#so I picked up traces of her accent

[madanimalscientist]

I once (due to jet lag) managed to forget the French word for sheep, despite having taken 3 years of French (plus learning it concurrently with English as a child, thanks to my great aunt who was a native speaker). So I'm on the train in Quebec and making polite small talk with the woman next to me and it's going pretty well and she asks me what I do and I say "je travaille avec les vaches et les..." (I work with cows and...) and I forgot the word for sheep so I just do a very realistic baa and she laughs and goes "moutons!" and I nod and go "oui, merci, moutons".

(on that same trip I also managed to also mix up "poutine" and "putain" and accidentally excitedly announce a restaurant had gluten-free hookers, for which I have no excuse except that it had been a long week and alcohol was involved and honestly both of those incidents were pretty funny)

I actually really like the thing when you're starting to get the hang of a new language, enough to understand and say simple sentences but you gotta get creative to get more complex thoughts across, like a puzzle. I remember a time in the restortation school when a classmate who wasn't natively finnish and did her best anyway dropped something and sighed, telling me "every day is monday this week. I have had four mondays this week." And I understood.

I don't think I speak much of spanish anymore, but in the nursing school training period I did there, I did manage to get by with making weird Tarzan sentences. I got a nosebleed at some point and startled another nurse. Not knowing the words "humidity" or "stress", I managed to string together: "This is ok. It is hot, it is cold, I have a bad day, I am sad, I have blood. This is normal for me." And she understood.

And sometimes you just say things weird, but it's better than not saying it. One time, I was stuck in a narrow hallway behind someone walking really slowly with a walker, and he apologised for being in the way. I was not in any hurry, but didn't know the spanish word for "hurry", but I did know enough words to try to circumvent it by borrowing the english "I have all the time in the world."

The man burst into one of those cackling old man laughters that they do when something in this world still manages to surprise them. He had to be somewhere between 70 and a 100 years old, and I guess if there was one thing he wasn't expecting to hear today, it would be a random blond vaguely baltic-looking fuck casually announce that he is the sole owner and keeper of the very concept of time.

[rosegolden13]

Dad!Simon thoughts for today :D He’s a girl dad, your honor.

With the mouth on that man, Simon Riley definitely has the absolute sassiest little toddler. She’s only three and hardly goes up to his thigh but she will straight up tell him no. It’s a forceful “no”, too, direct and intense, just like her dad. It's even more ridiculous, too, because she's picked up a bit on his accent. Honestly, she’s a delight for you, normally agreeing with a sweet little “yes, mama!” if you tell her it’s time for bed or that she needs to eat just a few more vegetables but her dad does not get the same sweet temperament all of the time. 

You’re on the carpeted floor of her bedroom with photo albums sprawled about, trying to tire out your toddler before bed by showing her your wedding pictures. She’s tired of all the many picture books you and Simon normally read her. Besides, she loves pressing her tiny fingers to the images, squealing with delight as you point out everyone in the images. “See, baby? There’s mama, and your daddy, and here’s your Uncle Johnny, too.”

“Mama, so pretty!” She admires the photographs of you in white the most, tracing her fingers over the fabric of your dress as if to feel it through the image.

When Simon tries to join in, though, his eyes also lingering on the solo images of you in your dress, he doesn’t get the same praise you do. “Is daddy not pretty, too-?” Before he can even complete the playful question in that gruff voice of his, your daughter is sending him a glare.

“Shhh! Don’t talk!” She plops herself into his lap, her little form curled up against him. Her words are blunt and direct in the way only kids can be. 

You have to hold back a laugh as Simon looks down at her in astonishment. He pokes her side, tickling her plush little tummy. “It’s like tha’, huh? I can’t talk but you can use me as a chair? You’ve been spendin’ too much time with your Uncle Johnny. Spoiled thing, you are.” Her shrill giggles fill the room as she wiggles in his lap.

“You sure that sass is not from you, my love?” You ask with an amused raise of your brows.

“You callin’ me mouthy?”

“I am.”

He just huffs out a laugh.

[beloveds-embrace]

(Based on the idea of having a sensitive nose in the omegaverse, poly 141 x reader)

The air in the meeting room was dense with overlapping scents: leather, citrus, gunpowder, faint traces of cigar smoke. It was suffocating. You had been doing your best to keep a neutral face, to not draw attention to the way your sensitive nose wrinkled every few seconds as the mingling aromas assaulted your senses.

You weren’t trying to be rude; it wasn’t anyone’s fault that their scents were this potent. It was just your lot in life to have a nose that picked up everything. And you were part of this stupid task force, which meant you were constantly surrounded by some of the most intense scents imaginable.

It was John who caught your reaction first. The alpha was sitting across the table, arms crossed, earthy, smoky scent rolling off him in waves. His cigar habit didn’t help matters; it clung to his clothes, his hair, his skin- every part of him. Your nose twitched involuntarily as another wave hit you, and his brow furrowed deeply.

“You alright there, love?” he asked, low and curious, though there was an edge to it.

“Oh, yeah! Yeah, I’m fine.” You lied quickly, forcing a smile and trying to breathe through your mouth instead.

His sharp eyes stayed on you for a beat longer, and the corner of his mouth tugged downward. He didn’t believe you, but he let it slide.

Soap, however, wasn’t as subtle. He had been perched on the edge of his chair, citrusy, spicy scent practically bouncing off the walls. The man smelled like an explosion at an orange grove- sharp and tangy, with an undercurrent of something metallic that always made your head throb.

“Are you wrinklin’ your nose at me, lass?” He asked, accent thick, tone mock-wounded.

“No! No, not at all.” You stammered, shaking your head. God, what you wouldn’t sacrifice to leave this room…

“Looked like a bloody insult to me,” Johnny teased, though there was something almost earnest in his pout. “Dinnae think I smell that bad, eh? Gaz, back me up here!”

Gaz- bless him- was seated beside you. His scent was a calm balm in the storm: a light, fresh breeze with subtle hints of cedar. It didn’t overpower your senses. It was safe, grounding. You leaned ever so slightly in his direction, seeking refuge without realizing it.

“I think it’s just her nose being sensitive,” Kyle said smoothly, shooting you a kind look. He always seemed to know when you were struggling, always gave you a quiet out. “We probably smell stronger to her.”

“You mean Price and Johnny stink.” Ghost rumbled from his spot at the back of the room, scoffing in amusement.

You glanced at him, and, God, he really was no better. He was a mixture of John and Johnny- a heavy, musky scent tinged with smoke and gunpowder, like he’d been living in a war zone for years. It was hard to breathe when he was near, though his stoic demeanor meant he didn’t take it as personally as the others.

“Oi, I don’t stink!” Johnny protested. “I smell fresh, like citrus and energy.”

“Explosives aren’t energy.” Ghost deadpanned.

“You all smell fine,” you said, hasty and desperate, your voice thin and shaky. “I just have a… sensitive nose. That’s all.”

“You’ve been wrinkling it all bloody morning,” Price grumbled, arms crossing tighter. “If you don’t like something, just say it. We’re alphas; we can handle it.”

“I don’t dislike it!” you blurted. “It’s just… strong. All of you smell so strong, and my nose is a little… overwhelmed.”

Kyle chuckled softly, a sound that eased the tension in the room. “Can’t really blame her, can you? The three of you probably do smell like a bloody armory to her.”

Price frowned, clearly still annoyed, but Johnny looked contemplative, leaning toward you with a curious expression. “You’re not lying, are you? Your nose is just sensitive?”

“Very.” You admitted, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m not trying to insult you, I promise. It’s just… a lot.”

Johnny relaxed a little, though his pout remained. “Alright, lass. I suppose I can let you off the hook this time. But you should’ve said something earlier.”

“And deal with you taking it more personally than you already do? No, thank you.” you muttered under your breath.

Kyle snorted beside you, and you turned to him with a grateful smile. “You’re the only one who doesn’t make my nose hurt, by the way. Thanks for that.”

The other three bristled instantly.

“What?” Price barked, looking genuinely offended.

“Gaz doesn’t smell any less than we do.” Ghost growled, eyes narrowing beneath his balaclava, and Johnny threw his hands up in exasperation.

“She’s playing favorites, that’s what this is!”

“It’s not favoritism!” You said quickly, holding your hands up defensively. “He just smells calmer. It’s not as… intense.”

Kyle, smug but silent, leaned back in his chair with a knowing smirk. He didn’t say a word, but the satisfied glint in his eyes said it all: he’d won.

Of course, this only made the other three more competitive.

“Maybe you just need to get used to it.” Price suggested, peering at you.

“Aye,” Johnny added, grin wide and cheeky. “Maybe we need to stick closer to you so your nose can adjust.”

“Or maybe you all need to tone it down.” you shot back, though your voice lacked bite, and they just stared at you even more intently- even Ghost.

It was going to be a long day.

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Paid and Played

PAY TO PLAY PART TWO IS OFFICIALLY HERE!

The sound of her sobs of pleasure are etched into my very soul. When I close my eyes, I can see her bound body, writhing, shaking, breaking under unfathomable pleasure. She’s been burned into my soul and now I own her.

My pretty girl was a bit of an impulse buy. A very, very expensive purchase seeing as I wasn’t expecting to jump into a bidding war but something inside of me just needed to have her when she came onto screen during the auction. And I’ve never been someone who tolerated being denied what I need.

It was easy enough to arrange her transportation to me. I would’ve gone to pick her up myself but that would’ve wasted precious time and I couldn’t stand to wait any longer to play with my new toy. She’ll learn to be so grateful to be owned by someone like me, someone with the means to buy her the very best things.

And I’ve already begun to spoil my girl. After finalizing my purchase, my next course of action was to buy the very best accessories for her. The most beautiful collar, welded onto her neck by an expert I paid to ask no questions, the purest titanium piercings for her precious little clit and nipples, all of which is going to let me completely remold her brain into my perfect girl. Everything was seamlessly done with no delays. It’s amazing what money can get when you know how to use it.

And now, she’s finally here, still drugged unconscious from her procedures and her travel but in my grasp. She’s even more beautiful in person, her face relaxed in sleep and body soft and warm, accented by the special bits of jewelry that make her explicitly mine. She’s finally where she belongs, splayed across my bed, looking like a goddess. I have every intention to keeping every single inch of her to myself.

I can barely contain my excitement as I wait for my girl to wake up. I settle onto the bed next to her, running gentle fingers across her skin and watching the goosebumps erupt on her flesh in response to my touch. I can’t stop myself from letting my fingers dance across her pretty tits, flicking across her nipples softly. The tightening of her nipples makes my mouth water and I can’t hold back from letting my fingers pinch and pull gently. The sleek metal bar running through each nipple is beautiful against her skin and I can’t wait for her to be awake and responsive to all her new adornments. Only the best for my pet.

My eyes take in her prone form and I see the matching metal piercing on her pretty little clit. An idea pops into my head and I can’t stop myself from moving to situate myself in between her thighs, my gaze fixed on her pussy. I grip her legs and fold them back against her chest, the position showing off her cunt to my hungry gaze.

“Fuck, look at you, pretty girl. All mine for the taking,” I groan before I lean down and run my tongue gently against her soft pussy. I press a kiss against her new piercing and draw the cold metal into my mouth along with her cute clit. Her breathing hitches as the sensation permeates her drugged mind. I let my tongue trace the metal, the taste of her growing arousal making my mouth water. Fuck, she tastes so fucking good. I lose myself in her cunt, my hands keeping her legs spread and splayed open for me.

I hear her shaky breathing quicken and her legs start to tremble in my hands. She’s close and I intensify my actions, determined to wake my girl up with an onslaught of pleasure so she knows exactly how I’ll be treating her. I hear a soft whine come from her and glance up to see her brow scrunch as she blinks her eyes open in shock.

My grip on her tightens and I watch as fear and panic overtakes her features before I press my lips against her clit and suck hard. Her mouth opens in a cry as pleasure overtakes her senses and her cunt squirts her release onto my tongue, back arching against the bed.

She’s panting softly and letting out little whimpers when I finally let her clit go, the metal of her piercing glistening with wetness and her pussy leaking onto the sheets. I sit up but keep a strong grip on her in case she gets any ideas about bolting.

She’s trembling slightly under my hands and my eyes meet hers. She’s so beautiful like this, splayed out underneath me, pleasure raw in her eyes. I smile, “Hi pretty girl. Welcome home.”

Her eyes widen and I hear her voice for the first time. “Please, please let me go,” she begs, her eyes gazing into mine imploringly. Her voice sends shivers down my spine and I want to close my eyes to bask in it.

I smirk and lean down, caging her into the bed with my arms. “Can’t do that, you’re too expensive of a toy to throw away,” my voice sounds raw and rough, filled with dark promises and desire.

She flinches at my words, her eyes going hazy for a moment, remembering the events of the auction. She shakes herself out of it and meets my eyes again. “What are you going to do to me?” Her voice trembles a little and I can see the fear in her eyes. It makes me immediately want to soothe it.

One of my hands comes up to cup her cheek and I frown when she shies away from my touch. “Don’t be scared, pretty girl. You’re mine now and I’m going to treat you so well, you’ll see,” I promise, stroking her cheek gently.

She whimpers, “Please, I don’t want this. I don’t want to be here.” I coo softly at her, “It’s okay, pretty girl, you’ll learn that this is exactly where you belong, right here by my side. Forever.”

I lean down and press my lips to hers, capturing her mouth in a loving kiss. She fights me at first but settles when my hand wraps around her throat in warning. I dominate her mouth, feeling her pulse jump under my grip.

I groan against her lips, she’s so fucking perfect underneath me like this. I pull away and smirk down at her, taking in her hazy eyes and swollen lips. She looks so good like this. I can’t resist one more quick kiss before I lean back.

“Come on,” I say, standing up from the bed and lightly pulling her towards me. I slide my hands underneath her body and pick her up easily, cradling her in my arms. She’s being so good for me, I’m so proud of her.

“Let’s get you cleaned up, pretty girl,” I say, walking us into my bedroom’s connected bathroom. She looks so scared under the bright lights of the bathroom, her eyes darting around the space. I set her down on her feet in front of the large mirror and keep one arm wrapped around her midsection, pressing her back to my front.

I take a moment to savor the feeling of her small body against mine and it makes me a little feral to see our size difference. I lean down and whisper in her ear, “Look at us, pretty girl. This is where you belong, with me. And look,” I smile, letting my hands trail to her piercings, “I bought you presents.”

Her eyes take stock of the new jewelry on her body and they widen in shock. “What, what did you do to me?” Her voice is strangled with despair. Her hands come up pull at the collar on her neck before going to touch her nipple piercings and she whimpers, her eyes filling with tears.

“Don’t cry, pretty girl,” I coo, “Don’t these look so good? Pretty things for my pretty girl.” I tap her collar lightly and run my hands between her legs and flick the piercing on her clit that she hasn’t yet fully realized yet. The movement makes her let out a choked moan that ends in a sob when the full realization sinks into her head.

Tears are falling from her eyes as she whimpers, “No, no, no, I never wanted this.” Her sobs feel like stabs into my heart, I can’t stand the fact that my girl is sad.

My arms band around her tightly and I press her against my body comfortingly. “It’s okay, love, you’ll like them, I promise. I know what’s best for you, don’t cry,” I murmur softly. Her tears don’t seem to slow and it makes me frown.

I turn her around and let her sob into my chest, soothing her with soft touches and gentle words until she eventually seems to cry herself out of tears.

“You’ll understand eventually,” I murmur, hugging her tight. She quiets down to small whimpers and I press soft kisses to the top of her head.

“Come on pretty girl, let’s get you cleaned up,” I lead her into the shower gently and turn on the hot water, letting steam fill the space around us. She’s listless and limp, her eyes gazing unseeingly around us.

I take my time washing her, my hands gentle as I lather her soft hair with expensive shampoo and then conditioner before moving on to soap her body. She so good for me, letting me move her around the shower to wash off any trace of her tears. I wash myself quickly while she stands underneath the spray of hot water, her gorgeous body slick and warm. I almost want to bend her over and fuck her right here and right now but I stop myself. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

When we’re both clean, I shut off the water and step out of the shower to grab a big fluffy towel. I lead her gently out, wrapping her in the towel and softly patting her skin dry. She’s so good, she doesn’t fight me at all.

I make sure she’s all wrapped up before turning to grab a towel for myself, drying myself quickly and efficiently. I grab her hand and lead her back into the bedroom, pulling her towards the bed. Seeing our bed seems to startle panic back into her and I see her eyes widen and she shakes her head.

“No, please, please, let me go,” her voice is desperate as she pleads with me, trying to plant her feet to keep me from leading her to the bed. I raise an eyebrow at her, “Darling, don’t be scared, you know I’d never hurt you,” I say soothingly.

My words don’t seem to calm her and she shakes her head harder. “Please, please, let me go,” her voice breaking. I loosen my grip on her hand, intending to scoop her up in my arms when she shoves me, hard.

Her shove surprises me enough for let her slip out of my arms and she takes advantage of my lapse to bolt out the door. I let out an incredulous laugh and shake my head, I guess my girl’s a little feisty. I don’t bother chasing her down, knowing that every single exit to the house is locked and she has no where to run. Plus, I have an extra insurance policy.

Suddenly, I hear a scream and the sound of a body hitting the floor. I smirk, turning to grab my phone from the nightstand before I follow the noise. I find her down the hall, crumpled on the floor, body shaking and trembling. I let out a disappointed sound as I walk towards her, “Pretty girl, you didn’t even make it downstairs. Did something stop you?” I taunt, smirking at her shuddering body.

I walk up to her and squat next to her collapsed body, “Did that hurt?” I purr, my hand coming to wrap around her arm tightly. She whimpers, her breath still unsteady.

“I guess you found out the hard way that your new jewelry has a purpose beyond just looking pretty,” I smirk. “Your pretty piercings and that collar, they’re all programmed to deliver varying degrees of electricity to your sensitive little body. I can make you scream in pleasure or pain whenever I want, with the touch of a button.” I wave my phone mockingly at her before pressing a button on my screen that sends a mild shock through her. It makes her let out a little wail even though it’s nowhere as painful as the shock that took her down initially.

“The extra bit of programming that took you down was something I built in myself. It delivers a debilitating shock to your neck, nipples, and that precious little clit if you get more than 100 feet away from me.” I smile at her, taking in her wild eyes and trembling frame, “But I guess you learned that the hard way.”

I pet her hair softly, “Did that hurt, pretty girl?” She doesn’t respond to me, still shuddering and crying. I scoop her limp body up in my arms and walk us back to the bedroom. This time, I set her onto the bed and settle in with her.

I pull her body against mine and press a soft kiss to her head. “You poor, poor sweet thing,” I murmur, voice dripping with faux sympathy. “You still don’t understand? I own you now. Now and forever…”

She shudders, quiet sobs making her entire body shake. “Why are you so sad, pretty girl? I’ll be so good to you, buy you anything you want, make you feel so good.” I stroke her back softly. “I know you liked what they did at the auction, I can make you feel like that all the time.”

I can’t stop the wicked grin that takes over my face when I fiddle with my phone again, changing a couple settings on the controls. The effect on her is instantaneous, a desperate little cry as her eyes shoot to meet mine.

I laugh and wrap my arms more securely around her body, “Feels good huh? See? If you’re a good girl, you can feel like this all the time, all those sensations directly on your sensitive little clit and nipples.”

“No, please stop, please!” Her voice is shaking as she pushes at me weakly. I run my hands up and down her body, raking my nails across her soft, smooth skin gently. I’ve set the programming to a variety of different pulses, each maintained at an intensity that forces the pleasure to the forefront of her very being.

I can only imagine how overwhelming it all feels, the earlier shock she got from running probably pushed her sensitivity levels to the max, every single sensation now dancing across her already frayed nerves.

I can tell exactly when every shock is delivered to her body by the way she shudders. I tangle my hand in her soft hair and pull harshly, forcing her eyes to meet my own. She has tears streaming down her face as she lets out desperate little sobs.

“Please, please, please stop!” Her voice desperate. I shake my head, “Oh no, pretty girl. I know you like this, I know your pretty pussy is dripping wet for me right now.”

I slide my hand down to her core and groan low in my throat when I feel how fucking hot and drenched her cunt is. Two fingers slide in effortlessly and I can feel the pulsing of her cunt in time with the electricity. I curl upwards to press against her g-spot and I feel her shatter in my arms.

The sob that rips out of her throat is devastatingly delicious. I watch her eyes roll and her entire world narrows to the pleasure shooting through her body. I take that moment to increase the voltage, driving her higher in her orgasm and forcing her into a world of painful pleasure.

There’s no way for her to fight the sensations. The electricity is delivered directly to her clit and nipples, and no amount of struggling, writhing, or touching can make it stop. I don’t need a single restraint on her body to make her submit and there is nothing she can do to fight back. Her body, while physically unbound, is entirely shackled to my will and she has nothing to use against me other than the pleas that spill from her lips like a mantra.

She’s noticed that even after her forced orgasm, the stimulation isn’t stopping. She’s gripping my arm so tightly as her body shudders again and again, so overstimulated that she can barely string together words to beg me. She’s so beautiful like this, uninhibited, desperate, sobbing by my own design.

I lean down and lay gentle kisses along her neck, letting my tongue taste her skin. I groan softly and pull her tighter against my chest, her body shuddering against mine.

“That’s it, pretty girl, just take it for me. You’re doing so well, just like that, feeling so good for me. Keep cumming for me, sweet thing, this is for your own good. Pretty girls like you need to learn that they have to listen to their owners.”

I talk her through her every orgasm, bumping up the stimulation every once in a while to keep her mind locked in a haze of pleasured pain. She’s stopped struggling against me after her fourth orgasm, her body going limp as the sensations overwhelmed her. After her sixth, she went nonverbal, begging replaced by quiet whines and whimpers. At her tenth, she passes out and I finally turn the stimulation off.

I’m gentle as I move her body around on the bed so she’s laying comfortably. Tear tracks are evident on her pretty face and her pussy and inner thighs are a dripping mess. I slip off the bed and come back with a warm towel to clean her up before pulling her into my arms.

I press a soft kiss to her forehead before tucking her close and closing my eyes. Maybe when she wakes up, she’ll have a better attitude about her reality.

Note: This installment is from the buyer’s perspective teehee I hope y'all like this as a continuation, I had such a hard time deciding where I wanted to take this story so I hope it delivers!

[ditzydoe444]

Thinking about farmhand!Jason or cowboy!Jason who works on readers parents farm. She still lives with her parents to help them with the farm work and obviously has a big fat crush on Jason. Like when he’s chopping wood sweaty and shirtless or how he can lift a hay bale with only one hand AHHHHHHHHHH. Anyway!!!actually just need Jason to fuck her in the back of the barn (probs in the haystack OOPS) and he’s covering her mouth as he’s rutting into her cuz he can’t let them get caught and let everyone know what a slut the town sweetheart is can he?

-🍼

MDNI 18+

a/n: i did cowboy jason because i love them

jason wasn’t dumb, he knew about your wondering eyes staring at his body when he chopped wood, or how you would pretend to ‘read’ outside when he took care of the farm shirtless on a hot day. you grew up in a sheltered household, living on the farm far away from town didn’t help. “jacey you need help?” you spoke sweetly as you watched him chop wood, his muscles flexing and the slight tan on his skin glistened.

“nah don’t worry ‘bout that sweetheart ‘ve got it.”

he thought your not so discrete crush on him was adorable, as you grew up isolated you had very little friends hence why you followed him around like a little puppy.

it was harmless until the two of you started fucking.

“j-jacey jacey,” you panted as he fucked you in the barn, rutting against you as you laid on the haystack. it wasn’t comfortable by any means, but having a giant man built like a greek god buried deep inside you rubbing your gummy walls making your mind go blank, how could you complain? the barn was the safest place out of the farm, the only area where your parents didn’t wander around because they thought you were too prim and proper for a dirty place like it. “so good sweetheart you’re so tight,” he groaned as his nails dug into your soft flesh.

“so deep, so big,” you mumbled like a mantra, your eyes wide and dazed from the pleasure whilst a sheen of sweat covered your soft skin. one of jason’s hand covered your mouth, “ssshh sweetheart, need to keep quiet for me alright?”

jason was well loved by her parents, they saw him as a respectable man who helped the farm, not a man desperate and greedy for their daughter’s pussy.

he watched as the bulge in your stomach moved, how your small cunt was able to accomodate to his size alone was mesmerising. he watched as your hand weakly traced his biceps, going through every little detail and tracing the veins along it. “you’re so big jacey,” you mumbled though he came out muffled due to his hand.

he chuckled softly, kissing your neck as he continued to rut into you. “just for you sweetheart, a princess like you needs a man.”

jason was a possessive man, there was no way in hell that he would have some sort of preppy boy date you. you needed a man who would pick you up on dates in a large rusty truck, one that could build the house of your dreams with enough land that you could run and giggle along, and reassure you softly when you need it the most.

he knew your parents thought about marrying some sort of 9-5 office man in the small town, but that just wouldn’t make you happy. you were a princess, you had dreams that a skimpy cooperate man couldn’t provide. jason could build you the house of your dreams, a porch with a swing so you could read and admire him as he worked, a sunroom so you could bathe in sunlight without getting out when it’s hot and sticky with the bugs and of course small pink details and accents scattered everywhere for you to find when you’re bored.

“mmm, jacey ‘m close,” you whined as you shut your eyes from the feeling on your lower stomach, his strong hands gently coaxing your orgasm as they squeezed your lower stomach. he watches as your glossy pussy clenched around him, almost milking him. “come on sweetheart you can do it, just keep it quiet can’t have the town knowing i’m fucking the neighbourhood’s princess.”

[dykebehaviour]

honey on your tongue

domestic bliss with southern!wife!ellie x reader

summary: deep family fluff, loving married smut, sensual scenes, tender language, motherhood themes.

cw: fem!reader, butch!ellie, smut, oral r!receiving, fingering r!receiving.

a/n: save me butch cowboy ellie…save me…

you wake to the soft creak of the old farmhouse settling around you, the pale gray glow of dawn slipping through the gingham curtains.

your body is warm beneath the quilt, pressed tight to the familiar weight of ellie. one of her arms lies heavy across your ribs, her calloused palm resting just beneath your breast. her breath is a slow, deep rhythm against the back of your neck, her scent like cedar and sun-warmed hay.

you shift slightly, earning a gravelly murmur from her sleep-rough throat.

“where ya goin’, darlin’?” she rasps, voice thick with sleep and accent slow as molasses.

you smile softly, hand covering hers. “gotta start the day, cowboy. juniper’ll be up soon.”

her arm tightens around you instinctively. she noses into your hair, lips brushing the curve of your neck.

“mmm. lemme have you just a minute longer.”

and you do, the two of you swaying in that sweet early-morning hush, your pulse drumming slow under her touch.

by the time juniper’s little feet come pattering down the hall, you’re standing in the kitchen in one of ellie’s old flannel shirts, humming as you pour batter onto the hot griddle.

“mama!” she squeals, curls wild, cheeks pink with sleep.

ellie’s behind her seconds later, grinning with her hat tipped back, sweat-damp from feeding the horses.

“mornin’, juni bug,” she drawls, bending to scoop her daughter up in strong arms. “you ready for some pancakes?”

“yes!” juniper giggles, wrapping her arms tight around ellie’s neck.

you watch them, heart full to bursting - ellie pressing a kiss to juni’s temple, that lopsided smile of hers lighting up the whole room.

the old truck rumbles over dirt roads, the morning already bright with sun and birdsong.

juniper sits squished between you both on the truck seat, her tiny hands clutching a worn straw basket. ellie drives with one hand on the wheel, the other resting across the curve of your thigh, thumb tracing slow circles through the worn denim.

downtown, the farmer’s market hums with life. stalls overflow with fresh produce, jars of jam and honey, baskets of bright flowers. the air smells of cut grass, ripe peaches, and fried dough.

juni pulls you both from stall to stall, cheeks flushed with joy.

“look, mama! look, mommy!”

she picks out fat red strawberries, bundles of wildflowers, a tiny jar of clover honey.

ellie leans close, whispering low by your ear, her breath warm against your skin:

“could spend every damn saturday just watchin’ my girls smile.”

later, the three of you sit beneath a big oak tree, sipping lemonade from paper cups. juniper falls asleep against ellie’s chest, her little hand fisted in her mama’s worn work shirt.

you lie beside them in the shade, watching ellie’s lashes flutter against sun-browned skin. she looks at you, a soft smile tugging her mouth.

“got more than i ever dreamed of,” she murmurs. “you. her. this whole life.”

you stroke your fingers through her hair, voice thick:

“so do i.”

by mid-afternoon, the sky bruises dark.

you and ellie race across the porch as fat drops begin to fall, giggling breathless. the thunder rolls low and deep across the fields.

inside, juni shrieks with glee, pressing her hands to the windows to watch the lightning.

“mama ellie, look!”

ellie crouches beside her, one arm curled around juniper’s waist. you settle on the couch behind them, wrapping them both in a worn quilt.

outside, rain batters the tin roof in a steady roar. the house feels small and safe - a little world unto itself.

ellie hums soft against your shoulder, an old song joel used to sing. you press your lips to her hair, breathing her in.

later, with the storm easing, you three curl in bed together, juniper nestled between you. ellie’s arm reaches across both of you, protective even in sleep.

and in the hush of the post-storm dark, your heart aches sweet and full:

this is it. this is everything.

one warm night, you put a record on while ellie’s finishing up the dishes.

the notes crackle soft - slow and sultry country blues.

ellie turns, eyebrow raised. “you tryna seduce me, darlin’?”

you grin, taking her hand. “might be.”

she pulls you into her arms right there in the kitchen, strong hands settling low on your waist. you sway together, bodies pressed close.

“you’re somethin’ else,” she breathes against your ear.

juni comes toddling in moments later, squealing. “dance with me too, mama!”

ellie grins wide, sweeping her up. “always, bug.”

the three of you spin and laugh beneath the old light fixture - the kitchen filled with joy, with love, with all the things that matter most.

down at the south pasture, ellie lifts juniper onto the gentle mare, hands steady on her waist.

“you hold on tight now, juni bug,” she says softly. “i got ya.”

you watch from the fence, heart in your throat.

ellie walks beside them, leading the mare slow and patient. she murmurs praise the whole way, her voice warm and low.

“that’s it. you’re doin’ so good.”

juni beams, waving at you proudly.

ellie catches your gaze, eyes shining, and you both know, without words:

we built this. we’re raisin’ this beautiful little life together.

that night, the house is quiet. juniper sleeps sound and sweet down the hall.

you and ellie curl beneath the quilt, her body warm against yours, her scent all hay and sun and salt.

ellie kisses you slow, deep - her tongue teasing yours, her thigh sliding between your legs.

“been wantin’ you all damn day,” she growls low.

your breath catches as her mouth trails down your neck, her hands rough beneath your nightgown.

“ellie-”

“shh, darlin’,” she soothes. “gonna take care of you real good.”

she strips you slow, reverent, her green eyes dark with hunger as she takes you in, bare beneath her.

“fuck, you’re so goddamn beautiful.”

she slides down between your thighs, lips soft and teasing over the inside of your knee, your inner thigh, making you writhe.

then her mouth is on you; hot, slow, relentless.

her tongue works you steady, her low groans vibrating through your core.

“god-ellie-” you cry, hips arching.

“that’s it, pretty girl. gimme all of it.”

she doesn’t stop until you come shaking beneath her, her name a broken moan from your lips.

but she’s not done.

she slides up your body, slick fingers teasing your entrance.

“wanna feel you ‘round me, darlin’. need it.”

she pushes two fingers deep, slow and sure, her thumb circling your clit.

you gasp, clutching her broad shoulders as she fucks you steady, her mouth hot at your ear:

“love you. love you so fuckin’ much.”

you come undone around her, sobbing her name, lost to the stars.

after, ellie gathers you close, kisses slow and soft.

“mine,” she whispers. “forever.”

you nod, voice thick:

“forever, cowboy.”

in the mornings, ellie brings you coffee in bed before dawn.

in the afternoons, she teaches juniper how to ride, strong and gentle by her side.

in the evenings, she kisses you soft on the porch swing, your daughter’s giggles echoing through the fields.

at night in the hush of your room, beneath the old quilt, she loves you with hands and mouth and heart, slow as the turning of the seasons.

this is the life you chose.

a house full of love.

a wife who touches you like you’re made of gold.

a daughter who lights the whole damn world.

and every day, every breath, you thank the stars you found them both.

[saphiccarma]

- Let them see

Relationships - WandaNat x Reader

Summary - Natasha and Wanda have been locked away in their offices all day, leaving you needy and impatient. So you try to get their attention only to get passed around for inspection.

Warnings: Inspection kink, finger sucking, not exactly smut but it comes closer

A/N: I think this is inspection kink? TvT I've never read or written anything with it before really so I'm sorry if it's bad

Wanda and Natasha sat in their respective offices, across the hall from each other on the second floor of their two story house. Wanda's door was left cracked open, enabling you to hear the soft sounds of her typing and humming some Sokovian song under her breath.

Since Natasha was locked away in her office, you pick Wanda to bother. You were trying to be patient, you really were, but they weren't even in bed when you woke up and now it was dinnertime. You'd walked around the house listlessly all day.

The tasks you completed varied from tidying up the house to organizing everyone's clothes in the bedroom to weeding outside. The house now smelled like cleaning spray and the vanilla candle you lit, every surface spotless with pillows fluffed and counters shining.

And despite your attempts to distract yourself, you were insanely needy. While your girlfriends weren't there when you woke up, one of them had made you coffee, leaving it on the counter with what you thought was a cute little note.

Be a good girl and don't touch yourself while Mommy and Daddy work, yeah? Drink some coffee then why don't you read or clean the house? Sound good? - N.R

So maybe cleaning the house wasn't entirely your own idea, but it was a good distraction. Natasha knew exactly how to rile you up, her hands wandering all over you when the three of you were falling asleep last night - dipping dangerously close to your panties before laughing into your neck with the promise of tomorrow.

With a fresh rose plucked from the newly weeded garden out front, you take the offering to Wanda. Your better bet was probably Natasha, who usually cracked with some soft whines and the occasional foot stomp if you were feeling extra bratty, but her door was closed which meant she might be in a meeting.

Creeping into Wanda's office, you smile softly, rocking on your toes in the doorway and waiting for her to notice you. The flower spins between your fingers, carefully avoiding the sharp thorns that you probably should've picked off.

A petal floats to the floor as a minute passes and you frown, scuffing your foot against the floor in an attempt to get Wanda's attention. Finally, after what felt like forever, she glances up at you, raising an eyebrow to form a perfectly unamused expression.

"Hi," you greet, voice small but filled with arousal. Wanda's eyes meet yours for a moment before flicking back down to her computer and you feel a sinking feeling of disappointment, "I haven't seen you today."

She hums absently, ignoring you for a moment longer before crooking a finger and you take your cue to pad across the carpeted floor. You hover at the side of her desk, gently extending the rose towards her with a hopeful smile.

Wanda finally looks at you for more than two seconds and grabs the rose from your fingers with a soft smile, "Thanks baby."

Her voice is still rough with sleep, a slight accent creeping in, despite it being late in the day. Tells you she's had a rough work day. The rose is set down on the desk before she grabs your collar, slender fingers wrapping around the fabric to tug you down.

Lips meeting hers, you gasp softly, giving her access to your mouth as you melt into the kiss. Her tongue traces your lips teasingly, silently commanding you to open wider. You do without hesitation, a small whine being swallowed up by her lips.

Wanda pulls away far too soon, grinning at how flustered you are over just one kiss.

"Bottoms off," she orders, lips curling into a slight smirk. You blink slowly at her tone of voice, but it wasn't odd for her to be straight to the point, "Today, love. Let Mommy see how wet you are."

Slipping your bottoms off, they pool at your feet, leaving you in just a t-shirt and panties that were utterly soaked. The fabric clings to your skin and you press your thighs together in an attempt to hide how pathetically wet you were. Of course, it doesn't work.

Tongue clicking on the roof of her mouth, a subtle tut of disapproval, Wanda spreads your thighs apart, nudging your ankles with her shoe. She hums in satisfaction, eyes flicking to your face to take in the delicate flush and lower lip pulled between your teeth before back to your panties.

"Did you touch yourself?" She questions, continuing only after your shaky nod, "Good girl. Give Mommy your panties now."

You hesitate for a moment, cheeks deepening to an even further shade of red before slowly slipping out of your panties. Grabbing them off the floor you hold them close, crumpling them into a ball in an attempt to hide the wet patch, nervous and embarrassed to hand them over. The wet clothing dampens your hands slightly as you shuffle awkwardly.

Wanda grabs your wrist, gentle but firm, and holds her other hand out, "Panties."

You drop them into her hand with a soft whine. She gives you a bright smile that betrays her real intentions. Your underwear is brought to her nose and she inhales, smelling your arousal briefly before unfolding them. Her smirk widens fractionally, eyes glued to the wet spot.

"This wet yet neither Daddy nor I have touched you today," her tone is a mocking coo as she folds the panties back up and tucks them into her pocket, "You want someone to fuck you?"

"Please Mommy," you nod your head, hope filling you briefly, "I've been good."

For a moment it looks like Wanda will bend you over the desk right there and right now, but instead, "Go show Daddy how wet you are first, then we'll see."

Suppressing a groan of frustration and resisting the urge to glare at her, you glance at her pocket. Wanda shakes her head, silently telling you that you aren't getting your panties back, and shoos you away. With feet dragging along the floor, you cross the hall to Natasha's office.

You only knock on her door once before pushing it open and slightly stomping over to her desk. She gives you a surprised look at the attitude, mixed with amusement and a raised eyebrow that tells you you are walking on thin ice.

She lets you stand there for a moment, neither of you saying anything. You were too needy and stubborn to not act like a brat in the moment so you simply stood there with your arms crossed and lips pursed into a pout as you rock on your heels.

"Mommy send you in here?" She asks, already knowing the answer. Wanda had shot her a text.

"Yeah," you grumble, spreading your thighs apart slightly. Natasha rolls her eyes at your sharp tone, not at all surprised and finding it slightly amusing.

Her fingers poke your thighs even further apart, "Watch the 'tude," she warns lightly, dragging a nail up and swipe through your folds. A sharp laugh leaves her lips, taunting and infuriating, "Damn you are soaked."

"You got me all worked up," you accuse, which probably isn't the smartest thing you realize as her fingers pinch your clit in warning. It sends both a spark of pain and pleasure through you, "Daddy....please, no more teasing. I need you."

For a moment, the ache between your thighs is settled slightly, eased down from the dull, throbbing pain to something less. Her fingers slide back and forth, occasionally catching on your clit before continuing in the rocking motion.

You let your hips move in tune, knees bending in an attempt to get more pressure, more relief. Eyes fluttering slightly, you moan, head tilting back.

And just like Wanda, she lets you get your hopes up, gathering all your slickness on her fingers, taking her sweet, sweet time. Then she draws her fingers away, smirking in that annoying way of hers, and presses the wet digits to your lips.

You part eagerly, letting her shove them down your throat as your tongue swirls around them to clean them up. Natasha doesn't have to say anything for you to know what to do, lips instinctively latching on and tasting yourself on her.

After you've sufficiently cleaned her fingers up, she pulls them out with a wet pop.

"Go wait on the couch hm? Mommy and I will be done in a little bit." She doesn't give you a chance to protest, instead slapping your ass as she turns you around and sends you out of her office.

[toxicmalysh]

Are you listening Detka?

Wanda X female reader

Word count: 1k+

Summary: established relationship, Wanda is the CEO of her company and has to travel from time to time, whilst calling your attentive girlfriend things take a turn

Warnings: masturbation (R and W), slight degrading, mentions of breeding if you squint, that's pretty much it

✧⋆✦⋆✧

Your girlfriend being the head of her company had its perks, she spoiled you, rotten, anything you even paid more than 5 seconds of attention to she'd buy it for you. Going abroad to sight see, spending time in beautiful villas and beaches. Driving you around in expensive cars with that clean smell. Dates in exclusive restaurants drinking wine you couldn't afford even if you worked for months. It was a lush lifestyle you never imagined until you bumped into the curious woman at your local cafe a few years ago.

However, her job also had its cons, specifically her need to travel from time to time. The job was demanding, having to go to different sites was one of them. It wasn't often but when it was it was for a few weeks at a time leaving you lonely in your shared bed, missing her comfort dearly.

The time difference wasn't much, leaving you a few hours ahead, and she called routinely in her evenings after countless meetings. Usually you'd talk about her day, useless staff not handling her instructions, or your day and how your part time job was going. Tonight however, you were missing one of her features in particular, her ability to make you feel good. You were craving her touch.

"it was an absolute nightmare, I kept telling him he needed to format the spreadsheets before printing them because of the pdf conversion but he just wasn't getting it."

Wanda's voice was smooth through the phone speaker, her subtle accent normally mesmerized you, but there was a slight hoarseness from how tired she was. The usually raspy tone she'd take with you when telling you to spread your legs or lay still.

Your thighs were mindlessly rubbing together, as you found yourself fidgeting to suppress the ache between your legs as your girlfriend spoke. You cleared your throat before attempting to respond.

"haven't you already explained that to him the last time you saw him?"

You listened to the slight groan from the other side, more lewd thoughts filtering into your mind and the idea of how she was usually under you when making that sort of noise.

"I did yeah,"

She took a sharp breath before continuing, you wanted to pay attention, but the throbbing was unbearable and the thought of Wanda next to you stroking your thighs wasn't leaving your head anytime soon.

You shuffled around, humming along to what Wanda was saying, focusing on removing your pyjama bottoms and panties.

"and he tried to argue that he hadn't had this issue before, but he absolutely did because I have told him so many times the graph gets cut off on the right hand side,"

Your focus was faulty, your hand gliding over your right breast slowly, pinching ever so gently over your nipple, all you could process was the cracking of her accent and the wetness spreading across the skin of your thighs.

You rolled your nipple a few times before placing your phone on speaker, onto your nightstand, tracing slow lines down your abdomen before your mound. You needed Wanda so badly, shutting your eyes imagining her hands on your skin.

You pick up specific words coming from Wanda's rant, "dumb" "choke" "so well" "for me" "go on", those few words usually used in a context of punishment or pleasure with you.

Your head was fuzzy, imagining Wanda's fingers gliding up your soaking folds, warm and sensitive from the neediness of the situation. You hummed in response to Wanda's sentences whenever she paused for more than two seconds.

"Are you okay?"

The question snapped you out of your trance for a moment, your fingers freezing, and you began composing yourself to answer,

"Yeah Wands," you were more breathless than you realised, "yeah just keep talking."

"okay darling, well," she paused to remember where she was, your fingers rising to rub tight circles on your clit, "after all of that she finally agreed that,"

Warm, you felt so warm, your chest rising quickly, your fingers moving faster, you weren't even aware of how heavy your breathing had gotten over the phone.

"Are you listening detka?"

Wanda's voice wasn't irritated, but rather low and curious, you began nodding before answering, gulping as you hummed in response not trusting your own words.

There was a few moments of silence before Wanda spoke again,

"let me hear how wet you are."

Your eyes rolled and you let out an audible whine at her words. Usually you'd be humiliated with how she knew what you were doing, embarrassed that you couldn't control yourself around her, but with how close you already were and how badly you needed her, you slid your fingers slowly into your pulsing hole before finding a rougher rhythm.

Wanda could hear your fingers pumping in and out of your cunt, the wet sounds echoing through the phone. She reached for her own pyjamas, pulling them down before placing her phone on speaker matching you.

“Do you miss me that much sweetheart? Need my touch that badly?”

You whined down the line, your fingers moving faster inside yourself, you were nodding quickly, even though Wanda couldn't see, she knew you were, she knew you were answering like the good girl you were. You could feel yourself throbbing around your digits, feeling slightly unsatisfied knowing it wasn't Wanda's slender fingers filling you up.

“Tell me, what would you want if I was there detka?”

You hummed softly, pulling your fingers from your pussy and onto your clit, making faster circles than before, needing a release.

“I.. I would want you to be rough, make sure I knew you still needed to touch my body, feel my pussy around your fingers.”

Wanda's hand found her own clit, groping her breast firmly as she breathed out, imaging you squirming beneath her, crying for anything,

“What about my strap hm? Would you want me to fill that pretty cunt of yours?”

Her voice was broken and your eyes rolled at the idea, suddenly feeling empty with just your hand to pleasure yourself. You cried out as you pushed two fingers back into yourself, curling them the same way Wanda would.

“Please, please I need your cock.”

Your voice was dripping with impatience and neediness, Wanda knew you were close, and the moans that were falling from your lips were pushing her faster to her own climax. She could imagine the way your pussy would throb around her strap, sucking her in deeper as you twitched in pleasure from such strong orgasms.

“I miss you so much.”

Wanda let out an unholy whine at your words, squeezing her eyes as she focused on the sounds of your fingers squelching in your heat. She felt the familiar coil in her abdomen, needing to let go of her pent up stress.

“You have no idea how badly I want to taste what's making all that noise.”

You bit your lip at your girlfriend's voice, breathless and whiney. Her voice was always so commanding and stable, right now it was anything but, shaking and cracking as she moaned through her words. Even the idea of how needy Wanda was to feel and taste you was enough to push you to the orgasm you were ready to beg for,

“Can I cum? Please can I cum? Please please?”

Wanda thought it was adorable how messy you were when begging, repeating words, struggling to finish a sentence, it was utterly adorable. She waited a few seconds, successfully catching up to you before answering,

“Come for me detka be a good girl for me.”

As soon as you heard Wanda's high pitch moan leave her lips, hearing the slight ruffle of the fabric on her end from how hard she was convulsing, your body finally snapped. A white hot rush spread across your body, your limbs locking as they shook erratically, your legs squeezing your hand and arm. Your back arched off the bed and you let out a cracked moan, falling limp immediately as your legs fell back open.

Your breaths synchronised, and you ran your fingers through your hair as you caught your breath, eyes remaining shut as you came down. Just as you were ready to apologise to Wanda for not listening to her rant, her quiet voice climbed through the speaker,

“Can you do another one for me sweetheart?”

[c0eu4]

Charles speaking dirty in french🤭🤭🤭🤭

CL16 | Dirty boy ♡

Summary: Y/n keeps bothering her boyfriend until he gives in and shows her how to be a good girl.

Warning: dirty talk, smut, no protect sex, dom!Charles, sub!reader, mean!Charles, handcuffs, a bit of hitting (soft)

A/N: enjoy<3

Translation: mon amour= my love | Chéri.e= darling

MASTERLIST requests are open

She sits on his lap, her hand passing through his brown hair. ''Mon amour, I'm trying to work.'' If there are two things that the young woman loves, it's annoying her boyfriend when he's trying to work and his horribly sexy French accent.

She kisses his cheek, her other hand running over his abs through his t-shirt. He feels a shiver down his spine, but doesn't give in to temptation. ''Chérie, please.''

She doesn't listen to him and kiss the crook of his neck, nibbing it softly. His hand found its way to her waist, rubbing it softly. ''Don't you want to take a break?'' She let her hand go under his t-shirt, using her fingerstip to touch his abs.

He sighs, from pleasure? Annoying? She does not know but she doesn't care. Her hand under his t-shirt keeps going up, her mouth continuing to stimulate his neck by leaving a few red marks and lovebites.

He didn't push her away, trying to focus on the computer screen in front of him. He begins to feel tight in his pants, her ass wiggling against him and her fingertips tracing the vertical line of his abs.

His hand which was on her waist goes down to caress her ass, squeezing it softly. ''T'as envie que je te baise hein?'' you want me to fuck you, huh?

She doesn't understand what he said but can't help and moan softly against his soft skin. He grabs her jaw and forces her head up to kiss her. She moans into the kiss and Charles takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth, caressing the inside of her cheeks.

She removes his headphone and places it on the desk, running her hand through his hair. He picks her up and moves her into the bedroom, dropping her on the bed. ''Qu'est ce que je vais faire de toi?'' What am I going to do with you?

She feels the excitement build even more in her body, his accent completely turning her brain. ''Tu es si irrésistible..'' You're so irresistible.

He removes his t-shirt, finally revealing his abs that she loves to caress so much. ''Take off all of your clothes.'' His voice was firm yet sweet. She listens to him and takes off her clothes, revealing her underwear to him. ''I said all of your clothes.'' She can't help but blush, even though Charles has seen her naked so many times.

She takes off her last clothes and watches him rummage through the drawer of his nightstand.

''Is it ok if I tie your wrist to the bed?'' She bit her lower lips. ''Yes. You can do whatever you want with me, my love.''

Charles smirks, taking off two handcuffs from the drawer, deftly tying one end around one of her wrist, securing it to the headboard. He repeated this process with her other wrist, leaving her bound and vulnerable in front of him.

He takes his time to take off his pants and joins her in bed, getting on top of her and one of his hands already trailing between her thighs. ''Je parie que tu es toute mouillée, mh?'' I bet you're soaking, mh?

She whines, wanting him to touch her. ''Please.. Charlie..'' He chuckles, his cold hand touching her inner thighs. She can't help but move her hips to try and show him her impatience. His fingers move up slowly and he slides one finger between her wet folds. ''Toute mouillée et rien que pour moi.'' All wet and only for me.

She closes her eyes, trying to move her hands but can't. Her head fell back against the pillow with a long moan of his name when she felt his lips against her bundle of nerves.

She can't help but squirm with pleasure as he continues to stimulate her with his tongue. And just as she was about to cum, Charles suddenly stopped and moved his kisses back to her stomach.

''What the hell Charles!'' she shouted, frustrated. He laughs, kissing her ribs. His laugh is deep and dark, almost frightening.

He rubs himself against her wet fold, making her moan deeply. He can feel the wet through his boxer and it turns him so much on. ''Putain Y/n tu vas me faire jouir juste parce que t'es autant mouillée.'' Damn Y/n you're gonna make me cum just because of your wetness.

''Charles..I need you!'' She whines, shaking violently under him. He doesn't wait longer and takes off his boxer and thrust roughly into her tight and wet cunt.

''Merde.. t'es si serré..'' shit.. you're so tight..

He doesn't wait any longer to almost pull out and go back in roughly.

''Tu la prends si bien.'' You take it so well.

If he keeps talking like that, she'll probably cum faster than expected.

''Oh oui, t'es si bonne.. ma pute..'' Oh yes, you're so good.. my whore..

''Ch-Charles!'' She moaned loudly before cumming hardly around his cock. Charles takes it upon himself and holds back from cumming as he feels her walls tightening around his cock. He speeds up his movements, his hips hitting hers with a sensual sound of flesh smacking and a wet sound.

His hand hits the side of her thigh. ''Dit moi que tu m'appartient.'' Tell me you're mine.

She doesn't understand what he says and moans loudly, not having time to recover from her orgasm.

Charles hit her thigh a second time, this time leaving a red mark of his hand. ''Dit moi que you're mine!''

Her back arches a second time, her eyes filling with tears. ''I-I'm yours !'' He moaned loudly, but kept holding himself. ''En Français.'' in French.

The feeling is almost unbreathable and she can barely find her breath. ''Je..J-je appartiens.'' She managed to moan, with her sensual English accent.

''Putain oui..Bonne fille.. Mon jouet baisable préféré..'' Fuck yes.. good girl.. my favorite fucktoy..

Charles redoubles his efforts, showing his breathing and dumbbell physique in his thrusts. The room is filled with their moans. One of Charles' hands finds its way between her legs, playing with her clit.

She doesn't wait any longer to come brutally a second time, tears leave her eyes to roll down her cheeks.

''Oh oui.. serre moi fort..'' Oh yes.. tight me hard..

Charles continues to thrust inside her until he reaches his own climax, his hot seed feeling her up perfectly.

''Ah! Putain! Y/n! T'es trop bonne!'' Ah! Fuck! Y/n! You're too good!

He crashes into her, still being careful not to hurt her. After a few minutes of catching their breath, he pulls out of her with a wet noise and one last moan leaves her lips.

He unties her hands, massaging her wrist to relieve it. ''Ça va, mon chat?'' All good, my cat?

She turns around and hugs him tightly, nuzzling her head into his neck. ''That was great. As usual.''

He can't help but smirk, his hands rubbing her back. ''Je sais que t'aime bien quand je suis méchant avec toi..'' I know you like it when I'm mean with you..

One of his hand goes lower and gently strokes her red thigh. She kisses his neck, already nibbing on it again.

''Ready for round two?''

[storiesofsvu]

Captain's Office

*NOT MY GIF* I wanted a very particular vibe for this fic and tumblr's function sucks! Found of google, credit goes to @fourteenthofaugust !*

Olivia Benson x fem!reader

2.3k Warnings: language, smut, slight teasing, minor Captain kink, somewhat public sex but not really?

Your morning was spent working from home, your afternoon spent in the courtroom followed by a few hours working through the case with the ADA. This mean you’d forgone your usual look of detective, one ready to race through the streets of New York tackling perps and opted for a softer more approachable and friendly one of credible witness to the case who understood everything at stake. Your hair curled around your shoulders, loosened as the day passed, your regular blazer over top, now at the end of the day finding its home in the back of your car. Dress exposed, professionally enough, but hugging your body, fitted enough to accent the curve of your ass perfectly.

Which is exactly why you thought you’d have a slight upper hand when you showed back up to the precinct, the only light coming from Olivia’s office.

Her text had pinged your phone roughly an hour ago, telling you to meet her back there rather than home. At first you thought maybe she’d had dinner delivered to work instead, choosing to finish up the paperwork rather than bring it with her but the silence of the bull pen told you otherwise, there was no one else left in the building.

“You… wanted to see me?” You asked softly, perching in her doorway, a soft smile on your cheeks.

Olivia tore her gaze away from the file folder in front of her, flipping it shut as her eyes dragged up your body, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. She shoved her work off to the side, removing her glasses to place on top of the pile before she leant back in her chair and your breath caught in your throat. She was still in her uniform blues, her black nail polish catching in the low light as a piece of her bangs swung loose from her now somewhat messy updo.

“Close the door.” She instructed, her voice low and you did as she asked, waiting for her next order, “c’mere…”

Two of her fingers crooked and you nearly stumbled over your high heeled feet as your heart began to thud in your chest, heading in the direction of a chair in front of her desk. The corner of her lips flicked up into a grin, her eyes darkening as your fingers wrapped around the chair arm.

“Uh-uh.” She shook her head, fingers tapping the side of the desk she was sitting behind, “come here, pretty girl.”

Gulping, you rounded the desk, propping yourself up against the edge while she leaned even further back in her chair. Her head tilted for a moment, smirk evident on her lips while her eyes traced every curve of your body, lingering where your skirt rode up your thighs, the way your chest strained against the neckline. Reaching out her hand grasped your leg, sliding up until it met the hem of your skirt and she nearly chuckled at the way your breathing picked up while she played with the fabric.

“I was right.”

“Sorry?” You managed out, your fingers gripping at the wood behind you.

“You.” Her eyes twinkled, her hand beginning to ghost up your body, sliding up your stomach, delicately making its way between your breasts, avoiding where you really wanted her touch before gently wrapping around your throat as she rose to her feet in front of you, “liking me in uniform.”

“I…”

“Ah!” Her hand tightened around your throat ever so, “don’t lie to me sweetheart. I can feel the way your pulse is racing already.”

You gulped again, noticing the way your throat bobbed under her hand and the way her eyes darkened at the sensation. You couldn’t help the way your lips parted, whether an invitation for hers or an attempt to get more oxygen to your suddenly heaving lungs you weren’t sure.

“Yes…” you breathed out, “I like it.”

“Yes what?” Her chin tilted down as her fingers squeezed your throat.

“I like it Captain.”

“Good girl.” She smiled softly, her hand letting go of your neck, sliding down it and her fingers began to trace across your collarbone before dipping to the curve of your chest, swirling around until she was circling your nipple, one then the other.

Your gulped, taking a shuddering breath, doing your best to maintain eye contact, Olivia’s gaze burning into yours, her eyes darkening the more she toyed with your body. A cocky smirk remained plastered on her lips as her fingers repeated their patterns on the other side of your chest before finding your sternum, trailing lower and lower until she thought she would find the hem of your underwear. When her fingertips found only smoothness her brow cocked, her head tilting as she clicked her tongue.

“No panties?” She questioned, “dirty girl.” Her fingers slipped under your dress, tracing up your inner thigh until you let out a little whimper.

“Please…”

She chuckled, the tip of her middle finger trailing through your folds, collecting just enough wetness to circle around your clit, “shame I don’t have the strap.” Her finger tapped your clit and you shivered, “could have bent you over my desk, fucked you nice and hard…” she leant down, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck, “nice and deep” she repeated the action on the other side while her palm caressed at your cunt. “my cock buried in that pretty pussy of yours.” The tips of her fingers slid between your pussy lips, just far enough from where you wanted them, “over… and over… again….” Each time she paused she pulled her hand away from the heat of your cunt before gently hitting it, your whines getting louder with each touch. “I can just imagine the way you’d sound.” Her teeth nipped at your neck as her hand disappeared from under your skirt. You let out a frustrated huff, your hands coming to clutch at her uniform, “you’re practically ready to beg right now, aren’t you?”

She raised a brow but you knew better than to respond and because of that you were rewarded instantly, her leg surged forward, knee bracing against the desk between your thighs and a gasp left your lips when your bare pussy met the muscle.

“Oh god…”

Her hands found your waist, grinding you down onto her thigh, guiding you to roll your hips as you bit your lip in an attempt to stifle any noises. Olivia’s fingers squeezed into your waist, moving you faster, the fabric of her pants brushing against your clit each time you moved on her leg, sending pleasure soaring through your entire body. The slow build up of fluttering in your stomach became fire prickling your skin, breaking it out in goosebumps as your pussy began to pulse around nothing.

“You’re always such a good girl for your Captain.” Olivia purred, a hand briefly leaving your waist to tug down the neckline of your dress, your breasts spilling out, nipples hardening in the cool air of her office.

“Mmhmm…” you nodded feverishly; eyes wide as you looked up at her with need splayed across your face.

“Don’t worry.” Chuckling, she leant down, her lips wrapping around your nipple, sucking it into her mouth and your mouth fell open with a quiet moan, “I’m going to let you come sweet girl.” Her breath was hot against your sensitive skin, “I just want to hear you first.” The tip of her tongue shot out, flicking your nipple before blowing a cool stream of air against it and you whimpered, your hand coming to tangle into her hair, further mussing the updo. “That’s it…” she urged, her mouth sucking at your skin again, teeth gently sinking in right as she flexed her thigh against your bare cunt. “You like it when I touch you like this?” Her hand came up, pinching at one nipple while she sucked the other into her mouth.

“Yes…” You breathed out, your hips grinding down harder onto her.

“You like the way it feels when that pretty pussy drags over my thigh?” Her voice was husky, breath hot on your skin as she spoke, the hand she had on your waist tilted your hips back while her thigh pressed up. A loud gasp escaped your lips as your clit directly hit the muscle of her leg.

“Fuck.” Your eyes fluttered shut, your hands desperately gripping the fabric on her shoulders, “yes, oh god yes.”

“I already know you like being bitten.” She confirmed it when her teeth sunk into the underside of your breast and you groaned, arching into the touch, “but what else?”

“Please….” You whined and she chuckled.

“You’re practically shaking sweet girl.” Her tongue swiped over your nipple again, “what would you like?”

“Fingers…” your lips parted, your breath coming out in quick pants as your hips began to roll even faster over her thigh, “need you inside me. Wanna feel you.”

“Hmm?” Her mouth left your chest, her hands wrapping around your waist as she stilled your movement, shifting you off her leg so you were perched on the edge of her desk and your eyes flew open. Her hands flicked up the skirt of your dress and her tongue darted out to wet her lips at the sight of your cunt glistening in the low light of the office, your juices smeared across her pant leg. “You’re dripping already,” she reached out, her fingers dipping into your pussy, “you want to come around my fingers? Make a mess all over my desk?”

“Yes!” You replied, probably too eagerly and a blush crept onto your cheeks, “please. Need to.”

“Alright sweet girl.” Leaning in, Olivia pressed her lips to yours just as her fingers sunk into your cunt and she swallowed down the deep moan that left your throat. “Good girls do get rewarded after all.”

Her mouth quickly returned to your chest, sucking a nipple in between her lips, scraping at it with her teeth as her fingers began to pump in and out of your drenched pussy. Your head dropped back, a muffled cry from behind your closed lips as you dropped back onto your elbows for support. Fire was racing under your skin, your pussy already clenching down around her fingers and you both knew it wasn’t going to take very long before Olivia had your entire body shaking. With each thrust of her fingers the noises coming from your pussy got louder, wet and messy like the kisses she was leaving on your chest. Her teeth sunk into the sensitive skin around your nipple right as her fingers crooked and you cried out.

“Fuck!” Your voice was hoarse, your thighs quaking around her as she continued her movements, each time pressing harder and longer against the extra sensitive spot inside you.

“What do you say?” She nearly growled, her free hand moving to rub your clit and your hips nearly shot off the desk.

“Please Captain!” The coil deep in your stomach was winding tighter and tighter, the need for your release driving you wild enough that tears were beginning to form in the corners of your eyes.

“Please what?” She asked with a particularly hard pinch on your clit and you couldn’t help but moan.

“Please can I come?” You whimpered, “oh god, m’so close, please Captain.”

“You may.”

Olivia sucked your breast back into her mouth, her fingers working you perfectly, knowing just how to fuck you, just when she needed to crook her fingers again, just how hard to press and just how fast to rub your clit. She could feel your juices trickling down her wrist, your pussy clenching tighter and tighter.

“That’s it baby. Squeeze my fingers, let me feel you come.” She pressed her fingers even harder, her entire body rocking into the thrusts and with one final push of her hand you were crying out.

Your legs instantly wrapped around her, pulling her impossibly close to you as your body began to quake, whimpers and breathless moans leaving your lips. Your hand shot out, tugging her to you by the tie, ruining the perfect lines of her captain’s uniform as you gasped against her lips. A sturdy arm wrapped around your waist, hugging you to her while she peppered your face with gentle kisses and she slowly fucked you through your orgasm. When you finally let out a heavy breath, your head dropping onto her shoulder and your body nearly limp in her arms she slipped her fingers out of your pussy.

You let out a small whine, lifting your head and she couldn’t help but smile at the way you obediently opened your mouth for her to slide her fingers into so you could suck them clean.

“Good girl.” She cooed, her free hand stroking the side of your face, smoothing back your mussed up hair.

Her fingers slipped out of your mouth and she leant forward to press a gentle kiss to it while her hands readjusted your dress, neatly tucking your tits back under the fabric. Olivia took a moment to survey you, fixing the twisted strap of your dress, neatly combing her fingers through your hair, twisting the strands back into place and sliding a couple of bobby pins in properly. Her hands gently tapped your knees as she stepped back and you closed your legs so she could smooth the bottom of your dress back down. Her eyes slowly drifted back up your body, aside from your tinged cheeks and the way your lips were still parted in a final attempt to catch your breath, you looked completely normal, like you’d only stopped in the office to pick her up from work.

“Now, how about we get you home?” She held her hand out for you to take and helped you hop of the desk, a smile on her cheeks as you instantly nuzzled into her side.

“Yes please.”

“You better not be getting all tired on me,” she chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “I wasn’t kidding about bending you over and fucking you hard enough to make you scream.”

_______________

Before people start flooding the ask box/comments, NO! There WILL NOT be a part two. If you come asking for it, that will not help the situation, it will just make it worse.

_________

@red1culous @imlike-so-gaydude @altsvu @svulife-rl rl @svushots @lesbianspacecowboy @wannabe-fic-reader @lawandorderimagines @venablemayfairgoode @alexusonfire @mysticfalls01 @beccabarba @littlegaybabe @cmmndrwidw @bumblebear30 @enduringalexblake @wosoimagines @solemnnova @infernumlilith @australiancarisi @cerberus-spectre @wandas-wife @emskisworld @lawandorderuswnt @wandasbrat @hbkpop @samwithnoplan @multifandomlesbianic @sia2raw @ladysc @narvaldetierra @dxtery @poisonedcrowns @momlifebehard @holycrapraewth @alexxavicry @onmykneesformarvel @kmc1989 @temp0rary-bliss @gamma-rae-bursts

[e3rie-m1mi]

"Pining" NICOLANDRIA FIC

Pining: (adj) suffering with or expressing longing or yearning for someone or something.

The villa was quiet, too quiet.

The usual sounds of kissing and heavy breathing in the beds next to Olandria's and Taylor's are now gone, only leaving the quiet sounds of the night breeze on the beaches of Fiji.

Olandria can't sleep, a heavy feeling in her gut not letting her. Deciding to get some much-needed fresh air, she gets up and walks out the room into soul ties.

There she sits with her eyes closed, and listens to the waves crash on the beach, finally feeling free.

"What are you doing here?"

Letting out a gasp of fear, Olandria opens her eyes and looks to where the voice filled with sleep came from.

Nic stood there, in front of her with nothing but his pjs and socks. With a look of confusion and curiosity on his face, he smiles at Olandria and moves to sit next to her.

"Boy, you almost gave me a heart attack, come on now." Olandria laughs quietly, and grabs a pillow throwing it at Nic.

Laughing, Nic catches it and places it under his head as he lays in soul ties with Olandria. "You didn't answer my question"

"I can't sleep," Olandria moves to lay next to Nic. "I think I miss home"

"Do you want me to speak in a southern accent and steal one of Taylor's cowboy hats?"

Bursting out laughing, Olandria can't help but shake her head. "No, I quite like you as yourself." She smiles.

"Oh?" Nic provocatively questions, "You like little old me?"

"Yes, your pretty fun of whatever" Olandria rolls her eyes.

Smiling, Nic brushes a strand of hair from Olandria face. "You're pretty fun too, Olandria"

"Thank you," Olandria can't help but close her eyes with content. Nic can't help but stare at her lips.

"You're... really...pretty" Nic quietly mumbles as Olandria opens her eyes again and smiles. Her big, beautiful smile.

Nic moves closer to Olandria, letting her move away if she wanted too, but she stays put. "Are you nervous?" Olandria quietly asks Nic,

"No" he responds staring at her with his blue eyes.

"Then why are you shaking?" Olandria raises an eyebrow as she takes Nic's hand in her own.

Nic, deciding to trust his gut, moves in and kisses Olandria on the brow, then her soft cheek, "I'm not religious, but I would worship you."

No one but the moon and Olandria heard his small confession.

Finally, he moves in and kisses Olandria on her soft pillowy lips.

Olandria kisses back with as much passion as Nic, which is that of a thousand poets, "You are a force of nature, Nicolas" Olandria can't help but whisper quietly against his lips.

When they pull away from each other, they are breathless and hungry. Nic grabs Olandria's hips and moves her to straddle him, where he continues to kiss her.

They continue on until Nic feels if he's going to explode from emotion. When he reaches that point, he slowly let's go of Olandria and places her laying on her back.

Olandria feels her eyes get heavy with sleep. "We should go back to bed."

"No, I think we can stay here a little longer" Nic begins to softly trace Olandria's arm with his nails, leaving goosebumps in his wake, yet relaxing Olandria to no end.

Soon enough Olandria has fallen asleep, and all Nic can do is stare at her angelic face, heart beating out of his chest.

This looks so wrong but feels so right.

Nic chose Cierra, he likes Cierra, but why has he never felt this way before with her? Olandria is...otherworldly compared to any girl, not only in the villa, but any he's ever met.

Soon seeing the rays of sun rise above the horizon, Nic picks Olandria up, careful as to not wake her and carries her back to her bed where she will wake; confused and hazy, brushing off last night as a dream too good to be true.

But it was true, and Nic remembered everything.

He just wished Olandria did too.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

HEY LOVIESSS sorry no vampire armin update today :(

My friend requested me to write a nicolandria fic so I decided to push back armin until tmr lol

hope u enjoyed my lil oneshot and enjoy tonights love island ep!!

[vidals-harkness]

hey! Could I make a request of more agathario as users mothers? Reader goes with Agatha on the witches road and they reunite with mami Rio? And reader is young? Thanks!🤍

hola mi vida (agatha harkness, rio vidal)

summary: when mama takes you with her on the witch’s road, what can she do when you meet your mami again, after all the years of her vanishing?

fic type: fluff

pairings: agatha harkness x child!reader, rio vidal x child!reader

word count: 2.3k

It was just a normal afternoon—the air was calm, quiet, cool with the shy onset of autumn. The park was not deserted, as you sat on the swings, using a stick to trace patterns on the ground. Or rather, Wiccan symbols that the town children always saw you making (and made a point to stay away from you about).

It was only when you skipped home, sage and stick in hand, that you saw the door blown down, a random boy in the hallway all tied up, and your mother going off her rocker.

“Mama?” You questioned, confused.

“No time to talk, hon, grab that bag and let’s get in the car,” she said, pointing at your school bag on a chair.

“But mama we don’t—“ you began, confused, but she simply grabbed your bag, picked you up and whisked you away into the car. Or rather, Teen’s car.

“You trust me?” She asked, buckling you in.

You nodded, fidgeting with your stick. “Mhm,” you hummed.

She smiled and winked, linking her pinky with yours, kissing it gently. “Mama always protects you, okay?”

“Okay,” you giggled.

“So…she’s yours?” Teen asked, pointing at you in the backseat where you sat, playing with some sort of wooden puzzle from your bag.

“No,” Agatha said, sarcastically. “I picked up a random six year old in the park cause I’m a pedophile,”

At his gobsmacked expression, she frowned, irritated, “Of course she’s mine, pet, look! Don’t you see the resemblance?”

You look at Teen through the rearview mirror and smiled angelically. Apart from maybe your facial structure you took after Rio more than her.

“Doesn’t matter, just drive,” she sighed, irritated.

The first stop was Lilia’s house, which seemed like a nice place. Except the energy felt a little too buzzed for your liking.

“Alright hon, you don’t talk unless I tell you to, okay?” Agatha said, kneeling at your level, a smile on her face. “And if Mama makes a silly voice, you don’t question it,”

You nodded, smiling at her. “Okay, mama!”

“That’s my girl,” she said, pinching your cheek gently, standing up and putting her hair in a bun before wrapping a shawl around her shoulders.

The place was as odd as its energy, with you disliking the sound of clattering beads from the bead curtain, hand holding your favourite stick (rather a crooked wand Agatha didn't use anymore).

"Welcome to the curious," said Lilia, appearing from the back room.

You looked at the lady, frowning, "You're kooky,"

"Now, now, sweetheart, we ain't rude to the nice lady," Agatha spoke in a thick Southern accent. "Good day, madam, Oh. Thank you so much for seein’ us. We are hopin’ for a miracle today,"

You looked at Agatha weirdly, confused with her accent. She never talked like this usually...did she?

"This is my boy, Beauford, and my princess Charlotte here," she smiled, pointing at you both. When Teen went to protest, she shut him up, "He doesn’t talk much. He’s got social anxiety. Their daddy recently passed, and we miss him somethin’ awful."

A long while and several witches later, you stood in Agatha's basement with the other witches, happily vibing with their rendition of the Ballad. However, just as the door made itself known, the Salem Seven crashed into the house, Teen coming downstairs in a flurry of panic to scoop you up and dash down the Road's entrance.

The first trial passed, with only one casualty--Mrs. Davis, but it left you mostly shaken up. You had never seen so many witches hallucinate single-handedly before.

The forest was quiet, the only sound being that of the shovel scraping the ground as Teen dug a grave for Mrs. Hart.

You knelt next to the dead woman, tilting your head as you peered at her, poking her with your stick gently.

“Mama?” You asked, looking at Agatha. “Mama, she feels very not-alive,”

“Yeah hon,” she smiled, side-eyeing Jen. “Because Jen didn’t give her enough antidote so she is now not-alive,”

“Are you really badmouthing me to a six year old, Agatha?” Jen deadpanned. “How petty can you be?”

“Very, apparently,” Lilia rolled her eyes.

“Kooky lady is correct,” you nodded, earning a snicker from Alice.

“I’m not kooky!” Lilia scowled at you, only to receive an angelic smile in return.

You hummed to yourself as you walked around the clearing while the adults and Teen argued.

At the mention of an incomplete coven, you tugged at Agatha’s sleeve, asking softly, “Mrs. Hart wasn’t a witch, so if this is the Witch’s Road, can’t you call for a green witch?”

“Yes, thank you, little one!” Teen said, pointing at you. “How does a six year old have more brains than you all combined?”

“People have told me I’m something called ‘insightful’,” you shrugged.

“More like irritating,” Lilia scowled, looking at you.

“She isn’t the one bickering like a bunch of old ladies, is she?” Agatha shrugged. “Now come on, we have a spell to cast. Vamonos,”

You skipped after her, excitedly, helping her map out the person shape on the ground with your stick.

“Am I helping nice, mama?” You asked her, grinning proudly.

She nodded, fixing the outline, kneeling at the border of it. “Oh absolutely, sweet girl. The most helpful out of all these idiots,”

You smiled angelically, making her mutter, “You sure as hell didn’t get that smile from me, that’s for sure,”

As the witches gathered to start their spell, you stood with them—young magic was the most effective, honestly.

“May she be strong and wise, and the best at her craft,” said Lilia, placing down a crystal.

“May she be smart and not annoying,” said Agatha, placing another thing down, adding, “And also, not super political,”

“May she be pleasant looking,” said Jen, wrinkling her nose.

“Can she bring some Advil?” Alice sighed, placing her crystal down.

“Can she annoy the kooky lady?” You asked as Agatha tapped your shoulder to put your offering down. “May she be…fun,”

“I’m not kooky!” Lilia snapped at you.

“Are too!” You giggled, sticking your tongue out at her.

“Y/n, for the love of god just behave,” Agatha sighed. “I can’t deal with this right now,”

“Now what?” Teen interjected.

“Now we wait,” said Lilia. “True witchcraft takes time. The spell must marinate, gestate—“

She was interrupted by a hand sticking out of the mud behind you all, causing a scream to erupt from everyone.

Agatha shoved you back, arms out protectively as you giggled excitedly at the sight.

“Agatha, what did you do?!” Jen exclaimed.

“What do you mean, what did I do? This was very clearly a group effort!” She protested.

“It’s so silly!” You squealed, laughing at the cracking noises the witch’s bones made as she emerged from the ground.

“Your kid is a psycho like you!” Jen said, judging you as you laughed like this was a particularly funny episode of Bluey.

“She’s got character!” Agatha retorted sharply.

“Oh, my God, did we turn Mrs. Hart into a zombie?” Teen exclaimed.

“What spell did we cast?” Alice cried out.

Panicked and looking into Teen’s spell book. “Why is the print so small?” She wailed.

The witch righted herself, and you peeked from behind Agatha, intrigued and suddenly elated to see who it was.

Mami.

“MAMI!” You squealed, about to run to Rio, happy beyond belief.

“Heard you guys were having a party?” Rio gasped. She looked over at you, winking, “Hola nena,”

“How did you…” Agatha breathed, horrified, keeping you back despite your indignant squirming.

“I was in the neighborhood,” she gasped, opening her palm to reveal a flower. “Surprise. My lady,”

Agatha snatched the flower, screamed, and tried to attack her, but everyone held her back, Jen and Alice keeping her in check.

“We just summoned her!”

“We need her,”

As Agatha stormed off, Teen followed. You didn’t care about her little temper tantrum. It wasn’t the first you’d seen her have.

You were more concerned about Rio.

She was your Mami, the one who would play pranks on Agatha with you, the one who could calm you down in even the worst meltdowns, the one who accompanied you to the park every time the bullying got bad. Your Mami.

You hugged her tightly. She smelt the same, she felt the same. She was soft, she was the comforting kind of cold. She smelt like earth and old books and cinnamon, a scent so familiar that it made you bury your face into her robe to simply take in her scent.

“Nena,” she laughed. “You got so big,”

“I’m six, mami!” You gave her a broad grin, looking up at her.

“I guess we know now where the psycho comes from,” Jen muttered.

“Hey, what’s up, I’m Rio,” she said, nodding at them, still holding you close.

The three gave her a quiet, somewhat terrified and awkward greeting, before she gave them a cheeky grin and went after Agatha.

“So what do you think, can we trust her?” Alice asked.

“Agatha hates her, I’d say that goes in the ‘pro’ column,” Lilia shrugged.

“I mean…the kid thinks she’s legit,” Alice noted.

“The kid’s as psycho as she is,” Lilia scoffed. “Like calls to like and all that,”

“You’re just salty cause she calls you kooky,” Alice grinned.

“I’m not!”

Meanwhile, you walked with Rio, playing with her fingers gently as you talked her ears off.

The conversation eventually took a serious turn as you both paused and waited for the others.

“Mami,” you said, kicking a stone as you walked with her. “Mami, why did you leave me and go? Did I do something? Did mama? Did Nicky?”

Rio sighed. She knew this question was inevitable. She couldn’t avoid it, she knew that.

She stopped and knelt to your height, holding your arms in a gentle grip, making the others pause in their tracks.

Her voice was so soft, so gentle. “Mira, mi amor,” she said softly. “Sometimes…things happen which can’t be fixed unless one person removes themselves from the equation. It was not yours or Nicky’s fault, alright?”

She sensed your apprehension. An apprehension that broke her heart because she didn’t want to leave. She had to. She had no choice.

“Is it a grown up thing?” You whispered, voice barely audible.

“It is, nena,” she nodded. “But you’re still a little girl, you’re small. You won’t understand even if I explained it simply. I want you, my smart, sweet girl, to know that mami going away was not your fault,”

She thought before adding, “I am sorry for leaving, though. Mi vida, lo siento,”

It made you feel better, indeed. “It’s okay, Mami,” you smiled. “I’m happy you’re with me now,”

She grinned and scooped you up, putting you in her shoulders deftly, making you squeal with happiness. There she was, fun Mami. Your Mami.

“Come on now, let’s make some trouble,” she grinned up at you, winking. “Mami’s not going anywhere anytime soon,”

“What if I get hurt?” You asked quietly.

“Then mami’s always here to protect you,” she grinned, squeezing your hand gently.

You nodded, trusting her words.

The Road was long and it was hard.

But maybe things wouldn’t be too bad.

Mami and Mama protected you. Always.

hi hi my bao buns! i hope you enjoyed it! it was quite long, i must say, haha. do request more and i’m working on the rest currently!

[foxtrology]

thank fuck you're not complete done with that harry castillo universe because I've barely finished the last chapter and I already miss them 🥹 could you write prompt 31, pretty please? 🥺

dad! harry castillo

prompt 31: harry takes adella to the bookstore and ends up reading four picture books aloud on the floor. two people recognize him. he doesn’t care.

prompt list

⸻

The plan had been simple.

In and out.

One quick stop at the bookstore for the new release Adella’s preschool teacher had mentioned—the one about a grumpy squirrel and a weather balloon or something equally ridiculous—and then back home before lunch.

That had been the plan.

But Harry Castillo had long since learned that plans—especially ones involving six-year-olds with untamable curls and big, curious eyes—meant absolutely nothing.

It was drizzling when they left the house, the kind of late spring rain that didn’t quite warrant umbrellas but still managed to soak through clothes if you stayed outside too long.

Adella had insisted on wearing her yellow rain boots even though the bookstore was only a few blocks away, and Harry—who had once made men cry in negotiation rooms—simply nodded and grabbed the matching coat from the peg by the door.

She splashed in every puddle along the sidewalk.

He didn’t rush her.

The bell above the bookstore door chimed softly as they stepped inside. It was warm and dry, the kind of cozy space that smelled like cinnamon and paper and the faintest trace of whatever candle the owner kept burning on the front counter. The lights were low and golden, and the jazz playing through the speakers was gentle enough to feel like background breathing.

Adella gasped.

Not dramatically—just that quiet, delighted sound she always made when entering places she loved. Her mitten-sized hand tightened around his, and Harry looked down just in time to see her eyes go wide at the sight of the children’s section.

“Can we stay a little bit?” she asked, already tugging at his arm.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Of course.”

She led him there like she’d been born in that bookstore. Past the poetry wall, through the shelves of new fiction, around a table stacked with cookbooks where she paused to point at a pie and whisper, “You should make that for mommy.” Harry grunted in agreement, mentally adding lemon meringue to the next grocery list.

By the time they reached the children’s nook, her raincoat had been unzipped and her curls had started to frizz from the weather. She didn’t care. She had spotted the beanbag chairs. And the bookshelf shaped like a tree.

Harry didn’t bother with the adult-sized reading bench. He was on the floor in seconds, long legs folding awkwardly beneath him, back pressed against the soft cushion of a floor pillow that clearly hadn’t been designed with six-foot men in mind.

Adella dropped to his side with the dramatic flair of a child in her own kingdom.

“Okay,” she said, breathless with excitement. “Pick four.”

“Four?”

“Four books, daddy.” She grinned, one front tooth missing, the other slightly wiggly. “That’s how many we can read before snack.”

He gave a mock sigh. “Only four?”

“For now.”

He let her choose.

Of course he did.

The first one was about a cow who wanted to be a ballerina.

Harry read every word. In a very bad French accent.

Adella giggled so hard she snorted, and he grinned so wide it made the edges of his eyes crinkle.

The second was about a brave girl pirate with a pink eyepatch and a sidekick parrot who only spoke in riddles. Adella leaned against him the whole time, warm and heavy, her head on his shoulder, legs kicked up like she didn’t have a care in the world.

By the third, a quiet story about a raccoon who built a treehouse for all his friends, she had started mouthing some of the words along with him.

And by the fourth—a ridiculous tale about a dragon who was afraid of the dark—Harry had stopped noticing the faint ache in his back or the way his foot had fallen asleep.

He was fully in it. All of it.

Reading in the corner of a bookstore with his daughter in his lap, surrounded by pillows and the soft rustle of pages and the occasional squeal of a toddler from the other aisle.

People stared.

Of course they did.

Two women near the café section exchanged hushed whispers behind travel mugs. One of them snapped a quick photo with her phone, trying to be subtle. Another man, standing by the nonfiction shelf, did a double-take.

Harry Castillo. That Harry Castillo. On the floor of a bookstore with his knees poking out awkwardly from a child-sized nook, his voice animated, his tone ridiculous, his daughter giggling so hard she nearly fell over.

Harry didn’t notice.

Or maybe he did.

And he just didn’t give a damn.

Because this—this was what mattered now.

Not the company he’d once obsessed over. Not the Forbes headlines or the nameplate on the door of an office he hadn’t stepped inside in almost three years. Not the whispers about his age or the commentary about becoming a father so late in life.

He was late. Sure.

But he wasn’t too late.

And she—his daughter, his firecracker, his reason—was worth every second of that delay.

At one point, Adella looked up at him, curls slightly sweaty from leaning against his chest, eyes heavy with the kind of soft, satisfied glow only good mornings bring.

“Mommy would like this one,” she whispered, pointing to the ballerina cow book again.

“She would,” Harry agreed, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“We should bring it home.”

He nodded. “Done.”

“And we should tell her about the dragon.”

“We’ll act it out at dinner.”

“And maybe next time—”

“There will be a next time,” he interrupted gently, squeezing her hand. “There’s always a next time with you.”

She beamed.

Eventually, they did head home.

With five books in a paper bag—Adella had added one last-minute “for Frances”—and two hot chocolates from the corner café that Harry said were overpriced but bought anyway.

By the time they walked back through the front door, her boots were soaked, and her cheeks were flushed pink, and Harry’s shirt had a faint smear of whipped cream down the front where she’d hugged him too quickly with sticky fingers.

His wife was in the kitchen, apron dusted with flour, humming to a song playing low from her phone speaker.

She looked up as they entered, eyes warm.

“Good time?” she asked, even though she already knew the answer.

Harry nodded.

“She made me read four books on the floor,” he said, setting the bag down with a mock groan.

Adella grinned. “He did voices.”

She laughed, crossing the room to kiss his cheek. “Of course he did.”

Later, after lunch and a bath and a half-hour of chasing Frances out of the pantry, Adella was curled up in bed for her nap, and Harry stood at the foot of her mattress, just… watching.

Not hovering.

Just being.

“She’s getting so big,” he murmured.

His wife came up beside him, slipping an arm around his waist. “She’s still your little girl.”

He didn’t say anything.

Just nodded.

And when he slipped his hand into his back pocket later that night, emptying the day’s contents onto his dresser, he found one of the bookstore receipts folded neatly around a crayon drawing Adella had made while sipping her hot chocolate.

It was a picture of them. Him on the floor, book in hand. Her curled up in his lap. Frances, inexplicably wearing a crown.

He tucked it into the drawer next to the watch he rarely wore anymore.

And smiled.

Because even in his sixties, even after everything, Harry Castillo had never been happier to be recognized as just a dad.

And he knew, deep in his bones, he’d read her another book tomorrow.

And the next day.

And the next.

Forever, if she’d let him.

[cherry-coffees]

actress!Caitlyn x reader

cw: 18+ mdni, mutual pining, reader falls first but Caitlyn falls harder, mentions of fingering/oral sex/strap sex, Caitlyn's a little possessive, dom!Caitlyn, but both are switches, nothing too explicit but yk, inspired by the Wildest Dreams music video

Wildest Dreams starring Caitlyn Kiramman.

Caitlyn Kiramman is the darling of the acting industry. She never wanted to go into the political world of Piltover, thus she hired an agent and found her way into acting before her mother could say no. She's an immediate success. After all, she's a tall, commanding, endearing woman: the acting industry's lesbian heartthrob, if you will. So when the opportunity arises for you to co-star in a romance movie with her, you jump at the chance.

It's over from the start, basically. You fall victim to her alluring gaze and long legs and her surprising amount of strength. When you film a scene, Caitlyn picks you up from behind and swings you around a little, holding you securely against her chest. She's ever the gentlewoman: even when your dress flies up, she's smoothing it down with one hand before setting you on your feet. You come off the set with your cheeks flushed pink. It's not your fault that she's devastatingly attractive.

It takes you a few weeks to figure out that it's not an unrequited crush. You're filming a scene in which you run after her in the rain, your clothes soaked and breath shaky. When the director calls cut, Caitlyn immediately slips off her jacket and lifts it above your head to shield you from the rain.

"You're not too cold, are you?" Caitlyn's hand brushes stray raindrops from your messy hair, lingering a little too long as it slides down your cheek: a touch too intimate to be platonic. You look up at her with widened eyes and see nothing but concern in her own. "I have extra blankets in my room. I don't want you to catch a cold." Her posh accent and furrowed eyebrows display a picture of innocent worry.

That's the night it begins.

Fleeting glances and the occasional brushing of hands on set become messy kisses in the privacy of Caitlyn's hotel suite. She fucks you nice and deep, putting her unfairly long fingers to use. At night, she'll guide your face between her legs, then shift your body upwards so she can fuck you properly. "Oh, just imagine if fans knew you were this desperate," she whispers when she curves her fingers to hit the spot that makes you keen. "We're here to work, but all you want to do is get fucked, huh? But not by everyone. Only me."

It's not just nights with her, either. When Caitlyn reads over her script in the morning, memorizing her lines for the day, she'll tug you into her lap. You shouldn't be surprised when you feel her strap against your thigh. "Go on," she coaxes, though she doesn't look up from her script. "You can ride me. But you're not allowed to come until I have this scene memorized."

Yet, the second you step on set, it's like none of that ever happened. You're keeping a secret that only the two of you share, and you're not sure how to feel about it. Maybe you want Caitlyn to be yours, and maybe you want other people to know it too. When you kiss her in front of the cameras, you pretend it's the first time you've ever known how soft her lips are.

And when you're back on set to film a scene, draped in luxurious fabrics as fans mimic the wind brushing through your hair, you can feel her icy eyes burning into your back. Her eyes follow your form constantly, always observing from a distance while the two of you are working. Even when you're getting your makeup touched up, Caitlyn's gaze traces over your face as the makeup artist smears blush on your cheeks. It's the first sign that sex isn't all she's interested in, that this illicit affair has grown into something far more akin to love.

Nothing ever really stays a secret, right?

inspired by Taylor Swift's Wildest Dreams music video ♡

I want Caitlyn so bad ugh. My fics are a manifestation of exactly what I want with her. Like pleaseee, Commander, I'll be an angel :(

~Cherry 🍒

[bueckersworld]

i won’t call you mine

“scared to fall? then i’m your guy, i won’t call you mine.”

SYNOPSIS: a midnight beach meet-up wasn’t supposed to mean anything—but under moonlight and soft confessions, paige feels like more than a passing summer mistake.

WARNINGS: mild language, emotional vulnerability, romantic boundaries, alcohol mention — not consumed.

WORD COUNT: 3k RECOMMENDED SONG: duvet cover — ashley singh. info. masterlist. taglist. just for the summer.

you tell yourself it isn’t a date.

you’ve said it out loud, even—twice. once to your friend when she asked where you were going tonight, and again to yourself in the mirror, brushing a hand over your outfit like you weren’t trying. like you didn’t take twenty minutes picking it out. like you didn’t check her instagram story before leaving, just to see if she’d posted something—anything—since last night.

she hadn’t.

but she did text you.

paige:

you busy tonight?

you:

depends. will i need a new shirt this time?

paige:

no promises.

paige:

meet me on the beach. midnight.

you hesitated—only for a second—then typed back,

send the pin.

and now you’re here.

barefoot in the sand, shoes in hand, breeze in your hair. the moon spills silver over the shoreline and the waves crash just loud enough to drown your thoughts. there’s something sacred about a beach at night—something that makes you quieter, more honest. and maybe that’s why you’re nervous now, standing in the dark, heart racing with the wind.

you see her before she sees you.

paige, sitting near the waterline with her knees drawn up and a hoodie over her head. she looks relaxed in a way you hadn’t expected. grounded. she’s tracing shapes in the sand with one finger, like the ocean’s her soundtrack and she’s just trying to keep time.

you walk toward her, slow. cautious.

she looks up, and when she sees you, her whole face changes.

like it was worth waiting for.

“you came,” she says, standing up and brushing sand from her legs.

“you sent a pin,” you shrug, trying to sound chill.

“true.” she smiles. “but you didn’t have to show up.”

you shrug again, stepping closer. “maybe i was hoping you’d ruin another shirt.”

she laughs, soft and breathy. “i left my drink in the car. but i could run back and fix that.”

“maybe later.”

you sit together on a large towel she’s already laid out, a cooler beside it that you hadn’t noticed before.

“i brought snacks,” she says, pulling it open. “and by snacks i mean mostly candy and one bottle of water.”

“balanced.”

“i’m an athlete. i plan things.”

you steal a pack of sour gummies and kick your feet out in the sand.

“so,” she says, voice low. “tell me something about you.”

you glance over. “like what?”

“i don’t know. something people don’t usually know. something real.”

you chew on a gummy, stare out at the ocean.

“i get tired of pretending i don’t care,” you admit. “i act like i’m not looking for anything, but sometimes… i think i just say that because i’m scared to actually want it.”

she’s quiet beside you. for a second, you think maybe you’ve said too much.

then she says, “yeah. i get that.”

you turn your head. she’s already looking at you.

“people expect so much from me all the time,” she murmurs. “so when i’m not being watched or coached or praised, i just wanna disappear. not belong to anyone.”

“but?”

her lips twist slightly. “but sometimes i wanna belong anyway.”

you don’t kiss. not yet.

instead, you talk.

you tell her about the worst date you ever went on. she tells you about a fan who asked her to sign their forehead. you laugh too hard at the way she mimics them. she laughs at your terrible imitation of a florida accent. the moon keeps moving, the tide creeps closer, but neither of you shift.

it’s not a date. but it feels like one.

not serious. but also… not not.

“you’re easy to talk to,” she says suddenly.

you smile. “you say that like it surprises you.”

“it does.”

you toss a gummy at her. she catches it. grins.

“you’re not what i expected,” she adds.

“you keep saying that.”

“because it keeps being true.”

at some point, your shoulders touch. you’re not sure when it started, but now you feel the heat of her next to you. her hand is right there in the space between your legs. almost close enough to brush. almost.

you steal a glance.

she’s looking at the sky now, her expression calm. but you can see the tension in her fingers. like she’s thinking about it too.

you break the silence.

“what happens if we do like each other?”

she exhales. “we don’t.”

you turn toward her. “you sure?”

“no,” she says. “but if we pretend we don’t, maybe it won’t hurt when we leave.”

you nod. slow. it makes sense. it also doesn’t.

you both go quiet again.

you stay like that for a while—shoulders barely touching, knees brushing, breaths syncing up like tides. the kind of closeness that doesn’t demand anything. the kind that says i see you. stay here anyway.

finally, she stands.

“come on,” she says, brushing sand off her legs again. “i’ll walk you back to your car.”

you follow her up the beach, shoes still in hand.

when you reach the lot, she hesitates beside your door.

you turn toward her, not sure if this is where you say goodbye or pretend like none of it mattered.

but then—

“can i see you again?” she asks, voice quiet.

you tilt your head. “i thought we weren’t calling this anything.”

“we’re not.” she looks away, like that makes it easier. “but i still wanna see you.”

you nod, slow. “me too.”

she leans in—not for a kiss, just close enough for her hand to brush your arm. “goodnight, not-a-date.”

you smirk. “goodnight, drink assassin.”

she walks away before you can say anything else, her hoodie pulled low and her hands in her pockets like she’s not the kind of person who just knocked the air out of your chest with a single look.

you get in your car.

sit in silence for a minute.

then, your phone buzzes.

paige:

i still don’t want anything serious.

you stare at it for a second.

then you type back.

you:

i know.

i still want to see you too.

© bueckersworld

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ chapter 2 of just for the summer. how are we feeling??? there might be smut next chapter guys 😏😏

𝑤𝑖𝑡𝘩 𝘩𝑢𝑔𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑘𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑠, 𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟

taglist: @elswhore @private-but-not-a-secret @paigebaby5 @raimund00 @bravemode @d1paigebueckersglazer @evanpeterstoe @zi0nnnn @jadasogay @fuddaround @jaylie-bee @everyonewatchesuconnwbb @mrsarnold @lol-12n @sayurireidotcom @iwasbored-okay @kl0verk @bqringtears @agnesblight @scarlett177 @syraxsbigfanfr @youmeandjennessey @asapeveryday

[madschiavelique]

﹒ ✦ 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐊 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟓 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐭

✦﹒ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : fiora hosts a party during which reader starts feeling all sorts of new things. between game strategies and open heart conversations, things are starting to look brighter

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : none, werewolf (aka mafia), seven minutes in heaven, heart to heart conversation, omg they're touching hands, jealous viktor if you squint

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 14.8k

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : oof, biggest chap so far! we've officially exceeded the epic length in terms of wordcount, and the slowburn is finally starting to spark a bit hihi. i'm scared y'all will get bored with the game parts OOPSIE but yea i hope y'all will like it nevertheless!

✦﹒ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : the pretty boy @oneoftheextras

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ．．𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐌𝐘 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈

The rest of your stay went much better than you could have imagined. You were undertaking visits, each more friendly and educational than the last, discovering customs and foods, and having a great time that would leave good memories in their wake.

Like when Sky recited phrases in a strong Demacian accent to you, giving credit to Demacia and its imposing stature, or when Jayce made a fool of himself by pronouncing ‘croum de la cram’ wrong again while eating a cream puff in front of a waiter.

Fiora had seemed to slow down her charms towards Viktor on a grand scale, although she still gave him the nickname ‘Vikkie’, which made him roll his eyes to the sky as he searched for you and uttered ‘kill me’ with mute lips.

You always smiled at him when this happened, amused, his eyes resting on you, making you feel all odd. As the days went by, despite the fact that Fiora stayed largely with him and you with Garen, you couldn't help looking for him, lowering your gaze or pretending to look away whenever his eyes crossed yours.

As another day out came to an end and you found yourself in bed, lights out and ready to sleep, you were thinking about it for a long time.

There was this strange urge growing inside you, and you couldn't work out what it was. You kept feeling the heat on the back of your neck as well as on your cheeks as you thought back to all the moments of your close proximity. And that warmth in your belly, that strange, light, fuzzy sensation that persisted in his presence. Why did you feel that way?

Perhaps you were allergic to something Viktor had on him, and you were having a physical reaction to it? 

When you had drunk his coffee where his lips had rested, your whole body had warmed up in the same way after all. He didn't seem to apply any lip balm or add anything to his coffee that might have caused you to have such a reaction, so you ruled that out.

Did he have a particular perfume whose ingredients made you react badly? You remembered the masquerade and his coat, and although it didn't leave any physical traces on you, it did leave slightly stronger inner impressions.

In the wood of his cane, perhaps? Maybe the varnish of the wood or the metal of the knob gave you a bad reaction. But you'd hardly ever used it, the rare occasions being when you'd hit Tyler with it, and when you'd handed it to him after he'd picked you up from your fall in the library - even if some of your symptoms had started at that moment.

Or maybe you were just homesick, maybe the air or the food made you react badly, maybe the petricite was more unpleasant than you thought. However, this idea would have meant suggesting that you had an arcane source inside you, and if that were the case, it would have been pointless since it had never saved you from anything where it could have proved useful.

You replayed the moment of the museum over and over in your mind, the feeling of realisation that he had drawn you towards him with a deft movement of his cane going to your head. You could still imagine the warmth of his hand on your hip, of his eyes on you as they rested on your lips.

You turned in your bed with a grunt of frustration as your chest warmed at the thought of it, burying your face in your pillow. What was happening to you? He wasn't even in the damned room, and yet these symptoms were perfectly awake and persistent. Yet you didn't see him any more than that. 

A routine had set in. Whenever you came back from a class trip, it was his custom to go and rest in his room, away from more walking and to escape Fiora's presence.

Demacia, all white and glorious, didn't seem to have any great inclination towards accessibility. Its cities were built on mountainsides where bridges and domes overlapped over vast, empty, flat expanses. You never got lost, though, as the streets were never narrow and the view was always unobstructed.

It was almost a little frightening, leaving no room for anyone to hide or escape, whatever the situation.

From most angles, Demacia wasn't suitable for everyone, and the lack of benches in the streets for people to sit on, for example, was backed up by the need for an athletic society and sporting encouragement.

So it wasn't surprising that Viktor was keen to get some rest, as you yourself would end your days out on the town tired beyond belief. You hoped his naps were restorative, even if sleep couldn't cure all ills.

Your own sleep came late that night, your thoughts returning incessantly and inevitably to him.

In the early hours of the morning, what finally woke you up was someone knocking on your door. With a grunt, you rolled over in bed, hoping that the idiot who had just knocked would go away.

The knock came again, a sigh from behind the door. "You in there Piltie girl?"

Why did the first voice you had to listen to this morning have to be Fiora's? You turned to face the door, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Come in," you replied in a voice all hoarse with sleep.

So she entered, energetic and judgmental as ever. The room was dark except for a small nightlight on your bedside table.

"You're still asleep?" she asked, almost mockingly, as she strode over to the blackout curtains in the bedroom and yanked them open.

You pressed the heel of your palms against your eyes, clearing the sleep crusts and sniffling as the sun penetrated your room and slapped your body with its light.

"Why, did I oversleep?" you questioned as you finally lowered your hands to your legs, crossing them.

She squinted her eyes at your face. "You're so ugly when you wake up."

"And you're an asshole all day long, to each his own," you winced as you planted your feet on the floor, the fresh flagstone floor unpleasant and just making you want to crawl back under your blanket and fall back asleep in the warmth of your bed.

"Look at that," Fiora chuckled, "Miss Phathe's not a morning person, who'd have thought it."

The mere mention of Selene's name between her lips made you want to strangle her. "Continue putting dirt on my name and you'll end up at your own funeral," you replied before heading for the bathroom. "You're just one bad day away from being me anyway."

"You know," you heard her giggle as she followed you, leaning in the doorway as she watched you go through your morning routine, "for a Piltie, you sure have a way with comebacks."

"That is because I'm not a Piltie," you replied as you tended to your hair.

"Really?" she questioned, surprised. "What are you then?"

You considered answering her for a moment. There was only today and tomorrow left when you would leave in the evening and arrive in Piltover the following night.

"Zaunite," you finally replied as you picked up your toothbrush, squeezing your tube of toothpaste mechanically, "but from where? Not sure."

She arched an eyebrow as you began to brush your teeth. "Explains the poor taste in everything."

"Explains the sword up your ass," you managed to articulate.

She giggled, smiling into the mirror as she watched you for a moment. It wasn't a look of expectation that you'd screw something up, more a look of consideration.

"You know," she began, "prettying yourself up wouldn't be that complicated."

You huffed, spitting into the sink. "Why would I need it?"

"Not saying you need it," she corrected, "I'm saying it'd be fun."

"Never took much attention to it anyway," you sighed before returning your toothbrush to your mouth, "I'm not trying to charm anyone."

Her eyes rolled up to the sky as if you'd just said the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. "It's not about charming anyone you idiot," she shook her head, "It's about doing this for yourself."

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your tired eyes watching you as she continued.

"If you're applying makeup and pretty dresses for anybody else but you in the first place, that's a bit desperate."

You spat into the sink again, rinsing the bristles from your toothbrush. "Making yourself pretty for someone you like would be desperate?"

"In some cases, no," she admitted, "Like wearing something someone offered you." 

You grabbed one of the glasses of water on the sink, filling it to rinse your mouth.

‘"But I can tell you're negligent of yourself," she continued as she moved forward to stand next to you, "and that's what's bringing you lower than zero." 

You turned to her, thinking the conversation was going to turn negative and immediately demeaning, but her tone wasn't condescending.

"This doesn't just apply to your physique, Zaunite girl," she pointed out, marking the new appellation with her tongue, "but to the way you consider yourself. You want to be number one at all times, but you forget to put yourself first and that is the very reason you're losing."

You sighed - she wasn't wrong. You weren't taking care of yourself, weren't giving yourself enough of the treatment you deserved or simply needed to live. The memories of your fever during exam week and of all the deviations you had made out of greed to win also came back to mind.

You'd put your primary needs to one side, neglected your friendships by walking away from them as soon as you thought you'd done anything remotely negative, and ended up in situations where your health was in danger simply because you unconsciously thought you deserved it or that it was the norm.

And every time, Viktor intervened.

He stayed by your side when you were seriously ill, passed you his coat during the masquerade, persevered in wanting to be your friend and assured you that he didn't think badly of you.

You took a sip of water from your glass to keep it in your mouth and spit, hoping that its coolness would contrast with the heat you felt just thinking about it.

"Any reason for this early morning motivation class?" you asked as you came out of the bathroom to find something to change into,"Or are you about to bring me outside barefoot in the grass while we do some flowy movements for better harmony in our bodies?"

She stood by the bathroom frame, giggling. "No party of mine happens barefoot."

You turned to her, frowning and giving up the search for the day's clothes for the moment. "Party?"

"Yup," she confirmed as she walked over to you, observing the contents of your suitcase. "You guys are leaving tomorrow evening, so I wanted to make sure we'd all have our fun one last time." Her eyes returned to yours. "Tonight, I'm hosting a party in one of the apartments under my name, not far from here. Everyone's invited."

You turned to your suitcase, Fiora's earlier questions about your appearance taking on a second meaning. 

"I've never been to any party before," you admitted as you found what you were going to wear for the day and headed for the bathroom so you could change in privacy, closing the door behind you.

She approached the door, leaning against the wall next to it. "Have you been that much of a fun killer all your life?" she giggled.

"Just never had the opportunity or any invite, alright?" you sighed, tired of her answers which you found a little too dramatic as you undressed. "My first party of the sort was a masquerade I attended this very year which, apart from a few exceptions, had guests that were all toffs twice my age."

"Well, there's a first time for everything," she argued. "It's not going to be anything wild or club-like unfortunately if I have to fit Lolanthe and Heimerdinger's policy of moderate drinking or fun with a capital F."

You'd never really liked clubs -they were too noisy, too dark with lights only provided by neons and drinks that were far too expensive for how they tasted. Zaun's clubs were quite an attraction themselves, but nothing could have convinced you to end in one of them willingly to party and have fun.

"You know," she continued, "that might be an opportunity for you to get closer to Viktor."

The mention of his name stopped you putting on your trousers and nearly made you lose your balance.

"You're still on this," you whispered as you accelerated your dressing. If you wanted to escape this conversation, or her in general, you had to get out of this room.

"Come on," she sneered from the other side of the door, "have you never ever thought there could be something between the two of you?"

You stood there motionless, your eyes landing back on you in your mirror. Could anyone fall in love with this reflection you saw? Could anyone be charmed by it?

You'd never really had time to think about the possibilities of having a relationship with anyone, since your attention was mainly focused on your studies, but could there really have been a possibility of someone falling in love with you and you being able to return that love?

"You're taking an awfully long time to answer this," Fiora toned from the other side.

You opened the door, not even glancing at her as you walked purposefully to your suitcase and arranged it a little. "I never wondered about it."

She huffed exaggeratedly. "Viktor didn't answer like that."

Your heart skipped a beat as you turned to face her. "What?"

"A-ha!" she exclaimed, pointing at you as you realised her little trap. "See? You're interested in him."

You huffed, trying to calm your mind and your heart. She was only trying to elicit a reaction from you, nothing more, nothing less. Wasn't she?

You caught yourself thinking about the possibility that she had actually asked him the question, and wondered whether her remark was a complete lie or whether there was some truth in it. Your heart felt cramped in your chest.

"Whatever," you sighed as you set your suitcase down on the floor again, the box of your tarot cards sticking out slightly from under one of your T-shirts, and you decided that you would wait until evening to read your card.

She didn't press the point any further, realising that she probably couldn't get any more information out of you at the moment. "Have you ever played Werewolf, Zaunite girl?"

"Werewolf?" you questioned.

"You really have come out of a cave," she remarked, "I feel like I'm babysitting."

"Well why are you doing all this effort for me then?"

"Because I want us to find a way to get along at least once, alright?" she finally admitted. "I'm trying to make up for what I pulled on you. Is party-fun forbidden in Piltover?’

You sighed, she was doing it very awkwardly of course, but that didn't stop her original intention from being almost touching, honourable.

"It's not forbidden to me, just... foreign," you admitted.

"Would you like to try it, though?" she asked.

You chewed your cheek, considering this most unusual offer. Was there any harm in trying? You wouldn't gain anything but the usual if you refused this offer and stayed in your room reading a book. You already did that every night, after all, so why not give it a try?

"Come on," she hummed, arching an eyebrow with a playful little smile, "I know Viktor will come if you do."

Your eyes rolled up to the ceiling, although the idea seemed strangely intriguing. Viktor wouldn't come to a place just because you were there, that would sound ridiculous.

"Fine, I'll come," you finally agreed, placing your index up in front of her to impeach her from saying anything. "But it's not just because of Viktor, don't get any ideas."

"Sure, whatever floats your delusion boat," she smiled before leaving the room.

You followed her into the hotel restaurant, which was already packed with students and other guests. You had indeed slept longer than usual, and if Fiora hadn't come to wake you up, you would probably have ended up receiving a remark from Heimerdinger about your absence to his lesson.

Unless perhaps one of your friends had come. It could very well have been Sky, Jayce, maybe Garen.

Maybe even Viktor.

As if searching for the beam of a lighthouse on the open sea, your eyes landed on him, sitting at a table in a corner with Jayce, as usual. Fiora joined them, and you helped yourself to breakfast, turning back to their table as Viktor's gaze fell on you.

Your heart skipped a beat as you gripped your tray tightly, hoping not to make a fool of yourself by dropping it if your body decided to act like this again against your will.

You walked towards them, Fiora sitting next to Viktor who only seemed to be partially listening to her, while Jayce seemed genuinely invested in what she had to say.

"Good morning," you greeted as you placed your lunch tray next to Jayce's. 

"Oh hey!" he said as he turned to you, "you're up later than usual."

"Yeah well," you sat down and took a slice of your lunch in hand, "couldn't find sleep."

Your eyes rested on Viktor, his own already on you and seemingly unchanged since he'd seen you come into the room. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks again, that stupid allergy. 

"Oh? Why?” questioned the golden boy.

Surely not because I couldn't stop thinking about your best friend and that kept me up all night.

"Couldn't drop my book," you offered by way of explanation.

You felt Viktor's insistent gaze on you, and you swallowed your mouthful with difficulty, glancing at Fiora next to him who gave you a knowing little smile. Couldn't you look anywhere?

"What were you guys talking about?" you asked, turning to Jayce, who at least didn't seem ready to extort any information from you.

"Fiora was just explaining to us the rules of this game called the Werewolf," he smiled, turning to her.

You did the same, offering him a raised eyebrow as if to say ‘see, I'm not the only one who doesn't know about it’.

"Oh you're teachin’ them Werewolf?"

Garen, tray in hand, took a seat next to you.

"No, I'm visibly showing them how to use an iron curler," Fiora huffed heavily.

He glanced at her perfectly straight hair. "You're a poor demonstrator if that is the case," he replied before lowering his gaze to the contents of his tray and starting his breakfast.

"So," she continued, deciding to ignore him openly, "the game is simple. A narrator, players; two sides, one objective: may the best player win."

Your eyes met Viktor's again, a playful flicker crossing his gaze as your lips quirked with nostalgia for the beginning of the year.

"The players are either villagers or werewolves," continued Fiora. "The villagers' objective is to discover who the werewolves are and eliminate them, while the werewolves seek to eliminate the villagers without being discovered."

"Is this a board game?" questioned Viktor without taking his eyes off you.

You could sense that he was intrigued, and that for some reason he was intrigued because you were potentially going to play it.

Had Fiora just told them about the party? Had she arrived at their table to proudly wave a flag with the words ‘she said yes’ after your conversation?

I know Viktor will come if you do.

You brought the cup of your morning drink to your lips, trying to banish the constant replay in your mind of memories of that infamous shared cup of coffee.

"More like a card game," Garen replied, "all players start the game with a card that determines their role until the end of the game."

"The game is played in two distinct phases - night and day," continued Fiora. "At night, the leader calls out the roles one by one so that they wake up and take their actions. During the day you learn the results of what the night has sown, and you can eliminate a player by voting. And the cycle continues until the end."

"Wait," Jayce finally asked, beginning to really get into the game, "you said there were two sides, villagers and werewolves. But then you said you were calling out the roles one by one during the night."

"That's because some of the villagers have special powers," Garen pointed out.

"Powers?" you chuckled, finishing your mouthful before resuming. "I thought you hated anything to do with magic, isn't it strange to incorporate it into your games though?"

"It's a game, not real life," Fiora informed, and if she could have added 'you stupid cunt' to the end of her sentence, she had the perfect tone for it. "These powers are more special abilities than anything else."

You decided to keep quiet for the moment, Fiora explaining the roles one by one. 

"First of all, cupid."

Your eyes rested on Viktor for a moment, his glance never shifting from you but never losing the thread of the conversation. Your gaze fell on his cup of coffee for a tiny moment before you redirected your attention to Fiora and listened to her.

"He points at two players who will fall in love with his arrow, and if one of them dies, the other will kill themselves out of love. The aim of the lovers is to survive the game together, even against the village if one of them is a werewolf."

You understood more and more that the game would be based on strategy and theory, and you found yourself genuinely interested in it.

"Next up," Fiora continued, "is the card reader."

You frowned, but seeing as you'd been rebuffed the moment before for your question about magic, you weren't about to be taken back twice by asking her a second time.

"The card reader can observe a card of her choice, and keep the information for herself."

"Why not say in the morning that she knows the identity of a player?" questioned Jayce.

"Because the point is to manage to keep her role secret, or to bluff," explained Garen, biting into a green apple. "Someone might well claim to be able to tell that a player is innocent when they're not."

So it was a game of lies and trickery... strange coming from the Demacians, unless in the end it was an outlet for them to compensate for the lack of daydreams crushed by the constant oppression of justice and absolute truth.

"Finally, come the werewolves who, still in silence, consult each other to decide by pointing to their next victim. Once agreed, they go back to sleep - however," Fiora arched an eyebrow, “the role of the little girl can spy during the wolves' turn by discreetly half-closing her eyes, or by finding a better way to hide her spying."

"If you knew the possible strategies," laughed Garen, accidentally pressing his knee against yours, the latter turning towards you, "sorry."

"It's fine," you assured him as you shifted slightly to give him more room, it must be said that sitting between Jayce and Garen made you feel a little small.

"The penultimate, the alchemist," Fiora continued, "the narrator shows the alchemist the werewolves' victim, and asks him if he wishes to save them with an elixir," she held up her thumb, "do nothing," lowering it to the side, "or kill them with a poison," placing her thumb downwards.

"So there's another way of eliminating werewolves other than by voting?" questioned Viktor.

"Of course," confirmed Garen, "not only could the alchemist use a poison very carefully, but an eliminated player in love with a werewolf could very well take his love to his grave. Then, of course, there's the hunter."

"The hunter?" you repeated.

"The hunter is the last card," confirmed Fiora. "If the hunter dies, he can choose a target to kill with a bullet from his rifle before he dies."

"That's a lot of roles to remember," sighed Jayce, looking up at the ceiling of the restaurant and wishing he could keep all this information in his head.

"It'll come as the game goes on," Garen assured him, "I can always give you tips, by the way."

"It's cheating if you give them the keys to the game," Fiora grumbled as she slumped back in her seat and crossed her arms.

"They barely know the rules of the game," sighed Garen, "they're going to find themselves up against werewolf war machines without having a great idea of all the different strategies we know."

She said nothing, simply rolling her eyes as Garen turned to you and put his mouth to his palm to whisper in your ear, your eyes resting relentlessly on Viktor's which seemed to narrow under his frowning eyebrows.

"Werewolves can vote on each other, and if they agree on that, it means that when it's the alchemist's turn, they can get a werewolf resurrected and make the village's only saviour lose his life potion to prolong their chances."

He leaned back from you, and you let out a small laugh from your lungs as the confusion grew in Viktor's features.

"The Noxians have a lot to worry about if the Demacians are playing this game as a hobby," you smiled before taking the last of your breakfast into your mouth.

"Great," gasped Fiora, "now Zaunite girl is going to shamelessly try to tear us apart."

"Afraid of a debutant?" you pointed out with a mocking smile.

"I don't have anything to be afraid of," she articulated, her own smirk emerging, "since I will be the narrator."

"Pfft, coward," you huffed.

"I'm just out of this game because I would make it too hard for you to win anything," she countered before standing up. "But if your determination is as fierce as your fists, I think tonight's game is sure to prove interesting."

And with that, as she made her way out of the restaurant, Heimerdinger quieted the room to tell them all about the day's programme.

For the penultimate day, you were entitled to free time. You were allowed to visit any monument, street or other event taking place in the city.

Your day consisted of long walks through the streets, shopping for souvenirs along the way, taking part in street attractions such as a portrait drawn in ebony ink on a stone as white as the cliffs of Demacia, or a small café that gave a personality quiz at the entrance and offered you a coffee to go with it afterwards.

Viktor had left you again when the afternoon came, wishing to rest before the evening in case the Demacian flats reflected their streets by removing any sofas and chairs.

"If there was a way for them to sleep standing up, they wouldn't have any beds," he sighed before leaving.

You took advantage of this little trip back to the hotel to start packing your suitcase. Fiora's remark about your appearance and your neglect of it still lingered slightly in the back of your mind, even though you eliminated the possibility of buying a dress or some make-up soon enough.

As you packed your things, your fingers inevitably landed on your deck of cards. There were two decks today, and you had a feeling that they would be revealing.

After your usual shuffling ritual, the deck offered you the Chariot card.

Advancing towards a chosen goal. Confidence and certainty. Movement and adventure. The city wall behind the Chariot reflects the barrier between you and others. You are freeing yourself.

You huffed as you sat on your bed, could you honestly follow the advice on this card?

The description continued: The character is protected by his armour and all the celestial bodies are reflected on the canopy. Two sphinxes line up on the black and white pillars of the High Priestess. They reflect duality and the outer pillars of the Tree of Life. The Magician has channelled energy through his body to transport it here and push the body into action. Nothing can stop you. You are literally in the driver's seat.

Your fingers ran over the smooth varnish of the card, your eyes searching its details. Could you be so certain? Could you sincerely free yourself from all those cycles and ideas that were needlessly handcuffing you to behaviours linked to the past?

If Fiora's advice was sincerely that you put yourself first, you were going to choose what you wanted for yourself and not someone like Fiora who wanted to tell you how to act and react. But you kept her advice in mind when it came to the physical side of things.

You had to move forward, make up your mind and not look back.

That evening, you met Sky in the hall to go to Fiora's house. Outside, the air was fine, and other students were already on their way to her address. Viktor and Jayce would arrive later, no doubt to avoid the social rule that arriving too early for a party was a waste of time.

"I'm surprised you're going to her party," Sky admitted as the two of you walked side by side. "After everything she's done to you, it would almost be doing her too much honour to come."

"I'd be doing her a favour if I stayed in my room on my own," you sighed. "If I didn't come to her party, I would have admitted defeat and needlessly deprived myself of an opportunity to have a good time."

"I can understand that," Sky conceded, "but don't you think she'd risk a public toast to you again by revealing anything else you'd have preferred to keep secret?"

"I don't think that even with all the effort in the world she would come to any further conclusion about me that she could reveal," you admitted. "But the holiday is coming to an end, and I'd rather leave on good terms with good memories. Something tells me this evening will be a perfect example of that.’

It wasn't long before you reached the address. It was more a large house than anything else, three storeys high with multiple balconies where you had a feeling that some people were going to end up in a counterparty.

When you entered the hall, warm colours cut through the generally cold exterior. Sofas covered in red and magenta cushions were placed in the living room, where some of your friends were already sitting and chatting, a large kitchen with a massive island on which various glasses and snacks were sitting was at the back of the room, while Fiora was chatting with some of her other friends.

You met her gaze and she abandoned her discussion to come towards you as Sky found Orcelyia.

"The pipsqueak and the muscle-bound one aren't here yet?" she asked, looking around the room.

"They won't be long," you confirmed, imitating her gesture. "So that's your place?"

"In part, yes," she confirmed, observing the decoration in turn before turning away towards the island. "It's under my surname, and therefore mine in a way."

You moved forward to follow her, observing the petit fours ready to fill all the stomachs of the evening. "You truly do live like a princess."

"I hate it as much as I love it," she admitted before taking a goblet, uncorking a black felt-tip pen with her teeth and keeping the cap between her lips as she wrote on the cup. 

"Too many dresses in your closet?" you questioned as you leaned back against the worktop.

"Too many expectations about me wearing the dresses," she explained before handing you the cup with your name on it and taking another in her hand. "What is wearing me down is the need to honour it."

You watched her elegant handwriting and the way she had added an exclamation mark to the end of your name. "I think you can honour them well, otherwise you wouldn't get the guilt from it."

"I wish I didn't need to honour anything at all," she confessed, writing her own name with little flourishes and other little drawings on it. "All I want is to cut the air with my blade and be considered as someone other than Fiora from house Laurent. Want something to drink?’

If you wanted to be able to stay alert later on during those famous werewolf games, alcohol was probably not a wise choice. So you asked her for a simple drink that you could enjoy without worrying about the side effects it would bring.

You watched the rest of the room, the background music loud enough to set the mood without anyone having to lean over to their conversation partner to hear. You wondered when Viktor and Jayce would arrive.

"So," Fiora continued as if she could read your mind, or was once again far too curious, "you and Viktor."

"Not this again," you sighed, taking a sip of your drink.

"Come on," she lengthened her sentence lasciviously, "I want to know where it all started."

You chuckled slightly, thinking back to all the things you'd been through about him so far.

"Well," you began, looking around the room, your eyes resting on Sky for a moment, "the day I returned to the Academy after the holidays were over, this homo-idioticus, in one single day, refused my help coldly and managed to overtake me in the Academy results."

"Off to a strong start," she smiled, intrigued.

‘’Don't remind me,’‘ you continued, ”there followed weeks and weeks of childish bickering, leading to Heimerdinger eventually pairing us up for a team project and us working together.’’

"Heimerdinger is decidedly well versed in what he needs to do."

"He made me want to rip his moustache off," you sneered, "I even ended up in detention because of it."

"You, in detention? I'd have liked to have seen that," she smiled, "did you hit another pupil to achieve the same result?"

"Well..." you let your sentence fade for a moment as you moistened your lips, "there's a chance Tyler's face might recall that."

Fiora's smile faded in an instant as shock passed seamlessly over her face. "I was joking, but..." she seemed to consider the situation, chuckling as a mocking smile settled on her face. "Gosh he is pathetic."

‘’Tell me about it,‘’ you observed as you searched the room for him with your eyes.

"He's not invited, if that's your concern," Fiora informed you before taking only a sip of her drink. "What happened next?"

You were trying to put the pieces of the story back together. "Then came the exams, and my unforgivable desire to win got the better of me enough that I flirted with death for a moment while the illness confined me to a bed. He…” you breathed in, thinking back to the sun caressing his hair, the crease of his eyebrows in his sleep, “he watched over me.”’

She was silent beside you, and when you turned to her, she wore a small, knowing smile as her eyebrows rose suggestively. "Mhm."

You rolled your eyes. "After that, when I finally realised that our goals weren't common and there was no reason for me to hate him, we decided to call a truce."

"And I suppose he came up with the idea?" she questioned.

You nodded, bringing your cup to your lips in the hope that the heat would subside in your cheeks, your eyes resting on the entrance to the room, waiting.

"You're so blind," Fiora whispered.

You turned to her. "How so?"

"I can't say yet, not when your wit is as sharp as a butter knife," she smiled as she walked over to the counter to get a refill. "But when it hits you, it's going to be like a brick."

“Viktor's my friend,” you repeated once more.

"Yeah, right," she smiled, her eyes settling on a point in the room as her lips stretched into a sneer, "speaking of the devil."

Your eyes inevitably fell on Viktor and Jayce who had just arrived. Jayce was elegant, with a black shirt that hugged his muscular frame and jeans of the same colour. Viktor, on the other hand, was dressed simply in a brown shirt with rolled-up sleeves and simple black trousers, his brace covering his leg. Of the two, you could tell who had spent more time in front of the mirror.

"Finally here," Fiora called before moving towards them and you following.

Jayce had simply taken an inordinate amount of time getting ready, as usual, even if he had seemed to cut back on certain parts of his routine. This was no doubt due to the little teasing you and Viktor had given him, and poor Jayce was probably having an existential crisis about his tastes and appearances.

"This is your place?" questioned Jayce as he observed the architecture and interior decoration.

"I know," whispered Fiora, "it's a bit too big, but for these kinds of occasions, it's perfect. Bathrooms on each floor, a few bedrooms as well as closets, balconies for a smoke if wanted - all we need. Now, let me bring you your cups.’

As she disappeared towards the counter again, you turned towards them. Viktor looked at you while Jayce observed the flat's decorations.

"Thankfully this is not another masquerade," you smiled.

"I think I'd prefer a masquerade," Viktor confessed, "it would help me hide my boredom with a conversation if I find myself stuck in it."

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Jayce encouraged, "we're going to spend most of the evening obviously playing games anyway."

He pressed his hand on his friend's shoulder before leaving to see other students. He seemed to find Garen, who smiled at him as they began a discussion. Perhaps the latter would also offer him a strategy for this evening's game.

"I have a feeling it's going to be a long one," you admitted before taking a sip of your drink and observing the rest of the room.

"I was going to go out and look for a balcony to claim as my own for the evening," Viktor conceded, "but I have a feeling it won't be that unpleasant."

"Really? What makes you say that?’ you questioned.

He shrugged, his eyes settling on the armchairs and sofas. "The fact that I don't have to stand."

You couldn't help but laugh at his remark, and he smiled. There was something soft in his eyes, and you couldn't make out what it was, but it cradled your heart in its arms.

"So you're the lady that kicked Fiora's ass!"

You turned towards a cheerful voice that sounded foreign to you. A young lady with blonde hair and eyes sparkling with wonder had arrived at your level.

"I..." you exchanged a glance with Viktor, wondering if he knew the young lady, "I am."

"I wish I could have been there for that," she mused with a charming euphoric smile, "it's all anyone's talked about for a week. It really makes you want to come to the training ground more often."

She hardly seemed to contain her excitement, and you were genuinely surprised. She looked to be about fifteen, and not one of the students at the party.

"Lux, please don't harass her in one go."

Garen reached your height, placing his hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Forgive my sister," he smiled, "I told her a little about our days and I do believe she has developed an adoration."

"I didn't know you had a little sister," you remarked before turning to her and introducing yourself.

"I already know your name," she smiled, "I've heard a great deal about you." She turned to your friend. "And you must be Viktor, right?’

"Himself," he sighed.

She leaned forward to whisper for him. "Sorry about Fiora's behaviour and the way she glued herself to you."

"Now," Fiora rightly interjected as Lux jumped slightly from surprise, coming back over to you and handing Viktor a cup with 'Vikkie' written on it with a little heart over the dot of the i's, "we have games to play. Lux, you're joining us little one?’

When enough people volunteered to play, everyone took their places on two sofas facing each other and an armchair to one side. You found yourself sitting on a corner of a sofa next to Sky, who was sitting between you and Orcelyia, while Jayce and Garen were sitting next to each other on the sofa opposite, and Lux was sitting next to her big brother. As for Viktor, he was sitting in the armchair.

This was a warm-up game so that the new players could get used to the game together - and possibly play with more players in future games. Fiora shuffled the cards for a moment, explaining the rules of the game and the process. She showed you the cards one by one, reminding you what they were, and soon enough she dealt them out.

You took yours and looked discreetly at its symbol: Werewolf.

Great, already an enemy in a game. It would be all right, it would be simple, wouldn't it? There were two werewolves present in the game, and you were wondering who would be the second participant.

"Now that everyone knows who they are," began Fiora, "the village is going to sleep for its first night."

Everyone closed their eyes, although it took Fiora's clarification that ‘you sleep with your eyes closed’ for Jayce to finally understand that he couldn't keep his eyes open at the moment.

"I call Cupid."

Having your eyes closed made for a strange experience. You found yourself trying to work out every movement of the more or less close players to try and work out who had what role.

"Designate two lovers who, at first sight, will fall madly in love with each other."

Despite the music, you tried to guide your ears towards the players and the reaction time. 

"All right, cupid, you can go back to sleep," said Fiora. "I'm now going to touch the heads of the two lovers, who will see and recognise each other."

The idea of having to be associated with anyone and that one of these players might be your partner displeased you at the time: what if they made a mistake? What if they were targeted and you ended up dead because you had to commit yourself?

You heard Fiora start to walk, and you feared that your head would be hit. She passed by Orcelyia and Sky, and her legs brushed against your knees without you feeling anything on your head or her continuing on her way.

Saved. All you had to do now was kill one of the lovers to kill two birds with one stone and speed up the game. It didn't matter who your furred partner was, if you could kill one of the lovers, you were going to seize the opportunity.

"The lovers wake up, to recognise each other," Fiora continued, leading the game with finesse and constantly moving around you to mislead the players.

Near you, however, you felt movement to your right, towards Sky and Orcelyia. Could they be the lovers of the evening? A player like Garen or possibly Lux, who already knew their way around, wouldn't have made the simple mistake of not being sufficiently quiet.

If that was the case and Sky was one of the two lovers, you could certainly try to silently convince your sidekick to come to terms with it - even if the thought broke your heart.

"Lovers go back to sleep," sighed Fiora. "I call the card reader. Point me to a player's card you'd like to see."

You concentrated hard to try and hear anything, but it seemed impossible to ignore the slight stirring of Sky next to you. Perhaps she was the card reader, perhaps she was just fidgeting to reposition herself.

When Fiora came round to move the cards and make you doubt, you dreaded your card being shown. What if you were eliminated from the start?

"The card reader can go back to sleep. I'm now calling in the werewolves."

You opened your eyes and lifted your head, looking around until your eyes landed on Viktor to your left. 

He looked back at you, cheek pressed lasciviously to the back of his hand. You were the two werewolves.

You couldn't help your lips from stretching into a smile as he winked at you, your cheeks heating and your heart missing a beat.

"They recognise each other," Fiora confirmed with a wry little smile. Had she intentionally dealt the cards so that you'd end up together like this? "The werewolves are now going to choose a victim for the night who will be their meal."

Your eyes roamed over the small group of closed eyes, apprehending to point with your thumb to the right towards Sky, but Viktor pointed without hesitation to Jayce. When your eyes landed on him, you noticed that his fingers were spread apart, barely hiding his open eyes.

The little girl, of course, barely concealing his identity as he tried hard to hide behind his thick fingers. You stifled the little laugh that rose up inside you before pointing to Jayce.

Fiora rolled her eyes. "Well, the werewolves have made their choice and can go back to sleep."

You exchanged one last glance with Viktor, who smiled at you before his eyes gently closed and you did the same.

"The alchemist's waking up."

You couldn't hear anything coming from the opposite sofa, and if the alchemist was on yours, they were very quiet.

"This person has been named as tonight's victim," you imagined her pointing at Jayce, "what do you wish to do? Save this person, do nothing, or kill someone?’

You could hardly hear anything, until Fiora spoke again. "Alright, alchemist, you can go back to sleep." She paused for a moment, then resumed. "The village wakes up."

Everyone raised their eyes, opening their falsely tired eyelids. You watched everyone, examining their faces and the way they acted.

"Dear villagers, last night a victim was devoured by werewolves."

You tried to remain calm, observing the rest of the participants, trying to gauge who might have what role. You met Garen's eyes, who was also watching you, followed by Lux, who seemed to be smiling in satisfaction. She could be a target for the vote, but you were counting on finding a way to cut it short by killing the two lovers.

Fiora turned to Jayce, pointing at him. "Jayce was found this very morning, jugular ripped out while he was out last night," she stepped forward to pick up Jayce's card, which until now had been lying like all the others on the coffee table at the centre of this affair. "The little girl died last night."

You feigned surprise, watching the other participants until your eyes fell on Viktor. It would have been more than suspicious if you hadn't been looking at him, and as you watched he seemed serene although falsely intrigued by who could have committed this murder.

"I suppose I can't say anything of what I saw?" questioned Jayce with a frustrated pout.

"Do dead people talk?" questioned Fiora in return, and Jayce crossed his arms, slumping back on the sofa as he stared into space followed by a long sigh.

"Wasn't so subtle about being the little girl I guess?" remarked Orcelyia.

"You guess?" underlined Garen. ‘Were you awake when this butchery happened?

Orcelyia abandoned her small smile for an expression of shock. "Of course not!"

If Orcelyia could become the target of the day, that was fine with you, and you intended to make sure that the day went in your favour. But you still had to pretend you were a villager and invent fictitious concerns.

"What's troubling is that the Alchemist did not use a life potion, Jayce is," you turned to him for a moment, "sorry, was not a threat."

"Hey!" he shouted indignantly.

"The dead don't speak," Fiora pointed out, Jayce grabbing a cushion from the sofa, putting it on his stomach and wrapping his arms around it to steady himself.

"She's right, though," Sky resumed. "The Alchemist kept his life potion. Now, who wouldn't want to save him?’

With a strange unanimity, everyone turned to Viktor. The hitherto silent man looked at you all, frowning.

"You really think I wouldn't have used some magic potion to save my friend if I had the opportunity?"

Viktor was playing the ‘it would be suspicious for me to target a friend’ card, and he played it wonderfully. You dreaded the possibility of Garen pointing out that it was precisely because Viktor was his friend that he had an extra chance of targeting him, but he did not.

You refrained from emphasising this idea, not wishing to eliminate your partner in crime even though this possibility could have given you undisputed immunity. No, you wouldn't do that to Viktor even if you could, and that idea made you feel all weird.

"Orcelyia," you resumed though, hoping to steer the conversation away from any further ideas about Viktor, "how did you make that assumption about Jayce?"

"Well, just look at him," she gestured broadly in the air at him.

You knew that Jayce wasn't the most discreet man in the world, but that didn't stop the remark from seeming like a perfect opportunity to pin her down.

"Excuse me?" you almost choked out. "Would you have attacked him on the logic that he was an easy target?"

"No don't take it this way," Orcelyia hastened, "you know what I meant!"

"You seem nervous," added Viktor calmly, the difference between his calm demeanour and Orcelyia's provided a convincing contrast - who would believe someone who looked guilty?

"Indeed she does," Garen remarked.

"I'm not a werewolf!" continued Orcelyia.

"You're not putting up anything to defend yourself though," Lux remarked, taking a slight dig at Garen's attitude.

"Because you don't give her time to defend herself," remarked Sky.

The two of them were in love, that was for certain.

"Are you defending her because she's your partner in crime?" you questioned.

You were insinuating a doubt, and the others were starting to hang on to it. You weren't seeing Viktor at the moment, trying not to let on that you had a more than dubious connection with him.

"Absolutely not," continued Orcelyia, "isn't my truth enough?"

"The truth will be what we make of it," you remarked.

"I think it's time for the village to vote," Fiora observed. 

You had prepared your target, Orcelyia perfectly in the lion's den as the others would follow. Even if your target was originally Sky, the possibility that the latter two were in love meant you could hope for a big score. After their elimination, only Garen and Lux would be left to foil, and one against two, no matter how it ended, would be gifted to win.

"On the count of three, you will point to the person you wish to consider as the target of this day's vote. One, two, three."

The count fell, and so a majority of hands turned to Orcelyia, besides her and Sky pointing one to you and one to Garen. You won.

"Well, the vote is almost unanimous. Orcelyia, today the village has chosen you as its victim. Offer your card."

She grumbled, taking her card and turning it over on the table.

"Orcelyia was the Alchemist," confirmed Fiora, showing the card to the players.

"Why didn't you save Jayce?" questioned Viktor.

"Because she was in love," you said, turning to Sky.

By making this remark, you were allowing yourself to be seen as the cupid left in the two villagers, even if after tonight you were going to win.

Orcelyia sighed as she turned to your friend in turn. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright," she smiled, "they had already made their choice."

Fiora stepped forward. "Sky, pierced by cupid's arrow, was madly in love with Orcelyia. And following today's vote, she has decided to join her lover in the grave" Sky grabbed her card, turning it over for all to see. "Sky was the card reader."

"Damn," you breathed, falsely shocked, although there was very little left to pretend given the rest that remained to be eliminated.

"So the reason you kept your potion close was so you could save Sky in case she was in danger of dying?" questioned Jayce.

"Yes," she breathed, "sorry Jayce, I had to make sure she stayed alive."

"Is the village ready to go back to sleep?" questioned Fiora, watching your heads nod. "Well, the village is going back to bed. The dead, meanwhile, can watch."

All those remaining - you, Viktor, Garen and Lux - closed their eyes or buried their eyelids in their palms.

"I'm calling the werewolves."

Viktor and you raised your heads, and Jayce opened his mouth wide, silently articulating with his lips ‘you two?!’

You shrugged as your lips pressed into a thin line, Viktor smiling shamelessly.

"Werewolves, from now on choose who will be your victim this night."

Any one of them could make the choice, but the hunter remained, and something told you that Garen hadn't been the one to make Sky and Orcelyia the lovers. So, if you devoured him tonight and woke up in the morning with one of you dead, you'd end up with a tie. No, you had to win, take this first victory proudly and handily to show the other players that even if you were just beginners, you were formidable.

So you pointed to Lux, and Viktor exchanged a glance with you before following you with his finger. He trusted your instincts, just as you had trusted him with Jayce.

"Right, the werewolves can go back to sleep," she indicated, waiting a final moment before saying, "the village wakes up."

The four of you opened your eyes, the other two seeming to understand the fate that awaited them.

"Tonight, a new victim has been taken," she moved towards Lux, "between the white feathers and the blood, Lux has been devoured." She grabbed her card, showing it for all to see. "Lux was the cupid."

Sky and Orcelyia smiled at her, while Garen understood the situation.

"Of course it had to be the both of you," he smiled, "it's always you two."

"You don't change a winning team," you grinned for a moment, your eyes settling on those of Viktor.

There was a glint of quiet, dark amusement in his eyes, nodding. 

"She called you an homo-idioticus," Fiora commented as if reading a line from your lecture notes, or a post-it scribble you'd put on Viktor's forehead to make him guess what he was.

"It's a pet name," he remarked, chuckling slightly at the appellation as he turned to you.

"Birds of a feather flock together," you tried to clarify at least.

"Right, could the two cubs finally name their voting victim?"

You both pointed at Garen, who sighed as Fiora picked up his card. "Garen was the hunter."

He huffed, slumping down on the sofa next to Jayce before pointing his index finger at you like a pistol, pretending to aim at you. 

"Poof," he pressed as with that imaginary trigger he winked, to better aim for a moment.

"And so the werewolves win with Viktor," Fiora pointed out before starting to pick up the cards again.

"You killed me?!" Jayce finally exclaimed in your direction.

"You were hardly discreet," pointed out Viktor.

"You were spreading your fingers a lot," you confirmed.

"I was doing my best! Why did you kill me straight away?"

"You were going to reveal who we were if we let you live until tomorrow," you continued, "and knowing it's you, everyone would have believed it."

Other students from the party eventually wanted to join in, and just as you were expecting to start another game of it, Fiora had other ideas.

"We're going to try a new game, but with a different layout," she indicated as she stood up, turning to some of the rest of the students, "you're doing seven minutes in heaven?"

"Yeah, we've just cleared the dressing room," grinned one of them as he nervously scratched the back of his neck while his other hand had a thumb busy pressing against his red lips. Another girl behind him was redrawing her own with a red lipstick. 

"What's a seven minutes in heaven?" you questioned, mixing curiosity with slight concern.

"You really do live in a cave," sighed Fiora, turning to you and Viktor, "you two, follow me."

You exchanged a glance with Viktor, himself looking confused, before you both stood up and followed her out of the room.

"Seven minutes in heaven is simple," she began to explain as you headed down a corridor, "we choose two people to meet for seven minutes in a closet."

"To do what?" asked Viktor.

She turned to the two of you once she'd reached a door at the end of the corridor. "Make out."

Your heart leapt into your throat as your mind raced. Make out? 

The idea seeped into your mind like sunlight through the cracks of a cave. For a moment you imagined the scene, how close you'd be, how his hand would rest on your waist like you'd tattooed your mind with it in the museum, how your lips would have no cup to separate them.

But you pulled yourself together. The idea should have repulsed you, or made you feel more unpleasant than anything else - not possible.

Why had you even considered it?

You turned to him, who seemed just as surprised as you were as your eyes fell on his.

"What?" you finally asked nervously, turning to Fiora.

"Relax, I'm kidding," she reassured, and your shoulders slumped as you realised Viktor was doing the same, "although most people in seven minutes in heaven do make out. You can just talk in there, do absolutely nothing at all and wait for the time to end, or engage in further than just kissing.’

She wore a naughty smile, and you hoped your cheeks would miraculously stop heating up.

"Although I don't think you'll get to that stage, I suppose it's always good to know your options," she pointed out as she opened the dressing room door and grabbed what looked to you like an alarm clock. ‘Here, no one will come and spy on you or hear you. Please enter your palace for the next seven minutes."

You exchanged a glance with Viktor, who seemed to be gauging the situation just as you were. You didn't have to kiss him or anything, and you obviously doubted that Viktor would want to engage in such an activity. You were reassured by the fact that simple conversation was a possibility, but the closeness would no doubt trigger this allergy even more.

"Do I have to push you inside or are you going to go in?" Fiora was getting impatient.

‘’All right, all right,‘’ you grumbled, finally stepping into the room.

You stood there for a moment, arms folded as you looked at Viktor, who seemed surprised by your choice.

"It's not like we're going to make out or anything," you shrugged.

He was silent for a moment, a look in his eyes that you couldn't quite work out was there, before he finally nodded and walked over to you. The room wasn't so small, at least not small enough for you to feel claustrophobic.

Fiora placed the alarm clock on the floor, then grabbed the door handle to close it on you. ‘’Good game!" she wished, the door closing and leaving you both in a room illuminated by a small orange nightlight that kept most of the room bathed in darkness.

Her footsteps faded into the echo of the corridor, leaving just you and Viktor, silently alone, just the two of you. Just goes to show, you didn't need a balcony to have a contre soirée.

Your eyes inevitably met, drifting slightly to one side but surely out of embarrassment or nervousness at the situation.

"So," Viktor broke the silence, "I'm a Homo-Idioticus?"

You laughed, your head falling back as you closed your eyes with a smile before your head fell lazily forward again. "Not you too, please."

"Under what context was I called such an endearing nickname?" He smiled, seeming in no way offended as he teased on.

You sighed, leaning against the wall adjacent to your exit door. "She asked me how we met."

"Ah," he realised, "yes I suppose a Cretinus Totalus would have been good for you too at times."

"Are you tired of calling me Miss already?" you joked.

He took a small step towards you to face you. "It's going to take a miracle for me to get tired of ever saying it."

The memories of your discussion at the museum came back to you just by your mutual position. You remembered his jaw, your proximity, the feeling of his hand on your waist keeping you in place and waiting for Fiora to leave. The situation mirrored itself in a new angle.

And the way you had to leave things only underlined the need for a continuation to it. You were well aware that you hadn't come to the end of that conversation yet, and he seemed to think so too.

"That day," he said as his eyes pierced you with their questions, "why did you leave?"

You knew instantly of the moment he was speaking about. You replayed in your mind the fight against Fiora, the disgusting feeling of the blood on your hands, and Viktor's shocked eyes on you that you tried not to think about if possible.

"I felt like..." you lowered your eyes to your hands, nervously fidgeting with them, "I disgusted you."

It was his turn to giggle and for your gaze to gain back his level. "So you used to be disgusted by me and now you're the one scared of me being disgusted by you?"

"You never disgusted me, Viktor," you articulated firmly as you met his eyes, your jaw tightening for a moment as he seemed a little surprised by your seriousness and the mention of his name. "Never have, never will."

His lips parted for a moment in astonishment.

"And I'm sorry that I ran away, but," you tried to hold your breath and not let your heart get the better of your words, "I really needed to get it all off of me."

Your fingers were almost itchy, and you tried in the moment to distract the sensation by bringing your hand to the back of your neck, which felt like it was burning, while your other hand hung down your body.

The muscle in Viktor's jaw tightened, the orange glow of the nightlight lingering on it for a moment before he relaxed. He didn't look angry, disappointed, or disgusted.

"I," his own hand gripped his cane differently, "wanted to find you then, to talk to you, to..." his amber eyes met yours, concerned, "make sure you were okay."

Your heart almost sank to its knees in the hollow of your chest - Viktor cared about you. Of course, that's what friends do for their friends when problems arise, but it didn't change the fact that the idea made you feel strange.

"Fiora was in a worse state than me," you mumbled.

"I do not care about Fiora," Viktor pointed out, shaking his head to clear the idiotic idea, "she is no friend of mine."

You inhaled harshly. "You stay friends with violent people?"

"I stay friends with people that I admire."

The lack of hesitation in his voice and his words left you almost speechless. There was this easiness about the way he said it, like it was an evidence, like it couldn't have been otherwise.

"Admire?" you repeated, as if to make sure you hadn't misheard what he'd said.

His eyes on you made you burn, eradicating everything in their path and revealing only truths you thought impossible to be seen. He took a step forward, and it seemed to you that their heat was setting you ablaze.

"Yes," he resumed, "admire."

"What is there to admire about me?" you chuckled, feeling like a lost cause.

"Do you want the chronological or the alphabetical order?"

You raised your eyebrows. "You have both these lists prepared?"

"If you can have our clauses numbered at the top of your mind, I don't see why I wouldn't have my own list prepared for the reasons to be your friend," he confirmed.

You blinked rapidly, amazed at the immediacy with which he responded. He cut short any possibility that went against his reasoning, and if you were coming up with anything that would try and rival such comebacks, he already had two prepared in advance. You breathed in, but ended up huffing out a sigh.

"No need for this list," you chuckled, a small pause taking the air before your grin left your lips. "I feared the way you would see me after," your eyes fell on your fingers again, "what I did. There was just something that..." with your fingernail, you were trying to scrape off a flap of skin sticking out near your thumb. "I just couldn't get you to be disappointed in me."

He frowned, his head jerking back in disbelief. "I'm going to pretend I didn't just hear that."

"What?" you questioned, confused.

"Disappointed?" he repeated, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. "In you?"

You shrugged. "Does it seem that surprising of a concept?"

"Yes," Viktor confirmed with an incredulous grin, "or maybe do I have to remind you of your number one spot at the academy?"

You turned your head away, his eyes becoming an annoying mirror of what you were as you fled your reflection. "Not needed."

"Then why think you'd disappoint me?"

But you regained his gaze in the moment, he deserved to see the fear in your eyes and the uncertainty that stalked you. "Because who would want someone that is violent to hang out with?"

He shook his head. "It was legitimate defense."

"If it was legitimate defense, why did I end up with her blood on my hands, Viktor?" You almost raised your voice.

"Violent?" He frowned, taking another step towards you, leaving only a metre between you. "Don't you think I would have wanted to know how to fence with my cane to go against anyone that would have dared say what she said aloud to me?"

There was a firmness in his tone, his accent snapping across his teeth and lips. You parted your own, inhaling heavily. Had you pissed him off? Had you finally pushed him too far?

Noticing, however, the way you had tensed up, he let out a long sigh, his eyes softening as they roamed over your face and came to caress with the tips of his lashes where Fiora had struck.

Your back was pressed against the wall, you couldn't escape him. But would you have escaped if you'd had the chance? If the wall didn't exist, would you have backed away?

"We all have our angers," he continued, his voice softer, "and our reasons to fuel them. All different, all tailored, and that is what makes it so much easier to feel." He moved a little closer, and your chest swelled with warm air. "But in no way shape or form does it define you."

You swallowed, trying to force down the knot that was trying to form in your throat. Your eyes lowered to your hand, to your fingernail, still trying to tear off the cursed skin that kept sticking out. 

"Anger has left a gash in me that never wants to heal," your voice had grown small, a tiny light emerging in the darkness of the room, "I'm doing everything I can to make sure it never spreads again and closes."

You didn't meet his gaze, head down, continually scratching your skin to eradicate this weed growing on your skin. For as long as you had tried fighting all of this, it seemed as if you could never truly run away from it. Living with yourself had become a luxury through time, a possibility to move on with your life. And yet this clingy, sticky sensation clung to your fingers and mind horrifyingly.

And then, silently, Viktor gently moved his free fingers towards your hand without touching it. He just hovered over it, considering the situation, hesitating.

Then, his fingertips brushed against yours, sending sparks all over your arm and igniting your heart before he pressed his thumb against the skin you were trying so hard to rip off. 

His hand was warm, more than you would have expected, slightly calloused but soft and reassuring. He caressed the skin next to your fingernail, providing it a care your own treatment vould never have offered.

"To heal a wound, you have to stop touching it, Miss."

His voice was gentle, what little warmth there was in the room coming to lodge close to your heart for a moment. You inhaled harshly, the touch of his thumb on your skin washing away your worries like waves on sand.

If this allergy really was an allergy, why weren't any of the symptoms unpleasant?

"I know," you murmured, your thoughts slowly drifting away as the simple sensation of his skin on yours anchored you.

You could feel his eyes on you. "Then why do you keep letting it open?"

You tried to regain his gaze, to let yourself be seen, to let him see you. You inhaled sharply, biting the inside of your cheek as you looked up at him.

"Because it's the only thing I've ever known."

He tilted his head to one side, your heart missing a beat as his eyes showed no embarrassment, no fear, no disgust. His thumb pressed a little closer to your skin, moving ever so slightly along it.

"You don't have to live in it anymore," he murmured, his eyes resting on yours.

You lowered your gaze to your hands, Viktor's thumb sliding along the length of your index finger towards the inside of your hand, undoing your clenched fist in the process as his fingers barely covered the back of your hand.

"It'll take time," you whispered, letting the tension fade from your body.

You were close, only a small space separating your shoes from each other. There was something almost hypnotic in his caresses, in the fearful slowness with which he moved. There was something inside you, something that seemed to wake up a little more each time you were in his presence.

"All the time it needs," Viktor confirmed, his thumb continuing its journey to your knuckles, still darkened by the force of your strikes.

You watched, feeling his fingers pass under yours and support them as if you'd just given him a dance. 

His eyes watched your hand, yours raised to meet the serenity on his face. "Has your anger ever calmed?" you asked.

His chest swelled with air before he let out a long sigh. "It had," he confirmed.

"Had?" you questioned.

"Lately, I can't lie about the fact that a certain frustration has taken hold of me," the tip of his thumb brushed against the knuckle of your middle finger, the latter particularly dark compared to the others.

"Why?" you questioned, your fingers clasping his for a moment to gain his attention on the subject. "What happened?"

He straightened up, his eyes setting on you for a moment before letting go of your hand gently to rest it on top of the other one on the pommel of his cane. You were already strangely missing his warmth, why were you disappointed that he'd let go? Why had he held on to it? He could have let go of it a long time ago, so why did he go on? And you, who hadn't withdrawn it, why was that the case?

"Well," he continued, "a certain friend of mine started spending more time with a Demacian and neglected help from me but not from him."

You frowned, "Garen?"

"Unless your wounds were magically treated by air the day after the fight, I don't see anyone else," Viktor confirmed.

You remembered the morning itself, the alcohol stinging your lips as your eyes found Viktor. Was his frustration due to the fact that you hadn't come to see him instead of Garen?

"Well," you began again, "that was because my friend was monopolised by another Demacian that hated me."

He nodded. "I could have used a little help on that one too, I suppose."

"Sorry, your guard dog had a bit of trouble against the Demacians," you joked before gesturing vaguely to your face to show the area where you'd been injured.

He gave a small, amused smile. ‘’Damned Demacians, all bark no bite."

"Well, they do bite, just not as hard as Zaunites." You remembered what Eris had said just before you met Viktor, and found it ironic that you'd gone from lone wolf to watchdog. Were you that dedicated?

"The underground brings out the best underhounds," he confirmed, "we have a way to claw our way up to success that remains unrivalled."

You smiled, and he returned the gesture. There was an ease in the air, a comforting return to normality. But did normal include him taking your hand again? Or were you just going to go back to being a simple classmate? The second idea seemed more bitter. You would have liked to stay like that, in the softness of a room where, even if it was full of clothes, you were naked in the eyes of the heart.

"It's a good thing the trip is coming to an end," you admitted reassuringly, the impatience to know what the year's continuity had in store for you residing close to your soul.

The alarm went off, and you gasped before bringing your hand to your forehead to sigh. Time was just up. Viktor laughed as you recovered from your disorientating shock.

"Let's go," he offered as he opened the door and held it open for you, "before Jayce ends up martyred to the Werewolf."

You laughed lightly, breaking away from the wall to step out into the corridor as he followed you. Your heart was still pounding in your ears, and you couldn't decide whether that was a result of your surprise at the alarm, or whether it was due to the phantom feel of Viktor's fingers on your skin.

How lucky, you thought, that his digits hadn't wandered up your wrist to discover the erratic rhythm of your pulse.

The two of you walked back to the living room, another duo designated to take your place as you appeared.

Fiora seemed deeply disappointed that your lips weren't mutually swollen or your hair a mess and that you were returning as she'd left you.

"Joining us for a new game?" questioned Lux excitedly.

"Absolutely," you confirmed as you sat down on the sofa and Viktor, unable to get back his place on the armchair, sat down next to you.

Fiora redistributed the cards, promising one last game before adding more players so that the games would last longer and not end as quickly as the previous one, which you and Viktor had won hands down.

You picked up your card, bringing it discreetly to your eyes: hunter.

After finishing a game in which the hunter had killed you, you were taking on his role. You put your card down in front of you, and Viktor did the same. You wondered whether he was a werewolf again, whether he would target you if he was, or whether he too had a different role.

"The village falls asleep," Fiora began again.

You closed your eyes, happy in the knowledge that you would only have to be attentive and not active, given your sleeping role.

"I call upon Cupid," Fiora proclaimed, "designate two players who will love each other until death do them part."

You waited a moment, feeling Fiora move slightly in space. "Good, Cupid you can go back to sleep. I'm now going to touch the heads of the two lovers, who will wake up and recognise each other."

You could feel her moving, hearing her footsteps on the carpet, until you felt her hand press down on your head. Brilliant. You thought you could play a game without having to go through debates and stuff, but here you were, having to watch someone's back.

You opened your eyes, looking around to see who might have been your love for the game. Everyone in front of you had their eyes closed, and you frowned before turning to Viktor.

He was awake.

You were the lovers of this game.

The lovers' card came to mind in Eris's draw, and a wave of heat ran through your body.

You arched an eyebrow, eyes half-closed and chin high, offering a wink in response to his gesture from the previous game. His eyes darkened for a moment, a mischievous smile spreading across the corner of his lips.

"Lovers can go back to sleep, or do what lovers do," Fiora smiled, your eyes rolling up to the sky as you closed them.

The rest of the night went on, you paying little attention to what was going on, though your thoughts kept returning to the feel of his hand on yours, his warmth, his tenderness. The more time passed, the more this idiotic allergy theory crumbled. You wouldn't look for symptoms of an allergy to happen again, so why did you feel so drawn to his touch? To his words? To him?

What would happen if you engaged even slightly physically? Would he be disgusted by it? Would he be embarrassed? Would he move away like he had ended up doing?

There was only one way to find out.

Gently then, tentatively, you pressed your knee against his. Your heart was racing, so much so that it was difficult to hear anything other than the rapid rhythm of its drumming in your eardrums.

A second went by, then another, and another, and you wondered if you shouldn't have withdrawn your leg after such a ridiculous gesture.

But just before you pulled away after a good ten more seconds had passed, he pressed his knee against yours, not as a request to pull away, but as an acceptance.

You tried very slowly to let out a sigh of relief, the air escaping in bumps as your heartbeat cut it off slightly.

"The village wakes up," Fiora finally announced.

You hadn't thought about the fact that eventually you'd have to open your eyes, and the idea of meeting Viktor's gaze again after that attempt, from which you still hadn't moved, scared you a little.

But you had to open your eyes, and so you put them on Fiora to listen to what she had to say and concentrate.

"Last night, the werewolves claimed a victim." She moved towards Orcelyia. "After firing her arrow, it seems she didn't use it to defend herself." She picked up her card, showing it to everyone. "Cupid died last night."

So Orcelyia, who had previously died because of your relentlessness against her, had no doubt decided to take revenge by putting you two in love.

You met her gaze as she slumped back on her sofa.

"Another alchemist who didn't save a victim," Garen remarked.

"So maybe an alchemist who's in love again," theorised Sky.

You were perhaps realising this pattern. Was Viktor saving his life potion to save you in the potential event where you'd be designated a victim?

As the others began to put forward their theories, you let them do so without saying anything, your thoughts too busy on the contact that you and Viktor had.

It was just two knees, two limbs from two different bodies, bones covered in muscles covered in skin and then clothes, nothing more and nothing less. So, if that's all it was, why couldn't you stop thinking about it?

Maybe what was stopping you from not thinking about it was the fact that you had thought about doing it? Maybe what was stopping you from not thinking about it was the fact that you'd done it? Maybe what was stopping you from not thinking about it was the fact that he had returned the gesture and hadn't moved back?

The conversation passed without you paying much attention, except that Lux and Garen seemed rather devious. Maybe it was just the brother and sister effect, you thought. So the vote of the day came, and Sky was chosen, the theory being that since she had been linked to Orcelyia in previous games, she would have tried to make herself feel safe about being a werewolf by killing her to prove that she would never have done that. But the verdict was in: she was the little girl.

The village went back to sleep, without you meeting Viktor's eyes, but without forgetting him. It seemed as if every light and reflection that had lit up his eyes so far came back to you under closed lids.

The night of the power cut, when the almond of light from the candle had been lodged in his pupils, the morning after passing out when he'd slept at your bedside before waking up for the sun to settle in his eyes, and just then when his eyes were reflecting the little orange glow.

You had been used to cold lights, to the Safphire burning in Selene's hearth, to the darkness of the night, to the depths of a neon-lit city. 

And he had come to illuminate all this, as the day set to let the night live on, the two coming together in a single colour that proved to be his favourite - the one he preferred.

Fiora called out to the players one by one until the village awoke.

"Last night there was a real massacre," Fiora exclaimed theatrically. "Not one, but two people died!"

"Did the lovers die?" questioned Garen.

"The Alchemisy used his death potion?" exclaimed Lux.

"You'd better believe it," smiled Fiora. "Last night, found amongst her incense and candles, Jayce was killed," she uncovered his card, "and Jayce was the card reader."

"I was going to make it all right!" he exclaimed as he brought his face into his hands.

"Don't worry, Jayce" Fiora comforted though, "because out of your two killers, one died last night." She turned to Lux. "The alchemist had concocted a deeply devastating elixir that very night, capable of taking out any man..." she grabbed the girl's card and turned it around for all to see, "or any beast."

You smiled, Lux sighed and tilted her head back in disappointment. Now there was only Garen left.

"It seems it's always the two of us against everyone, Miss," Viktor smiled, his knee pressing ever so slightly against yours as a small sign of victory. 

"You..." Garen opened his mouth into a smile as a unique burst of laughter rose up his throat, "of course you were the lovers."

"Hmm," Viktor hummed, frowning with a thoughtful expression. "What are we going to do with him?"

"Well," you pressed your lips into an inverted smile as you watched Garen, "if you live by the river, I got a bag."

"Just finish this already," Garen sighed, pointing at you again for his vote as the two of you pointed at him.

"And just like that," Fiora walked over to Garen and picked up the card, "the reign of the werewolves ends with the union of two lovers."

You turned to Viktor, a victorious smile tugging at your lips as you offered him your hand to shake. Was it a simple desire for politeness in the gesture of having played so well as your sidekick, or was it another unconscious desire to feel his hand close to yours?

He smiled back, shaking your hand. The handshake wasn't very long, just to seal your victory in everyone's eyes, but you couldn't help noticing the way his thumb lightly caressed your hand before withdrawing.

"Another game?" suggested Fiora.

And so the evening continued, the group of students growing in size as roles were added and debates sparked. You laughed when Jayce let out an ‘ouch!’ when Fiora touched his head to determine who the lovers were, or when Orcelyia almost grabbed Garen by the collar when he referred to her as a werewolf even though she was a villager.

The strategy Garen had given you ended up coming handy when you both were werewolves, and it became evident that you’d bring this game back to Zaun to teach it to some kids.

When those who closed their eyes during the night part of the game finally really felt actual sleep taking them, the living room began to empty little by little, until there were only too few students left to play games. Some had returned to the hotel or to their homes, others had taken free rooms to sleep there. What about you? Well, you were helping to tidy up a little.

Fatigue began to pull you as you put the few remaining cups in the trash. Your eyes rested on two of them, sticking close to one another - yours and Viktor's, near each other.

Your shoulders sagged, his name next to yours now seeming to you more than simple letters, more than simple black strokes on plastic, more than two names on a list of league tables.

You pressed your thumb against your fingers, remembering the feeling of his hand on yours, and your two knees joined on the couch, and his eyes…

You shook your head, turning away from the kitchen to leave the apartment. Jayce had already accompanied Viktor home earlier in the evening, Garen and Lux had left earlier, Sky and Orcelyia were probably occupying a room, while Fiora was probably sleeping in her bed very comfortably.

You were leaving the house, the morning freshness making you regret forgetting a jacket. You didn't expect to have so much fun, to stay so long, or to experience all this. The delicate sunrise was your morning caress, accompanying you alone until you reached the hotel. 

Even if the outside was profoundly silent and was barely waking up, your thoughts were all jostling in your head as you went over each event of the evening, catching each one like fireflies in your hands and delicately observing their light between your fingers.

Inside, the personnel were already busy preparing the buffet – today it was hotel brunch and therefore was open until noon. You felt that after a meager sleep, you would find great comfort in a cup of coffee.

You walked mechanically to the end of the corridor leading to your room, inserting the key with a lack of energy, but you stopped in your gestures. You turned to the door facing it, Viktor's.

If you opened your own door, it would have been like leaving again for seven minutes in the paradise of memories, ready to recast your entire conversation, for your eyes to annotate your thoughts by rewinding the track, your heart making close-ups on the most important passages. His eyes, his hands, your fingers tied. No element would be forgotten.

You pressed the handle of your room, not finding there the dimness of the orange nightlight, but the blue of the mosaics and slabs. You closed the curtains, pulled yourself out of your shoes and pants with great fatigue, and collapsed on your bed.

Your eyes rested on the ceiling, stinging with fatigue as you fought a hard battle with your lids. Your hand rested on your heart, the latter beating under your t-shirt, covering your skin covering your muscles covering your bones.

You inhale gently while closing your eyes, and it's as if you were breathing him in.

All these sensations that were turning upside down in you, you didn't know what they were. But one thing was certain, you didn't want them to stop.

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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