~𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝙱𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙸𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙲𝙻𝚈𝙳𝙴~

𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕗𝕠𝕣𝕥𝕪-𝕠𝕟𝕖

The clubhouse was alive with laughter and the unmistakable sound of glasses clinking together as the girls' night reached its peak. Bellatrix, along with Gemma, Tara, Wendy, Lyla, and a few others, were sprawled across the lounge, surrounded by empty bottles and snacks, celebrating their rare time to just be themselves.

Bellatrix, her hair slightly disheveled and her makeup starting to wear off, sat cross-legged on the floor, an almost empty bottle of tequila in her hand. She'd been having a good time, but the alcohol had hit her a bit too hard. She laughed at a joke Wendy made, but the giggles quickly turned into a hiccup, which only made the girls laugh harder.

"Bellatrix, honey, I think you've had enough," Lyla said, shaking her head. "You're starting to talk to the bottle now."

Bellatrix waved her off, her grin wide but slightly crooked. "Pfft, I'm fine," she slurred, tossing her high heels to the side. The click of her shoes echoed through the room as they landed with a soft thud, and Bellatrix immediately felt the cool sensation of the wood against her bare feet. She wobbled slightly, her feet no longer elevated by her usual heels, making her seem even smaller than her usual 4'11".

Gemma chuckled from across the room. "Yeah, sure, you're fine," she teased, watching her with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "But you know, you've got that big ol' man waiting for you."

Bellatrix grinned, her slightly tipsy brain struggling to form a coherent thought. "Tig'll be fine," she said, though her words lacked the usual confident edge. She stretched her arms above her head with a groan, trying to stand up—though her heels had already been abandoned. "Besides, he's used to me being a little... off-balance."

Tara raised an eyebrow, her voice playful. "Are you sure about that? You two have a pretty significant height difference. I mean, you're what—like, a whole foot shorter than him?"

Bellatrix snorted, making a face. "A squirrel and a tree, babe," she declared, her tone a little too loud as she turned toward her best friend. "He's my big, tall tree, and I'm his tiny squirrel. Works perfectly fine."

The other women laughed as Bellatrix swayed a bit on her feet, her words slurring. The thought of Tig always made her feel both adored and a little bit vulnerable. He was the towering figure in her life, literally and figuratively, standing at 6'2". The way she had to look up at him, the way his hands engulfed hers—it always made her feel safe. And at that moment, as the alcohol settled in, she couldn't help but wish Tig would walk through the door to take her home.

Just as she spoke the words, the clubhouse door swung open with a familiar creak. Bellatrix looked up and smiled drunkenly. "Well, speak of the devil," she giggled, her head tilting back as Tig stepped inside.

Tig took one look at Bellatrix, who was leaning against a table, trying to maintain her balance in her now-bare feet. He didn't say a word; he just walked over to her with the same expression of amused exasperation he always wore when she'd gotten herself into trouble.

Before Bellatrix could even react, he reached down, snatching her up with ease as though she weighed nothing. The transition from standing to being cradled in his arms was so abrupt, it sent Bellatrix into a squealing fit.

"Hey!" she protested weakly, her arms flailing around. "I'm not a damn baby, Tig."

Tig chuckled as he adjusted his grip on her, settling her against his chest. "Sure, you're not," he said dryly, his voice full of affection. "But right now, you're a damn ragdoll, so I'm taking you home before you end up face down on the floor."

Bellatrix pouted but didn't protest further. "You know, if I had my heels on, I'd be taller than you," she muttered, the words coming out slower than usual.