#Easy-to-Install Mirror Light.

[pleasantdecor]

Aaina – Modern Waterproof Bathroom Mirror Lamp

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[girlygguk]

WINTER THINGS ⋆ JJK

it’s jungkook’s favorite time of year and the only thing on his list is you. getting to finally feel you, see you, meet you outside of his computer screen. now it’s happening. and, god, you’re even prettier in person.

🦌⋆⁺₊❅. christmas & chill: instalment 6 of 6

pairing jungkook x gf!reader

genre fluff, smut (18+ mdni)

content jk 21 | yn 21, golden retriever bf x black cat gf, long distance established relationship, communications major jk, art & design major oc, they’re both gamers who met online, way too much valorant talk, first time meeting in person, simp jk, down bad jk, loser jk, emotionally reserved oc, but jk makes her feel at Ease, kissing, tiddy sucking, pussy fingering, pussy eating, munch jk

word count 4.8k

banner by the amazing @awrkive ⟡ ݁₊ .

author’s note i actually have sooo much more i could do w this couple but the holidays got in the way and i had to wrap er up 🎁 thank u guys sm for all the love ❤️ hope u had a lovely & merry merry christmas!!! :*

Jungkook didn’t mean to die.

He was mid-round, lurking through a corridor, carefully timing a push when a headshot clipped his ass clean. The disappointed groans of his teammates crackled through his headset, but Jungkook barely noticed. Any other time, he would’ve had the guy first. Easy.

But any other time, he didn’t have his gorgeous girlfriend getting ready right there on his very own phone screen.

Your iPad was propped up against one of your hand-painted jewelry boxes, angled just right to catch you sitting in front of your vanity. From the moment you started your makeup, Jungkook had been distracted. Now, all his attention was on you—completely, helplessly.

You were brushing mascara through your lashes, lips slightly parted as you tilted your head back to reach the roots. A soft breath escaped you, and Jungkook’s hand slackened on his mouse. His fingers twitched as his gaze followed the curve of your pouty lips, the slope of your neck, and the fabric of your winter sweater where it clung to your soft figure.

He shifted in his chair, clearing his throat lightly as the familiar throb in his sweats made itself known. “Shit,” he muttered, tugging at his headset with one hand while the other hovered uselessly over his keyboard.

“Hm?” Your soft, distracted hum broke through the static of his team chat. Your mascara wand hovered mid-swipe as your big eyes flicked toward the camera, your head tilting slightly. “You okay, baby?”

Jungkook scrambled to confirm his mic was off. “Yeah, baby,” he rushed, blinking rapidly as if it might snap him out of the daze he’d fallen into. “You look so pretty.”

Your lips curved faintly, but your attention had already drifted back to your reflection. “Thank you,” you murmured, leaning closer to the mirror to perfect the flick of your eyeliner. Jungkook didn’t respond. He just sat there, helpless, watching you like you were the only thing in his world. And you were.

His match was long forgotten, his fingers frozen on his mouse as he soaked in the sight of you framed by the soft purple glow of your LED lights. Dressed in that dark red sweater, getting ready for a friend dinner, you were miles away from him, and still, he felt like he could reach out and fucking touch you.

Three days. Three more days and then he’d finally be on a plane, finally getting to seeing you in person. The thought made his belly rumble with excitement.

It had taken over a year to get here. To go from the quiet, indifferent girl who solo-queued Valorant lobbies to the girlfriend who now wore his hoodies that he sent her in the mail because they smelled like him.

He could still remember the first time he met you. That random day during last winter break when he and his best friend Yoongi had been running games all day and decided to play one more before calling it a night.

You were in that game.

You barely said a word, only responding if spoken to, only comming when absolutely necessary. You were focused, unfazed as you carried the entire team through the match.

Jungkook had always been a hopeless simp. But with you, it was something else entirely. From the moment he heard your sweet, honeyed voice carrying a tone that made it clear you couldn’t give a fuck less about him... yeah, he was a goner.

That game, he’d pushed too far, not expecting the two opponents waiting around the corner. You had been lurking behind Jungkook and killed both enemies before they could even touch him. Your voice was calm, detached, as you told him to follow you.

And he did. Of course he did.

He could still hear the confused hum you’d let out into the mic when he froze on B site, waiting for further instructions from you. As if this wasn’t the second highest rank in the entire game. As if he hadn’t sunk hours into perfecting his gameplay.

“Plant the spike...” you’d said, the slightest hint of frustration in your voice.

Yoongi had laughed. Jungkook had blushed.

“JJ?”

You were propping your iPad against the edge of your drawer now, stepping back from the screen. Jungkook blinked, his brain stuttering as you came into full view. You were wearing a short black skirt paired with the same sweater that had been driving him insane since the moment you pulled it on and let him watch. The hem of the skirt swished lightly as you twirled, tilting your head as you gestured toward yourself.

“Do you like it?” you asked, turning to show how the fabric skimmed over your upper thighs.

Jungkook stared, his big doe eyes wide and dazed. He nodded quickly as heat climbed the back of his neck.

Your lips curved into a soft smile. “I’ll take that as a very much,” you teased, turning back toward the dresser. You reached for a bracelet, the soft jingle filling the silence as Jungkook tried to scrape together a coherent thought.

“You’re beautiful,” he managed finally, as his fingers flexed restlessly on his desk. “So pretty, baby. What time will you be home?”

You glanced back at the camera, your expression softening. “Thank you, honey,” you said, slipping the bracelet onto your wrist. “Probably around ten? I’ll call you when I’m back.”

Jungkook nodded instantly, his lips lifting into a broad smile as he watched you lean down to slip on your Docs. “Three days,” he chirped.

Your smile deepened, that rare, quiet smile he’d spent months trying to pull from you. “I know, baby,” you said softly, your tone warm as you slipped on your other shoe. “I’m very excited.”

“Me too.” His grin broadened, his cheeks warm and flushed as he flicked his team chat off entirely, ignoring the sound of his teammates yelling at him for going idle. “So excited, baby.”

You picked up your phone, tucking it into your bag before glancing at your iPad one last time. Your soft smile lingered as you said, “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay, baby,” Jungkook replied softly with a dumb smile.

You blinked down at your device, gaze raking over your boyfriend’s pretty, dazed face before a light laugh escaped your lips. “I love you, JJ.”

His eyes widened, and he almost smacked his forehead for nearly letting you go without saying his favorite three words. “I love you more, baby. Have fun.”

Jungkook watched until the call ended, leaving him staring at his reflection in the black screen of his phone.

Three days. Three more days.

Your fingers tapped idly against the side of your phone, clenched tightly in your hand. Your gaze flicked quietly around your surroundings as your free hand fiddled with the hem of your jacket. You glanced down once more to double-check the text he had sent ten minutes ago.

just landed baby ❤️ waiting for my luggage

You had responded with your exact location by the pickup terminals, a message he had heart-reacted to almost immediately. He shouldn’t be too far now.

Still, the minutes felt endless. You brushed an invisible speck of dust off your black mini dress, your fingers moving to tug at an imaginary thread on your sheer stockings.

Then the sound of a bag dropping beside you jolted you. You spun on your heel and came face to face with the boy who had taken over your life for the past year.

Jungkook stood less than an inch away, a blue puffer jacket shaping his broad frame as the widest grin split across his face. His hair was fluffy, pushed back just enough to reveal his soft forehead, and his big doe eyes sparkled as they took you in.

Your heart lurched, and before you knew it, you were smiling wider than you thought you ever would. Then you were moving. Your hands slid to the sides of his neck, pulling him down into a kiss before you could think to stop yourself.

Jungkook melted instantly. A soft groan escaped him as his hands slipped beneath your unzipped jacket, gripping your sides to pull you flush against him. His lips were warm, pressing slowly against yours—soft, sweet, perfect. Just like him.

When you pulled back, his brow creased slightly, and his lips instinctively chased yours. You didn’t deny him, letting him press another kiss to your mouth. Then another. And one more. His lips lingered, each kiss slow and gentle, leaving your eyes closed and your heart racing.

When he finally pulled back, it was with a soft inhale against your lips before he grinned again. “Hi, baby.”

You smiled at the sound of him out of breath, and when Jungkook opened his eyes, his heart stuttered at the sight of it. It was so much prettier in person.

“Hi, JJ. Merry Christmas Eve.”

Your apartment was quiet as you unlocked the door and flicked on the light switch. Jungkook followed closely behind, his gaze sweeping over the room as you led him in.

The walls were dotted with your paintings—abstract swirls of color, faces, little scenes that made him smile. He even recognized a few pieces from your video calls—the tiny clay bunny on your coffee table, the stack of notebooks filled with sketches you showed him if he begged cutely enough.

Jungkook grinned as he stepped further inside, dropping his bag on the ground near the entryway while you shut the door behind him. He toed off his sneakers next to the mat as you leaned down to unzip one of your boots, your fingers fumbling a little with the zipper. You wobbled.

Straight into him.

Jungkook caught you immediately, his hands firm as they wrapped around your sides. His heart stuttered in time with your misstep, his chest tightening as your loosely curled hair spilled toward him, brushing over your shoulder. You looked up at him, your voice soft as you murmured, “sorry.”

He barely heard it. You were so close, he could smell you—the warm, sweet honey scent of your skin mixed with a perfume that reminded him of dark berries.

“You smell so good.”

You’ve straightened now, fully upright as you met his gaze. His hands still lingered under your jacket, the heat of his palms seeping through the thin fabric of your dress.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, his smile faint and dreamy.

His eyes dropped to your lips. Glossy, the faint sheen of lip balm somehow still intact despite all the kisses he had stolen in the back of the Uber when the driver wasn’t looking.

“Yeah,” you confirmed quietly, your lashes lowering as your gaze traced his features, taking him in like you were seeing him for the first time.. “Smell just like the hoodies,” you murmured, “but better. Stronger.”

Jungkook swallowed hard, his touches growing greedier. His hands slid a little lower down your sides as he leaned toward you, his pretty nose brushing yours.

“Did you bring more?” you asked, your words a soft breath against his mouth.

“Yeah,” he replied with a nod, his lips hovering so close you could almost taste them. “Three. Is that enough?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and then you couldn’t wait anymore. You closed the gap.

Your hands slipped up to wrap around his neck, and Jungkook let out a soft noise that vibrated into your mouth. His hands slid further under your jacket, palms pressing firmly against your waist as he pulled you flush against his body. His lips parted against yours, and when your tongues brushed, the softest, sweetest sound escaped you. Ssstraight to his cock.

Your fingers twisted into the back of his hair, and Jungkook groaned pathetically into the kiss. His hands slid down from your hips to the back of your thighs, lifting you to wrap your legs around him. When your tongue lapped his again, your head tilting to taste more of him, the whimpery noise he let out was pitiful. You loved it.

Neither of you spared a thought for the boot that slipped from your foot as he carried you until your back met the door with a soft thump. The kiss was messy, noisy, desperate as you both moaned into each other’s mouths. It felt like you were making up for all the nights apart, all the times you had to settle for fucking yourselves over FaceTime, getting off together but never really together.

Your mouth broke away from his, your head falling back against the door as you panted softly. Jungkook didn’t miss a beat, his lips eagerly brushing along your jaw as his hips pressed forward. The hard line of his cock rubbed against your pussy through the denim of his jeans, pulling a shaky breath from your lips.

“I can’tt, baby,” he murmured, his voice strained, whiny if you will. His hips rolled again as his hands gripped you tighter. “You’re so soft. Smell so good. I fucking can’t.”

“Why are you holding back?” you breathed, your voice trembly as your hips ground against him, forcing a choked sound from his lips. “We’ve been so patient, honey... You can have it now.”

Jungkook cursed under his breath before his mouth was back on yours, needy as he licked into you, relishing in the sounds you gave him. His greedy hands roamed, sliding under the hem of your dress, up the soft skin of your thighs, until they landed where your stockings ended. Your ass.

This fucking ass.

The ass he's stared at so many times through so many screens. The ass he's watched jiggle just a little as he jerked his cock while you held a vibrator to your clit, your hips shaking as you came for him. The ass he's praised and admired in all the pairs of panties you tried on just for him—ones he had ordered for you, or ones you bought yourself, saying you had another haul to show him if he wanted to see.

If he wanted to see? God, it was like you didn’t even know him sometimes.

He's fantasised about this ass more times than he could fucking count. And now, it was in his handsss.

Jungkook’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into the fatty flesh as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss. Your nails scraped lightly against the nape of his neck, swallowing his little whine as you grinded harder against his crotch.

“Fuckk, baby,” he breathed against your tongue, arms tightening around your bum to lift you off the wall. This time he carried you to the couch with hurried steps, your jacket slipping further from your shoulders with each movement.

When he reached the couch, he laid you down gently, his hands lingering on your waist as he hovered above you. His chest rose and fell in rapid pants, his lips red and swollen. He sat back on his knees, dragging a hand through his messy hair, the glow of his flushed skin making him look unreal. For a moment you wonder if this really was happening. If he really was here.

You sat up slightly, shrugging off your jacket and tossing it to the ground as Jungkook’s hands found your remaining boot. He tugged at the zipper, easing it off your foot before tossing it to join the growing pile of clothes on your fuzzy, multicolored rug—the rug he mentally noted to tell you he really likes when you two were done.

His gaze flicked to yours briefly before he grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanking it over his head. The fabric caught slightly at the back of his neck, making him huff softly before it joined the pile. So cute.

Your eyes immediately dropped to his broad chest, and a teasing smile curled your lips as your gaze caught on his nipples, the small, dark buds already hardening from the slight chill of your flat. You couldn’t help it; you’d always had a fascination with them—something he learned quickly during your video calls that turned dirtier, filthier, the more you did them.

Jungkook caught your look, his lips parting as his chest rose in shallow breaths. “Don’ttt, baby,” he grumbled, a flush spreading from his neck to his round cheeks.

You just smirked, leaning back against the couch, letting him take you in. Your dress was gone, leaving you in nothing but your bra, panties, and the cute little red-and-green anklet socks you’d worn under your stockings. For some reason, they made his cock swell even harder in his pants.

What? He loves Christmas...

Jungkook leaned down to find your lips, his hands pressing into the cushion on either side of you. His body slotted perfectly between your legs, his hips grinding into yours as he groaned softly into your mouth. You could feel his cock harden against you, pressing deeper into your warm core, and a moan slipped out, legs tightening around his waist.

His lips trailed down, kissing along your jaw, then your neck, stopping at the hollow of your throat to suck. His gaze dropped further, locking on your chest. He stilled, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as his throat bobbed with a hard swallow.

“Godd,” he muttered, his voice thick with pure awe. His eyes flicked up to yours briefly, pupils blown. “You’re so fucking…”

But he couldn’t even finish. Instead, he leaned down, his lips brushing the tops of your boobs as his fingers found the clasp of your bra. He unhooked it hastily, the straps sliding down your arms before he pulled it away, tossing it to the ground with a fucking gulp.

Jungkook exhaled heavily through his nose, his eyes drinking in every bit of your soft, bare skin. He wanted to ask if he could take a picture... but that thought could wait. God, it had to wait.

“Fuckkk,” he said again, this time louder, a soft groan escaping his lips. A quiet laugh escaped yours in response as his head dipped right down.

He kissed the swell of your breast, his big, warm tongue flicking out to circle your nipple slowly. His pouty lips closed around it, suckling softly, and he let out the most whimpery sound you’d ever heard from him—and your boyfriend had made a lot of those.

His hand cupped your other breast, his thumb brushing over the hardening bud before rolling it gently between his fingers. A quiet whine slipped from your lips, your back arching as his tongue swirled and flicked. His mouth grew hungrier, movements more eager as he switched sides, long fingers kneading the plush flesh while he nipped, licked, and lapped.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, pushing more of your boob into his mouth, which he accepted with a happy choke. Your breaths came faster, your hands tangling into his hair as he detached from your nipple with a soft pop. Wet kisses trailed lower, across your ribs, down your soft stomach. His lips brushed over the flesh there, his tongue darting out for a little taste, before he reached waistband of your panties.

He glanced up at you with wet eyes and shiny lips, a soft flush painting his cheeks. His fingers hooked into the lace of your panties, quickly pulling them down. The air against your core made you shiver, and Jungkook groaned softly at the way your hole clenched in response to the cold.

His hands adjusted your thighs on either side of his head, ensuring you were comfy, and when you smiled down at him, he beamed back before pressing a little kiss to your inner thigh and dipping down.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow, dragging right up your folds before circling your clit lightly. Your thighs tensed immediately, a little cry spilling from your lips as your hands clutched tighter into his hair.

He groaned into you as his hands spread your thighs wider, holding them open against the couch when they treatened to close. His tongue moved with one goal, dragging down and back up, his throat bobbing as he swallowed every drop of slick you were making for him.

“Sh-shit, baby,” you whimpered, your voice trembling as his mouth closed over your clit, sucking noisily. “Shittttt, JJ—”

You couldn’t finish the thought. The way Jungkook switched between licking and sucking, his big nose pressing firmly against your clit, made any coherent words evaporate. He buried himself deeper into your pussy, breathing you in as he ate. Like, literal deep inhales. You could feel them.

Your hips bucked up instinctively, a movement that pulled a surprised, happy whine from his throat. He dragged his tongue down, dipping it into your little clenching hole, before sliding it back up to circle your clit with eager, sloppy flicks. Your jaw tilted up, your head pressing harder into the couch cushion as the pleasure bloomed in your belly, your thighs trembling on either side of his head.

“Is it fucked that this is exactly what I thought it would taste like?” Jungkook mumbled through his mouthful. He pulled back just enough to breathe the words, his pretty mouth and chin glistening, tongue darting out again, lapping at your slick like he couldn’t fucking stop. “It’s so fucking good, Y/n. God, have you tried this, baby?”

A sound somewhere between a laugh and a moan slipped from your lips, your head falling back again as your fingers twisted into his hair. “Baby, please,” you started, your voice shaky as your hips jerked up again, “shut u—uhhhh.”

The last part of your sentence dissolved into a grunt as Jungkook slipped a thick middle finger inside you, curling it just, stroking your walls while he suckled at your clit. He whined at the feeling of your plushy walls coating his finger, his big tongue lapping up and down while pumping the digit deeper.

When he pushed it in to the knuckle, the throatiest, loudest moan tore from your lips, and Jungkook moaned right the fuck back, his lips vibrating around your clit as his eyes fluttered shut. He felt the spongy plush of your g-spot with the tip of his finger, and he swears to fuck his cock started to cry.

His hips shifted against the couch as his big eyes watched your hole clench around his digit. “Woahh, baby,” he mumbled, his voice thick with wonder. “So pretty. Pictured my fingers in your pussy so many times. This is crazyyy, baby.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “You’re really cute, JJ. But I’ve been waiting for this for a year... Let’s cum first, and then we can talk about how crazy it all is, okay, honey?”

Your hands tugged harder at his hair, knowing how much he liked it from the times you’d discussed kinks and likes over phone calls. Jungkook practically purred at the sting and your words. He didn’t think he’d ever agreed with something more in his entire life.

When he added a second finger, the stretch made you fucking shudder. His fingers were so long, so thick, filling you so well that your thighs clamped around him instantly. He didn’t mind—he loved it, in fact. His moan vibrated wetly against your cunt as he spread his fingers slightly, fucking them into your hole harder.

“Fuckkk yes, babyy,” you whimpered, your back arching off the couch. Your hands tugged at his hair, your hips grinding against his face as your stomach tightened. “That’s itttt, baby. That’s fucking it.”

“Mmmmf,” he moaned, his tongue flicking over your slippery clit as his fingers pumped in and out, the wet squelch of your juices echoing as he lapped them up eagerly.

Your breath hitched, your moans morphing into sharp little cries as his hand tilted just slightly, the angle of his fingers brushing your puffy spot every fucking time.

“Fuck, JJ, fuck, fuck, fuckkk—”

He pulled you closer with his free hand, gripping your soft thigh as his tongue worked faster, licking and munching at your cunt like he hadn’t eaten all day.

“Baby,” you cried, your head tipping back. “I’m sorry, JJ, I—I’m gonna cummm, fuckkk! I’m sorr—yyyyy!” Your words dissolved into a high pitched squeal as your body convulsed, your pussy pressing desperately against his face. The orgasm hit you like a fucking truck, leaving you trembling and shaking into the couch.

Jungkook whined greedily at the feeling of you clenching tightly around his fingers, the fluttering grip making him thrust against the cushion for relief. He pushed his fingers as far into you as they could go, curling them up inside to drag every last bit of pleasure while his mouth suctioned hard around your throbbing clit. He followed your pussy as it quivered and tried to escape the stimulation, his throat bobbing happily as he swallowed all your slick.

His fingers slowed, his tongue moving gently as he lapped up everything, your hips jerking softly against his face, which made him smile cutely.

When you finally stilled, your breathing uneven, he pulled back with a little pop. His lips and chin were soaked, his hair a mess from where your hands had tugged at it, but his eyes were so bright. He licked his lips, a cute bunny grin spreading across his face as he looked up at you.

“Can’t believe you apologized for cumming, baby. That was so hot.”

You were both sitting on the floor next to the little Christmas tree Jungkook had helped you put together—your first Christmas tree ever.

Your parents weren’t ones to celebrate the holidays, and the season had always felt like a chore, something to just get through. But your boyfriend loved it, and he had a way of making you like things you didn’t think you cared about before.

The heater was cranked high, both of you showered and warm, now dressed in the matching Christmas pajamas Jungkook had bought for you guys in his hometown. The living room smelled like cinnamon from the gingerbread cookies you’d baked earlier, another absolute must Jungkook insisted on for the holidays.

It was all very cute. The mess, the lack of an apron, the flour smudged across his cheek that he didn’t notice. He looked so happy, his face bright as he popped a misshapen cookie into his mouth and declared it perfect. He was right. It was perfect.

Now, you're plopping a wrapped gift into his lap, curling your knees to your chest as you watched him with wide eyes. He grinned down at the box, his fingers brushing over the carefully taped edges before looking back at you.

“Baby, it’s so heavy. You went over budget, didn’t you?” he asked. “That’s okay—I did too.” He rambled on giddily, and you stayed quiet, maybe a little nervous, as his eager hands tore open the paper.

And then, for the first time since you’d met the rambly boy, he went silent.

Your gaze swept over his face, your hand lifting to tuck a piece of damp hair behind your ear as you tried to gauge his reaction. His mouth was slightly open, his eyes flicking down to the gift in his lap—a framed painting, the one you’d spent weeks working on in secret.

The longer the silence stretched, the more your nerves prickled. Then, his eyes started to well.

“Honey, it’s not meant to be a sad paint—”

“I know, baby!” he cried, his voice trembling as he sniffled. He set the painting gently on the floor before surging forward, pulling you into his lap.

“JJ,” you cooed through a laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck as he buried his face in your shoulder. His wet hair tickled your skin as you kissed his cheek. “You like it?”

“I love it so fucking much,” he mumbled into your neck, his voice thick. “Oh my god, I love it so much. You fucking painted me? Are you kidding me? Fuck my gift! Oh, fuck it! This is the best thing I’ve ever gotten. I look like such a shitty, thoughtless boyfriend now. Fucking paintbrushes, oh for fucks—”

“Baby,” you scolded gently, your lips brushing his temple. His arms only tightened around you. “I love your gift so much. Remember? I almost cried… You pointed it out.”

He sniffled, leaning back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide and glassy. “Swear?”

“Swear, my love.” You nodded, running a hand through his damp curls. “I’m only going to use them exclusively when I paint you from now on.”

Jungkook’s head snapped up, his eyes widening a little. Then he pouted, his wet lashes batting at you as you kissed him softly on the lips. “I know you’re joking,” he muttered, “but that kind of turns me on.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled, your arms looping tighter around his neck as you pressed another peck to his pout. “Merry Christmas, JJ.”

His lips pulled into a big bunny grin, fingers spread over the small of your back. “Merry Christmas, baby.”

aaaaand that is IT for christmas & chill!!! aside from the breakdowns and delays on my part (who’s surprised Not me), i’ve had sooo much fun and will forever cherish this series. not just because it helped me connect w so many of you sweetiepies over the holiday period, but because it brought me closer to you, my piccola @lovieku. we all have u and ur beautiful, polymath mind to thank for c&c. love you baby

[tartagilicious]

8:17pm / kiss me until my lips fall off, kiss me until i start to rot

heyyyyy guys :hehe: thank GOD i still have access to this blog because i've been back in my genshin player days for the past month or so, and i FINALLY WANNA WRITE FOR IT AGAIN IM CRYIUNG!!!!!!!!!! missed all of u sm, hopefully this will be more of a regular occurance now :') going back to my beloved seasons series, also with the last installment, capitano + winter !!

the strongest has never been an easy title to shoulder, both in times of need or peace, sanctifying a never ending cycle of authority that he had been entertaining for centuries. the captain. a newer adornment to his identity, but a significant one nonetheless. once an icon to a legion of soldiers, his place with the archon of ice beckoned a need to keep himself trained, as frigid as the nation he had learned to call home.

and truly, it was with a sword gripped in his gloved hands that he felt most at home -- strong despite the rot that had woven its way into his skin like a disease, whole despite all that he has lost in his centuries of life.

however, it was in your presence alone that he felt most meek.

everything about you seemed to strike him, digging into the innermost dips of flesh in the cavern he called his chest, searching for a heart that had long been subdued. you weren't gentle in your search, oh no -- you never were.

capitano bled for you. although, for once, it was not in a warrior's sense. your smaller hands never struck him, your words never aimed for his weakest points. never once did you aim to worsen the wound you were so often responsible for tearing open. how could you, when you were unaware of its existence?

he bled for you in grumbled words of affection. during those quiet nights it was too cold for you to stand it, when it was simply out of the question to be anywhere but within his broad embrace. he bled for you when you yearned for your homeland, in a way that he had never ceased to mirror, even in his wearier states.

and perhaps most of all, he bled for you when his helmet was discarded.

having grown used to the piece of metal that aided him in shielding the abyssal rot of his features, he was entirely unprepared for the magnitude of emotion that overran him when it came time to expose himself to you for the first time.

but you had never been one to shy away from life's rougher aspects.

your breath escapes your mouth in small white clouds, puffs of air to display your exertion as you walk along the edge of the zapolyarny palace's frosted edges. the grand building melts into the landscape of ice and snow much like its hotter counterpart, the pale mosiac of bricks embodying the chill of its inhabitants.

at the very least, there is one within its depths that you can count on to return the warmth to your worn body. the cloak your lover had gifted you long ago shields you from the rougher elements of snezhnaya's winter at face value. but it's the excitement festering in your chest that keeps you warm enough to find your way through the snowy night. it's the adoration in your heart that lights up the space around you as you step into the harbinger's abode, leading you home.

yet, it's his arm that slings around your waist when you step quietly into the house, the other half of your warm embrace, simply manifesting in a larger form. an appreciative smile is beckoned to your lips as you stretch within the confines of his large arm, your own cloak dropping to the floor as he wills it.

"...you are late." are the words that finally escape from him in a mumbled fashion, voice smothered by the heated skin of your neck. capitano leans over you like a creature out of myth, taking the opportune moment of your hand resting on his back to bury his nose in your hair.

no helmet.

a pleased sound is drawn from the back of your throat as you lean into him, head tilting to follow the path of his lips before you're returning, "...the snowfall is heavy this time of year."

a large hand trails down to your frostbitten own, the action of his fingers intertwining with yours mimicking a blanket of warmth. despite his state of otherworldly decay, you've found that your lover can run quite warm.

spurred on by his own heart, you're sure.

he speaks softly into your hair, tugging you until you're against his chest, no longer your own half -- but now part of a whole. "...you must dress accordingly. your fingers are freezing."

"they will warm up quickly." you promise under your breath, head tilting up to take in his face. no longer is there a quiet sting between you, like the contact of your gaze pains him. all that has been left behind is a dull, and ever-present warmth. "you will warm them up quickly." you add almost cheekily, seemingly proud of your own response.

a rough hum of acceptance replaces a verbal response as he simply pulls you closer, his arms falling to your torso. a once strained action has long become comfortable, and you relish in the familiarity of it as you sink into the harbinger's embrace.

despite his strength, capitano has found that being weak is not terribly bad, either.

[kaleldobrev]

Daddy in a Different Way

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Summary: A simple misunderstanding leads an older woman to believe that you and Jack are together, not you and Dean. But Dean does a “very good job” at clearing things up...But maybe not in the best way.

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Age Gap, Light Smut, Daddy kink (if you squint)

Authors Note: Takes place in the same universe as Old Man | Flashbacks are in italics | Even though it’s light smut 18+ only please | MDNI | If you liked this, don’t forget to like & reblog. I really appreciate it! Feedback is always welcome ♡

You grabbed your black leather crossbody handbag from the hook next to the floor length mirror that Dean had installed in your shared room about two months after you had moved in.

“Our room is missing something.” You stated as you rolled onto your side, propping yourself up with your elbow and the palm of your hand.

“Oh yeah?” Dean asked, his eyes were still closed, not yet wanting to fully commit to waking up just yet. “What’s that Princess?”

“Floor length mirror.” Your tone serious.

Dean’s eyes shot open, automatically looking at you. “You’re serious?” He asked, not actually wanting you to answer.

You gave him your ‘of course I’m serious Dean’ face, followed by a simple smile. “It’s one mirror Dean.” You said, as you started to trace your pointer finger on his bare chest. “It’s the least you can do.” You paused, tilting his chin toward you. “I’ll make it worth your while.” You leaned in, barely brushing your bottom lip on his.

“You don’t have to owe me anything Sweetheart. You know I can’t say no to you.” He replied, closing the gap between you and kissed you.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, you heard Dean come into the room. Seeing him come up behind you, you gave me a soft smile. “You look beautiful today, Sunshine.” His compliment genuine. Wrapping his arms around your waist, you placed your hands on his arms, enjoying the embrace that he had around you. His chin found itself on your bare shoulder before he gave your neck a somewhat seductive like kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. “You and sundresses always do it for me. I don’t know why.” The sundress that you were currently wearing in particular happened to be Dean’s favorite on you, even though he loved every single one that you owned. But for some reason, this sage colored one seemed to be one that he gravitated toward the most.

“I think you like the easy access that they give you.” You turned your head toward him, meeting his gaze; your lips inches away from each other, slightly smelling his spearmint toothpaste.

“That’s one of the reasons.” He confessed, gently starting to lift your dress up. He had gotten pretty far, getting to the point where you could see the waistband of your panties – green lace, the same color as your dress. One of Dean’s fingers found its way into the waistband, and your breath hitched, waiting for the contact that you were craving, despite just having sex with him a few hours before. Yours and his lips touched then, the kiss feeling just as needy and desperate as it was a couple hours before. Dean added another finger as he was hovering over your clit.

“Dean…” You moaned, his two fingers finally making contact as they barely dipped inside you.

“Aw Sweetheart, you’re wet ready?” He voice sounded like honey to you in that moment. “Was this morning not enough for you?” He smirked, slightly feeling how hard he already was against your ass.

“Clearly it wasn’t enough for you either handsome.” Your lips curving into a smirk. You started to move your hand behind you now, gently palming the front of his jeans.

“I’m ready to go when you two are.” Jack said, as you were midway through unzipping Dean’s pants. You and Dean froze in place for a moment, feeling yourself tense up around Dean’s fingers.

“Dammit.” Dean said, his voice sounding more frustrated than he probably intended it to be. He removed his fingers along with his embrace around you; your dress falling back into place.

Jack looked between the two of you, confused at Dean’s reaction. All of a sudden, realization hit them. “Oh.” Jack simply said. “You two were in the middle of having sex and I interrupted.”

You turned to face Jack, ready to say something to them, but Dean was the first one to talk. “We…We weren’t having sex Jack but…we were…being…intimate.”

“With the door open?” Jack asked. Their point was valid, but at the same time, you also weren’t expecting Dean to come up behind you and start fingering you.

“You didn’t see anything right?” You asked. Not that you were embarrassed if Jack had seen anything, but you also didn’t feel like explaining every single sexual thing that you and Dean had done right now to them. To your relief, Jack shook their head, indicating that they in fact didn’t see anything that you two had done.

“Does this mean you two are going to have sex when we get back?” Jack asked, very bluntly.

Dean walked over to Jack, placing the hand that he didn’t use on you, and patted Jack’s shoulder. “Oh, you bet we are.” He winked, before walking out of the room, leaving just you and Jack.

The drive to Target went by quickly, the entire drive filled with song after song that you had requested, as you were the only one besides Dean who had any say in the music that was to be listened to or enjoyed in Baby. “You’re the only shotgun that will always have a say.” Dean once told you.

Once Dean parked Baby, the three of you got out and made your way into the store. Getting inside, you grabbed a shopping cart, despite the fact that you knew you probably didn’t need it; but it was just a force of habit that you did each time you walked into the store, much to Dean’s dismay. “Can I push the cart?” Jack asked, a childish type smile on their face.

“Of course.” You gave them a smile back, releasing your hands from the cart so they could start pushing it. You didn’t know why, but you had loved seeing the enjoyment on Jack’s face when you had told them they could push the cart. With everything that has happened over the years, it was nice to see someone get excited over something so simple.

With no use for your hands now, you went to hold the strap of your crossbody. Seeing this, Dean held out one of his hands. “Hold my hand so you don’t get lost.” He teased. You playfully swatted his arm before taking his hand.

“This is so cute.” You said, grabbing a graphic tree from one of the racks and showed it to Jack. “Do you like this? I think it would look nice on you.” The shirt that you held in your hands was a nice mint color and had an array of different succulents.

“While you two do this, I’m gonna go look at the flannels.” Dean pointed to the small variety of mainly red flannels a few feet away.

“Dean, it’s July…in Kansas.” Kansas in July was honestly one of the worst months. It was always over 100 degrees, and the feels like made it 10 degrees warmer than that; and let’s not forget about the humidity: that was the worst part. Whenever you had left the comfortableness of the Bunker, you instantly felt like you were melting, despite the minimal clothing sometimes you left the Bunker in to try and conquer the Kansas heat.

“It’s always flannel season Sweetheart.” Dean smiled before leaving you and Jack in the graphic tee section.

You let out a frustrated sigh. You were happy to at least convince Dean not to wear his usual jacket today, even if he was still wearing Timberlands and jeans. Before you had met him, him along with Sam would tell you how they both wore jackets no matter the weather, and that honestly baffled you. You had no idea how two grown men would willingly wear heavy jackets in summer, let alone summer in Kansas no less. After you had become more of a stable being in his life, and the other boys lives, you had found yourself gently – sometimes aggressively – convincing Dean that maybe wearing a heavy ass leather jacket in 100 degree weather wasn’t the smartest move; that it was okay to wear a t-shirt and shorts. He had worn shorts in the Bunker, but refused to wear them outside; the place that you had told him that he needed to wear them. “I don’t want people staring at my legs.” He told you.

“I don’t believe flannel is a season.” Jack commented, interrupting your train of thought. “It’s a material last time I checked.” You adored Jack’s slight innocence at times like these.

“You would be correct. But, wearing any kind of flannel, despite a heat wave, is a long-standing Winchester tradition.” You held up the shirt again, holding it up against Jack’s body so you could try and imagine what it would look like on them without having to try it on in the store; something you knew Jack would be uncomfortable with doing. “I think you’d look cute in this.” You nodded to yourself and placed the t-shirt in the cart.

“Can I pick something out for you?” Jack asked.

“Sure. Let’s see what you got.” You smiled, both of you turning around to look at the rack.

As Jack looked through the t-shirts trying to find one that they thought you would like, you couldn’t help but look over at Dean who had quite a few flannels draped over his arm that he would be able to add to his ever growing collection; a few even looked to be in your size, something that made you smile. “I think you’d look nice in this one.” Jack said, holding out the black t-shirt for you to see. It was faded black in color and had the logo for one of your favorite bands: The Clash. “A very fine choice Jack.” You smiled.

Jack handed you the shirt and you placed it in the cart. “Can we listen to them when we get home? Or are you and Dean going to have sex?” Jack asked bluntly, but quiet enough so only you would be able to hear the question.

You placed your hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll tell you what, we can listen to them on the drive home. How does that sound?” You smiled, coming up with a compromise that you knew they’d be good with. Jack nodded, liking your compromise.

“Well aren’t you two just the cutest.” An older woman who appeared to be in her mid to late 70s said. At first, you and Jack looked around to see if she was talking about anyone else that was around you, but the two of you were the only ones in sight. Seeing you two looking around, she laughed gently, amused. “Yes, I’m talking about you two.” She walked closer to you. “How long have you cuties been together?”

“Oh, we’re not together.” You stated.

The woman gave you and Jack a rather confused expression, as if she didn’t understand why you had said you two weren’t together. “Oh sweetie, there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Trust me,” she leaned in to whisper, so only you could hear her. “I know true love when I see it.” You couldn’t help but give her a wide-eyed expression. “I used to look at my Harold like that.”

“We aren’t together.” You firmly said again. You looked over at Jack who simply just held their hands on the shopping cart, trying their best not to make eye contact with the woman. You knew that they were starting to get uncomfortable. “We get it all the time though.” You stated. Which was true. Whenever you and Jack did things together without Dean, it almost seemed like you and Jack were together given the fact that you two relatively appeared to be the same age, despite you being a few years older than they were. “I’m actually with that handsome man over there.” You directed her attention to Dean, who was currently holding up an interesting looking colored flannel with a disgusted look on his face. You had never seen a man look so disgusted while looking at flannels before.

The older woman turned back to you after looking over at Dean. “Sweetie, there’s no way. He’s old enough to be your father.” Her comment made your heart sink a bit, but it was a comment that you were relatively used to hearing whenever people had seen you and Dean together. You and Dean had a 15 year age gap, and you didn’t particularly look your age at times; it all depended on if you were wearing make-up or not, and the type of clothing you had on at the time.

“He’s not actually.” You firmly stated. “I know it looks like he is but –” You started to say, but the woman seemed to have no interest in your explanation, simply ignoring what you had to say because she seemed too invested in the ‘relationship’ that you and Jack apparently were in, in her eyes.

“How long have you two been together?” She repeated her question. You and Jack looked at each other, their cheeks starting to get a slightly light pink out of embarrassment.

“Again, we aren’t together.” Your voice sounding more firm this time.

In that moment out of your peripheral you noticed Dean starting to make his way back over to the three of you. His once happy expression quickly turned into what seemed like concern. “Everything okay here Sweetheart?” He asked you.

“Oh, everything’s fine dear.” The woman stated, not realizing that he was calling you Sweetheart and not her. She gently took hold of his arm, almost as if she was flirting with him; which you were pretty sure she was. “I was just complimenting your daughter here on how nicely her and her boyfriend looked together.”

Dean looked at the woman’s arm on his before looking at you and Jack for a moment. Dean let out one of the biggest laughs you had heard from him in a while. “What’s so funny?” The older woman asked.

Dean wiped his eyes, as if he had just been cry laughing. “What you just said.” He pointed at you and Jack. “Them two? Now that’s…wow, I needed that laugh today, thank you.” He said. The old woman’s expression grew even more confused than it was before.

“You’re not…her father?” She looked at the three of you, removing her hand finally from his arm.

“Biologically? No. But she does call me daddy sometimes in the bedroom.” He winked at the older woman, his comment making her gasp quietly before she left the three of you alone.

“Dean!” You couldn’t believe what he had just said. Well, you could, but you didn’t think he would say something like that to a woman that just seemed to be a bit too nosy for her own good.

“What?” He asked.

“Y/N, do you really call Dean your father?” Jack asked very seriously. Jack was aware of some of the nicknames that you and Dean had or would call each other. Sweetheart, Hon, Honey, Babe, Baby, Sunshine. But Daddy was a new one for them.

Dean was about to open his mouth to answer Jack, but you quickly covered it with your hand. “We’re not gonna talk about that.” You simply said, sounding just a bit defensive in your response.

Tag List: @roseblue373​

If you’d like to be added to a tag list, let me know ♡

[oreolemur]

His Possession Pt2- Junpei Yoshino Fanfic

A week after your shameful incident, your paranoia increased. You couldn’t stop thinking about what the man had said. “He’s never letting me go?”, you cried. You were stuck at home, taking a vacation from work. You didn’t feel safe leaving your house. Your days have been filled with distractions. Your mind was playing against you, and you hated it. 

❤~Time Skip~❤

Coming out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. You examined the leftover marks on your flesh. Ever since that night, Junpei had installed hidden cameras around your house. While you were looking at your body, so was he. He was aroused by how beautiful you were. “I miss the feeling of your soft skin”, he groaned, feeling himself get hard. You removed your towel, gently rubbing over the bruises. “A teaser, huh?”, he grinned.

As you walked out, heading to your room, your phone began to ring. It was midnight, so you found it strange that someone would be calling you at this time. Looking at the number, your heart dropped. Your breathing became shaky and you immediately hung up. “I thought I blocked his number”. Without hesitation, that’s exactly what you did. Throwing on an oversized hoodie, you quickly ran downstairs to check and see if everything was locked up. No matter how scared he made you, you weren’t going to let him hurt you again. 

Junpei sat at his desk monitoring you. He didn’t have a good day, so you declining his call ticked him off even more. He tried to have patience, but he was craving you. “I’ll try again”. Using a different phone, he instantly dialed your number. 

Dozing off to sleep, your buzzing phone woke you up. “Who is this?”. Answering it, all you heard was a low chuckle. “Did you miss me?”. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”, your heart was racing. “I didn’t have a good day, so I wanted to hear your sweet voice. I guess I called at a bad time. Is that right?”, he sounded annoyed. “Y-yes”, you gulped. He sighed, knowing you were lying.

The atmosphere was quiet, Junpei glared at you through the camera. Spinning a knife in his hands, he thought of an idea. “Are you still curious about who I am?”. He saw your eyes lit up, “Y-yes. Who are you?”. A huge smile formed on his face,”I’ll tell you, but you have to let me come over”. As desperate as you were, you had to be smart about it. You trusted him once, however, it backfired. “No”, you cleared your throat. “I’m not falling for that again”.

Junpei was surprised by your response. “Are you sure? Aren’t you just dying to know who made you cum? You can deny it all you want, but I saw how good I made you feel”. You closed your thighs at the thought of it, feeling guilty for the heartbeat that formed in between. “You should’ve seen the look on your face. The look of desperation really suits you”.He had you wrapped around his little finger. You didn’t want to admit it, but ever since that night, something awakened inside of you. Something you hated at most. “Fine”, you said. “Y-you can-”, you hesitated. “I can do what”, he teased. “You can come over”. Junpei’s plan worked. He didn’t believe how easy it was to manipulate you.  “Wait for me”. Hanging up, you laid back questioning yourself. “What the fuck am I doing?”. Squeezing your legs together,still, you craved to be touched.

An hour later, you heard a small knock on your bedroom door. Startled, you jumped up and held yourself out of shame. “Come in”, you said. Junpei slowly opened the door, letting the squeak travel throughout the dark. It made the exact same sound from the first encounter. He stood against your dresser, smiling at you. The lights were off, but you were able to see a small part of his face.

“Do we still have an agreement, dollface?”. He tapped his finger along the smooth wood. You bit your lip out of nervousness,”Y-yes”. “Do you remember what I said in the beginning?”. “Y-yes”, you answered him like an obedient little pet. He loved how inferior you were to him. He unbuckled his pants, pulling them down slightly to let his dick poke out.

Stroking it, he quietly groaned. “Come here”, he demanded. You got up, making your way towards him. He seemed taller than before, but then again, you were on your knees the first time he ordered you to approach. He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. His dick rested against your stomach. “I’ll start this off slowly”, he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Do what I say, and I’ll drop a hint of who I am each time you behave”. Junpei leaned into your ear,”Got it?”. Nodding your head, you agreed. “Good, doll”.

He grabbed your hand, making you jerk him off. “You have soft hands”, he placed small kisses on your neck. The desperation between your thighs grew stronger. You were so into his touch, a moan slipped out of your mouth. Junpei’s eyes lit up. “Are you enjoying yourself?”. You told him yes, making him even more obsessed with you. “Do you want me inside of you?”. “Yes”. “How bad?”. “R-really bad”.

Hearing that made him feral. He lifted you, and gently placed you on your back. He hovered above you, fingering you in the process. “Hint 1: I have black hair that covers one eye”. You listened to him, trying not to be too distracted. The feeling of his digits inside of you, made you blush. You missed being touched, no matter how fucked up the situation was. The warmth of his breath made you want him more. You pushed your hips into his arm, feeling your orgasm coming. “A little harder, please”, you begged. Junpei did what you wanted, kissing your lips to feel you moan in his mouth.

Removing his shirt, he ordered you to undress. You threw your hoodie on the floor, spreading your legs. The man placed himself at your entrance, teasing you by rubbing it on your clit. “Hint 2: I always come to your store”. He thrusted into you, not giving you time to adjust. It was your second time having him penetrate you, yet it still hurt. As he talked to you, you tried to think hard about who he could be. “What else?”, you moaned. 

He pounded you harder,”Don’t rush it, doll. I said slowly”. He fondled your breast, admiring how much they jiggled. You tried to stare at him, but the stimulation forced your eyes shut. He reached for your neck, squeezing it for support. He threw one leg over his shoulder, thrusting deeper. “Hint: 3, and make sure you listen closely”. He rested his head near your ear. “I’m Junpei, your next door neighbor”. He choked you harder, making it impossible for you to react. “Say my name”, he groaned. “J-Junpei”, you stuttered. “Repeat it”. “J-Junpei. Junpei. Junpei!”. You both climaxed, shouting in ecstasy. He stayed still, laying on top of you. “You’re mine, and mine only, dollface”.

[alexibeeart]

MyHouse.wad

On March 2 2023, a user called Veddge posted this thread in the WADs and Mods Doomworld forum:

MyHouse

Excited to finally release this tribute map. Last August I lost a good childhood friend of mine and took it pretty hard. When I was visiting my hometown for his funeral, I connected with his parents who shared with me some of his old belongings. Among them was a copy of an old map of his backed up on a 3.5” floppy from high school. Thomas and I were into amateur Doom mapping in the early 00s but I had never seen this map of his prior to uncovering it on one of the old floppy discs. As a way of paying tribute to him and all the great memories we had together, I took the plunge and installed Doom Builder in order to polish up his map and add a few modern amenities just for convenience sake.

I haven’t touched an editor in over 15 years so it was quite a surprise to find out how easy mapping has become. I may have gotten a little carried away with these new UDMF features and, as such, the map is designed for GZDoom. From the text file:

Doom 2 - GZDoom, hardware renderer

1 map: Not much of a challenge and roughly 10 minutes of play time. All difficulty settings implemented.

Jumping & crouching disabled, freelook is fine

Lots of Doomcute!

Making maps of your house was all the rage back-in-the-day, but I feel like this is a pretty adorable and detailed tribute to my friend and a great way to share something of him with a community we loved. Miss you, Tom.

Download myhouse.wad

Contained within is a link to a Google Drive folder containing myhouse.wad—a DOOM map of a normal 20th century suburban house where you mow down baddies and collect a blue, yellow, and red keycard to reach the exit—photos, text files, screenshots, and some images of a sketchbook.

There is also another version of the mod in a different format: myhouse.pk3. Opening this file to start a new game shows the map exactly the same as myhouse.wad ... until it isn’t.

Read Vegge’s original post, poke around in the GDrive, don’t look up anything else if you can help it, and give this a go. If you’re stumped, you might need to get some fresh air outside. General content warnings in the tags; spoiler cws under the cut. Obviously there is much more to this map than it seems ...

general content warnings for myhouse.pk3: blood, gore, violence, guns, weapons, pov, monsters, zombies, demons, flashing lights, eye strain

spoilery content warnings for myhouse.pk3: liminal spaces, the backrooms, unreality, substance abuse, alternate reality, enclosed spaces, open spaces, animal death, mirrors, mirror world, spiders, fire ... please ask me to tag anything i missed! this is still a very new puzzlebox of a game and it’s possible there’s still more to discover ...

[whositmcwhatsit]

Enjoyable Slide to Oblivion

Like a lot of girls, Chancy Crawford had once been able to call herself one of Elvis's girlfriends, but that was long time ago. Now, she called herself his friend, or his 'cousin' if any of his girlfriends asked. It was just easier that way. And their relationship was all about being comfortable and easy. Until she gets asked to come and join a tour that seems endless and cursed.

AN: I'm not sure if anyone remembers I used to write silly stories, but here's the next installment of one I have neglected for too long. Thank you to everyone who continued to patiently message and let me know how much they liked the characters and very politely ask for the next chapter.

Thanks to @thatbanditqueen for injuring herself in order to give me motivation. And reading to check that I still remembered how to type words. You might need to remind yourself what happened before: Chapter 11 Chapter 12- Move Across the night sky, with those anonymous lights.

Pulling up to the gate of one of Elvis’ homes always invoked a strange combination of emotions in Chancy no matter how often she visited. Maybe it was the fact that there was always, always, at least a few people standing around ogling her curiously, but there was also the insecurity that this might be the time that the gates would not open for her, and the pride she felt at how much he had achieved, as well as an undeserved sense of personal achievement that she knew someone who had so much. That last one always made her feel guilty. 

Harold kept her waiting, pretending that he needed to come to the window of her Chevrolet to see who she was and then saying he would have to call up to the house to check it was okay.

“Can’t be letting in just anyone, you know.” He went to the gatehouse and the gate began to open immediately. She smiled and pretended to be amused by his trick as she rolled past. 

Chancy pulled up around the back near to the fence where the staff parked. Her car fit in better there than next to the limo and the Lincolns and the cadillacs. She glanced in the rear view mirror and checked her make-up hadn’t slid off her face in the humidity. Her air conditioning was busted, again- it only ever seemed to happen in the summer, a cosmic joke or a punishment. 

Grabbing her two small, yellow travel cases, she swung the door shut with her hip and sighed, trying to force her heart to slow down by denying it oxygen. Just a visit, just a visit, she focused on the words and willed her heart to follow their rhythm. 

“Well, hello there, Chancy.” She started and dropped one of her cases as Mr Presley approached her from the office, a smile on his plump face. He had that end of the day twinkle in his eye and Chancy mused how, between his twinkle and Mrs Presley’s dancing glow in her brown eyes when she was laughing, it was no wonder Elvis could incapacitate people with just a glance.  

“Hi, Sir, it’s good to see you again!” She went to grab her fallen luggage, but Vernon reached it first and picked it up, adjusting his grip and miming like the case was heavy. 

“My Lord, what do you have in here?!”

“Well, you know now a girl can’t give away the secrets needed to make her presentable, it’d spoil the magic, wouldn’t it?” 

“I guess it would,” he agreed, still smiling slightly. “Though I reckon I need some magic to help this ole mug.” 

“Nonsense! I was just about to ask you for your secret!” 

Chancy could do this all day. In fact, she did do this all day; most of her job was buttering up clients and making them feel good about themselves. The fact that there was a slight ache to her cheeks as she smiled now was proof of how hard she worked. 

“Well, you always were a sweet girl,” he returned, glancing over his shoulder at the house and tightening his lips. “Let me walk you in, I know Elvis is expecting you.” He reached out for her other case and she let him take it, puzzled since Vernon didn’t usually go out of his way to be helpful or even really acknowledge her much past a short, pleasant greeting. 

On the way, they made small talk about the weather, which was the law in civilised society. One of them remarking on the heat, the other saying that it had to break soon. Debating whether it was hotter or cooler than previous years and then exchanging stories of the most extreme heat they had ever encountered. He told her about a time when he was a young man down in Mississippi and he was doing some work for a man who wore a hairpiece. The day got so hot that the glue melted and the hair started slipping when he spoke. No one was brave enough to tell him and lose the job. He mimed the man’s hair flying back and forth and how they had to all fight to keep their eyes from flicking from side to side with it. His laughter at his own story was infectious. 

As they came in through the back door, he paused in the dim back hallway. Somewhere nearby she could hear a football game being played on television and men’s voices rising and falling as they questioned plays and commiserated. 

“You know, it sure is good to see you, Chancy. Elvis’ mother always used to speak so highly of you and how well you took care of him.” He left the rest unspoken, looking behind him to the stairs to the basement, and then turning back and nodding at her. 

“Thank you, Mr Presley,” she smiled, a little puzzled. She awkwardly fished back her cases and wondered if he was working up to something, and if she should wait. 

Instead, he opened the door to the kitchen and motioned her in, wishing her a good night. 

In the kitchen, Elvis’ aunt Delta was complaining about trying to buy something and how they had raised the price when she gave them the delivery address. 

“Shouldn’t matter if it’s Tom, Dick or Elvis, if it’s fifty dollars it should stay fifty damn dollars. The nerve of people!” Her little dog was yipping and bouncing around her feet, excited by the heightened emotion in her voice. Mary, Elvis’ cook, her coat on like she had been trying to leave for some time, agreed with her, nodding her head wholeheartedly. 

They both turned to look at Chancy as she paused by the counter with a faint smile of anticipation. It was always a roll of the dice which side of Delta you would get, but that evening was a good day, because they exchanged greetings and Chancy was invited into the story of the new chair that had started out as fifty dollars and became one hundred once it was destined for Graceland. 

“One hundred dollars, my ass! I said, it’s for me, not Elvis and we both of us have enough sense not to waste another fifty dollars on some piece of-” 

The phone rang on the wall by where Delta was sitting at the breakfast bar and she snatched it up, listened for a minute, and then nodded to her. 

“Elvis said to go ahead and go on up.” 

Chancy had to temper her speed as she moved through the kitchen, heading towards the back stairs.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get your chair,” she shrugged, stepping onto the first tread. 

“Oh honey, I got the chair, and a little table to boot. Soon’s I told ‘em that I’d go home and say what a rat-infested flea-ridden store they had and how we ain’t never gonna shop there again, we got the friends and family discount too.” 

“Well, they’ll know better than to mess with you next time, Mrs Biggs. I might need to get some tips from you for when I have to negotiate with my suppliers.” 

As she was climbing the stairs, she heard Delta say: 

“Honey, I don’t think you need any help from anybody trying to get anything.” 

Her foot momentarily faltered as her body wanted her to stop and march back down, but her brain won out just barely and forced her to continue her climb. By the time she had opened and closed all the doors that marked her journey, she was pretty sure she had knocked her case into her left shin enough times to leave a bruise, and she paused just inside Elvis’ office to run a finger under each eye to catch the slowly dripping mascara. She tapped on the door and waited to hear a low murmur of assent before she pushed the slightly ajar door open. 

Elvis was sitting on his enormous bed with the newspaper laid out before him, apparently deeply engrossed in it, though she knew he had to have been watching the monitors at least a couple of minutes ago to know that she had arrived. 

“Oh no! I think there’s been some mistake!” she lisped in a high voice. “The man at the reception desk said that this was my room.” She whirled around, wide-eyed, in the doorway. “This is room 385631.6 and half, right?” 

Elvis smirked, his lips and cheekbones all curves as his eyes narrowed. His voice was a little thick like his tongue was still waking up.  

“Damn, they must’ve double booked the rooms again, and, you know, I heard the clerk say that they were full up, no vacancies.” He clenched his jaw and shook his head like he was genuinely upset and disappointed in the ‘hotel’. 

“Right,” she responded. “I guess that’ll be because of the convention?” 

He nodded, rising slowly and stepping closer to her, his fingertips tickling her wrist. 

“Uh huh, right, the, uh, One-eyed Albino Python Lovers of America convention,” he nodded, turning away as he almost broke. 

“Oh, yeah, that’s a popular one,” she murmured, hearing him snort over his shoulder, and fighting to keep her face straight. 

“Well,” he sighed with a sense of inevitability, turning back to her. “I guess there’s only one thing for it.” He shrugged with his whole body, throwing up his arms. “We’ll just have to share the room.” 

“That seems like that’s all there is to it,” she agreed in her ditsy high voice.

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind, uh, Miss…?”

“Tallulah-Wanda, and I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t, huh. Well, I guess I’m just fixing problems all over the place tonight.” He pulled her into a clinch worthy of one of his movies, dipping her down so that she dropped her cases and grabbed his shoulders for safety. They broke apart and smiled breathlessly at each other for a minute. 

“One-eyed Albino Python Lovers,” she muttered, slapping his shoulder. He smirked and pulled her back up. 

“What? I’m telling ya, Tallulah baby, it’s a real group.”

“Uh huh, and I bet you’ve met quite a few members.” 

“I meet a lot of people,” he replied evasively. He grabbed her jaw and kissed her hard on the mouth. “How was your day?” 

She paused, surprised by the question. “Uh, it was fine, thank you for asking. How was yours?” 

“Honey, I woke up less than two hours ago,” he pointed out, with a wry lift of his eyebrow. 

“Right, right, I’m in the Elvis time zone now. Gotta adjust my clock accordingly. How was your breakfast?” He rolled his eyes and tugged her towards him, cradling the back of her head as he kissed her. 

“That’s enough of that,” he murmured, though he didn’t elaborate on what ‘that’ was, just steered her around and nudged her backwards towards the bed. “Gotta unwrap my present here.” He tugged on her pale pink pussycat bow, teasing the ends out from where they were tucked into her low scooped waistcoat and pulling the loose knot free. 

“You want me to give you my scarf?” she murmured, keeping her voice low to hide how affected she was. “Hmm, that’s a twist.” 

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, but he seemed absorbed in his task, letting her silky scarf flutter off to the side as he studied her. She returned the favour, noting how fair his lashes looked in the daylight. His face was fuller, maybe because he hadn’t been well, but his colour was better than when she had last seen him at her house. 

Biting his lip slightly, he unbuttoned her waistcoat, but there was nothing seductive or gentle about his movements. She genuinely felt like a gift given to an overexcited six year old. The waistcoat went in the other direction to her scarf, quickly followed by her heels. 

“I’ll show you where your things are,” he said, pulling away and holding out a hand. She had to tamp down a smile as she let him lead her, padding behind him in her stockinged feet. 

That morning, she had deliberately dressed up in her most businesslike outfit, stopping just short of wearing pants, because she knew he wouldn’t like it. Not to antagonise him exactly, but there had definitely been something pointed in her choice. Some barbed reminder that she was a whole person with a successful, fulfilling life that went on out of his sight line. She wasn’t one of the no doubt many girls around the country just waiting for his call, their life outside of him just filler that happened between their time with him. 

In the ‘guest’ dressing room off his office, he showed her the row of plastic covered outfits that he had bought her on tour as if they had been there ever since he returned and not, as was more likely, hastily moved in that day after the last girl had left. 

“You don’t like what I’m wearing?” she asked as he hovered in the doorway. He shifted uncomfortably and opened his mouth, clearly still formulating his reply. “I’m teasing you. Go on now, let me change.”

“Oughta tan your hide,” he muttered, giving her a sideways look as he retreated from the door. “Don’t change your hair.” 

“Saying please don’t hurt you know!” she called out the door. 

“I know!” he hollered back from presumably the bedroom. 

In the small dusky pink dressing room, Chancy deliberately did not touch any drawers, no matter how painfully her curiosity niggled at her. She tried to be as dispassionate as she would be in a communal dressing room, which, essentially, it was. She made sure not to make a mess and folded her own clothes neatly, putting them back into her case. 

There were a few toiletries sitting on top of the dressing table and she leant over them in order to apply more make up to her eyes, appreciating the good lighting. When she had finished, she checked that she had not left a trace and came back out into the office. 

Elvis was sat at his desk with Joe standing over him and murmuring into his ear, his arms spanning the desk and the back of Elvis’ chair. His broad back blocked Elvis from her view. The body language could not have been clearer. 

Without stopping, she tiptoed past them towards the bedroom, still holding her bags. 

“Hey, what are you doing?” Elvis snapped over the top of Joe’s low mumbling. Chancy glanced over her shoulder almost guiltily. 

“Going in there? I got changed like you said.” Elvis visibly relaxed, his face smoothing and shoulders dropping. 

“I thought you were ducking out on me. What you got your bags there for?” 

“I didn’t want to leave all my things lying about. I’m trying to change my messy ways, you know.” He shook his head and waved his hand back towards the dressing room. 

“No, go ahead and put everything in there, honey, that’s yours.” She hesitated, but Joe had already resumed his whispering and Elvis was frowning at the console of his desk with its screen and knobs and switches. So, she tucked her cases inside the door of the dressing room and speed-walked past them back into the bedroom. 

The curtains were closed and, though the lamps were lit, the room still felt dark to Chancy. This was not helped by the enormous bed that was clad in black every way from the headboard to the bedcovers. She perched on it primly, her feet barely skimming the floor. She didn’t like that, being reminded that she was short. It made her feel like the room was patting her on the head somehow. 

Instead, she pushed off the bed and scanned the shelves of the units, smiling a little at the framed photos of a blond little girl and running her finger over the ornaments, some of them clearly from fans. 

There were a few records scattered around the record player, their labels a mess of scrawled handwriting that revealed them to be demos. And there were books, piles and piles of books with fuzzy, slightly scary titles like ‘The search for…’, ‘A Study of…’, ‘Explore the world of…’ 

One caught her eye, a small, slim volume with exotic gold patterns etched into the worn covers. She glanced up at the door before she opened it to the foreword. It was Sufi poetry translated from the original Persian. Chancy pressed her fingers to the pages in wonder, trying to make it fit into the already complex and contradictory picture of Elvis she held in her mind.

The man himself burst into the room, slamming the door shut behind him, but he stopped short when he saw her standing by the shelves as if he had forgotten she was in there. She could see him biting down and breathing hard, his nostrils flaring, like he was trying to change gears while still accelerating.

She didn’t say anything, looking back down at the book and reading the first poem silently to herself, giving him time to collect himself without being observed, to leave without feeling obligated or ask her to leave. She felt him as he drew close to her, his chest brushing her shoulder. 

“It’s good, you should borrow it when I’m done,” he said quietly, calmly. She smiled as she took her hand away from the page and turned towards him.

“What’s it about?”

“I- I can’t exactly say,” he shrugged. “It makes me feel like words and ideas, even sermons and laws, they’re just getting in the way and confusing people, distracting them from the truth and the real essence of God, you know. I-I-I ain’t saying it right, but the guys in this book, they pull back the curtain, you know, and you feel like you’ve caught a glimpse of something, just for a moment, that’s greater and truer than anything else.” 

Chancy tilted her head, letting that sink in.

“I do think I’d like to read it after you, thank you.” He leant past her and picked it up.

“Here, take it, honey. I can get another. Ignore the scribbling though, sometimes I just gotta work things out in my head. Try and get things straight, you know.”

“No, Elvis, I can’t, not if you’re enjoying it! I can wait until you’re done.”

“Baby, I want you to. Like I said, I can get another. And we can talk about it when you’re done reading it. I don’t- I don’t have no one I can discuss these things with. They all just get this damn pie-eyed look on their faces like ole Elvis’s gone nuts and they don’t know who to call to fix it.” He crossed his eyes and pulled a silly face while he pushed the book into her chest until she took hold of it. 

“That’s dumb,” she murmured, cradling the book to her chest. “Everyone knows you already went crazy years ago.”

“Yeah, well whose fault was that,” he returned, gritting his teeth and pushing his forehead against hers, smushing the tip of her nose. She wrapped her arms around his waist and drew him closer, simultaneously loving and resenting the almost painful wave of relief that rolled over her as she nestled into his arms and felt his soft lips brush against hers. The big sigh he let out as he squeezed her in tighter at least let her know that she wasn’t alone in this comfort trap. 

“I missed this silly little face,” he murmured, one hand gripping her jaw playfully but gently. 

“Really? This one?” She crossed her eyes and scrunched up her nose, tightening her lips so that it looked like she had buck teeth. 

In response, he wrapped one big hand over her face and put a little pressure into it, nudging her backwards. She went with it, trusting him not to have her tumbling on her butt down the stairs. The side of the bed pressed into the back of her legs and she grabbed him by the biceps to stop herself from falling backwards. 

“You missed me too, right?” he almost whispered, leaning down to kiss her again. “Tell me you missed me, Cha Cha.” 

Chancy heard her own voice as if it came from far away, muffled and almost whiny with longing. 

“I missed you, Elvis.” She continued to kiss him even as he turned his head slightly. She could feel his cheek bunch beneath her lips as he smiled, enjoying her affection. “I missed you, I missed you.” She felt his faint stubble grazed against her lips as she let them trail down his cheek and under his jaw. He was bent slightly at the knees so that she could reach, rubbing his thumb around in little circles on her back. Her awareness narrowed to only those points of sensation, the thumb circles on her back, the tingle on her lips, the warmth down her front. 

The phone started trilling. They both looked at it blankly for a second, before Elvis straightened and sighed, going to answer. 

Whatever was being said on the other end of the line irritated Elvis, he mumbled one word answers until he slammed the receiver back onto the hook. 

Without a word, he disappeared into his bathroom and left her yet again wandering around his room, running her fingers over his belongings and trying to pretend that she belonged there. She opened her new book at a random page and let her eyes trip across the words:

“That’s how you came here, like a star,

Without a name…”

She had no idea what it meant, but it sounded beautiful. She murmured it under her breath, finishing with a sharp inhale as Elvis stormed back out of his bathroom clad in a long leather coat, gloves and carrying a police flashlight. 

“C’mon, we’re getting out of here.” 

Billy was waiting at the bottom of the kitchen stairs, hands shoved into his jeans pockets. He grinned, reflecting Elvis’ smirk as they converged in the kitchen. 

“They fell for it, huh?” Elvis remarked, knocking Billy’s shoulder with his knuckles. 

“Uh huh, I told ‘em we’d meet ‘em on up ahead.” “Joe bitchin’ and whining about it, I bet,” Elvis remarked gleefully, heading towards the back door with Billy beside him. Chancy trailed them, wondering what the hell was going on. 

The wall of wet heat hit as soon as they stepped outside and Chancy shook her head as she stared at Elvis’ broad back wrapped in black leather even as she was peeling tendrils of her hair away from her damp neck and face. 

Elvis was too busy crowing over his ability to fool everyone to notice the temperature. He and Billy were joking and laughing about it as they passed the car port and continued on down towards the back gate near where Chancy had parked her car. On the road was a white Cadillac coupe with an old, black truck behind it. 

Billy tossed some keys to Elvis, who was still laughing as he got into the truck, but Billy’s smile faded as he turned away and he looked at Chancy with something close to reproach. She couldn’t think why he would be mad with her or blame her when she had no idea what was going on. He was the one going along with whatever crazy plan Elvis had come up with. 

“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” she asked nobody in particular. 

“Shh, we’re being sneaky!” Elvis whispered in an Elmer Fudd voice, leaning out the window. “C’mon, Cha Cha, get in!”  

She looked to Billy again, hoping for something that made more sense, but he had already climbed into the Cadillac and the back gate was opening. Elvis beckoned her and she hurriedly circled the truck and jumped in. 

As they pulled out into the narrow road that ran down the side of the church next door, Elvis accelerated slightly and gave the Cadillac in front a little nudge on the bumper, grinning so wide that his dimples made an appearance. 

“Uh, shouldn’t you have your lights on?” Chancy asked, goosebumps of anticipation nonetheless breaking out over her arms as she caught his infectious excitement. 

“Now that wouldn’t be very sneaky of little old us, would it.”

“Billy’s got his on.”

“Exactly!” 

Ahead of them, Billy pulled out onto the highway and faintly they could hear a few people shouting. Elvis waited, engine idling with his lights off. Chancy watched him expectantly as he tapped his thumbs on the top of the steering wheel, humming quietly under his breath. He seemed to become aware of her eyes and glanced towards her, eyes narrow and cheekbones brimming with mirth. 

“Being bad feels good, don’t it?” 

“It might, if I knew what we were doing.” He didn’t reply, just flew out onto the highway, switching on his lights at the last minute and swerving around the oncoming traffic. 

Eyes on the rear view mirror, he murmured, “I bet they’re shitting a brick right about now, man. Serves ‘em right, serves ‘em right. I tell you, boy…” 

“So we’re not going to the recording studio?” Chancy asked, mainly to remind him that she was in the car too and he didn’t need to talk to himself. 

“You catch on fast, don’t you,” he remarked, shooting her a sideways look. “Baby, what are you doing all the way over there?” He reached blindly across the bench seat and clamped a hand on her thigh, trying to drag her closer to him. She made a series of unladylike noises as she left behind half of the skin from the back of thighs on the warm leather. 

“Where are we going then?” she inquired, once she was flush against him, her forearm resting on his thigh and her cheek stuck to his coat. 

“Well…” He tailed off. “Where would you like to go?” She bit down on her lip as he made himself sound very magnanimous and not at all like he hadn’t thought his great escape plan all the way through.

“I haven’t had anything to eat since lunch,” she reasoned. “Maybe we could-” He took a sharp turn that almost sent her sprawling. “Or maybe we could not die, Elvis, how about that?!”

He snorted and glanced at her with his eyebrow quirked playfully. She swatted at him, because he knew exactly what to do to take the heat out of her irritation, leaving her with just the intellectual understanding that she should feel annoyed. 

“Poor widdle Cha Cha, all moody and mad cos she’s hungry,” he murmured in that damn baby voice again. She was about to swat him a little harder when he did a double take out of his side window. “Hey, you know, I ran out of gas there one time.”

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah, back when I was starting out. It was one of the first times it got really crazy, boy. The cops had to come out and everything. It was wild.”

“Uh huh, getting a ride in the back of a police car to the gas station is not something you ever forget. Especially after I got back and some girl called me your whore.”

Chancy watched his face as his brain worked overtime, recalling the little details that he usually airbrushed from the patter he gave his dates as he took them on a personal tour of his home town, like who else had been there.

“They called you a whore?” he echoed finally, focusing on the detail where he had no culpability. “I didn't know that.”

“Well, it wasn't something I would've wanted to repeat.” 

It had been the first time she had been the victim of jealous, spiteful resentment, but not nearly the last. She shook her head like she could dislodge the echoes of embarrassment, hurt and outrage she had felt. 

“Besides, you didn’t even remember I was there!” She smacked his leg and turned away slightly, playing at being mad. 

“Honey, I did! I-I remember, I was just testing you!” 

“Uh huh,” she murmured. “Well, I guess I passed.” 

“With flying colours,” He hit her with a poorly aimed kiss on the ear as he steered the truck into a parking lot. Chancy glanced around and realised he had pulled into Dairy Queen. 

“You do take me to the fanciest places,” she teased, already moving to climb out. 

“Well, I only know of two ways to get you out of this mood you’re in,” he returned with irritating insight. “One’s food and the other… Well, we’re in public, honey, you know.” She felt so much better about the shiver she had to fight back when she saw that, despite the naughty look on his face, he had gone pink. 

“You are terrible,” she informed him. “Hey, where are you going?” He paused as he pushed open his door.

“There’s only one way out,” he replied, looking bemused. 

“You can’t go in there!” she exclaimed, then wanted to rewind time and roll her tongue back in, because the one way to guarantee Elvis would do something was to tell him that he couldn’t. “Baby, you don’t have any of the guys with you. It’s not safe.” 

“It’s late, Cha Cha, I’m not letting you go in there by yourself,” he returned. Then, she witnessed the exact same expression of regret cover his face that must have shone from hers moments before. Because telling her that she wasn’t allowed to do something was like firing a starting pistol. 

“It’s not exactly Times Square.”

“I don’t give a damn. Cha Cha, honey, you got all kinds of characters out there now, crazy sonsofbitches and losers strung out on all these fucking drugs they’re pushing on the streets. Baby- Baby, you don’t understand because you don’t know what it’s really like.” She bristled at the condescending tone and folded her arms over her grumbling stomach. 

“Well, then it’s not safe for either of us.” 

After ten minutes of silent sulking and hunger, they came to a compromise. Chancy would go in and order the food, and Elvis would park as close as possible with his gun ready just in case. 

As silly as she knew all that was, Chancy still felt tingles of apprehension as she pulled on the metal bar and opened the door.

At that time of the evening, the place was full of teenagers hanging out and families grabbing a treat on the way home from the movies. None of them really spared her a look apart from a few pleasant smiles as she made her way to the counter. 

Not long later, she was juggling a sack and two milkshakes and stopped to thank a man who had jumped up to hold the door for her. He smiled back, nodding at her chest rather than her face. 

Turning towards the truck, she let out a little gasp as she saw a small knot of people standing by the driver’s door. Her heart hammering, she glanced towards the phone booth at the front of the parking lot, wondering if she would have to make a call to Graceland to get someone out to help. 

As she drew closer, she saw that it was just an older couple and their children. As long as they made a getaway before they attracted any more attention they would be okay. 

When she climbed in the cab, Elvis was signing a scrap of paper, what looked like a receipt, and he handed it over, ruffling the young son on the head. Chancy kept her head down so as not to attract notice. The only problem was that the family did not seem satisfied with the autograph and small talk and lingered, forcing Elvis to say that they had to leave. They even took a few steps forward as he backed out, like they were going to follow them on foot. 

“Just can’t stay out of trouble for a minute, can you,” she remarked, handing him his milkshake. 

“Well, you were gone so damn long,” he complained, spilling a little of the shake on his pants as he tried to negotiate the road. “Goddamn it! She quickly retrieved the paper cup before it was thrown, possibly at her. He was still swearing as he pulled into a rest area, the frosty drink slowly trickling into uncomfortable places. 

Seeing his mood souring, she grabbed a napkin from the sack but hid it at her side. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it,” she exclaimed brightly, ducking her head down towards his lap. 

“Chancy, no!” His voice went impossibly high, breathless and panicked. 

She burst out laughing, she couldn’t help it, and tossed the napkin at him as she collapsed against the back of the seat, gasping and giggling, wiping her eyes. She tried to get herself under control as he irritably wiped at his pants with the napkin, muttering under his breath, but every time she looked at him, all kitted out in his flashy badass outfit, she kept hearing his panicked protest like he was a sweet virgin being propositioned by an over amorous date. 

“Don’t see what’s so goddamn funny,” he snapped. “My fucking pants are ruined.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, her voice quivering very slightly as she bit on the inside of her cheek. “I…” She started laughing again and he smacked the steering wheel and started the engine, shaking his head. “No, baby, no, I’m sorry!” She lifted her milkshake and tipped it slightly as if she was going to dump the whole thing in her own lap. “Look, you give me the word and we’ll match. Want me to?” 

A fast diesel truck rattling by startled her and she jerked slightly, causing a large drop to splat onto her bare leg. 

“Damn, that’s cold!” she hissed. His eyes twinkled and a slow smile crept across his face. She realised that there was a very real possibility that he was about to knock the cup over her and almost resigned herself to it. 

“You’re crazy, you know that,” he remarked, before very slowly and deliberately leaning down and licking the milkshake from her thigh. He punctuated that by opening his mouth and pretending to take a bite of her, his teeth leaving a faint imprint in her pale skin under the light of the cab. Holding her breath, Chancy now understood how fish felt drowning on dry land.

They ate their food at the rest stop without much chat. Elvis was still mad at her for laughing at him. It was always a sore point for him, and she sensed that he was embarrassed by his unfiltered reaction to the idea of her going down on him in public. He always loved to give off the impression that he was unflappable, that there was no boundary that he would not push and no impulse he would not indulge, but that wasn’t true. Not really.  

Licking the salt from her fingers, she leant up and kissed his cheek as he chewed the last of his third burger. He didn’t reciprocate, but nor did he move away, just looked out the window at the shadowy brush. She stuffed the wrappers into the empty sack and slid a little closer to him, her bent knees knocking into his thigh. 

Rising on her knees, she nudged her nose into the hair at his temple, pressing butterfly kisses into his skin, catching her lip on the arm of his sunglasses. His fingers tapped on the ledge of his open window, almost like she was keeping him from a more pressing appointment, and she wondered if his mood had sunk too low to be recovered. She started to draw back, but the firm line of his arm just behind her shoulders stopped her retreat. 

She studied him, looking down from his turned cheek to where the tendon in his neck was just visible above his turned-up collar as he craned his head away from her. Almost tentatively, she pressed her lips against it, feeling his pulse pounding beneath the salty skin. She lapped at it with tiny kitten licks until he jerked away, trying to hide his smile.  

Leaning forward, he started the engine and pulled back out onto the road, executing a neat u-turn so that they were heading north. 

“Where are we going now?”

“Gotta get you back to the nuthouse before they send out the guys with straitjackets,” he replied, shooting her a sly grin. 

“Uh huh, I’m sure it’d be me they were looking for,” she replied, settling herself down at his side. He just kept smiling, dropping his hand into her lap and entwining their fingers. That didn’t last long, because he had to keep twiddling the dial of the radio every time the deejay started talking. 

“Wasn’t that George?” she asked, as he abruptly twisted the knob again, muttering a curse word. “I don’t care who it was,” he snapped. “Don’t talk over the goddamn song. What’s the point of them even playing songs if they’re gonna-” He let out some high pitched gibberish that sounded like an irate chipmunk after sucking helium. 

“So, where’s next on the famous Elvis’ hometown tour?” “Aw, honey, there’s no…” He didn’t even bother finishing his lie. “There ain’t no point showing you, you know more about it than I do. I ever end up writing that book about my life, you’ll be there…’No, Elvis, it didn’t happen like that, I was there.’” She shook her head at his usual high-pitched impression of her. 

“The two of us in rocking chairs, me trying to edit every story,” she added. “In my head, you’re old when you’re writing this life story.”

She felt her cheeks heat as she had basically admitted that she pictured them together when they were old. That was giving away too much and also trying to take too little. 

If he noticed her embarrassment or thought that the idea of them being together when they were old was far-fetched, he didn’t show it, huffing a laugh as he guided them back through more familiar streets. “We’re going back? So soon?” She thought of all the people back at the house, likely some annoyed employees and some tense phone calls to be made. She wondered if they would get to sneak out like this again during her stay, and considered that plans would probably be put in place to stop that happening. 

“Well,” he bounced a closed fist against the inside of the truck door. “I gotta change my damn pants and… It seems like you might still be in a bad mood, honey. I think it might be time to try the second thing.”

Tag lIst: @richardslady121, @dkayfixates, @fallinlovewithurlove, @notstefaniepresley, @heartbrake-hotel , @freudianslumber , @bbrtt777, @18lkpeters , @prompted-wordsmith, @literally-just-elvis-fics , @eliseinmemphis @lookingforrainbows , @stylespresleyhearted , @amydarcimarie , @returntopresley, @savedrebelcreation, @lettersfromvenus , @littlehoneyposts, @joshuntildawn13, @i-r-i-n-a-a, @from-memphis-with-love, @ellie-24, @be-my-ally, @vintageshanny

[selene-writes]

Please go easy on me guys I'm not the best writer and this is my first fanfiction. Anyways... this is the first installment in my series rewrite. It's going to be a Sam x Reader and possibly Dean x Reader. This is an 18+ series and will include canon level violence, eventual graphic smut, dark, and is a slow burn.

My body trembled and my heart raced as tears streamed down my face, their salty taste filling my mouth. I wanted to kill them. An innocent family. I wanted to kill them. The thought disgusted and delighted me at the same time. The mother clutched her daughter in her arms and whispered that everything would be okay. The father was already dead. I had stabbed him. Again, and again. Now, as I raise my hunter's knife over the two of them, I can't help but look into the mirror on the wall, dark, blood-red eyes staring back at me. I smile at myself and bring the knife down...

You woke up to the sound of your screams. The nightmare and the images of the blood-soaked family burned brightly in your mind. You sighed before turning on the lamp next to you, which dimly lit the crappy motel room. The nightmare had felt so real, so alive. "There's no way I'm going back to sleep now," you mumbled aloud.

After lying in bed for a moment, trying to calm yourself and stop shaking, you got up and went to the small bathroom.  The nightmare had been so real, so vivid. The old faucet made a high-pitched whine, and you flinched before the water started to flow. You leaned down and splashed your face, hoping the cool water would wake you up. Your tank top and shorts cling to your skin, wet with your sweat, making you shiver involuntarily. You look up, part of you expecting to see the same blood red eyes you saw in your dream. But to your relief, you see your normal self, albeit with your tangled hair and the purple bags under your normal blue eyes.

Suddenly you heard the door to your room open.

"Fuck," you muttered, fear clutching at your stomach. You weren't here with anyone or expecting anyone. You grabbed one of your knives from the top of the sink, you were in the habit of keeping a weapon in every room and turned off the light in the bathroom. You decided to hide in the shower, closing the curtain as quietly as possible. You planned to wait until whoever was there entered the bathroom, after all, you did not know who or what was out there, and it was better to be safe than sorry. You listened for a moment and heard heavy footsteps approaching the door. "There's one of them," you thought after hearing the footsteps. The door slowly creaked open and you held your breath, clutching your knife and taking a defensive position. The curtain was suddenly pulled open, and you did not hesitate to lunge forward with the knife. The man grabbed your empty arm and twisted it behind your back, holding my knife-wielding hand in front of him. You quickly pulled his leg out from under him, but his grip on you caused you both to lose your balance and fall through the bathroom door. You landed on top of him and held the knife to his throat. Though the room was dimly lit, you could see that toothy smile and emerald eyes everywhere. Your eyes widened and you quickly pulled the knife away from his throat. 

"What the fuck Dean?!" I yell.

"Hey, sweetheart," he replies, smirking. Only then do you notice the position you're in, practically straddling Dean. You immediately get off of him before offering him your hand, which he gladly accepts. As soon as he stands, he wraps his arms around you. 

"It's good to see you." You smile as you put your arms around him. You pull away and your expression darkens. 

"But I swear to God, Winchester, if you ever scare me like that again, I will cut your dick off." You say sternly. He chuckles at your comment. "Yes ma'am."

You walk over to the mini fridge in the motel room and grab two beers. After twisting off the tops, you hand one to Dean. 

"So, what are you doing here?" You ask, turning to face him.

"I wanted to surprise you." He replies gruffly. "Love the outfit by the way." He adds smirking. My face turns red at his comment as I realize how short my shorts are.

"Shut up." You mutter as he laughs. "How did you find me anyway?" 

"Bobby," he replies, sitting down at the small table in the room.

"Of course," You can't help but snort. As his daughter he was very protective and always knew where you were. 

"Well, I don't suppose you're just dropping by to say hello, are you?" You took a seat across from him, it had been six months since you had last seen him, and he looked different, tired. 

"I wish." He mumbled. "My dad's on a case."

"Oh? The great John Winchester needs backup?" You say sarcastically. You stop when you see his face, something is wrong. "Dean?" 

"He's out on a case and I haven't heard from him in three weeks." 

Next part

[fdelopera]

Welcome to the 25th installment of 15 Weeks of Phantom, where I post all 68 sections of Le Fantôme de l’Opéra, as they were first printed in Le Gaulois newspaper 115 yeas ago.

In today’s installment, we have Part III of Chapter 10, “Au bal masqué” (“At the Masked Ball”).

This section was first printed on Monday, 1 November, 1909.

For anyone following along in David Coward's translation of the First Edition of Phantom of the Opera (either in paperback, or Kindle, or from another vendor -- the ISBN-13 is: 978-0199694570), the text starts in Chapter 10 at, “In this fashion they climbed up two floors,” and goes to Christine's line, “'Not a farce, Raoul: a tragedy!'” in Chapter 10.

Note, however, that a large part of this section in the Gaulois was cut from the First Edition. See below.

There are some differences between the Gaulois text and the First Edition. In this section, these include (highlighted in red above):

1) In the Gaulois text, this line reads:

... Christine (car c'était bien elle, il l'avait reconnue à ses yeux, il put encore la reconnaître à sa voix)

Translation:

... Christine (for it was certainly she; he had recognized her by her eyes, and he could further recognize her by her voice)*

* NOTE: The fact that Leroux states that Raoul could only see Christine's eyes helps to clarify the design of her mask, which was a black domino mask with a piece of black fabric hanging down from the bottom of the mask, covering her mouth. This piece of fabric was called a "barbe" ("beard"), similar to this historical mask below from a museum collection in Helsinki. In this scene, Christine’s black mask is meant to mirror Erik’s, whose black silk mask Leroux described as having a “barbe” that covered his mouth.

2) This section in the Gaulois text (highlighted in red above), which describes events that are discussed in the next chapter, "The Magic Envelope," was removed from the First Edition (along with "The Magic Envelope" chapter) in order to maintain the consistency of Leroux's narrative:

Translation:

He could barely hear Christine's whispered words, the young woman's breath was so light.

"There is someone in the box next to ours ... I hear him moving..."

He tried to speak, to tell her that it would be easy to go elsewhere to talk, but she silenced him with an emphatic "shush."

Hunching over, she crept up to the front of the box and risked a glance outside; this seemed to be enough to apprise her, for she returned immediately and said: "I thought I also recognized his voice... He talks to himself..."

Raoul, who was beginning to grow puzzled by Christine's behavior, asked her:

"Who is it?..."

"It is a Capuchin monk!" she said, still in a whisper... "And I am sure that the other one will arrive soon."

"What other one?" asked the Vicomte in the same tone of voice.

"The other Capuchin monk."

"If you are so afraid of being near Capuchin monks," replied Raoul, "we should go!"

But she seemed quite agitated.

"Oh! That could be highly unwise right now! It's madness!... Why did he tell me that he had a rendezvous in the Box of the Blind, which is located above?"

Suddenly, she stood bold upright:

"But then he is also going to come, himself!... Yes, yes, let's go!... Let's go!..."

She opened the door to the box and closed it almost immediately...

"Too late!..."

And visibly, she began to tremble.

"Put your mask back on, monsieur! Put it back on and do not remove it under any circumstances."

And she leaned against the door, as if to prevent him from opening it. Christine was swooning; Raoul tried to hold her up, but she pushed him away with her hand and pointed to the partition wall.

Then they heard a voice, which said:

"At last, monsieur, you are here! But do you not think it would be better to chat in your office? Here, monsieur, we must always be wary of eavesdroppers! Let us go to your office, monsieur..."**

And they heard nothing else but a door opening...

Christine let out a deep sigh. It seemed that at last she was allowed to breathe.

And she opened the door, saying:

"There is no more danger, Raoul!... But I was very afraid!..."

"Afraid of what? What has made you afraid? You must tell me, Christine!" implored the young man, who asked himself whether or not he would finally have an explanation for all of these bizarre comings and goings, all of these expressions of hope or fear. Christine did not reply. She continued to watch attentively through the gap between the door and the partition wall to see what was happening in the corridor.

Raoul watched behind her. At first, he saw two monks who looked like two friars and who were already descending the staircase leading to the second tier boxes.

The two hoods under which they were hiding were soon no more than two little shadows at the top of the steps, and then they disappeared. In the same instant, Raoul, who was following Christine's gaze, saw, on the highest step of the staircase which ascended to the tier above, a red foot place itself on the stair.

... And then, two red feet...

** NOTE: As is related in "The Magic Envelope," this was Erik's voice speaking to the Managers (who are the two figures dressed as Capuchin monks), telling them to go to the managerial office.

3) Minor differences in punctuation.

Click here to see the entire edition of Le Gaulois from 1 November, 1909. This link brings you to page 3 of the newspaper — Le Fantôme is at the bottom of the page in the feuilleton section. Click on the arrow buttons at the bottom of the screen to turn the pages of the newspaper, and click on the Zoom button at the bottom left to magnify the text.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 2: The Masquerade

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer From a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 8.1k Masterpost Previous chapter Next chapter

Author's Notes: THANK YOU for your incredible patience while I took forever to write this next chapter. It's the most daunting one in the whole story for me (and potentially the longest), and my summer has been full of travel and distractions. But I'm committed to keeping this story rolling! I do need to write chapter 3 which should be comparatively short, and then chapters 4-15 are already written and just need tweaking. Expect more frequent installments soon, though I do need a bit of time to focus on a Halloween fic for y'all 😉

As a reminder, text in italics are quotes from AOFAG and are the work of Julia Quinn.

Lastly, if we're manifesting things for Benophie in the show, the song I imagine them waltzing to at the masquerade is the VSQ cover of Young and Beautiful - it's so mysterious and romantic and gives voice to Sophie's anxieties. Enjoy 💙

Sophie was no stranger to courage. It was courage that had bolstered her through her lonely childhood at Penwood Park. Courage that enabled her to face each morning knowing she would most likely be subject to Araminta’s abuse. But what drove her to sneak into the Bridgerton masquerade was something different. Courage was an element of it, but she also had the odd and wonderful sensation that she was somehow destined to attend. A sort of magnetism pulling her back to Genevieve’s shop then down the street to the wisteria-clad manse glowing with candles in every window under a starlit night. 

It had proven surprisingly easy to accomplish her ruse. She had dressed Cressida in her iridescent mermaid costume then helped Araminta into a garish Elizabethan gown. Both of them fussed and snipped at her, demanding assistance and criticizing when it was provided. Lord Cowper kept his ensemble comparatively simple with a black horned mask that Sophie found to be an accurate reflection of his true character. Soon enough all of them bundled into their carriage, leaving her alone for the evening. Sophie knew to make for the modiste’s shop as quickly as she could, and only dithered when it came to selecting the shoes Gen had told her to bring. Neither of her sorry two pairs would suffice for a ball which meant borrowing a pair from her employers. She felt safer using Cressida’s except they all proved too large, to the point Sophie knew she would be tripping over herself. Araminta’s shoes fit comparatively well but her stomach lurched at the thought she may discover they had been taken. She reminded herself that she was the one tasked with cleaning them so she could easily replace them once she returned. Memories of a stinging slap dealt that morning solidified her resolve and she selected a pair of silk slippers in a pale blue-grey with diamond clips that complemented the silver gown she knew was waiting for her.

Wrapped in a cloak, she had scurried to Gen’s door and the proud smile on her friend’s face gave her a burst of excitement for what was to come. The modiste slipped her into the finished gown, somehow impossibly more breathtaking than it had been before. Sophie couldn’t tear her eyes away from the mirrors in the shop, bewitched by how the fabric caught the light. Gen had procured all the trappings, outfitting her with elbow length silk gloves, starry earrings and jewels for her hair which she helped to coif atop her head in an elaborate style. She even swiped rouge on her cheeks and stain on her lips, something Sophie had never tried before, and by the time she was done Sophie didn’t recognize her reflection even before the demi-mask was fitted over her eyes. She was an elegant silver stranger and one who looked every bit deserving of entry to a ball.

With a kiss on the cheek Genevieve sent her out into the night and closed shop to attend a party of her own, the likes of which Sophie could only guess at. Though her heart was pounding as she treaded the cobblestones up to Bridgerton House, she knew it was from excitement as much as nerves, and when she was waved into the main hall without question, it nearly stopped altogether. It was a sight far better than she had imagined. A candlelit scene of ivory grandeur with masked guests milling across the lacquered floor and up the grand staircase, dancers in the center and towers of treats and champagne to each side. It felt as if she had stepped into a dream and she never wanted to wake up.

She was knocked from her reverie by a young lady who appeared at her side, costumed as a Grecian muse. “My, what a beautiful dress!” She commented.

Sophie swallowed, suddenly fearful that her very voice may betray her identity, but instinctively she responded. “Thank you.”

When the girl only smiled and moved away, she breathed a sigh of relief. Who here could possibly recognize her voice aside from the Cowpers? She scanned the room but they were nowhere to be found. The lady who had spoken to her was at a table by the wall selecting a dance card. Not wanting to attract suitors, Sophie moved past the cards and weaved her way toward the nearest refreshments. Her eyes were so fixed on the array of delicacies that she failed to register how many heads turned to watch her.

The tiered display before her boasted a variety of sweets unlike any Sophie had ever seen. Candies and fruits, chocolates and tarts, even ice cream were all for the taking. Until that moment the only treat she had ever eaten was marzipan, a controversial candy that both her father and the Cowpers kept on hand for guests but despised themselves and so were none the wiser when she snuck pieces. Spoiled for choice, she seized a raspberry tart and had to fight from moaning at its rich sweetness. Then she nibbled on a chocolate, then a lemon cake before she stopped herself, realizing it would be unladylike to gorge herself and thereby risk revealing that she did not belong. She switched to a flute of champagne, another luxury she had never sampled before but quite enjoyed, and began to move about the perimeter of the room. 

The sea of costumes was so varied and elaborate, Sophie felt confident she did not stand out too drastically. Among the women there were queens and faeries, flowers and creatures of myth, all hidden behind demi-masks or veils. The gentlemen presented as an array of devils and jesters, satyrs and knights if they weren’t simply wearing their tails and a mask. Sophie listened in on their snippets of conversation. Courtship gossip among the women and business among the men. The young ladies whispered their opinions of the bachelors and the bachelors largely stayed silent unless they were mumbling about retiring to the smoking room. Behind them in the center of the hall were the dancers, swishing over a bee motif painted onto the parquet floor. The song was a sprightly one, spurring couples to hop around their partners while grasping hands and looping arms in a complex sequence. Sophie was transfixed, marveling at how it reminded her of a music box come to life. Everything was a feast for the senses: the twinkle of the candles, the strings of the musicians, the bubbles that tickled her tongue and the silk that wrapped around her skin. This was the life she had read about in Whistledown. This was the life she could have had as her father’s daughter if things were ever so slightly different.

A footman collected her empty glass and she felt herself calming. But that calm was immediately shattered when she noticed not one, not two, but three young gentlemen approaching her from various points in the room. It was then she realized that card or no, they would ask her to dance. It was also when she remembered that she did not know how to dance. And it was then that she began to chastise herself for forgetting this crucial fact before sneaking into a ball. She had been so caught up in the thrill of simply observing the masquerade and so used to being overlooked that she had not contemplated the possibility that a man may ask her to dance. If she attempted to, it would immediately become obvious that she was an imposter. Her mind started to race, eyes pinging between the three admittedly handsome gentlemen who drew closer and closer, looking at her as if she were a piece of meat and they were starving lions. There was nothing for it - she would have to hide. Backing away as gracefully as she could, she scurried around a cluster of guests, lifted two more flutes of champagne and darted down a hall where open french doors promised a swift escape.

---

[Shift to Benedict’s POV as written at the beginning of Chapter 2 of AOFAG. He is begrudgingly attending the masquerade, aggravated that he cannot be distinguished from his brothers. 

…he sometimes wished he were considered a little less a Bridgerton and a little more himself.

Violet asks him to dance with Penelope who is unfortunately dressed as a peacock. On his way, he is cornered by rude debutantes.

“A Bridgerton!...Which are you? No, don’t say. Let me guess. You’re not the viscount, because I just saw him. You must be Number Two or Number Three.”]

Grimacing his way out of yet another insulting and inane conversation, Benedict tucked himself into a corner under the stairs. He should have pushed forward to go humor Penelope Featherington but he had lost sight of her and he didn’t know if he would be able to bite his tongue through one more chance interception by an air-headed debutante or her mama. All of these ladies simpering over a man who they could not name while their mothers’ half-smiles betrayed that they saw him as little more than a consolation prize now that his titled brother was taken. He pitied them, knowing it was what they were all raised to do. But he also pitied himself for being the focus of their attentions. He supposed it was inevitable that he would find himself playing the marriage mart one day and it was precisely as miserable as he had imagined it would be, if not more. But having failed in his pursuit of art, the one thing that had stirred true and enduring passion within him, what else was he supposed to do? Perhaps a wife would make him feel grounded, grant him a new sense of purpose. But none of the young ladies he had met throughout the painfully long London season had been able to produce any feeling in him that was even a fraction of what he felt when he daubed oils on canvas, or sketched a flower, or studied a Turner sky.

With a rueful smirk he wondered if he would fail at becoming a husband too. He hadn’t the merits to get into the Royal Academy without a bribe; perhaps he didn’t have the merits to succeed at the marriage mart either. As eager as the women were to throw themselves at his feet, he didn’t know if he could hide his true feelings well enough to make it to an altar. Feelings of disappointment, lack of inspiration, and invisibility. The dreadful suspicion that he was not destined for the productive life of artistry he had always imagined. He was only a Bridgerton, one of many, and the most he could hope to achieve was some form of domestic happiness, if any woman would tie herself to such an empty shell of a man. 

His stomach sank as he heard his surname giggled in a nearby pack of debutantes. It was all too much, he needed fresh air. As he turned toward the back hall he felt an odd tingling sensation in his limbs and all of his focus seemed to narrow on the french doors. Perhaps he had drunk too much, perhaps it was too hot in the room, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. Rather, it was a feeling of certainty. Certainty that he must go outside and his feet were itching to carry him there. He did not protest and in a moment he was through the doors and in the cool air of the back garden. 

On instinct he walked toward the massive elm tree, planning to rest on the swings hanging from its branches. Scattered torches and a pearlescent full moon helped to illuminate the garden, making it a peaceful respite from the crush of people inside. He assumed he was alone but realized he was mistaken when he rounded the rose bushes and beheld an odd sight. It was a woman standing on the paving stones with her back to him. She was dressed in a silver gown, antiquated in style but made of the most mesmerizing fabric that seemed to absorb the very moonlight and make her glow. Her head was turned toward a large window of the house through which could be seen the dancing couples inside. She was mimicking them, slowly, jerkily, raising her arms and stepping to and fro with an invisible partner, stumbling every few steps and then hissing at herself as she tried to match the movements once again. It was clear she was trying to learn the dance and failing spectacularly.

Benedict couldn’t tear his eyes away. Even without seeing her face he could tell she was a beauty. But more than that, she was the most curious creature he had come across at any event of the ton. So many questions immediately arose. Who was she? How atrocious had her dancing master been? Why wasn’t she chaperoned?  Whatever the story was, he simply had to know it.

He stepped closer and cleared his throat, hoping not to frighten her.

“Are you in need of a partner?”

“Oh!” Instantly she whipped around and nearly jumped a foot in the air. 

Benedict’s breath caught in his throat. He had been right about her beauty, it was evident even behind her demi-mask. But it wasn’t simply the trappings of her stunning gown, glimmering jewelry or scarlet lips. It was innate, some kind of light that animated her from within. It called to him like a lighthouse across a stormy sea and he was transfixed. He had never experienced such a powerful sensation upon first seeing a woman. Sophie stuttered, embarrassed to have been discovered tromping around in the garden and nervous that her behavior was about to reveal her as a trespasser. The fact that her inquisitor was tall, dark and handsome was also causing her mind to stall. She offered a meager explanation. “I…I am not familiar with this step, so I was…trying to learn.”

Her voice was the sweetest music Benedict had ever heard. It made him feel weightless, electrified. Akin to how his favorite landscapes left him gaping in awe, but even more visceral. He realized he was staring at her, agog, and snapped himself back to attention. “And you did not want to ask any of the gentlemen inside to teach you?”

“I didn’t want to seem silly. Though I suppose, I have already failed at that.” She dropped her eyes and blushed and Benedict felt heat surge through his own skin at seeing its beautiful hue. What was it about her that made him falter when every other young lady made him want to run? Who on earth was she?

“I don’t recognize you. The same array of people always come to these parties.”

“Ah, then my disguise is working well.” She arched a brow with a mischievous little grin. 

Benedict felt his stomach flip with delight. “What is your name?”

Sophie prickled. She would need to be crafty with her answers to maintain her anonymity. The consequences of being discovered were dire, but perhaps that was what gave it an undeniably exciting edge. She had learned to hide herself in plain sight with the Cowpers. Surely this wouldn't be much harder. “Is a degree of mystery not the purpose of a masquerade?”

His lopsided smile set her at ease. He wouldn’t interrogate her; he was amiable.

“Very true. So you are going to make me guess?”

“I think it would be a fruitless endeavor.”

Benedict marveled at the beautiful stranger as the intrigue grew deeper. She was the first debutante who had reacted to him with anything other than fawning desperation. She was playful. She was a breath of fresh air.

He stepped closer, folding his arms as he looked her up and down. “Well, you have already given me a significant clue. A young lady in society who does not know the quadrille. That is unique indeed.” She straightened her mask and he noticed her unadorned wrist. “And no dance card. You are truly committed to remaining as anonymous as possible.”

“All in the spirit of the event.” She turned quickly and walked to a nearby table where two flutes of champagne sat unattended. She drank down the remnants of one a bit too eagerly, betraying her nerves.

“Is someone joining you?” Benedict wondered if he had interrupted the flirtations of another suitor. If so, the man was a fool to take his eyes off such a creature for even a moment.

Sophie followed his gaze to the second glass and felt herself flush at being caught indulging so brazenly. She picked it up and carried it back to him. Now that he knew she could not dance, she could relax and enjoy his conversation at least.

“You have joined me, Mister…?”

He accepted the glass and huffed a laugh. “Oh come now, my disguise is not nearly as good as yours. You don’t have to be so coy.”

The woman continued to stare at him blankly and the puzzle of her grew infinitely more bewildering. Could it be possible that she truly did not recognize him? Even if this was her first event among the ton, she could not have failed to hear his name on every other woman’s lips as they chased him through the ballroom. Nor could she be so ignorant about her hosts. They were at his bloody house after all.

His brow knitted in disbelief. “You truly do not know who I am?”

“There you are!” A voice called out suddenly.

Sophie’s stomach lurched into her throat. She’d been found out. She’d be thrown into the street, and tomorrow probably into jail for stealing Araminta’s shoes, and–

A second man marched around the rose bushes also in tails and a black demi-mask, shorter and broader than the first but also remarkably handsome. He stomped up to confront the other.

“Mother has been looking all over for you. You weaseled out of your dance with Penelope and I had to take your place.”

The taller man smirked. “And did that put you out terribly, brother?”

Sophie looked from one man to the other. Even under their demi-masks, the familial relationship was more than obvious, and she realized in a blinding flash that they must be the famed and coveted Bridgerton brothers. But which brother was her visitor? Benedict. He had to be Benedict. She sent a silent thank you to Lady Whistledown, who’d once written a column completely devoted to the task of telling the Bridgerton siblings apart. Benedict, she recalled, had been singled out as the tallest. Sophie began to assess him anew, the most eligible bachelor in the ton. Remembering that Gen had shared a dalliance with him, she could understand the appeal.

“It was better than any of the alternatives, I must say,” The man who must have been Colin Bridgerton shrugged. “If you flee the party and leave me to that pack of she-devil debutantes, I swear I shall exact revenge to my dying day.”

Benedict laughed and Colin turned to Sophie with a start, realizing that they were not alone. “Oh pardon, present company excluded. I apologize, Miss.”

He bowed politely and she returned her best curtsy.

“No offense taken, sir.”

The annoyance melted out of his eyes - a captivating shade of blue - and his voice grew silky as he stepped toward her. “Might I request an introduction?”

“I doubt you’ll meet with success.” Benedict snickered. “I would like one as well but the lady is committed to the spirit of the event and will not share her name.”

Colin frowned at her playfully. “Not even a false one?”

Sophie grinned, enjoying their little game. She had never received so much attention from any member of the upper class, much less two suave and flirtatious bachelors. It made her bold. “If you really insist, I suppose I could tell you something.”

“But not the truth?” Benedict asked.

“This isn’t a night for truth.”

Colin leaned in with a devilish smirk. “My favorite kind of night.”

Benedict rolled his eyes and tugged his brother upright. “Shouldn’t you be with Penelope?” 

At this, the younger grew flustered. “I…well…”

“It would be the honorable thing to do, making sure the young lady is asked to more than just one dance this evening.” At the end of his argument Benedict folded his bottom lip into an exaggerated pout and Sophie felt her insides flutter.

Colin seemed possessed by a new sense of chivalry. “Very well, I’ll take my leave. And fight back through the pack of ravenous wolves…”

“Wolves?” Sophie laughed, turning to Benedict. “Is that what drove you out of doors as well, sir?”

“I suspect it is.” Colin grinned and clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Our mother would like nothing better than to see this one married off.”

“Brother…” Benedict’s grip tightened around the champagne flute.

“Would you take pity on the poor, long-suffering woman and chase him up the aisle?” Colin shot a wink at Sophie.

“Have you been at the tea again?” Benedict grumbled under his breath, staring daggers.

Sophie couldn’t remember being so entertained before. “I believe I shall have to get to know him better first, and take the full measure of his character before any chasing shall commence.”

Her co-conspirator released a loud sigh. “Then alas, I fear he may be found wanting and remain a bachelor forever.”

“Are you quite finished?” Benedict snipped.

Sensing the end of his patience, Colin slapped him on the back and desisted. “I am.” He turned to Sophie with a beaming smile and bowed once more. “Enjoy your evening.” Then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared, leaving them alone in the garden.

Sophie allowed a giggle to escape. “It is charming to see two brothers who get on so well.”

Benedict took a large swig of champagne. “You’d call that getting on?”

“I would.” Sophie smiled softly. “I have no siblings myself but it’s clear the jesting stems from a place of love.” Indeed, Sophie felt herself surrounded by love at this house. A love of family and community that she had always longed for but always been denied. It was bittersweet to be wrapped in it, knowing it would only last for one evening.

He quirked a brow. “Another clue. She has no siblings.”

“That cannot be that rare.” Sophie spluttered, chastising herself for her misstep.

“It certainly narrows the options.”

“Well, it is the last thing I shall share about my identity.” She set her chin defiantly and Benedict found it to be quite the most adorable expression. Now he was determined to know everything about her, however long he had to play her game.

He stepped toward her again, lowering his voice. “Why so many secrets?”

“I told you, this entire night is meant for secrets. Though I believe I have uncovered yours.” Sophie said with an enigmatic smile, truly warming to her role as a mysterious stranger. 

“Oh yes?”

“I know who you are.”

Benedict shrugged. “I assumed as much.”

“I didn’t at first,” she confessed.

“What gave me away?”  With no discernable parents shoving her in his direction, Benedict wondered how she had deduced it.

Sophie grinned, victorious. “The fact that you are here with your brother. That you look so alike. And are both being hounded by the young ladies.”

“We look alike even with masks on?” 

“Even with masks,” she nodded. “Lady Whistledown writes about the Bridgerton brothers quite often, and she never passes up an opportunity to comment upon how alike you look.”

Ah, she was a Whistledown reader, though that didn’t help him parse her identity among the young ladies of the ton. He had never read the scandal sheet himself but was unsurprised that it contained discussions of the Bridgerton resemblance. He had heard it all his life, how similar he was to his two eldest brothers. The three of them were often called by the others’ names, even by their own mother on occasion, with everyone typically defaulting to assuming they were all Anthony, the Viscount. He and Colin had used it to their advantage from time to time, wielding perceived status to get preferential treatment or making handshake deals to embroil Anthony in some ludicrous business venture. He of course could see the clear distinctions between each of them but it seemed society could not. If anything, he knew he most closely resembled his late father and it caused the greatest pain when someone slipped and called Benedict by his name. It was all something he had learned to live with. He loved his family dearly but his visibility as a Bridgerton often made him feel invisible as Benedict.

He steeled himself to be wounded again by this lady in silver. “And do you know which brother I am?”

“Benedict,” she smiled brightly. His heart skipped hearing his name on her lips. In the soft glow she cast, he finally felt seen. “If indeed Lady Whistledown is correct when she says that you are the tallest among your brothers.”

He swallowed to try and hide his excitement. “You’re quite the detective.”

She shrugged. “I merely read a gossip sheet. It makes me no different from the rest of the people here.”

He wanted to chuckle at how she voiced his precise thoughts aloud. Perhaps she was an enchantress with the power to read minds. Whoever she was, dream or reality, he needed to know more. Downing the rest of his champagne, he set the glass aside and moved closer, trying to study the contours of her face and color of her eyes behind her mask.

“And if Lady Whistledown were here and saw you tonight, would she know your identity?”

The woman backed away, playfully but pointedly drifting across the grass toward the elm tree. “I’m so well disguised that no one would recognize me right now.”

He continued his pursuit. “What if you removed your mask? Would she recognize you then?”

“I’m not going to answer that.” She walked backward slowly, always staying paces ahead of him. 

He returned her wry smile. “I didn’t think you would, but I had to ask nonetheless. Dare I ask what else you know about me from Whistledown?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

Sophie’s nerves were running haywire at being chased with such evident intent by a gentleman. And not just any gentleman, but Benedict Bridgerton himself. She had never planned to flirt nor attract the attention of gentlemen at the ball. She had only wanted to observe it, to soak in the atmosphere, to forget the life of Sophie Beckett for a few hours. But now the most coveted man in the ton - a man far more charming and beautiful than she had presumed - was stalking toward her with hungry eyes. She should have been terrified at being discovered or even compromised, but she wasn’t. She was enjoying this. Perhaps she could blame the champagne for the heated, buzzing feeling throughout her body but whatever it was, it left her heady with confidence and craving more.

Something bumped into the back of her legs and she turned to see that she was standing by a pair of swings hanging from the branches of the looming tree above. He had her cornered. But he was nothing but a gentleman as he held the swing steady and gestured for her to sit. With the volume of her skirt she could do little but perch on the seat and hold onto the ropes to keep her balance. He lowered himself onto the swing next to hers and rocked lightly to and fro with a cheeky glint in his eyes.

“If I cannot know anything about you, at least I might know what you know about me.”

Sophie pondered a moment. Her immediate thoughts were what Genevieve had shared. That he was sensitive, talented and good. But of course she could not reveal that she had learned such things. She had to rely on what had been reported in Whistledown, which had conveniently been confirmed by Colin. “Your name has not been seriously linked with any young lady, and your mother despairs of ever seeing you married.”

The way his shoulders slumped banished her assumption that he simply didn’t want to end a rakish bachelor lifestyle. The burden to marry weighed on him more heavily for some reason.

“The pressure has lessened a bit now that my brother’s gone and gotten himself a wife,” he explained.

“The Viscount?”

“Mmmm,” he nodded. “And anyway, I’m sure at some point I’ll find the lady suitable enough to keep my house and bear my children.” He kicked at the grass, dispirited.

“Among the ravenous wolves?” Sophie chuckled, trying to brighten the mood and coax the truth out of him. “It sounds as if that traditional sort of life would be unappealing to you.”

Benedict shook himself out of his ruminations and sat up straight. He felt so at ease with this mysterious guest that he had let the mask of debonair suitor slip. He must be cautious in revealing his true feelings especially if he hoped to secure her hand, the only one that was making the prospect of marriage seem in any way appealing. He spluttered, “Well…I only…”

She cut him off. “Do not worry about offending me, Mr. Bridgerton. I am not here to find a husband and I’d much rather have your honesty than your flattery.”

Who on earth was this miraculous woman? A young lady who was not scheming for a proposal but rather seeking to know him better. The first and only he had encountered in the marriage mart. He felt as if he had discovered a unicorn and effortlessly opened his heart to her. 

“I suppose there are other pursuits in life that interest me. To travel the Continent and see the artworks of the great masters. To seek out beauty in all its forms and capture it. To do something worthwhile with myself, have an occupation. Shocking as that may be, I feel that I would find it fulfilling.”

While his desires may have confused many of her peers, the lady in silver only smiled. “I think it’s admirable for anyone to hold an occupation. It shows a great deal of character, not to mention independence. And in this independent life of yours, there would be no room for a wife?”

“I didn’t say that,” he clarified. “I have never disdained romance, as it appears you do. If you’re not here to find a husband, then what are you here for?”

“To enjoy myself.”

“Simple enough,” he smirked.

“Yes,” she sighed. “If only I knew how to dance.” The pointed challenge in her eyes lit a spark within him. She was a smart little thing, a force to be reckoned with. He would not shy away. He bounced to his feet and stood before her.

“I would teach you gladly but be forewarned, I will teach you badly. I never took to it.”

Sophie laughed. “Have you two left feet, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“Why do you think I find myself still unmarried?”

“Surely your dancing skills cannot be that atrocious. Could it be you have some nefarious personality traits that are driving the women away?”

Benedict sniggered. “Hmmmm. Perhaps I am too rakish. Too predisposed to indulgences.”

“Does that not describe just about every gentleman in the ton?”

“Are you saying that I’m indistinguishable?” His lip folded into a hilarious pout again. 

Sophie was enjoying their sparring immensely. “I’m saying it must truly be your dancing that is to blame.”

Then he bent and extended his hand. “Let me show you and you can judge for yourself.”  

She rose with a rustle of silver skirts and allowed Benedict to guide her back across the lawn to the paving stones, the two of them walking in comfortable silence. She felt like a princess - a reckless princess - and so when he asked her to dance, she put her hand in his. And even though she knew that this entire evening was a lie, that she was a nobleman’s bastard and a countess’s maid, that her dress was borrowed and her shoes practically stolen - none of that seemed to matter as their fingers entwined. For this moment, at least, Sophie could pretend that this gentleman could be her gentleman. It was nothing but a dream, but it had been so terribly long since she’d let herself dream.

Standing across from the house window once more, they turned to face each other. Sophie swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how tall and how close he was. The moonlight shone behind him, cutting a striking silhouette with glinting pale blue eyes set behind his black mask. Never releasing her hand, he guided it into place.

“Put your hand here on my shoulder. Just a touch lower, there you are.”

Then his hands moved, one to her waist and one to extend their arms to the side. Sophie couldn’t help but shudder at the expanse of his grasp. 

Benedict dropped his voice, instructing gently. “Now, listen to the music. Do you feel it rising and falling?”

Drifting out from the house Sophie could hear the musicians’ strings playing something light and hopeful. She concentrated and began to sense its rhythmic pattern.

“I feel it.”

Benedict smiled. “Good. Now watch my feet and let me lead you. One, two, three; one, two, three.”

As if on queue Sophie stumbled after just a moment, tripping over Benedict’s feet. “Oh! I’m sorry!” 

His hold tightened around her to keep her from falling but he couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “See? I am an awful teacher. Perhaps you should return to watching the dancers inside. What are they doing now?”

Sophie couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across her own face, realizing she had never met such a good humored man. A nobleman who didn’t scold her for a misstep and even blamed himself instead. He was so playful, so easy to talk to. Despite the outrageous risk she was taking with this entire evening, she had never been more comfortable around a member of the gentry. She turned to peer into the ballroom and watched the flurry of dancing couples moving around one another. Their hands and arms entwined in a series of looping motions, palms meeting to raise over their heads before sliding back down to wrap around the ladies’ shoulders. 

Knowing they were entirely unsuited to the task and giggling at each other with mischief in their eyes, she and Benedict attempted to mimic - or rather mock - the dancers inside. They grasped at each other’s elbows and wrists, fumbling to change holds and laughing as they found themselves tied in ridiculous knots and unable to glide into the next motion. Benedict pranced like a peacock and overexaggerated a deep bend of the knee as the men inside artfully swept a leg behind themselves. Next, the ladies twirled, grasping the mens’ hands and floating in a circle to revolve around their backs. Benedict extended his hand with a flourish, Sophie took it and then began skipping like a child around him, skirts bunched in her fist. They were laughing so much she was sure the champagne was to blame, which was practically confirmed when she rounded Benedict’s other side and promptly tripped on her dress, pitching to the ground.

But he caught her, swiftly and easily moving to cradle her in his arms. Their laughter died away as they gazed at one another, catching their breath. For the first time Benedict was close enough to determine the color of her eyes - they were green. A deep emerald green that sparkled as richly as her silver costume. He was nearly overcome with their light and the feeling of how perfectly she fit in his arms. Barely keeping his wits about him, he lifted her gently back to her feet.

“Lord, I never expected to find the one person worse at dancing than me,” he chuckled, trying to tame the maelstrom of emotions swirling within.

The woman returned a shaky smile. “Well I hope it serves as a boost to your confidence.”

The tremor in her voice gave him a glint of hope. Could she be feeling the same way he did? Did she too sense an overwhelming connection between them? Something he was ready to label as destiny. She hadn’t spurned any of his advances. No indeed she had flirted back at him, toying and challenging, matching his wits and his energy. She was not eager to marry him for his family or position, she was able to pick him out among his brothers and she supported his dream to do more with his life than simply wile away in domesticity. She made him laugh, she made him feel alive, she made him feel visible. Everything he had been searching for and had abandoned hope of ever finding, all embodied by a nameless lady in silver who had appeared in his garden like a gift from the heavens. She was a star, and he wanted to pick her up and hang her in his sky to guide him. 

He stepped close and wrapped an arm around her waist, just wanting to hold her again. “Shall we try again? In earnest?”

Sophie was transfixed, something blooming inside her chest from the moment he caught her. This already exceptional night had taken so many unexpected turns. She had never expected to speak at length with any attendee of the ball, much less the most prized bachelor in society. And she certainly never expected a private audience with him for the whole evening, nor the feelings it would stir within her. So quickly he had banished her assumptions of what such a man would be like. He was nowhere near as snobbish as she imagined he had a right to be, nor was he the dour figure she had supposed when Gen told her he probably disdained attention. He was passionate, animated, with a comic disposition and a large heart. He disdained attention because he wanted more and felt out of place - feelings she could relate to very well indeed. He was good-natured, forgiving, gentle. And as if that weren’t enough, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen despite that she could only view half of his face beneath his mask. Though she knew the Bridgerton siblings were famed for their looks and she had only seen one brother to compare him to, she knew that Benedict would always have drawn her eye above all. 

She was in danger of losing her heart to him. She feared it may have already happened. But there was no happy ending to this story. She could not reveal herself nor enjoy his company for any longer than this one night. But with his arm around her and his blue eyes holding hers so warmly, she could not bring herself to care. The musicians inside were playing a new song, something resonant and soulful, full of longing and magic. She would fit an entire lifetime into this night.

“Alright, one last go.” Bringing one hand to his shoulder and lacing the other with his, she took her position and stared down at their feet again.

“Look up,” Benedict encouraged.

She shook her head. “I will stumble.”

“You won’t. I won’t let you. Look into my eyes.”

She followed his soft command and raised her eyes to meet his. Mesmerized, she couldn’t look away. She could barely breathe. She was dimly aware that they were moving, that he was guiding her through a waltz slowly and fluidly. Suddenly their feet knew precisely how to carry them. Benedict never blinked, determined never to let this silver blessing out of his sight or his arms until she understood how she had enchanted him. Everything around them was bathed in moonlight, making her shimmer like a precious jewel in his hands. 

“What do you feel?”

“Everything,” she breathed.

“What do you hear?”

“The music. I hear the music as I’ve never heard it before.” She moved light on her feet, the romantic call of the strings making it seem as if she were floating across the paving stones.

Benedict’s heart was pounding, desperate for her answer to his next question. “What do you see?”

Sophie froze, paralyzed by the impossibility of putting it into words. As their steps gently stopped and they stood inches apart, everything about him was thrown into sharp focus. She saw everything she had never dared to hope for. A man who showed interest, a man who was kind, a man who could free her from her miserable life. If only she was not who she was. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and the air grew thick and hot. This was desire, Sophie realized. This was what she’d heard fellow maids whispering about. This was what no gently bred lady was even supposed to know about. But she was no gently bred lady, she thought defiantly. She was a bastard, a nobleman’s by-blow. She was not a member of the ton and never would be. Did she really have to abide by their rules? 

As Benedict’s lips parted and his head lowered toward her, she knew he was moving to kiss her and she would allow it. She craved it. It was enough to ruin a reputation, but what sort of reputation did she have to begin with? She was outside society and she wanted one night of fantasy. One kiss to savor for the rest of her pitiful existence.

Their breaths gusted across each other’s skin, lips barely an inch apart. Sophie was certain her heart was thundering loud enough that he may hear it. The music swelled. She closed her eyes. Then she felt his long, slender fingers cup her face and begin to slip under the ribbon tying her mask. 

Alarm bells sounded in her mind and she lurched backward, bringing a hand to press her mask firmly to her face. She could not be discovered. Despite how everything in her body was crying out for him, she would not allow it. In the commotion a lock of her hair fell loose and dangled over her shoulder. After securing her mask she began trying to pin her hair back in place, fingers slipping in her silk gloves.

Benedict stood befuddled, watching her fumble with her gloves and hairpins. She was truly committed to not revealing her identity. A thought flashed through his mind that perhaps she was hiding some kind of deformity. At this point, he did not care. It would not make him feel anything less toward her and he was determined to woo her.

“Blasted things…” Sophie cursed under her breath as her hair continued to slip out of her grasp.

“Allow me.” Benedict reached forward and softly took her wrist, slowly sliding the glove down from her elbow to pull it off. Sophie stood trembling as he kept her hand in his and brushed his thumb across her knuckles, their skin meeting for the first time. Then he bent, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he pressed a deep, warm kiss to the back of her hand. Her breath hitched, feeling an electric current spider out from his lips across every inch of her skin. This was already a bold move but he took it even further, turning her hand over and lavishing her palm with another sensuous kiss - making his intentions clear without a single word.

“Who are you?” Benedict rasped. “I have to know.”

“I can’t say.” Sophie felt torn in two - her heart and body tugging her forward into his arms while her mind and reason held her back.

Benedict felt the heat rising under his collar. He didn’t want to learn her name simply to beat her at her game. He wanted it so that he could know who had stolen his heart so quickly and completely. So that he could keep her in his life and sing her praises. He would not end the evening without making his feelings known.

He gripped her hand tighter, pressing in close, his voice urgent. “I want to see you tomorrow. I want to call on you and meet your parents. Do you understand what I’m saying? I need to know you. I want…”

“Don’t say anything more! Please. Not another word.” Sophie cut him off, tears pricking at her eyes. This was all a mistake, a dreadful mistake. She never should have remained in the garden with Benedict, should never have flirted with him, should never have let it go this far.

“Then tell me your name,” he pleaded desperately. “Tell me how to find you tomorrow.”

The sobs were rising from her throat, anguished at how much pain she was causing them both. At how unfair it all was. “I…”

Her voice was drowned out by a booming clang from within Bridgerton House, followed by the guests inside erupting into cheers and laughter. 

“What is that?”

“Midnight. Time for the unmasking.” Benedict explained, turning to her with hopeful eyes.

“Unmasking?” Sophie’s mind whirred, horrified. No one had ever mentioned an unmasking. It wasn’t reported in Whistledown and Gen hadn’t warned her. Perhaps it was something that everyone of good breeding inherently knew about a masquerade. Clearly she was not one of them. She had been so wrong to attempt this, so ill-prepared for what would happen. Now she would be out of place for not revealing herself.

As she panicked over what to do, Benedict pulled off his own mask and her crisis deepened. He was beautiful. Impossibly more beautiful now that she could see the boyish mirth in his face, the inquisitive slant of his brow, the way his crystal blue eyes were framed by the most endearing creases, evidencing a lifetime of smiles.

Benedict’s hope deflated as the woman stared at him, stock-still. “Are you alright?”

“I have to go,” she choked, barely audible. Then she gathered her skirts in her hands, turned and fled into the house.

“Wait!” Benedict leapt after her, feeling like a man possessed. He could not lose her, the only woman who had stirred him to the depths of his soul. The only one who he could be prevailed upon to marry. She held his future. She held his heart. He couldn’t let them vanish. 

He tore back through the house, catching glimpses of her silver form sweeping around each corner. She was remarkably fast. He burst into the ballroom and had to scan to find her among the riot of costumes and noise. The candlelight glinted off her dress as she pushed steadily through the crowd, already halfway to the door, and he dove in after her. He abandoned any care of being polite and began shouldering his way past guests, even knocking into his brother Anthony who promptly began to admonish him but Benedict pressed on, deaf to anything but the chanting in his mind. No, no, no. He could not lose her.

Sophie dipped and sashayed around the crush of partygoers, moving as quickly as she could for the exit but not wanting to cause a scene. The genteel crowd proved their manners by parting easily as she passed. She cast glances back over her shoulder, seeing Benedict trying to catch up with her but people were less inclined to clear the way for a man. Her heart was in her throat, unsure if she could escape without being caught by Benedict or the Cowpers or anyone else who found her behavior curious. The large front doors were in sight and she turned one final time to see Benedict’s path blocked suddenly by a severe looking woman with a scarlet costume and a cane. She would make it. 

Barely maintaining composure, she slowed her pace as she approached the doors and nodded politely to the footmen who opened them and ushered her out into the cool night. She scurried down the stairs, mask still on her face as she began to soak it with tears. Confused and frantic, she gave over to her instincts which were drawing her away from Grosvenor Square and back to the modiste shop. Though she knew it was her only course of action and she knew she had let the entire evening get out of hand, she couldn’t help but feel fractures splintering her heart with each hurried footfall on the cobblestones.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @yellowprimrose @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale

[quiet-hypnotist]

Helpful Nap

"Hello? Anyone there? Help?” The question seemed laughably misplaced. There had not been a single movement in the rest of the room for hours beyond the flickering of the lights. It was hard to imagine that would change anytime soon either. Whoever set this up certainly did not feel pressed for time. There was no urging voice spewing taunts. No attempt at coercing an already shaken captured victim into some form of agreement. Not even a lack of amenities. There were drinks and snacks on a nearby table. Staying hydrated was not going to be an issue. And if one didn’t know that the door was tightly locked, the luxurious bed with fluffy pillows and the softest blanket certainly didn’t give away that this was for all intents and purposes a prison cell.

Neither did the entertainment. At least one might have mistaken it for such at first. A smooth, barely noticable soundtrack playing in the background. It barely was louder than the incessant murmurs of internal panic and confusion about the intent of whoever set this up. Who would go out of their way to build such a lavishly decorated room only to hold a stranger locked away after plucking them from a sidewalk in town like some lost and found item. That really was the oddest thing about it all. There had been no fuss, no noise, not even any force. Just… just what exactly? Recalling it was oddly hazy. Something shiny. Colours. So many colours. Then warm, dazed silence. Finally the room. An unfamiliar ceiling that turned out to be the panel of a large four poster bed. Certainly not the sort of accomodation one would provide for a random stranger, was it?

“I’m here! Does anyone hear me?”

How often had the same question been muffled by the walls now? It was pointless to try and keep count. The only thing that responded was the loop of gentle whispering sound from speakers that were either too well hidden or too far out of reach to be made out in the dim light that originated from something that seemed like an artistic installation in the center of the room. An arrangement of mirrors and cleverly arranged lamps that sent an indirect glow into the room without actually illuminating anything of significance. At best it made it possible to walk through the room without tripping over the smallest things, but then again, there were no things to really trip over. Only the big, soft, comfortable looking bed.

The fact that it was the only semi-suitable thing to sit on had to be intentional. Why else would someone have set all of this up only to forget even just a single chair? At first that had seemed concerning. As time went on and standing just wasn’t the answer anymore, it seemed merely rude. After some length of time spent sitting on the hard floor and getting nothing out of it other than a sore behind, the foresight of having the bed to rest on even began to appear caring. A silly notion, no doubt playing right into the hands of whoever orchestrated this. But then again, even after all this time there were no demands. Nothing. There had been a subtle change in the soundtrack in the back, but it felt perfectly safe to ignore. No need to pay them any attention. It was just sound after all.

“I’d appreciate some help? Please?”

In fact, it was actually helpful that it was so easy to listen to that the mind slipped right off the sounds. It must be some kind of song with the way there seemed to be a melodic hissing whisper embedded in it. So kind of the mastermind behind this to at least pick tasteful music. Or at least that probably was what they wanted their captive to think. It seemed plausible that all of this was just an insidious way of tricking anyone trapped inside the room to eventually arrive at the conclusion that it wasn’t so bad. Comfortable perhaps. Relaxing even! Which to an extend could not be denied. The bed was incredibly good to sink into after ages in solitude, alone with only the music and the glowing shiny shapes of the installation.

“Great. This is fun… I think? But how about some help?”

Not like anyone was actually miraculously going to open the locked door, being all smiles and nonchalantly ending this whole spiel. All that answered the words was a flicker in the lights. But after so long – it couldn’t have been a day yet, right? - even that tiny change was enough to immediately draw all senses towards it. From the subtle dimming and intensifying of the glow to a sparkling ripple as the entire installation started moving, delightful specks of of changing colour dancing across floor and walls as the mirrors shifted and rotated slowly, to the different hues of blue and purple and pink, it all broke up the monotony of the room in a way was impossible to look away from.

“Fine! See if I… um… if I care. Don’t need your help! At… At least not yet?”

Reverse psychology was wasted on an empty room. But maybe there was some truth to it? Maybe there was no hurry to get out already. After all, there was a certain decadence to being in this room with nowhere else to go. Nothing more pressing than a drink and a pretty lamp, soft melodic songs full of yearning and temptation and a warm, large bed to lay a weary head to rest on. Not even the lyrics of the songs warranted any second thought. They felt perfectly acceptable. Calm and agreeable to the ears even after all this time. If the thought were not so silly, one might almost believe they embedded themselves into a listener’s mind to blend in not only with the environment but the very sound of thought until the lyrics and whatever happened in a tired brain were virtually indistinguishable. As it were, however, there was no need to get worried about something like that happening. Not when the option to enjoy the melody instead was right there.

“Actually… um… Whatever. Guess having time helps.”

If nothing else it would help with catching up on naps. Life out there was so busy all the time after all. Not a single satisfying chance to sleep. Here though, no matter how much time passed, nobody wanted anything. No pressing tasks, no schedules, not even the distraction of a beeping phone or a bright screen. In all fairness the room with its subdued sparkling glow was so easy on the eyes that they felt like relaxing more and more whenever they were not busy following the shiny patterns. And frankly, even if a little nap happened, would anyone even notice? If yelling and cries for help could fall on deaf ears, nobody would be opposed to a bit of sleep, right? If anything, surely this was the perfect time for some nice and quiet rest. Who knew how much longer this could go on, after all. Any chance for restful sleep should be taken. Of course. That made perfect sense.

“Just gonna lay down a minute. Or… maybe five. A bit of shut-eye… then get help.”

Foolproof logic. Changing perspectives was the best way to deal with puzzling situations after all. Laying down on the bed was so helpful. The whispering voices echoed at just the right volume to ignore them, the shiny installation just barely in sight and providing the right ambient lighting to feel safe and secure dozing off even in an unfamiliar room. Already a wave of content drowsiness washed away any anxiety about the reason why the door was locked or why even now there was no sign of the mastermind.

Not, at least, until heavy eyelids barely fluttered as a faint click revealed the door unlocked. Not a single muscle stirred as a dark silhouette stepped closer to the bed. Only the far away echo of a thought floated by, voiced without any urgency: “Help…?”

The darkness merely chuckled condecendingly: “Hush.”

A warm hand moved over and closed curious, yet oh so tired eyes. But before any unsettling feeling had a chance to set in, a pair of headphones slid into place. The music sounded so much clearer that way, whispers turning into words that easily took the place of thoughts for a while. Just for as long as those thoughts wanted to sleep. And then maybe just five more minutes.

* * *

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[hyperfixationxgirlie]

A Dance for Two (SebastianxOminisxFem!Reader)

So... I have been replaying HL and this little idea crept into my head and I did my best to write it down. First ever time writing smut and first ever time writing fiction, so please forgive any errors in my writing. I also never use tumblr so I don't know the conventions of stuff here, lol.

All characters 18+, Content warning: praise kink, cunnilingus

You checked your watch and cursed gently. It was nearly time.

Taking a moment to check yourself over, you leaned into the mirror and applied a dab of lipstick with a handy charm that Dryad, one of the more senior dancers, had taught you when you first started. Your lips were left shiny and a wicked red, mimicking the flush one might get in the heat of the moment with a passionate lover. In any case, it flattered your choice of outfit for tonight- a new one which you had just picked up. A custom-made lingerie set comprised almost entirely of black straps and buckles, and installed with a handy charm to prevent any unsavory wizards (or witches) from gaining a glimpse of anything you weren’t willing to show.

“Get a move on, Pixie!” another dancer- Thestral- called out, smacking your ass as she shimmied past. “Busy night tonight. I saw another bachelor party,” she wrinkled her nose.

Nodding, you strapped your boots and hurried along after her.

The club was busy tonight, you noticed with interest, as you made your way to your usual spot on the stage. Usually this early there were wizards here and there, but there was a certain electricity about the crowd tonight. You lost count as your eyes skimmed the faces. The lights were dimmed and the thrums of a familiar, primal beat filled the air as you gripped the pole with both hands and arched your back, tossing your hair and doing a small twist of your hips. Just an easy warm-up to get the nearby wizards interested enough to part with some galleons once you did some more complicated tricks. You lifted your lips in a smirk as you hooked your knee around the pole, lifting yourself off the ground into a gentle spin, allowing your other leg to trail around you extended, getting lost in the music.

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Nearby, two wizards sat- whom you would have recognized if you had been able to make out the details of their faces. The first, with tousled brown hair and glinting eyes, leaned into the other, who had blonde, neatly coiffed hair and startlingly light eyes.

“You won’t believe this, Ominis,” the brunette breathed, his voice catching over the words.

Ominis tilted his head with interest as the other continued, “You remember our friend from Hogwarts. The one who disappeared after graduation?”

Ominis stiffened in surprise. “What about her?” he asked cautiously.

“She’s nearly 15 feet from us, dancing and dressed in the most filthy outfit I have ever seen.”

“Describe it to me,” Ominis all but ordered, his voice deepening in a way that made his companion chuckle richly as he heard it. Sebastian leaned into him, his hand running over his friend’s thigh as he spoke.

“It’s impossibly made. Just a bunch of straps covering up the important bits. I can imagine us taking turns unbuckling each one. Imagine her begging for us to go faster as we take our time, slowly unwrapping her.” As he finished this thought, he jerked his hand off of the other’s thigh and stood up.

“I’m buying us a dance. And a stiff drink,” he declared as he turned to make his way to the bar. “Stay here and enjoy the music. I’ll be right back.”

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Leaning back into the air, you relished in the feeling of being inverted and the rush that accompanied the feeling of weightlessness as the world spun by. The lights of the club twinkled and flashed as you turned. Spreading your legs wide while holding yourself upside-down and spinning was a challenge, and your arms burned as you held yourself in place. The sweat on the palms of your hands threatened to see you slipping down. But this was the final trick of the set and the steady clink of galleons filling your corner of the stage made the exertion worth it. You pulled your legs shut and loosened your grip enough to slide down, coming down onto the palms of your hands and kicking your legs backwards to do a small handstand onto the floor, as the final pulses of music signaled the end of the set. You caught eye contact with the dancer next to you and shared a grin, as you both swept the earnings into your pouches to be counted later.

You surveyed the crowd as you stood up, gently arching your back and feeling your muscles ache gently as you gave them a reprieve. One of the bartenders, Isabelle, a gorgeous brunette, caught your eye as she made her way up to you. She tossed you a room key which you caught and she pointed to one of the back rooms. “You seem to have an admirer,” she teased, winking at you. “He seems to be your age. Really fit; not like the usual sort. And he says he has a friend with him.”

You raised an eyebrow at her. “That should make this interesting then. Hope they tip well,” Isabelle gave you another grin and waggled her eyebrows at you. “Tell me all about it! After!” she called after you. You turned to make your way to the back rooms, lazily waving a hand in her direction.

The back rooms of the club were quieter, and the music was dimmed as you stepped through the doorway separating these rooms from the main room of the dance floor. The décor was nice enough, you supposed, comprised of red carpet and soft candlelight, casting the area in a romantic glow not entirely fitting of the actions that took place in these rooms. But, you mused, whatever it took to separate wizards, and the occasional witch, from their galleons.

You took a deep breath to steel yourself before grabbing the brass key and sliding it into the keyhole of room number 2. As you entered the room, you let out a small gasp of shock as you took in the sight of the men within. These were faces you recognized from your time at Hogwarts. “Ominis?” you asked, “and Sebastian?”

“That’s right, love,” Sebastian chuckled, his legs stretched out before him as he leaned back comfortably on the sofa.

You noticed with interest that the two of them looked quite cozy on the sofa. Ominis was leaning onto Sebastian and running his hands down his arm, before hooking his hand onto the other’s chin and pulling him in for a searing kiss.

You blinked in surprise. “I always thought you two had a thing for each other, but what are you doing here?”

Ominis laughed, pulling away from Sebastian, his lips slightly swollen and parted. “We paid for a dance, Pixie,” he teased. His familiar voice had an edge to it that you didn’t quite recognize, but which sent a slight shiver down your spine which ended in your core.

Flushing in some embarrassment, you slowly walked towards them. You noticed Sebastian leaning forward with interest, his hands placed on his knees as he observed you.

“Come a bit closer, love,” he crooned and he crooked his finger, “Don’t be shy. We won’t bite, unless you as us to.”

You stopped in front of him and appraised him. He looked similar to how he did in school, you mused, with tousled, boyish hair and an impish grin. But seeing him now, having grown into his features as he matured, sent another jolt of arousal through you. Reaching out your hands with a bit of hesitation, you placed them onto his shoulders and gently lowered yourself onto his lap facing him. You watched his eyes as he admired you, they were darkened and glittered dangerously.

“Good girl,” he whispered into your ear as he leaned back. His eyes flicked over to Ominis, who had a matching look of arousal and anticipation on his face.

It was hard not to make a noise at that, and you stiffened in embarrassment, looking between the two of them. 

Ominis chuckled. “Don’t you know, we’ve always been interested in you. We used to talk about you at school. You were the source of many of our mutual fantasies.”

“Don’t be shy, love,” Sebastian murmured again, into your ear. “Come here and give us the dance we paid for.”

You must be losing your mind, you decided, as you slowly gyrated your hips in time with the music. The course material of Sebastian’s pants felt incredible as you slowly glided over them.

“She looks so pretty,” Sebastian mused, leaning into Ominis. “The way she moves her hips is… exhilarating. It makes me wonder what other sorts of things she can do with her hips” Ominis grinned once more and turned his head towards you. “Seeing as I can’t see” -at this Sebastian groaned and rolled his eyes- “Come here and let me feel you.” You picked your hands up off of Sebastian’s shoulders and turned to the other, who also was, you noticed, incredibly handsome. His features were recognizable to you but sharpened and more refined with age. His hair fell into his eyes and he seemed to relax as he pulled you onto him. You settled into his lap and leaned back, arching your back and running a hand through your hair. His hands skimmed along your waist and neck, travelling upwards before twisting into your hair and pulling gently. You gasped in surprise, before letting out a soft noise of pleasure.

“Do you like this?” Sebastian murmured into your ear, coming behind you and running his hands along your back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Yes…” you admitted, resting your head back against his chest, which was solid and muscular against you.

He smiled a boyish and familiar smile before grabbing your chin and pulling you in for a kiss. His lips were plush and warm against yours. Your lips moved softly together for a moment, in a chase kiss, before he let out a sharp noise and opened his mouth, his tongue sweeping into your mouth and brushing against your tongue. It felt too good, you mused, and your cunt clenched as your kiss deepened and you reveled in the taste of his mouth. Arousal washed through you sweetly, leaving you panting slightly and flushed with desire. With little warning, you felt two hands come to your chest and Ominis’ fingers pinched and rolled your nipples through the fabric of your bra, sending shocks of pleasure through you.

“You have such pretty tits,” Ominis stated, grinning as he heard your mewl in response.

Pulling away from Sebastian, you looked into his eyes as the two of you parted. He looked flushed as well, and his eyes glinted dangerously. “Let Ominis have a taste of your mouth,” he demanded. You were only too eager to comply and you swiveled on his lap to kiss him. He groaned into your mouth as you kissed, and you noted with pleasure that he was adept with his tongue as well, using it to gently massage your own.

Sebastian fell onto the sofa next to you, watching as you kissed. He lightly palmed his cock through his pants as he watched the two of you together. “Will you let us take off this wickedly sinful outfit?” he asked, his eyes dark and his voice taking on a quality that sent another jolt of arousal through you. You nodded eagerly, causing him to chuckle darkly. “Two kisses and she’s so eager, Ominis,” he teased, sending a sharp smack to your ass, “It makes you wonder how she’ll respond to other things.”

You almost felt your eyes roll into your head at that and made another keening sound into Ominis’ mouth. You could feel his lips quirk as he kissed you, clearly enjoying this.

“Start here,” you all but panted, gesturing vaguely to the large buckle at the side of your hips. Sebastian batted your hands away.

“We choose where to start, love,” he chided.

“Why don’t we make her more comfortable?” Ominis mused, and he helped lay you onto the sofa. You fell back with a sigh onto Sebastian’s lap, looking up at the two of them eagerly. Sebastian ran a finger down the center of your chest and popped open the buckle holding your bra together at the front. As he revealed your chest, he gently palmed your right breast and squeezed it, feeling its weight.

“You know,” he mentioned with amusement in his voice, “Our Pixie has filled out since we left Hogwarts.”

“I noticed that as well,” Ominis replied, cupping your left breast in his hand.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “How do you even know?” you demanded, “You’re blind!” Ominis chuckled, “I did hug you, you know. Many times. And I have Sebastian to thank for describing your lovely tits to me and providing the visuals, as it were.”

You groaned in frustration, though this quickly turned to one of pleasure as Sebastian began to gently pinch and roll your right nipple between his fingers. “I told you we talked about you in school,” he reminded you, and you could tell he was grinning even with your eyes closed.

It was an interesting thought- the two of them discussing you and pleasuring themselves-, you mused, as you arched your back into his hands, chasing pleasure as the two men laved attention on your breasts. You wondered what kinds of things the two of them got up to together in the boys’ dormitory at Hogwarts when you all were younger and still at school. At least, speaking for yourself, you had pleasured yourself before tucked into your bed at school following evenings in the Undercroft with the two of them. “I thought about you as well,” you admitted.

“Oh really?” Sebastian grinned. “Share your thoughts with the class, Pixie. Ominis likes it when you talk”

You flushed in embarrassment as he used your stage name. “I always thought you were both sexy. And those times the three of us spent cozied up in the Undercoft... I always wondered what kinds of things we could get up to.”

“Let us show you one of our fantasies,” Ominis urged, and you gasped as he ran a hand down your inner thigh, gently stroking the sensitive flesh there. “We used to talk about taking turns eating your cunt and we wondered how good it would taste.”

“Yes please,” you breathed, reaching out your hands and pulling Sebastian closer to you. He was all too eager to comply and he leaned down, his breath hot against your neck as he ran his tongue along the skin under your left ear. While he did so, you felt Ominis’ breath against your cunt as he knelt onto the floor and settled between your legs. “Spread your legs, love,” he asked you, nipping at the skin of your thighs. His hands gently urged your legs apart as you relaxed and revealed yourself to him. His fingers skimmed along the fabric of your panties before finding the buckles which popped open with a click and caused the scrap of fabric to fall onto the sofa. “You look like you were made for this” Sebastian whispered into your ear, his breath warm and his voice rich as he spoke to you. “Your legs spread open and your cunt on display for us.”

With your panties removed, Ominis ran a finger along your slit teasingly. “Oh, Sebastian,” he murmured. “She’s drenched.”

Sebastian groaned and his cock, already pressing into your back as you laid onto him, twitched and jerked in response to the others’ words and for how much you desired the two of them.

With that, Ominis began to softly lick at your folds, teasing you with soft laps. You whined in response and lifted your hips chasing greater pressure. Sebastian returned his attention to your nipples as he continued to whisper wicked things into your ear.

“That’s it. Good girl. Look at you so eager to receive his attentions.” You could only moan in response, bucking your hips again as the other continued to lightly tease your clitoris.

“More,” you demanded, before sighing in relief as Ominis seemed to take pity on you and began to lick you with more pressure, focusing on your engorged clitoris. His tongue expertly applied pressure in a steady rhythm, and you spread your legs wider as you chased the pleasure he was giving you.

“Let us make you feel good,” Sebastian murmured, continuing to squeeze and pleasure your nipples, somehow matching the rhythm that Ominis was setting with his tongue. “Keep making those pretty noises and let Ominis know how well he’s doing”

You let out a sharp cry as Ominis’ tongue made gentle, firm circles onto your clitoris, and your legs began to shake as you felt the pleasure beginning to build. His tongue was soft and smooth against the delicate folds of your cunt, and every sweep of his tongue along your slit caused you to jerk your hips to encourage him to apply further pressure. His hands were large and his grasp was strong as he held your hips down, his fingers digging into your hips and bruising the softness there. The inability for you to move caused the pleasure building in your gut to increase as he continued his expert ministrations. He circled, sucked, and nibbled on your clitoris, moaning into your cunt as he devoured you. And suddenly with no warning you felt your orgasm crashing around you. You felt your back arch sharply and your legs shake as you rode out the pleasure, a litany of moans and disjointed words leaving your lips. Ominis lightly tongued your clitoris as you came, prolonging the waves of pleasure and riding it out with you.

“She tastes so good. Tangy and sweet. Even better than we imagined she would,” you registered Ominis say, dimly and with a far-away quality, as you closed your eyes and reveled in the delightful bonelessness and satiation that the orgasm brought you.

“I want to have her cum on my mouth next time,” Sebastian mused, running his hands up and down your arms as he brought you down from your high.

Regaining awareness, you looked up at Sebastian and admired the arousal you saw, his eyes darkened with desire. “When can next time be?” you asked and shared a grin with him.

“Well, what time do you get off work?”

[songbirdseung]

miscommunicated love / yang jungwon

synopsis: A story of miscommunication unfolds between two friends, as one of them secretly harbors romantic feelings for the other.

wc: 2.5k

In the city of Seoul, amidst the constant hustle and bustle of the city, Y/n lived a life entangled in secret longing. Y/n was a quiet observer, content with watching from the shadows as life unfolded, and one person had captured their heart—their close friend, Jungwon.

Jungwon was a bright, charismatic soul, the sun around which Y/n's world revolved. His laughter was infectious, his smile enchanting, and every moment spent in his company was a precious memory etched into Y/n's heart. Yet, Jungwon remained blissfully unaware of the feelings that simmered beneath Y/n's composed exterior.

The story begins on a mild autumn afternoon, where Y/n, Jungwon, and a few friends decided to explore a newly opened art gallery in the heart of the city. The group roamed through rooms filled with vibrant paintings and intricate sculptures, each piece invoking a myriad of emotions.

As they meandered through the exhibition, Y/n couldn't help but notice how Jungwon's laughter seemed to light up the room, drawing the attention of everyone around. Y/n admired the way his eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he discussed the art with their friends.

Among their group was a newcomer, a girl named Hyejin, who had recently moved to the city. She was vivacious and charismatic, instantly drawing people into her orbit. Hyejin was a whirlwind of energy, her laughter as infectious as Jungwon's, and she seemed to effortlessly captivate everyone she met.

As the group continued to explore the gallery, Y/n noticed that Jungwon and Hyejin had gravitated towards each other. They shared laughs, whispered conversations, and their faces lit up in each other's company. Y/n's heart sank as they watched the two of them grow closer with each passing moment.

The climax of the day occurred when the group stumbled upon an interactive art installation—a mirrored room filled with softly glowing orbs, casting reflections that seemed to stretch into infinity. The group eagerly entered the room, the enchanting atmosphere capturing their imaginations.

Inside the mirrored room, Y/n found themselves standing beside Jungwon. The dim lighting and the ethereal ambience cast a magical spell, making everything feel surreal. Y/n's heart raced as they exchanged glances with Jungwon, their eyes locked for a moment longer than usual.

In the midst of the enchantment, a moment of unexpected intimacy occurred. A sudden movement sent Y/n and Jungwon colliding into each other. Their lips brushed against each other's, and for a fleeting instant, time seemed to stand still.

Gasps of surprise echoed through the mirrored chamber, and the rest of the group turned to witness the accidental kiss. Hyejin's eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. She exchanged a swift glance with Jungwon, who was equally taken aback.

Y/n's heart was in turmoil. The kiss, however unintentional, had ignited a spark of hope within them. Maybe, just maybe, Jungwon had feelings for them too. But their moment of hopeful anticipation was shattered when Jungwon quickly turned away, his face flushed with embarrassment.

"I—I'm so sorry," Jungwon stammered, avoiding Y/n's eyes as he stepped back. "That was a complete accident."

The tension in the room was palpable as Y/n forced a smile, their heart heavy with disappointment. "No need to apologize, Jungwon. It was just a mistake."

Hyejin, who had been silently observing the exchange, seized the opportunity to bridge the gap between her and Jungwon. She stepped closer to him, her voice laced with concern. "Jungwon, are you okay?"

Jungwon nodded, his gaze still avoiding Y/n's. "Yeah, I'm fine. Let's just… let's just finish exploring the gallery."

The rest of the day passed in a strained silence, and the group eventually disbanded, their once-easy camaraderie disrupted by the unexpected kiss. Y/n couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment and heartache that gnawed at them.

Over the next few days, Y/n couldn't help but notice a shift in Jungwon's behavior. He became more distant, and his interactions with Hyejin grew more frequent. They spent hours talking and laughing, often leaving Y/n feeling like a third wheel.

Jealousy simmered within Y/n's heart, a bitter emotion they hadn't anticipated. They had watched Jungwon date others over the years, but this time, it felt different. It felt like they had missed a crucial opportunity, and it was eating them alive.

One evening, Y/n couldn't contain their emotions any longer. They decided to confront Hyejin, hoping to clear the air and perhaps even gain some insight into Jungwon's feelings. They reached out to her and arranged to meet at a nearby cafe.

As they sat across from Hyejin, Y/n struggled to find the right words. "Hyejin, I wanted to talk to you about what happened at the art gallery."

Hyejin nodded, her eyes filled with curiosity. "Sure, Y/n. What's on your mind?"

Taking a deep breath, Y/n ventured, "I just wanted to make sure you know that the kiss between me and Jungwon was completely accidental. It wasn't intentional on either of our parts."

Hyejin's expression remained neutral, but a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. "I figured as much. Jungwon made that pretty clear."

Y/n couldn't help but sense an underlying tension in Hyejin's words. "I hope there are no hard feelings, then."

Hyejin leaned in closer, her voice low and intense. "Look, Y/n, I don't want to cause any problems, but you should know that Jungwon and I have been getting closer lately. I really like him, and I think he might feel the same way."

The words struck Y/n like a dagger to the heart. Their worst fears were coming true. "I see," was all they managed to say, their voice trembling.

Hyejin leaned back, her tone softening. "I don't want us to be enemies, Y/n. I just want a chance with Jungwon."

Y/n nodded, tears welling up in their eyes. "I understand, Hyejin. I don't want to stand in your way either."

With that, they left the cafe, their heartache weighing them down. The days that followed were filled with a heavy sense of resignation as they watched Jungwon and Hyejin grow closer and more affectionate.

Their jealousy intensified with each passing moment, but they couldn't bring themselves to interfere. They had already lost Jungwon's attention, and the thought of losing his friendship altogether was unbearable.

One evening, as Y/n walked past a park, they spotted Jungwon and Hyejin sitting together on a bench, their fingers intertwined. Y/n's heart ached as they watched them, feeling like an outsider in their own story.

The final blow came when they overheard a conversation between Jungwon and Hyejin. They were sitting in a nearby cafe, unaware that Y/n was seated at a neighboring table. Their voices carried, and Y/n couldn't help but listen.

Hyejin's voice was filled with excitement as she spoke, "Jungwon, I'm really falling for you. I've never felt this way about anyone before."

Jungwon's response was hesitant,

his voice tinged with uncertainty. "Hyejin, I like you a lot too, but I need time to figure things out."

Y/n's heart sank as they realized that Jungwon had feelings for Hyejin. It was a devastating revelation, confirming their worst fears. They had lost the person they loved to someone else.

The following days were a blur of heartache and misery. Y/n distanced themselves from their friends, unable to bear the sight of Jungwon and Hyejin together. They spent their evenings alone, wallowing in self-pity and grief.

One night, as Y/n was sitting on their balcony, their phone buzzed with a message from Jungwon. It was a simple invitation to meet at their favorite park. Despite the pain in their heart, Y/n couldn't resist the urge to see him one last time.

They met at the park, and Jungwon's face was a mix of concern and sadness. "Y/n, we need to talk."

Y/n nodded, their voice barely a whisper. "I know, Jungwon."

He took a deep breath, his words heavy with regret. "I've been thinking a lot about us, and I realize that I haven't been a good friend to you lately. I'm so sorry for how things have turned out."

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes as they looked at him, their voice trembling. "I understand, Jungwon. You don't have to apologize for your feelings."

Jungwon's expression was pained as he continued, "Hyejin and I have decided to give our relationship a chance. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Y/n forced a smile, though their heart felt like it was shattering into a million pieces. "I'll always cherish our friendship, Jungwon. I wish you both all the happiness in the world."

With those words, they turned and walked away, unable to bear the weight of their broken heart any longer. The following week was one of solitude and despair as they tried to come to terms with the loss of their friendship with Jungwon.

But fate had one more twist in store for them. One evening, as Y/n was walking through a quiet park, they heard raised voices in the distance. It was Jungwon and Hyejin, engaged in a heated argument.

Curiosity got the better of Y/n, and they approached cautiously, staying hidden from view. Jungwon was furious, his face red with anger as he shouted at Hyejin.

"I can't believe you're so controlling, Hyejin! I need space, and I can't handle your jealousy!"

Hyejin's voice was equally heated as she retorted, "You're the one who's always talking about Y/n, Jungwon! Maybe you're the one who can't let go of the past!"

Their argument escalated, and it became clear that their relationship was on the brink of collapse. Y/n's heart ached as they listened, torn between sympathy for Jungwon and a sense of vindication.

As the argument reached its peak, Y/n couldn't bear to see Jungwon and Hyejin's relationship crumble. They stepped out from their hiding place, their voice trembling as they spoke.

"Enough, both of you! This isn't helping anyone."

Jungwon and Hyejin turned to look at Y/n, surprise and anger in their eyes. Y/n continued, their voice firm.

"You both need to calm down and talk this out. Jealousy and anger will only destroy your relationship further."

Jungwon sighed, his anger abating as he realized Y/n was right. Hyejin, too, took a deep breath and nodded reluctantly.

They all sat down on a bench, and Y/n played the role of mediator as Jungwon and Hyejin aired their grievances and listened to each other. It was a difficult conversation, filled with tears and raw emotions, but it was a necessary one.

As the evening turned into night, it became clear that Jungwon and Hyejin's relationship was on shaky ground. They decided to take a break and give each other space to think things through.

Y/n watched them as they walked away, their hearts heavy with the knowledge that their intervention had cost them Jungwon's anger and the potential reconciliation of his friendship. They had lost him, not to Hyejin, but to the fallout of their fight.

The following week was a lonely one for Y/n. They had lost Jungwon, and the weight of their actions weighed heavily on their conscience. They reached out to him, tried to apologize, but he remained resolute in his anger and silence.

It was a painful lesson in the consequences of their actions and their inability to control the outcome of their feelings. Y/n was left to navigate a world without the friendship they had cherished for so long, and it was a bitter pill to swallow.

As the days turned into weeks, Y/n began to accept the reality of their situation. They had lost Jungwon, and there was no guarantee that they would ever get him back. It was a painful realization, but it was one they had to come to terms with.

Life moved on, as it always did. Y/n continued their studies, found solace in their other friendships, and tried to heal the wounds that had been left behind. But the ache in their heart, the loss of Jungwon, remained a constant presence in their life.

Months passed, and one day, as Y/n was sitting in a cafe, they received a message from an unknown number. It was Jungwon. His message was short and to the point.

"Meet me at the park, Y/n."

Y/n's heart leaped in their chest as they read the message. They had longed for this moment, the chance to finally speak to Jungwon and hopefully mend the rift between them. They replied with a quick "I'll be there," and rushed to the park.

When they arrived, Jungwon was waiting for them on a bench, his expression a mix of anger and sadness. Y/n approached cautiously, their heart pounding with anticipation.

Jungwon spoke first, his voice filled with frustration. "I can't believe you got involved in my relationship, Y/n. You had no right to interfere."

Y/n took a deep breath, their voice calm but pleading. "I'm sorry, Jungwon. I thought I was helping, but I see now that I overstepped. I should have respected your decisions."

Jungwon sighed, his anger slowly dissipating. "It's not just about that, Y/n. It's about us. I felt like you were trying to control my life, and it made me angry."

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes as they listened to Jungwon's words. "I never wanted to control your life, Jungwon. I just couldn't bear to see you hurt."

Jungwon's expression softened, and he finally met Y/n's gaze. "I know you care about me, Y/n, and I care about you too. But we need to establish boundaries."

Y/n nodded, their voice filled with sincerity. "I understand, Jungwon. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to rebuild our friendship."

With that, they reached out and hugged Jungwon, the weight of their emotions finally lifting. It was a small step towards healing, but it was a step in the right direction.

Over the following weeks, Jungwon and Y/n worked on rebuilding their friendship, this time with clear boundaries and communication. They navigated the complexities of their emotions, and while the romantic feelings between them had dimmed, their bond as friends grew stronger than ever.

As for Hyejin, she and Jungwon decided to part ways amicably, realizing that their relationship had been built on shaky foundations. It was a difficult decision, but one that was best for both of them.

Life had a way of teaching hard lessons, and Y/n had learned that love and friendship were delicate threads that needed to be handled with care. They had lost and regained a cherished friend, and they were determined to cherish the second chance they had been given.

In the end, Y/n realized that love wasn't just about romantic entanglements; it was also about the deep connections and friendships that enriched their life. They had learned to value and protect those connections, knowing that they were worth more than any fleeting romance.

And so, as the seasons changed and life carried on, Y/n and Jungwon's friendship continued to thrive, a testament to the enduring power of forgiveness, understanding, and the bonds that tied them together.

[elvenbeard]

2069

"Is this all there is to this life? Should be recognizin' myself in the mirror better each day, but instead I feel more and more like I'm lookin' at a stranger..."

Vince ran away from home in 2067, aided by Jackie Welles whom he'd met the same year through a fateful coincidence. Jackie and his connections helped him gain independence from his family, and opened doors into a world Vince had so far only seen from far above and far away.

From one environment of buzzing neon lights into the next, although a much less polished one, he ended up in Kabuki. There he stayed for the next two years to come. Drifting from one dissatisfying odd job to the next he tried to build a new life from scratch. In some ways it was a very freeing experience. On file, his birthday was a different one now, aging him up just enough to get his mother off his back. He started HRT, got tattoos he'd always dreamed of, dressed more how he liked without fearing repercussions. He even felt comfortable growing his hair out, dyeing it darker... And soon he began to only introduce himself as "V" to new acquaintances, a nickname and advice given to him by Jackie when they first met.

In other ways though he felt just as out of place in Kabuki as he did in Charter Hill, if not more.

He knew little about life on the streets, was overqualified for what his employers asked of him, and unhappy, underwhelmed with his living situation as a whole. He'd never had to survive on a budget, struggled to make ends meet, or worried about food and rent before. Even Jackie had no solution to these problems - and merc work would never be Vince's style, even if it meant easy money. "Easy" always comes at a price later on...

Eventually, he ended up helping out at a niche tech store with ties to the Tyger Claws. It became the longest job he managed to hold before his pride got the better of him. After many heated arguments with the owner he decided to quit on the spot without much of a Plan B left. He had always done his best to stay away from trouble, gangs in particular, especially after a very unpleasant encounter with the Valentinos two years prior.

Despite his careful attempts to conceal his tracks though, keeping a low profile, and trying to make this new life work out for him somehow, his past began to catch up with him as the Unification War started to threaten Night City itself...

Vince through the years (2/9)

Welcome to more behind the scenes rambles! XD Today: Vince's cyberware and tattoos, of which many were part of him as of 2069 already.

Not too much intense editing required for this set, the lighting in that street is really nice as is with all the neon and stuff! Just off of Kabuki roundabout, where the tech store Vince worked at for the better part of a year was situated.

I did have some fun playing around with some filters for the glitch effect - it's not quite where I want it yet, but I was going for the kind of look V has on surveillance cameras in game, with his identity obscured and such!

During his time in Kabuki he didn't quite have the means that would have allowed for something similar. But still, he was keeping a low profile and taking a lot of not-quite-legal measures to obscure his whereabouts and identity as best as he could to get away from his mother.

Also, this is full headcanon territory and I'm not sure how compatible it is with Cyberpunk lore (I tried to find something online, stumbled upon an extensive cyberware listing from the 2020 rulebook and such)... but my personal headcanon for his piece of neck cyberware is that it's fashionware on the outside, but under the surface it's doing some hormone synthesizing and regulation for his transition. Y'know, a convenient alternative for the array of options we have in our time and age with creams and gels or injections. A one time solution installed in your body that from day one will just do its thing for the rest of your life, basically (with some checkups and upgrades throughout the years obviously).

Also, Viktor got it for him, installed and all, and while they were at it Vince was like "Vik, do you do tattoos, too? I have an idea for something..." and that's basically how he got his demonic grin neck tattoo on the same day xD

Also around that time he would have gotten the wings on his back done:

Very symbolic and a little cliché, but he doesn't give a damn (and he doesn't know it at the time yet, but Kerry will love it xD). The whole "setting himself free" that year in all meanings of the word was very important to him. And by 2069 he'd completed the look with his chin and face tattoos.

The trans-colours cyber-flower on his right shoulder was the first "proper" tattoo he'd ever gotten, shortly before running away from home even. The little, slightly crooked Ursa Major just below it was a stick-and-poke a "friend" did on him even before that, but he never had the heart to get it covered. It's awkwardly positioned and a bit wonky, but he still likes it as a symbol and reminder of his childhood. He had the dots filled in with rainbow colors a little ways down the the line though.

His left shoulder and the chest piece connecting both right and left followed a few years later! We'll get to that :3

[mirrorglassworldwide]

DIY Mirrors for Crafts: Creative Mirror Craft Projects

Mirrors have always been a staple in home décor and design, but their versatility in DIY crafts is gaining popularity among crafting enthusiasts. Whether you're working on a small home project or a large-scale art installation, DIY mirrors offer endless possibilities for creativity. From adding decorative accents to enhancing the light in a room, crafting with mirrors is a fun and functional way to upgrade your space.

Why Choose Mirrors for Craft Projects?

DIY mirrors are an excellent material for a variety of craft projects because of their versatility. They come in various shapes and sizes, making them easy to incorporate into different designs. Mirrors can reflect light, add texture, and bring a touch of elegance to your projects.

Reflective Properties: Mirrors help brighten a space by reflecting natural or artificial light, making them perfect for décor projects.

Affordable: Small mirror pieces or tiles are inexpensive, making them an ideal choice for budget-friendly DIY crafts.

Customizable: With mirrors, you can cut, shape, and arrange them to fit any design aesthetic, from modern to rustic.

Popular DIY Mirror Craft Ideas:

Mirror Mosaics:

Mirror mosaics are a stunning way to add artistic flair to any space. By cutting small mirror tiles and arranging them in a pattern, you can create a beautiful mosaic effect on tables, picture frames, or even wall art. This technique is especially popular for creating unique decorative pieces for the home. You can use pre-cut mirror tiles or cut them yourself using glass-cutting tools Read More..

[reallyromealone]

Uhh here's a thing I'm writing, it's the first chapter

Chapter One

Rows of townhouses lined the streets, streetlights illuminated the wet streets, the area recently built as shells of houses could be seen in the distance. The smell of rain leaked through the slightly cracked window as people walked down the sidewalk of the newly developed area; only a few years prior it was empty land. The area was lively, yes but one couldn't help but feel a sense of loneliness as they gazed at the carbon copy townhomes without a sense of individuality to spare, the cars parked in the microscopic driveways looked nearly identical.

The developing Township once farmland was unrecognizable, it's once warm atmosphere exchanged for a faceless memory no one could recall, a cheap shot at life.

The sound of the train could be heard in the background, metal clanking against itself as it barreled through the track that connected in the middle of this new development without care, breaking the deafening silence that surrounds the area. Beyond the town stood trees upon trees, primarily oaks but pines could be seen peeking through the darkness as the sound of the wheels hit the wet dirt road, a loud crunching sound from the pebbles hitting the dirt.

Reaching over Dana turned on the radio, wanting to break the silence as music played, the radio station the same as she remembered it. It never could fully connect and had a slightly crackle to it while classical music along with the occasional pop song played through, she remembers when she was younger the hosts for the local radio station could never get along with what they wanted played through the airwaves.

The smell of old tea was faint, her to go cup forgotten as she focused on the shrouded darkness, the lights of her car barely pierced the trees that went on endlessly, no streetlights to guide as the lights of her slightly beat up red van with worn out bumper stickers from her teen years, quotes and references barely legible from years of being on and damage from the elements.

The radios static progressed as she got closer to her grandparents house, the car losing connection with the radio tower that Dana couldn't even remember how far, the clock in her car reading '10:38 pm' in the old digital font, the hazy green from the clock the only thing lighting the car.

Cursing the radio she turned it off, the static now unbearable and distracting.

A single car passed, a beige little car with a slightly rusted grill and a faded license plate that was barely legible.

The back lights of the car lit her car for a second as the car faded from the rearview mirror, she was alone again.

Though it wasn't technically real company, it was nice.

The road felt endless and she almost missed the turn to the house. It was an older house, built in the 1930s with mismatched bricks and white trimmings. She wondered if they installed the Air conditioning like they were talking about on the phone. She hoped so, the rain would only keep the air cool for so long. Parking into the dirt driveway she collected her things from the back, a duffle bag and laptop bag was all she needed.

The ground was muddled from rain, her steps collecting dirt and mud and a light splash from puddles hidden in the night staining her jeans causing her to curse slightly at the mess. Walking up the two wooden steps she looked around, noting the plants hadn't been watered in a few days, something that was strange to her as her grandmother was very particular with her plants.

Three knocks to the oak door she waited for an answer, she knew it was late but someone was home. They never were out past nine pm.

She stood for five minutes before knocking again, turning the knob and realizing it was open "they probably knew I was coming.." she mumbled, no one came around these parts so it made sense, her Grandfather had sleep apnea and her grandmother loved to sleep to the sound of nature so hearing a knock wouldn't be easy.

Keeping quiet she carefully took off her shoes, not wanting to get in trouble for making a mess on the floor as she glanced around before walking to her room. It hadn't changed, the posters from her teen years and girlish bedding and shades of pink and green everywhere and her swimming trophies on a shelf by the window. It hadn't been touched in years but her grandmother obviously came in and dusted, how kind of her. The mirror had photos of high school friends and celebrity crushes and an old concert ticket that was faded out but the words vaguely read Midnight cowboy, it was a good concert.

Setting her bags on the empty desk she changed into clean sleep clothes, Christmas pajama pants and an old shirt from college.

Her bed was cold, the smell of fabric softener fading as her vision clouded into darkness, the exhaustion from the drive overtaking her… she hoped her grandmother would make her something for breakfast tomorrow.