#i stare at the bubbles as they dance up the champagne flute

[sciderman]

If you enjoy pimm's, have you tried sangria?

 👎

[swallowedbymadness]

❅ no sound, it’s all around ❅

Pairing: Seongwha x chubby!fem!reader

Genre: that good romantic smut that makes angels cry

Summary: No power, no heat, and you’re stuck inside during a blizzard. You definitely didn’t expect things between you and Seonghwa to heat up as quickly as they had that night.

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: Surpriseeee! Two fics in one week? Who is she. I have returned with another sexy love makin’ fic for your peepers. I present the prince himself, Park Seonghwa in all his glory. This one is very special to me. I was going to wait until Sunday to post it, but I was just too impatient to wait. So, you get it now as a little treat from me to you lovely babes. Listen to “Snow on the Beach” by Taylor Swift & Lana Del Rey for THEEEE VIBES. This fic is heavily inspired by it, aka I wrote this with it on repeat 💀 18+ content, so please, minors DNI. Enjoy! 🤍

Warnings: soft dom!Hwa, allllll the praise, a sprinkle of breath play, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, cream pie, squirting.

Proofread: Yes! Thank you to the phenomenal @babesindestroyland for reading over this for me. You know the drill. If you see a mistake, no you don’t. 😇

White. It’s a color that represents purity, innocence, and perfection. You were surrounded by various shades of the color that night. The alabaster walls glowed and the silk sheets shimmered beneath the candlelight, while snow was silently beginning to stick to the bedroom window from the blizzard outside. The scene painted before you was simply picturesque as you both stood bare in front of one another, the shadows dancing across your bodies as your eyes spoke every confession of love that your tongues could not.

You weren’t sure how you and Seonghwa ended up here. Everything before this moment was now a blur. It was just the two of you, a quiet blizzard outside and your head was dizzy from the strawberries and champagne he had brought over just before the worst of the storm hit. The power had gone out not too long ago, the air within his apartment chilling slightly but not unbearable due to the fireplace burning brightly in the living room. You remember him feeding you a strawberry on the floor in front of the fire, the bubbles fizzing in your champagne flutes. You remember his eyes staring intently at your lips as they wrapped around the base of the summer fruit and how a bit of the rosy juice dripped down your chin. You weren’t embarrassed, but only because you saw his eyes watch it drip slowly down your skin before he took his thumb and wiped it off. You remember feeling a familiar flutter in your stomach as he popped his thumb in his mouth, humming to reassure you it was just as delicious coming off of you. You remember Seonghwa murmuring something before leaning in and connecting your mouths in a delicate kiss, his finger gently gripping your chin. You remember how his tongue tasted sweet like the champagne that glimmered in the firelight.

“It tastes better on your tongue,” he whispered into your ear, your earlobe soon being sucked between his teeth as he lightly nibbled on the cartilage. You remember sighing out loud and feeling the flush creeping onto your face when you heard him chuckle under his breath against your ear. “I wonder if you taste just as sweet.” You remember his lips moving down to your neck, nipping at the sensitive skin every now and then to hear the small whimpers leave your mouth as you felt the dampness of your arousal begin. His hand ran softly up your thigh, the floral dress you wore that evening giving him ample room to feel every part of you he wanted.

You remember tilting your head back as he placed sloppy open mouthed kisses against your throat, his hand ghosting over the area once he let go of your chin. You remember grabbing his face and allowing your tongue to slip into his mouth as you shared intimate kisses for awhile next to the warmth of the fire. You remember him breaking apart from you and standing up, his hand held out for you to take so he could pull you up. He never let go of your hand as he silently walked you into the Parisian inspired bedroom, and stood you in front of him at the foot of the king sized bed.

Now here you were with his hands falling to your shoulders, his fingers dipping underneath and encouraging the dainty fabric to fall from your body. You found yourself reaching over next to unbutton his crisp cotton shirt, his tan skin glowing in the candlelight. The pressed clothing fell to the carpeted floor, and eventually you did this until both of you were shed of everything. You remember his eyes, and if a man could get drunk off of sight alone, he would be so far gone. Everything about you made his heart pound aggressively within his rib cage. He let his fingers follow the curves of your body, feather light touches as he grazed the silky skin. You stood before one another for what seemed like an eternity to allow eachother to memorize every part of your bodies in the most vulnerable state they could be in.

“Hwa…” your voice came out no more than a whisper, your throat feeling like it was closing as you felt his eyes burn holes into your face.

“Yes,” it was more of an answer than a question, and you couldn’t recall what you wanted to say in that moment, because he didn’t give you time to think. He stepped toward you and had his hands roamining your body as his eyes never left yours.

“You’re beautiful,” your fingers were soon carding through his inky hair as you pushed it out of his eyes. “I don’t understand.”

“What don’t you understand?” His expression remained neutral as he tried to figure out your feelings in the current moment.

“All of this. You wanting me, us standing here together as we are now...it seems impossible.” You allow the words to fall from your tongue, heart beating wildly beneath your breast. His eyes crinkled as his beaming grin lit up the whole room.

“And why is that?” He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his eyes radiating the utmost fondness for you as you looked up at him.

“Seonghwa. Look at you. You’re like an angel, and I’m-” your eyes drifted to the floor between you two, insecurities from your past flooding into your thoughts. He was quick to bring you right back up to the surface to him, not allowing you to drown in that right now, not ever again.

“Weird,” your eyes narrowed, his teasing nature making your heart dance, and he released a breathy laugh. “But fuckin’ beautiful.” His lips were back on your neck, peppering kisses all the way to your chin before his lips hovered above yours. “So fuckin’ beautiful,” he breathed against your mouth, not wasting any time before he pulled your body against his and pressed his lips to yours feverently. He leaned you back against the milky silk sheets beneath you, goosebumps forming all over you as the cold fabric met your skin. His mouth was instantly back on you, his tongue mapping out a wet trail as he kissed down your collarbone to your shoulder, then down to your plump breast, his tongue drawing a circle around your nipple. He took the hardening bud into his mouth and gently sucked, eliciting a soft moan from you. You watched as his member began to swell and grow an angry shade of red as precum leaked from the tip. His mouth glided across your breast to give the same treatment to the other one, the warmth beginning to bloom in your core as you watched a string of precum stick to his stomach. He kissed his way past your navel and down to your core. Not wasting any time, he began his ministrations, his tongue causing waves of pleasure to move through your whole body, his hands griping your thighs as his nails dug into the plump flesh.

“You taste so divine,” he growled as he gave your clit kitten licks before running the entirety of his tongue between your folds and dipping it into your pussy. He hummed when he tasted you on him, your arousal driving him wild. He looked up at you from under his lashes, pressing rushed wet kisses to your sopping pussy. “Like angelic nectar straight from the heavens.” He pushed his tongue back into you, his fingers abusing your clit before his mouth went to work you up again. Whines poured from your mouth, your hand grabbing a fistful of his midnight hair. You began to grind yourself against his face, his nose rubbing your clit deliciously. “Angels wish they could taste you on their lips. But you’re mine,” he lifted himself up and on top of you, positioning himself at your entrance that ached to be full of Seonghwa. As if sharing the same thought as you, he slowly pushed his swollen member between your throbbing walls. A gasp fell from both of you, the fit filling you up wholly, completely. A feeling you didn’t think would send this much emotion rushing through you, igniting your blood and setting it on fire, brighter than the embers that sparked from the logs in the fireplace just outside of the bedroom walls.

“Oh, Hwa” you sighed as his hips began to push into yours, quick and sharp so he could feel you as much as possible. You lifted your leg and he hooked it around his hip to get deeper inside of you. When he felt the tell tale signs of you approaching your end, he was quick to pull out and flip you over onto your stomach. He came back over you and laid on top of you lightly, pushing himself back inside of you tentatively. You felt his hot breath against the shell of your ear, little grunts and moans hidden under them filled your head and made you dizzy. You felt his lips on the back of your neck, as his member slid in and out of you with intent.

“No mortal is worthy of you,” He spoke lowly as he wrapped his hand around your throat gently and squeezed lightly. “My goddess divine.” Spots danced in your vision as he took your breath away, your pussy no doubtedly coating his dick with your slick at the slight pressure. “You are ethereal.” He praised into your skin, his moans mixing with yours as he took his time thrusting in and out of your plush walls. He savored every second of it, like he was experiencing something so spiritual. “Scream my name to the gods so they know who your most devoted disciple is.” His thrust began to get sloppy and harder as he saw the little bit of spit dribble from the side of your mouth. “Tell them who.” He said through gritted teeth, sweat falling from his brow as he lost himself to the pleasure that was you. “I want you to see the very stars you fell from as you cum for me.” His hands were soon smacking down on both of your ass cheeks, gripping at the plump flesh, his eyes widening at how they jiggled underneath his sweaty palms.

“You Seonghwa, only you!” You shouted, your knuckles white as you gripped the slippery sheets, inaudible ramblings falling from your lips as his dick slammed into your g-spot. “Fuck! Hwa,” you screamed into the mattress as he fucked you right into it, plump tears staining your cheeks. You felt the build up in your core finally explode, the sheets soaking up your fluids as they poured out from the depths of your walls and coating his dick even more. That sent Seonghwa into a frenzy, his cock twitching as he felt himself unravel above you.

“Oh angel, I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m-” You felt him spill into you as his pace slowed, allowing your rigid walls to pull his orgasm from him. He collapsed next to you, his flesh sticky and chest heaving as he stared up at the ceiling. You rested your cheek on your forearm as you looked at him, adoration the only thing present in your irises currently. You placed a hand above his heart, the organ rattling under your palm.

“How long?” You questioned, not needed to say more for him to know what you were asking.

“When I saw your eyes shine like starlight under the first full moon of the summer. We were walking along the beach, nothing but the sound of waves crashing against the sand under our feet. You had a sparkler in your hand, skipping around like it was the greatest thing you’ve ever seen. When you looked at me, the grandest smile adorning your face…that was when I realized.” You felt the strings holding your heart in place snap as it fell to the pit of your stomach.

“You’ve felt this way for that long? Why didn’t you tell me?” A part of you felt upset that you’d gone that long without a confession being made. If only he had told you sooner…you couldn’t help feel like so much time had been wasted not together.

“I didn’t realize you felt the same way.” He stated simply. You groaned, hiding your face in your arm.

“How did you find out?” You peeked one eye above your arm, looking at him curiously. He stared at you from the corner of his eye for a moment, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He felt his heart melting at the sight of you. Ruined, but still glowing ever so radiantly. All because of him.

“Because,” he pulled you to his chest finally, a content sigh leaving him once the weight of you rested on him comfortably. “I saw the same fondness in your eyes that I knew I had in mine whenever I looked at you.” You didn’t dare question it, because you would never admit that you felt the same way for just as long as him. You knew in your heart exactly when you fell for Park Seonghwa.

He was nothing but a mysterious blur at first, but when your eyes came into focus and saw him for the very first time, it was like an angel descended from heaven that very night. The glow of the Christmas lights illuminated his soft features, his blinding smile enraptured you. The moment he said hello to you, you willingly handed your heart over to him. Little did he know, he’s had it in his hands this entire time.

“So, you love me?” He chuckled under his breath at the question, but he silently nodded.

“I am absolutely captivated by you.” He traced invisible patterns into your back, his eyes drooping shut as his voice became thick with exhaustion. “Always have been. And I always will be.” He pressed a delicate kiss to your hairline before falling gracefully into unconsciousness, his chest beginning to rise and fall at a steady pace. You laid there and watched as the snow fell silently outside. As each flake swirled in the midnight air, you reveled in the fact that your love for one another was like the frozen crystals that danced with one another.

It came down, no sound, and it was all around.

[the-hatake-herald]

Crestfallen On The Landing (KakashixReader)

A/N: I was listening to Champagne Problems when I thought of this scenario. This whole thing is so whiney. Sorry, here ya go.

Warnings: *SFW* Curse words. Yearning, so much yearning. They do not get together in the end. Kissing. Hand holding. Lusting.

Word count: 1700+

CLICK HERE FOR PART 2!

She would've made such a lovely bride; what a shame he's f*cked in the head.

The Winter Solstice celebration marked the longest night of the year. It was a time for reflection and renewal. Family and friends gathered together to remember lost loved ones, share a meal, and enjoy each other's company. Later, at midnight, the village bundled up and made their way outside. Fireworks would shoot through the sky and give everyone energy again. If the children were lucky, a snowball fight would ensue, and the entire village would laugh and pelt each other with snow.

The food had been put away. Everyone gathered in the living room, and you weren't sure how you ended up behind Kurenai's old piano.

"Hey, (Y/N)-sensei, play us something!" Naruto cheered, always the life of the party.

"You have been quiet tonight. It would be nice to hear your voice." Kurenai added as Iruka raised his champagne flute in a mock salute.

If looks could kill, they would've been on the floor. It was Kurenai who insisted you celebrate at her place instead of sitting in bed at home. Since your latest fight with Kakashi, you'd spent most of your time completing various missions and hiding in your apartment with cheap wine. You didn't want to be anywhere near him, but you also wanted to be as close to him as physically possible in a public space.

While you had successfully avoided him so far, you couldn't help but sneak looks at him throughout the night when he was too busy to notice you. The curve of his jaw, the way his shoulders heaved when he laughed, the flex of his biceps as he helped Guy move the couch, the way he rolled a pair of dice as he and Iruka played a card game - everything about him drove you crazy. You wanted to go to him and beg him to take you home, but in your lust-filled daze, you couldn't forget your fight.

Your fight had been brewing for weeks before it exploded, months even. This fight bubbled under the surface the moment you and Kakashi decided to take things further than friendship. He couldn't commit. It wasn't that there were other women and he was sleeping around - there was only you. He said as much in the heat of your fight. His past - it always went back to his past. You sympathized with his fears of losing yet another person he cared for, but as you screamed at him, you admitted it was already too late. If you died on your next mission, he would lose another person he cared for.

Kakashi refused to admit he cared that deeply. He said they could end their relationship that night and return to being friends, and he wouldn't feel as much fear. So that's what he did. He told you no, he wouldn't admit he loved you, he wouldn't marry you. He'd go back to being lonely before he'd let himself be that vulnerable again. And you had been avoiding him ever since.

Now, you were put on the spot. Forced to speak beyond the simple pleasantries you'd be making all evening. Forced to perform for everyone. You didn't have stage fright; you enjoyed singing, dancing, and music, which was well known. Singing now, however, meant that either Kakashi wouldn't stop staring at you, or he'd not even bother to look at you. You didn't know which was worse.

"Come on, (Y/N). Play something beautiful!" Guy cheered from his corner of the room. Right next to Kakashi, of course. For the first time that evening, you two locked eyes.

Flooded with grief and confusion, your arms trembling, you sat at the piano amidst the cheers and muted conversations in the room. You wanted to play the most heartwrenching melody. Instead, you played a lively tune with Naruto, Kiba, and Choji battling for the "loudest voice" award. Their camaraderie made you laugh, brightening your spirits for the first time in days.

As eyes drifted away from you and everyone returned to their conversations, you needed a moment alone. Kurenai's guest bathroom was the smallest room in the world, you were sure, and the lack of space didn't exactly calm you down, but the cold water was a relief against your face. It wasn't until you completed three breathing cycles and turned the water off that you heard the silence coming from the living room.

Coats and mittens were gone from the guest room as you went down the hall. By the door, everyone's boots were missing. Everyone had left for the fireworks that would be starting any moment. Everyone but Kakashi.

You stopped in your tracks, wringing your coat between your hands as you stared at each other.

"Are you okay?" -- "Why did you wait for me?" You both asked at the same time.

With a slight smile, you shrugged, "I'm okay. Just needed time alone."

Kakashi stuck his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the wall, "I didn't want you to get left behind all alone," He offered.

"Then I guess we should join the others," you said quickly, wrapping yourself in your coat. As you opened the front door, you gasped at the crowd gathered outside. Kurenai's doorway was blocked by a large, imposing figure waiting for the fireworks display to start. He turned to look at you, and you waved awkwardly before closing the door.

"Nevermind," You faltered, keeping your face turned away from his.

"Kurenai's balcony will have a good view. It would be quieter, too." Kakashi gestured through the kitchen.

Quiet was the last thing you wanted, and throwing Kakashi in with the quiet wouldn't do any good, but you moved through the kitchen in silence as Kakashi led the way.

The cool, crisp air stung your eyes as you settled against the railing of the balcony. The Winter Solstice fireworks were always beautiful and a marvel, but you couldn't get excited. You imagined the fireworks would light up Kakashi's face in stunning hues of oranges and reds, blues and yellows, and your stomach churned.

He would smile through his mask, the mask you'd kissed so many times before. You loved kissing him through his mask; it made kissing him without it so much more special. His eyes would sparkle as the fireworks shot up into the air - even his Sharingan eye hidden underneath his forehead protector. The tomoe in his eye would spin in beautiful circles. He would be beautiful. And you had to sit here and watch it while your head swam with the grief of knowing he'd never truly be yours. How could you move on from this?

"(Y/N)." Kakashi started, turning his face away from the night sky, "I'm sorry. I really am." His breath frosted on the air.

"Don't." You held up a hand. How long had you been staring at him like a love-struck puppy?

"Please let me finish." He begged, taking your hand in his. Your heart fluttered, but your head recoiled, urging you to pull away from the embrace you so desperately wanted.

"I know I've fucked this up before repair," He sighed, circling the back of your hand with his thumb, "But the right person will come along and sweep you off your feet, and-"

"Oh, don't give me that," You jerked your hand away. You should've smacked him, but instead, you curled your hands into fists by your side, "You love me, Kakashi. It's too late for you to back out of ... whatever this is!" You argued, your voice rising slightly.

"(Y/N)." Kakashi warned, taking a step toward you.

"And I love you too. We love each other. This isn't purely physical, even if it started that way." You continued to protest as he continued to move closer.

"You even told me there was no one else for you. You can't commit to me, even though losing me would break us both. It will be just as bad as losing me on a mission. Except in the former scenario, I'm alive. You have to see my face nearly every day." You rattled on. You'd already said this last time. It didn't work then, but something in Kakashi's eye made you push on.

"You'll have to see me be with someone else. Marry someone else. Have children with someone else. You may even be my future child's sensei... is that what you want?! Do you want me to be someone else's?" Tears welled up in your eyes. He was only an arm's length away now.

"If there's no one else for you, then there's no one else for me." You whispered. You turned to face him, now only inches away. He pushed you backward, gently, until your back hit the wall and closed the space between you.

You didn't see when he removed his mask before his lips crashed into yours. His kiss wasn't gentle; it was hungry and filled with a sense of raw yearning that had been kept away for far too long.

A hiss raced through the dark sky, exploding into a beautiful pop of pink and white. Once the fireworks started, they didn't stop for a full thirty minutes. They exploded one after the other, casting vibrant hues across your faces.

You gripped Kakashi's shoulders, afraid that he might disappear. You returned his kiss with equal passion, your mouth parting slightly to deepen your connection. His tongue met yours in a heated display of dominance, exploring and claiming you.

Kakashi's hands roamed down your back, pulling you as close to his body as possible. The feel of his toned body beneath yours sparked a fire in you that matched the exploding fireworks in the air, but as you let out a soft moan. Kakashi stopped. He led a small trail of kisses down your neck and buried his head in the crook of your shoulder.

You gasped for air, your bodies heaving. You wanted so much more, but the sinking feeling of dread welled up inside your body. The feel of his body against yours was starting to burn.

"I can't." Kakashi finally whispered, leaving a final kiss on your collarbone, "I would rather live in agony watching you be happy with someone else than shackling you to me." He pulled away, his eye meeting yours.

You tried reaching out for him again, but in an instant, he was gone. Leaving you with only the booms and bright colors in the sky and your heart on your sleeve.

[whereforarthur]

Wedding Day Bliss~

Request: I had this idea if a wedding day. Like the whole wedding day leading up to the end of the night. Like the saying their vows and it being really emotional and George tearing up when she is walking down the aisle and the reception and all their friends and family watching them be so in love. Also their first dance as husband and wife I think would be so cute then sharing kisses and just being in their own bubble with George’s friends making speeches.

Pairing: George Clarkey x reader

Rating: PG-13

Category: Fluff

Word Count: 3.3k

*****

"The best thing you can do is find a person who loves you for exactly who you are: good mood, bad mood, ugly, pretty, handsome, what have you. The right person is still going to think the sun shines out of your ass. That's the kind of person that's worth sticking with." —Juno

"You okay, mate?" Arthur's voice cut through the early morning chill as George stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. His hand hovered over the shaving cream, his eyes bloodshot from last night's festivities.

"Yeah, just trying to remember what year it is," George joked, rubbing his hand over his unshaven face. The wedding was in a few hours, and the nerves were starting to set in. He had never felt so alive, so ready to embark on a new chapter with the love of his life. Yet, the gravity of the promise he was about to make weighed on him like the hangover he was pretending not to have.

The house was buzzing with activity, the air thick with excitement and anticipation. The smell of fresh flowers wafted in from the open windows, mingling with the faint scent of his mother's famous breakfast spread. He could hear the distant chatter of the bridesmaids, the occasional burst of laughter, and the clinking of champagne flutes as they toasted to the soon-to-be newlyweds. George took a deep breath and turned to face the day ahead.

When she reached him, George's hand trembled slightly as he took hers. The priest's words were a gentle hum in the background as they exchanged vows, their eyes never leaving each other's.

"Y/N," George began, his voice clear and steady despite the tumult of emotions churning within him. "Thank you for loving me, for understanding me, and for putting up with my friends. They're a wild bunch, but they're mine, and you've welcomed them into your heart without question." He paused, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he thought of the countless nights spent cleaning up after their drunken escapades. "I promise to stand by you, to cherish you, and to laugh with you, even when they're singing off-key karaoke at three in the morning."

Each word felt like a promise etched into their very souls, a declaration that no matter what life threw at them, they would face it together. And as he slipped the ring onto her finger, he knew that he had made the right choice.

The congregation chuckled softly, and George felt a warmth spread through him. He took a deep breath and continued, "I vow to support you in your dreams, even if it means watching every cooking show on Netflix with you." He winked, remembering her passion for culinary mastery, which often resulted in kitchen disasters that only she found amusing. "To be your partner, your confidant, and your rock, as you are mine."

"And now," the priest announced, turning to Y/N, "it is your turn to speak your vows." She took a deep breath, her hand tightening around George's. Her voice was steady and sure as she began, "George, my love, from the moment I met you, I knew you were different. Your kindness, your humor, your unwavering loyalty—these are the traits that have made me fall in love with you over and over again."

The room grew still, captivated by her every word. "I promise to be your home, a place where you can always find comfort and peace. I vow to stand by your side, through every challenge and every victory, holding your hand through it all. I will laugh with you, cry with you, and maybe even dance with you when you're feeling particularly courageous."

Her eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief, and George felt his cheeks warm at the thought of their many dance floor disasters. She went on, "I will cherish every moment we share, from the mundane to the magnificent, because each one is a gift that I never knew I needed until you gave it to me. I will love you fiercely, George, because you have shown me what it means to truly be loved."

The room was silent as the gravity of her words settled over the guests. The emotion in her voice was palpable, and George felt his heart swell with love for this incredible woman. He couldn't wait to spend the rest of his life making her as happy as she made him.

"You may now kiss the bride," the priest announced, breaking the spell. George leaned in, his heart racing, and kissed her softly. It was a kiss that spoke of their future together, a gentle promise of love and protection. The congregation erupted in applause and cheers, and the organist began to play the wedding march.

They walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, smiling at their friends and family. The warmth of their union seemed to radiate outwards, wrapping everyone in a blanket of joy. The light from the stained glass windows painted them in a rainbow of colors, as if the very walls of the church were celebrating with them.

*****

The reception was held in the manor's lush gardens, under a grand marquee that had been set up especially for the occasion. The air was filled with the sweet scent of roses and the sound of laughter. The guests were already mingling, eager to congratulate the newlyweds. As they stepped outside, George and Y/N were greeted by a shower of confetti, thrown by their exuberant friends and relatives. It was like stepping into a whirlwind of love and good wishes.

Throughout the evening, George couldn't help but steal glances at his bride, her smile never fading, her eyes always sparkling. They danced, they talked, they laughed, and with every shared moment, he felt his heart swell with love. The speeches from his friends were equal parts embarrassing and endearing, each one reminding him of the incredible journey that had led them here.

But it was Arthur's speech that truly stole the show. He took the microphone with a grin that was a mix of mischief and affection, his eyes twinkling as he began to recount their escapades from over the years. The room grew quieter, anticipating the tales that were about to unfold.

"Ladies and gentlemen, family and friends," Arthur started, his voice carrying over the clinking of silverware and the gentle hum of conversation. "I stand before you today, not just as George's best man, but as his confidant, his wingman, and occasionally his designated driver." The crowd chuckled, setting the tone for the heartfelt roast that was to come.

"Now, I've known George for what feels like an eternity," Arthur continued, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "We've been through it all—the good, the bad, and the questionably legal. And through it all, he's remained the same lovable, slightly disaster-prone man we all know and love."

The crowd chuckled, and George felt a warmth spread through him as Arthur winked at him. "But today, we're not just celebrating George and Y/N's love story," he said, his tone growing serious. "We're also saying goodbye to the bachelor days, the nights out that ended with pizza on the floor and George's head in the toilet." A collective groan echoed through the room, followed by laughter. "And Y/N, let me just say, you're a brave soul for taking him on. You're not just gaining a husband; you're inheriting a lifetime subscription to 'What the hell was I thinking?' magazine."

Arthur raised his glass, and the room fell silent. "But in all seriousness, George, I couldn't be happier for you. You've found someone who not only puts up with your terrible taste in music and your obsession with superheroes but also makes you a better man. And Y/N, you're not just stealing him from us; you're giving us back a George we haven't seen in a long time—one who's more at peace, more content, and dare I say it, more responsible."

The room erupted in laughter, and George couldn't help but feel a twinge of truth in Arthur's words. Y/N had indeed changed him for the better, bringing order to the chaos that was his life and filling his days with a warmth he hadn't realized he was missing. He looked over at her, her cheeks flushed with a blush that made her look even more radiant, and knew that every second of this new journey with her would be worth it.

As Arthur wrapped up his speech, the DJ took over. The air was electric with joy, and George found himself drawn to Y/N, ready for their first dance as husband and wife. The first dance was a slow, sweet melody that had been playing on the radio the first time they had kissed. As George held her in his arms, their bodies moving in perfect sync, he whispered into her ear, "Thank you for choosing me." Her eyes searched his, filled with a love so deep it seemed to hold the secrets of the universe. "I've always chosen you," she murmured back, her voice filled with a gentle certainty that washed over him like a warm summer rain.

*****

The evening passed in a blur of shared glances, whispered promises, and stolen kisses. The air was electric with love and happiness, and every moment felt like a precious memory in the making. As the night grew darker, the stars began to twinkle outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, echoing the sparkle in their eyes.

Their friends and family watched with smiles, some with misty eyes, as the couple moved in perfect harmony. The lyrics of the song spoke of a love that had withstood the test of time, a promise of forever, and George felt it resonate deep within him. He whispered sweet nothings into Y/N's ear, her cheek pressed against his chest, and she giggled, her happiness infectious.

He couldn't stop thinking about how lucky he was to have her, to call her his wife. Every few seconds, he'd lean down and press a gentle kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her lips—any part of her he could reach without breaking the rhythm of their dance. Her eyes would flutter closed with each touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips, and he knew she felt the same overwhelming love that he did.

A silent conversation of love and adoration that didn't need words to convey the depth of their feelings. The music swelled around them, a cocoon of sound that blocked out the world and left only the two of them, spinning and swaying to the beat of their hearts. The warmth of her body against his was a reassurance that she was real, that this wasn't just some beautiful dream he would wake up from.

From the sidelines, George's friends couldn't help but tease him. They had never seen him so lost in a moment, so utterly consumed by happiness. "Look at him," Chris murmured to Arthur Hill, his own partner in crime at past escapades. "He's gone soft."

Arthur Hill chuckled, raising his glass. "It's about time," he said, a hint of sentimentality in his voice. "He's been chasing that love bug for years. It's good to see him finally catch it."

Their banter grew louder, a playful jab here and there, but the affection behind their words was unmistakable. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day when George Clarkey would be this whipped," Arthur quipped, earning a playful glare from George.

Chris, Max, Arthur, and Arthur Hill had been the life of the party, charming the guests with their wit and camaraderie. They had been an integral part of George's life for years, and seeing them interact with Y/N and her friends was a delightful reminder of how intertwined their worlds had become. Their banter was light-hearted, their laughter infectious, and their love for the couple palpable.

As the night grew later and the music grew softer, the four friends—now bonded by more than just friendship—gathered around George and Y/N, raising their glasses in a toast. "To new beginnings," Arthur said, his voice a blend of joviality and sincerity. "May your love be as wild and unpredictable as our adventures, yet as steadfast as the foundation of this ancient city we call home."

Chris leaned in, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "And may you never run out of patience for each other," he added with a knowing smile, "because with us around, you're going to need it." The group erupted in laughter, the tension of the day giving way to the easy camaraderie that had carried them through so much.

"To Y/N," Max said, raising his glass higher, "for saving us from ever having to listen to George's dreadful dating stories again." The room buzzed with knowing chuckles, and George couldn't help but laugh along. The group's laughter grew as they reminisced about his infamous Hinge dates—stories of catfishing, awkward silences, and that one girl who had stood him up a record eight times.

Y/N leaned into George, her eyes shining with mirth. "But I'm the one who finally caught you," she whispered, her voice a gentle caress against his ear. "And I'm so happy I could be the one to save you from a life of swiping and ghosting."

Their friends' laughter grew, but George's gaze never left hers. "You didn't just save me," he murmured, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "You gave me a reason to stop looking." He placed a tender kiss on her cheek, the warmth of his lips leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

As the music played on, George watched his wife dance with her father, her smile never fading, her eyes shimmering with happiness. The moment was so perfect it hurt. He felt a gentle pat on his shoulder and turned to see Arthur, a solemn look on his face. "You know, George," Arthur said, his voice barely above a whisper, "you're the luckiest man here."

George nodded, the weight of Arthur's words sinking in. "I know," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I never thought I'd find someone who could handle all of this—me, us, the fans, the chaos. But she does. She's my sanity in a world gone mad."

*****

The night grew later, the music slower, and the room more intimate. The air was thick with the scent of happiness and the warmth of a love that had conquered all. As the final notes of their first dance played out, George leaned in to kiss his wife, the sweetness of their union echoing in the silence that followed. Their friends and family cheered, but the couple remained lost in their own little world, oblivious to the applause.

The reception wound down, and the photographer captured their love in a series of candid shots, the flashes of the camera a stark contrast to the soft glow of the candlelit room. They mingled with their guests, thanking them for their presence, sharing laughs, and receiving well-wishes that felt like warm embraces. Each moment was a treasure, a memory to hold onto forever.

The rest of the night passed in a whirlwind of dance, laughter, and love. Each moment with Y/N felt like a gift, a precious memory to be stored away and cherished for the rest of their lives. They shared dances with their parents, the joy in their faces reflecting the happiness of their children. They watched as their friends paired off, spinning and laughing, the music weaving a tapestry of memories that would bind them all together for years to come.

Y/N leaned into George, her arms wrapped around his neck. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank you for choosing me, for loving me, for saving me too."

George pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "Saving you?" He cocked his head, a question in his eyes.

Y/N nodded, her smile softening. "From a life of questionable life choices and questionable haircuts," she teased, her thumb gently tracing the line of his freshly trimmed hair. "But mostly, from the loneliness that comes from not knowing your soulmate is out there waiting for you."

George's heart swelled with gratitude, his eyes never leaving hers. "You've done more than that," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "You've made me whole, Y/N. You've given me a purpose, a reason to wake up every morning with a smile."

Their friends had cleared the dance floor, giving them space to continue their intimate moment. The soft glow of the fairy lights above them cast a warm, romantic hue over the two of them, as if the universe itself was bending to highlight their love. Y/N's hand found its way to his cheek, her thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped his eye. "And you've done the same for me," she murmured. "You've shown me that love isn't just a word in a book or a scene in a movie. It's real, it's messy, and it's beautiful."

Her words hit him like a tidal wave, the depth of her feelings resonating through his very being. He leaned into her touch, feeling the warmth of her skin, the gentle beat of her heart. "I never knew I could love someone like this," he confessed, his voice a whisper in the stillness of the night. "But here we are, and I can't imagine a single day without you by my side."

*****

The moon had risen high in the sky by the time the party began to wind down. The guests slowly started to say their goodbyes, each one offering congratulations and well wishes for a long and happy life together. As the last of the cars pulled away, George and Y/N stood on the porch, hand in hand, watching the taillights fade into the distance. The cool evening breeze danced around them, carrying with it the promise of a future filled with love and adventure.

Turning to face him, Y/N looked up into George's eyes, her own sparkling with a hint of mischief. "Ready for our grand finale?" she asked, a playful smile playing on her lips.

George raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Grand finale?"

"Mm-hmm," she nodded, her smile growing wider. "The part where we finally get to be alone."

"Alone?" George echoed, feigning innocence. "What could possibly happen when we're alone?"

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. "Oh, I'm sure we can think of something," she teased, her voice dropping to a seductive whisper.

The banter between them was light, a playful dance of words that had become a hallmark of their relationship. George's cheeks flushed slightly, the humor in his eyes betraying his excitement. "First time as husband and wife, you mean," he clarified with a grin, squeezing her hand.

"Ah, yes," Y/N giggled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "But you know what they say, practice makes perfect."

Without a moment's hesitation, George bent down, wrapping one arm under her knees and the other around her waist, and scooped her up into his arms. She squealed with delight, her gown fluttering around them as he spun her in a circle. "Let's get to it then, Mrs. Clarkey," he said, his grin growing wider with each passing second.

Her laughter was like music to his ears, a sweet symphony that had played on repeat in his mind since the moment they first met. "I can't wait," she exclaimed, her cheeks flushed with excitement. The night was still young, and the possibilities stretched out before them like a never-ending horizon.

Carrying her over the threshold, George felt his heart swell with a love so profound, it was almost painful. This was it—the start of their forever, a journey they would navigate together, hand in hand.

He kicked the door shut with his foot, the sound echoing through the now empty house. The quiet was a stark contrast to the buzz of the wedding, but it was a welcome one. The world outside could wait—this moment was theirs, and theirs alone.

[abiiors]

haunt // bed - pt. 2

a note about the banner: the photo in it is only meant to describe the dress, not the race, body type, hair colour, etc of the reader <3

a/n: truly out here manifesting the g and charli wedding with this one

minors dni!! part 1, part 3

wc: 3.3k

matty gently clinks a fork against his champagne flute, demanding the attention of the room. 

you are standing in a corner, leaning against one of the pillars and surveying the room as you casually sip on some champagne yourself. it’s good stuff, bubbly but not too sweet. it fills up your head with fuzzy goodness. enough to make you smile at the insufferable man in the ridiculously nice suit over the rim of your glass. 

“speech!” someone yells at the back of the room and a few weak laughs echo before everyone focuses their attention on the best man.

“george, charli,” he raises the glass at the couple who have their arms around each other, leaning into each other. “six months ago, you asked me if i would write something for the first dance. i was terrified, at first,” he laughs, “of fucking up, naturally. i wanted my best friends to have the perfect wedding that i did.”

you’re suddenly aware of his eyes on you; a kind of soft intensity that’s hard to look away from. his wedding—your wedding—was indeed perfect. you just didn’t think he would still have that opinion. a warmth spreads through your chest; it’s the alcohol, you tell your brain. stop drinking like a fish if you don’t want heartburn by the end of the night. but this warmth is tingly…it lingers too long in your stomach, perhaps in your whole body. 

“i did write something for you,” he continues, looking away after a second, “and i hope you love it as much as i love you.” he smiles and a cheer goes up. 

you straighten in your spot, no longer leaning leisurely against the column. someone brings out an acoustic guitar, making you very aware of the fact that this is the first time in almost a year that you will hear him sing. a small tremor goes through your hands and the liquid sloshes dangerously in the flute. 

someone brings out a stool for him to sit on, and fixes a mic in front of him. people clear the dance floor, making room for the newlyweds. you stay transfixed in your spot; unable to move and desperate to flee. 

what’s worse is that his date is already behind him, running a hand over his arm. she stumbles slightly and it’s not a surprise, you’ve already seen her down two glasses of wine. maybe that’s the key to this evening. 

you look at george and charli on the dancefloor, already swaying softly in each other’s arms before he’s even begun strumming the guitar, completely lost in each other. is this what you and matty had looked like all those years ago? 

your sour mood is not fair to them. this is their day, not yours. you should be honoured that charli’s asked you to be in the wedding party, not sulk in the corner like a seven year old being denied her favourite toy. 

you stare at the champagne, at the bubbles rising up to the surface rapidly. time to suck it up and stop being a little bitch. with a surge of newfound annoyance, you knock the glass back, drinking the entirety of it in one go. you stagger, lightheaded for one solid moment, but it passes and matty strikes the first chord on his guitar. 

his voice is all around you, echoing so clearly that for a second you wonder if it’s just the two of you in the room. his fingers move effortlessly on the frets while his other hand stums away at the strings, slows down to pluck them individually during slower moments and then speeds up again. 

it’s not surprising that he sings of love and happiness. his words are full of emotions and when they fall short, the sweet tune compensates for it. what surprises you is how it makes you well up with tears. 

matty has his eyes closed, smiling softly as he sings the lyrics. “so splash me with water / when we do the dishes together / i’ll take it over kisses in the rain”

one perfect curl falls on his forehead and just like that you’re back in a warm kitchen, past nine in the evening, hands slippery from the dish soap, singing along to the best of queen. matty’s hips bumping into yours as he gets too immersed into a song and forgets to rinse the plate properly. you reaching up to immediately flick him on the wrist. him tickling you as revenge, wet hands leaving damp spots on your old t-shirt. 

there were happy days. in your heart, you knew it wasn’t all lonely nights and a cold bed. 

his voice is replaced by loud claps and cheers as soon as the song ends. you open your eyes to a room full of people in some state of tearing up. charli has her head on george’s chest, blissfully unaware of the others. you’re glad the tears running down your face are not out of place. 

“matty, that was wonderful!” his date chimes in loudly, breaking the spell. 

this is the first time you’re hearing her voice. it’s high-pitched and american so when she says his name, it sounds more like ‘maddie’. and you’re once again fighting a losing battle with your brain not to stereotype her further. 

“thanks, babe,” he turns to her and gives her a warm smile. the kind that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners, the kind that makes him look twenty-two again. 

the kind that feels like a gut punch to you. 

“careful, darling,” denise’s voice startles you. she’s been standing close to you this whole time—just a bit ahead, watching matty just like you had been. 

“careful,” she says again, “the glass might break.”

“what?” you follow her line of sight, right down to the glass in your hands and your death grip on it. your knuckles are white, clutching the delicate stem so tightly. she’s right, the glass might break any minute. 

“oh…uh, sorry.” heat rises up the back of your neck and up your cheeks. “i didn’t realise.”

“‘s alright,” she smiles, studying your face for a moment. “i just don’t want you to get hurt.”

the party is in full swing around you, and you have found one more thing your ex-husband was wrong about. whiskey does start to taste exceptionally amazing; especially when you’re trying not to throttle not one but two people in front of you. 

“dance with me!” charli calls for you from somewhere on the dancefloor. 

she’s already discarded her heels somewhere in the corner in favour of comfy shoes and sweated off her makeup. but she still looks stunning and radiates with joy at the centre of the dancefloor. “come onnnnn,” she calls for you again, almost slurring her words, and makes a run to drag you to the dance floor. 

“i can’t dance in heels,” you laugh, trying to get out of the dancing without offending her. the heels do hurt, not as much as you’re making it out to be but your feet are starting to get sore now. 

standing and sulking in one spot all evening will do that. 

“so take them off!” she’s in front of you now, holding onto your wrist and pouting like a kid. she knows you can’t resist that face. “please!! you can’t say no to me today, come on!”

it takes absolutely two seconds for you to give in. she’s right, you can’t—you shouldn’t—say no to her. not today of all days. 

“only for ten minutes,” you grumble and set the glass aside. then, on second thought, you pick it back up and down the last two sips. it burns as it goes down but this fuzz is good. this fuzz will help you ignore the man and the blonde in his arms.

as long as it makes charli happy. and by the looks of it, she’s ecstatic; loudly singing along to a brittany spears hit. you shake your head at her, laughing at first and then joining in. this is fun—normal wedding fun. this is what you’re supposed to be doing at a close friend’s wedding. you are meant to get wasted and dance like a dork on the dance floor. 

you even get twirled around by ross as soon as he sees you dancing. it’s almost like the old times, all your friends having fun together again. and for a brief, blissful moment the presence of the date doesn’t even bother you. 

until you feel yourself trip over your dress and stumble. right into a pair of familiar arms.

he grunts, first from being so unexpectedly knocked into and then when your elbow hits him in the stomach. a small amount of satisfaction sparks in your brain but quickly gets overshadowed by a flood of mortification. 

your entire back is pressed up to matty’s chest, almost a lovers embrace as he steadies you on your feet. 

“careful, darling” he warns, bending to whisper it right in your ear. funny how he repeats the same words his mother had said twenty minutes ago, yet you doubt the thumping of your heart has anything to do with the dancing you’ve been doing. 

the retort is on the tip of your tongue, don’t call me that, four small words that simply refuse to come out. 

“thank you,” you reply breathlessly, clearing your throat against the sudden lump that’s lodged there. 

“steady?” he asks.

his scent is all around you, the same fucking cologne he has worn for the last decade. the same perfume that you can still smell on your pillows sometimes, no matter how many times you wash them. 

“mm-hmm,” you nod, “you can let go now.” you make it a point to stare straight ahead at a bland spot on the wall. fuck your body for hyper-focusing on his heartbeat, fuck your head for spinning at one whiff of his cologne. and absolutely fuck your heart for breaking the second he lets go of you. 

you stay still, only just touching him, still staring ahead until charli comes in your line of vision again. from this close you can smell the alcohol on her breath. she’s almost wasted at this point. 

which is why it’s not really a shock when she gasps loudly. 

“oh my god!” she slaps a hand on her mouth, eyes wide and excited. “you, me, george, and matty. like the old times!” she squeals, slurring half the words. 

“char, no. no—”

“we should dance!” she declares.

“no, pl—”

“george, come here,” she yells over you, unbothered by your protests. and you know you’re doomed when an equally inebriated george comes into view. 

there’s no way of getting out of this. the brittany song is on the last of its notes, about to change into something else. a sense of dread gnaws at your stomach. 

“no, cha—”

“let’s get it over with.” it’s matty, placing a hand on your elbow and spinning you around to face him. he is so close, close enough for you to note the light stubble on his face; not clean-shaven like you’d thought at first. you know exactly what the stubble would feel like if you ran a hand over his face. 

his pink lips are parted slightly, his chest rises and falls with each breath he takes, and his curls fall on his forehead. your hand twitches, desperate to brush them away because you know by the end of the night, they will be falling into his eyes. your stomach turns at the thought of how easily the urge comes. every feeling, every old habit rushing back to hit you full force. 

“shall we?” he asks again, hand extended and waiting for you to take it. but all you can do is stare at it dumbly.

“right,” he says, placing his hand on yours for emphasis, “i don’t want to do it either. but i want to make my friends happy.” 

his friends? indignation flares in your chest, burning hotter than the alcohol. suddenly any and all resurging feelings you’d felt for him just minutes ago evaporate into thin air. if he wants to act like he’s doing you a favour, then fine! if he wants to be an asshole then you can be a bitch right back. the song begins, something sweet and romantic but you narrow your eyes at him, ready for the battle to begin. 

and if you are to win it, then you can’t be focusing too hard on the way his hand comes to rest on the small of your back; warm and reassuring and so so familiar. you can’t be relishing the feel of his warm breath on your shoulder, sending small, delicious tingles down your spine; can’t deliberately feel the way his hips press into yours, creating friction and something much more urgent. 

no! so you square your shoulders and stand tall. 

let’s get this over with then. 

he steps to one side as the music begins to pick up; ever accustomed to taking the lead, and you step to the other side; equally determined to make this difficult for him. he knows of course, because he knows you and how your mind works. more importantly, he knows how your grudges work. 

“are you really going to be difficult again?” he asks, just low enough for you to hear it over the music. “you can’t keep your pettiness aside for five minutes?”

his voice skitters over your bones, taunting and gravelly; matty from years and years ago who would raise goosebumps on your skin and make your blood heat up just by looking at you. 

“my pettiness,” you grit out, “is none of your fucking concern.”

“it is when it’s my best friend’s wedding,” he cuts you off sharply.

“your best friend? as if they are no one to me?”

he tuts, condescending little shit, “can’t have the attention taken away from you for one second can you?”

your voices are rising; no longer the harsh whispers from before. and the distance between your bodies is almost negligible. his hand clutches tightly, is it his intention to hurt or to hold on? you don’t know. you don’t think he knows either. 

“says the man who constantly whines for validation like a little baby,” you spit out, noses almost touching each other’s. 

his eyes, warm and hazel once, are cold hard chips of brown. the anger in them turns his veins red. you imagine he’s seeing red right now, especially as his gaze dips to your mouth—painted red and curled in a sneer. 

“you really have reached a new low, haven’t you, matthew?” you laugh in his face, brutally and sharp enough to cut. a sick and twisted part of you relishes in the fact that his date can see you in his arms. “oh, what must your arm candy think of you for twirling your ex around like this.”

“arm candy?” he scoffs, clearly taken aback. he must have imagined the wedding to be a fancy affair where he would get waisted and twirl his date around until they go back home and fuck in a drunken, sloppy rhythm. he would grope at her breasts like a starved man and she would hook her legs around his waist; much like how you once used to. then she would fall to her knees and satisfy all his needs. “don’t bring grace into—”

“grace?” you snap out of your disturbing train of thoughts about your ex-husband’s bedroom habits. instead, you choose to find happiness in the fact that it won’t be as smooth sailing for him as he thought. “oh, you’ve got to be fucking with me, yeah? your toy is called grace?”

you regret the words as soon as they’re out of your mouth. and not even for the right reasons. 

“that sounds an awful lot like jealousy, darling” matty croons, finding his footing once again. 

your breath hitches. the word is meant to be a weapon, hell, you two are right in the middle of an almost screaming match (again) yet he precisely knows how to wound you with his words (like always).

“don’t,” you warn. you’re falling for the bait by doing so, you know it, he knows it. but you’ll take the small bit of defeat over this. for emphasis, you yank your hand out of his and place it on his chest, as if to push him away. 

his chest heaves slightly and suddenly you’re very aware of the muscles under the fitting white shirt. you should move away, fuck, you should stop touching his chest but your blood turns to lead, heats up your entire body as rage courses freely. 

“don’t pin this on me.” you push him back just slightly, “it’s your need to overcompensate,” another push, “that’s why we’re here,” a third push. 

and then his massive hand is wrapping over yours. you have no time to involuntarily mourn the loss of it on your waist; those tingles have already moved to your hand. 

“losing your cool?” he tuts. 

the infuriating bastard!

there’s a sudden urge to stomp on his feet with your four-inch heels, or better yet, to just knee him in the crotch. but you happen to catch the look on charli’s face. her eyes are wide, worried. this shouldn’t be happening. none of this should be happening. you’re not supposed to be creating a scene at one of your best friends’ wedding. 

“would you look at that…” you peel yourself off him. the lump in your throat is almost overwhelming now and you’d be damned before you cry in front of him again. “you’re ruining your best friend’s wedding.”

before matty can reply, you turn on your heel, keeping your eyes sharply on the exit. this is too much. this evening was a mistake. saying yes to the dance was a mistake. coming here…

a lone tear escapes, tiny and pathetic. it makes you want to slap yourself that you would put your disdain for matty over your love for charli. after everything she’s done for you in the last ten months, after every night you’d spent crying in her bed and in her arms, this is the least you could have done. and yet you’ve failed; as a friend, as a wife, even as a person at this point. 

footsteps slap on the marble floor behind you, getting closer as you step out into the corridor. of course, he’d follow. of course, he wouldn’t know when to leave it alone, picking at all your wounds that are only just scabbing over. 

“stop!” he calls out, “you fucking coward.”

the shock of it alone is enough to freeze you in your place. 

“what did you just say to me?” you blink at him slowly, taking in his cold eyes and lips pressed in a thin line. 

“you fucking coward,” he repeats, “running away from every situation when it gets tough.”

“fuck you, matty,” you spit out, taking a step forward. “fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” you punctuate each of them with a jab to his chest, stabbing your nails repeatedly into the soft spot over his heart. let him feel it. let him experience a million small deaths. 

“what? nothing witty to say now?” his hand wraps around your wrist, holding it still in place. no matter how much you struggle, he won’t let go. 

his face is inches away. he moves forward, backing you against the wall, holding onto your wrist tightly, mouth open and almost panting as if he can’t get enough air. 

you can’t either. your head spins; so close to him, too close. your faces are inches away and involuntarily you stare at his lips, trembling with rage. this whole evening was a mistake but that doesn’t stop you from fisting your hands in his shirt and crashing your mouth onto his.

lemme know what you think pls <33 🤭

[writingsbychlo]

“Did you just lick me?!”

Could be funny 😂

this IS gonna be funny (I hope), a little bit of tipsy mates being stupid at starfall.

Slumping into Azriel's side, you giggled, and he only chuckled down at you as he wrapped both arms around your body to steady you. "Alright there, angel?"

"Very, very alright." Peeking up at him, your eyes scanned over his face, taking in every starlit mark and dimple and freckle. "You're so pretty."

"You stole my line." Lifting one hand up, he ran his thumb over your jaw, forehead coming down to sit on your own and he smiled. "Pretty, pretty girl."

"Pretty, pretty boy." You echoed, and he only hummed, cheeks flushing with warmth. He always did that, blushing when you complimented him. You were determined for him to one day see himself the way you did, for him to know that starfall was the second prettiest thing you'd ever seen, but nothing would ever beat the sight of him with that smile he only gave to you.

His lips closed over your own, slow and soft and warm. He tasted like champagne and he kissed messily. It wasn't often that Azriel did anything lazily, sloppy, but this kiss was one of them. A hand that was halfway between your hip and your ass, fingers digging in roughly as he groaned. Your lips parted, tongues melding together, no rush and no cares in the world as your hands smoothed over his chest.

He pulled back, twisting his head just enough to get a rushed breath sucked into his lungs before his lips were slamming back down onto your own. Reaching idly to the side, he placed the half-empty champagne flute down on the table, before he was gripping you tighter to his body.

Dragging you in by handfuls of expensive silk in layers of thick skirt, until your hips were pressed to his, chests flush together. Your hearts beat erratically together as he bent you back, lips never parting. He nipped, twice at your lower lip, until his name was a whimper on your lips, the hands flat on his chest scrunching up, wrinkling the pressed suit he'd donned for the evening. The twitch of his wings at his beck showed you just how much he'd liked that.

"Seriously? My child is here, and you two look like you're about to make him a cousin right against the wall." Rhysand's voice was a lazy, low drawl, and yet in the middle of this moment, it felt more like a scratch of nails on a chalkboard.

Pulling back, your face was flushed, lips tingling and swollen and Ariel looked no better. Pink cheeks, red lips, messy hair and eyes that screamed 'fuck me' as he stared at you, straining to get his breaths under control, just as you were.

"I mean, don't get me wrong, I'd love to see a little shadowsinger running around, but I don't want to see how it's made." He smirked at Azriel, knowing that the mention of kids tended to freak him out, but the man before you just glared right back.

"Well, since you've so kindly cockblocked us, you won't be getting on anytime soon, will you?" Rhys ooo'd dramatically hands raised as he baited Azriel, and you smoothed your hands along his chest when he tensed. The lord wandered away to find his family with the refill of his drink in hand, and Az scoffed, downing the rest of his champagne in one mouthful and wincing at the onslaught of bubbles in his mouth.

The stars would begin falling soon, and so with a new drink in hand each, you mingled instead, joining the festivities. You danced, you drank, you ate, and Azriel's touch never left you, the two of you moving like a unit through the crowds.

When the lights finally dimmed and the stars began to fall, the only thing to light up the dark atmosphere, you allowed yourself to curl back into his body. One arm wrapped around your shoulders as he stared in wonder up at the sky, and you twisted your face a little further toward him. He smelt good, like mist and cedar and a little spicy, and you ran the tip of your nose along the base of his neck.

He shuddered.

You did it again, and he reacted the same. The third time, you dipped your tongue out, smoothing the wet muscle along his skin, and he audibly groaned, biting it back after half a second and the arm around your waist squeezed so tight you gasped.

"Did you just lick me?" His voice was thick with gravel and low, and his head dipped to whisper the words in your ear. A secret for just the two of you. He retaliated by licking over the shell of your ear. "Why don't we go home, and I'll lick you right back."

"Promises, promises.." You beamed, leaning in to repeat the action, and he twisted enough to wrap both arms around you, shadows coiling at his body as they prepared to drag the pair of you into darkness.

"Oh, you've done it now, baby. I'm gonna' take you home, where there are no interruptions this time." Shadows folded around you both, and only seconds later, you were standing in your bedroom, saying a little, only inches from the edge of the bed. He pushed, you fell. Splayed out on the bedding, his knees hit the mattress, his hands following, crawling up the bed toward you. "Maybe I'll make good on Rhys' request, huh? Let a little shadowsinger run around."

"Lot of talk, Az, let's see some action.." Your words may have been cocky, but the deliverance was needy and breathy and almost whined, and he ate it up. The look in his eyes told you that you were in for a very long starfall night, by the end of it, he'd have made you see stars in more ways than one.

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: Exhibit

Pairing: Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Kink Prompt: Exhibit [Exhibitionism]

Word Count: 2,000

Summary: You attend a party in your roommate’s stead. 

Warnings: Noncon/Dubcon, Public Sex, Masquerade, Exhibitionism, Nonconsensual Drug use, Smut, Darkfic, AU: Dark, Dead Dove: Do not eat, Minors DNI!

A/N: entry number three, and the end of week one of my kinktober celebration! i sincerely hope you all enjoyed the first three installments! thank you all so much for reading. mind the tags and warnings, as always, and enjoy! divider by @firefly-graphics​

Your palms are sweating underneath your evening gloves as you make your way down the marble staircase. Everyone is looking at you. You can’t see their eyes through the masks, of course, but the sea of porcelain faces turned in your direction lets you feel the weight of their gazes anyway. Your own is tied securely beneath the carefully coiffed mess of curls at the nape of your neck, and you resist the urge to check Emily’s tie-job as you descend the staircase.

 “What if they notice that I’m, you know, not you?” You’d asked as she’d tied the black satin straps behind your head. “This isn’t a frat party, it’s like. An event.” Your roommate rolled her eyes in the mirror as she continued fussing over you, dusting lint from the front of your gown. 

 “No one’s going to care,” she’d nodded appreciatively at her handiwork. “Besides, everyone’s wearing masks anyway.”

 You feel ungainly in the heels Emily picked out, but you manage to make it to the landing without falling on your face or tripping over the train of your dress. Now that you’re at the bottom, part of the roiling mass of bodies instead of above it, you don’t feel quite as watched, and you let your shoulders sag with relief. 

 How long did Emily say this thing was? Three hours? You’re a stranger to the rituals of the wealthy, so you stand there awkwardly, clinging to the bannister. You don’t know anyone, either. The most Emily had told you about this weird little shindig was that it was once every few years, and that the absolute most important people in the city showed up. 

 “And why am I going?” You’d asked, fiddling with your ornate swan mask. 

 “You’re my proxy, silly!” She’d smiled warmly at you. “So like, if you can’t go, you can, like, have someone go represent the family. Like a stand in.” 

 “And it’s important that you be there because…?”

 “The Swan’s like. Really important. There’s this whole boring story they tell about it, but I don’t really remember.” She waved her hand at you dismissively. “Anyway, you look great.”

 “Is it heavy?” A man in a crow mask stands in front of you, his head inclined in question. 

 “W-what?”

 “The bannister. Or are you not holding it up?” He asks, grinning at you. You straighten up self-consciously.

 “I, um.” You clear your throat. “N-no.” 

 “That was a joke, sweetheart.” He extends his hand. “Emily, right? I’m Lloyd.” He points at his mask. “Crow.” 

 You shake your head. “No, I’m. I’m her fr—roommate. Stand-in. God.” You glance up at the ceiling in embarrassment. 

 “Ah.” He licks his lips and nods. “New blood, then.”

 “I guess so.” 

 He circles around to your right, looping his smoothly beneath yours. “You should dance with me.” He’s staring at you hard underneath the black porcelain of his mask, you just know it, and your skin prickles. You’ve always had a hard time telling people no—that’s how you’d ended up here in the first place. “Come on, it’s a party. You should dance.” It’s less of a request and more of a demand.

 “O-okay.” You allow him to tug you out into the crowd after casting a look back at the bannister. You can’t stay there for three hours, and you suppose having someone to talk to is better than staying in silence. Lloyd snags two flutes of champagne off of a passing server, and hands it to you. 

 “I didn’t get your name, sweetheart.” He says, tipping the glass up to your lips. You take a clumsy sip, and the bubbles tickle your nose. You tell him, and he repeats it. You don’t like the way your name sounds on his lips, drippy and smooth like honey. “Mm. I like it.” 

 “T-thanks.” You drain the rest of the flute, and the alcohol settles warmly in your empty stomach. You turn to set the glass on one of the tall tables with the other abandoned cups, and when you turn back, Lloyd has another two full glasses of champagne. You take it from him, knocking that one back too. 

 “How much did Emily tell you about our…get-together, duckling?” He asks, taking a sip of his own drink. You grimace at the nickname, but Lloyd doesn’t apologize. He reminds you uncomfortably of Emily—the same bored sort of entitlement that took you months to work around in your roommate radiates from Lloyd. 

 “Not much. She just said it was a party her parents wanted her to go to.” 

 “Mmm.” He hums, stepping closer. Lloyd slides his hand around your waist. You want to tell him no, to push his arm away, but you also don’t want to make a scene. You compromise by leaning as far away from him as you can manage. If Lloyd notices your distaste, he doesn’t say anything about it. “That’s certainly part of it.” He inclines his head towards the dance floor, and continues talking. There’s no space for you to edge in a word, tell him you’re all left feet and elbows before he’s positioning your stiff arms properly. 

 “Like this, duckling.” 

 “Don’t call—”

 “You’re right. You’re a swan.” His voice is mocking. “The swan’s important, you know.” He spins you, and you land against him dizzily with one hand on his chest. “Very important.”

 “W-what?” You feel… strange. Your mouth is dry and your thoughts feel like car wheels spinning in mud. 

 “Oh yes,” Lloyd’s full lips curl into a handsome—but cruel—smile. “Beauty, youth, rebirth, blah, blah, blah. A bunch of bullshit to justify a wild party, which, if you ask me, doesn’t really need any justification.” 

 “Wild?” You don’t know what Lloyd means by wild, it looks fairly tame to you. You glance around the room, but your vision swims a little, and you stumble. Lloyd chuckles. 

 “Those drinks’ll creep up on you, Sweetheart.” He spins you again, and you let out a huff, trying not to fall over. This time, when you fall against his chest, he holds you there. “You really ought to be a little more skeptical about your friends, duckling.” He grasps your chin, turning your head a little. You grit your teeth at his familiarity, but it’s hard to fight his iron grip. After a brief struggle, you look in the direction Lloyd wants you to, and your eyes bulge in their sockets. 

 There are people dancing, milling about, but up against the wall, there’s a woman. Her gown is rucked up around her hips, held there by her masked companion. Another woman, who’s gloved hand is moving steadily beneath the fabric. You gasp, and Lloyd lets go. 

 “They’re starting early,” he hums, and you swallow dryly as you whip your head around. Suddenly, you’re seeing people all over the crowd… indulging, and no one was… saying anything. Even as you watched, a man reached down the front of his slacks, pulling out his half hard cock, while his dance partner dropped to her knees and greedily licked at the tip. 

 Panic swirls in your veins. “I-I need to go,” you mumble, your tongue feeling like thick cotton in your mouth. “Home, I n-need to go…” The words are clumsy in your mouth. Lloyd strokes your chin with one finger, and then taps it against the porcelain nose of your mask. 

 “No, duckling. I think you’ll stay here, with me tonight.” Your head spins. He fingers delicate, feathered wing motif on the spaghetti straps of your dress. “You know, when they described Emily to me, I wasn’t too keen on playing the Crow to her Swan.” He pushes the strap from your elbow, and you reel backwards—or, at least, you try to, your body moving clumsily. Lloyd’s hands are so big, and he wraps one easily around your forearm, pulling you back. 

 “But seeing you, you know you’ve got me rethinking.” 

 “S-stop, I—” He pushes down the other strap, and you try to hold up the gathered fabric at the front of your dress with one hand. “Lloyd, stop!” Your shrill voice turns a few heads, but no one moves to help you. He doesn’t stop, his fingers dancing up your bare arm to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger. 

 “I was promised a Swan tonight, duckling,” he breathes the words out against your trembling lips. “Normally I’m not one for keeping a promise, but you know what they say. A deal’s a deal.” He cups your breast—you couldn’t wear a bra with the plunging neckline of Emily’s borrowed dress—and you whine. Lloyd hums low in his throat with approval, rolling your nipple between his fingers. You hate the hum that sings through your blood at his touch, the unwanted thrill of being seen, even as the party around you devolves into depravity. His mouth works against yours hungrily, sucking and pulling on your lips until they’re swollen. 

 Your flesh dimples at the cool air, legs wobbling dangerously when Lloyd pulls away to remove his jacket. You feel feverishly sensitive, your nipples suddenly aching from rubbing against the fabric of your dress. It’s like that all over, wherever your hot, prickling skin touches the shimmering silk. It’s hateful, the way you whimper with relief when Lloyd’s fingers make quick work of the dainty pearl buttons, and the whisper of the fabric is deafening in your ears as it slides to the polished floor. Dimly, you’re aware of Lloyd’s low hum of appreciation. 

 People are looking, you can feel the uncomfortable heat of their gazes resting on your bare skin as you try to cover yourself with stiff, clumsy hands. One of them, a man in a rat mask, reaches forward to touch you, but Lloyd yanks you back against his chest, snarling. 

 “Hands off, asshole,” he snaps, grinding his cock against the soft curve of your ass. “No touching.” Even as he reprimands the other man, Lloyd kicks your legs further apart to slide his fingers through your slick folds. God help you, it feels good when he rolls your clit between his thumb and index finger. The pleasure rockets through you like electricity and you pant. Lloyd’s teeth pull at the soft lobe of your ear, and you arch your back, pressing against him desperately. He chuckles. 

 “Look, duckling,” he murmurs, reaching down between your bodies to slide his cock between your asscheeks. “They all want to watch me split this tight little pussy open, isn’t that nice?” The tip of his cock presses wetly against the puckered ring of your ass and you whine. He laughs again, the sound low and almost hypnotic in your ears. “Don’t worry duckie. Next time I’ll try your pretty asshole.” If there were more than fleeting thoughts in your head, if you were capable of doing anything more than whining like a needy animal at his touch; you would say that there would be no next time, that if you ever saw Lloyd again, it would be from the other side of a jail cell—

 But your head is empty, save for the burning in your veins that only the push of his thick, leaking head against your slick cunt can assuage. Your mouth falls open as he begins to push inside, words becoming an unintelligible gurgle in the back of your throat as you stare sightlessly at the distant domed ceiling. Lloyd curses, his fingers digging into your bare hips as he seats himself inside. 

 Perhaps it’s the delicious way he stretches you open, or the press of his thumb against your clit, but you cum with a pathetic mewl, squeezing and sucking at his cock as you tremble. The feathers of his crow mask tickle against the side of your throat as he laves at your pulse.

 “Look at you, duckling,” he grunts as he pulls out a little, only to slam back inside, making stars dance in your blurry vision. “Star of the show.” 

fin

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[ladylooch]

I might have to request Nico fluff cause the last one you wrote was absolutely brilliant😭 and if you want to add some spice to it I'm down

The answer to any Nico fluff request will always be yes. Forever. He is so easy to write. And I really love this AU. So how about the fluffiest fluff there ever is in human existence 💍

This is part of the What My World Spins Around AU. Catch the other blurbs on my master list here.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warning: 18+ Content!, fluff, drinking, swearing because I like the F word... and smut LOL.

The final bubbles of my glass of champagne pop and sputter against my lips as I bring the flute to my mouth. I finish the drink off, glancing over my shoulder. I scan the inside of the restaurant, searching for Nico. He’s been in the bathroom for awhile. I hope he’s okay. Not seeing him in my immediate view, I turn back to the street just beyond our patio seating.

We are back in Switzerland for another off-season. The Devils year ended short of a Stanley Cup, but their captain is in much better spirits compared to last summer. The team grew so much this year; Nico did too. He became stronger in his leadership, more sure of the direction of the team and the future management has been promising him since he was drafted.

It feels like their hard work has pushed them forward enough to ease the sting. Instead, he can barely wait for the puck to drop next season.

I watch as a couple of bikers stride through the street towards the setting sun. It’s hinting at beautiful colors tonight. I pull my phone up to attempt a picture, but it’s pointless. The colors are prettier than the phone can even show.

I reach for my flute again, disappointed when I remember I already drank the last of it.

“Sorry, babe.” Nico announces his presences as he moves to stand next to me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, placing my hand on his wrist. He looks flushed and like he’s a bit troubled.

“Yeah. Just got caught up in a conversation inside.” He assures me. I nod in understanding. It’s a common occurrence when we are here. “You up for a walk?” He extends his hand to move my hair behind my ear, then off my shoulder. My dark curls cascade down my back drawing his brown gaze as they cover the bare skin of my upper back. I look around for our waiter, not seeing him in immediate view. “I already paid.” He tells me. I pause, wrinkling my nose at his weird behavior.

“A little impatient tonight.” I chuckle, grabbing my purse and accepting his outstretched hand.

“You do see this sunset right? It’s amazing. If we can get beyond the buildings in the next few minutes, it will be even better.”

I trust the Swiss native at his word and allow for him to hustle me down the street. My wedges hate the cobblestone path, so Nico has to continuously steady me as we go. We break through the buildings into an open area that leads to the marina and glacial lake we live on the other side of. 

“Oh, wow.” I whisper. “You should have picked a house on this side of the lake.”

“They won’t build anything new over here. Ground is too unsteady in the winter.” His gaze is intense in front of us like he’s facing a fierce opponent, not staring at a gorgeous, summer sunset.

“Bummer.” I pout, following him down to the public pier that leads into the clear, blue water. 

As we walk, the colors begin to change from soft glows of yellow to bursting warm colors beginning with pink and ending with orange and reds.

“Wow.” I whisper to him, completely mesmerized.

Our fingers are linked loosely together as we walk, swinging between our bodies. The colors intensify more, causing the lake to toss diamonds across it’s glass surface. The hues dance along the Swiss Alps causing an idyllic glow in the valley. It’s breathtaking and indescribable. My eyes drink in the sight, barely noticing when Nico’s fingers drop from mine. I stand rooted to my spot, trying to remember each flick of light across the mountains.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen-” I turn, to face Nico completely. When I see him down on one knee, my words get stuck in my throat. “Ah.” Sputters out with what is left of them. 

“You are without a doubt the love of my life.” His voice shakes as he pulls in a breath. My hand clasps over my mouth as I close my eyes, whispering ohmygod over and over to myself. “I love you in ways I didn’t know were possible to love another person.”

“Yes.” I whisper to him, nodding my head and reaching for his shoulders. I drop to my knees, sliding my hands around his neck to stroke his cheeks with my thumbs. I tug his face to mine for a desperate kiss.

“I’m not done.” He laughs against my mouth. 

“Yes.” I insist again, pressing my lips more forcefully to his.

“I haven’t asked.” He reminds me, but his tongue comes out of his mouth to tangle with mine. I pull back to look at him. His face swims in my growing tears. One spills over my bottom lash so he catches it with his thumb. My lips wobble, trying to stuff the happy sob in my throat. I end up bitting into my tongue until I can taste blood in my mouth.

“I never want to know what it’s like to not have this. I want you with me for every moment, good and bad and average, for the rest of my life.” He smiles as more tears dash down my cheeks. I nod enthusiastically in wholehearted agreement. He reaches out for my face. I gasp as I lean into his touch. “Will you marry me?” It’s an excited whisper that has an effervescent grin pulling my cheeks tight.

“Yes!” I squeal, head tilting back and spilling electric laughter. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

He pops the black ring box open and I practically faint.

“Oh… my GOD. Nico.” I am flabbergasted by the size of the diamond. It’s an oval cut in a platinum setting with several smaller diamonds that form a V down the sides of the band. It’s better than my wildest fantasies or any ring on my Pinterest board.

“You like it?”

“I love it.” I watch my hand tremble as he slides the ring onto my finger. 

“Whew, it fits.” He grins at me when he secures it in place.

“Oh.. how I love you.” I whimper to him, pressing our lips together again. The kiss is filled with sweetness. We share soft, open presses of our mouthes while his hands hold us firmly together.

Cheers break us apart. I look behind Nico and see his parents rushing towards us. Katja has her arms thrust into the air in excitement. Rino hold his hands up to his mouths to hoot at us. I smile, hiding my nose in Nico’s shoulder.

“I think we know those people.” I say, kissing the crook of his neck.

“They insisted on watching.” He chuckles, maneuvering us both to stand. I catch the glint of my ring as I brush a piece of my hair behind my ear. I can barely believe this is happening. Nico wraps his arms around my hips as we watch their final, joyful approach. His touch is grounding, but just in case this is a dream, nobody wake me up.

Nico keeps the celebration with his parents quick. We snap pictures, doing all the ring related poses and popping of champagne. Strangers embrace us with hugs and warm wishes of congratulations. I’m overwhelmed by the feelings of love and joy sweeping from every part of my body. Before I know what is happening, Nico is ushering me back to the car.

We crash into the house when we get home, beginning to strip each other’s clothes off. 

“All I want on you is your engagement ring.” Nico tells me, tugging my dress over my head. My matching red, peek a boo lingerie has him groaning.

“You sure about that?” I ask him, watching as his eyes drink me in. He steps forward, leaning his head down to suck my nipple into his mouth through the fabric. The barrier is too much. He shoves the cup down, gripping my breast tightly in his hand before sucking me deeper into his mouth. “Ahhh.” I whine to him, fingers threading into his long locks.

“Yeah I’m sure.” His nostrils flare when he pulls away. On the counter, the world demands our presence. Vibrating and flashing with text messages and phone calls, begging to hear about how the Swiss captain proposed.

They can wait. We can’t.

Nico reaches around to unclasp my bra, happy when it falls to our feet. 

“So fucking beautiful.” He hums, reaching for my other breast, tugging the pink nipple into his mouth. His teeth scrape lightly against it, making me wiggle impatiently in his arms. I reach for his hand, sliding it into my panties and beginning the motion I want from him. He grins, hooking my leg around his waist so he can run his thumb in tighter circles. My head knocks back to almost between my shoulder blades as I cry my appreciate to my future husband.

When my head snaps back, I turn into a vixen.

“You got on your knees; it’s only fair I repeat the favor.” I drawl. His glinting brown eyes watch my descent to the floor. He tugs his bottom lip into his mouth watching as I pull his thick shaft from his pants. His palms come to gather my hair at the back of my head. He tugs the hairs tight, holding my head back as his erection bounces against my tongue. He leers down at me as I stroke from base to tip. My wet mouth encloses around his head completely, sucking in steady pulses around the sensitive skin. Nico’s knees almost buckle.

“Look at how pretty my fiancé looks with me in her mouth.” He moans as I suck him deeper. 

“Ring looks good too.” I point out, showing him the glittering of the diamond against his taut skin.

“Mmm, almost as good as you.” He groans as I swirl my tongue along his seeping head. I take him as deep as I can, letting him set his hands on my head to fuck my mouth. His thrusts deepen and I resist the urge to gag around his hefty length. He sighs heavily as he falls from my mouth. “I can’t.” He confesses. “Not going to last long enough to get inside of you.” He reaches for my hands to pull me up. “Where?” He asks.

“Right here.” 

“Nah.” His head shake is assertive. “You deserve better than the floor.” He kisses my lips, swirling his tongue in my mouth to taste the last bit of himself there. His hands press into my hips, steering me towards the living room. We get to the couch wrapping our arms around each other, falling on it together. Our tongues meld as one, enjoying the company of one another’s mouthes. 

Nico reaches between us, gripping his cock to put himself between my folds. His fingers play with me, massaging me until I’m whimpering beneath him again.

“Nico.” I’m exasperated, too empty to keep playing this game with him. “Please.”

“Beg a little more.” He asks me watching my face as my eyebrows pull together in need.

“I can’t… please, I can’t wait anymore.” I don’t even need to play it up. I’m that desperate for him. He likes the sound of my pleading. One more stroke down my heat and he smoothly pushes himself inside of me. 

“Oh.” We both moan at the same time.

“So good.” He whispers into my mouth. He kisses me sloppily as his thrusts push me up the couch. The crown of my head hits the arm of it quickly. I wince slightly and Nico adjusts the pillow to protect my head. “Better?” He asks me, watching my face intently. I nod eagerly. With my head safe, he begins to increase the tempo. His hips snap and roll, then his staccato thrusts increase as he widens my knees.

“Fuck, baby you are gorgeous. So.. god damn perfect.” His long locks dance in front of his face as he looks down at us connecting. His gaze returns to mine when I scratch my nails down his arms. “Keep looking at me like that.” He murmurs, hand coming down to stroke my face. “Don’t look away.” I bite my lip, causing Nico to groan again. “So sexy.” My eyes close and he squeezes my cheeks as a reminder. “Me baby, eyes on me. I want you to see who makes you feel this good.” My fingers move from his arms to his ass cheeks, forcing my nails in to make him increase the tempo. “Tell me.”

“I want more, Neeks. Please. Just a little.”

He tilts my hips up, adjusting me so he can go deeper. I lurch off the couch, arching my back as he strokes my inner walls just right. My hand comes down, touching my clit in soft circles. Nico brings a hand to my breast, massaging it beneath his fingers. 

“Baby.” It’s a breathless whisper that falls from my swollen lips greedily. I grit my teeth, eyes closing. Nico leans down to my ear, hot gulps of air enclosing the space between us.

“I’m so addicted to you, sweet girl.” He murmurs, thrusting faster into me. “The rest of my life still won’t be enough of you.” My fingers grip the back of his neck. Then, my nail beds turn white against Nico’s skin as I come, taking him right with me.

I’m shaking when Nico jerks a final time inside me. His strong arms hold most of his weight over me, but our chests stick to each other. I feel his nose on my shoulder. He glides his way to the dip of my neck then kisses his way up my cheek to my lips. Our breathing collides between our faces in ragged exhales.

The way he looks at me has tears building in my eyes.

“Do I really get that look forever?” I whisper to him, fingers ghosting along his face to brush his hair back from his eyes. He doesn’t speak just nods.

There are some things words can’t describe.

The feeling of laying in Nico’s arms, newly engaged and freshly loved, is definitely one of those things. 

[oohnotvery]

Wherever Is Your Heart (Chapter 1)

PART I

Scully

It’s been a long time since Scully has felt this drunk. She hadn’t meant for it to happen, but the Bureau’s annual holiday party has been more fun and the champagne more free-flowing than she had anticipated. Plus, something about the way people are staring at her ass in this dress is giving her a boost of confidence she didn’t know she needed.  

She’s never quite lacked confidence in the way she looks, but lately, she’s cared far more about who’s looking. For most of her career, she’s operated under the assumption that despite the affection and camaraderie that they share, nothing would ever heat up between her and Mulder. Falling in love and jumping into bed together are too risky for a partnership like theirs.

But the attraction and chemistry and the he likes me/he likes me not that bubble just under the surface of their professional relationship have started to rise. Lately, in those quiet moments between cases—on long drives, while writing reports, when walking down the street with matching coffees—she’s been catching him staring. It’s happened often enough that it’s changed her calculation just slightly, tipping the scales in favor of he likes me. He hasn’t tried anything, exactly, but she doesn’t think she’s reading him wrong. Those long, lingering glances seem to be filled with a certain yearning that she’s never before noticed in his eyes.

So on nights like this, when she’s allowed to be as feminine, as divine, as lovely as possible, she takes the chance. Because maybe tonight’s the night that Mulder will finally make his move.

She knows she looks good. In her line of work, it is a rare thing to get to throw on a slinky black satin dress and a swipe of Dior’s famous Christmas-red lipstick. It is unusual to show as much skin as she is showing tonight, her full back exposed down to her sacrum, her breasts spilling out of the corseted top. It is special to be noticed—and not just for being Mrs. Spooky. 

But it’s ten p.m., and Mulder hasn’t bothered to show, that bastard. Even after she harassed him, harangued him, threatened him, bothered him, enticed him . . . he doesn’t turn up. 

In a haze of wine and whiskey, she decides she won’t let this night go to waste. She will revel in her beauty, her womanhood, her want. She will let loose and have fun. She will flirt and be flirted with. If Mulder isn’t going to make an effort, she won’t deny herself her own pleasure.

And so she drinks, letting first A.D. Skinner and then a stranger from accounting take her for a spin on the dance floor. Twinkly, starry lights swing from the ballroom’s chandeliers and light her skin with a warm glow. She basks in the attention of men she has never met filling up her wine glasses, of a handsome new special agent bringing her a bubbly sip of champagne.

“Agent Jacobs,” the man says by way of introduction, his bright blue eyes striking against his jet-black hair. He presses the flute into her fingers and smiles sweetly. Her lips lift into a satisfied grin as the sparkly feeling of champagne trips down her throat.

“Dana,” she replies coquettishly, already ready to give this stranger a chance at being on a first-name basis.

“Tyler,” he replies with an even wider smile, and she feels his hand warm the dip in her spine. “Care for a dance?”

His face tips close to hers and she feels the scratchy material of his wool suit scritch temptingly against her arm. She instantly wants to bury her face in it.

“Mhmm,” is all she can muster as alcohol drips through her system.

Time floats by without notice. One minute she is swinging with Tyler to a festive, upbeat song, her heels slipping and sliding gleefully against the floor; and the next, he is pressing her into his chest, gripping her hand tightly to his heart, whispering naughty, exciting things in her ear as a crooner sings an old-school melody.

“Let me take you home, Dana,” he whispers, his stubble raking deliciously across the soft skin of her cheek. There is nothing more intoxicating than a man who wants her back.

With half-lidded eyes, she begins to nod, because she wants to be touched, wants to be loved, and who better than this handsome man she’s never met, this man who’s paying her all the attention in the world, who’s making her feel wanted, special, adored?

Tyler grips the back of her head and she feels his lips pressing into the crown of her hair, and it feels so good to be treated like this, to be touched like this. She melts.

And then she feels fingers at her elbow, a gentle tug, a few quiet words, and Mulder comes into view.

His smile is warm but concerned, his expression tender but firm.

“Come on, party girl,” he murmurs in her ear, his arm draping possessively around her shoulders. “I’ll take you home.”

She blinks dopily up at him.

Oh, yes. Oh, yes. How could she have forgotten? Mulder. Mulder is going to take her home. Mulder, with his patient eyes and kind smile and delicious jawline. Mulder, with his heart only for mysteries and monsters. Mulder, with his brilliant mind and kissable lips.

Mulder wants to take her home.

“Mulder,” she says with a growing smile, all thoughts of Tyler forgotten, “you made it.”

He cocks his head at her and she runs her hands up his arms.

“Steady there,” he whispers conspiratorially, and when Tyler tries to butt in and explain himself, Mulder just tugs Scully into a private corner.

In some far-off recess of her mind, she hears Tyler calling after her that they should get drinks soon. With eyes only for Mulder, she doesn’t even acknowledge him.

In the corner of the ballroom, Mulder places a hand on her shoulder and with his other hand, tips her chin up to meet his eyes. He’s going to kiss her. She just knows it. She feels her eyelids growing heavy with want.

“You want to go home with that guy?” he asks, his brows furrowed.

She opens her mouth to reply, but the words come out garbled.

“Scully,” Mulder tries again, squeezing her shoulder a little. “Dana, Dana look at me.” Her eyes lift lazily to his. He’s so beautiful in his black Armani suit. She tells him so. His lips quirk into a quick smile. “Dana Scully,” he asks slowly, his face the picture of seriousness, “do you want to go home with Agent Jacobs?”

She shakes her head naughtily. “I want to go home with you,” she whines, tugging him closer by his bowtie. “Take me home with you.”

He chuffs a little laugh and nods. “Okay, Scully, then let’s go.”

She feels her knees buckle slightly at his words. He’s going to take her home. Finally. This is finally happening.

She doesn’t remember how they get back home, or why they’re at her home instead of his. It doesn’t matter. She stumbles through the door and turns to face him. His features are masked in the dim light of her apartment but she can see that he’s smiling slightly, almost like he’s enjoying seeing her like this. Well then. She has a lot more to show him.

“Come,” she says with a tug of his hand, and she drags him into her. When he bumps into her chest, she stretches her arms up over his shoulders and slings them around his neck, pulling him down for a hug.

He hugs her back but it’s only for a minute before he’s gently prying her arms off.

“Kiss me,” she hears herself say, but she’s not embarrassed because he brought her home. He took her away from Tyler for just this reason, to bring her home.

His eyes grow dark for a minute and then he’s laughing nervously and she hears him making excuses.

“I want you so bad,” she whispers as her hands fall to his belt. He yelps when she sloppily tugs at his trousers and her hands pass over his groin. “I want to taste you,” she slurs, dropping to her knees and pressing her face into his thighs.

“Oh—Scully, Scully,” he’s repeating over and over, and she feels his hands tugging at her biceps, first gently and then more roughly, until she’s being forced off the ground and held firmly at arms-length.

“Scully,” he says with a stern look, “you’re drunk,” he tells her, but she knows that. It doesn’t make any difference. I still want you, all the time, even when I’m sober. She may say that out loud, but she isn’t sure.

She feels him turning her around and marching her to her bedroom, lifting her in his arms when she refuses to walk. This is it. This is the moment. He’s going to throw her onto the bed and ravage her. She trembles a little with excitement but instead, he lays her down gently, then makes quick work of her shoes. He doesn’t even touch her beautiful dress or her heaving breasts.

“Touch me,” she whines again, pulling at the hem of her dress until it rides up to her waist. She’s wearing the tiniest G-string she owns and she watches as his eyes flit over her thighs quickly before red colors his cheeks.

“Scully. Jesus, stop,” he says firmly, yanking her dress back down.

A sour mood fills the room as she tries to read his expression. For years, she has catalogued every Mulder expression he’s ever made—profiler Mulder, investigator Mulder, comforter Mulder, Agent Mulder—but this . . . this one she doesn’t know. It’s something like exasperation and amusement and horror, all wrapped into one. Her alcohol-addled brain doesn’t know what to do with it.

He leaves the bedroom without a word and she closes her eyes for a moment, reveling in the spin of the room around her. When he comes back, he is carrying water, coffee, and aspirin, which he forces her to take before he will let her close her eyes again.

“I’ll be on the couch if you get sick,” she hears him telling her, and she feels a hand in her hair, petting her like she’s a dog.

“No,” she wants to say, “stay with me.” But her words are caught in the back of her throat, trapped there by alcohol and the heaviness of slumber.

She falls in and out of a restless sleep. When she gets sick, she barely makes it to the toilet, and she feels Mulder rushing in to hold her hair. Her dress twists around her waist as she retches on her knees.

Brushed teeth and a glass of water later, she is back in bed, but now she is fully awake. She knows she can’t be drunk anymore. Alcohol doesn’t last that long in the system, right? Something smart in the back of her brain tries to explain otherwise, to tell her that the effects of alcohol actually linger for quite some time, and certainly don’t disappear after two hours. But she traps that part of her intelligence away.

Convinced that she’s no longer drunk, she decides to try again.

Fumbling out of bed, she trips to the couch, where Mulder is staring listlessly at the T.V., his suit jacket thrown over the back of the chair, his Oxford shirt unbuttoned and untucked. He glances at her questioningly.

“You okay?” he asks, and she knows he wants her too. She felt it in the way he took her away from Tyler—so possessively.

She nods and hitches up her skirt, then throws her knee across his waist and straddles him. His eyes widen in shock and she grinds down on his lap.

“Fuck me,” she says as flirtatiously as possible, hoping her makeup still looks good, hoping she still smells nice. She drapes her arms across his shoulders and tangles her hands in his hair. This is how she always imagined it. Riding him like this without abandon.

His hands grip at her waist and yes, he wants this too.

But he’s holding her back from him, he’s telling her she’s drunk. But doesn’t he know that she’s not drunk anymore? She shakes her head and ignores the way the room spins when she does. She grinds down on him again and he holds her off again, pushing her from his lap. She loses her balance and starts to careen to the floor but he steadies her with strong arms at her back.

“I love you,” she tells him, because it’s true but also because maybe that will do the trick.

His eyes flit between hers for a long moment and she wonders if he’s making up his mind. “I love you,” she repeats more quietly.

“Scully,” he whispers, standing and lifting her with him. “Let’s get you back to bed.” Pain seems to cross his face and she frowns, shaking her head.

“No, no,” she pleads, “no.”

He nods more firmly, taking her by the arm and half-dragging, half-carrying her to her room.

“I’m going back to the couch, okay?” he tells her as he settles her back into bed, and she feels tears leaking traitorously down her cheeks. He brushes a thumb under her eyelids and more tears start to fall.

“You’ll be okay,” he tells her, before pressing a kiss to her forehead and leaving the room.

She cries herself to sleep.

[peakyblinders1919]

Remember

This was as close to a ball as you were ever going to get. Fancy beaded gowns, men in tuxedos smoking French cigars, fountains of champagne flowing like water, romantic orchestra music and something electric in the air.

Not sure when you were separated from each other, Michael was glowing under the chandelier, his smile wide but fake as he discussed pleasantries with worthy adversaries. He sipped his whiskey, nodded his head, and only truly smiled when he caught your eye. His eyes, emerald green, radiant as the forests of the earth, locked onto yours, and he was offering a less-than-sorry apology to his company, and sauntering to your rescue across the marble dance floor. Checkered black and white like a chess board, he was the knight, the king, dancing effortlessly around other guests holding priceless champagne flutes, to return to your side. 

When he invited you to Arrow House, not as a friend, not as a date to show off to his mother, but as the only girl he wanted on his arm to show off, his prized jewel, he waited anxiously for your answer. He kept repeating how he knew it was a lot to ask, warned you how it was all going to end up feeling like one big show of announcing your relationship, you had listened and then you had countered with “do you want me to come or are you only trying to further steer me away? Because it isn’t going to work.”

The way he did smile when he was with you, like now after he was comfortably by your side, was full of freedom, relief, a contagiousness that possess the magic to ease the tense in your shoulders, his jaw. That smile of his was rare, kept locked up only for you and special occasions, and you were more than honored to be the one to guard it. Keep it safe.

He snuck his arm around your bedazzled waist, pretending to play with the dangling beads of your dress to the normal eye, but the way his fingertips pressed patterns into your side suggested he had other motived for his actions. 

The company you found yourself around- some young girls who knew nothing of the business world, merely here as things to flaunt by the powerful men who had actually been invited- oohed and ahed at the two of you. 

You’d blush if you could.

You’d blush if you cared.

Finishing the last sip of liquid gold, delicate gloved fingers placed the empty glass on a waiter’s moving tray, your hand finding safe purchase on Michael’s chest. You noticed the girls’ wandering eyes as said gloved hand dipped just beneath the expensive suit jacket, as close as you’d dare get to the skin on skin contact you desperately craved. But let them look.

He greeted you properly then with a kiss, chaste, soft, swift. 

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt ladies, but I need to steal this beautiful lady for a moment. If you will…” Michael was scarily good at apologies.

He swept you off your feet, leading you out to empty hallway of the house, 5 degrees cooler and providing a break from the opulent madness in the ballroom. Away from prying eyes, save for the maids, you found yourself pushing him against the smart wood paneled walls giving him the type of kiss you had wanted him to give you inside; needy, hot, one to savor, licking the taste of expensive cigarette smoke from his lips, earth whiskey mingling with a hint of confetti and bubbles. He kissed you back all the same, hands becoming greedy as they pushed and palmed at the curve of your hip, pulling you flush against him and still needing a handful more. Somehow, even across the room mid-conversation, he knew you needed this.

Breaking the kiss, you locked your arms behind his back to steady yourself as you looked into his eyes. Pupils blown, lounge darting to lick the traces of you off his lips, he couldn’t hold your stare long, eyes darting back down to inspect the very lips he wanted another taste of.

Like a well-choreographed dance, he leaned forward and you leaned back, only to be met by his puppy dog stare.

“Don’t give me that look. As much as I want to Michael, don’t start what you can’t finish. I just want to have a lie down, my feet are killing me.”

That was met with a chuckle, solidifying what he already knew the second he had seen you bathed in gold, more beautiful then he’d ever seen you, the apples of your cheeks a rosy pink from alcohol, eyelids heavy, gaze starry, wandering around the room in search of something. In search of him.

“Let’s get those heels off then.” He had proven to you already that, though he should, he didn’t much care about what was proper and what was not, the country boy in him shining through at moments like this when he was disguised in a tailored suit kissing you nastily up against a wall and bending down to unbuckle your shoes and carry them by the straps on your journey down the carpeted hall. So plush under your bare feet, hand in hand, you skipped around the halls of the house, Michael checking behind every other door in search of your room for the night. The farther he searched, the more tired you became, Champagne sitting different than gin or whiskey, leaving your chest warm, cheeks hot to the touch, the rest of you weightless, floating on air, except for your eyes, which you struggled to keep open. 

“Here we are.” He announced much today your relief, nearly being dragged into the dark room. There was no time to admire the wealth of the room before you found yourself lying on the plus mattress, the soft feather down bed beneath you all that mattered. 

Your eyes closed for just a second, an overwhelming feeling of relief washing over you, providing you a little more energy to lean up on your arms when feeling the dip of the bed. In the silence, you selfishly took the time to watch Michael beside you. Study him and the cut of his hair, the form of his side profile, the long hook of his nose, the way his back tensed beneath the jacket, the curves of his body a roadmap of your entire world.

“Let me help.” It wasn’t a question so you didn’t bother waiting for an answer, crawling over to undo his tie and drape it on the headboard. His cufflinks were next, the buttons of his shirt, the shirt itself. Under eyelashes kissing his cheeks he watched you silently. Under other circumstances, there might have been something hot and needy about this interaction, but you were too tired and he was too in awe of how determined you were, how beautiful you looked in rhinestone and sequins in the light dancing over. All for him.

He caught your wrists in his as they creeped lower. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to, bringing his green hand to your cheek. His thumb grazed over the Apple do your cheek, still warm from Champagne. He traced everything line of your face, thumb pad brushing over your eyebrows, your cheek, down your nose, your bottom lip. You pouted, more than tired, near exhaustion, and needy for his love. You leaned in, a kiss thy was needy in another way, needy for fluid warmth, his reassurance, his soul.

“Thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“You’re a natural.”

“At what?”

“Fitting into this lifestyle and finding your place in it.”

“My place in it is by your side.”

And they’re you were, Hans resting on his leg and moving a bit more towards his length, taught and aching against his pants. Leaning to kiss him again, convincing yourself the electricity of the kiss caused your eyes to close but the champagne was unaccounted for.

Micheal stopped your hand again, ignoring the tired pout on your lips. His fingers found the strap of your dress, causing your back with an unexpected yelp at the coldness of them. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Undressing you quickly, you kissed his fingers to warm them, slowly coming to find his motive getting you out of your gown was to get you under the covers. 

You fit into his side like a puzzle piece that had been missing forever and belonged there. He could read your mind, from the moment ok the dance floor where he rescued you until now, pulling your back flush to his front, strong protective arms wound around your waist. He kissed the crown of your head and held your secrets in the dark.

“I know you wanted to… I…” you yawned, moving further into his embrace and the warmth or offered. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. My family is draining. I didn’t want to spend another minute down there away from you.”

“Don’t go soft on me now Michael Gray.” He heard the smile in your voice as strongly as you felt his.

Silence fell around you both like a blanket, oblivious to the party continuing downstairs. You had never been to party like this, and still it wasn’t the expensive drinks or the dance you shared with the man you were falling in love with that you would remember; it was the last hour of the night when it was just you and him against the world, the way you curled around each other, and the way he tried to make it sound like he was upset when he told you “your feet are ice-cold” but he really wasn’t, he couldn’t care less. 

happy thanksgiving to those in the States and anyone who celebrates! more than thankful for all of you

[heroinejinx]

‘Sore subject?’ - Advices and Vices, part 6 of ? (CaitJinx Modern AU)

AO3 link.

Remember when I said things would get darker? Yeah, they sure did. 

Jinx & fancy parties do not mix. Neither do Jinx and most people. Love that for her lol enjoy the melodrama <3

Note: I’ve previously referred to Jinx taking Shimmer & Ketamine, but have now replaced Ketamine with a drug I’ve made up called ‘Fade.’ It has similar downer/opioid properties but is *not real* which gives me a bit more freedom to experiment with it. Hope the change isn’t too confusing!

TW: mature content, explicit drug use, description of a panic attack, suicidal ideation... all that fun stuff. 

(9,679 words)

Loaded on Shimmer, Jinx ambled down the street towards the party, her mind a web of questions and theories about the evening ahead. Would she see Caitlyn? Would Vi notice how high she was? Would there be cake?

If she knew Seraphine, there’d be a rainbow cake with sprinkles and strawberries. Mmmmm… Jinx imagined eating it as she skipped along.

Seraphine’s parents were Zaunites with new money. They’d made a name for themselves by owning a chain of factories, selling their wears across the bridge and throughout Runeterra, rubbing shoulders with the rich snobs of Piltover and corrupt wannabes of Zaun alike. Their so-called mansion looked out on the Pilt, about a mile upstream from Caitlyn’s place. The houses along that stretch of river were all built in the last decade, the only ‘fancy’ part of Zaun.  

Jinx had tolerated enough of Silco’s rants on the subject to know that the area was designed with the intent of extending Piltover’s influence across the bridge rather than bettering the undercity. She despised it; lost count of the dreams she’d had of burning it all to the ground. Every single house, including Caitlyn’s. Might’ve even lit the first match right on the entitled Piltie princess’ doorstep.  

For Seraphine’s parents to have bought into the fantasy showed several gross traits: they were gullible, spineless, greedy, delusional… the list went on and on. Their daughter wasn’t much better, but at least she knew how to slum it like a true Zaunite. Seraphine embraced where she came from. Sure, she was privileged and blind to the suffering and darkness that plagued Zaun’s depths, but she wasn’t cruel or arrogant about it. The bar was low.

Did Seraphine still party the way she used to? Jinx first met her years ago at a secret rave by the docks. Her long, bubble-gum pink hair flailed in the wind as she danced like a manic ballerina, and Jinx had to have her. Several shots and snorts of Shimmer later, they were all over each other in a blur of tongues and limbs and giggles.

Given her engagement to Vi, the ultimate Debbie Downer when it came to drugs, Seraphine’s fun days were probably behind her. Bummer.

Finally at the house, Jinx double checked she had the correct address. The place was huge. Much grander than she remembered. Not a mansion, but undoubtedly impressive.

She traipsed up the gravel drive, surrounded by fellow partygoers in their finery. Compared to their designer suits and gowns, her leather jacket, black skater dress, knee-high socks and gothic platform boots looked… well, kinda trashy.

Should’ve asked Vi about the dress code. But it was Vi, for fuck sake. Since when did her punk big sister give a shit about dress codes? Even Caitlyn didn’t care about things like that. Sure, the Kirammans did, but Caitlyn didn’t listen to them. Serrie and her pretentious parents must’ve really gotten under Vi’s skin.  

A lady Jinx didn’t recognise stood by the double-doored entrance, dressed in blue silk, champagne flute in one hand and scrawny cigarillo in the other. Her silver bob was coiffed and sexy, dark red lipstick flawlessly applied. As Jinx drew closer, she stared, both enamoured by the stranger’s beauty and feeling shitty about her lack thereof.

The woman caught Jinx’s eye, flickered a smug smile, and the spell was broken.

Okay, she was hot, but she didn’t have to be such a bitch about it. Rich snobs like that could never just be nice, could they?

Jinx flicked the woman a hostile glare and shoved past her to get inside, spilling champagne down the silk dress.

‘Excuse me!?’ The woman yelled after her. ‘This is couture!’

Jinx tossed her head over her shoulder and giggled at the outburst. Lingered long enough to see another woman rush over, making a fuss.

‘Oh my god, Evelynn! Are you alright?’

‘I’ll be fine,’ the woman, apparently called Evelynn, grunted.

‘What the hell is that girl’s problem?’

Oh, if only they knew.

Flipping them a playful little wave for good measure, Jinx properly entered the party.

Classical music serenaded her into the main room, like walking into a funeral. The decorations were modest, colour-coordinated, tasteful. Nothing like the crude banners and plastic bunting she was used to.

It gave her whiplash. Where was the keg, the beer pong, the buffet of beige carbs and neon candy, the red plastic cups filled with cheap booze? Why wasn’t she drowning in obnoxiously loud, heavy music, and that glorious ever-present smell of weed and body odour? Where was the fucking party!?

She wasn’t ready for this. She’d spent so much time obsessing over seeing Vi, and the vexing possibility of bumping into Caitlyn, that she’d forgotten to worry about the party itself.

People fenced her in from every direction. The Shimmer she’d taken before venturing out had waned enough to make her feel raw. A shockwave of overlapping voices hit her like a kick in the head. Hard enough to concave her skull. If she didn’t top up soon, she’d have to find a place to hide and curl into a ball. Maybe a nice closet upstairs, somewhere quiet. Out of the way.

‘Jinx!’

Seraphine’s flute-like voice knocked her out of her tailspin and into people mode. She smiled as a defence mechanism, while her ex gleefully bounded up to her and embraced her with a hug and a kiss to her cheek.

‘I’m so happy you came!’

Jinx wanted to ask why but kept it to herself. Seraphine was, of course, just being friendly. No need to scrutinise and dig out the truth. Not straight away, at least.

Seraphine pulled away to properly look at her guest. ‘Ugh, you look so pretty! That eyeliner!?’ She kissed her fingers to imitate a chef, ‘perfection!’

A beaming smile remained glued to her face, and Jinx matched it as best she could. It hurt her cheeks.

‘Heh, thanks,’ Jinx replied through a forced grin. ‘Didn’t get the memo about the dress code though. Whoops.’

‘Pfft, that’s okay!’ Seraphine waved her hand across her face to emphasise how okay it was. ‘It’s totally optional. You look great! Don’t worry about it!’

‘Okay…’

Jinx widened her grin even further. Might as well have split her face open. But she believed Seraphine’s hype; she did look great. Fuck it.

‘Where’s Vi?’

‘She’s in the kitchen,’ Seraphine replied. ‘I’ll take you; need to get you a drink!’

Seraphine linked her arm through Jinx’s jacket and marched onwards, but Jinx pulled back.

Nope, her racing heart cried out. Shimmer, stat.

‘I gotta pee first,’ she lied.

‘Oh, of course,’ Seraphine’s beam remained intact, oblivious to the deception. Naïve idiot. ‘D’you remember where the restroom is?’

‘Uh huh.’ She slipped out of Seraphine’s reach, melting into the crowd. ‘In a bit.’

***

Alone in the confined space, Jinx breathed in deep. The floral air freshener almost made her gag. She clutched the sink to ground herself. Didn’t dare look in the mirror. No time to let her nausea creep in or check her make-up and whisper self-loathing.

She fumbled around inside the breast pocket of her jacket. Baggies of Fade and Shimmer sat side by side, kept separate by the dollar bill she’d brought to snort them. She retrieved the Shimmer, saving the Fade for later.

With a steady hand and dry mouth, she tapped three rough lines onto the rim of the sink. It wasn’t a flat surface, but short of sniffing off of the damn toilet cistern, what choice did she have? She swiped her Jericho’s loyalty card from a different pocket and neatened the lines.

On some level, she must’ve known she’d start using like this again. Why else would she bring that card with her wherever she went? Something about its weight and thickness always produced the straightest lines. Her own brand of fucked-up safety blanket.

The pink powder glittered under the LED lights overhead. She didn’t dwell on how pretty it looked. Rolled up the dollar bill and took the first hit.

 ***

Three lines and however many minutes later, she left the restroom and made her way to the kitchen in an elated blur. Danced to the peppy violins of some vaguely familiar tune as she slipped through the rabble.  

The main room of the party branched out into a large dining area, separated from the kitchen by a broad, marble pillar. If what Seraphine said was true, Vi was right on the other side.

Jinx braced herself. Sure, they’d had a phone call the other day, but seeing her sister in person after so long was a different story. Harder to escape in person.

She bit the bullet and crept around the cold marble.

Vi stood behind an island countertop, kitted out in a suave burgundy suit and matching shirt, short cherry red hair smartly slicked back. Party mode.

Her face hadn’t changed a bit. No shred of make-up in sight. She didn’t even look older. She was just… Vi. Same big sis with the steely eyes, firm jaw and cheekbone tattoo that said she could do anything. And the scars on her bottom lip and left brow, reminders that even she wasn’t invincible.

She embraced Seraphine with that cocky grin of hers. Kissed the top of her head. Bubble-gum pink and cherry red; cute combination. They looked good together, like a team. Who’d have thought?

Jinx smiled to herself, giddy and bursting with nervous energy. She almost skipped forth to join them, but they had company.

Tall, beautiful company…

Soft, strong hands rested on the countertop across from Vi, adorned with several silver rings and an expensive-looking watch. Midnight blue, poker-straight hair pulled up in a neat, high ponytail exposed a slender, alabaster neck and silver filigree earrings. A killer dark mauve dress hugged her body like a second skin, making her boobs look like the best fucking boobs imaginable.

Jinx would’ve known that profile anywhere. Those hands alone. Long, supple fingers. All the things they could do. Places they could reach.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

All thought of reuniting with Vi abandoned her. Her knees almost buckled. Gut plummeted. She needed to get out of there. ASAP.

They hadn’t noticed her yet. A few steps back behind the pillar and she could’ve disappeared into the rest of the party without a fuss. But something compelled her to stay.

Conversation flowed between Caitlyn and Vi like water. The natural back-and-forth of two people who really knew each other. Seraphine’s interjections trickled in where they could, but she didn’t say much. The longer she listened, the more bored she looked.

What were they talking about?  

A fourth, unknown voice chimed in, swimming against their current. The tension of debate tinged the air, but over the din of the party, Jinx could only identify tones, not words.

She inched closer to the sound, picked out a few phrases. Politics was on the menu; no wonder Seraphine had disengaged.

The mystery voice mentioned something about the history of the bridge, how it divided people, how the council tried to undo the damage but struggled to enforce real change. Vi scoffed out something about enforcers being glorified attack dogs who encouraged the council’s prejudices.

Jinx agreed with her sister.

Caitlyn pushed her tongue against her bottom lip in silent protest but didn’t argue back. The whole enforcer thing was one of the many issues that polluted the reservoir during her marriage to Vi. Must’ve hurt to discuss it casually like that.

Jinx subconsciously lurched towards Caitlyn but stopped herself before getting too close. Stupid feet, thinking on their own.

More of the kitchen came into view, as did the owner of the fourth voice. Mel Medarda. Hard to forget the face of Piltover’s youngest and best-looking councillor. Her posters were all over Zaun, graffitied to shit. Some by Jinx’s own hand. Ha!

Propped against the inner wall, next to Caitlyn, the Noxian prodigy nursed a glass of white wine. She was ethereally gorgeous, even more so in person, face not sprayed across and spoiled. Her understated style oozed old money and class. Made that bitch Evelynn’s whole schtick look tacky.

What did that make Jinx, by comparison? Sump scum. Trencher trash. Not worth a cent.

Envy swarmed and multiplied like wasps preparing to defend the hive. Buzzed around her as she spied.

Medarda slid a manicured hand down Caitlyn’s arm and onto the small of her back. Too intimate for comfort. Her black and gold nail polish was perfect, unspoiled by any kind of frequent use of her hands. The only similarity with Jinx’s own bitten and chipped nails was the length: short.

For a woman with Medarda’s glamour to have nails that length meant one thing. Jinx envisioned those immaculate fingers gliding along Caitlyn’s smooth skin, in and out of her cunt. No doubt Medarda played the role of loyal, supportive girlfriend better than Jinx ever could.

The wasps became hornets, beastly and vicious.

It made sense, of course. Caitlyn had her fun chasing Zaunites over the years, and now she’d moved on to the type of woman befitting her station. The type of woman her mother would’ve adored and fawned over. Cassandra Kiramman never warmed to Vi, but Medarda…?  

Jinx scowled at the two of them. Heat prickled her skin. Disgust tugged her lip upwards in a snarl.

How dare they stand there like that, flaunting their relationship at Vi’s engagement party? What the fuck!? Why were Vi and Seraphine acting so okay with it?

Arms crossed and brows knotted, Jinx announced herself with a laugh of pure spite.

The silly political dispute stopped dead and all four of them looked towards the sound. The social smile Caitlyn wore in conversation dropped in an instant. Vi’s eyes lit up with a grin. Seraphine rested her head on Vi’s shoulder and tossed Jinx a small wave, none the wiser but no longer bored, while Medarda’s unnervingly pretty face frowned in confusion.

‘What’s this, the lesbian convention?’ Jinx sniped.

‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ Medarda cut to the bone with a voice as smooth as honey.

‘Jinx…’ Vi’s eyes dulled with disappointment, already done with her shit.

Didn’t take long for big sis to turn on her, did it? Some things never changed. Jinx gritted her teeth.

Caitlyn stared; face unreadable. What was on her mind?

‘Are you okay?’ Seraphine asked. ‘You took a while… Do you still want that drink?’

A while? How long did she spend in the restroom? Ten minutes? Twenty? Longer?

Were any of them close enough to see Shimmer’s tell-tale pink glow orbiting her blown-out pupils? Would they care?

She darted her gaze between them, met with judgement and icky concern. And worse, Caitlyn’s complete lack of expression.

Did Jinx’s presence mean nothing to her?

Too far up Medarda’s ass to notice.

‘Wait… Jinx?’ Medarda turned to Vi, brow raised in question. ‘As in Powder, your sister? The one who—’

‘Jinx as in Jinx,’ Caitlyn sternly interjected.

What? What was that?

In some small, poignant way, Caitlyn had stuck up for her. Why would she do that?

Caitlyn shifted away from Medarda’s touch and looked directly, unflinchingly, at Jinx.

It took a nano-second for Jinx to blink away.

Too long. The contact stung.

‘Whatever,’ she huffed and barged past them.

‘Jinx!’ Vi called after her. ‘Wait!’

She ignored her sister’s plea and moved faster, beyond the kitchen. Snatched someone’s drink as she made a beeline for the sliding doors leading out to the veranda and the garden.

A gentle summer breeze greeted her. Bliss. So much better than the stifling air inside. Ignoring the cluster of people near the door, she downed the sweet remnants of mimosa from the stolen glass. Lit a cigarette and descended the veranda’s wooden steps onto the overgrown path beneath.

Like everything about that stupid place, the garden was bigger than she remembered. Perhaps they’d extended it? And didn’t they used to have a pool? They must’ve redesigned.

Haphazard shoots of grass jutted out of the stone, softened the tread of her boots as she strolled along. A bird of prey flew overhead, momentarily eclipsing the sun with its wingspan. Down on the ground, the path became a small set of steps, then path again, as she followed it out towards a hedgerow. Hues of pink shone in the distance, but she couldn’t tell where they came from.

‘Jinx…?’ Came a curious male voice.

She turned towards it, but once she saw who the voice belonged to, nearly turned back around. Jayce Talis, dressed in all white, sauntered up to her.

‘Jayce.’

She twisted her grimace into a grin. Stared at him a few seconds too long. Was it the Shimmer, or were his eyebrows freakishly huge?

‘Have you always looked like this?’ She poked his cheek, investigating.

‘Uh…’ He smiled tightly and stepped back, out of poking distance. ‘I guess it’s been a while. I’m surprised to see you.’

‘Snap,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you s’posed to be Cait’s bestie? Whatcha doing here?’

‘Actually, Vi and I grew pretty close over the years,’ he said. ‘Cait’s here too, though… somewhere.’

And didn’t she fucking know it.

Before she could interrogate Jayce on how he’d convinced Vi to be his friend, another man cosied up next to him and handed him a glass of red wine.

‘Ah, Viktor!’ Jayce exclaimed, glad for the extra company. Somebody, save him from the weirdo! ‘You’ve met Jinx, right? Vi’s little sister.’

‘Less of the little,’ Jinx frowned. ‘Condescending dick.’

Jayce snickered at her hushed insult. She hadn’t meant to be funny; he really was the worst. Why the fuck was Caitlyn friends with him? Childhood nostalgia, familial obligation, charity, what?

‘Hmm,’ Viktor studied her in thought. ‘I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, no.’ Balancing on an awesome set of customised black and silver crutches, he held out a bony hand.

She shook it with aplomb. Studied the veins bulging beneath his skin, mottled purple and blue from the repetitive strain of his disability.

What caused it? Had he been like that his whole life, or was it recent?

‘Why the crutches?’ She blurted out. Damn shimmer. ‘Sorry. That question was meant to stay in my head.’

‘Oh, heh, no need to apologise.’ He took her rudeness in his stride. Good sign. ‘I’ve, uh… I’ve been sick for a long time… I won’t bore you with the details.’

Bore her? He fascinated her. But she could take a hint.

‘Sore subject?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Hmm.’

Tilting her head, she studied the peculiar man before her. His accent was tricky to describe. It reminded her of someone… someone she didn’t want to remember. Kinda creepy. His hair was floppy and dark, skin sickly pale, eyes sharp and sparkling with intelligence. He wore a suit, but not the typical Piltie garb. Rather than a refined tailored piece, like Jayce’s, his was mismatched tweed, relaxed from years of wear. Tweed, in the summer? If he turned around, she bet she’d find patches sewn on at the elbows where the fabric had thinned and torn. She couldn’t tell if he'd owned it for years or if it was second-hand, bought on the fly for the party. She liked that she couldn’t tell.

This dude seemed way too cool and way too much of an oddball to hang around with a dorky poser like Jayce.

‘How d’you two know each other?’ She asked, genuinely curious.

‘Viktor’s my partner,’ Jayce said with pride.

‘In business, and in life,’ Viktor added.

‘Ohhhhh.’

Jayce was gay? Finally, something she could respect him for.

‘So, you and Jayce do the science together, huh?’ She wiggled her brows suggestively.

‘Something like that,’ Viktor said. He hunched over as he spoke, shying away from scrutiny by making himself smaller.

‘Parties aren’t yer thing,’ she observed.

Viktor winced and shook his head.

‘Don’t sweat it.’ She flashed what she hoped was a reassuring wink. ‘I don’t think parties like this are anyone’s thing. Nobody cool, anyway.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Jayce said, oblivious. ‘This is a pretty swell turnout.’

Viktor cringed with quiet embarrassment for his partner, and Jinx giggled.

‘Pretty swell?’ She mimicked. ‘Dude, are you sixty?’

‘What?’ Jayce looked to Viktor for support. ‘People still say swell, right? Young people…?’

Viktor shrugged, helpless to stop Jayce from digging his hole. A small smirk brightened his wan face and made his eyes twinkle even brighter.

Ah, if only he wasn’t gay and didn’t have terrible taste in men… they could’ve had fun together. But Jayce and his assholery stifled Viktor’s allure. Boring.

She bowed out of their chat and meandered further down the garden.

Where the path ended, bordered by hedgerow, stood a stone archway laced with creeping ivy and purple clematis. She crossed its threshold into a pristinely mowed stretch of grass. A cherry blossom tree grew at its centre. The pink hues. Beautiful.

Leaning against the rough stone, she slumped down until her bum hit damp grass with a light plonk. After another, much-needed Shimmer boost, she gazed up at the cherry blossom as it swayed and danced. Pinks and reds and whites swirled with the harsh yellow of the afternoon sun and the crisp blue of the sky.

Zooming in like a camera, she tried to focus on one blossom at a time. She’d return to the party, as soon as she’d captured and counted every tiny blossom in sight.

‘Hey, have you guys seen Jinx?’

God fucking dammit, Vi.

‘Down there,’ Jayce said.

In typical Vi fashion, she steamed ahead to find her sister, not stopping to wonder if said sister actually wanted to be found. The thud of footsteps grew louder and louder, then stopped altogether. A shadow loomed.

With a frustrated groan, Jinx took a long drag of her cigarette.

Here goes nothing.

‘Hey, sis,’ Jinx drawled and glanced up at Vi. Held out her cigarette as a token of good will.

‘Uh huh.’

Okay, Vi was angry. Understandable. Still took the olive branch, though.

She scratched at her temple. Sank one tattooed hand into the pocket of her tailored trousers, while the other brought the cigarette to her lips and held it there. She inhaled. Stepped in front of Jinx, blocking her view of the tree. Exhaled a plume of dark grey smoke.

‘Thanks.’ Vi handed the little death stick back to its owner. ‘I needed that.’

Jinx’s fingers grazed her sister’s calloused knuckles. She took another drag.

Vi hovered, watching over her. Discomfort lodged in her spine and made her shiver.

Breathing nicotine felt like air. Like nothing. She wanted more Shimmer but if Vi ever saw her using again…

Her collection of well-tuned defence mechanisms battled for dominance. Which would the wheel of her brain land on? Avoidance? Aggression? A sycophantic need for acceptance? All to play for.

‘Look at you in that suit,’ she praised. Okay, so, sycophantic need for acceptance. ‘Lil Serrie’s gotcha looking sharp.’

‘Lil Serrie?’ Vi shook her head and scoffed. ‘Would it kill you to say something nice?’

‘…didn’t I just pay you a compliment?’ Uh-oh. Aggression, standing by.

‘Yeah, at my fiancée’s expense.’ Vi paced on the spot. Flecks of soil and grass flew into Jinx’s lap.

She let the dirt sit there. She deserved it. Bury her alive and she wouldn’t have fought.

‘Come on,’ Vi urged. ‘This is an engagement party. Can’t you be happy for me?’

‘Happy for you?’ Jinx didn’t understand. ‘Because you found someone else to cling to?’

‘You don’t have to word it like that.’

‘Alright.’ She searched for something else to say. Something honest. ‘I don’t feel happy for you.’ Stubby cigarette between her lips, she breathed deep for the last hit. Relished in the heat of the smoke in her lungs and at the back of her throat. ‘I don’t feel anything, one way or the other.’ She exhaled hard and tossed the butt to the grass. Stomped it out with her boot. ‘Better?’

Vi snorted. Maybe Jinx’s answer wasn’t good enough, but it was the truth.

‘All I know about your relationship with Seraphine is that she somehow convinced you to wear a suit today,’ Jinx elaborated. ‘You look cute together, sure, but so did you and the C-word, so… doesn’t mean much.’

Vi flinched at the reference to Caitlyn. ‘What was that back there?’ She asked, tonguing her cheek in frustration. ‘That fucking stunt you pulled. What was that?’

‘What stunt?’

‘Is it because Caitlyn’s here?’ Vi demanded. ‘You don’t have to be around her if you don’t want. I told you that. It’s a big house. You could’ve just walked away.’

‘…isn’t that what I did?’

‘Sure, yeah, in the rudest way possible.’ Vi’s pacing increased; fists clenched in the bowels of her pockets. ‘Cait stuck up for you back there. And not for the first time, by the way. But you still treated her like the goddamn plague.’

Not for the first time? ‘What d’you mean?’

‘I mean you treat her like garbage, even when she’s the only person sticking up for you!’ Vi said. Yelled, actually. ‘Caitlyn correcting someone on your name at a party is a drop in the fucking ocean. She’s had your back more often than you know… mostly against me.’ Her expression fractured with shame.

Okay, too much. Stop. Stop talking about Caitlyn. Please stop.

‘You don’t get on as people?’ Vi persisted. ‘Fine. But she’s always respected you, and you’ve never done her the same courtesy. Even now. You can’t stomach being in the same room as her. Just had to make it a big deal and storm off, didn’t you!?’

‘Sheesh!’ A low chuckle rattled through Jinx’s ribcage. ‘Guess I’m the villain here, huh?’ Her aggression put on its marching boots, and out into battle it went. ‘And then there’s you: Vi, the White Knight… Defending Caitlyn’s honour like that, anyone’d think you were still married.’

‘Jinx,’ Vi warned, puppy dog face ready to bite. ‘Don’t.’

‘Don’t what?’

Unleashing a wide grin that didn’t reach her eyes, she stared up at her sister. A challenge. If Vi dared to stare back, Jinx would see her sister’s conflicting tenderness for Caitlyn and the love she’d lost. The love Seraphine, with all her sweet smiles and naïve sentiments, could never replace. In turn, Vi would see Jinx’s Shimmer eyes. The failure they held.

Vi looked away. Challenge lost.

‘I’m only pointing out the facts,’ Jinx said. ‘Seraphine was in that kitchen, just like Caitlyn, yet whose defence did White Knight Vi instantly jump to?’

‘Jinx.’ Vi said her name like a broken prayer. ‘Stop.’

‘Not your precious fiancée’s,’ she pouted. ‘Nope. You’re still stuck on Caitlyn… Caitlyn, Caitlyn, Caitlyn.’

‘Stop!’

‘Why? Because I’m right?’

‘No. You’re wrong.’

‘Whatever you say, sis.’

She leaned back, gazed up at the cherry blossoms. They framed Vi’s head like a halo. Like her sister was an angel.

Angel. Caitlyn called Jinx that. Like she didn’t know her at all. Jinx was so fucking far from angelic. And she could prove it.

‘Did you know there used to be a pool out here?’ A cruel delight bubbled at the back of her throat. ‘Pretty sure your Serrie first went down on me by that pool…’ She narrowed her eyes at the pained frown creasing Vi’s face. ‘What a memory, huh?’

A lie. She remembered no such thing, just wanted to see Vi’s reaction when she said it. You know. Because she was such an angel.

With sombre eyes and a clenched jaw, brewing with fury, Vi looked Jinx dead on.

‘Are you…’ Vi glared. ‘Are you high right now?’

And there it was, that all-important question, at long fucking last.

No point denying it. Someone needed to see. Someone who might’ve tried to stop her. Shame it had to be Vi. But Vi was her big sister. She cared… right?

Maybe, if she told Vi how she felt, how she’d spiralled in the past months, Vi could help her get back on track? She’d force her to go cold turkey on the drugs and drag her back to Heimerdinger, and everything would be okay. Sure, it wouldn’t be easy, but she wanted to get better. Vi could help her get better, couldn’t she?

‘Guess the cat’s out of the bag.’ Jinx played it careless, but Vi would see. Vi would see her act, and she would know, and she would help. ‘Did you really think I’d survive this party sober?’  

‘Wow, I, I can’t…’ Vi’s tone flatlined, icy and detached. ‘I can’t believe this.’

Her nostrils flared in anguish. Hands flew to her head, clawed at her hair, messed it up, nearly ripped it out. Typical Vi meltdown. The only thing missing was violence. Vi liked to break stuff. Plates, chairs, noses. Whatever her fists found first.

‘I can’t put up with that shit again.’ Vi’s voice shrivelled into hopelessness, gearing towards an explosion. ‘I can’t… I can’t.’

Jinx brought her knees to her chest and cradled herself.

‘It’s not gonna be like before,’ she tried to argue. A pathetic, futile sentiment. ‘Things’re… weird for me… right now.’ Her voice sounded brittle, like she had a chest infection. ‘I… I need help…’

‘Save it. I don’t wanna hear it.’ Vi lowered her hands to her sides and half-snickered with scorn. ‘It’s always the same with you.’

Before Jinx could utter another word, Vi left. Off to find a good place to sulk and work off her temper.

Jinx cackled at the sight. Vi, twenty-nine going on twelve, brooding at her own damn party. Abandoning her troubled little sister for the umpteenth time. Vander would’ve been so proud. What a fighter. Ha! The more jarring and upsetting the moment became, the more erratic Jinx’s giggling fit. Tears flew down her cheeks as she belted out furious, broken rasps of twisted glee.

Time to go home. Avoidance. The only real choice all along. There was nothing left for her there but more of the same bullshit. Never should’ve gone in the first place.

She tore up the path, scanning the green for an easier exit. A high fence surrounded the garden, blocking it off form the street out front. The only way out was through. Fuck.

She leapt onto the veranda, skipping the steps. Her legs itched with adrenaline. Cheeks flared hot. Braids whipped at her back.

The revellers inside chuckled and drank and slow-danced like everything was fine. Like there wasn’t a tornado ripping its way through them.

She pinched another drink. Something dark and carbonated left idle by the buffet table, next to a bowl of cheese puffs. Cheese puffs at a stuck-up event like that? Vi had some sway, after all. She grabbed a handful. Stuffed them into her mouth and downed the drink. Wood smoke and syrupy soda flooded her tongue. Whisky and coke. Not her favourite, but it did the trick. Satiated, she carried on through the throng.

The room seemed smaller. Packed to the gills. Were there more people or was she more out of it? Her breaths came quick and tight. Couldn’t inhale enough air to make a difference. Stumbling through the fog of faces and bodies, she clutched at her chest.

Shimmer. She needed Shimmer. But she couldn’t focus. Couldn’t escape. Couldn’t remember where the exit was.

‘Jinx?’ Ekko. Where had he come from? ‘Jinx? Hey. Look at me.’

She did as he asked. Focused on the walnut brown of his eyes. The shock of peroxide in his brows and locs. The warmth of his face, the kindness held there.

Boy Saviour to the rescue, like old times.

She glanced down at the rest of him. Huh. He hadn’t worn a suit. Classic Ekko. His oversized t-shirt and jeans with chains hanging off them stood out just as much as she did. Thank fuck. He felt like home. Like the real Zaun. She leaned into him, letting him support most of her weight.

‘I’ve got you,’ he said. ‘You’re having a panic attack, but you’re going to be okay.’

He lay his hands flat on her shoulders. Him and his grounding techniques. Her own, shaking hands found his forearms and squeezed. Muscle and bone held firm beneath her grip.

‘Try to steady your breathing. In… out. In… out.’

The party dissolved into background static as she tried to follow his lead. In through her nose, out through her mouth. Always took a while to work. Rapid breaths and tears were all she had.

Her nails dug into his arm. Must’ve hurt, but he didn’t let it show.

After a shuddery start, her breathing levelled out a bit.

‘Good,’ he said. ‘You’re doing good.’

She kept on. Measured breaths.

He guided her away from the crowd, into an empty chair. Her clunky boots poked off the edge of the seat as her body constricted around itself like a snake.

‘What happened?’ He asked, crouching to her line of sight.

Too soon. She shook her head. Couldn’t talk. Buried her face in her knees.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘It’s gonna be okay, Jinx. Breathe… I’ve got you.’

‘Is she alright?’ A soft voice from the fray whispered. Or was it a yell?

Jinx couldn’t decipher. Probably some nosy randomer. Didn’t matter.

Breathe.

‘She will be,’ Ekko told the voice. Sounded like he knew them.

‘What’s wrong with her?’

Why did everyone always ask that?

Wait, that voice was different. Slick. Like honey.

‘Jinx?’ The first voice spoke louder. Closer to her.

‘She’ll be fine, Cait.’

Caitlyn?

Her heart rate doubled. She slapped her hands over her ears.

Not her. Not now. No, no, no, no, no, no, no—

‘Don’t crowd her,’ Ekko said. ‘She needs time… You’re here with someone?’

‘Mel Medarda, Caitlyn’s plus-one.’ Searing syrup dripped like lava into Jinx’s ears. ‘And you are?’

‘A friend of Vi’s.’ Ekko spoke with tight-fisted reservation. Animosity simmered.

Him and the upper-crust didn’t mix. He only stomached Caitlyn because of Vi, and even then, they’d had their fair share of disagreements.

‘Plus-one, huh?’

‘Platonically, of course.’ // ‘We’re just friends.’

Caitlyn and Medarda spoke in unison, spinning their little lies. They could deny it all they wanted, but Jinx knew what she saw in that kitchen. Where Medarda’s hands freely roamed. Friends didn’t touch like that.

‘Okay, well, whoever you are, you should go. I’ve got this.’

‘Ekko—’

‘Cait, I’ve got this.’ His voice raised an octave. Resolute. Protective. ‘Enjoy the party.’

‘He’s right,’ Medarda said. ‘She’s in good hands. Come on.’

A beat passed. Then another.

‘Come on, Cait.’

‘No. No, I’m staying.’ Caitlyn really was stubborn, huh? ‘Mel, go and find Jayce and Viktor. Tell them I’ve gone home early. Shouldn’t be too hard to convince them.’

‘…what?’

‘Please.’

‘Cait—’

‘Just do it,’ Caitlyn insisted. ‘I’ll make it up to you. Lunch, or something.’

‘You’d better.’

Heels clicked away into the distant din. Only Caitlyn and Ekko left.

Why didn’t Caitlyn leave with Mel? What kept her there?

‘Let’s go.’ The words came fast and sweet.

Go? Go where? With her!?

‘What?’ Ekko asked, equally confused.

‘My house is a few minutes down the road,’ Caitlyn explained.

No, no, no.

‘It’s quiet there. No people, no stimulation.’

Oh.

‘I won’t bother her. She’ll be able to relax, be alone.’

Shimmer! Maybe even Fade and a long nap? Oh, the possibilities!

‘If she feels better later, she can easily come back here to see Vi… if she wants.’

Nope. Never again, thanks.

Ekko sighed. Loud. Unimpressed.

‘It makes more sense than taking her all the way back to The Lanes, that’s all,’ Caitlyn reasoned. ‘I’ll look after her, Ekko. You’re the one who needs to stay; you’re best man.’

Oh, sure. Caitlyn was so practical and thoughtful. Nothing in it for her. Nothing she might’ve wanted from Jinx, just the two of them in that big gross house of hers.

Did she still want her after last time? How desperate was she?

Whatever. Didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Not even Vi.

In fact, Vi topped the goddamn list of things that didn’t matter.

Was there a prize for being the worst fucking sister in the world? Was there some competition Jinx didn’t know about? How many times did Vi plan on letting her down and bailing when she needed her most? They’d hummed along to that tune for way too long. Decades. It was a fucking hobby at that point. Recreational abandonment. Drilled into her brain.

Vi left. Vi always left. Jinx thought for once she might’ve stayed. Might’ve tried. Might’ve helped. But no. Of course not. That wasn’t their song. Their song was Vi leaving.

Why did Jinx always let her go?

Sing a different song, Jinx. Sing a different song. Without Vi. Just Jinx. Alone. Carefree. High as a cloud.

As long as Jinx could get good and high once they’d left, Caitlyn could do as she pleased. Argue with her. Fuck her. Chop her up and dump her in the Pilt. Whatever the lady wished. Hell, Jinx would take requests. As long as she got what she wanted out of it.

‘Cait, I appreciate your concern for my best friend, but with the greatest of respect—’

‘I’ll go.’ Did she say that? Was that her voice? The words flew out before she thought them.

‘You’ll go?’ Ekko asked in disbelief. ‘With her…? Jinx, I can easily take you.’

‘I said I’ll go.’

She unfurled like a cat stretching awake. Stood and enveloped Ekko in the biggest goodbye hug her small arms could manage.

‘You gonna be okay?’ He worried into her hair. ‘It’s Caitlyn. Kiramman…’

‘Yeah, I know who it is,’ she snickered into his ear. ‘I’ll be fine. She’s right. Makes more sense this way.’

‘I guess, but… you really wanna go?’

Of everyone in her life, Ekko would’ve understood her reasoning even less than Vi. She couldn’t explain why she was willing to leave with the enemy. Tightened her hold around him instead.

‘You really need to stop worrying about me.’ She pulled away and squished his cheeks, just like she did when they were kids. ‘But thanks, dude… I owe you.’

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘Just answer the next time I call, okay? I miss you.’

They didn’t usually speak so openly. She didn’t know what to do with his feelings. He missed her. Okay. Why? What did he expect her to do about that? She couldn’t change. Couldn’t answer his calls or reply to his texts. Not lately. Never consistently. His feelings on the issue just seemed… redundant.

Maybe that made her heartless, or a bitch. She’d done and thought worse. Much worse. Not concerning Ekko, though. He was good to her.

She swallowed her apathy and smiled. ‘Miss you too. We’ll hang out soon.’

Did he know she didn’t mean it?

Ekko opened his mouth to reply but she left before the words came. Gathered her bearings enough to find the exit.

When Caitlyn joined her outside, Jinx studied the ground. The glare of the tarmac. The obsidian black of her boots. She couldn’t look up. Couldn’t risk the sight of Caitlyn’s face in the blinding evening sun.

They walked on.

 ***

 ‘Jinx?’

She didn’t reply. Bolted ahead. Walked and walked and walked. Too fast for Caitlyn to keep up. Not in her heels, at least.

‘Jinx, please… slow down!’

Caitlyn’s whines propelled Jinx forwards. Faster and faster.

‘Why are you constantly running or pushing me away?’

Jinx barrelled down the road like a missile cutting through the sky.

‘I just want to help you,’ Caitlyn protested. ‘Let me help you!’

‘Help me!?’ Jinx exploded with a fierce screech. Stopped still in the street and turned to confront the source of the complaints. ‘Why!? You think I need to be looked after like I’m some dumb kid?’

In her rage, she dared to look at that face. The low-hanging sun obscured most of it, but Caitlyn’s lips remained visible, open, imploring mercy.

Caitlyn moved forward a few paces, out of the light’s path, and the rest of her features came clear. Jinx couldn’t look away, but she wanted to. Needed to.

‘No,’ Caitlyn urged. ‘Of course not, I—’

‘I can take care of myself,’ Jinx spat. ‘Been doing it since I was eighteen.’ Since they took Silco away. ‘Didn’t need anybody back then, and I sure as shit don’t now. Especially not you.’

‘I, I didn’t mean—’

‘Save it. We both know the real reason you swept in tonight. Taking me back to your place because it’s so close by?’ She snorted in disgust. ‘You’re pathetic.’

Jinx spun back around and resumed her strides. Caitlyn’s footsteps followed, more quickly this time, a fresh determination in her gait.

‘If that’s what you think, why agree to come with me?’

Jinx smirked at the question. ‘I dunno. Maybe I’m pathetic too? Maybe I don’t give a fuck?’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Bullshit!?’ She bit. Venom laced her tongue as she looked back at Caitlyn once again.

The gap between them grew smaller and smaller. Part of her ached to close it completely. To pull Caitlyn in by her neck and break it. Break her, like she’d broken Jinx.

‘You wanna know what’s really bullshit, Caitlyn? Your totally platonic plus-one. You and Mel Medarda are just friends, huh?’

‘We are just friends.’

‘Stop lying!’

‘I’m not!’

‘You were eye-fucking each other all night! She touched your back like she fucking owned you, and you only moved away when you saw me standing there. Caught in the act.’

‘The act? What act!?’

Oh, Jinx needed to get a proper glimpse of Caitlyn’s face. How it distorted and crumpled and lied, lied, lied. She needed to see it in vivid detail.

In a flash of speed, she lunged forwards, leaving just a few inches between their panting bodies. Caitlyn’s heavy breath ruffled the stray hairs on Jinx’s face. Her dark blue eyes shone, nervous and determined and furious. Her lips puckered, ready to fight.

‘Jinx, I don’t know what you think you saw, but—’

‘I told you. She touched you!’

Her hands moved in sync with her words and reached out, grabbed onto Caitlyn’s shoulders. The elastic straps of that killer mauve dress and the warmth of Caitlyn’s skin sizzled beneath her fingertips.

She flinched. Pulled away before she could adjust to the sensation. Met Caitlyn’s questioning gaze. Blinked off into the distance.

‘Sometimes friends are tactile with each other,’ Caitlyn reasoned. With a shiver, she wrapped her arms around her torso. ‘It doesn’t have to mean anything.’

‘And when we—’ Shut up, Jinx. Shut up. ‘Did that mean anything?’

‘…how can you ask me that?’ Caitlyn’s voice splintered. Wounded.

Good. She wanted Caitlyn to feel just as lost and hurt as she did.

‘I’m just a little confused, Cait,’ Jinx pressed, callous and taunting and insistent. ‘Which touches mean what? How many of your other so-called friends are all over you like that? I can tell you my answer. None. People don’t touch me intimately like that unless I’m fucking them.’

‘And Ekko?’ Caitlyn countered. Her words brimmed with a calm self-assurance. ‘When he held you… was that not intimate?’

‘That’s different.’

‘Is it? I don’t think so.’

‘He’s my best friend and I was having a panic attack.’

‘I know,’ Caitlyn maintained. ‘You needed support, and he was there to help you, to comfort you… what you witnessed with Mel was the exact same thing.’

Jinx’s head spun. Caitlyn could play her like a violin. She felt insane. She knew what she saw in that kitchen.

‘Liar!’ She screamed. ‘Why the fuck are you lying about this!? Just admit it!’

‘It’s the truth, Jinx. I’m not lying.’ Caitlyn stepped closer. Too close. Not close enough. ‘But even if I was dating Mel, why would you care?’

‘I wouldn’t.’ Her voice cracked.

‘No?’ Caitlyn half-smirked. ‘You’re not jealous then?’

‘Of Mel stuck-up bitch Medarda?’ Jinx’s mocking tone had nobody fooled. ‘As if,’ she added sheepishly.

Caitlyn snickered and bridged their distance even further. Took hold of the lapels on Jinx’s jacket, stared down at the leather in her grip and smiled.

‘I didn’t want to go tonight. I thought going with Mel—a friend—might help. I told her how shitty and weird I felt about it. She reassured me…’

Caitlyn’s tentative hands slipped under Jinx’s jacket. Clammy against Jinx’s skin, they slithered over the ridge of her collarbone, up to her neck.

She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. Only feel. Hot, sticky feelings. She burnt up in Caitlyn’s orbit. A fever ignited her skin, obliterated her senses. Heat and discomfort were all she had left. She wanted to run away and never look back, but Caitlyn kept her still, transfixed.

‘In the kitchen,’ Caitlyn continued. ‘What you saw… Mel sensed my discomfort at the topic of conversation and reached out to help me through it.’

She cupped Jinx’s face like it was porcelain. Delicate and breakable and precious. Fingers ghosted over her jawline, hovered over her cheeks. Eyes darted between lips and pupils.

‘A friend supporting a friend… that’s all it was.’

‘And then?’ Jinx gulped. ‘When you saw me, you didn’t even react. You didn’t… you didn’t care.’

‘Jinx, I was in shock.’ Resentment flickered beneath Caitlyn’s mask of composure. She applied more pressure to the pads of her fingertips, holding Jinx’s face with more force, more gumption. ‘I had no idea you’d be there. It’s been six months. Six months since…’

Caitlyn didn’t complete her sentence, but Jinx got the gist.

‘Since the biggest mistake of your life.’ She gritted her teeth in a mad grin. ‘Must’ve been a really rough time for you, crying on Mel Medarda’s perfect golden shoulder.’

‘That’s not…’ Caitlyn’s eyes emptied. ‘It’s been hell.’

‘So dramatic,’ Jinx drawled. ‘Why? Can’t live with yourself knowing you fucked Vi’s crazy little sister?’

‘Oh, the guilt over Vi has been the easy part, believe me!’

Caitlyn lowered her hands, away from Jinx’s face. Not ready to lose contact, Jinx locked their fingers together and brought Caitlyn back to her. Held her hands fixed to her cheeks, so tight it might’ve bruised. Edging a fraction closer, Jinx tilted up on her tippy toes and bumped their noses together. Caitlyn shuddered and leaned into the embrace, closed her eyes.

‘And the hard part?’ Jinx muttered.

‘Take a wild guess.’

‘Tell me.’

‘We connected, Jinx.’ Caitlyn’s voice wobbled. Her eyes flickered back open. ‘Then you disappeared, and I didn’t know why. I still don’t know.’

How could Jinx describe it? Show Caitlyn the fucking DSM-5 and highlight all the relevant sections? Her myriad issues weren’t easy to explain, even if Caitlyn had a vague grasp on a few of them. In that moment, Jinx had neither the mental capacity nor the resolve to fill in the blanks or accept accountability for her fuck-up. Whether Caitlyn liked it or not, that conversation had to come later.

‘What did you mean?’ Caitlyn’s voice tremored, her lips shaking on the cusp of tears. ‘All those things you said to me before I left… what did you mean?’

‘I don’t have the words.’ She sighed. Twirled Caitlyn’s silky ponytail round and round in her idle fingers. ‘It’s complicated. Bad brain shit, y’know?’

‘Yeah. I know.’ For a second, Caitlyn’s gaze darted to Jinx’s lips. ‘Do you ever think about it…? That night.’

Their eyes met, willing the other to be gentle and honest.

‘…all the time,’ Jinx whispered.

A few tears broke the threshold of Caitlyn’s tight-lined lashes and rolled down her cheeks, clashing with her understated make-up.

‘Same,’ Caitlyn sniffed.

‘…do you think about me when you’re fucking Medarda?’ The question landed on the flirtatious side of sarcastic. Jinx chuckled, hoping Caitlyn would see the funny side before more tears fell.

‘Again: just friends,’ Caitlyn insisted for the hundredth time. But it did the trick. Suppressing laughter of her own, Caitlyn leant down and bumped Jinx’s nose again.

Their lips grazed slightly on impact. Jinx swallowed a moan at the full-body tingle that followed, fighting the urge to pounce and devour.

Out in the open like that, anyone could’ve walked past and seen them. People heading home from the party… Vi. Anyone.

She stepped back, reinstating personal space. Smiled meekly as Caitlyn’s face fell.

‘I almost told her, actually… about us,’ Caitlyn confessed.

‘Medarda? Why?’

‘I thought it might help.’ Caitlyn sidled up to the nearby hedgerow separating the street from someone’s front drive. Leant against the wall of tiny leaves and tiny branches. ‘I thought… maybe she’d understand and have some advice. I don’t know… something to help me sleep a bit better at night.’

‘Her pussy doesn’t help?’

‘Dear god, will these jokes never end?’

‘Who said they were jokes?’

‘They bloody better be!’

Caitlyn pushed away from the hedge. Swung her arms out wide and began pacing up and down the patch of street.

Jinx scoffed, digesting Caitlyn’s little outburst. Why did the concept of her and Mel hooking up bother her so much? If anyone should’ve been bothered, it was Jinx. But Caitlyn? Guilty conscience?

‘Why didn’t you tell Mel about us?’ Jinx had to ask. ‘Were you ashamed?’

‘No.’ Caitlyn folded her arms with another wave of hostility. Kept pacing. ‘We agreed. It’s no one else’s business.’

‘Right, so, you didn’t tell anyone?’

‘No one… Did you?’

‘Technically,’ she grimaced like a naughty school kid. ‘But my therapist doesn’t count.’

‘Your therapist,’ Caitlyn nodded in relief. ‘Of course.’

‘Who the fuck else would I have told?’ Jinx balked. ‘Have a little trust.’

‘Sorry, but it’s impossible to know with you sometimes.’ In contemplation, Caitlyn paused her steps. Stroked her hands over her smooth, slicked back hair. Held them in place above her head. ‘What did your therapist say?’

Staring at the armpits and side-boob on display, Jinx malfunctioned. Imagined burying her face in that flank of skin, biting down on the soft flesh and hard muscle. Her teeth would leave a red mark, glistening with saliva, spoiling the pallid landscape like blood on snow.

What did Heimerdinger say? Fuck, she couldn’t even remember her own damn name.

‘Sorry, I forgot.’ Caitlyn’s hands returned to her hips; trance broken. ‘No therapy talk.’

‘Oh… right…’ Jinx shook out her limbs. Bit her lips instead of Caitlyn’s body. ‘Well, doesn’t matter, anyway,’ she chuckled darkly. ‘I stopped going.’

‘Jinx.’

Caitlyn moved in closer again, reaching out for another embrace. Like all their problems could be solved by touching each other.

It didn’t work like that. Some issues could never be fixed.

‘Don’t.’ Jinx backed away, teetering on the kerb. ‘Don’t get all concerned and annoying. I’m fine.’

‘Yeah, you seem it.’

‘Ugh! If we’ve circled back to the whole wanting-to-help-me schtick, don’t fucking bother. You don’t know me, Caitlyn! Why the fuck d’you think you can help me!?’

Why was she still entertaining this? She needed Fade and a long bath, not the headache of a night spent one on one with this insufferable woman.

Once they reached the house, there’d be no chance to slink away, no alone time like Caitlyn had promised. They’d fall into bed and fuck until they passed out, or worse, stay up until dawn talking about their fucking feelings. The signs were all there. Desire and scrutiny manifested in sour words, blistering eye contact and enduring touches. A heady craving to consume and pick each other apart until only bones remained.

The road to Caitlyn’s only led to mistakes and pain. Before they left the party, Jinx thought she wanted it, or that she didn’t care, but the crisp evening air sobered her enough to make her doubt.

Maybe she’d call a cab and head home? Or walk? A couple hours’ exercise might’ve worked off the aching urge swimming low in her belly, teasing and wetting her core. Caitlyn sent her body into overdrive, chaotic and frenzied.

She needed calm. Quiet. Her own bed for the night. Her own space.

She shoved past Caitlyn. Tried to picture the route back to her apartment and block out the hurt and betrayal dashed across that beautiful Piltie face. Fuck. She had to pass the house, there was no other way. Unless she scaled the roofs and leapfrogged over the houses and buildings, there was no shortcut.

Wait, could she…? She’d always had a knack for climbing. Hmm. Maybe if she jacked up on Shimmer first? It would certainly make her bold enough to try.

Tempting… But nah. Jumping over the tops of buildings? Sounded like something from a fucking videogame. Whatever. She’d take her chances on the ground; couldn’t avoid it.

Onwards bound, right foot hovering mid-air, Caitlyn grabbed her wrist. Forced her to stay.

‘Okay,’ Caitlyn asserted. A tired rasp tugged at her voice.

‘Okay…?’

‘You’re right. I can’t help you.’

Caitlyn let go, and Jinx’s wrist flopped to her side. Free to run, she remained rooted.

She wanted to leave. Why the fuck couldn’t she leave?

‘But I care, Jinx. I care about you.’

Caitlyn cared? Even after Jinx fucked up. Had she forgiven her?

How much did she care? If Jinx ran, would she follow? Would she take off her heels and sprint barefoot across Zaun? If she saw Jinx getting high, would she stop her? Judge her? Storm off like Vi?

How far did that care extend? What could break it?

‘Please,’ Caitlyn urged. ‘Don’t push me away. Not again.’

‘Maybe I can’t help it? Ever think of that?’

‘No. You have more self-control than that.’

‘I really, really don’t.’

‘You can practice.’ God, Caitlyn really believed her own bullshit, didn’t she? ‘You can try. If you want to.’

‘Who’s to say I want to?’ Hands in her jacket pockets and a nasty scowl on her face, Jinx stepped into Caitlyn’s personal space. ‘Maybe I want nothing to do with you.’

‘Maybe.’ Caitlyn raised a sceptical brow, not intimidated in the least. ‘And maybe I’m fucking Mel.’

‘Why would you say that!?’ Jinx’s mouth fell open in shock at Caitlyn’s cruelty. She balled her fists and clenched her toes. She felt like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

‘Because it’s equally fucking ridiculous!’ Caitlyn laughed, shrill and abrupt.

‘What!?’

‘I swear to Janna, look at us, Jinx! What the fuck are we doing, arguing in the middle of the street like a couple of wankers!?’

‘Wankers? Speak for yourself.’ A new wind of sarcastic asshole ripped through her. She giggled, short and sharp. ‘…or not. I guess Mel’s been a real help in that area.’

‘Fucking hell!’ Caitlyn doubled over in a throaty cackle, hands on her knees. ‘I missed this. I actually missed this!’ The stream of chuckles continued as she straightened back up and started pacing again. ‘What the fuck is wrong with me?’

‘What d’you want? A list?’

‘What do I want?’ Caitlyn mimicked. ‘Well, I don’t fucking want Mel, for starters!’

‘You don’t?’ Jinx didn’t believe it. ‘You have eyes, right? They work?’

‘Shut the fuck up! Yes, they work!’

Jinx held her hands up in surrender. ‘Just asking.’

‘They work,’ Caitlyn repeated. Took a second to level out her breathing. ‘You just… you have no idea what they see.’ She clutched her hands to her head again. Squeezed her skull. Her gaze stuck on Jinx; eyed her up and down. ‘You haven’t got a clue, have you?’

Jinx couldn’t stand it. Looked back at her boots. ‘…about?’

‘About me! About how I feel!’

‘I’m sensing anger.’

‘Oh, my fucking god, I could strangle you! You’re infuriating, did you know that!?’

‘It’s been said.’

‘You are. You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met! You’re intolerable, rude, thoughtless, reckless… You treat everyone around you like pieces of shit!’

‘I know.’

Jinx throbbed at Caitlyn’s words. That ol’ degradation kink, working its magic. She glanced back up. Studied the blind fury and unquestionable lust of Caitlyn’s dilated, shaking pupils, flushed cheeks, neck and chest aflame. A wide grin bloomed.

‘And yet, you missed me.’ The grin became a breezy laugh.

‘Oh, I wish I didn’t!’ Caitlyn wailed.

Jinx’s laughter receded to silence. There was Caitlyn, offloading all this pain and frustration, and Jinx got off on it. God, she was such a fucked-up asshole.

‘I wish I didn’t miss you!’ Caitlyn continued. ‘I wish… I wish that just one day during these past six months wasn’t wasted on missing you.’ Ouch. ‘Fuck it, one hour. One minute… You’re all I’ve thought about.’

‘…why?’ Jinx fractured. Not quite there, not anymore.

‘Because I like you, you complete and utter dickhead!’

‘Caitlyn.’ A helpless snicker passed Jinx’s lips. She hugged her arms tight around her torso. Stared back down at her boots and the concrete below, more reluctant to look at that face than ever before. ‘You’re supposed to be smarter than that.’

‘Well, I’m not!’

‘Clearly.’

Fuck, she really needed to leave. Go. Just fucking go.

‘See, now, this would be the part where you say you like me back, you know… so I don’t feel like such an idiot.’

Move! ‘Yeah…’ Fucking move! Get out of there!

Jinx took one last glance at Caitlyn’s face, marred by tears. The water made her eyes infinitely bluer. They dazzled like crystals. Like the sea at sunrise reflecting light.

Her fingers itched to wipe the tears away, but the rest of her wailed and howled in protest.

She’s too perfect. Don’t do this again. Don’t ruin her. Just go!

Numbness welcomed her like a friend. She looked towards the road. The way back to herself.

Go home. Get safe. Get high. Forget this ever happened.

And so, she did. She walked so fast she almost sprinted. Caitlyn’s cries died with the distance.

The second she could, she filled her tub with hot water and her brain with Fade. She didn’t want to feel. Didn’t want to remember. Didn’t want to exist.

Asleep in the sanctuary of an endless bath, her head emptied to all but a few vital memories.

Her mother’s laugh… Vi’s piggy back rides… the warming tobacco of Silco’s cigars… Caitlyn’s infinite blue.

[milfgyuu]

Remind Me Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Fem!Reader Tags: 2.7k, fluff, humor. Summary: You’ve had a little too much to drink at your sister’s wedding and can’t understand how or why Choi Seungcheol of all people is assigned to babysit you.

Warnings: mc gets drunk, cheol sleeps in underwear only (u can fight me on this), like one (1) unintentional innuendo.

Okay, so…in retrospect, getting absolutely wasted at the wedding reception was not your not your brightest shining moment. 

To be fair though, you had warned your sister about the overwhelming nerves you were having over not only being her Maid Of Honor and ensuring her perfect day was indeed perfect but also being the one delivering one of the biggest speeches of the night. 

She told you to relax, have a drink. Everything would be just fine. 

And she wasn’t wrong, of course, she never was. The ceremony went off without a hitch. You didn’t trip coming down the aisle. No crazy exes showed up to object like they do in the movies. The reception began and you downed a second flute of champagne allowing the little bubbles to soothe your shaking hands. You gave your speech and made the room swell with emotion and laughter and then, it was done. The cake, the special dances, the photography sessions. 

All that was left was the deejay, an open dance floor, and for you? Three glasses of tequila and lime to unwind and enjoy the fruits of your labor. 

Upon the delivery of your fourth drink, you’re well on your way out (of consciousness). You reach for the glass but someone else beats you to it, pulling it away from you. With a huff of irritation, you look up to find your new brother-in-law’s best friend staring back down at you. 

“Seungcheol,” you grin, flipping your hair over your shoulder, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He purses his lips for a moment but exhales a little laugh, “You’re officially cut off.”

Your smile drops in an instant you reach for the drink but he pulls it further away. “What do you mean I’m cut off? I’m a big girl. I can handle my liquor. Thank you.”

“I left you alone for ten minutes and you drank half the bar,” Seungcheol chides softly, “I thought you were dancing with your friends.”

You grumble kicking your bare feet out from beneath the table cloth, “My feet hurt,” you visibly pout, wiggling your toes, “I’ve got blisters from my shoes.”

He chuckles to himself and reaches for your hands, “Come on,” he says scooping up your discarded heels with one hand and pulling you out of your seat with the other, “The party is starting to wind down anyways. Let’s get you out of here.”

Your cheeks burn as he leads you away from the table and through the crowd. You tug on his hand and he looks back at you curiously. Your eyes dart from side to side. “Cheol, wait- won’t people get the wrong idea if they see us leaving together?”

Seungcheol bites his lip to keep from laughing. “Yeah, I don’t think that’s something to worry about.”

He continues walking toward the exit and you cling onto his arm because your legs don’t want to work and also he smells really, really good. Your sister spots the two of you and walks over with a smile, “Are you guys leaving already?”

Seungcheol smiles back, patting your hand still tucked into his own. “Your sister decided to drink half her weight in tequila. I’m going to tuck her in if that’s alright with you.”

You peer up at his face, utterly scandalized and you imagine your sister must be as well but she simply laughs and kisses your cheek. “Absolutely,” she says, “Thanks for taking care of her Cheol. See you guys tomorrow!”

How could your sister just let you leave like that? With a man? With Seungcheol no less?! Beautiful, beautiful Seungcheol. 

You’re absolutely bewildered and somewhat walking like a baby deer because not only do your feet hurt but you’ve got these stupid drunken sea-legs that just don’t want to cooperate and Seungcheol notices how slowly you’re moving. He stops abruptly and you nearly bounce off of his solid frame. He catches you and chuckles. 

“Alright, this is not working that well and this hotel is massive,” He turns around and squats, “Jump up, we’ve got a long way to go.”

You stand there in shock. No way! How could you let him carry you? It’s bad enough he’s taking you to your room. It's…indecent. 

“Nuh-uh, Cheol.”

He stands up and lets out a long sigh, “You’re so lucky you’re cute,” he mumbles to himself before turning around and sweeping you up bridal style. You squeal in surprise and wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

“Cheol, this is embarrassing! What if people see us?”

He shakes his head and laughs a little, “Again. Not sure why you’re so concerned with that. Why don’t you just relax. Save your energy.”

Your eyes widen and your arms tighten around his neck, “Save my energy for what?!”

“You’ve still got to get ready for bed,” he answers, “Change out of your dress, take out your hair, take off your makeup, wash your face, brush your teeth…”

Your eyes roll back in your head and you’re back to pouting, “Okay, okay. That already sounds exhausting.”

“I’ll help you,” he says softly and your heart rattles inside your chest. 

Seungcheol manages to get you both into an elevator and up to your floor with no problems and thankfully, no run-ins with people who might know you and get the wrong impression. He sets you down right outside your door, number 303, and produces a key from his back pocket. He swipes it and the little light turns green before he’s pushing the door open. 

You brows furrow, “Wait. How did you get that?”

He flips the key over in his hand thoughtfully, “Uh…the front desk? Now will you come inside or are you sleeping out here tonight?”

The thought of such a travesty makes you rush into the room and you face-plant onto the bed. Seungcheol looks at you with a fond little smile and kicks his shoes off at the door, placing your heels beside them, emptying his pockets on the dresser nearby. 

His voice startles you and you flip over in bed, looking at him with wide eyes, “Cheol, what are you still doing here?”

He takes a deep breath and steadies his patience. “Getting you ready for bed.”

For some reason, your instinct is to cover your chest, which is still covered by your dress, crossing your arms as if you’re suddenly bare. 

“Oh my god, I am never letting you live this down,” He whispers under his breath before speaking louder for you to hear. “Come on. Into the bathroom.”

You’re no match for his strength and he tugs you right out of the bed. You follow him hesitantly to the bathroom and allow him to sit you down on the toilet lid. You watch him with big round eyes as he takes each pin out of your hair until he’s able to run his fingers through it and massage your scalp. He takes out a few makeup wipes and you let him clean your face without a word. 

“Let’s get you out of this dress,” he says and your hands come up to cover your mouth in shock but he presses his eyes shut and sighs, his voice coming out short and flat, “Out of your dress and into pajamas. Worry not, little flower, your virtue is safe with me.”

You pull your hands away from your face but look at him wearily, “Let’s say I believe you,” You poke him in the chest, “No funny business lover boy.”

“Literally not what you said last night…”

You blink one too many times because the bathroom lights suddenly go out and he’s pulling you back into the bedroom, “What was that?”

“Nothing at all, babe,” he answers with a shrug and small smirk. 

You trip over the bottom of your dress and stumble into him, “I- babe?! Bold! Real bold, Choi Seungcheol.”

He merely winks at you and reaches out for your waist, “Need help with this?”

His hand slips around the back of your dress and you hold your breath as he runs his fingers up the zipper. Damn him. He’s so attractive with his fluffy hair and pouty lips. He finds the zipper and pulls it down but once it reaches the middle of your back you panic and tear out of his arms, running to hide in the closet. “I’ll just change here! Stay out!”

You slam the door shut and squeak when you realize the lights are still out. After fumbling for a few minutes you find them and quickly slink out of your dress and then…then you realize you have nothing in here to change into. Your bag is in the room but now you’re practically naked and Seungcheol is out there and what are you gon-

There is a knock at the door and you peek your head out of a tiny crack to see a pair of pajamas being thrust at you. “Don’t worry, at least one of us is sober.”

You mimic his words sarcastically and snatch the clothes, slamming the door shut again. You have to get him out of here. 

It takes a few minutes of struggling to get your head and arms through the right holes and similarly, with your legs into your shorts but you finally get them on and throw the closet door open. To find Seungcheol completely shirtless. 

Your eyes gloss over at the sight of his broad shoulders, head tilting as your eyes dip to appreciate the way the muscle in his back tapers as you get lower and lower. You can see the band of his underwear now and realize he’s got his belt undone and if he were facing you the front of his pants would just be open and-

“Damn,” He whispers as he fiddles with the latch on his wristwatch and you suck in a quick breath, alerting him of your presence. 

He flicks his eyes up to you nonchalantly and holds his arm out, “Hey, can you get this off for me?”

“Get you off…” you reply, eyes glued to his torso until he chuckles, “Wait. What?”

He can’t stop laughing as he walks a little closer and you take a step back, “Can you please help me take my watch off?” he holds his wrist closer and your lips form a perfect ‘o’, “The latch is stuck.”

You fumble with it for a moment but the mechanism clicks and comes apart, and Seungcheol rubs his wrist, laying the watch on the dresser with his other things. You’re glued to the floor, watching him walk back around the opposite side of the bed. 

“Why are you taking your clothes off?”

He dips his thumbs into the waistline of his pants and shoves them down, “Because I’m not sleeping in my suit?” 

Your eyes find the ceiling and you whine, “But why are you taking them off in here?!”

“Because I’m sleeping in here?”

Your eyes dart back to him and you swear his pectoral muscle jumps on purpose. “You can’t sleep in here! Are you crazy?”

Seungcheol raises a brow and pulls back the blanket, getting in and making himself comfy in the bed, “Are you getting in or what?”

Your brain short circuits and Seungcheol watches you pace around in circles. “You can’t just sleep in here with me?! What are people going to say when they find out? It’s my sister’s wedding for heaven’s sake! My parents are on the floor below us! We have to have breakfast with them in the morning! How am I supposed to look my mother in the face when you were in my bed in your underwear the night before?”

Seungcheol crosses his arms over his chest and god you try not to look but he’s so thick and deliciously well put together and you’re hopeless. “Should I take my underwear off then?”

“CHEOL!” you squeal, falling dramatically against the edge of the bed. “I don’t know if you know this but I have a huge crush on you and this is totally not fair. I’m delicate.”

Seungcheol laughs and reaches forward with both arms, pulling you further onto the bed and into his grasp. Your face burns and he looks down at you with the goofiest grin. “Yeah, ‘delicate’ is a good word. So is ‘lightweight’.”

“Don’t pick on my alcohol tolerance,” you pout up at him, “Tequila is my friend. Unlike you.”

Seungcheol mouth turns into a flat line. “Yeah, that’s because I'm your boyfriend.”

It’s silent for a beat and then you burst out into hysterics, laughing so hard your belly aches. “My boyfriend?” you cackle, “Yeah, right.”

“Babe, we’ve been dating for almost a year,” he sighs at your non-stop laughter. “I’m starting to think I should take you to a hospital if your memory is that messed up right now.”

“You and me?” your finger flicks between the two of you as you sit up with his assistance. “Where is the proof?”

“Aside from me having a room key, my bag being in the room, and me being nearly naked in the bed next to you?”

You nod resolutely and he huffs with irritation. Never in a million years did he think he’d ever have to prove the legitimacy of his relationship to his own girlfriend. He throws the covers back and gets out of bed, marching over to the dresser and picking up his phone. You’re back to staring at him with a dopey look on your face when he puts the phone on speaker and a familiar voice answers ‘hello?’”

“Hey, it’s Cheol,” he says smoothly, “I’m sorry for calling so late. Your daughter had a little too much to drink and is now asking for proof that I’m her boyfriend. I need help.”

“Oh geez! Sorry kiddo. She didn’t get her tolerance from me,” She laughs, “Cheol, honey, hand her the phone will you?”

Seungcheol grins and hands you his phone. You take a deep breath which is a little dizzying. “Mom?”

“Sweetheart,” your mom’s voice comes through the speaker, “I know it’s hard to believe, because Seungcheol is just the most handsome, wonderful young man you’ve ever met….but he is your boyfriend and I’m going to need you to pull it together and stop giving my future son-in-law a hard time.”

Your wide eyes meet Seungcheol’s own, crescent shaped from the goofy grin on his face. “Mom,” you avert your eyes and whisper, “You mean you want me to sleep with him?”

Your mom’s long sigh is audible through the phone, “Honey, you are going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow morning. Let the boy in the bed and go to sleep. I love you.” Click.

You sheepishly hand the phone back to Seungcheol who’s giving you a ‘told you so’ sort of look. He puts it back on the dresser and gestures to the bed, “May I?”

You follow his line of sight and nod your head slowly, “Well, this is embarrassing. Are you gonna break up with me now?”

Seungcheol gets back into bed and this time he lifts the blankets for you and you obediently crawl in next to him. “Nah,” he chuckles, fixing his pillows to make himself comfortable before flicking off the lights, “Might put you on a tequila ban though.”

Your laugh is soft but it’s cut short when Cheol pulls your body closer to his and your hands find purchase on his warm chest. His eyes fondly trace over your features in the dark and yours do the same. Choi Seungcheol is your boyfriend. Imagine that. 

“Are you going to accuse me of being indecent again if I kiss you goodnight?”

You shake your head and Cheol sits up, leaning over your body and making you melt into the pillows. Your eyes are wide and might as well have little stars dancing in them and it takes another moment after his lips press against yours for them to flutter closed. When he pulls away your eyes remain closed and he smiles, kissing the apples of your cheeks. 

“Does it feel like a first kiss?”

His fingertips trace over the tip of your nose, over your lips, down your chin. 

“Now you’re just picking on me,” you mumble, lips spreading into a smile, “But I think you should kiss me again. I already forgot what it feels like.”

Seungcheol shakes his head and laughs, “I’d be happy to remind you.”

Thanks for reading! 

SVT M.List | Main M.List

→ Please do NOT copy, repost, or translate, any of my works here on tumblr or on any other platforms! All stories are copyrighted, Bubblebeom, 2020. ©️

[bellysoupset]

Okay, so following up on the nightmare story - how about Lucas having a panic attack maybe at a concert he goes to with Bella or in a restaurant on a date?

Obvs this one ran away from me, but what can I say, background plot fics are my jam... I also forgot the prompt halfway through, my brain has been working on 2% power

"Oh so he's like famous famous?" Bella had asked, right when they had started to date, about his father. At the time, Lucas had shrugged, all sheepish.

"I mean, he still tours, so yeah..."

She raised her eyebrows, "what's his name again? Do I know him?"

"You listen to screamo music, Bells, you definitely don't know him," Lucas had eye rolled, "his name is Kit Howard."

She stared at him blankly, "yeah, no fucking idea who he is," Bella shrugged and then the entire conversation had slipped away as she climbed on his lap to make out on the couch.

That had been at the very start of their relationship and, while now Bella had a face to put to the name, nearly two years later and she still had no idea who exactly Kit Howard was.

All she knew was that she hated him.

Tonight they were at some stupid gala, one she really didn't want to come to, but that Lucas had been all puppy eyes about and well... There she was. Stuffed in a dress that made her skin itch and didn't let her eat enough, unless she wanted to get a food baby.

Lucas was nowhere to be found, so she sloshed the warm champagne around her flute, letting her eyes glaze over the crowd. Every once in a while, when Luke picked the restaurant where they'd eat or in the rare moments they had gone to the bank together, she'd be reminded of how incredibly different their lives had been until that point.

Lucas was one of those, she thought with a snort, watching as people fake smiled and networked, all the conversations too bubbly and superficial to mean anything. Her people didn't do bubbly social conversation, but that didn't make them better. She was reminded of drunk screaming and parties paid for with the rent money.

"Hi," Lucas took the flute from her hand and downed it all in one go, "having fun?"

"I was before you stole my drink," she deadpanned, turning to face him. Lucas was squeezed in a smoking tuxedo, butterfly tie and all to match and he had that plastic, painful smile on that made her want to claw at his face. She settled for cupping his cheeks.

"Are you having fun?"

"Not a fucking ounce," the posh accent slipped into his voice as he turned his face to kiss her palm, "just let them announce the award and then we can get the hell out of here."

"I love you," Bella grinned, closing the space between them with a small kiss.

She had no idea what the award was for, so Bella lurked on the back of the ballroom, watching as Lucas went from person to person, painful smile on, shaking hands, taking pictures. A true politician, like he wanted to be. She shook her head as a small voice said this is your future, in her ear.

The "Diversity Award of Arts" or whatever it was named got called soon after and, after many pictures, the receiver of the award - some white dude she had never seen - got off the stage and the music started playing.

Time to leave, she thought with a sigh of relief, looking around the room, searching for Lucas, but he was nowhere to be found.

The music volume went up, an invitation for couples to join the dance floor and Bella finally moved from the wall she had been trying to blend with, feeling a weird sense of dread wash over her. She had no idea why, but something felt off.

The more she looked, the more it seemed Lucas had simply vanished in thin air. More people were joining the dance floor, making it harder for her to stop him and Bella pushed through the couples, making it outside the hotel's ballroom and fishing her phone out of her purse.

Bells: where are u???

She waited for him to answer, for him to even read, but no such luck. After five more minutes of nothing, she pressed the call button and glued the phone to her ear.

Lucas didn't pick up, but it help her find him, as "Pour Some Sugar On Me" started playing faintly from another room. She followed the noise and sure enough he was there...

Lucas was braced against a random wall, the bin of the room between his feet and he had his eyes squeezed shut, chest going up and down with labored breath.

"Luke?" Bella rushed forward, the party entirely forgotten, as she planted a hand on his back. Even through the tux jacket, she could feel he was trembling, "Lucas, what's wrong?!"

He sucked in a breath, gasped out something that she did not understand and then gagged harshly. Bella's heart squeezed, as she tried to figure out how had that sudden illness happened. She looked around the room, trying to piece together the fastest route out-

"Bell, I can't- I can't breathe."

Very few things could send her into a panic, but those words did it.

"Hospital," she decided, because he couldn't breathe, "C'mon, Lu-"

He shook his head, gasped again and clawed at his tie, trying to get it undone, "Bell-"

"I got you, I got you-" she whispered feverishly, undoing the knot before he could choke himself and the first button for good measure. Lucas' face was milky white, not red though and he sucked in another desperate breath.

"Lucas, we have to-"

"It'ssssthis fucking song," he slurred, trying to cover his ears and finally, finally, it dawned on her.

Bella planted both her hands to his ears and urged him away from the wall and through the room, as far away from the ballroom as they could. They made it as far as the hallway before Lucas collapsed against a wall and crumbled down to the ground, breathing heavily.

He was shaking like a leaf as she crouched down next to him, dress be damned and planted a hand on his shoulder, "breathe, Lucas..." she whispered, hoping against hope he could hear her, "with me, alright?"

He nodded, throat bobbing dangerously as Lucas breathed through his mouth, mimicking her. He held it in, then let it out slowly, then again. He leaned his head back, chest jostling with an airy, sick sounding burp.

"Fuck."

"Yeah," she eyed him worriedly, "... Do you want to talk about it?"

Lucas' opened his eyes to look at her, suddenly exhausted, "when we get home?"

"Okay," she leaned in, planted a kiss on his shoulder, "how's your stomach?"

"Settling down," he sighed, leaning onto her and pressing his forehead to hers, "Can we go home?"

"Give it a minute, babe," Bella ran her nails through his hair, combing the chocolate waves back and looking over his shoulder, glad they were all alone. Lucas buried his face on her neck with a sigh.

"So tonight took a turn."

"Uhm," she grinned, kissing the top of his head, "are all fancy parties this exciting?"

"Only if your date is Lucas Atwood himself," he scoffed and she rolled her eyes.

"Lucky me then."

[widowsofchaos]

Could you do the prompt #60?

❝ mine

summary: Wanda isn’t too fond with how close a certain Captain is to you. pairing: Wanda Maximoff x black!reader warnings: fluff, jealous Wanda, a smidge of jealousy, and smut. Filthy use of the Slovakian language. Palm kissing aka my weakness. ao3 // requested from this prompt list a/n: Wanda is my wife, your honor. Hope I did my lover justice. Carol Danvers cameo. requested prompt 60: “Pay attention to me.” 2k words. Sorry for this late request, writer’s block is a menace. No beta, all mistakes are my own. do not repost my works

It was late into the night, and Wanda’s spirits were more alive --- and enraged.

Anxiety and adrenaline bleeds through her witchy fingers, sparks zap dully at the tips, clutching her cup of liquor tightly.

Downs a hefty sip, a hiss, her lips snarling as the firewater trickles and burns down her throat --- Samogon, or how you cheekily teased, “Mother Russia’s own moonshine. Ruthless just like her children --- I mean look at Natalia, she puts vodka in her cereal.” A tiny smirk curls at her lips, your faint laugh lulls her in the memory.

A familiar giggle catches her ears once more --- melodic, soothes her ears, but Wanda scowls, knowing exactly what’s making you laugh. Her knuckles strain white, gawking over her shoulder, peeking eyes glow dangerously crimson red.

The party is amidst bustling with drunk melding bodies, great food, endless playlist of music --- ever so luxurious --- as every party Stark throws; regardless it being a private party among friends.

Across from the bar, near the lounge couches, you seated with your silhouette legs crossed, your head tilted back, tipsy giggles slipping from your lips; seated next to you was a certain Captain.

Oh no --- not Captain America, he was busy cuddling with his lovers, how he slurs lovingly ‘my Bucky, my Sammy.’ Steve and Bucky two fingers deep in Asgardian Ale, with Sam edging deep in whiskey. All three sharing kisses in the far corner, ready to sneak back to their room for late night loving.

Shamelessly undressing you with her eyes was Captain Danvers herself, her arm slung over your shoulders, deep in casual conversation with you. Simple maxi dress, adorning your hips, softly encasing your figure, low cut that amples your breasts --- and Carol was eating it up.

To the outsider’s eye, it would be seen as friendly banter, tipsy chuckles -- but Wanda knew better. Her eyes flicker to her wedding ring --- sparkling red --- the same one that twinkles on your marital finger.

She clicks her tongue --- Wanda indeed knows better. The friendship between Carol and yourself is fairly a new one, naturally gravitating towards Carol, how curious and intrigued you get to meet another inhuman besides Wanda and yourself.

No surprise how natural conversation flows between the Captain and yourself --- everyone you meet gravitates to you like a magnet, treating one as if they were an old friend.

You look delicious --- as always. Beauty that makes anyone double-glance, delicate yet intimidating. That glow, you carry a shine, an essence, a force of nature, but it’s so much more. Beneath the surface, radiates comfort, you can break any stoic façade with that wattage smile. Wanda and yourself match, a perfect yin-yang, one and the same, and Wanda loves it.

Both of you can feel it, see it, taste it.

Clever fingers, clever lips, clever tongue. Clever small hands carving Wanda’s hardened façade, in the quiet, warm and intense moments in time, where Wanda can be vulnerable, finally shed waterfalls over her losses, let her rant and rage without judging eyes --- where she can lay her heart in your hands, and she knew, you handle with care.

Because you know her, understand her. Able to simmer her down, know where her emotions stem from the deepest crevices of her spirit.

The endless drinks were nice, but Wanda rather be with you, somewhere else. She rather prefers to be in your shared quarters, with the babies, eating sugar snaps, and watching tv. A cozy night-in, and finally would tuck Billy and Tommy in their cribs; sneak away to bed, caress and cradle each other till succumbing in deep slumber.

But --- you convinced Wanda, thinking tonight’s party was a good reprieve, to relax with friends, and drink till merry, without the stresses of motherhood. Now, she battles another stress, another grievance.

Green-eyed monster rearing its head --- jealousy.

‘She’s full of shit.’ A sultry Slovakian spite lingers in your mind --- only in your mind, a sharp side-eye, you glance to see Wanda, nursing her drink --- halting your pinched fingers from twirling your flute.

Slightly puckering your lips, restraining a grin splitting from ear to ear, you coyly titled your head at Carol, who was complimenting the tattoo that adorns your shoulder-blade. How slyly Carol’s fingertips trace the tatted lines, feigning curiosity.

‘Her hands all over you, fucking kurva.’

‘Pay attention to me.’

A dull clank of a glass against the counter could be heard. A breathy chuckles escapes from your nose, as you can feel Wanda’s eyes burning holes in the back of your skull, and no doubt, dying to literally burn holes in Carol’s blonde dome. “I think I’m gonna hit the hay, my head feels light.” A polite excuse without offending Carol from your erupt leave.

“Awh, already? It’s not even late, grandma.” Carol teases, as she presses the rim of her beer against her lips --- her fifth one tonight --- tangy flavor of Budweiser weighing on her tongue, fueling her mischief. “Who are you calling grandma, I wasn’t the one born in the sixties.” A few strings of chuckles, you graciously depart from Carol, as she wiggles her slender fingers goodbye.

Waltzing to the bar, your hips swaying, placing the flute on the counter; sitting next to a stewing witch. Elegantly perching your elbows on the marbled bar, your nails flicker delicately as your wrists bent against your chest, coyly swinging gently on the bar stool. Slyly peeking from the corner of your eye, you catch Wanda staring at you.

Tenderly covering her glass with your palm, tugging it out of Wanda’s palm, and gliding it away. “Let’s go to bed.” You slither, eyes glassy --- the champagne bubbling light in your head, skin tingling and aching for Wanda’s touch; your eyes rover over her figure, curves snug in a velvet maxi dress.

Auburn hair coils in slick waves, draped over her smooth shoulders. Leaning in, you can smell the liquor wafting from her slick lips, Wanda tsks, cheekily leaning towards you; her fingers sought out to your thigh, gripping the flesh.

Lips now hairs away, “Oh --- now I exist?” Wanda sneers, sultry, her accent weaving out in a hiss. “Don’t be like that.” You tsk, smoothly gliding off the stool, your fingers sliding against Wanda’s open palm, interlocking softly. Wanda murmurs, be like what? As she pouts, gazing at your heart-shaped lips.

“Now, is my wife going to bed with me or is she going to hex the Captain?” The pad of your thumb caressing Wanda’s finger, trying to tame the witch. “I prefer hexing her, and then ravishing you on the glass table for her to see --- želá si, aby ochutnala vašu kundu, vašu šťavnatú ako sladkú broskyňu.”

Filthily whispering in her native tongue, her fingers curving, and bending graciously as carmine magic emits. The warmth of her breath beats against your cupid-bow, ever so close to your lips; tantalizing, more intoxicating than any ale in all the realms.

Wanda pulls away, earning a whine from you, she hushes your lips by the tip of her oval nail, “Behave till we get back to our room.” With no other word, Wanda snags your wrist in her grip, dragging you out of the party into the dark hallway.

Scattering feet wander through the compound halls, only clicks of heels echo and pierce through the silence. Dancing shadows linger on the walls, breathy moans, wet lips. Wanda’s palm glides and grips the curve of your neck, pinning you against the wall --- just a mere inches away from your apartment door. “I can’t wait any longer.” Wanda growls low in her throat, her antsy hands.

Slithering fingers slip under the hem of your bunched up dress, feathery fingers chilled at the tips from the glassed liquor caress the skin of your inner thigh. Earning a silky hiss through your teeth, as Wanda’s lips parts open upon yours as if breathing in your essence; as her fingers dove beneath the fabric of your thong. Soaking her left handed fingers between your velvety lips, your fingers cling onto Wanda’s hips, sneakily massaging her soft ass through the smooth fabric, bundling up her cheeks. Groping, and squishing.

“Do you feel it?” Wanda asks, dripping with lust, a dull spark zaps at your clit, jolting you with a whimper, teasingly Wanda left your throbbing clit to toy with your clenching hole, but she doesn’t slip inside you. Yearning for her to touch you more, plunge and curl to the point of delirious pleasure. Delightful swell swirls in your heart, a flicker in Wanda’s eyes --- something you couldn’t quite pin.

All she can see is Carol’s hands touching you, touching what is hers, Carol’s slithering eyes roaming your breasts, and curves. It wasn’t your fault, no --- you were just being a good friend, engaging in conversation --- but she felt abandoned. As if Carol swooped you away, like a thief in the night. Stealing a treasure that didn’t belong to her nor deserve it.

You’re her wife --- you are hers, just as she is yours.

“I need to feel all of you.” A mess of words, gasping breaths, as Wanda happily snuck her two fingers inside your spongy walls, fluttering, and quivering thighs. Thrusting with no hesitation, your hips crash against the palm of her hand, tangling tight as a tether, curling fingers beckoning in a salacious curve. Pulling you close, her fingers digging in your hip-bone, breasts to breasts, melting against the wall, kissing you, your mouth, your cheeks, the slope of your nose --- delicately pecking your shut lids.

The palm that cradled your hip, traveled the terrain of your waist, and glided upon the arch of your spine, traveled between the shoulder blades, her touch eliciting sensitivity on her bare flesh, and cupping the nape of your neck. Fondling your neck, as her lips never wavered from your face, remaining as she continued her shower of kisses, as she fucked your cunt with vigor --- unrelenting, your wetness echoing with unabashed squelching.

A wet spot formed the dead center of Wanda’s panties --- just the sounds of you can make her cum on the spot. Sticky against her peach-fuzz, your legs sliding against hers, as her fingers continue with no interruption. Wanda’s wet panties stick to the skin of your thigh, humping with desperation, the sensation of syrupy cotton and heated bare skin nearly drove Wanda to the brink of endless bliss.

“She can’t have you ---” Wanda groans, her pupils almost rolling to the back of her skull, as the lips of her cunt split and ride even harder against your knee. Nearly gliding down the wall pavement, clinging onto each other in a loving embrace, “---she can never have you.” Wanda whispers in the shell of your ear, her teeth graces sharply the line of your jaw, her tongue licks a wet glide, sucking and nibbling on your pulse-point, marking her territory.

As one palm cups Wanda’s ass, guiding her as she unravels on your thigh, a hand leaves to her shoulder blade, your fingers flicker with her straps, pulling it over Wanda’s shoulders, and with a frenzied impulse, tug the fabric down --- Wanda’s milky breast spills out, still swollen with breast milk.

Pink areolas hardened by the cool air, your moist tongue peaks from your lips, and the tip flickers against the dripping nipple. Leaning your head down on Wanda’s chest, suckling greedily --- nearly her whole tit was engulfed in your mouth, sloppily slurping.

A shriek nearly bubbles at Wanda’s throat, cradling your head in her arm tenderly, kissing your temple, her nose inhaling your scent --- always emanate a tender scent of crushed roses; as your chin drips with milk. “Mine, you’re mine.” Wanda wispily moans, as you drank from her tit, saliva coating the corners of your mouth. Moaning at the taste on your tongue, satisfying your carnal palate --- the vibration sending a shimmer up the crevices of Wanda’s spine.

Sweat beads at your brow, as sweat drenches Wanda’s baby hairs clinging onto her temple, mouthing ‘love me, love me’, her fingers pulling the threads of silk from the jewel between your legs, now drenched. Two gardens watering, the petals of tulips bloom. Your thigh now slippery, grinding her clit hard, slow thrusts --- riding out, edging herself; refusing to cum without you.

As if you were a fragile china doll, shakily Wanda’s spidery fingers brush against heated skin, sweeping the arch of your neck, dancing down on smooth brown shoulders, downward to the line of your fore-arm.

Leisurely slowing down her fingers that rested inside your moist caravan, sinuous fingers kiss the skin and daintily hold your wrist, pulling away from her bum. Lifting, and lightly twisting upward to bare your exposed wrist; you halt, hesitantly your eyes peer up at Wanda. Cheeks dewey, and dusted pink.

Lips part from Wanda’s sodden breast, a string of saliva connects from your bottom lip; as if time ceased still, bringing your wrist to her lips, her eyes never leaving yours. A breath hitches in your throat, open mouthed kisses trail up, lovingly your fingers cup her soft cheek, her lips plush at the cusp of your palm. Wanda’s eyes are two moons, hauntingly beautiful, makes your spirit want to create a temple in blind faith in the name of love, yearning to worship; the waves of love coils off of each other.

Hot breath is a hymn, cascades against your hand, slow and soft kisses --- a tingle at your fingers. A simple gesture yet holds no bounds of adoration, deeply into each other eyes. Wanda’s fingers lock with yours, her wet lips part against the pad of your thumb, her teeth nip, her tongue lick ever so faintly; sucking the finger between her lips.

Erotically Wanda’s hips began its tirade once more, her soaked fingers flourish inside you with no mercy --- she knows, oh she knows. You’re close, oh so close, close, close to the edge --- you know Wanda’s close too, by the way her breath pitches ever so higher; just dying to fall over in Wanda’s arms, fevered. Bury inside each other, this unspoken waltz, not needing to verbalize --- it’s there, not always having to be feverish hot fucking, but it can be passionate, desperate, and warm.

To dive deep inside each other, crawl under the skin, and rest there as a love nest.

Foreheads touch, nose to nose, eyes fall into the depths of each other, a mess of entangled limbs --- a splash of kaleidoscope bursts before your eyes, mouths smashing to dull the shrills; cumming hard on Wanda’s fingers dragging it out, as her fingers dragged out, agonizingly so.

A sheen of wetness crashes and coats your thigh as a balm --- witnessing the motion embody each of your faces with each ripple of your orgasms. Memorizing every expression, any twitch, lips shaped in Os, never tearing your eyes away from each other, because you both wanted to --- such beauty.

The smell of Wanda is intoxicating, makes you dizzy, love-drunk, and adored. Resting your bodies on each other, raspy giggles flow, face leaning on face, caressing cheek to cheek, as Wanda nestles her hands on your face. A daze of happiness, the stresses of a green-foaming monster now a faded memory, cuddling each other in a tight hug, just airy laughs muffled in your chests. Just leaning against the wall, full length of your bodies pressed, braced as if being one.

A faint cry of the twins breaks the haze, ever so sync the boys wail for their mothers --- just like clockwork, it must be 2 am; time to feed the hungry bellies of your babies, just like their mama feasted on their mother. Slipping back into reality, fixing each other’s disheveled clothes back to somewhat back to being decent. Frizzy hairs springs in all directions, sheens of sweat now coat your skins, but a sense of relief drapes upon you two.

As Wanda leans her hand on the wall, resting your head on her stretched arm, head tilted as you soothe Wanda’s cheek, watching her, the greenery of her irises shine bright at your glassy brown orbs, as if a fire that can’t be smothered.

Making the butterflies erupt in her chest, making Wanda feel seen in so many ways that she never had before. En pointe, standing tall to kiss Wanda’s lips, light and sweet, resting your head in the crock of her shoulder. Lashes flutter as Wanda holds you to her bodice, with your heart swelling, you whisper to her.

“I will never leave you. Wherever you go, I’ll follow.”

[lostinthewiind]

Forget Me Not: Part 1

Ushijima Wakatoshi, Sawamura Daichi, Bokuto Kōtarō, Oikawa Tōru, Kuroo Tetsurō - Haikyuu

Synopsis: five years after graduating high school, you're invited to Kiyoko and Tanaka's wedding and find yourself back in Japan. Surrounded by your old classmates and volleyball buddies once again, not only are old friendships rekindled, but old feelings start to resurface as well. Did five years change you and your friends too much, or did it change you all just enough?

Rating: PG13

Warnings: none

Next → Part 2

Being back in Japan filled you with a familiar, comforting feeling that spread throughout your entire body. The country where you had lived most of your life and been educated from kindergarten to high school in brought back childhood memories that you had not thought about in nearly five years.

And now, here you were, attending the wedding of one of your best friends, whom you hadn't seen in way too long, and surrounded by people who shaped your elementary and teenage years.

It wasn't until the reception that you got to actually catch up with your childhood friends, but the ceremony had certainly gotten you thinking. With the beautiful decorations strewn all over the venue and Kiyoko's breathtaking dress—and the way Tanaka teared up after seeing his future wife coming down the aisle—you had begun to wonder, as one who is still single would, if that would ever be you; all dressed to the nines and ready to devote the rest of your life to one person.

The fact that you were deep in thought must have been visible on your face because it wasn't long after that Kiyoko made her way over, gently placing her hand on your shoulder and asking if you were all right.

Startled out of your internal dilemma, you assured her that you were fine and just caught up with your own thoughts. "Sorry," you apologized with a lighthearted chuckle. "I didn't mean to make you worry about me at your wedding."

Taking a seat beside you at the rather empty guest table—more than happy to get off of her feet after Tanaka had been swinging her around the dance floor for hours—Kiyoko sighed contently and brushed off your concern. "Oh, please, make up something if you must." Kiyoko glanced over her shoulder at her new husband, who was currently preoccupied with something Noya was saying to him. "I need a break. If this is any indication of what the rest of my life is going to be like, I'm going to be eternally exhausted."

You laughed, having completely forgotten about what you had been thinking about. "You chose to marry the boy who spent all three years of high school chasing after you and you're surprised that he's over the moon 24/7?" You cocked a brow at her jokingly. "Don't say you weren't warned."

Kiyoko giggled at that and before long you and your best friend were laughing together just like when you were teenagers. It was like nothing had changed; like the two of you had been transported back in time five years.

"In all seriousness though, are you happy?" you asked her as you grabbed for your champagne flute and took a sip. "Because that's all that matters."

A light dusting of pink rose to Kiyoko's cheeks. "I'm ecstatic." She beamed as she looked back at Tanaka again. "I mean . . . that's my husband!"

"Good. I'm happy that you're happy."

Kiyoko nodded in agreement before turning back to you. "So, when is it going to be your turn?"

You thought about asking her what she could possibly be talking about but there was no fooling Kiyoko; she already knew that you knew. Not a week had gone by since you had moved away where she hadn't asked you if you had found yourself a man yet.

You just rolled your eyes. "I would have to be dating someone first in order to start thinking about getting married."

"Okay, so we start at the beginning." Kiyoko started surveying the gorgeous outdoor reception venue as if you didn't already know pretty much everyone who was there.

You scoffed. "I'm sorry, we?"

"You act like I haven't always been invested in your love life." She waved you off, never taking her eyes off of the bustling crowd. "Anyway, back to what I was saying . . . you need someone with a stable career, handsome, and, most importantly, someone that I approve of."

"Yes . . . most importantly." You took another sip of your drink and let your eyes scan the crowd as well, mostly because there wasn't much else for you to do. Eventually, your gaze settled on a table in the back corner where five men sat, engaged in a conversation with one another. It took you a few minutes to make out the face in the dim lighting, but when you did, you were immediately hit with a wave of nostalgia.

There, in a convenient group, as if they had all collectively been waiting for you to spot them, were five of your dearest friends from high school: the captains from the various boys' volleyball teams. Since you had been the captain for the girls' team at one of the rival schools, the six of you had started as acquaintances who bonded over being captains and soon grew into an inseparable friend group. The only person you had been closer to in high school was Kiyoko.

Sawamura Daichi, Ushijima Wakatoshi, Bokuto Kōtarō, Oikawa Tōru, and Kuroo Tetsurō.

They all looked just like how you remembered and yet you couldn't help but notice from afar the ways that they had matured over the past five years. You had been given a brief chance during the ceremony to say hello to them, and during that brief moment, you weren't ashamed to say you would admit they had all grown into handsome young men (not that any of them had been hard on the eyes in high school by any means.)

"Oh, so we're going for the classic 'high school reunion' trope." Kiyoko's face was suddenly right next to yours, startling you once again. "Which one are you looking at?"

Ripping your eyes away from the group of men who had thankfully not noticed your staring, you shook your head. "It's not like that," you sighed.

"Oh, yeah . . . okay." Kiyoko's tone was dripping with sarcasm. "That's fine, you don't have to choose right now. You could probably have whichever one of them you wanted anyway considering they all had a crush on you in high school."

It had been a big mistake to try and take your final gulp of champagne right then. As soon as you had heard what Kiyoko had said, you jolted in surprise and the alcohol went down the wrong way, causing you to begin coughing and sputtering rather loudly and aggressively.

Of course, that was when the five former captains turned to look at you after hearing the commotion. To be fair, a lot of eyes were on you then as you frantically reached for a napkin to dry the champagne that had spurted out of your mouth and Kiyoko patted your back comfortingly.

"Jesus," you managed to choke out. "Warn someone before you say something like that."

Kiyoko grabbed another napkin and began dabbing at the little wet spot on your dress. "You act like you didn't already know."

"I didn't already know."

Kiyoko looked up at you in shock, her hand ceasing all movement. Thankfully, she had pretty much dried your dress completely by then anyway. "What do you mean you didn't know?" she inquired quizzically, almost like she suspected you of lying.

"What do you mean they all had a crush on me?!" You remembered to lower your voice at the last second to avoid screaming such a personal conversation.

"How could you not have known?!" Kiyoko retorted with another question. "It was so obvious!"

"We were all just friends!"

"Just friends?!" A deep voice from behind you interrupted before you or Kiyoko could say another word. "You aren't talking about us, are you?"

You could pick that voice out of a lineup and consequently, your face turned bright red and you swallowed hard. Had he heard what you and Kiyoko had been talking about? How long had he been standing there?

Turning in your chair, you looked up at Kuroo, who was standing behind your chair, and the four other guys standing behind him; all of whom had apparently made their way over after witnessing your struggle with the champagne.

Before you had the chance to work out a suitable answer and attempt to explain away what you and Kiyoko had been discussing, Kiyoko stood from her chair and offered it to Kuroo, motioning for the group to sit down with you at the same time.

"Well, I'll leave you guys so you can all catch up." She smiled wide, throwing you a quick wink when no one else was looking. "I'm sure Tanaka will start searching for me soon anyway. I can only leave his side for so long before he starts causing chaos."

"Looks like the chaos has already started." Oikawa pointed to the head table where Tanaka was pouring liquor straight down Hinata's throat while Noya and Tendou counted the seconds out loud at the top of their lungs.

"Oh, good God." Kiyoko excused herself without another word, rushing across the room to put an end to her husband's antics. The six of you were left chuckling and watching as she snatched the bottle out of his hand and made quick work of reprimanding the men.

Shaking his head, Daichi sat down across from you while the other men took their seats as well. Having been the team captain of Karasuno and on a volleyball team with Tanaka for two years, he knew all too well what it was like to have to keep him in check constantly. "I will never understand how he suckered her into marrying him," he commented.

"Because love." You shrugged. "It makes you do stupid things."

Just then, a waiter came by and placed a fresh glass of champagne in front of each of you. "Ain't that the truth." Kuroo rose his glass and encouraged everyone else to do the same. "To love and other stupid things."

"To love and other stupid things," the remaining five of you repeated before clinking your glasses together and taking a sip of the bubbly alcohol.

Bokuto, who already seemed a little too tipsy for his own good, downed all of his in one go before scooting his chair closer to yours and throwing an arm over your shoulders. "So, tell us, what have you been up to?!" he chirped happily. "We all missed you when you left, you know."

After assuring Bokuto about four or five times that you had missed him as well, you gave the group of eager listeners the short version of what you had been up to since graduation. You explained your boring job and the fact that you played volleyball as often as you could. They asked about other aspects of your life as well, and when the topic of significant others came up, you shyly admitted that you were, indeed, still single.

"Hey, it's not like any of us can judge you for that," Ushijima told you. "None of us have anyone in our lives either."

Oikawa scoffed. "You make it sound like I'm hopeless."

"You are hopeless," Kuroo laughed. "You spent how many years in Brazil and still couldn't find a girl to date you? You moved to Argentina and still nothing. Doesn't that say anything?"

"Leave it to Oikawa to make it all about him," you commented, mindlessly taunting the setter like you used to do all the time when you were younger.

Your jab earned a few amused chuckles from the others and even Oikawa cracked a smile; and just like that, it was like you were back in high school with five of your closest friends, shooting the shit like you always did.

Before you knew it, the six of you were talking, laughing, and drinking the night away. Even Ushijima, who was usually the quiet one of the group, was participating more than you ever remember him doing so. The awkwardness from the first few minutes of interaction and the burning embarrassment of what Kiyoko had told you had melted away so seamlessly that you didn't even notice; suddenly you just found yourself comfortable and feeling rather at home.

Daichi told you about how his job as a cop was going and even shared a few exciting stories—stories that the others had clearly heard many times before if their bored expressions were any indication.

Kuroo talked about his job at the Japan Volleyball Association Sports Promotion Division, which he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying. You were kind of envious of him for managing to stay in the world of volleyball without actually having to keep playing.

Then, of course, Bokuto, Ushijima, and Oikawa discussed what it was like playing for the MSBY Jackals, the Schweiden Alders, and Club Atlético San Juan in Argentina, respectively. Oikawa, much like Daichi had been, was very excited to have someone new to tell his stories to—although his stories were about Argentina and not being a cop.

It made you feel a little sad when you realized just how distant you had grown from your friends and how much of their lives you had missed, but you had to admit that getting to play catch up was extremely entertaining.

After what felt like only twenty minutes or so, but was probably closer to two hours, the reception started winding down and guests started heading home for the night.

Pulled from the happy little bubble the six of you were existing in by the sudden realization that the party had a lot fewer people than you remember, you checked the time and noted that it was rather late.

Daichi, who had been oblivious to the rapidly passing time as well, muttered something about having to work the next day as he reached for his suit jacket that he had draped over the back of his chair at some point and started putting it back on, indicating that he was getting ready to leave.

Bokuto began to pout jokingly and tightened his hold on you, his arm never having left your shoulders the entire time. "You're not going home right away, are you?" he asked you, his wide eyes ready to guilt-trip you into staying longer should he need to. "You're staying in Japan for a while, right?"

"I'll be here for about two weeks or so," you told him, patting his cheek lightly and chuckling when his expression changed on a dime and he smiled wide. "Don't worry, I'm not abandoning you again so soon."

"Then we will have to get together for dinner or drinks or something," Kuroo suggested as he too stood from his seat. "Have you changed your number since high school?"

You shook her head. "Nope, it should be the same one you all have."

"Excellent!" Oikawa cheered. "I've got to head back to Argentina in a week or so as well so we definitely have to get together soon. I have first dibs!"

"Y/N is a person, not the last piece of food," Ushijima huffed. "You can't call dibs."

Oikawa just scoffed. "Sure I can, Toshi. I just did."

"I told you not to call me that."

The two professional volleyball players glared at one another and you wondered how it was possible that they stayed friends for so long, let alone became friends in the first place, considering they were always at each other's throats.

"Okay, you two, don't make me escort one or both of you home in a cop car tonight," Daichi warned. "I'm not in the mood to babysit."

"If I promise to behave, will you promise to use your handcuffs?" Oikawa winked, earning a few hushed chuckles and an obviously disappointed look from Daichi.

"Well, that's my cue to call it a night," Daichi announced as he made his way over to you and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek. "It was lovely seeing you again. I'll call you and we can do dinner sometime, yeah?"

You smiled and nodded. "I'd love to."

With that, Daichi took his leave and the others were soon to follow. Bokuto, who was the last to leave your side, had somehow swindled you into promising to play a volleyball game with him at some point before he bid you goodnight as well and left you to collect your thoughts before catching a cab and heading back to your hotel room.

On your way out, you thanked Kiyoko for inviting you and congratulated her and Tanaka on their marriage. They too insisted on getting together with you once more before you left and you happily agreed, already dreading having to leave your friends again.

As you climbed into your cab that evening, drunker than you had been in a long while and filled to the brim with joyous memories and content feelings after being reunited with so many old friends, you couldn't help but linger on one thought in particular . . .

The fact that all of your former captain friends had grown into handsome men with stable jobs, they were all single, and the startling new discovery that they apparently all had crushes on you in high school.

Did they still feel the same way? Or, more importantly, did you feel the same way?

[gyllenhaalstories]

CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS — SUGAR DADDY!ZEMO

summary: a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending whose side you’re on) events brought you to mandripoor seven years ago. it was fun, dangerous and exciting for the most part. a lot has changed, but you are back in high town in the hope of purchasing a rare monet painting, and reuniting with an old flame.

warnings: tfatws spoilers, alcohol, established sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship, smut (daddy kink, dom/sub/switch dynamics, choking, hair pulling, blowjob, fingering, both degradation and praise kinks, spit kink, cum play, marking, unprotected sex). 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT.

word count: 2685

gif credit: pedropcl

notes: this (very long) fic is brought to you by zemo’s #1 hoe. for the sake of the fic, zemo’s daughter and wife have never existed. i get it zemo is the bad guy daniel is not your typical hottie but let me live my fantasy and reclaim my crown as the original zemo fan. listen to off to the races by lana del rey and let no man steal your thyme by the pentangle if you want to fibe with me! i hope you guys will enjoy it!!! <3

“If you keep staring at me like this, I’ll mistake you for the Mona Lisa.” You took the last sip from your glass, which was immediately filled by the man standing behind you. You had felt his familiar presence a long time ago, but you were too mesmerized by the rare painting trapped in a cage of glass to bother notifying him. “Your glance has followed me around the room. In other circumstances, I’d find it creepy. Now, it’s just very flattering.”

You heard him laugh through his nose. You saw his reflecting in the glass, lit up by flashing blue and pink lights and vibrating ever so slightly to the sound of the loud music.

“You’re like a Monet painting. From afar, you are clear as cristal and easy to read like an open book. From up close...” You marked a pause and stoodby straight. Your eyes never leaving the work of art you had been scrutinizing for the past hour. Water Lilies in Bloom, it was called, an incorrect translation that always brought a grin to your lips. “You are a mystery.” You swallowed thickly the bubbly liquid, recognizing the peculiar taste of champagne.

“It is arrogant but right to think of myself as the pure definition of mysterious.”

You chuckled, throwing your head back in disbelief. Some things never changed.

“After all these years... I managed to find my way back to you. Now that’s a mystery.”

You turned on your heels as you spoke. “Is it, though? Tell me, Daddy. Is it really that hard to believe you’d recognize your property even after all these years. I heard they put you in a pretty little cage. Didn’t have much else to think about than what you missed most?”

He took you in, just how ethereal you looked under the colourful neon lights. You had your arms pressed against your chest, the shiny material of your matching bracelet and necklace twinkled. He squinted slightly, his lips curled into a smirk while he looked down your body, the one thing that kept him sane after all these years in jail (that and the thought of destroying symbols like super soldiers and make the world a better place once and for all). “Nice dress.”

“My Sugar Daddy got it for me.” You did a twirl, showing off your outfit innocently. “You like it?”

He reached up to his neck and pulled on the collar of his purple sweater, like it was a tie he could loosen up. “So you received everything I sent you.”

You clicked your tongue. “Not everything...” Your head turned to look behind you, where your most priced possession was glowing in its full glory — soon to-be yours, you should say.

“Use your words, Princess. Say it and it’s yours.”

It was your turn to analyze him, to take every ounce of cockiness and pride. “You’re playing with fire.” You walked closer to him, erasing the distance but increasing the tension between the two of you. “All the money in the world won’t get you everything you want.”

He was quick to move, his soldiers instincts never left his body, clearly. His delicate hand wrapped around your throat so effortlessly. It tightened, forcing you to manage your breathing. “Money got me everything I wanted already.”

“What is it, Daddy? What is it that you want so badly?” You clenched your jaw, holding his glance which was filled with lust, instead of rage and grudges.

“You never looked so beautiful.” He leaned closer too, whispering the words to your ear. It was liked the loud club music turned into white noise. He could not care less about the stares and the words strangers exchanged as they witnessed the scene. High Town was not his playground.

But you were his plaything.

*~*~*

History repeated itself, in one way or another. Icons rose and fell. Symbols mattered and vanished into oblivion. Originality turned into plagiarism. Winners would lose it all, losers would dig their graves deeper into the abyss.

History repeated itself. The sight before your eyes was the same one as seven years ago, when all that was on this man’s life before meeting you was this stupid Mission Report of December 16 1991. You met him at a party like this, in High Town before he was banned from the land. He caught your attention doing his ridiculous dance moves, sharing his knowledge about the art pieces showcased around the room. Then he brought you to a hotel, the ones so fancy they had multiple rooms and a vintage record player as part of the decor. Only, it worked, and he put on his favourite Édith Piaf records. Rien de Rien, Le Petit Homme, La Vie en Rose, song after song, you were diving deeper in your memories.. He was popping yet another bottle of champagne open and pouring some in flutes you would never touch for the rest of the night. The same night, seven years ago, it changed your life. At the second you regretted setting foot in Mandripoor, he changed your mind and gave you the best months of your life. You would ride around Europe in vintage cars, dine in gigantic mansions you called castles. You admired the old paintings of his royal family members while he brought you a silk bathrobe to change into after a steamy shower.

You’d get lost in your thoughts, he’d get lost in his ambitions. You two were one and the same, in one way or another. That affirmation sent shivers down your spine. You could not tell if it was a good or a bad thing, a shy voice in your head was reassuring you it was the former.

“They call me Baron again, I guess I’m not doing too bad after all.” His voice snapped you back to reality. He was still wearing that obnoxious trench coat. You hated it, it made him look like a pimp. Although that was not too far from the truth, as the mountain of luxurious jewelry and clothes in your closet proved.

“Do you like being back here?”

“I love it here.” The emphasis on the last word was audible. You nodded in agreement. This place was heaven on Earth for some people, hell for others. For both you and Zemo, it was somewhere in between.

“You’re certainly not here for me.” You laughed, setting the still full glass on the nightstand.

He shook his head, mouthing a negative response.

“What is it, this time? Mission report February 32?”

“Something like that.” He answered, after another silent laugh.

“If only you had made me your mission, your life would have been easier.”

“Yours would have been, too.”

You shrugged. You agreed, but you did not need to say it. He knew. The two of you knew that this warmth washing over your bodies was the answer to all of your problems. Yet, you were fighting the urge to surrender and give in.

History always repeated itself.

All it took was for him to set his hand on your exposed knee. You got flashbacks of the numerous times his hand rested there while you two drove deeper in the country side, in some old Chevrolet, Ford, or any other European brands he could find and buy.

“Say it, Princess. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallowed thickly and fell on your knees. He sat straight, as straight as he could on the comfortable mattress, and spread his legs wider. “I want to go back in time.”

He leaned foward and you opened your mouth, your tongue poking out. He spit in your mouth, and you swallowed. The giggle that followed your actions sent blood to his hardening cock. “Just as eager as I remembered, right? You’d do anything to please me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Daddy.” You repeated, the confession left you breathless.

“That’s my good girl.” He brushed your hair with so much tenderness for a moment, you let out a content moan. He changed the mood real quick when he pushed your head closer to his crotch and unbuckled his belt at lightning’s speed.

Your mouth was watering at the sight, a sight that was tattooed in your memory forever. Whatever relationship you two had went beyond fancy presents and sex, it was a connection that tickled your souls and left you a different woman than when it first started. You wasted no time, stroking him a few times as you spit on his blushing tip. You smeared the spit over his sensitive spot and pulled the sweetest moans out of him, which grew louder and more intense when you finally wrapped your lips around his head.

No one compared to you, to your attention to details, to the way you were taking him all in, inches by inches like you were made for his cock and his cock only. No one compared to how blissful you looked pulling back, choking on your own saliva and the lack of oxygen. “You look so beautiful, Babygirl.”

His praise made you bat your eyes, hoping to receive more compliments. You flattened your tongue, licking him from the base to the top before you deep throated his cock again. You never left him untouched, your hands were massaging his walls or exploring his thick thighs while your mouth almost brought him to the edge.

That was when he pulled on your hair and demanded you went back up on your feet. “I bet you’re soaked. All you need is to see a cock to wet your panties.” You nodded as one hand reached up to cup your face, the other to cup your core from under your dress. He could felt the ever growing wet patch. He discarded of your panties in one effortless pull and pressed his pointer and middle fingers against your sensitive clit. He circled it, studying your reaction.

“Daddy...” You breathed out. “I need you.”

“I’m proud of you for using your words,” his finger slipped inside of your entrance, you moaned out his name. “So greedy and needy and easy for me, like the good whore that you are. Is that right? You’re Daddy’s perfect little whore?”

He was two fingers in, all the way to the last knuckles. He pumped in and out of you slowly yet roughly. You smirked when he finally touched that spongy spot inside of you. “I’m Daddy’s. I’ll always belong to Daddy.”

“That’s right.”

He brushed his thumb over your clit, his fingers stopped fucking your hole to abuse the bundle of nerves until tears started to pool in your eyes.

“Be a good baby.” You looked at him with doe eyes, sucking his thumb between your plump lips. “Do what I want.”

And you reached your high. You had nothing to hold you up, except for your shaky legs that threatened to give in under your weight and the intensity of your orgasm. You sucked on his thumb harder, hoping to quiet some of your moans but your screams escaped your parted lips.

In a blink of an eye, you were pushed against the bed and bounced against the body that blocked your every movement. His pants were nowhere to be found, just like the rest of your respective clothes. Your finger tips brushed over the skin of his shaven cheeks, down to his neck and chest. The intimacy, you had craved it all these years.

“I bet that sweet cunt of yours missed my cock.” He spoke, chuckling mockingly when he pushed himself in your stretched hole. You both let out a long moan of satisfaction. He rested inside of you, adjusting to your warmth and tightness. “I was right.”

“You’re always right.” You flattered his ego, and earned a sloppy kiss in return.

His lips moved down to your neck where he sucked hickeys and left small bite marks as he picked up the pace of his hips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hoping to bring him that much closer, and deeper, into you.

Zemo pinned your wrists above your head and pumped his cock inside of your tight pussy like his life depended on it. “So fucking wet for me,  gonna make me cum, Baby.” He had tried so hard to hold back, not to mark you and claim you again.

“Wait for me.” You begged him, and he brought one hand down to your neck again. He squeezed it, choking you deliciously until your eyes rolled inwards. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt it, he felt the way your walls fluttered around him.

He thrusted inside of you, his hips snapped against yours and the sound of your skin slapping echoed in the bedroom. “Cum for me, Princess. Cum with Daddy.”

And you did, your body exploded in fireworks when you felt his release planted inside of you. He kept moving, rocking back and forth. He leaned back, leaving your neck to rub your clit once again. He was a moaning mess, the overstimulation made it almost painful to keep going but he did not want it to stop, not until...

“Fuck, Daddy!” And a second wave of pleasure hit you hard, it left you panting and shaking even more than before.

Zemo had to pull away quickly, and already missed the feeling of being inside of you.

Your fingers reached between your bodies, dipping into your folds and moving up to your lips as they were covered in his seed. You painted your lips with his white cum, before you licked them and your fingers clean as he watched, completely amazed and mesmerized. “Taste just as good as I remembered.”

He laughed, he was always one step ahead of everything and everyone, but you always managed to take him by surprise. You were just that great, that perfect. He rolled to the side and fell heavily on the bed. His skin was glistening under the light of the chandeliers from the thin layer of sweat.

You pressed your legs together, clenching around nothing. You hoped you could keep his load inside of you, as a proof this had really happened and it was not just one of your daydreams where you two would be reunited.

“I missed this.” You boke the silence with a small voice. Your fingers brushed over the bruises on your neck, and you hissed at the sensitive skin.

He turned on his side, worried for a second that he went too hard on you. The smile and joy on your face proved him otherwise. “I missed you, Princess.”

“I missed you so much, Daddy.”

*~*~*

The sun hurt your eyes, he noticed. He slipped out of the bed to pull on the curtains only to hurry back to you so you could lay your head on his chest. You were still wearing your bracelet, he started playing with it.

His mind was racing, just like his heart. You could feel it rumble in his chest like a loud engine. Something was bothering him.

“Oh, Zemo...” You caressed his cheek, looking up to study his features. “You can fool the smartest people in the world, but you’ll never be able to lie to me.”

“I’m coming home, Baby. I’m coming home now.”

You looked down again, taking a moment to answer. “Let me guess, you’ll take me to a fancy house like Rebecca’s Manderley and Jane Eyre’s manor at the Rochester’s. You’ll show me around, make me feel like I belong. And you’ll leave, high and dry. Again. All the money and presents from your people won’t erase the pain I felt. Not this time, not ever.”

He pressed his thin lips together. Pain, suffering, he was used to it. He had his fair share of it, caused even more to other people. The thought of hurting you, however, was unbearable.

“Every kingdom needs its king...” He paused and moved you, so you were resting on your elbows and your face was closer to his. “And an even greater queen.”