

And in this moment, as you bask in the afterglow, you know there's nowhere else you'd rather be.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.

Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.

My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.

Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.

And then the pandemic hit.

And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?

And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."

Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.

And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.

We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.

The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."

I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."

Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"

I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.

"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."

She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.

[sinstear]

masterlist ♰ series masterlist

dealer!abby who enjoys sitting on the couch, with you perched happily on her lap with your fingers weaving through her soft hair. one hand resting on the plush of your thigh, while her other holds a joint between her fingers loosely. abby’s eyes are red and hooded, looking up at you with a lazy grin. “you’re so pretty,” she murmurs, a slight rasp to her voice and she chuckles when you’re squirming in her lap, looking down at her shyly. “getting shy on me?” abby teases, can’t ever hold herself back from doing so when it’s so easy to tease you. “didn’t get shy when you had my fingers in your greedy cunt last night, but when i call you pretty, you’re shy?” she tuts, squeezing your thigh just enough to have you gasping. she hears you suck in a deep breath once her fingers leave your thigh, reaching up and lightly brushing the bed shirt— her shirt, away from your shoulder and grins up at you. “can’t say anything?” abby presses again, your hands gripping her shoulder tightly as one of her cups the back of your neck. “no? made you really shy, hm?”

“abs.” you softly sighed, pupils blown.

“dunno what you want, baby,” abby mumbled and cocked her head to the side, still looking at you. “or are you just thinking about last night? last night was so good that it’s all you can think about? cock drunk already and i’ve not even touched you today.”

if you weren’t thinking about it— you’d never admit that to her and boost her already big ego, you sure as hell were thinking about it now. she only had to touch you in certain places, whisper things to you, look at you with that look and the only thoughts in your head are of what happened last night. the feeling of her hands still all over you linger in the back of your mind, the feeling of her lips against the shell of your ear has shivers running down your spine and her condescending laugh has you biting back a whine.

you never forget the way abby touches you. even if it’s been a few days, you never forget. you certainly don’t forget the way she had your body beneath hers, hand lightly wrapped around your throat— squeezing just enough to pull whimpers from between your lips, and her long thick fingers buried deep in your cunt, curling them your walls and growling each time you clenched around her. the small whimpered “please” you would whine out, hips grinding up and trying to get more from her. abby always enjoyed the way your body melted at her touch, needing to touch her whenever she was close.

your body ached for her. even when she was giving you whatever you wanted, you ached for her, ached for her touch, her words, even her relentless teasing. you needed it all. you can still feel the way she manhandled you on your stomach, pinning your arms behind your back in one of her hands, face mushed into the soft silk pillows and grinding into your ass. “yeah, still so needy, hm?” comes her raspy voice against your ear, the sound makes your clit throb. “made you cum, and yet, you still need me to make a mess of you. you’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” 

the only sound that came from you was a whine. maybe it was pathetic, maybe it was slutty, but it always drove abby insane. every sound she deliciously pulled from you, had her cunt throbbing, boxers soaked, breath ragged and head dizzy. you were her drug. day or night, she wanted— needed you like she’s never wanted something more. 

abby loved to make you a complete mess.

her favorite will always be having you riding her cock once she’s made you cum a few times that night, hands guiding your hips up and down, whispering praises into your neck as you grabbed her shoulders, nails sinking into her skin and softly panting against her head. there’s nothing she loves more than letting herself go with you, always wanting to have you close. on the outside abby can be mean sometimes, having you squirming and crying from how good she’s treating you, but on the inside, she never wants to see you hurt or upset. taking care of you is something that is highly important to you, and if she ever hurt you, she would never forgive herself. which is why when the nights come to an end, her heart melts and she smiles when you’re lazily riding her cock, mumbling how much you love her, taking everything you deserve.

she’d give you everything. that’s always a promise. 

abby’s laugh pulled you from your sudden intrusive thoughts, that you spend too long thinking about, and had you looking down at her with an involuntry pout on your lips when her hand gripped your chin between her fingers, testing you silentely. joint still between her other fingers, “let’s finish this, and then i’ll show you how cock drunk i can make you, yeah?”

[rainychaoloveshack]

AAAAA—

I’ve been searching for Sonic x reader req’s…

can I ask for a Shadow x reader where both were experiments for Maria’s cure? Where Shadow had a slight hatred and annoyance towards them because at times Maria would give time for them to hang out. Then blah blah blah after her death and the fall of the ark. He sees them again where they have a flower shop now, then finally after years Shadow gives in to apologize as he realizes he’s not the only one who mourns for Maria.

ﾟ ⋆ ﾟ ☂︎ ⋆ ﾟ 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬. 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐇𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐠.

it’s been years since you saw his face, and even longer since you’ve seen hers.

⋆°•☁︎ content . shadow x gn!reader, angst, so so so many mentiona of the word “flower” (it’ll drive you insane) warning. brief mentions of vomit.

☂︎ wc. 1.8k ☂︎ a/n. huehehe flowers go brrrrr. i got kinddd of experimental with this one and tried to branch out more emotionally. i hope you like it ^^ wouldve wrote in some more but i didnt want it to be too long… my fault :( i just love angst lol

likes, reblogs, and especially comments are extremely appreciated!!! (i like chatting to you guys!)

“[Name], ah, this is really, really cool!” Her fingers weave the stems together like a beautiful melody, overlapping with one another to form a gorgeous pattern in her palms. “When you were learning this at first, you should’ve told me! I could’ve learned it with you!” She gives you a fake little pout, soon to be replaced by her ever-shining smile. “Now I can make you and Grandpa flower crowns all the time! Though, I don't think he’ll wear them…”

And you can’t wait for the moment that she hands you one of her own, one made on her own time, with no assistance from your end. A true testament of her love for you; one you would never doubt, gift or not.

Paired with your hydrangeas and carnations, roses and daffodils. Every little flower at your fingertips; ones you thought she would adore. Put and grown with love right on the Ark, with the help of Professor Gerald. The fact that you had decided to cultivate life on the Ark caught his attention, and it might’ve not been possible without his assistance with your little hobby. Your garden wasn’t just that, though. It wasn’t a simple piece of eye candy for passersbys; they weren’t allowed to take a single step in it.

It was for flower crowns; something you had learned just to impress her. A secret hobby, just for the two of you to play around with. No one else.

Not even Shadow.

“Oh, and I can make some for Shadow too!” Her fingers graze over the petals on her newly made crown, a mixture of light blue flowers and red ones, along with your favorite color. Three colors mingled into one beautiful piece.

Shadow… You haven’t seen him for a while.

Even if you didn’t want to admit it, you two had always been competing for her attention, her love, but she had managed to share it between the two of you. Was it greedy of both of you to ask that from her? Her saccharine self? It’s not like you’ll ever know the answer now.

You’ve never gotten along with Shadow, despite you two coming from the same origin. Natural competitors. But neither of you had ever engaged in any sort of conflict directly, maybe a snide remark or two from him but that would be all. Most of the hatred was from him. Deep down, you know you wouldn’t be opposed to being his friend.

So why does he look at you so harshly?

… It doesn’t matter. As long as you can act as her medicine, her cure, helping her heal from both her illness and what bothers her, that's good enough for you.

It’s been fifty years. Fifty years. You don’t want to remember the specifics, but it’s been more than that now. A couple of years of change, you’re sure.

Your left hand clasps over your right, your fingertips rubbing over your knuckles slowly. Everywhere you look, it’s her. Every flower in your shop; it’s almost like you can see a glimpse of her figure and face through the petals.

Hydrangeas. Carnations. Roses. Daffodils. Every little flower at your fingertips; ones you knew she adored. Grown with your everlasting love for that girl clad in blue; remembering the click of her heels as she would run over to you with a new crown in hand. You wish you could’ve kept each one she gave you, even if they would’ve all wilted by now. Wilted flowers have their own kind of beauty in a way, but maybe it’s only you who sees it.

Remembrance is an aching feeling. Swirling around in your stomach, at times even threatening to spill out of your mouth in the form of vomit and puke. Pouring itself out of your body through tears and bile. And no matter how hard you try, it seems to stay present. Even after all these years.

Before that emotion fills your mouth again, the sound of the bell rips you from your thoughts, the door swinging open. You swirl your body around, putting on a smile to greet your new customer. It’ll be another day, just like the last one.

… What?

“It’s you.” He says, clearly in disbelief at the person he’s seeing, just over the counter. “Hmph. So that idiot was right.”

Is… Is that him? Him?

Shadow?

“Are you in shock that I’m still alive?” Not at all, no. But the words don’t pour out of your mouth, instead letting out shaky breaths as he looks around your humble flower shop; similar to how one would gaze at a picture frame of an old family member. Solemn. Melancholic. 

“I’m not here for some stupid greeting. I came for… A bouquet.” He almost seems uncertain about his reasoning. Even after seeing you, he doesn’t look angry. Not even surprised. Curious? You had heard his name throughout the years, but to meet him not anywhere else, but here, now.

Remembrance is an aching feeling.

“Those.” He points to a bunch of delphinium together, a light, bright blue. “And these.” His fingers graze over a dark red bunch of roses, his ear twitching at the sound of your immediate shuffling, going for the delphinium first. Something’s telling you in your heart to not get so close to him. It’s the aching; you’re sure of it.

Naturally you would question why he would need such a bouquet, but it’s not your place to wonder in that manner, especially now. Just do your job and go.

Shadow stares at a certain flower you keep away from the door, away from prying eyes, but still on sale for people to take.

You keep it away on purpose.; those kinds of flowers are your favorite ones. Sometimes if work is slow for a peculiar day, you’ll get lost within the petals, tracing over every groove of the plant, and even the stem itself, taking note of the way they feel under your fingertips.

“These too.” His footsteps almost echo through the store; or is it your imagination weighing heavy on you? Your head turns to see he’s going up to your favorite flower, picking one up by its stem to twirl it over between his fingertips, before dropping it back down. As you make your way over, he seems to notice and backs away from you, retreating to the counter. So even he doesn’t want to chat.

Fine with you. If he hadn’t bothered to come by all of these years, why did you expect him to care? But there’s a back thought in your head, telling you you’re lying about those statements of yours.

No matter.

As you pick up your favorites from its spot, settling a couple into the growing bouquet, you finally notice the mixture of flowers. How important they all are.

Delphinium. Roses. Your favorite.

These are the ones Maria always made flower crowns with.

You hesitate on looking his way, already noticing his gaze stuck on your back, so you keep picking the flowers up, settling them snugly into the bouquet in a sort of pattern.

“I’d like some bits of chrysanthemums in there too.” He suddenly mutters, and you comply with his request, making your way back over to the counter afterward.

The chrysanthemums are a bright yellow, reminding you of the way her blonde hair flowed, mingled with the colors of whatever crown you had made her at the time. You wouldn’t be surprised if she had begged Professor Gerald for a way to preserve them. Thinking about such a thing is so melancholic.

 You take the time to wrap a red ribbon around the neck of the bouquet, securing it with a bow to make it more presentable, but knowing Shadow, if he’s any bit of the man he used to be all those years ago, you assume that these blossoms would be going into a vase anyway. He’s not the type of person to leave a bouquet out, is he?

While you mutter the price under your breath, Shadow slips out the exact amount onto the counter, his motions swift. He outstretches his hands, not a single change in expression as he accepts the flowers, then settles them into his arm, hugging it close to his torso. He wants to get this over with; you can tell.

The silence between you two is unbearable. Would it cause that much harm to ask about his flower choices? Why the ones she-

“Yes, Maria liked these ones.” Shadow utters, his fingers brushing across the delphinium. His brows furrow, remembering bits and pieces of both of your pasts together. “She always made those flower crowns with you.”

Of course, he will mention her; how could you be so stupid? 

“She made some with me a handful of times.” Shadow says plainly, clearly not enjoying looking back on those memories. Not that he would mind if it was just him and Maria, but that activity was plagued with you. His own thoughts of you. After all of these years. “I think she preferred to make them with you.” He scoffs. “Said it was your special hobby together. I never cared for your hobby.”

You bite your tongue but decide not to say anything as the seconds pass with silence. Suddenly, a deep sigh leaves his lips, your little flower shop falling still with his sudden change in demeanor. The way his shoulders fall, with his head hung low, not daring to look you in the eyes with a small flick of his ear in your direction.

“I’m sorry.” Shadow murmurs. “For all this time I thought of you as just a nuisance.” He shakes his head, pushing up against the counter with his free hand. “But she wouldn’t want me to think of you that way… I don’t want that for myself either.” 

Shadow tosses a crisp fifty on the counter along with his still-present payment; clearly overspending for his single bouquet. “Goodbye.”

Your fingers press nervously into the table, nails scratching at wood, eyes plastered onto his distancing figure as he walks away, bouquet in his arm.

Say something. Anything.

His footsteps slowly die out, turning around slightly to meet your eye. “What was that?” Shadow cocks his head to the side, eyes widened slightly, clearly in shock at your goodbye. 

It’s customary for business owners to want their customers to come back. Repeated business means more profit. More money to tend to your shop. More happy customers. More smiles. More flowers. Her flowers. A way to remember her by.

Maria.

So it’s as simple as that.

Please come again.

A small grumble rises from his throat as he turns away from you. “I’m gonna ask for the same thing next time, okay? Remember it.” Shadow doesn’t let you get another word out, as the bell chimes above him, pushing open the door to leave you standing there in awe.

That remembrance doesn’t ache as bad anymore.

[buttercandy16]

Asylum

Chapter Four: Enemy of my Enemy

PAIRING(s): Psychiatrist!Agatha Harkness x Patient!Reader x Inmate!Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: Wrongfully imprisoned, Reader becomes the obsession of Agatha, a cunning psychiatrist, and Rio, a fiery inmate. Together, they’ll ensure she’s theirs—forever.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Confinement, Madness, Dubcon, and Betrayal.

Rio's whispered promise to free you played in your mind like a scratched record for the rest of the day, the words insidious in their persistence. You didn’t want to believe her—couldn't trust her—but the possibility of escape, no matter how fragile, made your breath catch in your throat.

Could you really leave? And, more terrifying, would either of them let you?

By the time night fell, the edges of your resolve had begun to crumble. Your small cell felt more like a tomb, the walls pulsing with the weight of what lay ahead. The conflicting forces of Rio and Agatha loomed over you, as though the air between them left no room for you to breathe.

Then came the night Rio made good on her word—or so she claimed.

The clock had just struck midnight when your door creaked open.

“Psst.”

You jolted upright to see Rio’s unmistakable silhouette leaning in the doorway, her wild grin catching what little light filtered into the room. She looked untamed, even more so than usual, her hair messy, her eyes practically glittering with adrenaline.

“Get up, mi amor. Time’s up.”

You hesitated, instinct screaming at you to stay still, to stay quiet. If you left with her, this wouldn’t end well—Agatha would see to that.

Still, the thought of escape pulled at you like a siren song.

“Rio,” you whispered sharply, clutching the blanket around your knees. “This is insane. What are you—”

“Shut up and move,” she hissed, her voice low but fierce as she slipped into the cell. She crouched beside you, her fingers gripping your arm tightly. “We’re doing this. Now.”

Her intensity was suffocating, her presence taking up every inch of the confined space.

“Even if you don’t believe me, what’s keeping you here?” she asked, her lips brushing against your ear in the dark. “Her? You think she’s going to save you?”

Your breath hitched, your mind racing through every tangled interaction you’d had with Agatha over the past weeks. As terrifying as she was, there was safety in the familiarity of her controlled demeanor. But the memory of her possessive whispers and the subtle threats she weaved in her kindness still sent shivers down your spine.

“Let me save you, cariño.” Rio's voice softened now, tinged with what almost sounded like genuine affection.

And maybe that was why you found yourself swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. Maybe that was why, against your better judgment, you allowed Rio to take your hand.

The corridors of the asylum were eerily silent as Rio led you through them, her steps swift and silent on the cold floor.

"How do you know where to go?" you whispered, glancing nervously over your shoulder.

She smirked without looking back. "Unlike you, I’m not new to this place. I know its secrets."

Her confidence rattled you as much as it reassured you, the fine line between competence and recklessness blurring with every step she took.

But before long, that line snapped.

"Where do you think you're going?"

The voice sent ice through your veins. Agatha stepped out of the shadows at the far end of the corridor, her dark eyes cutting through the dim light like razors. Her usual composure was cracked just enough to show the rage simmering beneath her surface.

Rio froze, but only for a moment, before letting out a sharp laugh. "Of course you couldn’t just mind your own business, doc. Always watching, always scheming."

You stepped back instinctively, your heart pounding in your chest as Agatha's gaze slid to you. Her lips curved into a smile, but it wasn’t warm or reassuring—it was predatory.

"Step away from her, Rio," Agatha commanded, her voice dangerously calm.

"Not a chance," Rio shot back, shifting her body protectively in front of you. "I told you she’s not your toy to keep. She’s coming with me."

The tension in the air was suffocating as the two women locked eyes, the silent war between them more terrifying than any shouting match. You could feel their conflicting wills tugging at you like invisible chains, each pulling you closer to their side.

But you weren’t a pawn—or, at least, you didn’t want to be.

"Enough!" you snapped, your voice trembling but firm as you stepped forward.

Both women froze, their gazes snapping to you in unison.

"I can't—I can’t do this," you stammered, clutching your head as the weight of their obsession crushed you from both sides. "You’re both insane, and you’re dragging me down with you!"

Rio’s face twisted in frustration, while Agatha tilted her head, her dark hair framing her sharp features.

"Darling," Agatha began, her voice syrupy with forced calm, "you don’t know what you’re saying. You’re overwhelmed, but you’ll understand soon enough. You belong here—with me.”

“No,” Rio growled, cutting her off and stepping closer to you. “You don’t belong here at all, cariño. Let me take you away from her, from this place.”

"You think she’ll last a day out there?" Agatha snapped, her mask of calm fracturing entirely. "She’s fragile. The world will eat her alive without someone to protect her—someone like me."

“I’m right here, doc.” Rio’s voice was sharp enough to draw blood. “And I’m not letting her rot in your twisted little fantasy."

You felt dizzy, their words washing over you in an endless tide of possessiveness and control. Escape was no longer the question—survival was.

The choice was ripped away from you in the next moment. Before you could speak, Rio lunged.

She moved faster than you thought possible, closing the distance between herself and Agatha with predatory precision. For a moment, you thought she might actually win—until you saw the glint of silver in Agatha’s hand.

The syringe plunged into Rio’s neck before she could react, her wild grin faltering as her legs buckled beneath her.

"You fool," Agatha hissed, catching Rio’s falling body with chilling ease. "Did you really think you could win this game?"

You backed away, terror clawing at your throat as Agatha turned her attention back to you.

"Now," she said, smoothing her rumpled coat as though nothing had happened, "let’s get you back where you belong."

Her calm words were the last thing you heard before darkness closed in around you.

When you woke, your body felt heavy, like you'd been pulled from quicksand. The world swam into focus slowly, the familiar dim light of the infirmary's ceiling above you. A sharp sting in your arm drew your attention downward to find an IV taped against your skin.

Panic surged as the fog of sedation lifted, and the fragmented memories of last night crashed down on you. Rio’s body crumpling as Agatha overpowered her, the clinical calm in Agatha’s tone as she promised to “fix” everything.

Your throat tightened. Had she drugged you, too? How long had you been out?

The sound of voices filtered into the room, growing clearer as the door swung open. You didn’t need to look to know who they belonged to.

“She’s mine, Rio,” Agatha’s voice was sharp but level, though it carried an unmistakable tension. “You nearly ruined everything.”

Rio’s laugh was ragged, tinged with defiance despite its weakness. “Oh, yeah? And what’s your excuse, doc? You don’t think chaining her here with your manipulative crap will snap her eventually?”

You turned your head just enough to see them. Agatha’s posture was as stiff and upright as always, though her dark eyes burned with barely-contained rage. Rio, in contrast, looked disheveled and furious, leaning against the wall for support, a hand pressed to her neck where the syringe had struck.

“I wasn’t the one trying to haul her through the asylum like some thief in the night,” Agatha spat. “You’re reckless. No plan, no care for what would’ve happened if you were caught. Do you think security wouldn’t have thrown her in solitary for weeks after your stunt?”

“And your plan is so much better?” Rio shot back, stepping closer despite her visible weakness. “What, smother her until she loves you back? At least I wasn’t drugging her into compliance.”

“She would never survive outside of here,” Agatha snapped, her control slipping for the briefest moment. “You may think you’re the lesser evil, but what you tried would have destroyed her.”

The weight of their conversation fell heavily on you, the realization settling like a stone in your gut: they were arguing over you like you were some prize to be won. Not a person, not a victim of circumstance, but a thing—their thing.

You’d been nothing more than their pawn this entire time.

The truth ignited something deep within you, a flame that burned past the sedation weighing on your limbs. You clenched your hands, determination coalescing with your fear.

If neither of them would let you go, you’d have to take matters into your own hands.

The next few days blurred as you began quietly planting seeds of misdirection. Every word you said to either of them was careful, calculated—designed to sow discord between the two. It didn’t take much effort; their hatred for one another was barely concealed beneath the surface.

Agatha cornered you in the therapy room on the second day, her gaze softer than usual.

“You look tired, darling,” she said, her voice low and soothing as she sat across from you. “But don’t worry. Things are going to be different soon. I’ll keep you safe from her.”

You nodded numbly, knowing better than to argue. “She scares me,” you whispered, a faint quiver added to your tone. “She... she keeps talking about getting me out of here, but... I don’t know if I trust her.”

The faint twitch of satisfaction in Agatha’s expression didn’t escape your notice. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing yours in a way that made you shiver.

“You don’t need to worry about her,” she murmured. “I’ll handle Rio.”

Later that evening, you sought Rio out, finding her in the common room, idly twirling a fork between her fingers like a weapon. When she saw you, her expression softened, though her grin remained sharp-edged.

“Well, if it isn’t my little escape artist,” she teased, gesturing for you to sit beside her.

You hesitated but obliged, lowering your voice to a whisper as you leaned in. “She’s watching me, Rio. Every move I make. I think... I think she knows I’m still considering leaving.”

Rio’s grin faltered, her jaw tightening. “Of course she is,” she said bitterly. “That witch has her claws in deep, doesn’t she?”

“She told me she’d stop you if you tried anything again,” you added, your voice soft but urgent. “I... I’m scared of what she might do to you, Rio.”

Her eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, her fury seemed to melt away, replaced by something softer—something raw.

“Let her try,” Rio muttered, her voice low but vicious. “But she won’t win.”

What you hadn’t counted on was how far the two of them would go to maintain their hold on you.

It started small—subtle shifts in their behavior. Agatha spent more time with you, her demeanor bordering on saccharine as she reassured you that everything would be alright if you stayed under her care. Rio grew increasingly protective, pulling you into hushed conversations where she ranted about Agatha’s manipulative control.

But then came the night they both broke.

You were woken by the sound of voices raised in anger just outside your cell.

“You idiot!” Agatha’s voice was sharp, her words slicing through the silence like a blade. “Do you have any idea what your little games are doing to her?”

“Oh, spare me the concern,” Rio shot back. “At least I don’t treat her like some fragile doll you can lock in a cabinet.”

“Because dragging her into chaos is so much better?” Agatha sneered. “You’re reckless, unhinged—she doesn’t need that.”

“She doesn’t need you either,” Rio snarled.

The sound of a struggle followed, something crashing against the wall.

“I’m not letting you win,” Agatha hissed.

For a moment, silence reigned, heavy and suffocating.

Then came Agatha’s next words, quieter but venomous: “If either of us pushes too hard, she’ll break. We’ll lose her. Is that what you want?”

The shift in tone sent chills down your spine.

“If you think I’m teaming up with you, you’re crazier than they say I am,” Rio said, though the venom in her voice faltered.

Agatha’s response was disturbingly calm: “We don’t have a choice.”

Your blood ran cold as realization dawned. You weren’t escaping. You were being pulled even deeper into their web.

And now? Now they were working together to keep you there.

_-_-_

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, and comment 💜💚

[mapiforpresident]

I’m here DONT FEAR. That’s was so cringy oml but here is a Mapi x Ingrid x reader req. so after the championship Mapi and Ingrid run to the barriers to help reader get over them and they start hugging and kissing (they are public) and it’s just very cute and soft. ‘Maybe some smutty talk with them saying how hot you look in your jean shorts or Jersey👀’

Time to Celebrate

Mapi x reader x Ingrid

warnings: drinking, alcohol

~~~

The stadium was filled with energy, and the crowd was deafening as the final whistle blew. You leaned forward in your seat, disbelief washing over you as Barcelona celebrated their third Champions League title. From the stands, you watched Mapi embrace Alexia while Ingrid hugged Frido, pure joy radiating from both of their faces.

They were both grinning from ear to ear, their jerseys clinging to their bodies, drenched in sweat. They had played the entire match, and the exhaustion showed in their tired smiles, but you’d never seen them happier. The pride swelling within you was overwhelming as you watched them receive their medals, and then taking turns lifting the trophy. It felt surreal, yet utterly deserved.

Your life as a lawyer often kept you tied up with meetings, court dates, and endless paperwork, leaving little room to witness your girlfriends’ games in person. But being here today, watching them celebrate, made every late night in the office worthwhile.

As Mapi and Ingrid made their way toward the barriers after the trophy ceremony, you stood up, waving enthusiastically. They spotted you, and they began sprinting toward the edge of the stands.

“Y/N!” Mapi shouted, her voice cutting through the crowd.

Ingrid climbed over the barrier with ease, her eyes shining with adrenaline. “Did you see Mapi's tackle? It was insane!”

You nodded, leaning in to kiss her. “You were both incredible! I’m so proud of you!”

Ingrid helped you back over the barrier, and the moment you landed, Mapi wrapped her arms around you in a tight hug, nearly knocking the breath out of you. “Thanks for being here! It means so much to us,” she said, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

Ingrid joined in, pulling both of you into an embrace. “I couldn’t imagine celebrating without you,” she added, squeezing you tighter.

“Your jersey we had made for you looks so good,” Mapi whispered, her breath warm against your ear. “I don’t think I will ever get over seeing my name and Ingrid’s number on your back.” Your cheeks heated up at her words, a mix of pride and embarrassment flooding through you.

Before you could respond, Ingrid yelled over the noise of the stadium, “Let’s go take photos with the trophy!” She broke away, you and Mapi following behind her.

You all made your way across the field, weaving through players celebrating with their families. You reached Ona and Lucy, hugging them both and saying congratulations as they handed the trophy over to Ingrid, who held it like it was the most precious treasure in the world.

“Look at this beauty!” Ingrid beamed as Mapi leaned in to kiss it a couple times.

The three of you gathered close for pictures, the trophy proudly displayed in front of you. You felt grateful to be part of this moment, a feeling that only deepened as Mapi slipped her hand into yours, squeezing it gently.

~~~

After the celebrations on the field, you rode with Mapi and Ingrid's families to the after-party at the hotel where the players were staying. You were sad that you had to part with your girls for a while as they went back to the locker room, where you knew they were continuing their celebration with some drinks and then they would take the team bus and meet back up with you at the hotel a little later.

Once inside the hotel you mingled with all the players families for a while before you and Olga, Alexia's girlfriend, found a quiet corner to sit in and wait for your girlfriends.

You and Olga chatted about the game, and how proud you were of your girlfriends. After a while, your anticipation grew, knowing that Mapi and Ingrid would soon join you.

Soon after the players arrived and Mapi and Ingrid came straight over to you. “Did you miss us?” Ingrid teased, her breath warm against your ear.

“Of course! I can’t wait to celebrate with you both,” you replied, pulling back to give her a quick kiss before turning and giving Mapi a kiss before she started pouting.

“Drinks! We need drinks!” Mapi declared, leading you both to the bar. Mapi was started ordering shots, and you couldn’t help but laugh as she tried to get Alexia to take one with her ultimately failing. Pina instead took the shot right out of Mapi's hand downing it before Mapi could snatch it back.

The night continued with drinks flowing freely as the three of you danced together, surrounded by the joyful chaos of teammates celebrating their victory. Mapi was a clingy, affectionate drunk, wrapping her arms around you and Ingrid and showering you both with compliments.

“You two are the best!” she exclaimed, swaying slightly. “I couldn’t have done this without you. Seriously, Y/N, you’re like my lucky charm!”

As the hours passed, players and families started to trickle out. While Mapi continued to drink and dance with Pina and Patri, Ingrid’s eyelids grew heavier. You watched as she leaned against the wall, trying to keep her focus.

“Hey, you okay?” you asked, concern in your voice.

“I’m just... so tired,” she admitted, stifling a yawn. “It’s been a long day.”

“Maybe we should call it a night?” you suggested, glancing at Mapi, who was busy doing another shot with Cata.

Ingrid nodded, but as you moved to grab Mapi, she squealed, throwing her arms around you both. “No, no! We have to keep celebrating!”

“Mapi, it’s 4 AM!” you laughed, gently pushing her away. “We need to get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

She pouted but eventually relented, her eyelids fluttering as she leaned on you for support. You and Ingrid exchanged knowing glances, and with a little coaxing, you managed to get Mapi to follow you both back to the hotel room.

Once inside, you helped Mapi out of her jersey and into a comfortable oversized t-shirt of yours, chuckling at how she kept insisting on “more hugs and kisses” as you did. You turned to Ingrid, who was stifling a yawn, and helped her into her pajamas as well.

“Alright, you two sleepyheads,” you said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from Mapi’s face. “Time for bed.”

You settled onto the bed, pulling the covers over all of you. Mapi and Ingrid nestled close as possible, their heads resting on your chest. You kissed each of their foreheads gently, feeling a wave of affection wash over you as they both sighed contentedly, their breathing slowly evening out.

As you drifted into sleep, you couldn’t help but smile at how lucky you felt to share this moment with them.

~~~

Morning light streamed through the hotel window, piercing through your dreams as you began to stir. You blinked against the brightness, glancing down to see both Mapi sprawled out and hair everywhere and Ingrid looking adorable curled into you.

“Morning, sleepyheads,” you said softly, gently shaking them.

Ingrid groaned, rolling over, her face scrunching up as she tried to shield her eyes from the light. “Ugh, what time is it?”

“Time to wake up and face the world,” you teased, but as you took a good look at Mapi, you felt a surge of sympathy. Her hair was tousled, and she looked a bit pale.

“Feeling okay?” you asked, running a hand through her hair.

“Not really,” she admitted, her voice thick with sleep. “What happened last night?”

“You celebrated a Champions League title, that’s what!” you laughed lightly, but then you quickly got up to grab some Advil from your bag and two bottles of water you had set out last night.

“Here,” you said, handing them both the pills. “This should help.”

“Thank you, Y/N,” Ingrid murmured, a sleepy smile creeping onto her face. “You’re the best.”

“I know,” you replied with a grin. “Now, get ready. You both have to meet back up with the team soon.”

When they were both ready, looking a little more put together but still a bit groggy, Mapi stepped closer, a smile breaking through. “Before we leave, I need to give you something,” she said, her voice slightly raspy.

Before you could respond, she leaned in, pressing her lips to yours for a soft kiss. You leaned into the kiss and savored it before resting your forehead against hers and kissing her cheek.

“We wish you could come back to Barcelona with us,” Ingrid said with a slight pout.

“Me too but I will wave to you at the celebration and then we have all weekend together,” you replied.

With one last hug, they made their way to the door. You were so proud of them and were so excited to see them in a couple hours, hopefully a little less hungover.

~~~

let me know if there are any mistakes, I didn't proof read it.

[lcverwrites]

the lovers ― aegon targaryen ... part two

THE LOVERS ― AEGON TARGARYEN ... (part two) (1.9k)

summary ...it has been said that aegon and his wife, the lady tyrell, were a match of political view, but it was suddenly apparent to anyone with eyes, that the two wandering souls were made of the same cloth, two lovers bound with fluttering butterflies and dazzling stars. pairing ... aegon ii targaryen x tyrell!reader (wife reader) warnings ... smut, this is pure smut, very little plot in this story, 18+ content ahead please be warned, afab reader, unprotected sex (p in v), soft smut, semi sub Aegon (as if he could be anything else), not totally dom reader but like soft dom reader note ... I'm obsessed with this pairing so much, you don't even wanna know. I have so much I wanna write for them, but I'm lacking in the words to actually get it written out. I also have been thinking about making this an actual series, like I've planned out a pinterest board for this couple, I'M OBSESSED.

<< previous part

⠀⠀⠀The red Keep had been engulfed in a warm silence, the waning moon rising just beyond the horizon, painting the castle in a cool milky glow. Few people milled around the castle at this time. A maid carrying a pile of fresh linens for the Princess, guards standing at the ready at the entrance of the hall, poised with silent strength and sharpened weapons, white cloaks glowing beneath the moon’s glittering presence. A coolness creeped into the barren corridors, the breeze carried on the back of the chimes of midnight, brushing upon warm cheeks, a lick of winter in the air.

But beyond the corridors, Aegon and wife painted a rather different picture.

The King’s Bedchamber was illuminated by the hearths flickering embers, bathing the room in Autumnal colours, splashes of warm orange and buttery yellow, breathing warmth into every corner of the room, edging out the cool night. The windows were left uncovered, allowing slips of moonlight into the room, wisps of frigid wind snaked their way into the room, but were pushed through the layers of linen and furs, whipping around the the gossamer like curtains that framed the windows, fabric dancing with the serenity that settled in the room.

Golden goblets sat strewn on the table, drips of crimson wine staining the rich wood, dripping below, painting the stone with the richly scented liquid. The spilled wine was followed by the finest of slips, weaved with rich silks, a pearlescent sheen to the fabric, underclothes belonging to someone of riches. It was intertwined with a piece of cotton, a fine material on its own, belonging to someone entirely different. It was mangled around a pair of leather breeches, ties haphazardly undone, holding on for dear life.

The trail of wine and clothing led to the spacious bed in the middle of the room. The bed is lofted by an ornate frame, wooden carvings swirled around the rich oak wood. Covered in freshly washed, soft looking linens, blankets of rich green and stark white were strewn across the bed, hanging off the edge, tittering with every movement.

Aegon and his wife, Lady Tyrell, were tangled in the thin linens.

She pressed her hands against Aegon’s chest, nails pressing into the smooth skin, leaving crescent indents in their wake.

Aegon panted beneath her, hands running over the expanse of her thighs, dipping into the curved skin of her hips, holding her body against his. Her back curved as her hips followed a fluid motion, back and forth, slow circles that drove Aegon to the point of insanity.

Aegon thrusted his hips up, meeting her halfway. The sudden movement called a whine from between her lips, airy and sultry.

“Aegon” She whined, the air taken right from her lungs, and the only word she could spill from her lips was her lover's name.

Aegon felt spurred on by her wanton sound, using her hips as leverage, pulling himself up. His chest pressed against her own, each breath she took, pressed her skin further against his own, as if wishing to become one.

Aegon craved her pleasure like no one else, coaxed it out with the subtle shove of his hips, hands moving from their rightful place on her hips, grasping her backside, hauling her body against his, as if there were any space between them for her to take. They were skin to skin, sweat clinging to their bodies, slickly sliding between them.

“That’s it, my love” Aegon pitfully groaned, pressing his reddened lips against her neck, lapping at the sweat slicked skin, mouthing at the already pinkish skin.

One of Aegon’s hands released her backside, travelling the length of her spine, feeling her warmed flesh beneath his fingers. He interlaced his fingers in the loose strands of her hair, pulling on the soft locks, tugging her head back, allowing Aegon more of her neck to lather in kisses, soft bites of flesh beneath his teeth.

Her skin was smooth beneath his lips, warmed by the thumping of her heart, blood rushing through her veins. Aegon’s teeth skimmed over the taunt skin, wishing he could bite through her flesh, tearing through muscle and bone alike, devouring her very being, to devour the devotion she bled for him.

He imagined it would be sweet, just as she always was, but tinged with a bitterness that bled from his own heart into her.

He wanted to devour her, mind, body and soul.

And he knew she would allow him.

Her devolution was a double edged sword, and Aegon loved running his fingers over the sharp edges, cutting himself open for her pleasure, bleeding his heart dry for insatiable hunger.

Aegon used his strength to flip them over, laying her against the soft linens, hair fanning out around her, plush lips parted in a silent gasp, enjoying the change of position.

Aegon thrusted his hips against her own, his cock pushing further into her cunt, her legs locking around Aegon’s narrow hips, locking him against her writhing body.

“Yes…Aegon my love, please” She pleaded with Aegon, though Aegon was sure she wasn’t sure what she was pleading for.

But Aegon would give her whatever she desired.

He would give her his heart if she asked for it, served to her on a silver platter for her delight, it was her already anyway, he wouldn’t miss it.

Aegon placed a hand on the pillow beneath her head, holding his body above hers, while the other was gripping the supple skin of her hips, kneading the flesh of her thigh wrapped around his hips, nails digging into the flesh, claiming her body as his own.

“I love hearing you” Aegon whispered into the space between their bodies, their shared air was wet and hot, coated in their arousal and passion.

“I…I love-” Her statement was cute off by a rather loud moan, her hands coming up to grasp at the base of his skill, threading through the silvery locks of Aegon’s hair.

Aegon whimpered at the tugging of his hair, feeling a flush bleed across his already reddened cheeks, ducking his head back into the skin of his neck, teeth latching onto the skin of her shoulder this time, biting down harshly. She responded in kind with another keening noise, nails digging into the nape of his neck, seeking purchase to keep herself grounded.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in Aegon’s ears, the soft squelching sound of her wet cunt welcoming his cock was like music to his ears.

“Please come for me” Aegon whimpered, pleading with his wife, wanting the sweet satisfaction of bringing her pleasure that no one could. “Please, my love”

Her back arched, pressing her chest against his own once more, her hardened nipples scraping against his hot flesh.

Her lips parted a string of half words and pleasured sounds fell past the soft pillows. Aegon continued to thrust his hips, picking up speed, feeling her cunt gripping his cock like a velvet vice, holding his pulsing member inside her as waves of pleasure ebbed and flowed through her body.

“Aegon” She whispered, using her grip on the back of his neck to haul his face from the depth of her neck, pressing her forehead against his own. “I’m gonna--”

“Please, please, please” Aegon whispered, his words overlapping, lips pouted and slick with his own spit. “I want it, give it to me”

She tried to utter another string of words, but the only sound that fell past her lips was a strangled moan, perhaps it had been Aegon’s name, he wasn’t sure, but the sound produced goosebumps to raise across his skin.

The squelching sounds in the room doubled as she came around Aegon’s cock, clenching around him, pulling him into her gushing cunt. Aegon followed her body’s demand, continuing to thrust his pulsing cock into her cunt.

“There you are” Aegon’s voice caressed her cheek, hot breath fanning out against her skin, the low treble of his voice had a shiver of delight running down her spine, quivering in Aegon’s hold.

Her legs were like jelly now, struggling against the force of her pleasure, muscles shivering around Aegon’s hips, but keeping their vice-like grip around his body, holding him close, unwilling to let him free.

Not that Aegon wanted to leave.

“How beautiful you look” Aegon continued to talk to her through her orgasm. “Coming around my cock, coming for your husband-- for your king”

Aegon placed a rather harsh thrust against her quivering sex, resounding in a loud moan from her lips.

“How beautiful you look” Aegon continued to talk to her through her orgasm. “Coming around my cock, coming for your husband-- for your king”

Aegon placed a rather harsh thrust against her quivering sex, resounding in a loud moan from her lips.

“I love you” She breathlessly said, finally gulping enough air, to find the words she wished to say.

Aegon’s hips continued their movement, thrusting in and out of her hot, wet cunt. Hips snapping against her own, an ache forming in his thighs from the strenuous action, but he craved more of her, he always craved more from her.

“My husband” She graced Aegon with a wet kiss against her cheek, his skin like molten beneath her lips. “My King” She followed a path from his cheek, down the long expanse of his neck, teeth gently grazing his skin as she spoke, hot air pulsing around his neck, setting his heartbeat a race.

She used the little strength she had to maneuver them once more, pressing Aegon down into the sweat soaked linens, silvery hair fanning around his head like a slice of moonlight caressed his skin, setting him aglow.

She moved her hips up and down, swivelling atop Aegon’s still throbbing cock, enticing him to his orgasmic bliss.

She bent down, arching her back, lips pursed right beneath his ear, hot breaths spilling over his skin, a jerky moan ruptured from his lips as her tongue licked at the tender skin beneath his ear.

“My lover” She finally finished her loving words, voice reaching the innermost part of his worn out heart, creaking open as if she had pried it apart with her delicate fingers weaving her love into his very blood, burning deep holes into his heart, making a home for her tender embrace.

Aegon’s teeth buried into his bottom lip, letting out a deep and gravelly groan, feeling himself become putty beneath her hands. Aegon’s hands, now firmly pressing into the crease of her hips, held her body to his, giving a half attempted thrust, before he felt himself exploding.

Hot jerks of come erupted from his cock, burying themselves into her welcoming cunt. A shallow groan fell from Aegon’s lips, hips slowly trying to bury himself further inside her.

“Thank you” Aegon found himself muttering, the words falling from his lips before he could think about them.

She pushed her head from his neck, cheeks inflamed with a dark hue, hair a tousled mess around her shoulders, spilling over her chest, tickling Aegon’s rapidly rising and falling chest. Her lips were parted with deep breaths and she ground her hips into Aegon’s keeping his cock within her.

He could see that glimmer in her eyes, the one she had solely for Aegon, the one that spoke the thousands of words Aegon could never find. The unspoken love between them, the devotion that spilled from their very pours, bleeding into each other. The love exchanged between passionate kisses and sweat tangled embraces.

“Whatever for, my love” She replied, in a way that made Aegon think she would never truly know what she did to him.

What she provided him with.

A love like the gods. To be protected beneath her caresses, to feel his skin beneath her palm, without knowing that his entire being belonged to her. To be graced with the heavenly touch of her lips, eliciting sounds only ever made for her ears to hear.

“For loving me” Aegon supplied the simplest of answers.

[meazalykov]

halloween costume

laura freigang x actress!reader

summary: while going to a party with your fiancee, she starts to tease you about a reoccurring event

the sound of laughter and chatter fills the air as you step out of the car, hand in hand with laura. 

the crisp october air nips at your skin, but the warmth from your fiancée’s presence makes it bearable. you squeeze laura’s hand, flashing her a grin as the two of you approach the house where one of her teammates is hosting the huge halloween party.

"are you ready?" laura asks, her german accent smooth as ever, a playful smile tugging at her lips. 

she's dressed as a pirate, a leather vest hugging her athletic frame, a bandana tied around her dark blonde hair.

you’re dressed as a pirate as well, nearly identical to laura. 

"i think the real question is if you are," you tease, tugging at the collar of her vest. "after all, you’re frankfurt’s football star here. i’m just here for the snacks."

laura chuckles, eyes sparkling as she leans down to press a soft kiss to your temple. "you’re way more than that," she whispers, and you can’t help but blush a little. 

the party is packed, as expected. frankfurt players, local celebrities, and plenty of people from town crowd the house and yard, all dressed up in elaborate costumes. 

the energy is infectious, and you can’t help but feel excited. it’s been a while since you had time to just relax and enjoy yourself. with filming starting again in january, this time with laura is precious.

"look at all these costumes," you say, scanning the room as you walk inside. "everyone really went all out."

laura hums in agreement, her eyes also darting around the room. "there’s a lot of ghost faces too, huh?"

you snicker at her observation. it’s only been eight months since your portrayal of ghost face in the newest scream movie hit theaters, and clearly, the character has made quite an impression.

“maybe they’re trying to pay homage to me,” you joke, though there’s a proud twinkle in your eye. laura just smirks at your playful confidence.

as you weave through the crowd, you suddenly spot someone wearing a ghost face robe, a wig matching your hair color, and sfx makeup that looks eerily familiar to the scene where your character was killed.

"laura, look at that," you nudge her with your elbow, pointing at the person. "they look just like drew in the movie!"

drew was the name of your character.

laura glances over and bursts into laughter, clutching her side. "oh my god, they really do!"

you can’t help but join her, your laughter mixing with hers. it’s surreal and flattering all at once. 

you played ghost face in that movie, but it wasn’t just the mask — it was you underneath, with the same hair, the same body language. and now, here someone is, practically a carbon copy.

"that’s insane," you shake your head, amused. "guess i’m more popular than i thought."

"you’re the actress the world loves, babe," laura says with a wink. 

"germany might adore me, but you’re on a whole other level."

"oh, stop it," you say, lightly swatting at her arm. "you know this crowd loves you just as much, if not more."

you aren’t lying. the attention you receive in germany isn’t as much as laura gets. most of your fans are english or american.

as the night goes on, the two of you bump into some of laura’s teammates, including nicole, who’s wearing a nice indiana fever costume.

"y/n!" nicole calls, waving as she approaches you with a bright smile. 

"i see there’s no shortage of ghost faces here tonight. i think everyone’s obsessed with your character!"

"honestly, it’s insane," you laugh. 

"i’ve seen at least five already. not sure how i feel about it."

nicole grins, her eyes scanning the room. "oh, speaking of, one’s coming your way right now."

you turn your head just in time to see another ghost face making their way toward you, the familiar black robe swaying with each step. 

this one’s holding their phone out in front of them, clearly looking a bit nervous but determined.

"hi y/n, i’m so sorry to interrupt, but i’m a huge fan," they say, their voice muffled under the mask. 

"can i get a picture with you? your portrayal of ghost face was amazing."

a soft smile tugs at your lips. "of course," you reply, always happy to meet fans who appreciate your work. 

"thank you so much for the kind words."

you stand beside them as they pull out their phone and take off their mask, posing for a quick picture. 

laura watches the whole exchange with a playful glint in her eyes. as soon as the fan walks away, she can’t resist.

“oh my god, y/n, i’m such a big fan! can i get, like, ten pictures with you please?” laura dramatically gasps, pretending to fawn over you as she pulls out her film camera, taking on the role of an exaggerated fan.

you burst out laughing, rolling your eyes at her theatrics. "laura, calm down," you giggle, trying to wave her off, but she’s already snapped a few shots of you.

"no, no, seriously, i’m your biggest fan!" she continues, mock gasping and throwing her hands up. 

"i’ll even frame them in the apartment! please, just a few more!"

"okay, okay, that’s enough," you laugh, swatting at her camera. "you’re going to run out of film if you keep this up."

but laura’s grinning, clearly having way too much fun with her impromptu photoshoot. 

"oh come on, y/n, you know i’m your biggest supporter. it’s not every day i get to party with a horror icon."

you roll your eyes affectionately. "i swear, you’re worse than my fans."

“it’s just ‘cause i’m marrying a horror icon,” she teases, slinging an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. 

“and don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

you smile, leaning into her touch. "okay, maybe i do love it. just a little."

"thought so," laura smirks, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

"you’re stuck with me and my endless teasing." she whispers against your lips.

"i wouldn’t have it any other way," you admit softly, feeling the warmth of her embrace as the night continues around you. 

masterlist

happy halloween 🎃

[toomuchracket]

under the full moon (d word matty x reader fluff)

calling it fluff is misleading they are 3 seconds away from raw sex at all times in this fic. promptober, pre-dating, charli just cockblocked them (well, interrupted an almost-kiss) at new year... enjoy <3

“oi - why haven't you got a drink?”

you look up from your conversation with someone famous whose name you've already forgotten. george is frowning at you, usually-sharp eyes hazy with tipsiness; you're quite impressed at his commitment to his hosting duties in the midst of such inebriation, to be honest. “your missus dragged me in here and into a convo before i could get one, that's why.”

“that girl,” he shakes his head. suddenly, you're on your feet, being tugged towards the kitchen before you can even apologise to the actress - rachel? - you were chatting to. “come on. can't have you dehydrating.”

“there's no risk of that, george,” you grumble, stumbling along in an effort to keep up with him and his giraffe legs. christ, how does charli manage? “was out already, remember?”

“yeah, i know. matty wouldn't stop fucking moping about you not being here earlier.”

you beam.

“actually,” george continues. “he keeps moping whenever you're not around, to be honest,” he stops abruptly; only once you've bounced back from him do you notice his mischievous grin. “i think he fancies you.”

you beam even wider.

as if it's news to you, though - you did nearly just snog matty outside.

“don't tell him i told you that, though,” he's walking again. “he's battered me for doing that before.”

“tried to batter you, i assume.”

“exactly,” george pulls you into the kitchen, weaving through people and conversations and what you think is a drinking game, stopping when he reaches the fridge. “alright. what you drinking?”

you don't answer, too preoccupied with staring at matty across the room. a spike of jealousy spears you as you watch him talk to a charli and a girl you don't recognise, long dark hair trailing down her back, but you're appeased when he catches sight of you and smiles; you copy his expression, and neither of you break eye contact. that is, until george waves his hand in front of your face. “hellooooooo? anybody home?”

“fuck off, i was thinking.”

“making eyes at my best friend is what you were doing, actually.”

“you're seeing things, george. maybe you're going insane.”

“what d'you mean going?” matty's arm finds its way around your waist. “he's been insane as long as i've known him, darling.”

you rest your head on his shoulder. “well, i didn't want to be impolite.”

“sweet girl,” he presses a gentle kiss to your temple; you do your best not to swoon, and he turns to his best friend. “i'll sort her with a drink, mate, s'alright.”

“but thank you for bringing me through for one, george,” you squeeze his hand, and he smiles as he bids you goodbye and speedwalks off to god knows where. biting back a cheeser of a smile, you turn to matty, loosely slinging your arms around his neck. “hello again, gorgeous.”

“hi,” he replies softly, cheeks tinting pink under the spotlights in the ceiling - your body fizzes with excitement about the fact that you can elicit such a reaction from him. matty's hands move to rest on your hips, and it's your turn to blush. he smiles. “missed you after we came inside. where did you end up?”

“charli got me talking to a couple of people, s'all.”

“yeah, me too.”

“i saw,” you raise your eyebrows, playfully. “she trying to set you up?”

“dunno. wasn't paying attention,” his thumbs gently rub little circles into the satin of your dress. “was a bit preoccupied thinking about someone else.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” he smirks. “what about you, pretty girl? she have you talking to boys she thinks you'd want?”

“nah, just a girl she thought i'd find cool. which she was right about,” you stretch, deliberately arching your body further into his and savouring the way his breathing changes. “but she would've been wrong if she'd had me chatting to boys like that,” your eyes flick to matty's slightly-parted lips, then back up to meet his gaze again. “you see… i want a man.”

matty exhales shakily. “god,” he half-laughs. “you're really fucking hot, you know. and,” he adds hurriedly. “you're beautiful. really. i mean, you're just… wow,” he grins. “gonna be thinking about this dress for a long time, trust me.”

“i hoped you'd like it. s'why i bought it.”

“babe,” matty rests his head on your shoulder, sighing happily (you hope so, at least) when you softly caress the back of his neck. he slowly lifts it up, whispering in your ear and making you shiver in the best possible way. “and i know this is forward, but… shall we go outside and finish what we started earlier?”

fuck.

“yeah,” you breathe, smiling as matty pulls away from you to take your hand. “oh, wait - i still don't have a drink.”

“i have wine,” there's a hint of desperation in matty's voice; he seems to realise this, clearing his throat and smiling bashfully. yeah, you're done for. “promised i'd have it, didn't i?”

nodding, you tap the handbag still hanging from your shoulder. “and i have cigs.”

“the perfect woman. shall we?”

you nod, and matty gently leads you towards the back door of the house (with a detour to the wine rack to grab a bottle of red), ushering you through throngs of people with a feather-light touch to your lower back; as soft as it is, the contact has butterflies emerging from cocoons in your stomach that you didn't know were there, and you're actually quite sad when he removes his hand to open the door for you. carefully watching your step in your heels, you exit into the garden, look up, and grumble. behind you, matty follows suit. “well, fuck.”

the garden is almost as packed as the house, cigarette and vape and joint smoke rising from the people below and disappearing in the moonlit sky - not quite the secluded romantic setting either you or matty had evidently imagined. scanning for any sort of uninhabited spot, you notice a slightly-hidden section of low garden wall, shielded from the rest of the outdoor space by an unkempt patch of hedge, and quickly tug matty towards it. he speeds ahead of you when he sees where you're headed, shucking off his suit jacket and laying it on the mossy wall. “there you go, sweetheart.”

“matty,” your eyes widen. “you can't lay your jacket there! that thing costs more than my rent!”

“first of all, you live in kentish town, so no it doesn't. second of all,” he sits, patting the fabric as a sign for you to join him. “the wall's fucking freezing, and you're wearing the shortest dress of all time and no tights. you need some sort of barrier, darling.”

huffing, you sit on the jacket. “s'not the shortest dress of all time.”

“i personally have no issue with the length. quite the opposite, actually,” matty winks, unscrewing the top of the wine and passing you the bottle. “sorry, i should've grabbed glasses.”

you shrug, taking a swig. “well, if i must share germs with someone here, you're the best choice,” giggling, you pass the bottle back to matty, and dig in your bag for your marlboros and lighter. “shall we?”

he nods, smiling; you love the way his eyes look, illuminated by the flame. “you do know how to make a man feel special, darling.”

you aren't sure how long you stay like that with matty, drinking and smoking and chatting and laughing. time moves differently when you're with him, the only way you can measure it being in disappearances - firstly of the wine in the bottle, then the four cigarettes you had left in that particular pack, and of the people leaving the garden in dribs and drabs. despite the ever-dwindling crowd nearby, neither you nor matty try to reenact the almost-kiss from earlier; both of you seem to sense something other than your bic lighter sparking here, and you're more than happy to keep kindling it through conversation than risking a wild blaze, or worse, a complete extinguishing. only when the early morning becomes too cold to bear do you go back inside, hand in hand and animated as you yap away.

matty's incredulous. “this is the classiest new year's event you've ever been to? this? look, darling - actually, don't,” he covers your eyes with his hand until you get back into the hallway. “someone clearly went too hard on the midori there.”

you wince. “awful stuff.”

“i'm with you on that one. you know i agreed to do body shots off ross after drinking it at a party once?”

“no.”

“oh, yeah,” he shudders. “far better in theory than in execution.”

“the shots as a concept? or the fact it was ross you were doing them with?” you tilt your head, smiling shyly when you catch yourself. “sorry. i've just never done body shots.”

matty stops dead in his tracks, turning to look at you in complete bewilderment. “are you serious?”

you nod.

“but… but you look like that!” he splutters, gesturing wildly to you. “nobody ever propositioned you to let them lick salt from you? really?”

“they did not,” you pause, face twisting into a smirk. “are you propositioning me for that, matthew?”

his jaw drops. it stays that way for a good few seconds, actually, before he blinks and gives a smirk of his own. “would you like it if i did?”

oh, the bastard. still - what's the use in lying? “i would. and,” you move to whisper in his ear. “i wanna get my tongue on you, too.”

he moans. actually moans. and while you're still reeling from that, he leans back, and shouts at the top of his voice. “george!”

the man in question comes skidding through. “what? what's wrong?”

matty grins. “have you got any tequila?”

***

“i cannot believe you're doing this with him.”

ross's wife - pregnant, therefore sober, therefore the only person who can be trusted with the components of the shot - carefully pours a little trail of salt onto the juncture of your neck and shoulder. you smile, hyper-aware of not moving and knocking the full shot glass tucked between your boobs or the lime wedge resting on the swell of the right one. “why?”

she hums. “i thought you had good taste.”

“don't make me laugh, i'll spill the shot!”

“sorry,” she smiles. “maybe we should get matty over here before that happens, yeah?”

“s'pose,” you take as deep a breath as your new accessories allow, as your friend steps to the side. “oi, healy!”

he turns away from his conversation with george and ross, pretty eyes lighting up when he sees you sat ready on the kitchen counter. four strides, and he's in front of you. “hi, darling. still wanna do this?”

you smirk. “wouldn't have a shot glass in my tits if i didn't,” your smile widens as his pupils do the same. “whenever you're ready, gorgeous.”

so quickly you don't have time to react, matty kisses your nose. “this, genuinely, is one of the greatest privileges of my life. thank you,” he leans back, breathing deeply as if to prepare himself, then slots himself between your legs. “right, here goes.”

time starts to move weirdly again, the second matty gets his tongue on you. at the first touch, your eyes close, something within you urging you to let your other senses take over for the experience; initially, you do, inhaling the heady mix of cologne and cigarette smoke that's just so characteristically matty, and getting goosebumps at the slow movement of his flat tongue against your neck. but then he moves, and you feel hot breath on your chest, and your eyes fly open to watch him duck down and take the shot glass between his lips. he's blushing, obvious from the heat of his cheeks against your tits, but the flirty confidence is there as always in his eyes when he leans back up to take the shot itself - by the time he leans back down to bite the lime on your tit, teeth grazing the soft skin, you think your cheeks must be even warmer than his. it isn't out of embarrassment, despite the fact that you're colleagues, or your entire friend group seems to be watching, but rather out of passion, a unique form of desire your body only reserves for matty and matty alone.

yeah, you're fucked.

your friends cheer as matty pulls the lime rind from his lips, setting it down with a smile and moving to look at you properly again. “how was that?”

“very, very fun. thank you, angel,” you pull him in for a hug, fighting the urge to press a soft kiss to his neck. “you're good with your mouth, matty,” leaning back, you look up at him with the biggest doe eyes you can muster. “can i show you how good i am with mine, now?”

surprisingly, he doesn't cave at that like you thought he might; instead, it's you who caves, heat bursting in your stomach when matty slides his thumb across your lips. he smiles. “let's do it.”

he's gone before you can respond, moving things off the kitchen table while you breathe shakily at the counter. of course, that isn't helped at all when matty unbuttons his shirt, throwing the fabric to ross (who grimaces) before draping himself on the table in a very delectable way. “salt!”

ross's wife rolls her eyes, but moves to help prepare matty the same way she did with you. charli staggers over to you, swigging champagne directly from the bottle - you take a swig of your own when she holds it to you, and she giggles. “what even the fuck is going on?”

“shots, babe.”

“yeah, i know,” she rolls her eyes. “but i mean, like, you and matty,” blinking, she looks over at the table. “you're about to lick salt off his stomach. s'a bit of a sexy thing to do with your friend.”

“well, he is my best friend.”

“you know what i mean!” she wails. “you're telling me you'd straddle your best friend, and lick him?”

you smirk, sneaky. “i'd straddle and lick matty, yeah.”

“jesus,” charli's head turns at the sound of both your names, and she shoves you towards the table. “well, now's the time.”

doing your best not to smile too widely, you wander over to stand beside the table matty's lying on. he really does look incredible like this, shirtless under the spotlights, salt dotted in little piles from his hip tattoo (slightly underhanded of him, you think) all the way up to the one adorning his chest, shot glass between his lips with a lime wedge balanced on top. incapable of resisting the urge to touch him, you stroke his hair. “hi, gorgeous. you ready?”

matty winks, humming out a laugh when you return the motion; the noise fades into something that could be a moan when you manage to pull yourself onto the table, crawling up just enough to be able to lean down and flatten your tongue against his hip, just like you've dreamt about for months. beside you, his hands clench and then clutch the table, and that sign that you've affected him spurs you on, has you deciding to crawl slowly up his body and collect all the salt in one continuous lick. you can't stop the little moan of satisfaction that leaves your lips, and it sends matty into overdrive - his chest heaves, moans of his own reverberating through it, and you actually hear your friends gasp (and shriek, in charli's case) and someone murmur something like “oh my god, i feel like i'm intruding” and several pairs of footsteps leaving the room; when the salt is gone, and you manage to detach your tongue from the delectable man below you, it becomes evident that you and matty are alone. alone, for the first time since your interrupted almost-kiss earlier.

fuck it. might as well take advantage of that.

with as saccharine a smile as you can muster, you “readjust” yourself on matty's lap, smile widening at the combination of the way matty's hands move to clutch at your hips and the feeling of him hardening beneath your (definitely wet) panties. placing a hand on either side of his head, you lean forward, slowly, grinning once again at the way his eyes flick between your chest and face; you hover over his lips for a moment, then take the glass from his with your own, throwing your head back (and grinding down on matty for good measure) as you swallow the tequila and bite the lime before laying the glass and rind down.

matty laughs, eyes sparkling. “you're a pro, darling,” his hands squeeze your hips, rubbing up across your waist and back down. “you're also a fucking minx, you know that?”

you shrug. “well, you had me sit on your lap. what else was i to do, really, babe?”

“m'glad you did all that, sweetheart. makes this next bit easier for me, knowing how much you want me,” he smiles, warm and sweet. “what are you doing this friday night?”

“oh, that's easy,” you take his hands. “i'm going on a date with you.”

matty beams. “too fucking right you are.”

[kingkunigami]

This is entirely Ari and Jaspers fault. I’m actually insane for this man.

Pairing: Oliver Aiku x f!reader.

Warnings: 18+, cunnilingus.

There’s something about the way Oliver Aiku’s stubble tickles your ear when he leans down to whisper against it that has your cunt throbbing with desire. It’s the salaicious implication behind it as his warm breath fans against your skin and you feel him pressed against your hip, a subtle indication that he might actually be good at it.

But he’s pathetic really, especially paired with the sheer audacity he holds that thought he could get away with asking you such a crude question. It’s enough having to deal with him on and off the pitch as one of the team administrators, but this? You weren’t drunk enough for this—

“Do you wanna suck my cock?”

It had been the last thing you’d expected to hear when he’d pressed his lips to your ear, and you should’ve walked away at that alone. There were more than enough men in this dirty dive bar that would at least have better small talk at bare fucking minimum.

“No.” You scrunched your nose in irritation, already intent on walking away.

“Aw come on,” He grins, taking a sip of his beer, “Don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

The pet name should’ve been his second strike, so why were you still here?

“I’m not your sweetheart,” You shot him a smile back, full of faux sincerity.

“But you could be,” He grinned.

“Nah, I don���t think I could.”

“You always act like you hate me.” He pouts, and you have to stop your heart from squeezing at how adorable he looks— you have to stay strong.

“Yeah, it’s an act.” You reply sarcastically, rolling your eyes as you down the rest of your drink.

That’s why you hate yourself for where you are now, legs spread while Oliver looks at you like the cat that got the cream. Licking his lips as he peels your sticky panties to the side, eyes sparkling in delight as he notices the wet patch that stains the fabric.

“Knew you were lying,” He scoffs, “Were you this wet when you were talking to me, huh?”

“Shut up,” You sneer, scrunching your nose in frustration.

“That’s not very nice, is it?” He presses a wet, sloppy kiss to your inner thigh.

And the moment you feel the rough stubble graze your thighs, it’s game over. Legs lock around his head to cage him in, chasing the sensation as you shamelessly wiggle your inner thighs against the side of his face.

“I haven’t even touched you yet, sweetheart.” He grins, large palms dipping into the plush of your thighs as he prizes them open like a cherished gift.

He licks his lips in anticipation as he ogles your sex, revealing just how wet and ready you are for him— strings of your slick glisten against you invitingly and it only boosts his ego knowing that it’s all for him.

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy I’ve ever seen.” He speaks, and you’re unsure whether it’s to you or him, but it doesn’t stop your clit from pulsing in response. The swollen nub desperate for attention as you writhe beneath his grip, Oliver’s warm breath that fans against it not nearly enough as you feel pleas sitting on the tip of your tongue.

But you’re determined not to stoop so low, to give his ego even more of a boost. He’s shameless enough as it is, with the cocky curl of his lip as he deliberately hovers inches from your slit.

“At least this pussy’s fucking honest,” He chuckles, “Look how much she wants me.” And it’s enough to have you weaving a hand through his messy mop of hair as your nails drag against his scalp. Twisting at the root to hold him steady as you buck your hips, pushing his face into your eager cunt.

His lips smash against your clit, giving it some needed relief as you whine in satisfaction. Your body convulsing as your eyes roll back into your skull, pleasure shoots through your veins like he’s an addictive drug and you’re certain you won’t recover.

But it’s the way his rough stubble grazes the sensitive skin that has you crumbling, your toes curl as you turn into the needy, desperate slut he’d said you were—

“Fuck,” He groans, muffled by your cunt as he slurps and guzzles your slick like he’s picked the ripest peach, “You’re such a mess.”

It’s debauched, and borderline depraved as you feel a mixture of his spit and your slick drool between the curve of your ass. Slurping it into his mouth before spitting it back down against your messy slit, positive there’s a puddle beneath you as Oliver continues to ruin you.

You’re certain you won’t survive— the flat of his tongue swipes from your tight rim as he works the length of you, all the way to the top as you feel the rough stubble on his chin tickle your clit. Oliver repeats the motion, as though he knows it’s exactly what you want. And perhaps it is— the sensation has you crying out for him as you shamelessly fuck his face. Chasing the sensation of his beard against your slit as you let the friction catch your clit, feeling the familiar throb swirl in your abdomen as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of bliss.

And he knows from the telltale way your thighs begin to shudder and your hole begins to pulse as he weaves a hand around your thighs to press down on your pelvis. Increasing the pressure and pulling the hood of your clit back as he nuzzles your cunt, bristling against you as you find yourself crying out for him. Reduced to a pathetic, debauched mess as he stares up at you from between your clenching thighs.

Oliver works you through your climax, his tongue prods your leaking hole greedily after as though to taste his victory. Pressing a final, lingering kiss to your over sensitive clit as he pulls back with a cocky grin. The mess of your climax now threaded through the fuzz on his chin as he shamelessly wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Still gonna act like you hate me, sweetheart?”

[unpickled-olive]

Realizing that, while I like Destiny lore, what I love is Seth Dickinson's writing.

The Final Shape was a lovely story and the characters' archs were all emotional and satisfying. Maybe a nostalgic tear was shed for Cayde bonding with his reformed, resurrected killer.

But the things that have kept me coming back for 9 years were missing. I thought there'd be concrete answers about the Traveler, or some more thorough insights into the Witness, or even good lore on the Dread. I was hoping for another great lore book to join the ranks of Books of Sorrow, Unveiling, Mysterious Logbook, Marasenna, Last Days of Kraken Mare, etc. Some philosophy and horror, a genesis or exegesis or thorough backstory on a yet unexamined character/species.

Sadly, I didn't find those. The Dread's origin is that the Witness made them. Do they think and feel? TBD. The Traveler's conclusion was something like "you just have to have faith <3." Fine for the characters, but not for the readers/players of a 10-year-old mystery.

There's some nice things. The Micah-10 Traveler interpretations are cool, as is her origin story. And the foreshadowing still has me excited for the Dreadnaught, a yet unseen Disciple, etc. But I think key parts of what made Destiny lore so alluring for me are diminished.

Maybe it's the layoffs at Bungie. Maybe it's new writers going in a different direction. Either way, the aspects of sci-fi/space fantasy—ancient mysteries, metaphysical warfare, _____—have taken the back seat to personal drama that frankly isn't that interesting or fleshed out.

Maya could be an interesting antagonist, but she needed more backstory than "this simulation was evil or something" and more nuance than "the Vanguard are coercive, so I will coerce all of humanity." Why not explore what her presence means for the Vex, or the other simulations helping Praedyth escape the Vault?

The Witness trying to sway various characters was fine, but that has been covered so many times, especially in Beyond Light.

All that said, back to Seth: their absence in TFS made me realize how huge their presence in the lore was for my love of Destiny. I finally went and read their original works. What an incredible writer.

First, I read Exordia, the first/only entry into a dark mindfuck of a space opera. Its horrific in abstract ways: mysterious alien monoliths that poison reality around them. It's horrific in grounded ways, too: the alien invasion plays off of parallels with the Anfal campaign and the US involvement in Iraq. It's campy at times (with a villain who shouts "I love genocide!") but also profound. There's souls and date, but also math. There's also my favorite trope: mysterious, ancient architects.

After that, I read Baru Cormorant—all three books in a month. It's tragic and inspiring and genius. Originally I couldn't get through the first chapter because of the "fantasy" label. I've already read Earthsea and wasn't in the mood for wizards on boats. But I had the wrong impression. Understandable, because there is just no succinct way to label it.

Is it even fantasy? Honestly, I still don't know.

What it is is its own world. One that the inhabitants haven't fully mapped. One whose past is a must and whose future is uncertain. It's about hegemony. It's about purpose, obsession, and revenge. It's about revolution and community.

The colonizer culture is a kaleidoscope of different influences. Seafaring. Peri-industrial. Eugenic. It strikes me as something like 17th century Britain with a 20th century grasp of science. They don't have guns, but they do have both Greek fire and lobotomies. The story plays with different cultural views on indigenous rights, race, sexuality, and gender in ways that commentary real life while serving as interesting world building.

This story also weaves an insane amount of intellectual concepts into it. But rather than bog it down, they lift it up. The fate of the republic hinges on a myriad of different questions: is evolution Lamarckian or Darwinian? Can mathematical proofs usurp cultural hegemony? How do economics influence history? Most importantly, can you destroy the enemy from within before it destroys you?

It is not just cerebral, but tragic and heartbreaking. I saw the end of the first book coming, and yet I was devastated by the last chapter. Crushed like no ending has ever really crushed me. I didn't want it to happen.

There will likely be some time before the final book comes out, which is understandable. So much research goes into these. So many plot threads need to be woven together. So many mysteries not yet confronted.

This is all to say: if you like what I like about Destiny–thorough examinations of ancient mysteries, sci-fi takes on souls and magic, fantasy takes on science and technology, obsessive characters and vividly fucked up monsters, cancer and math as motifs, metaphors manifesting, and genius characters written by genius authors–give Seth Dickinson a chance.

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 11 - The unsub’s next move

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 14.9k

Warnings: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!!! Discussion of past abuse and trauma, mentions of inappropriate touching, derogatory comments, and psychological manipulation, emotional distress and psychological turmoil, repressed memories and trauma recovery, triggering content related to sexual assault. Alcohol mentioned once for a "joke" but not consumed. I put reader in therapy in this one. The word bitch a couple of times.

A/N: This is a heavy one and I ask you all read the warnings before continuing as it can be extremely triggering to people who have experienced similar. Read at your own risk!

Masterlist

A sharp gust of wind nipped at Hotch's skin as he stepped through the doors and into the arena, the now familiar sound of your blades carving patterns through the ice echoed faintly through the hall.

Hotch stood a few feet away from the door, his posture as composed as ever, but his expression betrayed a flicker of unease. And as much as he wanted to lean against the boards, to call out for you, to grab your attention, he waited until you approached. His gaze was steady following you around the rink as you twirled and jumped.

“What is it?” you asked cautiously gliding towards him as soon as you had noticed his presence, sensing the weight of what he was about to say.

“It’s Eric Collins,” Hotch began, his words were short, almost bitten off by his own anger. “He’s the unsub.” Hotch had beat himself up the past 24 hours, wondering how he could've let Collins slip through his fingers. He had had him in His interrogation room, on His turf. And he had let him go.

The words didn’t register at first. You blinked in shock, the name hanging in the air threatening to evaporate into smoke. “Eric?” you repeated, your voice trembling. “That can’t be right. I... I knew him.”

“I know,” Hotch said gently, his voice lowering as if to soften the blow.

The ground beneath you felt unsteady, the normally familiar ice felt a little more foreign, a little more slippery, threatening to kick your skates out under you. Memories surged forward unbidden — long hours of training under Eric’s sharp eye, the way he’d barked orders but followed them with detailed critique, those moments he had seemed almost fatherly in his encouragement and teachings.

“But now that I think about it...” Your voice trailed off as the realization began to crystallize in your brain, your thoughts running like threads weaving a darker image of your time together. “It makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Hotch nodded, watching as you wrestled with the revelation. He didn’t interrupt, letting you work through it aloud.

“I left him for Branson,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “Eric said he understood, but... there was something about the way he looked at me. I always thought he was just disappointed. And Leah...” Your stomach twisted as you pieced it together. “She left him too. She switched coaches years before I did. She said he was... too intense... and a little insane."

Hotch’s brow furrowed slightly, his silence prompting you to continue.

“I thought she was being dramatic,” you admitted, guilt settling in. “But now... now it doesn’t feel like a coincidence, does it? Leah and I — we both left him. We both—” You broke off, unable to finish the thought. "But that kid? She was never—"

Hotch stepped closer, his presence steadying your mind a little. “This isn’t your fault,” he said firmly, his tone cutting through your spiraling thoughts. “Eric made his choices, and we’ll stop him. But I need you to focus right now. Anything you can remember about him, anything unusual — could be critical to the investigation.”

You nodded slowly. The rink seemed quieter now, as if even the ice held its breath, waiting for what would come next, what you would say next.

Hotch’s silence stretched for a moment as he absorbed what you’d said during your spiraling, his expression sharpening with thought. You recognized that look — it was the same one you had seen spread across his face when the pieces of a case were beginning to fall into place.

“Collins feels betrayed,” he said finally, more to himself than to you. “You and Leah were supposed to be his success stories, the proof of his skill as a coach — his way to The Olympics I guess. When you left, it wasn’t just a professional loss to him — it was personal. He would have seen it as you rejecting him, as if you were saying he wasn’t good enough to help you achieve greatness.”

You swallowed hard, his words settling in your chest. “And Leah...”

“She left first,” Hotch confirmed, the tone in his voice was calm. “She may have been the initial trigger, but your departure likely reinforced whatever narrative he’s created for himself. He doesn’t just see you both as former students — he sees you as symbols of his failure.”

It was hard to breathe, your mind racing through every interaction you’d ever had with Collins. You couldn’t believe you’d been so blind to how deep his resentment must have run.

“What now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What do I do?”

Hotch’s gaze softened, his usual sternness and furrowed brows giving way to something gentler. “You don’t have to change anything in your routine right now,” he assured you. “Keep preparing for regionals as you normally would. We’ll have Garcia focus on tracking Collins’ movements. With the information you’ve given us, we have a clearer picture of his motivations and what he might do next.”

“And if you don’t find him before regionals?”

Hotch’s jaw tightened briefly, but his voice remained soft, careful not to frighten you more than you already were. “We will,” he said, leaving no room for doubt. “But even if he hasn’t been apprehended by then, you won’t be alone. We’ll take every precaution to ensure your safety. We'll plant more security throughout the arena than we had at sectionals. You won't have to worry about anything but your program.”

His confidence steadied you, even as anxiety continued to simmer under the surface. You had already endured the stress of nationals with a shadow hanging over you — could you handle it again?

“I won’t have to compete like I did at nationals?” you pressed, needing the reassurance.

Hotch’s expression softened further. “That’s the goal,” he said firmly. “I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you can focus on skating. We’re closing in on him, and I have no intention of letting him get anywhere near you — or anyone else for the matter.”

His words offered another layer of comfort, but the unease lingered. You nodded, forcing yourself to draw a steady breath. “Okay,” you said, more to convince yourself than him.

“We’ll keep you updated,” Hotch added. He glanced around the rink, his eyes scanning the space as though searching for invisible threats. “If you notice anything unusual — anything at all — you call me. Understand?”

“Yes.”

His gaze held yours for a moment longer before he gave a curt nod. “Good. Now get some rest when you can. You’ll need it.”

As Hotch turned and began walking toward the exit, his phone already in hand, you stayed behind for a moment, letting the reality of the situation sink in. The rink felt colder, your balance more wobbly on your blades. You weren’t just skating toward regionals anymore — you were skating toward an uncertain future, one that depended on a team of people working tirelessly to stop a man you had once trusted.

Hotch paused just before the exit, glancing back when he heard your voice.

“There’s one more thing,” you said, hesitating as you opened the door to jump away from the ice, suddenly scared to fall. “The board of directors here has been trying to find me a new coach — someone who can take over my training now that Branson is... gone.” You winced at the word, the loss still a little too fresh in your memory, too raw to say casually.

Hotch’s expression shifted, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered this new piece of information, wondering if a new coach would bear another murder. “Have they made any progress?”

You shook your head. “Not yet. They’ve reached out to a few candidates, but it’s not like there’s a long list of coaches with the time, credentials, and experience to step in at this level and point of the competition season. And even if they do find someone, it probably won’t happen before regionals. If I’m lucky, I might have a coach by nationals. That’s assuming I even make it that far.”

The last part came out quieter, tinged with doubt, and you hated yourself for letting it slip, fearing the words spoken would jinx your whole career. You weren’t one to let fear or uncertainty show — especially not to someone like Hotch, not if you could help it.

“You will,” he said firmly. “And regardless of whether you have a coach by then, you’re not in this alone. You have a team working to protect you, and I’m not going to let anything compromise your chances. Even if I have to put those damned skates back on again” He attempted a joke, drawing your attention back to the day you had promised to teach him how to skate.

You managed a small, grateful smile, though the knot in your chest didn’t fully loosen. “Thanks. It’s just... hard to imagine going through all of this without Branson.”

Hotch nodded. “I understand. Losing someone who believed in you, who guided you — it’s not something you recover from overnight. But the fact that you’re still here, still training and pushing forward, says a lot about your strength and willpower — and about your character.”

His words carried a weight that surprised you, and for a moment, the air between you felt heavier. There was an unspoken understanding there —an acknowledgment of loss, resilience, and the determination to keep moving forward despite the odds. You knew Hotch's pain was worse than yours, having heard from the team how he had lost his wife a few years earlier.

“I’m trying,” you admitted.

“And that’s enough,” he replied. “For now, keep focusing on what you can control. Leave the rest to us.”

“I’ll admit... I’m nervous.”

“Nervous about what, exactly?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat for a moment. “This is the first time I’ve had to do all my training by myself,” you said finally, gesturing vaguely toward the rink. “No Branson. No one pushing me when I’m too tired to care. No one analyzing every little detail and telling me what to fix.” You exhaled, a note of frustration slipping through. “I’ve always had someone in my corner, guiding me. Now it’s just... me.”

Hotch’s posture shifted slightly, a subtle lean toward you that felt grounding. “That’s a lot to shoulder on your own.”

You nodded, letting your words settle between you for a moment before continuing. “It’s not ideal, I know that. But if I want to progress — if I want to make it through regionals — I’ll have to keep going. I can’t afford to fall apart right now.”

Your voice cracked just enough for Hotch to notice, and his expression softened further.

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself,” he said, his tone monotone but not unkind. “You don’t have to handle it all perfectly. No one does.”

You managed a tight smile, crossing your arms as you tried to keep your emotions in check. “Maybe not, but this sport doesn’t leave much room for error. I can’t just skate half-heartedly and hope it’s good enough. Every day I don’t train the way I should is a step backward, and I don’t have many steps left to spare.”

Hotch studied you for a moment as if weighing his words carefully. “You’ve been through more than most skaters ever will,” he said finally. “The fact that you’re still here, still determined to compete, tells me you’ve got the resilience to face this. You might not have a coach right now, but you have experience — and more grit than I think you realize.”

You nodded again. As Hotch turned to leave once more, his phone pressed to his ear as he no doubt began organizing the next steps in the investigation, you took a moment to steady yourself.

You glanced out at the ice, the familiar surface shimmering under the lights. It wasn’t ideal, and the path ahead felt daunting, but Hotch was right — you’d made it this far. You could keep going. Regionals weren't just for you anymore. You were skating for everyone who had believed in you — Leah, Branson, and now, perhaps in some way, Hotch too.

You had to.

The glow of Garcia’s multiple monitors bathed her office in shades of blue and green as her fingers flew across the keyboard. Lines of code scrolled rapidly, interspersed with maps and search results that flickered across the screens. She leaned in closer, a furrow etched deep between her brows.

“Come on, Collins, where are you hiding?” she murmured, her voice a mix of frustration and determination as her eyes scanned every single result popping on her screens.

The phone’s signal was proving unavailable, bouncing between cell towers miles apart. It was like chasing a ghost — no discernible pattern, no clear location. The closest she’d gotten was a vague trajectory suggesting movement, but it didn’t stay consistent long enough to track.

“Too smart for your own good, huh?” she muttered, biting the tip of her pen in thought before quickly resuming her typing.

She’d already issued APBs on Eric Collins to every law enforcement circle in the state and neighboring ones, her fingers deftly navigating the protocols to ensure nothing slipped through the cracks. If he so much as jaywalked in front of a patrol car, someone would know.

Still, the lack of tangible leads gnawed at her. “No phone trace, no paper trail… Did you take a crash course in disappearing acts or something?”

A new window popped up on her screen, notifying her of an update on Collins’ financials. She let out a huff as the result loaded.

“No credit card activity either. Of course.” She rolled her eyes, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “But don’t think you’ve outsmarted me yet.”

With a few swift keystrokes, Garcia set up alerts on every single one of his cards. The moment he swiped or tapped, anywhere, she’d know. “Try buying so much as a candy bar, and I’ll be all over you like glitter on a craft project.”

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the machines and the rhythmic clacking of her keyboard as she dug deeper, searching through bank accounts, travel logs, and even local surveillance feeds.

When another blank search result flashed across her monitor, she groaned and leaned back in her chair, pinching the bridge of her nose. “He’s good. Too good.”

She glanced at the APB notifications again, as if willing something to come through. “But you’re not perfect, Collins,” she said, determination rekindled in her voice. “Nobody is. And when you slip up — and you will — I’ll be waiting.”

With renewed focus, Garcia returned to her screens, her fingers resuming their relentless pursuit. Somewhere, Eric Collins was out there, and no amount of distance or misdirection would stop her from finding him.

As Garcia’s search branched into Collins’ past, her expression shifted from frustration to grim determination. With a few quick keystrokes, she accessed public records, police reports, and any disciplinary actions tied to his name. The results were far worse than she anticipated.

A string of short-lived coaching tenures stood out like red flags. Athlete after athlete had left his training program not long after starting, most without any official explanation. But buried among the silent ones were statements — thin threads of accusations that painted a disturbing picture.

Police reports surfaced, some closed, others left open. Athletes, young and promising, had accused Collins of inappropriate touching, derogatory comments, and emotional abuse. While no charges had ever stuck — either due to lack of evidence or fear of retaliation — it was clear this wasn’t an isolated pattern.

Garcia’s fingers paused over the keyboard, her confident demeanor dimmed by the weight of what she was reading. The cases weren’t recent; many were years old, filed, and forgotten in the overwhelming tide of the legal system. But each line, each detail, hit like a gut punch.

Her mind drifted to you. You had trained under him, and spent long hours on the ice and off, trusting him to guide you at such a formative stage in your career. Had he hurt you, too? The thought sent a cold wave down her spine, making her grip the edge of her desk for support.

“God, I hope not,” she whispered, her voice barely audible in the hum of her equipment.

Shaking her head, Garcia tried to refocus, but the unease lingered, clawing at the edges of her thoughts. She knew how young athletes often stayed silent, too afraid or ashamed to come forward. Her stomach churned as the possibility refused to let go.

“No,” she said firmly to herself, forcing her hands back onto the keyboard. “Don’t go there, Penelope. You don’t know that. You can’t think like that.”

Still, the idea of you enduring such a thing festered. She clenched her jaw, channeling the surge of emotions into a renewed determination to catch him. Whatever Collins had done in the past, whatever horrors he might have inflicted, Garcia would ensure he wouldn’t hurt anyone else — not you, not anyone.

Her fingers flew faster, pulling up every shred of information she could find about the accusations. Each file added to her growing arsenal of evidence against him. She flagged the most critical details and sent them to Hotch with a note: “You need to see this. We may have more than just a murderer on our hands.”

Garcia took a deep breath, pushing back the knot of worry in her chest. She had a job to do, and worrying about hypotheticals wouldn’t help you or the team. But as she continued her work, she couldn’t shake the silent promise forming in her mind.

If he hurt her, he’s not getting away with it.

Garcia groaned in frustration, leaning back in her chair as the latest search attempt ended in yet another dead end. Collins’ phone continued to ping erratically between cell towers, each signal spanning an impossible distance in mere minutes. It was clear he’d either ditched the phone entirely or was using burner devices to throw off any attempts at tracing him.

“Come on, you slippery son of a— ” she muttered, cutting herself off as her fingers flew across the keyboard to initiate another round of scans.

Still nothing.

She shifted her focus to his credit cards, hoping for at least a breadcrumb trail. But those, too, yielded no results. Collins had been smart enough to avoid using anything traceable. Garcia sighed, rubbing her temples.

“Of course,” she muttered to herself. “Because why would a dangerous lunatic make it easy for me?”

Every trick she had tried— even facial recognition sweeps on traffic and security cameras — had come up empty. It was like he’d vanished off the face of the earth.

Still, Garcia wasn’t ready to admit defeat. She initiated automated scripts to keep running in the background, scouring any data source that might eventually lead to a hit. He couldn’t stay invisible forever.

Her gaze drifted back to the notes she had compiled on Collins. The accusations, the police reports, the twisted behavior that seemed to drive him — all of it painted a picture of a man consumed by resentment and control. Garcia felt a hit of unease. If he was staying off the radar this effectively, it wasn’t because he was running scared.

He was planning something.

With a huff, she pushed herself up from her chair, pacing the room for a moment to clear her mind. She couldn’t let frustration cloud her focus. Collins might be a ghost for now, but she had faith in her systems. Sooner or later, something would give, and when it did, she’d be ready.

Returning to her desk, she repositioned her headband, her determination hardening. “Alright, you want to play hard to get? Fine. But I don’t lose, Eric Collins. You hear me?” It almost came out as a yell.

She rechecked the parameters of her scripts, ensuring every possible avenue of data collection was covered, before leaning back with a sigh. All she could do now was let her tools work and wait for the slightest slip-up.

Garcia glanced at the time on the corner of her screen and frowned. It was getting late. She should check in with Hotch soon, and update him on the lack of progress.

Garcia hesitated at the door to Hotch’s office, clutching the printed report in her hand. She had spent years working alongside him, and while she knew him to be calm and composed in even the most harrowing circumstances, this wasn’t just another lead. This was personal, and even if he wouldn't admit it, she knew that there was something more burrowed deep down between the two of you.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly and pushed the door open when Hotch called her in. He was seated at his desk, poring over case files, the stress etched into his features. As she stepped inside, he looked up, and the faint crease of his brow deepened when he saw the serious expression on her face.

“Garcia,” he said, sitting up straighter. “What did you find?”

She closed the door behind her and crossed the room, laying the papers on his desk with a careful hand. “It’s… not exactly what we were hoping for. I still can’t locate him — no credit card activity, no solid location on his phone. But while I was digging, I came across something else — Did you see my email?”

"No, not yet." Hotch’s eyes dropped to the report as she continued.

“Collins has a history, sir. A really dark one. Several skaters under his training left after a short time. Many didn’t say anything, but some did. There are police reports — accusations of inappropriate touching, degrading comments, physical and emotional abuse.”

Hotch’s hand froze over the pages. His jaw tightened, and his lips pressed into a thin line as he absorbed the information. Garcia’s voice softened, but the words seemed to hit even harder.

“It’s clear he has a pattern, and he’s been getting away with it for years. I couldn’t stop thinking about…” She trailed off, her voice catching for a moment. “I couldn’t stop thinking about her, sir. She was so young when she trained with him. I mean, what if…”

Hotch closed his eyes briefly, exhaling a slow, measured breath, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed the storm building inside him. He didn’t want to imagine it, didn’t want to consider the possibility that Collins had inflicted that kind of harm on you. Yet the thought clawed at him, refusing to be dismissed.

“She hasn’t said anything,” he murmured, more to himself than to Garcia. His voice was low, yet strained. “If something happened, she hasn’t shared it.”

Garcia’s heart twisted at the anguish in his tone. “I know, and I hope—” She stopped herself, unwilling to say the rest out loud. She didn’t want to voice the hope that nothing had happened to you because even that thought was too painful to bear.

Hotch straightened, his gaze hardening. “Collins won’t hurt anyone else. We’ll find him, and when we do, he’ll answer for everything.”

Garcia nodded, her usual brightness dimmed by the weight of the conversation. “I’ve put every system I have on alert, sir. He can’t hide forever. If he slips up, even for a second, I’ll catch it.”

“Thank you, Garcia,” Hotch said, his voice steady despite the turmoil behind his eyes.

Hotch remained seated, staring down at the report. His thoughts were with you, replaying every interaction you’d had with Collins that you’d mentioned. Had there been signs he’d missed?

His fists clenched as his protective instincts surged. Whatever Collins had done in the past, Hotch vowed he wouldn’t let him anywhere near you again.

There was a hesitant knock at the door, and both Hotch and Garcia turned toward the sound. You peeked in cautiously, dressed in a puffer jacket with your bag slung over your shoulder, a faint sheen of exertion still visible from your training session.

“Hey,” you greeted softly, your eyes flicking between the two of them. “I just finished up at the rink. I was hoping there might be… any news about Collins?”

Garcia’s expression shifted immediately, her lips pressing together in a line. “Oh, honey,” she said softly, her voice full of sympathy as she gave you a look that was both pitying and protective. “I’ll, uh… I’ll leave you two to talk. I think that's for the best.”

Your stomach twisted at the tone, confused at what Garcia had meant, dread started creeping in as she slipped past you and out the door.

Hotch rose from his desk, his usually expression softened ever so slightly. “Come in,” he said, gesturing toward the couch.

You hesitated for a moment before stepping fully into the room, closing the door behind you. Hotch crossed the office, moving from behind his desk to sit in the armchair adjacent to the couch. The act was subtle, but you recognized it for what it was: an effort to meet you on even ground, to put a little distance between himself and his usual position of authority.

You lowered yourself onto the couch, placing your bag at your feet. Your hands fidgeted with the zipper as you looked up at him, your brows furrowing. “What’s going on? Did P find something?”

Hotch leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together. His gaze was steady, but there was a gentleness in it that made your chest tighten. “We haven’t found him yet,” he admitted, his tone carefully even. “Garcia’s running every possible lead, but so far, Collins has gone completely off the grid. We’re doing everything we can to locate him.”

Your shoulders sagged slightly, a mix of relief and frustration. Relief that he wasn’t right outside your door, but frustration that the uncertainty still loomed over you, that he was still out there somewhere.

“I know this isn’t the answer you were hoping for,” Hotch continued, his voice softer now. “But I promise, we won’t stop looking. We’ll find him.”

You nodded, biting your lip. “I just… I keep thinking about him. About everything I missed back then. How did I not see it?”

Hotch’s eyes darkened slightly, but his tone remained calm, trying not to overwhelm you as he picked his next words carefully. “You were young. It wasn’t your responsibility to see it. It was his responsibility to act like a decent human being — and he failed at that.”

You blinked, taken aback by the quiet intensity in his voice. It wasn’t like Hotch to let his emotions slip through so clearly, but this was different. This was personal. You weren’t just another case to him, and that realization made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I’ll keep training,” you said after a moment, straightening your posture slightly. “I have to. I can’t just stop because he’s out there somewhere. If I do, then he wins, right?”

Hotch nodded, a faint trace of admiration flickering in his expression. “That’s exactly right.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, but even in the heaviness, there was a sense of solidarity, an unspoken understanding that you weren’t facing this alone.

Hotch sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair and rubbing a hand across his jaw. The weight of what he was about to say was heavy in the air, thick and suffocating. He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to his hands before meeting your eyes again.

“What I’m about to ask you…” His voice was low. “It’s not easy. And I need you to know that I wouldn’t ask about it if it wasn’t necessary.”

Your brows knit together in confusion, your stomach twisting with unease. “What do you mean?”

Hotch inhaled slowly, the lines on his face deepening as he gathered his words. “During Garcia’s search, she uncovered a history of allegations against Collins — former athletes who’ve accused him of inappropriate behavior. Touching, comments, even abuse.”

Your stomach dropped. You stared at him, your mind struggling to process what he was saying.

He leaned forward slightly, his tone gentle. “I need to know if anything like that ever happened to you while you were training with him.”

The question hit you like a freight train. Your lips parted as if to respond, but no words came out. You felt blindsided, your chest tightening as a flurry of emotions churned inside you — shock, confusion, denial.

“No,” you finally managed, your voice shaky and barely above a whisper. “No, that didn’t happen. He never… he wouldn’t…”

Hotch’s gaze remained steady on you, persistent but not accusatory. He wasn’t pushing, but he also wasn’t letting you brush this aside.

“I mean,” you stammered, your hands clutching the edge of the couch as if grounding yourself. “Sure, he was strict — he yelled sometimes — but that’s… that’s just how coaches are, right? He was hard on me, but…”

Your voice trailed off as memories you hadn’t revisited in years began to surface. Small, seemingly insignificant moments suddenly felt different, tinged with an unease you couldn’t fully name. You shook your head, as if trying to physically dispel the thoughts.

“No,” you repeated firmly, almost to convince yourself. “He didn’t do anything like that to me.”

Hotch’s expression softened, but there was still a shadow of concern in his eyes. “If you ever remember something, even if it feels small or insignificant, I need you to tell me. It’s important.”

You swallowed hard, nodding even though your mind was still spinning. “I will,” you said quietly, though the words felt distant, like they belonged to someone else.

Hotch’s voice lowered even further, the warmth in his tone breaking through the tension. “You didn’t do anything wrong. None of this is your fault.”

The reassurance struck a chord, and you nodded again, though the tightness in your chest refused to ease. You sat in silence for a moment, the enormity of what he’d asked settling over you.

The silence between you and Hotch hung heavy, thick with unspoken words. His question had hit you harder than you’d anticipated, and now, as you sat there, a terrible awareness began to crawl over you. The memories — small fragments of your childhood training, things you’d long buried — began to resurface.

You had repressed those memories for a reason. As a child, the training had been your world, and Collins had been the figure you trusted most. But over time, as you grew older and moved on, you locked away those feelings — those moments — that felt off, uncomfortable, and wrong. You never allowed yourself to question them.

But now, in this moment, Hotch’s question made everything surface again. A rush of flashbacks hit you, and the weight of them felt suffocating. You could see his face, the way he’d looked at you sometimes, like you were an object to be molded — his voice, raised in anger when you made a mistake. The way his hands had occasionally lingered too long, too close. You remembered the way you’d shrunk back, trying to hide your discomfort, but never really understanding why you felt it.

You took a deep breath, suddenly feeling like the walls around you were closing in. Your throat felt tight, and the tears you’d worked so hard to keep at bay threatened to spill over. But you held them back, clenching your hands into fists as if the physical tension could somehow prevent the memories from overwhelming you.

You didn’t want to remember. You didn’t want to feel those things again — those horrible, confusing emotions from when you were too young to understand what was happening. It was easier to pretend that it didn’t matter. Easier to bury it and convince yourself that you were just being sensitive, that the things he’d done were just part of the tough love that came with being a competitor.

But now, as those suppressed memories tried to claw their way to the surface, the truth became undeniable. There had been moments when Collins had crossed a line, even if you hadn’t fully understood it at the time. And now, sitting here with Hotch, you were forced to confront the fact that you had been carrying that weight with you all these years, even though you had buried it so deep.

You shook your head slowly, not because you disagreed with what Hotch was saying, but because you didn’t know how to voice what you had been trying to block out.

“I—” You stopped, swallowing hard. “I don’t know,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I blocked it out, Hotch. It was too much to deal with when I was younger, so I pushed it away. I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to remember...”

Hotch’s gaze softened, his eyes filled with understanding. “It’s okay,” he said quietly. “You don’t have to remember everything now. But when you’re ready, if anything comes back to you, I need you to know that I'll be here.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you closed your eyes, feeling the weight of everything you had locked away. “I don’t want to be one of his victims,” you said softly, the words feeling like a confession. “I never wanted to be one.”

Hotch nodded slowly, his voice gentle. “You’re not, and you never were. But if anything — anything at all — feels wrong, you need to speak up. We’ll protect you, and we’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

You looked at him, unsure of what to say next, but his presence was a small comfort in the storm of emotions that raged inside you. Slowly, you nodded, though the unease still clung to you like a second skin. You weren’t sure what to do with the flood of memories, but you knew that Hotch and the team would be there to help you, even if you weren’t ready to face them just yet.

Without realizing it, the first tear slipped down your cheek, followed quickly by another. The dam you’d worked so hard to hold together finally began to crack, and before you knew it, memories — fragments of your training — started flooding back, each one as sharp and raw as the day they had happened. You could feel them in your chest, a deep, aching weight pressing on your heart, the burden of years of silence crashing over you.

You didn’t want to remember, but the images came anyway, unbidden, like ghosts from a past you thought you’d buried forever. Your body trembled as you saw him, Collins, standing behind you, adjusting your posture during one of your many long training sessions.

You were only nine then, too young to truly understand what was happening, but old enough to feel a sense of discomfort that you couldn’t place. He had always pushed you to be better, to perfect every movement. But that day… that day was different.

You remembered the coldness of the rink beneath you, the chill in the air that you usually welcomed as it sharpened your focus. Collins had come up behind you, his breath too close to your ear, telling you to straighten up for the next spin. You had been working on your camel spin, struggling to get the posture just right, and like always, he had insisted that your position was everything, that it was the key to keeping you safe on the ice — which in itself was true.

You had been so focused on the movement, trying to balance on one foot, your arms raised in perfect form, when his hands had settled on your body. One hand on your lower back, the other uncomfortably close, placed on your hip, above your crotch. It didn’t feel right. Even at that young age, your instincts told you that much. But he had been your coach, your authority, and you hadn’t questioned him.

He said it was to help you position your body just right so you wouldn’t tip over, but the sensation of his touch lingered in a way it shouldn’t have. You had thought nothing of it at the time, convinced yourself that it was just part of the job — just part of the training. But now, as you sat here, those memories felt suffocating, and you realized how much you had repressed just to survive them.

You closed your eyes, squeezing them tight, as another tear fell, trailing down your cheek.

Hotch was silent, watching you, but not intruding. He didn’t need to ask you to explain. The memories you were reliving spoke for themselves, and he could see the pain in your face. The guilt, the shame, all of it.

A shudder passed through you as you tried to push the memory away, but it was like a wave crashing over you, it was cold. Your hands clenched into fists in your lap, and you forced yourself to take a shaky breath.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know it was wrong back then,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I thought he was just helping me. But now… now I see it. It wasn’t just coaching. It was… manipulation.”

Hotch’s heart broke for you, but he kept his voice collected, not wanting to show the anger that was boiling within him. “You were just a child. You did what you had to do to get through it. But now, we know the truth. And he won’t get away with it.” He tried to reassure, reminding you over and over that Collins would be tried based on every single allegation and charge Hotch could find on him. Even if he had to jump into his old role as prosecutor one last time.

You nodded, still spinning from the memories that kept trying to pull you under. Your chest ached with the weight of it all. It wasn’t just the bad memories; it was everything you’d suppressed for so long, all of it returning.

Hotch sat beside you, close but not too close, giving you the space to breathe. His presence, calm and steady, anchored you as you tried to process the flood of emotions and memories that threatened to drown you.

“I don’t know what to do with all of this,” you confessed, your voice small and fragile.

“You don’t have to figure it all out right now,” Hotch said gently. “Just take it one step at a time. We’ll be here, every step of the way, no matter what.”

For the first time in a long while, you felt like you could let yourself feel all of it — the pain, the confusion, the fear — and know that you wouldn’t have to work through it alone.

The tears still flowed, but through the haze of pain, more memories continued to press in. They were sharp and unwelcome.

You remembered the comments — too many of them to count, each one cutting deeper into your young heart. They weren’t the type of things a coach should say, let alone to a child. Remarks that had no place in any form of encouragement or training.

One particular instance pushed to the forefront of your mind. You had been just twelve years old at the time, working through your program in the rink. Collins had been watching you, his eyes narrowed in a way that made your stomach turn. He’d muttered something under his breath, something you hadn’t quite understood at first.

You remembered hearing him say, just loud enough for you to catch, “Bitches like her are only good for…”

The rest of the sentence was muffled, lost to your confused ears, but the implications of those words were clear. At twelve, you had no idea how to process it. You had never heard anything like that from an adult before. You froze, unsure whether to confront him or simply pretend you hadn’t heard anything. You hadn’t dared to question him. He was the coach, after all. You were just a kid.

But as you sat in Hotch’s office, with that moment replaying in vivid detail you couldn’t ignore it anymore. The disgust, the shame, the fear — it was all there, over and over again. You had been far too young for those words, far too innocent.

Hotch’s hand on your knee broke through the storm of thoughts. You hadn’t even realized how tightly you had been gripping the couch until his touch reached you. His fingers gently squeezed your knee, a simple gesture, but it was enough to ground you pull you back to the present, to remind you that you were safe.

“Hey,” Hotch’s voice was soft, his presence unwavering next to you. He didn’t need to say much; you could feel his understanding of your situation. His hand remained on your knee, it was his way of telling you he was there — with you.

“It's not your fault,” he said quietly, his tone was like a soothing balm to the rawness of your emotions. He didn’t want to push you.

You tried to take a deep breath, but everything, all of it all was still too much to handle. It felt as though a dam had broken, and you were drowning in the flood of memories and emotions, trying to pull yourself back to shore. You knew you had to keep going, had to find a way to work through this pain, but you let yourself be still. Let yourself be held in the moment of comfort that Hotch provided.

Hotch’s hand remained on your knee, but you could feel the tension in his touch — his concern for you, for what you were going through. He spoke again. “You don’t have to share anything you’re not ready to, but I do want you to know that what you went through… it might qualify as sexual assault.”

The words hung in the air between you, they were unexpected, you hadn't even clocked the connection in your memories, but you refused to believe him. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. The shock was like a physical punch, knocking the wind out of you. “What? No,” you gasped, shaking your head in disbelief, denying his thoughts. The idea that what Collins had done to you — what you had endured — could be labeled in such a way felt impossible to process.

You instinctively scooted a little further away from him, your body trembling as a wave of panic swept over you. You weren’t sure why you moved away from him, why you had that instinct to create distance.

Maybe it was because of the harshness of the term he had used, or the fact that it made everything feel too real. It was easier to pretend that what had happened had been some kind of twisted mistake, something that didn’t truly qualify as that kind of violation.

But Hotch didn’t move. He just stayed where he was. His hand on your knee still lingered, despite your movement, it didn’t feel intrusive, but it was comforting in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

“I’m not going to push you,” Hotch said quietly, his voice almost a whisper, “but if you’re ready, I’m here to listen. Whatever you want to share, I’m not going anywhere.” He kept repeating himself, almost as if you hadn't heard him the first time. You knew it was a tactic to get you to calm down, but you didn't want to hear it. All you wanted to do was scream.

For a moment, all you could do was sit there, his words pressing down on you. You knew he was right. Deep down, you understood that what you had experienced was more than just a set of uncomfortable moments. You hadn’t fully confronted it until now, and the reality of it felt like a tidal wave that was just starting to hit you. You were sure that there were more memories buried deeper down in the rabbit hole, memories that you might never fully unlock, but would still feel the weight of as you started discovering more and more about your past.

Tears kept spilling from your eyes as the memories — those fragments of your childhood — muddled around in your head. The hands, the comments, the shame, the feeling of being trapped. You tried to hold back, tried to keep it together, but you couldn’t.

You didn’t know where to start, didn’t know how to make sense of it all. You opened your mouth, wanting to tell him, but your words caught in your throat. “I… I don’t know, Hotch,” you stuttered, the tremor in your voice betraying the depth of your fear and confusion. “I just… I remember him… touching me, his hands on me… I thought it was part of the training… I was so young.” You choked on the last part, the words feeling like they were burning on their way out.

You felt small, like that scared little girl again. The tears were coming faster now, staining your cheeks. Hotch didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to comfort you with empty reassurances. He just listened, his expression unreadable but full of empathy. He was allowing you the space to say what you needed to say, to let the memories tumble out no matter how painful.

“I — I didn’t know,” you sobbed, curling in on yourself as the images came crashing forward. “I didn’t know it was wrong… It was just… him... making me do things, putting his hands there... and saying things... I thought it was just part of the training, just the way it was… I didn’t know, I didn’t know—”

Your words were broken now, coming in ragged gasps. You screamed in frustration, the pain of it all too much to contain, the anger, the shame, the betrayal all coming together in a scream that echoed in the room.

Hotch didn’t flinch, didn’t try to stop you. He just stayed, patient, and let you get it all out. His only movement was the slight shift of his hand, as he gently squeezed your knee again, just a reassuring touch, as if to remind you that he was still there.

You screamed again, the words catching in your throat, but Hotch just listened. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t rush you. He was giving you the space to say everything you needed to say, even if it wasn’t perfect, even if it wasn’t easy.

“I didn’t know… I didn’t know… I was just a kid,” you whispered between sobs, your voice barely audible. You didn’t even know if you were making any sense, but it didn’t matter. Hotch was there, as silent witness to your pain, and that was enough for now.

When the tears subsided, when the screaming finally died down, all you could do was sit there in the silence, feeling utterly drained. Hotch didn’t say anything for a long while, but his presence still anchored you. He hadn’t tried to fix it, to make you feel better. He had just allowed you to feel everything you needed to feel, and that made all the difference.

Once the storm of emotions had passed, and the quietness of the room settled around you like a heavy blanket, Hotch exhaled slowly, his gaze never leaving you. His expression was soft, but there was an intensity in his eyes, something deep and understanding.

He finally spoke, his voice steady and serious. "What you just shared with me — everything you went through with Collins — that was assault, and I want you to know that. You weren’t wrong for feeling what you felt. You weren’t wrong for being confused, for thinking it was normal. What he did to you was wrong, and it’s not your fault."

You nodded slowly, his words sinking in. Hearing him say it out loud made something inside you break just a little bit more, but at the same time, it offered a kind of validation you hadn’t realized you needed. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t deserve it. It was like your twelve-year-old self's voice echoed around the walls in your head. It was almost too much to fully accept, but in that moment, it was all you needed to hear.

Hotch shifted slightly in his seat, his eyes never leaving you as he chose his next words carefully. "I need to ask you something else, and it’s not easy to admit. But have you ever thought about seeing a therapist? Someone who can help you work through this? I know it’s hard to even consider, but it might be something that could help."

You looked up at him, feeling the familiar walls start to go up again. The idea of opening up to someone else, someone professional, felt overwhelming. You had spent so many years locking this all away, keeping it buried. The thought of dragging it all out again, of talking to someone about it — someone who didn’t know you, didn’t know your story — it felt almost like a betrayal.

You shook your head, the lump in your throat making it harder to speak. “No. I’ve never thought about it… I mean, I don't even know where to start,” you admitted, your voice small. The idea of seeing a therapist felt foreign to you, as if it was a door you’d been too afraid to open for fear of what you might find on the other side.

Hotch leaned forward slightly, his expression filled with compassion but also a determination that you knew meant he wouldn’t let you brush this aside. That despite his attempts not to push you to share your memories, he would definitely push you to see a shrink. "It’s okay not to know where to start. I’m not saying you have to dive into it right now, but I want you to know that you don’t have to work through everything on your own. There’s someone on the team, a therapist that we all use when we need it. If you’re open to it, I can help you set up a meeting with her. She’s good, and she’ll understand. She’ll help you."

You looked at him, the sincerity in his voice cutting through the walls you had carefully started to rebuild. Part of you was still hesitant, scared of what might happen if you opened up that door. But at the same time, a small voice inside you told you that maybe it was time — time to start healing, time to stop pretending it didn’t hurt.

You took a deep breath, wiping the last remnants of your tears away. “I... I think I’d like that. I don’t know where else to turn right now,” you said, your voice shaky but resolute. "If you can help me set that up... I think it’s time."

Hotch gave you a soft nod, his eyes full of understanding and approval. “I’ll make the arrangements. You don’t have to do this alone, and you don’t have to do it all at once. Take your time, okay? But I’ll be here, every step of the way.” He smiled. "And if you're ever ready to share your past with the rest of the team, I know that they'll be there too."

The relief you felt from his words was almost immediate, like a weight had been lifted from your chest, if only for a moment.

The air in the bullpen felt thick with tension. Despite the constant hum of ringing phones and the clatter of keyboards, there was an underlying quietness in the office, a heaviness that weighed on everyone. The clock ticked relentlessly, counting down the days until Regionals, but for Hotch, it might as well have been an eternity. He sat behind his desk, rubbing his eyes as if he could erase the exhaustion from his body with just the pressure of his fingers.

Three weeks had passed since you’d opened up about Collins, and despite every effort, there had been no sign of him. Not even a trace. The M.O. had become clearer, but Collins had vanished, blending into the shadows with a precision that felt almost calculated. He was staying hidden, every move more deliberate than the last. Hotch had pushed himself past his limits trying to track him down, working late nights, following every lead, exhausting every avenue of the investigation. Yet, they still had no solid answers.

Garcia had been on the case just as tirelessly. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, working her usual magic in the background, but even she had reached her limits. “I’ve run every search, every database, and nothing, Hotch,” she had told him earlier that day, her voice tinged with frustration. "This guy is a ghost."

It had been a week since she'd found that final lead, the last clue they thought would point to Collins’ whereabouts, but it had gone cold. No credit card activity. No phone pings. No movement. Nothing. Collins had covered his tracks too well, and the team had run out of options.

Hotch leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen of his computer. His mind was racing, jumping between leads, possibilities, and worst-case scenarios. One week. One week until Regionals. He couldn’t afford to let Collins remain hidden for much longer. Not when you were so close to competing, not when the stakes were this high.

The thought of you, training on your own with no coach, weighed heavily on his mind. He could only imagine the pressure you were under, the anxiety creeping in every day, knowing that without a coach, you had to rely on your own strength to get through this. It wasn’t ideal, and Hotch knew it. He could see how much you were struggling, even when you tried to hide it. But more than that, he feared for you. The thought of Collins slipping through their fingers again, of him getting to you before they could protect you, made his gut twist in knots.

Across the bullpen, Garcia sat at an empty desk, her eyes glued to her computer, her face a mixture of exhaustion and determination. She hadn’t taken a real break in days, and her eyes were red-rimmed from lack of sleep. And as a last hope of an epithany, she had moved to the bullpen to gather energy from the rest of the team and power through.

Still, despite the lack of good news, she refused to give up. She had always been relentless, and this case was no exception. The fear of Collins slipping through their fingers kept her up at night too, gnawing at her every time she closed her eyes. She glanced at Hotch, noticing his weary demeanor.

"Hotch," she said softly, her voice carrying across the quiet office. "We’re running out of time. We can’t keep waiting for him to make a move. We need something solid, a breakthrough, anything." She hesitated before adding, "You’re not going to let him get to her, right?"

Hotch met her gaze, the same weariness stuck on his features. "I’m doing everything I can, Garcia," he said, his voice quiet, tired. "I won’t let him get close to her. Not while I still have breath and life in my body."

Garcia nodded, but it was clear that the words weren’t enough to ease her worry. She could tell how tired he was, they all could, but everyone knew that telling him to take a break was out of the question. She turned back to her computer screen, fingers hovering over the keys, desperately searching for a clue, any clue, that might lead them to Collins.

In the meantime, Hotch’s thoughts drifted to you again. How are you holding up? He wondered if you were still feeling the weight of the pressure, of training alone, of the anxiety about Regionals. He wished he could do more to help you. But wishes didn’t get things done, though.

Action did.

The hum of the fluorescent lights filled the room as you sat on the plush chair, fidgeting with your fingers in your lap. The office was soft and comforting, an effort to make you feel at ease — something that hadn’t come easily since your first session with the FBI therapist, Dr. Jensen. The walls were painted in muted, calming tones, and the shelves were filled with books that seemed both inviting and distant at the same time. A small window allowed soft sunlight to filter in, casting a glow over the room that felt oddly distant, like a world outside that you couldn’t quite connect to.

You had been here a few times now, and though Dr. Jensen was kind and patient, there was still a wall between you and the process. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to get better, to address the things that had been locked away for so long — it was just... difficult. The memories came in flashes, fragments, and with them, a flood of emotions that you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in years, not since that afternoon in Hotch's office. So much had been buried beneath layers of trauma, layers that you didn’t even realize were there until they started to unravel.

Dr. Jensen sat across from you in her armchair, her posture open, her expression gentle. She had been understanding from the beginning, never pushing too hard, never rushing you. She let you set the pace, which, in a way, made things feel even more vulnerable. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

“So,” she began, her voice soft but steady. “How have you been feeling this week? Any new memories or emotions coming up?”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat. The question felt like a trap. On one hand, you didn’t want to lie — there had been more memories, nightmares, more pieces of the past that had started to surface, things that you hadn’t even known were still buried there. But on the other hand, you didn’t know how to put those feelings into words. It was like trying to speak a language you hadn’t used in years — maybe even one you hadn't learned — and even when you did manage to form a sentence, it felt like you were speaking to a stranger.

“I… I don’t know,” you replied after a long pause, your voice soft. “It’s hard to tell, Dr. Jensen. Every time I start to remember something, it’s like my brain shuts it down, and locks it away again. I can’t get it all out, and I don’t even know if I want to.”

Dr. Jensen nodded, her expression understanding but still focused. She’d heard this from her patients before — the brain’s defense mechanisms were strong, and sometimes, they were the only thing that allowed a person to survive the trauma. But she also knew that the process of healing required breaking through that lock, even if it was a slow and painful journey.

“We’ve talked about your coping mechanisms before, and I know this has been difficult,” she said. “But you’re here, which is already a big step. And you’ve made progress, even if it doesn’t feel like it. The memories you’ve shared with me, the ones that have come up in pieces, are a sign that your brain is beginning to trust you again, even if it’s just a little. You have to remember that since the memories aren't recent, your brain has had time to fortify the lock to your past trauma and forgotten where it left the key”

You bit your lip, your eyes downcast. You had shared some memories, but they were always partial, fragmented — like shattered glass. The images came and went, a blur of faces and moments that never seemed to make sense. But there was always that one piece that stuck with you, the part of Collins that kept pushing its way forward.

“Last session,” Dr. Jensen continued, “we worked on trying to bypass that shutdown response, remember? We talked about using grounding techniques, staying in the present moment when the memories start to resurface. How has that been going for you?”

You felt a tightening in your chest as the question hit you. You had been trying, really trying, to apply those techniques when the memories started to bubble up, but it wasn’t easy. Every time something new surfaced, it felt like a wave pulling you under, and all you could do was fight to stay above it.

“It’s hard,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I try to breathe, focus on the here and now, but when the memories come, it feels like everything else disappears. It’s like… like I’m there again, you know? And I don’t know how to pull myself out of it.”

Dr. Jensen nodded again, her gaze never wavering from you. “I understand. And that’s a very normal response. It’s not easy, and it doesn’t happen overnight. We’re working together to help your mind feel safe again, so that it can process those memories when you’re ready.”

You nodded, swallowing hard against the lump in your throat. You wanted to be ready, so badly. You wanted to be able to put the past to rest, to stop feeling like you were constantly running from something that didn’t belong in the present. But the truth was, you weren’t sure you ever would be ready.

“Do you think… do you think I’ll ever be able to fully remember everything?” you asked, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Dr. Jensen’s expression softened, and for a moment, she looked almost wistful. “The truth is, not every memory comes back all at once. And not every memory needs to. The important part is that you’re gaining control over how you process them, not letting them control you. We’ll work together, step by step, to help you find peace with whatever comes up.”

You stared down at your hands, the weight of the moment pressing down on you as you realized you had dug your nails into your palms, stamping small crescent shapes into your skin. You unclenched them.

You didn’t know if peace would ever come. You didn’t know if the memories would ever fully make sense. But as you sat there, listening to Dr. Jensen’s steady voice, a small part of you wondered if it was possible.

It wasn’t going to be easy.

“Well,” you said quietly, lifting your head and meeting Dr. Jensen’s gaze, “I’m ready to keep trying.”

Dr. Jensen smiled, a soft and encouraging expression. “That’s all we can do. Keep moving forward, one step at a time.”

And for the first time in weeks, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe that was enough.

Dr. Jensen watched you with an encouraging, patient look, sensing the subtle shift in your demeanor. You had become quieter, more introspective, but there was something else, too — a nervous energy that you couldn't quite shake. It felt like something was on the edge of breaking through, and for a moment, you almost wished it would stop.

But then, as you focused on the task she had set for you — to recall what you could, without judgment, without trying to force it — it happened. The memory flashed in your mind.

It started with a feeling of discomfort, something you couldn’t quite place at first. It was familiar, but hazy. Then, you saw the rink — vivid, in full color, more clear than it had been in years. You were younger, maybe 10 or 11, your body stiff and uncertain on the ice as you tried to perfect a spin — you weren't sure which one, that part was still blurry.

Collins was there, too. His voice, sharp and demanding, echoed in your mind. “You’re not centered. You’re not doing it right. Do it again. Again.”

Then came the touch. His hand pressing against your back, right at the small of it, forcing you to arch in a way that didn’t feel natural. You remembered the awkwardness of it — the closeness, the pressure where it shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t right. But your young self had tried to ignore it, thinking maybe you weren’t working hard enough. That you were the problem.

The memory shifted quickly, just as the sensations did, and now you were standing at the edge of the rink, tired and frustrated. He had yelled at you, berated you in front of the others for being “too slow.” And then, you remembered — the comment. His words slithered into your mind, a venomous whisper: “You’ll never make it, not with that body. Bitches like you will never get it.” It must've been the first time he had referred to you like that.

Your throat tightened, and a wave of nausea rolled through you. The words, the tone, the way he looked at you when he said them — it felt like you were back there, in that moment. You had never told anyone, not even your parents, not even Leah, because you didn’t know how to make it stop. How to make the words and the touch go away.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, but you forced them back. The memory was overwhelming, raw, and terrifying. You couldn’t look at Dr. Jensen just yet, couldn’t break the fragile connection with what was coming to the surface. But you felt like you had no choice but to share it, to say it out loud.

“I… I remember now,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “He... He told me I wasn’t good enough. That I was too slow. That I’d never make it.

"And then... he… he touched me, right here.” Your hand instinctively went to the small of your back, where you could still feel the phantom pressure of his touch. “He said things, terrible things. I didn’t even understand it at the time, but now — now I know what he meant. It wasn’t just a coach being harsh. It wasn’t right.”

Dr. Jensen nodded slowly, carefully maintaining the calm, measured tone that you’d grown accustomed to. “What you’re describing is a significant memory, and it’s important to note that the brain often stores traumatic memories in fragmented forms, especially when the mind feels unable to process them fully at the time of the incident. It’s common for these types of memories to be repressed, compartmentalized, or distorted, and they may not emerge in a coherent or chronological order. However, as we’ve seen today, your brain is starting to allow access to those memories because you’re in a safer, more supportive environment now.”

You nodded, still trembling, but starting to feel the reality of what you’d just remembered. It wasn’t just something that had happened, it was wrong. Collins had crossed a line. You hadn’t been imagining things or overreacting.

Dr. Jensen took a deep breath, shifting slightly in her chair to sit more forward. She spoke carefully, and deliberately, her voice both soothing and clinical. “(Y/N), even though you don't want to admit it just yet, what you’re describing is an experience that fits within the broader context of sexual abuse or harassment. It’s important to acknowledge that just because someone is in a position of authority or has a role of responsibility, it does not give them the right to touch, comment, or control your body inappropriately. At some point, you'll have to admit that to yourself, I fear that that will be a step closer to healing.”

The words stung, and you blinked rapidly, trying to process them. Sexual assault. The term still felt too clinical for what you’d just described, it seemed too formal, too distant from the overwhelming emotions that still churned inside you. But Dr. Jensen wasn’t saying it to diminish what had happened; she was framing it in a way that would allow you to make sense of it, just like Hotch — because, for so long, you hadn’t been able to.

“I know this is a lot to process, and it might not feel like you have all the pieces yet, but we’re getting closer to understanding what happened,” Dr. Jensen continued. “You’ve taken a major step today by recalling these memories, and that’s crucial for moving forward. Now, we need to focus on making sure you work with the tools I've given you during our last session to manage these emotions when they resurface, because they will continue to come in waves.”

You swallowed hard, trying to find your voice again. You had been right to feel uncomfortable. You had been right to feel hurt. And now, you didn’t have to carry that uncertainty with you anymore.

Dr. Jensen’s eyes softened, and she leaned forward, speaking in a tone that felt more personal than clinical. “I want you to understand that what you’re experiencing now, what you’re remembering, is the hardest part of healing.”

A small, hesitant breath escaped you, and despite the heaviness in your chest, a small weight seemed to lift. It wasn’t fixed, not by a long shot.

As the session wrapped up, Dr. Jensen gave you a gentle, reassuring smile. "I want you to go home, take the rest of the day to relax, and once you feel ready for it, I want you to work on coming to terms with calling your assault at what it is. Because it is assault" she said, her voice calm but insistent. "Don’t worry about training today, maybe not even tomorrow, but as soon as you're ready. We’ll pick up where we left off next time."

You nodded faintly, though the thought of not training gnawed at you. The competitive drive inside of you was restless, even though it was "only" about training your mind. But you were glad that she wasn't expecting you to start right away. Your emotional reservoir felt empty, drained of everything you had been holding onto. Even the idea of getting back on the ice felt overwhelming. You had no energy left, no willpower to push through.

With a small, tired nod, you stood up, gathering your things. You had barely made it out of the therapy room when the weight of it all began to settle in. You had barely enough strength to drag your feet to the elevator. It was as if your body was rebelling, each step feeling heavier than the last.

When the elevator doors opened, you barely acknowledged the presence of anyone else inside. You were too exhausted to pretend you were fine. You leaned against the back wall of the elevator, staring at your reflection in the shiny metal doors. Your slumped shoulders, your defeated expression — everything felt too much, too heavy to carry any longer.

As the elevator reached the lobby, the doors slid open. You stepped out, not paying attention to the world around you, too wrapped up in your thoughts to notice Hotch standing just a few feet away. It wasn’t until you heard his voice, calm and steady, that you realized you weren’t alone.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his eyes studying you with concern.

You didn’t have the energy to mask the way you were feeling. Your whole body was slumped, the exhaustion both physical and emotional evident in every movement, every gesture. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, so instead, you gave him a small, tired shrug.

Hotch took a few steps closer, his gaze softening as he took in your state. "You look like you’ve had a rough day," he said, his voice low trying to shield you from the attention of passing agents. "I’m heading in the same direction, and I can give you a ride home if you want. You don’t need to be on your own right now if you're not feeling well."

The thought of getting home felt like a mountain to climb. Your legs felt like lead, and your mind was a jumble of emotions you weren’t ready to face. The idea of having someone else with you, someone who understood without needing to ask questions, was strangely comforting. Maybe just a few minutes of silence, a few minutes of not having to hold it all together, would help you reset.

You met his eyes and nodded, though the words caught in your throat. "I — I’d appreciate that," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hotch gave you a reassuring nod and walked with you to the car. You didn’t say much during the drive — mostly because you couldn’t. Your mind was too scattered, and you didn’t have the energy to make small talk. The silence between you was comfortable in a way, not pushing you to speak when you weren’t ready. He seemed to sense that you needed this quiet space.

By the time you reached your apartment, the exhaustion had settled in fully. You felt hollow, like there was nothing left inside of you. As you climbed out of the car, Hotch didn’t move to leave immediately. Instead, he turned to you, his expression serious.

"You know, you don’t have to do this all by yourself," he said gently. "You’ve got people here who care about you. If you ever need to talk, or if you just need a quiet place to breathe, you don’t have to hesitate, my door is always open."

The sincerity in his voice struck a chord, and for a moment, you were almost overcome with emotion. You had never wanted to be a burden, never wanted to rely on anyone else, but the idea of being understood and supported without question was more than you had ever allowed yourself to accept.

"Thank you," you murmured, your voice cracking just a little. "I don’t know what to do right now, but… thank you for being here."

Hotch gave you a soft smile. "Anytime," he replied, his voice quiet.

Your body seemed to be dragging behind you as you walked slowly to your door, your movements stiff and mechanical. Hotch, ever observant, was quick to follow, steadying you when you stumbled slightly on the way up the steps.

When you reached the door, you fumbled with your keys for a few seconds, as if your fingers weren’t quite working the way they were supposed to. Hotch didn’t say anything, just stood by, ready to step in if need be, his eyes soft with concern. He could see how drained you were, your exhaustion both emotional and physical, a stark contrast to the person he had gotten to know, zooming around on the ice. He hadn’t seen you like this before, and it hit him harder than he expected.

Once you finally managed to unlock the door, he stepped in behind you, gently guiding you inside. You made no move to take off your shoes, your coat, or even acknowledge your surroundings. You just stood there for a moment, like a shell of yourself, your eyes blank and unseeing.

Hotch moved toward you, helping you out of your coat and guiding you over to the couch. He didn’t push you to speak, but he couldn’t leave without knowing if there was anything he could do. He knelt down in front of you slowly unlacing your shoes one by one and removing them from your feet. His voice was low as he moved to hang up your coat and place your shoes on the rack near the door. "Is there anything I can do before I have to head back to the office?"

You blinked slowly, the thought of anything sounding impossible. But then, almost as if the weight of everything in the room was too much to hold, you let out a small breath of a laugh, dark humor threading through your words.

"If you could make a bottle of whisky not have any effect on my training or my physique, then that would be perfect," you said, the words as serious as they were dry. The joke was there, buried beneath the heaviness of everything else, but it wasn’t lost on Hotch. He chuckled softly, the sound comforting in the quiet apartment.

"I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of magic," he said with a half-smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

"How about I run you a bath?" he suggested, his voice soft and careful. "Something to help you relax, maybe ease some of the tension in your muscles."

You hesitated for a moment, the exhaustion heavy on your shoulders. Your eyes flickered toward the bathroom, and for a brief second, the idea seemed almost impossible. But you nodded, the prospect of warmth and comfort tempting.

"Okay," you whispered, too drained to protest further. "Thank you, Hotch."

With that, he nodded, a small, quiet smile pulling at the corner of his lips, before turning toward the bathroom.

He set to work with precision, a habit that seemed to stick with him even in moments like this. He didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, but he also knew the importance of making sure you felt cared for in whatever way he could. As he filled the bathtub, he picked up the various bath salts and products — everything from soothing lavender salts to the soap and bath bombs he recognized from when Haley was still around. He’d always loved the way her skin smelled after a long soak. The familiar scent was comforting to him, though it wasn’t lost on him how much he missed those days.

He heard you moving behind him, the soft sound of clothes dropping to the floor, and then the silence again. When he turned around, he caught a glimpse of you in your underwear, standing near the edge of the bathroom door, still looking somewhat distant, the weariness radiating from you. He wasn’t prepared for the sight — it wasn't unusual, but in that moment, he felt a rush of guilt for noticing. The soft curve of your body, the way you looked so vulnerable, stirred something in him, and his gaze lingered for a second longer than he intended.

Quickly, he mentally punched himself, shaking his head and reminding himself of the task at hand. "Just focus," he muttered to himself under his breath, hoping you hadn't noticed as he forced his attention back to the bath and the water now rising in the tub.

He cleared his throat, turning to face you again. "The water’s ready when you are. You can take your time."

You nodded, still seeming somewhat disconnected, but a faint smile tugged at the corner of your lips, as if you were thankful for his effort, even if it was a small gesture in the grand scheme of everything.

"You really didn't have to do this, Hotch," you murmured, though it wasn’t said with protest — more like a tired acknowledgment that you couldn’t do it all yourself, but still wanted to feel strong.

"I know," he said, his voice calm and steady. "But I want to. Just relax, alright?"

He wasn’t sure what had caught his attention more — how fragile you looked or how perfectly composed your body seemed despite the bruises from training. To him, despite the wear and tear, you were beautiful and resilient. You had a way of making even the most difficult moments seem somehow graceful.

He shook his head, forcing those thoughts away. Focus, Hotch. Focus on helping her.

He let out a quiet sigh, and after a beat, he spoke, his voice soft and gentle. "Are you sure you’ll be okay?"

His tone was full of care, but there was an edge of concern too. He wanted to make sure you were alright, physically and emotionally, after everything you’d been through recently. He didn’t want to leave you in a vulnerable state, especially after the therapy session and everything that had come up.

You gave him a faint smile. "I’ll be fine," you said, your voice quieter than usual. "I’d rather be training, honestly, but... I’m thankful for your help, Hotch. It means more than I can say."

The sincerity in your voice tugged at him, and he gave a small nod. He could see the exhaustion still pulling at you, but there was a lightness in your words that told him you appreciated everything, even if you weren’t ready to show it entirely. He didn’t want to push any further.

"Alright," he said. "If you need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out. I’m just a phone call away."

For a moment, he stood there, his hand hovering near the door, a strange feeling building in his chest. He wanted to stay, to make sure you were okay, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew you needed space. But the desire to hug you, to offer that comfort, gnawed at him. He paused, his heart tightening in his chest, but he quickly dismissed the thought. A hug would feel too personal, too much. It would complicate things, make it awkward.

Instead, he forced a final, reassuring smile. "Take care of yourself," he said, and without waiting for a response, he turned to leave.

As he stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps heavy on the floor, a part of him regretted not doing more — hugging you, staying longer, offering more support. But he also knew the boundaries he had to keep. You needed time, and he had to respect that. He had to let you process, to heal on your terms.

As he left the apartment, the door softly clicking behind him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to do more, but he also understood that all he could do was wait for the moment when you were ready for more than just help. He only hoped that moment would come soon, before the competition, before things could spiral further.

As you finally finished undressing, the cool air hit your skin, sending a slight shiver through you. You stepped carefully into the bath, the water enveloping you with a soothing warmth that instantly began to work its magic on your tired muscles. The tension that had been gnawing at you all day seemed to dissolve with each breath you took, the steam from the bath rising gently around you like a comforting cocoon.

For the first time in what felt like ages, you felt your mind slow down, the whirlwind of thoughts and memories momentarily pausing. You sank deeper into the bubbles, closing your eyes for a moment, letting the silence surround you. The heat from the water soaked into your muscles, loosening them in a way you hadn’t realized you needed so badly.

You hadn’t expected Hotch to draw such a perfect bath. It wasn’t just the bath salts or the bath bomb — the water itself was the perfect temperature, just warm enough to soothe but not too hot. The scent of lavender and something else — a fragrance you couldn’t quite place, although he had found every product used in your cabinets, you instantly recognized it from when he’d mentioned his late wife — filled the room. It was calming, gentle, and surprisingly comforting. It almost felt like he had anticipated your need for something more than just physical relaxation, as though he had drawn the bath not just to ease your body but to give your mind some space to breathe.

The soft lights cast a gentle glow across the room, and for the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to relax. Willing your brain not to think about skating. Your body and mind, though still worn from everything that had happened, finally began to feel lighter, as if the weight of the last few weeks had been temporarily lifted.

You let out a soft, quiet sigh, sinking further into the water and allowing yourself to float in the moment, the bubbles swirling around you like a shield.

There was still so much to do, so many things to work through. But for now, in this space, you allowed yourself to be at peace, even if it was just for a brief moment.

The next morning, you found yourself back at the rink, the cold air biting at your skin as you laced up your skates. The bright lights above you cast sharp reflections on the ice, and the rhythmic sound of your blades slicing through the surface became a familiar, comforting noise. You were here, doing what you knew best — training. But it felt different today. It was harder to push through the exhaustion, everything that had happened hanging just at the edge of your mind.

You weren’t just training for yourself anymore; you were training to prove something to yourself, to prove that you could keep going despite everything that had happened. Regionals were just around the corner, and you had to be ready. The pressure was mounting, the fear of failure creeping in. It had always been there, but today it felt different.

You set up to perfect a quad jump, your body somehow aching from yesterday’s long session with Dr. Jensen, but your mind was determined to push through. You practiced the loop first, focusing on the way you entered and exited the jump, then quickly transitioned into the axel. Each attempt was a little more precise, and a little cleaner, but still not perfect. You could feel the frustration creeping up your spine with each failed attempt. The jumps weren't coming together like you wanted, but you couldn’t afford to give up. Not now.

You knew that Natalia was probably working on quads too. Her coach had a reputation for pushing her just as hard as Branson had pushed you, although her coach seemed to be harsher than Branson had ever been. You and Natalia were nipping at each other's heels, and a quad seemed to be the only way to beat the other for now. It was always a mental game with her, a battle of nerves, and right now you weren’t sure who would crack first.

The thought of "losing" again, despite having won, especially after everything that had happened, made your stomach twist. You couldn’t let that happen. You wouldn’t.

You tried again, this time focusing even harder on your technique, the timing, the fluidity of the jump. The ice felt different under your feet today, harder, sharper — like the pressure of it all was being reflected back to you. You spun through the air, and for a brief second, everything clicked.

You landed, the thud of your skates hitting the ice as your toepick dug into the surface was barely audible over the beat of your heart. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. You held the landing for a second longer than usual before your body swayed, and you stumbled just slightly. But it was progress, and that was enough to keep you going.

You took a deep breath and turned to do it again. The road to regionals wasn’t going to be easy, but you couldn’t afford to stop now — not with everything you had worked for on the line.

And as the hours passed, you pushed your body to the limit, reminding yourself over and over that you would get this jump down. You had to.

As the session wore on, the fatigue in your muscles grew, but you pushed through it, determined to keep going. You ran through your entire program — each jump, spin, and glide, feeling the rush of adrenaline with each movement. The quad jumps were a struggle, but there was something else that had started to click. You could feel the shift in your body, the way you were moving, and the way your mind was finally starting to align with your movements.

Then, as you launched into the quad salchow, something happened. For a split second, time seemed to slow. The ice beneath you felt like it held its breath as you completed the rotation. You landed — barely, but with enough control to keep from falling.

You held the landing for a beat longer than you had ever managed before, your heart pounding in your chest. It wasn’t perfect, but it was there — something real to work with. That was the one. You’d have to keep working on it, keep refining it, because this was no fluke.

But you also knew the truth. This success had come from a combination of focus and luck, and you couldn’t afford to rely solely on luck again. Regionals were only days away and you’d have to dig deeper, work harder, and get the landing to feel as natural as breathing if you were going to pull it off at regionals. It was a race against time and you didn't know if you would reach the finish line before the competition.

For now, you took a deep breath, feeling the sweat on your brow, your chest heaving as you recovered. You let the program play through your mind one more time, and as you looked back at the rink, you knew there was still much to do.

But for today, you had taken a step forward. And that, you reminded yourself, was all that mattered.

With one last glance at the ice, you let the tension in your body ease just a little, knowing there was still work ahead, but also feeling the tiny spark of hope that maybe you could do this.

The end of the session had come, and so too had the quiet realization that you had the fight to keep going, to fight, to get justice for everyone wronged by Collins.

@love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon @hotchnersgirlxx @jazzimac1967 @gamingfeline @soyobi-wankenobi @meg-black @maxinehufflepuffprincess

[daintyys]

Situationship with James? would love to see reader wearing a jersey that isn’t james’ cause they had an argument about wanting to be together or not, so she does that to tease him and see if he gets jealous (you can make it magical or non magical)

fem!reader x james potter, 1k words, angst and swearing

a/n: JUMPING at this ask because it gives me the opportunity to write james as a footballer ehehe. tysm to @gravelyordinary for helping me w this 😭😭

"Come on, James..." You mumbled to yourself, clenching your fists nervously. The game was becoming intense, both teams completely stuck in, aggressive and ready to win. You watched as James weaved in and out between other players. Unsurprisingly, he was refusing to pass the ball. Classic show-off James Potter. It was nearing the end of the second half, and James' team had to get this last goal in order to win.

James looked determined to be the reason for the victory. He knew you were there, and even though your last interaction had been a fight, he still wanted to look cool for you. He was approaching the goal. You saw him flash a grin at the opposing team's goalie- his best friend's brother. "JUST FUCKING SHOOT IT, POTTER!" Someone screamed behind you. You laughed, and your hands flew over your mouth as you watched James raise his leg to kick the ball. "Yes, yes, YES!" You screeched as the ball flew into the net, much to the dismay of the goalie.

You cheered, your ears ringing from the sheer amount of screaming surrounding you. You couldn't wait to see the expression on James' face when he saw you. You grabbed your purse and left the stands, heading towards the private lounge where the players and their families hung out after games.

You had free admission to the lounge, and everybody knew better than to question it. You had been going out with James for almost a year now, but had still yet to put a label on your relationship. James was convinced you two should be dating by now, because of course "you could end up pregnant". Sure, that could be true, but in your opinion that was no reason to be in a committed relationship.

You pulled open the door to the lounge, and James' teammates cheered when they saw you. They loved you, but admittedly also thought you were insane for not being James' girlfriend. You smiled, but quickly asked them to please "ignore the shirt". Setting down your purse at the bar, you took your jacket off. The silence in response was unbearable.

The last name "Black" was written across the back of the shirt you were wearing. Yes, Regulus Black was James' best friend's brother, but it was still disappointing to the boys for you to wear the opposing goalie's jersey. "Don't take it personal, guys." You laughed, turning to them. You were instead met by one set of eyes you weren't exactly excited to see. James was staring at you, ears practically shooting steam, as his mates stared at his reaction.

He scoffed, sipping his drink and turning toward the lounge. He walked away, raking his fingers through his unruly hair. You turned quickly to the bartender. "Passionfruit Martini, please." You sighed.

Drink in-hand, you made your way over to James. He was sitting alone, looking almost sickly. He looked up at you, rolling his eyes. You sat next to him, putting your hand on his knee. "Was embarrassing me like that worth it?" He asked, staring at the ground. You stayed silent, regretting your decision. "I- I wanted to see if you really cared all that much..." You stuttered, taking a sip of your drink.

James grinned sarcastically, facing you. "Of course I fucking care that much. Are you mad?" It was hard to believe it, but you could see tears in his eyes. "Shit. I'm so sorry, James. I didn't think you were actually serious about that!" He shrugged, downing the rest of his drink. "Why did you think I fought so hard with you the other night then? Just for the sake of it?"

You looked down at the floor, guilt taking over your body. "I'll take off the jersey if you'd like." You mumbled. "Well I can't make you do anything, Y/N. I'm not your boyfriend, afterall." James huffed. Your mouth opened in disbelief. "Don't be like that! It's not that I don't want to date you, it's just that I'm not sure I'm ready! It would be hard for me dating a footballer, you know!" James nodded, adjusting his glasses.

"I get that. You could have just said that, sweetheart." He placed his hand on your shoulder, rubbing it lightly. You sat up again and rested your head on him. "I like you. I really do. I just need time." You whispered. You felt James sigh. "Please just tell me. I don't want to lose you." You smiled at him, softening. "I promise."

"Can we get out of here?" James asked quietly, resting his hand on top of yours. "I actually really hate seeing you wear that, would rather you wear nothing at all than be in that shirt..." He trailed off, reaching out to feel the fabric on your body. You gasped, smacking his hand away. "We're in public!" You exclaimed. James laughed, putting his hand back on your waist. "Exactly why I'm suggesting we leave, Y/N."

Agreeing, you were soon in the back of a cab, James with his arm tightly around your shoulder. "I'm so so sorry." You repeated over and over. James laughed, assuring you it was okay. You peppered his face with kisses, much to the dismay of your driver.

Arriving at James' flat, the two of you dashed upstairs, fingers interlaced. "James!" You giggled as he pulled you onto his bed. He wasted no time in getting the jersey off of you, and he threw it to the floor. "Gotta give that back to him." He laughed. "I actually stole it from Sirius when he came to visit." You grinned, straddling James' hips.

Waking up the next morning, you smiled at the feeling of James' heartbeat under your head. You kissed his neck gently, trying to wake him up. He groaned and shifted under you, sitting up. "Good morning my handsome boyfriend." You giggled, moving his hair from in front of his eyes. James' eyes shot open, shocked. "Boyfriend?!" He gasped, a grin forming on his lips. "Yes, James. Boyfriend."

[writerslittlelibrary]

I'm your mother now, chapter 8

masterlist series masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

summary: you’ve finally accepted Natasha as your mother, and because of that she has decided to have a nice Christmas with your new family

pairing: Dark!Natasha x teen reader, Dark!Yelena x teen reader, Dark!Melina x teen reader, Dark!Alexei x teen reader

warnings: dark themes, kinda evil Natasha, translated Russian, Stockholm syndrome

genre: angst, fluff

words: 2168

a/n: well guys, here it is, the final chapter of the ‘I’m your mother now’ series. I hope you enjoy:) (I apologise for the delay. like I mentioned before, I’m sick) thank you all for the messages I got, I appreciate all of you 🫶

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work

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You didn’t know what changed, but Natasha was so much more comfortable to be around. You weren’t sure if something changed about you, or something changed about her, but you knew something did. 

She was more flexible. Less strict with following routines and more caring. You were having the time of your life, and when Natasha asked you to join her with going to town, you didn’t even hesitate to say yes.

You had no clue what date or month it was, but when you got to the town, there were Christmas decorations everywhere. 

Lights were hung up in every tree, and the stores were filled with trees, ornaments and lights.

Natasha smiled as she pulled you over to the trees, telling you you could pick one. You smiled and held Natasha’s hand tightly as you weaved through the many Christmas trees, looking for the best one. 

“You can pick one as large as you like, Malyshka,” Natasha told you as you stared at the bigger trees. 

You gave her another large smile and nodded, dragging her to the larger trees. 

“What about that one?” you asked as you pointed at a large, full tree. It was absolutely beautiful, and Natasha couldn’t help but smile from the excitement on your face.

“Of course we can get that one,” she told you, signalling to a worker that was there to pack the Christmas trees. 

“We’d like this one,” Natasha said as she motioned to the tree.

The worked nodded, putting a number on it and asking for an address. You should’ve known it would be delivered. There’s no way any Christmas tree would fit in that expensive car that Natasha owned. 

After giving the man an address, he nodded and wrote it down. 

You weren’t particularly sure Natasha gave a real address though. She had done so well with hiding your location, picking out a house far into the woods. You were certain Natasha would never give away that location, but you didn’t really find it in yourself to care, or even to really think about it. You trusted Natasha, and you were sure she knew what she was doing.

“You picked a nice one,” the worker suddenly said, pulling you from your thoughts. 

He had a strong Russian accent, yet his English was flawless and very understandable. You nodded, giving him a small smile as he gave Natasha a card, probably confirmation of buying the tree.

Natasha thanked him before dragging you towards the mall, claiming you two needed to get Christmas decorations, as Natasha didn’t have any of those in the house yet.

Of course, your shopping spree ended with ice-cream. No matter how cold or snowy the weather got, Natasha claimed ice-cream was always appropriate, and who were you to disagree?

After coming home, Natasha told you to help her put out all the Christmas decorations. The tree would be coming tomorrow, so now you could just help her put some decorations up around the house.

Natasha had bought an insane amount of nice lights, hanging them up everywhere, giving the room and pleasant and cosy feeling. 

That day was over pretty fast, and because you still weren’t quite over the whole police ordeal, you still requested Natasha to stay in your room every night. 

Of course, Natasha happy obliged each time, being more than happy that you finally admitted you needed her. You were absolutely drained from the day, so you slept in, and to your surprise, Natasha didn’t come to wake you. You slept peacefully until your clock had more than two numbers before the dots. 

It was about 10.30 when Natasha came to wake you up, and you groaned and stretched as she pulled you out of bed, trying to get you exited with the idea that the tree was coming today. 

You were out of bed in no time when you remembered that, happy to follow Natasha’s whole morning routine as you played with the bubbles in the bath.

You were happy, content. Why had you resisted so much when you first arrived? 

You loved Natasha, and she loved you. She took care of you, taught you how to take proper care of yourself, too. She bathed you, made you food, helped you get ready for bed and helped you with everything you could ever need or want help with.

Natasha loved you, right?

Yes. Yes she did. Natasha loved you.

It was about three in the afternoon when the doorbell rang. Natasha went to open it while you happily ate your lunch.

When the door opened, you heard a familiar voice entering the house, and it didn’t take long before you jumped up, running to the front door and greeting the person. 

It was auntie Yelena, and she had brought the Christmas tree. 

Yelena was here! Was she gonna celebrate Christmas with you as well?

Yelena smiled as she opened her arms, allowing you to hug her tightly. Natasha smiled lovingly at the sight, happy you two got along so well. After a few second, Yelena let go, saying she needed some help unloading the Christmas tree. 

You nodded, and turned to Natasha to silently ask for permission.

When Natasha gave you a nod, you smiled widely, grabbing Yelena’s hand as she led you to her much larger car. The tree could easily fit in it, and you figured Natasha must’ve had it delivered to Yelena’s place.

After helping Yelena get the tree inside, Natasha walked in with the big box you bought yesterday. It had all the decorations you’d need for a Christmas tree. 

You were more than happy when you, Yelena, and Natasha decorated the tree. They mostly let you decided where what would go, wanting the tree to look perfect in your vision. They wanted Christmas to be perfect for you, knowing you never had a proper one. 

And so, Natasha and Yelena followed your every command as you told them where and how to put the ornaments, smiling and laughing at your little bossy attitude. 

Natasha playfully scolded you for it, and when she noticed you didn’t even flinch, but rather just laughed with her and joked about it, she looked at Yelena, eyes filled with hope.

You were happy. You were home.

Yelena stayed with you that entire week, and on Christmas Eve, the doorbell rung again. You and Yelena stayed at the table, playing a board game you found in the closet as Natasha went to open the door. 

You heard two voices coming from the hallway, and you heard multiple greetings in Russian. 

One voice was heavy and sounded like it belonged to a man, while the other was a little softer, yet still sounded a bit stern. 

You had no idea who these two people could possible be, yet when they walked into the house, seeing you sitting at the kitchen counter with Yelena, the woman walked over to you, engulfing you in a tight hug. 

You were surprised, to say the least, but you didn’t hesitate or pull away. 

When the woman finally pulled away, she cupped your cheeks in her hands, studying your face.

“I’m so happy to meet you, Malyshka,” the woman spoke with a heavy Russian accent. You figured these must be Natasha and Yelena’s parents. 

The woman smiled as she gently rubbed her slightly rough thumbs across your cheek. “You are so beautiful,” she said as she placed a kiss on your forehead. You smiled slightly at her, still rather confused about the sudden presence of the two new people.

“Mama, dayte yey nemnogo mesta,” (mama, give her some space) Yelena spoke, and the woman let her hands drops from your face. 

“I apologise. I am Melina,” the woman introduced herself, and you smiled as you raised your hand for her to shake. “I’m y/n,” you told her as she chuckled, shaking your hand firmly. 

“And I am Alexei,” a voice from behind Melina boomed. 

Alexei stepped forward, giving you a pleasant smile. “I too, am very happy to meet you. You look even prettier than pictures,” he stated, and you frowned slightly before you let the train of thought go, not wanting to concern yourself with such things any longer. 

You smiled at him, and invited both of them to sit down and play the game with you. 

The smiled and agreed, and soon all five of you were playing the game. When it was about ten o'clock, Natasha stated you should go to bed, as you had an exciting day tomorrow. 

You frowned at that, not sure what would be so exciting about tomorrow, yet you didn’t protest when Natasha grabbed your hand, making you say goodnight to everyone before leading you up to your room. 

After you were all done and settled in bed, you looked at Natasha with the best puppy dog eyes you could possible muster. 

“Will you still stay with me tonight, mama?” you asked her innocently, and she smiled as she sat down on the bed. She stroked your hair, letting her hand follow it all the way to your back before she started at the top of your head again. 

You were sleepy, it was undeniable, and the way you clutched your stuffed animals was melting Natasha’s heart. 

“How about this,” Natasha started, leaning a bit closer. “I will stay with you until you fall asleep, and then I’ll go downstairs to talk with the other for a while, and when we’ll all go to bed, I’ll come and sleep here, okay?” Natasha suggested, and you nodded as you closed your eyes. 

“Nighty night, Malyshka. Sweet dreams,” she told you, giving you a kiss on your forehead, continuing to stroke your back until you were fully asleep. 

Natasha kept her promise, and when she went to bed herself, she joined you in your bed, revelling in the fact you unconsciously reached out for her to cuddle. 

On Christmas morning, Natasha gently woke you up, placing kisses all over your face until your groaned and opened your eyes. Natasha smiled sweetly at you as she saw you wake up, placing some more kisses on your face until you were giggling, pushing her head away to get away from the tickly sensation. 

Natasha smiled and gave you a moment to fully wake up, before she helped you out of bed, and as always, bathed you and helped you brush your teeth. 

Once your were clean and dressed, Natasha took you downstairs, where Yelena, Melina, and Alexei were already sitting at the kitchen counter. You smiled at them, returning their good mornings as you went to sit down. 

Natasha smirked slightly and gave Yelena a small nudge, who understood the hint and spoke up. 

“Don’t you wanna look at the Christmas tree, Malysh?” Yelena asked, and you looked at her a bit confused. 

“Why? Did something change?” you asked her with confusion, while the others just smiled at you. “Just go and look,” Natasha then stated, making you stand up from you chair and walk into the living room. 

It took only mere seconds before you noticed the countless present under the Christmas tree.

“Presents!?” you exclaimed, and you swear you could hear Natasha chuckle at your surprise. “Why are there so many presents?!” you asked in excitement, and Natasha smiled as she walked up to you. 

“It’s Christmas, Malyshla,” she started, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Everyone gets presents during Christmas,” she explained. 

“I’ve never had presents on Christmas!” you exclaimed excitedly, turning to Natasha, seeing the amused look she carried on her face. “You do now,” she simply stated, wiping some stray hairs from your face. 

“Do you want to go open some?” she asked, and you nodded happily, walking over to the tree and sitting on the ground, close to the presents. 

Apparently, Melina, Alexei, Yelena, and Natasha had all bought you presents, making the tree overflow. Of course, there were presents for them as well, probably bought by eachother, but most of the presents were for you. 

You happily opened present after present, appreciating and thanking everyone for each and every gift.

The others sat on the couch, leaving the present dealing all up to you. You could decided who would get what present and when. 

You had the best time ever, and after all the presents were opened, you didn’t even hesitate to drag everyone to play a board game you got as one of your presents. Everyone was happy, and everyone enjoyed themselves immensely. 

All your previous thoughts and concerns were gone. All you knew was Natasha. All you wanted to know was Natasha. You were happy, you were safe, and you would never have to worry about anything ever again. 

You were happy. 

It kept repeating in your head, but it wasn’t an uncertainty as it had been all those weeks ago. 

You were safe. 

Nothing was uncertain anymore. Everything was clear. Natasha saved you. Natasha loved you, and you loved her.

Forever.

(phew, that was it. that was the whole series. I hope you guys enjoyed and I hope you were happy with the ending I wrote! hopefully I’ll see you in future fics!:))

tag list: @carol-romanoff @natsxwife @simp-erformarvelwomen @clintsbigtoe @olsenmyolsen @leenasayeed @naslt @dvrkhcld @nova-kyle @wandanatsbaby @alphalesbianwolffoxdragontribrid @cherlenovix @mrsromanovaa @wandanatsgirl @screechcat @a-spes @xanthreee

Permanent tags: @marvelnatasha12346 @lesbionion @darkstar225 @saraaahsstuff @marvelwomenarehot0 @slut4johansson

[loveurllama]

Midnights Vows

I really recommend you guys read while playing the song itself

‼️⚠️ Only Fiction …

🎆🌃🌀💍

The neon lights of the strip glowed bright against the night sky, casting a vibrant glow on the bustling streets. Laughter and music spilled from every corner, the energy of the city electric. Y/n clutched Chris’s hand as they weaved through the crowd, her heart racing—not from the chaos around them, but from the way his fingers intertwined with hers.

They had always been spontaneous. Late-night road trips, midnight snacks in diners, dancing barefoot in the rain—being with Chris was like living in a perpetual adventure. But tonight felt different, like something extraordinary was waiting just around the corner.

“Okay, why are you dragging me through Vegas at midnight?” Y/n asked, laughing as Chris led her toward a small, retro-looking chapel tucked between towering casinos.

Chris glanced back at her, his signature grin lighting up his face. “Because it’s Vegas, Y/n! You’re supposed to do something wild and reckless.”

Y/n raised an eyebrow, playfully skeptical. “And this wild and reckless thing involves a chapel?”

“Maybe,” Chris teased, pulling her closer as they stopped in front of the glowing sign that read Eternal Love Chapel.

Y/n tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. “What are you up to, Chris?”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “I don’t know. I just thought… you know how the song goes?”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “You mean Bruno Mars? Marry You?”

Chris stepped closer, his hands resting lightly on her waist. “Exactly. ‘It’s a beautiful night… we’re looking for something dumb to do.’” His voice dropped into a low, playful tone, sending shivers down her spine. “Hey baby, I think I wanna marry you.”

Y/n burst out laughing, playfully swatting his chest. “You’re insane, Chris.”

He laughed with her, but his eyes softened as he looked at her. “Maybe. But seriously, Y/n… Why not? Why not do something completely crazy and unforgettable?”

Y/n’s laughter faded, her heart skipping a beat at the way he was looking at her—like she was the only person in the world. She’d always known Chris had a way of making her feel special, but tonight, it felt like he was baring his soul.

“Chris, you can’t just joke about stuff like this,” she said softly, her voice wavering.

“I’m not joking,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. He took her hands in his, his thumbs brushing against her knuckles. “Y/n, we’ve been best friends forever. And somewhere along the way, you became the most important person in my life. You’re my partner in crime, my safe place, my everything. So yeah, I might be crazy, but when I look at you, all I can think is… why not us?”

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear the noise of the city around them. “Chris…”

He stepped closer, his forehead resting against hers. “It doesn’t have to be tonight. It doesn’t even have to be here. But I need you to know, Y/n—I want forever with you. And if forever starts with something wild and reckless, then that’s fine by me.”

Tears welled up in Y/n’s eyes as she smiled, her chest tightening with a mix of love and disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Chris said, his grin returning. “But you love me for it.”

She laughed, nodding as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I really do.”

Chris leaned in, brushing a kiss against her forehead before pulling back to look her in the eyes. “So… what do you say? Wanna make this the most unforgettable night of our lives?”

Y/n hesitated for only a moment before throwing her arms around his neck. “Yes,” she whispered against his ear, her voice filled with certainty. “Let’s do it.”

The chapel doors swung open, and they were greeted by a smiling officiant in a sequined jacket. The ceremony was quick, filled with laughter and stolen glances, their love shining brighter than the neon lights outside.

As they exchanged playful vows and slid simple silver bands onto each other’s fingers, Chris leaned in close, his voice a low murmur just for her. “Hey baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers, “I think I wanna marry you.”

And as their lips met in a kiss that sealed their love, Y/n knew that this wild, reckless, unforgettable night was only the beginning of forever.