[mature] You are cordially invited [Any & All]

[leliana]

This was silly, she thinks, as the music swells and the crowds begin to mill about.

She never should have come here. Never let her twin force her to wear this ridiculous dress. Never taken an Uber to a party where the lot had been full of Italian makes and models. She presses her palm to the flat of her stomach and takes a steadying breath before reaching up and pinching her nose. She should be back home, curled up in her favorite pair of sweats with her well-worn copy of any given Jane Austen novel. Or, if she was being honest, she should have picked up that extra shift at the hospital. She knew they were short-staffed, and it’s not like she couldn’t use the extra cash. She knew Vulgaris had more than enough—not that she would ever dream of asking him where it came from—but she couldn’t bear to ask him for a penny. She would never want him to think that’s all she wanted from him.

With a flick of her wrist, she finishes off the flute of champagne, setting it down on the table near her. She should just cut her losses and go, she thinks. She promised herself one drink, and that was it. But just as she was beginning to reach for her clutch, she feels him grab her and pull her close. She can’t help it, she feels the same flutter of butterflies she did the first time that she met him. She laughs, the sound lilting, as she twists into his arms, all of the anxiety melting away as she loops her arms around his neck, standing up on her toes to press a kiss against his full lips.

“You made it,” her voice is breathy, hazel eyes shining from under the lace and the ribbon. They trail down to the blood dried on the corner of his mouth and she reaches up, running her thumb over and brushing it away. She knows that he has demons he doesn’t expose her to, sins that he doesn’t confess, and she doesn’t ask him to—not anymore. She is just grateful that hers is the bed that he crawls into most nights. That she is able to turn over and curl into his broad, battered chest, tracing constellations onto the paint-spattered bruises that run up and down his sides. She doesn’t ask what caused them. She doesn’t ask—even when she needs to get supplies from work to bandage him up, silently cleaning off the blood and wrapping his imposing figure in whatever gauze or ointment he needed this time.

Still, she can’t hide the relief in her eyes that, for now at least, he doesn’t need such attention.

At his question, she laughs, biting her lip as she takes a step away. “I don’t know. Maybe you need to remind me.” There is a twinkle in her eye as she reaches for his arm, her pale hand coming to rest on top as they swoop away from the table. “We don’t have to stay for long,” she leans over to whisper. “But maybe just one dance?”

it started with a perfect kiss, then we could feel the poison set in

@[vulgaris]

not sure if we need to follow posting order so i'm just going for it. yolo.